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angel-scythe · 5 years

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Chloe : Chapter 23

Hello, hello!! I think it’s a chapter 23... I’m so bad with number?

I had harsh time lately so I don’t think I’ll be able to participe to rarepairship week as planned but I’ll do my best for the DBH Month in the end. I just need a bit of time...

Anyway, I really love this chapter because it’s full of softness and fluff?

I hope you will love it too.

Just push gentle the door or keep reading?

| °|

15th December, 20:42

In fact, when Elizabeth didn’t come home, Gavin could stay at work really longtime. It was Felix himself whom forcer the Human detective to leave. If the man didn’t sleep or, at least, rest, he couldn’t do a good job tomorrow when they’ll go to his parents tomorrow. Well, in fact, he didn’t know it was their parents. He seemed to have found they were the criminals since a moment but wanted to let Gavin discover it, for him to be happy, even if he showed regrets for the ST200 drowned. However, he didn’t know Gavin used to be Chloe and Reed preferred that.

So it was this late when Gavin pushed his apartment’s door.

“I’ll take a shower. I’m sweating. And they said it’s Winter? My ass!”

“Will you eat?” Connor asked.

“Yeah probably. Doesn’t swallow a lot of food today.” Gavin took off his pullover and threw him in the sofa.

He already put his jacket at the peg.

“Okay. Do you want me to prepare something?”

“Don’t bother you. I’ll just throw some shit on bread.”

“Okay. Are you sure it would be enough? Maybe you can make a soup or something?”

“I’ll take a look but don’t fucking annoy me,” he said.

He went to Elizabeth’s room to take some stuff.

“Okay.”

Connor sat down in the sofa. He looked as Gavin went back with a new boxer and some covers for the night.

“Take a book or something,” the Human said as he saw the boy looking him.

“If it’s what you want.”

“Okay, you piss me off. What do you want. Don’t think. Quick.”

“Uuh…”

“Not ‘uuh’ what do you want? Don’t think!”

Connor was happy to be surrounded by people like Hank and Gavin. It was easier to really feel alive. Because when he became a Deviant, for him… nothing changed. Everybody at Jericho, or New-Jericho, told him it was really different but not for him. Except the fact he killed Amanda so felt more lost again.

“I’d like to come with you.”

“In the bathroom?”

“Yes. But I don’t want to annoy you.”

Gavin sighed and came in the bathroom. Connor looked annoyed and shy in the same time. The man went out and went again in Elizabeth’s room. This time, the Android was perplexed and followed the new coming and going.

The last time, Gavin didn’t come out from the bathroom but Connor didn’t hear the shower’s sound and he was quite perplexed.

“Are you coming, dipshit? Or I should send you a memo?”

“I can come?”

“Do it before I change my mind.”

Connor got up and took off his shoes to let them with Gavin’s one then entered the room. It was really a little one with the sink almost on top of the WC and a tiny shower closed by a blue shower curtain. The floor was quite wet, probably because the stream would get out. Wash machine and dryer were in the other side with a big basket for dirty clothes and few wire were tender above them to let dry some clothes which couldn’t go to the dryer. And a little radiator finished overcharging the little room.

“You’re sure? I don’t want to bother you…” he said while closing the room.

“Yeah.”

Gavin hesitated few seconds and then came to him. He caught his vest edge then took it off. His hands went then toward the belt which ended in the floor pretty quickly. So, Connor just imitated him since it was what he did the best. Gavin kissed his throat. There was an upgrade Connor didn’t mention to Elizabeth… now he could feel the touch of Gavin’s hands, fingers, lips. And when he wanted to moan, it was only thanks to the kindness, the envy, the lust. Not just because he was happy to share something with the man.

“I took stuff for you but you should think to bring some at yours. This asshole didn’t you offer some fucking clothes?”

Connor felt his tight rose and he put it around Gavin’s waist. He threw the other one to rejoin the first and kissed him while he felt the strange contact of clothes rubbing against his synthetic skin.

“He does. You… want me to put clothes of mine here?”

He let his forehead went against Gavin’s one as he moved just enough to let the man push down his trousers.

