No U Don't Understand I Want To Beat The Shi Outta Myself To Have A Gaping Hole In My Memory So That

im sick of my parents trying to reconcile

look but don't touch

Shoto let's katsuki get aggressive with him but he knows they're still best of friends and he's good at heart ˙˚ʚ(´◡`)ɞ˚˙

this is so cute to me 😭 todoroki isn't even fazed LMAOOO and bakugou looks so done with him KSJKS. they're literally dating guys!!! omg

fantasy scribbles

Sosiski

this beautiful prose piece will be engraved in my heart, if you visit please give it a read. they are overflowing with beautiful words and emotions. it made my heart burn my belly flip and i could feel the flowers blooming in my gut. i want to experience love as pure as this

012. CARNATIONS

Friday morning came all the same—and the pending sadness you believed to come with the sunrise never did. Yes, it was your last day here at the Todoroki household. But knowing you and Touya would be going back to the hospital together was reassuring enough to soothe all your nerves.

The majority of breakfast was filled with secret smiles passed between you and Touya. His eyes were always wandering—always trailing back to you. And the sensation of his heated gaze alone made your head feel like it had been stuffed to the brim with cotton.

The Todorokis didn't notice anything off between you and Touya—he was always close by when you were near, but he seemed to be a little more clinger than usual.

But you were Touya's anchor. You grounded him. You made him feel safe, wanted, loved—so many emotions he wasn't used to having. It was overwhelming, all these new emotions. But he welcomed the tidal wave of feelings in with open arms. He would drown in this emotion if he could. He's not sure if there's a name for it, but Touya had become entirely dependent on you.

You didn't notice this—but every chance Touya got, he kept some part of his body touching yours. It could just be his shoulder bumping gently against yours, or his pinky grazing your knee under the table—any little touch would work to that keep that insatiable craving of his fed.

Touya ability to feel was... odd. He either felt something with every fiber of his being, or he felt nothing at all. His love was fierce, a forest fire all in its own. It was consuming, it was something that spread until it dominated everything.

Touya loved like he hated, with a burning passion.

Just hearing your name was enough to make Touya raise his head and tune into whatever conversation was going on. Actually hearing your voice had an entirely different effect on him—because suddenly, his pupils are dilating and he can't hear a single sound besides the words leaving your lips—and Touya has to physically fight the urge to press his fingers against the column of your throat just so he can feel the vibrations of your voice box as you speak

His family's goodbye was bittersweet. But even though Touya was leaving—this was not goodbye forever.

Touya was getting better day by day. His physical and mental wounds were being healed by your sparkling eyes and doting hands, and he's surrendering all he was and ever will be to you.

This past week had been heaven on earth for Touya. As he got into the backseat of the van with you, he was already looking forward to working more on writing his letters to Shoto back at the hospital. You'd help him like always—because you're the best. You're the best doctor, friend, and companion he could ask for—you're the best everything.

The drive back is peaceful. Most of the roads are empty due to how early in the day it is, but Touya doesn't mind it at all. It gives him a greater view of Japan's scenery outside. The rolling green hills and the snow coated branches of trees creates a whimsical view for him to quietly appreciate and admire.

You're asleep with your head resting on Touya's shoulder, and he has his cheek smushed against the side of your head. He keeps one hand intertwined with yours, and he uses his other hand to keep his fingertips pressed against your pulse point—the reassuring beating of your heart is a calming melody.

The drive is a little over an hour, but he's back within the familiar hospital walls soon enough.

While walking down the hallway with you, Touya was practically glued to your side. The pristine walls and floors of the hospital made him a little uneasy sometimes, but he was looking forward to returning to his little room soon enough.

You're telling Touya about how there's going to be a storm tomorrow, and how you'd just gotten a statewide notification on your phone. He's nodding his head along to your words—before his eyes catch on another patient’s door that's been left ajar.

Every patient had identical rooms. They all had the tall wooden doors and silver handles for their entrance and bathroom. Each room had a hospital bed, a side table, a TV, a small coffee table with two chairs, and a pull out bed.

But as Touya's eyes looked over to take in this patient's room, he couldn't help but notice how much more different it was from his own.

There were no paper snowflakes hanging from the windows. There were no colorful pens scattered over tables and pages of unfinished letters strewn across the room. There were no board games, no uno cards scattered all over the bed. There wasn't a single sign of life in there besides the half empty coffee mug sitting on the edge of the patient's bedside table.

There was no you, he decided.

