#todoroki x reader

You notice that whenever your hands are clasped together, Shouto makes it a point to try and engulf them with his left hand and only his left one. At first, you’re confused because you have no idea what he’s trying to prove and because he keeps struggling to find the ideal placement of his hand on yours.

So you decide to ask him about it.

“Shou, what are you doing?”

“Hm?” He looks up from your hands. “What do you mean, love?”

“This.” You gesture with an amused expression.

“Oh.”

Shouto huffs, a small puff from the cold escaping his lips. It’s endearing, in a way. Your husband looked so focused on whatever he was doing. You can’t even imagine the headlines he’ll be making if the media saw the great A.C. Hero: Shouto is struggling like a toddler learning about proper shapes and sizes for the first time.

“I’m attempting to engulf your hands with my left hand,” he says, as if it were obvious. 

You laugh, and this brings a faint, dimpled smile to his face, too. 

“I can see that,” you reply. “Why?”

“Well, your hands are cold,” he answers honestly. “I’m trying to warm them up with my left hand.”

“Oh.”

He tilts his head to the side, pouting softly. Another habit you were sure he wasn’t aware he was doing. Or perhaps he did know what he was doing and wanted to get a reaction out of you. Either way, he was pouting.

“Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?” Shouto asks.

“What? No!” you quickly answer. “Honestly, you could’ve just told me what you were doing earlier instead of just trying to figure it out on your own,” you laugh. Your hands sandwich his left tenderly, and it was just as you were expecting. His hands were much warmer than yours. “I could’ve just done this. See? Or remember to bring my gloves next time.”

“But you hate wearing your gloves,” he says, confused.

“I guess… So does this mean that this is a much better alternative instead of wearing them?” 

He nods.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. So, yes, this is a better alternative. At least my Quirk could provide you comfort, even if temporary and unconventional.”

You look at Shouto in awe. “That’s so thoughtful, Shou. Thank you.”

Shouto lets his hand tighten around yours. “You’re welcome,” he replies. Then, as if wondering what else to say, he adds, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

His shoulders loosen just a bit at the reassurance, and he happily leads you back to the agency, not wanting you to stay in the cold much longer. Oh, how you loved your husband very much. Always so thoughtful and loving.

Only You..

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After breaking up with your boyfriend, he gets a little crazy and decides to take matters into his own hands to get you back…

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You woke up to the cold.

Not the temperature—though the air was cooler than your apartment ever got—but the kind of cold that settled behind the ribs when the body realized something was very wrong before the mind could catch up.

Your arms were stretched above your head. Soft but unyielding restraints locked your wrists to the headboard. When you tried to close your legs, metal rattled. Ankle cuffs. Thick. Heavy. Spread wide and chained to the foot of the bed so there was no way to press your thighs together.

You were still dressed. The same soft sleep shirt and shorts you had put on after work. But something warm and sticky had dried across the upper slope of your chest, just above the neckline. The scent hit you a second later—salt and something unmistakably him.

Your stomach turned.

The room was dim. No windows you could see. Concrete walls painted a soft, expensive gray. A single low lamp in the corner. The bed was large, the sheets dark, the whole space deliberately empty of anything that might tell you where you were.

Then you heard him.

Shoto sat in a chair a few feet from the bed, elbows on his knees, watching you the way he used to watch the battlefield—quiet, focused, already several moves ahead. His dual-colored hair was slightly messy. He was in a black long-sleeve shirt and dark pants, no hero costume. Just him. The man you had loved. The man you had left.

“You’re awake,” he said. His voice was the same low, even tone it had always been. No rush. No guilt.

You pulled at the restraints hard enough that the headboard creaked. “Shoto—what the fuck—untie me. Right now.”

He didn’t move.

Your voice cracked on the next words. “Please. Please let me go. This isn’t—this isn’t okay. You know this isn’t okay.”