“Why not? You passed a lot of your fucking time here and then you should borrow things which belongs to me and people ask themselves.”

“Well… it’s normal?”

Gavin put him down.

“I forget that…”

His fingers came across the garters Connor was wearing to keep his shirt well in place.

“That’s still sexy.”

“I’ll keep wear it, if you want to.”

“Deal,” the man said before putting a kiss on his neck. “But now, do you want me to take it off?”

“Yes.”

The Human pressed the little attach one time, two times, three times and finally fours. Well since the socks got the same, he would do it four times again but for starting, it’ll be here. He unfastened the button and let the clothes slide along his boyfriend arms, putting soft kisses on his skin. It was really soft and he liked to see all the little beauty spot. He took care to kiss each of them. He felt Connor’s hand in his hair and even soft moan. Very cute.

He looked his body, soft, without any hair. He knew it was a body made. Piece by piece and he certainly was made to be beautiful since Elijah had a thing for the beauty. And really… Connor looked perfect.

“Something’s wrong?” the Android asked softly while passing his fingers in the soft Gavin’s hair chest.

He liked this feeling. The feeling of tickling and especially of his circuits warming because Gavin smiled. Despite the fact that the smile was… weird.

“Everything is fucking alright.” He caressed his nape and then kneel, putting kiss on his thigh as he took off the garters.

His lips came toward the down as he felt fingers against his head. The two other garters and the socks fell on the floor as he kissed the inner thigh again and again. Connor closed his eyes as he liked the feeling. Gavin’s hands pressed against his waist and bring him toward the floor to make him end on his laps.

Connor smiled and let a little moan came as the teeth bite his throat then his left shoulder. The Android couldn’t believe it would be as pleasant as that. He could find the pressure of his circuits and it tickled. He felt the cold of the floor as he found his back against the tiles, the man hovering above him.

“I didn’t know it’s like that Human takes shower,” Connor smiled.

“Yeah, not the unusual way. You’re cute. I like to see you there but if you want to take the shower…”

Connor felt something in his boyfriend’s voice.

“I can take my shower after you, if you want.”

“I don’t know… Since we’re there, I’d like to continue but…”

Gavin jammed his teeth and got up a bit.

“Fuck!” he said, going on his knees to push and really got up.

“Do you want… to see my true me? As you’ll do it, I can do it…”

“How’s that?” Gavin frowned.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Connor got up a bit and he touched his temple. Then, his skin disappeared little by little. The only thing that stayed, it was his cheeks, blue. It was obvious he didn’t like to show this part of him.

He remembered well that moment where they forced the Android to be naked. Real naked, until this.

“I’m sorry to show you that…”

“It’s fucking weird but…”

Gavin rose his hands and approached them of Connor’s cheek. The Android nodded and the man touched him. It was weird, colder. And there wasn’t any hair, eyebrow or little beauty spot. He was only white with bar code, number on his… plastic?

“It’s… particular. Really. But…”

He caressed his cheek then his neck.

He looked right in his eyes and could see the soft iris brown. It was the beauty of Connor there. And when he saw the features of Connor changed, he could see his pretty face. Even if it was really weird.

“Okay… my fucking turn.”

Gavin got up and passed his hand on his hair, searching for courage. Connor was sit on the ground.

“Do you want to put your skin back?”

“I’ll wait.”

Connor put his hands on the edge on his slip.

“Do you want we’re doing together?”

“Yeah.”

Gavin felt stupid but it was something very important to him. It was something he wasn’t and he knew it was the same for Connor when he removed his skin. So, he should show the monstrosity of his lowest part to the Android but he hated it for so long. And he hated that David already saw this. He would have wanted someone didn’t know…

In the end, Connor was just like David. He knew from the beginning and it was hard because he couldn’t feel himself like a man. Like the man he was. The ghost of Chloe was still there and it was horrible.

“One…” he said.

“Two,” Connor accompanied.

Gavin took a long breath.

“Three.”

The underwear went down and finished in the floor. Connor got up and passed his arms around Gavin’s shoulders.