Touya's quiet the rest of the way to his room.

Touya didn't believe in luck or fate, those invisible forces didn't feel like they applied to someone like him. They were saved for ordinary people—people like you who deserved good things.

But what else could explain your presence in his life? He certainly didn't deserve you, Touya was sure of that. He didn't deserve anything after the war. He nearly lost his family, but he didn't. He nearly lost an arm, but he didn't. He nearly lost his life, but he didn't.

But you weren't a product of fate or luck—no, meeting you was some sort of a divine intervention.

Touya, you deserve to be happy too.

He remembers when you had uttered those words to him one night when his thoughts had trailed too far again, and he had scoffed at you then. He snapped at you, telling you to go away because you clearly don't see how he doesn't deserve shit.

He winces at the unwanted memory. Those were the earlier days when he was still warming up to you, and he'll forever regret taking his misdirected hurt out on you, of all people. But even after he acted out and behaved like a total brat, you still loved him. You had seen the ugliest parts of Touya, seen him at his worst, seen him at his absolute lowest—and you were still here. Right by his side, just like you'd promised.

Maybe he does deserve you. And for once, he doesn't feel selfish for the thought. Touya can love too—he can be kind and he can be gentle. He knows his depraved sense of humor somehow manages to make you laugh, he knows the spot right under your ear is weak and ticklish for his kisses, and he knows you love him.

Touya doesn't even notice the two of you have finally reached his room until he accidentally walks right into your back. A small sound of surprise leaves your lips before you smile. He blinks himself out of his daze before stretching his lips into that handsome smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

Wordlessly, Touya tugs you through the door. He never thought this hospital room would become something he'd miss—but he recognizes the space he had grown into and come to love. Yes, this was a room filled with memories he never wanted to forget. Countless nights he'd spent laughing till his stomach hurt with you, and even more nights where he spilled his heart's darkest secrets to you.

And suddenly, Touya realizes it was a room that felt more like home than the Todoroki household ever did.

Touya's hug is unusually tight. He bundles you up in his arms and cradles the back of your head to his chest, his arms wound tight around your form. You can sense he's overwhelmed by something he can't voice—so you do what you're best at.

Your hands move up and down the length of his back, rubbing big and comforting circles. His lips are slow as they meet yours, and his blunt fingertips dip gentle crescent moons into your skin as he holds your face

"I love you," He whispers, his voice hoarse and cracking with emotion. You're cooing softly as you help him into bed, whispering affirmations into his ear that have him practically collapsing in your arms. He's being babied—Touya knows he is.

But God, it felt good to finally feel like he was worth something.

You didn't leave Touya's room until you could absolutely confirm he had drifted into dreamland. Touya fell asleep smiling, and the sight was so precious that you almost didn't want to leave.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip gently, chewing on it as you board the elevator towards the end of the hall. You hit the down button, fingers curling around the strap of your bag as you tap your foot against the ground idly.

The metals doors slide open with ease after a few moments, the gentle ding! sounding through the small space, indicating you had arrived onto the ground floor.

But the sight you're met with on the other side of the door makes you want to drag the metal doors close with your bare hands and slam the up button as hard as you can—

And suddenly, your hands feel clammy and your mouth goes dry as your supervisor tugs you along with clouded eyes—her mouth is set into a firm line, and your colleagues flutter around you nervously. All of their faces are twisted with an emotion you don't understand—and your heart positively drops to the floor when you're pulled into a meeting room with Enji Todoroki sitting at the front.

Enji's shoulders are squared, and he's hunched forward just the slightest bit as his gaze narrows in on you. Someone's telling you to sit down—but you can't breathe. Your chest physically hurts as your supervisor leads you to a chair as gently as she can manage—her usual hard gaze is broken, completely shattered and revealing the unspoken sadness beneath

And you finally realize. They know—because Enji is suddenly tossing a handful of blurry photographs onto the table. He's yelling loudly at someone, his tone rough and demanding attention. But you can't meet his gaze, and your eyes are burning like he's lit them on fire himself.

Because those are pictures of you and Touya kissing. Those are pictures of you and Touya holding hands. Those are pictures of you and Touya murmuring lowly to each other with your foreheads pressed together.

The photographs are grainy—they were obviously taken at night, and it looked like they were taken through a God damn window. It sounds like someone is yelling at Enji for spying, but you can't find the strength to try and organize the chaos around you

This wasn't supposed to happen. You promised yourself nothing like this would happen.