Something shifted in his expression. Not anger. Not even the cold distance he sometimes wore in public. Something quieter and far more dangerous. His gaze dropped to the dried mess on your chest, then lower, to the way your body was forced open for him to look at. His hand drifted down and pressed against the front of his pants, openly palming the hard line of his cock through the fabric.

“I love it when you beg me,” he said softly. “You always sounded so pretty when you were scared.”

A broken sound left your throat—half sob, half furious denial. You twisted harder against the cuffs, legs straining uselessly against the chains. The movement made the sleep shirt ride up a little. You felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with skin and everything to do with the fact that he had already touched you while you were unconscious. While you couldn’t say no.

“You came on me,” you whispered. The words tasted like betrayal. “While I was asleep. You—”

“I needed you.” He said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “You wouldn’t let me near you anymore. You kept saying I had to change. That I was too much. That I scared you.” His hand kept moving slowly over himself as he spoke, eyes never leaving your face. “I watched you with that friend of yours last night. The way she touched your arm. The way you smiled at her. You looked… free. Like you had already started forgetting what we were.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You remembered the late dinner, the casual hug goodbye at your door. Nothing romantic. Just a friend. But he had been watching.

“I didn’t forget anything,” you said, voice shaking. “I left because you were becoming this. Because every time I tried to have a life outside of you, you looked at me like the world was something you needed to burn down to keep me safe. I still love you, Shoto. That never stopped. But I can’t be with someone who thinks locking me up is protection.”

He stood.

The chair scraped softly. He walked to the side of the bed and looked down at you—bound, marked with his release, legs forced open, eyes wet. For a moment the old version of him flickered across his face, the one who used to hold your hand under the table during late strategy meetings and listen when you talked about your work at the support company. Then it was gone.

He reached out and brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb. The touch was almost gentle.

“You don’t get to leave again,” he said. “I tried doing it your way. I tried giving you space. All it did was let other people get close enough to take what’s mine.” His fingers trailed down your throat, over the drying streaks on your chest, and stopped just above your heart. “You’re safest here. With me. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to make you smile like that. I’ll make you understand eventually.”

You shook your head hard, fresh tears spilling. “This is why I left. This exact thing. Please, Shoto—if you love me, let me go. Let me walk out of here and we can talk. Really talk. Like we used to.”

He leaned down until his mouth was close to your ear. You could feel the heat of half his body and the unnatural cold of the other.

“I do love you,” he murmured. “More than anything left in this world. That’s why I can’t let you go.”

His hand slid lower, resting heavily over the soft fabric between your spread legs. He didn’t push inside. Just pressed his palm there, feeling the traitorous warmth that had already started to gather no matter how much your mind screamed. You made a small, broken sound—half protest, half something you refused to name.

He exhaled like the sound had gone straight through him.

“You’re still wet for me,” he said, almost wonderingly. “Even now. Even while you’re crying and telling me this is wrong.” His fingers flexed once, deliberate. “I’m going to take my time. I’m going to remind you every single day why you’re mine until the only thing you know how to do is stay.”

You turned your face away, tears soaking into the pillow. Your wrists ached. Your ankles burned from the chains. Your body betrayed you with every slow pass of his hand. And somewhere under the fear and the fury and the grief was the terrible, familiar ache of still wanting the man who had decided the only way to keep you was to take every choice away.

Shoto stayed there, kneeling beside the bed, palm resting between your legs like a claim, watching every tear fall.

He didn’t untie you.

He didn’t plan to.

Part 1/3 of the Only you series

2/3: https://www.tumblr.com/macabreviridian/824447171892035584/only

can someone pretty pls request something and i’ll make an smau for it!

For a few seconds, I am incapable of doing anything other than feeling you; the way your hands search for something to hold onto, perhaps you still believe you need to remind me that this place beside you belongs to me too. But when you try to move closer, when your body shifts slightly to take the initiative like you have done so many times since the moment we met, my hand leaves your waist to find yours. And I’m not trying to stop you. I simply lace my fingers with yours, keeping us in the same position for one more second.