“You didn’t…”

“Didn’t need it. But I want you to feel able to, if you want or need. I saw the nudity you didn’t want me to see long ago and I know your past… partly.”

Gavin moved his fingers on his temple, trying to put the skin back, to let Connor feel better. The Android brought the hand on his LED.

“There.”

The skin came back.

“Do I look better now?”

Gavin touched his chest, where the heart was in a Human body.

“You look nice.”

Connor took his hand to put it on his belly, where the pump was.

“There.”

“You fucking piss me off right now, you plastic prick.”

“I’m sorry!”

Gavin took his hand.

“There, it’s okay?”

“It is,” Connor smiled.

The man dragged him toward the shower cabin then tugged on the plastic curtain.

“The water always piss me off, it’s hard to have a nice temperature. Too cold in Winter, too hot in Summer.”

“Okay. But can’t feel it. It would be stupid because of the work.”

“Ugh, shut up.”

Gavin turned on the water and the stream was really cold and he shivered. Connor hugged him and looked him in the eyes. Their hair, because of the water, paste against their forehead and the Human pushed a lock on the soft Connor’s visage.

“Let’s showered quickly and just quit this fucking shit.”

“Yes, if it’s what you want.”

“I want to leave this fucking shit and roll under cover.”

“Can we cuddle?”

“Yeah, why not.”

Connor smiled and pressed a soft kiss on his lips then retreated a little bit. Gavin took the shampoo to put it in his hair, ruffling them. Now he didn’t smoke anymore, even if he liked to chew gum in moment of great tense, and you could feel it in his smell however, right now, he tried to took off the smell of Kamski’s house because it make him feel weird.

He was happy to see his brother and… it couldn’t because it wasn’t him. And he saw him bad because of him.

It was a shitty day. Even if Connor loved him.

He saw the soft brown eyes.

“Come here!”

He took him against his chest and put his hands on his hair. Connor laughed and accepted the man to shampoo his hair. He kissed his lips as the soap stream on their face.

#it's on ao3 #Transgender #Fluff #Softness #rareship #Convin #Gavnor #Gavin reed #Chloe #Connor rk800 #Gavin x Connor #love #I love this ship so much

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cherylblossom · 7 years

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Hi:) I tried pm-ing you but I couldn't reach as we're not mutuals! I was wondering, I saw somewhere you might ship jeronica and I wanted to ask you for som jughead/Veronica gifs/edits if your willing

Hi! Yeah, after that short exchange they had in the diner in 1x04, they became sort of a little crack ship for me. I’m not sure if the show will ever go there though

You can PM me now if you want :)

#replies #anon

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kiriluvbot · 3 years

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holy fuck

i uh. i’m. maybe. got a bit. carried away. maybe. possibly. it’s almost done tho... just... a thousand more words maybe...

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #seroroki #todoroki shouto #hanta sero #seroroki brainrot #rarepairship #parent srrk #srrk as dads #jesus god help me

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kiriluvbot · 3 years

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hey losers i’ve got almost 8k words now hAAAA

have some fun lil sneaks of todo and his kitten

when i started this i expected it to be brief and sweet but instead it’s long as hell and tooth rottingly sweet and i show no signs of slowing down :)

#seroroki #todoroki shouto #hanta sero #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #seroroki brainrot #rarepairship #parent au #parent srrk #srrk as dads

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kiriluvbot · 3 years

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crop top

—

“shouto.”

those hands slide up and over his chest. “hanta.”

he swallows. “what are you doing?”

shouto pauses, eyes falling to where his hands have disappeared beneath hanta’s homemade bright pink crop top. “admiring the artwork.”

or; sero wears a crop top. todoroki thinks he’s sneaky. bakugo just wants a snack.