"She clearly isn't suitable enough to decide when I can visit my son. The nerve this woman has to say she may never allow me to see him again is ridiculous. He is my son, and she clearly isn't a good doctor if she has relations like this with him."

He grills you down with that forever present scowl, and the tears brimming in your eyes are traitorous as they roll down your cheeks silently

Enji did all of this because he wanted to see Touya sooner. He spied on you to find something to use against you. And he had just unknowingly ruined your entire career.

People who can swim in their money and power are careless when it comes to people who are nowhere near as privileged. They don't understand how delicate some situations are—and how power and money can't solve every problem. A muscle in Enji's jaw ticks when your supervisor's trembling voice speaks up—telling him that you'll be removed immediately from Touya's care.

"Fired? No, no that's not what I need. What I need is for another doctor to reevaluate Touya's condition and understand that he is ready to see me. I know I was an unexpected visitor the last time I came, but—"

Your supervisor cuts him off sharply

"You have presented us with photo evidence of Y/n breaking company policy. It doesn't matter what your goal was from all of this, because now we have no choice but to fire her. You blew up and sent these to the hospital's board and all the higher ups before speaking to us about the situation directly. They're erasing all of her files as we speak."

Something in Enji's hard gaze falters at her words

"In your email to the board, you described the situation as if Y/n took advantage of Touya's mental state. You made her look like—like a monster. And she was the best thing to happen to your son." She spat, words calculated and cruel as she glares at Enji with nothing but hatred simmering in her gaze

The cries you had been trying so desperately to hold back finally escape, and a strangled sob leaves your lips. The broken sound tears through the air like a knife. Enji blinks as if he doesn't understand a single word that leaves your supervisor's lips before his eyes harden again

"I don't want her fired—"

"But that's what's going to happen! What else could you expect?" She explodes, tears of frustration in her eyes as she grips the back of your chair with trembling fingers

You've worked under this woman for years. She was a constant in your work life–and she'd helped you become a wonderful doctor over time. But this one slip up—one that could've been controlled if Enji hadn't intervened—would mean the end of your time here.

And Enji knows you were the only doctor Touya was willing to cooperate with. The only one he would even listen to.

"Did you know we had to add another month to Touya's rehabilitation plan when Y/n took one sick day? He behaved absolutely terribly in those few hours. He went backwards in terms of progress. And now, Y/n will not be allowed to treat him ever again. Do you understand what you've done?"

And reality finally slaps Enji in the face. Hard. Because his entire demeanor deflates in a second as his face falls

He finally glances at you, and you're an absolute wreck.

You're tugging at your hair, your lips are quivering as you struggle to stay quiet and keep your emotions in check. Even though it didn't matter if you started wailing at the top of your lungs—you had already lost your job, there was no need to try and compose yourself now. But you remain ever professional, stifling your cries as much as you can as your chin wobbles.

Someone's rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you, and Enji takes a step away from you like he's been physically struck

You had just failed Touya. You failed him.

He was sleeping blissfuly unaware a few floors up, oblivious to the fact that your carelessness was going to destroy everything you had worked so hard on building

Touya's heart is fragile. He was going to break.

Touya needs you like an artist needs their muse. Touya needs you like a dancer needs their music. Being separated from you would be like tearing a flower out of the ground—he would just wilt and waste away until there was nothing left.

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

a/n; i know a lot of people talk about touya's eyes but wow...they really are so beautiful. like, they are other worldly. i'm rewatching clips of him and oh my goshh he is my muse forever and ever idfc how many new interests i get over the years. no one can come close to the place he has in my heart. 🥺

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— CAN'T WE BE SEVENTEEN? ; shoto todoroki ; 焦凍

summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen. pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings wordcount: 5.6k a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.

You never did go pro.

Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development. 

The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:

What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?

How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun? 

You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago. 

Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide. 

You see it differently.

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. 

Not so seventeen anymore, Shoto Todoroki. 

I'll swerve the car hard with him in it😛😛

Loser

Shoto and dabi!!

silly texts!

featuring: k!bakugo, i!midoryia, e!kirishima, d!kaminari, h!shinsou, s!hanta, s!todoroki, k!takami, t!todoroki.

authors note: complete crack smau, suggestiveness, humour, fluff.. basically meme texts plus some of my own ideas! m.list! ignore the typo in shinous pls!

p.s sorry if these are ooc

That face he did to jogo! 😏

Reblogs are appreciated!!