Just one more.

“Shoto...” My name leaves your lips alongside your surprised voice, because you probably expected me to act as I always do. To hesitate. To ask if I was crossing a line, or try to find a reason to stop us.

But this time, I don’t want to hide behind caution.

“Let me this time.”

Finally on AO3.

Hanahiraku (花開く), my Todoroki arranged marriage one-shot, is now available on AO3.

If you're in the mood for a quiet romance about two people who slowly fall in love while planning their own wedding, I'd love for you to give it a read.

📖 AO3: link

And if you'd like to read the full, uncensored version (including the 18+ scene), you can find it on my Patreon -> Link

CW: dark content, implied themes of abuse, unhealthy bdsm, manipulation, borderline sociopathic shoto, keigo kinda sucks too, toxic relationship

part i - the hand that feeds

finally we have the second installment of evil shoto, with a lovely new face: evil hawks. actually, he's less evil. sort of. again, all credit for inspo and lore building and this universe entirely goes to @ironmoonz i am endlessly grateful for your creativity and love collabing on this<3

worth pointing out keigo's history with dabi and enji here. shoto hated hawks long before you were in the picture, but after hawks sneaks his pretty toy right out from under him? delicious. this was the most fun thing i've written in a bit. enjoy <3!

wc: 1.9 k - ao3 link

𓇗

Shoto’s got fantastic taste, even Keigo can’t deny him that.

You are beautiful up close, dimpled cheeks and glittering eyes and a classy line to the set of your shoulders. Keigo doesn’t understand Todoroki’s apparent commitment to keeping you distanced from him; you’re the kind of beauty Keigo would never say no to having draped on his arm, such a pretty thing you are. When you laugh, it’s like bells and windchimes and everything good that Keigo has to squint to see in the world. He knows the sound of you crying has to be twice as lovely.

He’s impressed with himself for pulling this off, honestly. He’d watched Todoroki fuming in the corner of the charity gala all night– anyone with eyes would have seen the possessive track of his eyes following you, glued to Keigo’s side after a couple cheesy lines and a glass of champagne. Anyone with eyes that cared to look, that is. Keigo had his day as the commission’s golden boy; he knows better than anyone the kind of shit you can get away with if you’ve got the public’s heart and a solid legal team.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you say, giggling under your breath as Keigo leads you out into the parking garage. Frankly, neither can he.

A/n: I’m working on some regular posts for my summer off and I’m thinking of trying to write some suggestive stuff possibly in the future but enjoy some shot fluff in the meantime! 🧁

Shoto was shy,well not exactly..more awkward. This was why when you’d started dating he was too nervous to touch you.

You’d not made the first move to even hold hands yet,given you’d not wanted to scare him away since you were his first girlfriend. Thus neither of you had kissed or touched each other. That didn’t mean you didn’t constantly talk to one another,that was rather easy apart from his lack of understanding for dry humour or many jokes you’d attempted.

You found it adorable when his cheeks would flush while you’d explain a joke to him through laughter.

This evening you were in his dorm for a change, laid on his bed while he laid beside you watching videos on his feed. However his mind seemed to be wondering,curious,you ask “what’s on your mind sho?”. In response he murmured something barely coherent earning his a confused hum until he repeated it clearer.

“Can I hold your hand” his mumble was shy and sweet. A soft smile welcomed itself onto your face and you offered him your hand. “Of course you can.” His fingers slipped between yours,his hand slightly cold due to his quirk being out of wack with his nerves. You stayed like that a while,just laid in the peaceful quiet with your fingers interlinked.

“You don’t have to be nervous to touch me,sho..” you commented softly,he nodded his eyes twinkling with hope that maybe he would be less awkward and anxious for you one day but he was sure of one thing,he’d never take these first moments for granted.