—

it’s a quiet sunday night when shouto todoroki finds hanta sero humming in the kitchen, drying off cups he may or may not have snuck into his room over the past several days.

it’s a quiet sunday night, and shouto spent half the day asleep and the other half doing homework, and he misses his boyfriend. hanta hadn’t been in his room, so the kitchen was the next best place to search for him.

it’s a quiet sunday night, and hanta sero is tippy toeing to place cups back where they belong in the cabinets. he’s tippy toeing and—

ah.

he’s wearing a crop top.

hanta sero is wearing a crop top.

hanta sero, hero in training, shouto’s boyfriend, is tippy toeing in a crop top, arms raised up high and—

shouto thanks his lucky stars. it’s not often hanta wears crop tops, but when he does—

silent, without even intending to be, shouto pads across the kitchen floor, rubbing exhaustion from his eyes. hanta is settling flat back on his feet, still humming, when shouto comes up behind him and, without warning or any preamble, pushes his hands up his shirt, hugs him from behind.

“found you,” shouto says, completely oblivious to the way hanta nearly jumps out of his skin.

“jesus christ,” hanta clutches his chest, peering over his shoulder at the two toned boy. “where did you come from? you scared the shit outta me!”

shouto’s arms slide around hanta’s waist, fingers splayed out across his abs. his eyes fall shut as he presses his cheek into hanta’s shoulder blade, smiling and content. hanta’s built like a dancer, and shouto likes to appreciate the art work, more shameless and less secretive as time goes on.

“was looking for you,” is all shouto offers him.

hanta inhales sharply. one of shouto’s hands is cold, the other warm, and both of them are, for some reason, rather sneaky tonight. hanta swears he isn't ticklish, but he is, and shouto isn’t being very cautious.

hanta gave denki a bloody nose after a tickle fight once. it was an accident, but denki grabbed his sides and his elbows went flying.

“you found me,” hanta says, still trying to sneak a peek at shouto’s ducked head behind him. “i’m almost done putting up these dishes, then we can—we can go upstairs or something.”

or something. hanta takes a shaky breath, still a little scared and still trying not to knock shouto out every time his sly fingers brush his sides. heat crawls up his neck. he'll never get used to shouto being like this.

shouto hums, and it vibrates through hanta’s back. his thumbs rub circles into hanta’s skin, hands still exploring but staying in relatively safe territory. except hanta can’t really put dishes up with shouto clinging to him the way he is, with his strong arms wrapped around hanta’s waist.

just let me finish these dishes, man. two more seconds and you’ll have my undivided attention, i swear.

“can the dishes wait?�� shouto shifts. hanta can feel his hands flatten on his stomach, as he stands up straight.

hanta opens his mouth to respond, chuckling lightly, trying to bite back a growing grin, when warm lips press into the nape of his neck.

oh.

maybe the dishes can wait.

shouto’s left hand disappears and reappears up high, pulling the collar of his shirt out of his way. hanta closes his eyes as shouto plants another warm kiss to his shoulder. then another, and another, pulling the collar further as he explores all the skin available to him. his heart crawls up his throat.

“shou, you know—“

“hm?” another kiss to the hollow of hanta’s collarbone, closer to his neck. it’s warm in here. was it warm in here earlier? maybe not this warm. shouto’s heating up the air with his quirk without even realizing. his cool hand is still exploring hanta’s stomach, his chest pressed to hanta’s back. it’s a lot. it’s not enough.

it’s almost laughable. hanta pushes away all the cups he has yet to put up so he doesn’t knock them over by accident.

“we can—“ he can’t even say it, not with his voice shaking, as shouto kisses the crook of his neck, slow and careful. “we, um—we should go upstairs.” another kiss, higher on his neck, slick and deliberate. god.

“yeah,” shouto murmurs. what the fuck. he’s hardly ever like this. why in the kitchen of all places? why am i complaining? i’m not complaining. any place is good. any—holy shit. shouto’s teeth graze the spot just below his ear and he breaks out in goosebumps. “maybe.”

hanta blinks, and blinks again, breath catching in his throat. he turns around, with what little room he has, seeing as shouto has effectively trapped him against the counter. when he turns, shouto’s hands keep sliding, and when hanta is fully facing him, his hands creep right back up to where they were when this began.

god.

shouto’s hair is a mess, like he’s barely just woken up. his eyes are glassy and sharp. he looks—well, needy. clingy. knowing. the corner of his lip is quirked up, and hanta wants to scoop him up and carry him back to his room, right at this exact moment.

“shouto.”

those hands slide up and over his chest. “hanta.”

he swallows. “what are you doing?”

shouto pauses, eyes falling to where his hands have disappeared beneath hanta’s homemade bright pink crop top. “appreciating the artwork.”

he laughs at that, embarrassingly breathy. his neck still tingles. “shouto.”

blue and gray find black. “hanta.”

“are you gonna kiss me like you mean it now or are you just gonna keep teasing me until i flip you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs myself?”

there it is.

shouto’s ghost of a smirk goes wide—it’s a wonderful sight—as he leans in, shutting hanta in against the countertop completely, hands still exploring what shouto can’t see. he can feel hanta’s heart pounding as he closes the gap and kisses hanta like he means it.

hanta’s eyes fall closed as those lips finally find his own, closes them tighter when shouto squeezes his sides, fingers winding into two toned locks and trying not to pull. any coherent thought leaves his head when shouto’s fingers dance down, down, down, then back up, then around, down again. everywhere.

shouto’s teasing him. on purpose.

it’s working.

well, it would work better if hanta didn’t suck in a breath every time those fingers ghost over some of the most ticklish spots on his stomach. don’t laugh. god, please don’t laugh. it’s—jesus christ.

if he could even think straight, he’d wonder if shouto remembers how ticklish he is, how he rediscovers how ticklish hanta is every single time shouto dips his hands under his shirt. which is, to be honest, more often than one would think. it’s a very strange sensation, being dizzy from the touch, dizzy with want and with trying really hard not to laugh.

the cups are forgotten.

it’s when shouto sucks on his bottom lip that hanta lets out the most embarrassing, breathiest sigh of his life. shouto hears it, too, because he smiles without letting go, hanta can feel it. shouto takes a breath, squeezes hanta’s waist, and does it again.

they definitely should go upstairs. the countertop digs into the small of hanta’s back. if either of them were thinking rationally, they’d worry about someone coming in. well, hanta would. shouto wouldn't. shouto doesn't. he never worries at all, completely oblivious and unknowing when he kisses hanta in public, when he touches him in the presence of other people, deliberately or accidentally.

if he could even think straight, hanta would wonder if shouto even realizes how much power he has over hanta.

but since neither of them are paying attention, the location doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

it’s when shouto’s lips trail down hanta’s jaw, teeth grazing his neck that surprisingly gentle footsteps enter the kitchen.

“what the fuck.”

hanta’s eyes fly open. shouto doesn't exactly stop, either because he didn’t hear the third voice or because he simply doesn't care, so hanta takes to gently pushing him back. which then makes shouto whine. because why wouldn’t he whine when there’s someone watching from the doorway of the kitchen, catching them in the act of being entirely way too adventurous. in the fucking kitchen. hanta’s soul leaves him, his entire body flushing with embarrassment.

“oh my god,” hanta starts, stomach and neck and every single part of him on fire. “bakugo, holy shit, dude—“

bakugo.

katsuki fucking bakugo stands in the entryway, brows pinched together, eyes narrowed in the most accusatory way hanta’s ever seen, fists balled at his sides. his face is red.

bakugo’s face is red.

“what. in the goddamn fuck.”

shouto detaches himself from hanta, and hanta really wishes he hadn’t. bakugo’s eyes stay trained on hanta’s face, on the swollen redness of his lips, on the trail of teased skin on his neck.

he considers taping bakugo to the ceiling, or maybe covering his eyes with tape, or maybe using his tape to swing the hell out of here.

hanta is sure it’s a horrible sight. shouto sighs, leans his head against hanta’s arm as he laces their fingers together. that, at least, keeps him on earth, keeps him from completely unraveling and running away.

“dude,” hanta starts again. “bakugo, i’m so—we just, uh—“

“no,” bakugo holds up a hand like he’s gonna blast them both to pieces. “nope. absolutely fucking not. i don’t wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

“i swear, we were just leaving. um, we—just, please—don’t say—“

warning sparks ignite in his palm. shouto yawns.

“get a fuckin’ room, you animals!” bakugo keeps turning redder. “i didn’t wanna fuckin’ see that—fuckin’—“

“close your eyes then,” shouto offers, tugging at hanta’s hand.

hanta chokes on laughter as bakugo face screws up impossibly tighter. “damn you, icyhot bastard! i’m not in the mood for your shit! just—god, get outta the damn kitchen!”

hanta is ready to melt through the floor at this point. to turn to dust, to never been seen again. every inch of him is burning up with embarrassment and want and it’s shouto’s fault. he squeezes the two toned boys hand back and starts leading the way out of the kitchen, bowing to bakugo as he passes.

“please don’t tell anyone,” hanta practically begs.

bakugo is trying not to look him in the eye, trying to ignore the darkening spots on his neck. “yeah, yeah, whatever. go on!”

shouto follows behind hanta with his head held high, hair a disaster, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. he even has the audacity to wink at bakugo when hanta isn’t looking anymore.

they're lucky the entire kitchen doesn’t get blown to bits.

“what the fuck,” hanta sighs when they finally make it to the elevator. shouto doesn’t release his hand. hanta doesn’t want him to let go. in fact, he would like to continue what they started before he dies, but embarrassment overpowers everything else. “that was—that was horrible.”

shouto presses the button for their floor when he finally looks hanta in the face again. hanta’s red, redder than even bakugo was, and he won’t stop chewing the inside of his cheek.

“you’re super red,” shouto comments.

hanta huffs at that, squeezes shouto’s hand. he doesn’t look shouto in the eye. he can’t. “yeah? well, i’m—i’m really embarrassed.”

shouto tilts his head, white hair splaying across his forehead. hanta watches the elevator doors close, blinks when shouto reaches up to tuck a piece of hanta’s hair behind his ear. “why?”

hanta looks at him, then, jaw nearly dropping to the floor. shouto doesn’t look embarrassed, only mildly disheveled. mildly. well, maybe a bit more than mildly. “why?” hanta outright laughs at that. “shou, bakugo just—just walked in on us making out.”

“so?”

so?!

“you had your hands up my shirt.”

“yeah.”

“you had me pinned against the counter.”

“i know.”

hanta’s brain clouds with question marks.

“we—we were making out. in the kitchen and bakugo—katsuki bakugo saw us.”

shouto nods. “yes, i remember.”

is the elevator slow today? hanta rubs the back of his neck; a nervous tick.

“that wasn’t embarrassing for you?”

“not really,” shouto sighs, not dismissive, just a deep breath, like he’s reminiscent or something dramatic like that. hanta considers shoving him into the wall right here. “i’d like to pick up where we left off, though—hey, you're really red again.”

hanta stares at him, flushing from his head all the way down to his toes again. heat crawls over his skin. he almost laughs, turning his eyes to the ceiling in silent prayer. “you’re gonna kill me, shou.”

this doesn’t sit right with shouto at all. “what? why would you say that? what did i do?”

“not literally, i just—“ hanta pulls shouto close to him and admires the way shouto blushes, for the first time all night. the elevator doors open. finally. god. “come on, shou. we’re going to my room.”

finally.

then hanta picks shouto up, wraps his legs around his waist and marches down the hall, both of them laughing quietly and murmuring things to the other. hanta digs for his key without taking his eyes off shouto, off the high blush on his cheeks, off the way his hair frames his face as shouto peppers him in kisses, much sweeter and gentler than before.

after the door is unlocked, hanta kicks it open, tosses his key somewhere he’s sure he won’t be able to find, and shoves the door closed again.

shouto’s grinning like a madman the entire time, already sneaking his hands back up hanta’s crop top.

—

bakugo doesn’t tell a fucking soul, and even puts up the cups hanta forgot about.

—

drops this and sprints away, again

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904657

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kiriluvbot · 3 years

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i saw bakusero art of them as dads raising three children and now i’ve got mild baby fever and the intense urge to write seroroki as fathers. jesus take the wheel.

hERE ARE MY IDEAS THO. tell me baking/cooking wouldn’t be a big thing in the seroroki household! it absolutely would be! cooking and movie nights! reading to the kids in their rooms! playing hide and seek in the backyard!

shouto is not very great with kids but he’s wonderful with his own! he’s very nervous and is always scared he’s doing the whole parenting thing wrong, so sometimes he’s a lil overprotective or overbearing and hanta has to remind him he’s doin great, tjat he just needs to relax!

hanta is wonderful with kids becayse i KNOW that man has younger siblings!!! he’s a hellion, he knows how to keep them occupied and how to entertain them without anyone getting hurt. he’s the Coolest Dad but even cool dads get insecure, he never wants his kids to feel like they can’t come to him or that they have to keep secrets, so he’s very chill and very open and shouto learns a lot from him, and he learns a lot from shouto in turn.

obviously by the time theyre raising whole ass children together, they’ve been established for a while, but there’s always something new to learn with new situations, especially when small humans are introduced. they work together well, and they’re always lifting the other up and supporting them while raising and protecting their kids at the same time.

srrk as dads is possibly one of the best ideas i’ve ever had

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #seroroki #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto #hanta sero #seroroki brainrot #rarepairship #seroroki for the win #sero and todoroki as dads #parent srrk #dad srrk #headcanons #i need to write this so bad

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kiriluvbot · 3 years

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howdy srrk nation tonight i offer u bits n pieces of what i’m currently working on

dad srrk brainrot stronger than ever

i’m just... a sucker. simple as that

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto #hanta sero #seroroki brainrot #rarepairship #seroroki #srrk #srrk as dads #parent au #parent srrk

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kiriluvbot · 3 years

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just the two of us

outside, hanta stands with his phone in hand, other hand raised to knock again. he drops it, and all shouto can do is stare.

“i’m so sorry,” hanta whispers, and his voice is ragged.

or; a rushed confession in shouto todoroki’s bathroom.

—

shouto is sprawled across his floor like a starfish, glaring at the ceiling. white and red pools around his head, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

where is he?

he checks his phone, quiet at his side, and finds no new messages.

the house is empty. he spent a solid hour and a half after school cleaning his room to prepare for him. he made sure his parents would be out, made sure none of his siblings wanted to make a surprise visit for dinner. he even made sure he didn’t have any homework for the night.

because it’d been a minute since they hung out, and shouto misses him.

him.

hanta sero.

shouto sighs, wistful and irritated. hanta looked so—so pretty at school today (well, every day). breathtaking. dazzling. shouto doesn’t really have the words to describe hanta or the way he makes him feel or how much shouto just wants him to push him against a wall and kiss him until neither of them can see straight. shouto’s face heats up at that.

he thinks of the last time he went over to hanta’s house, just a few weeks ago. when hanta tried to teach him to skateboard, holding his hand when he got nervous, smiling at him like maybe hanta was having just as much fun as shouto. shouto collapsed in hanta’s hammock and they read manga together until dinner.

staying for dinner at hanta’s house had been a first for shouto, even despite being friends for several years now. eating the table with hanta’s enormous and loud family had felt so… perfect. comfortable. like shouto belonged there and blended in, even despite having two toned hair and being much quieter than the others.

afterward, when shouto got ready to leave, he summoned the courage to kiss hanta’s cheek. that was truly the cherry on top.

it was one of the best days of shouto’s entire life. he’d gone home flushed and elated, and absolutely nothing about his own home could crush the high he was riding.

every single day since then, shouto relives the memory of hanta’s skin beneath his lips.

but right now, hanta is late, nearly an hour late, and they’ve had this planned for over a week. if shouto were the glare any harder at the ceiling above him, it might catch fire.

what could hanta possibly be doing? it’s a friday afternoon, it’s six o’clock, and have i mentioned this has been planned for a while. surely hanta hasn’t ditched him? he’s never ditched him before, and if he has something come up he always lets shouto know. he’s thoughtful like that.

anxiety pools in shouto’s gut. maybe he’s finally gotten tired of shouto. maybe hanta has finally decided shouto isn’t worth his time anymore. maybe, worst of all, hanta has caught on to shouto’s crush and is so creeped out he doesn’t ever wanna talk to shouto again.

shouto sits up, frowning. that can’t be it. right? hanta is a good person, a great person, the nicest and most pure shouto’s ever met. hanta wouldn’t do that to him.

his phone reads 6:07 pm and shouto considers calling hanta, but he really doesn’t want to be pushy. he gets ready to stand, pulling a hand through his hair and trying to gather his thoughts. aside from the anxiety, he’s almost hurt. mad, even. and shouto has never been angry with hanta before. he’s never had a reason to be, but right now—

shouto calls him.

one ring, he’s on his feet.

two rings, he’s pacing his room.

three rings, his blood starts to boil. hanta wouldn’t ditch him. hanta wouldn’t do that. if he’s late, maybe it’s because—

the call goes to voicemail after five rings. hanta declined his call.

oh.

shouto stares at his phone screen in disbelief, two toned brows pinching together. an ugly feeling bleeds through him and he’s not at all sure what he’s supposed to do about it.

sit here and continue to wait? lock his doors and pretend there was never a plan to hang out at all? go to fuyumi’s, tell her about this strange feeling in his chest and hope she understands? god knows he’d never tell his parents.

shouto steps out of his room, trying to storm into the kitchen but not really sure how to storm. he wants to be angry, but guilt weighs him down even more. maybe he should text hanta. maybe he should just ask what’s wrong. maybe he could call again.

he pours himself a glass of water, hanta’s text conversation pulled up on his phone. there’s not a single new message.

should he say where are you? should he say are you avoiding me? should he ask if something’s wrong, if something’s come up? should he text him at all if hanta went through the moves of declining his call?

fuck it.

shouto: where are you?

he takes a drink.

seen by hanta at 6:12 pm.

another drink.

no response. shouto takes a deep breath, quickly coming to realize this ugly feeling unfurling in his chest is something close to dread.

there’s a knock at the door.

his parents don’t knock. neither fuyumi nor natsu are supposed to come by today.

shouto takes his sweet time going to answer it, trying to calm his heart rate. he doesn’t check the peephole. he pulls open the door, fully expecting one of his siblings, so he tries to look at peace and not at all ready to bury himself in his room and never come back out again.

outside, hanta stands with his phone in hand, other hand raised to knock again. he drops it, and all shouto can do is stare.

hanta has been taller than him for as long as they’ve known each other. but now he’s hunched over, like a dog trying to cower away from punishment. his glittering dark hair is tucked behind his ears, curling around his neck, earrings on full display. he’s beautiful.

“i’m so sorry,” hanta whispers, and his voice is ragged.

it’s then that shouto really gets a look at him, and he’s really not sure how he missed it at all.

it draws shouto’s attention to his lips, where the bottom one is busted and bleeding. his left cheek is blooming purple and green and blue, dark spots of black and red like the blood didn't quite make it to the surface. it sort of looks like he face planted while skateboarding, maybe ran face first into a really hard wall.

but shouto knows better.

“shouto—“

“don’t apologize,” shouto says, already reaching for hanta’s sleeve. “get your ass in here.”

he pulls a battered hanta through the doorway and hardly waits for him to toe his shoes off. shouto keeps pulling, through the living room, the kitchen. down the hall. closer to his room. he files away the weird anger and hurt he felt just a few minutes ago and focuses on what’s important: hanta.

they reach shouto’s bedroom. once they’re inside, shouto releases hanta and goes to shut the door, leaning against it after he hears the click. he doesn’t have time to be angry anymore because hanta is bleeding.

then hanta says, “please don’t be angry.” his eyes shine with guilt and secrets, and shouto can hardly stand to keep looking, can hardly stand to look away.

“why would i be angry?” shouto asks, knowing damn well he’d been ready to scream out all his rage prior to opening the front door.

“i—well, i’m late,” hanta starts explaining, voice painfully quiet. “i told you i’d be here—“

“hanta, who did this to you?” shouto interrupts. his heterochromic eyes scan the rest of hanta, looking for more blood, for more signs of what the hell happened.

hanta’s shirt is crumpled with blood on the collar, likely from wiping his lip. he’s dusty, too, and the knees of his jeans are ripped and torn. maybe he really did fall, but his body language says otherwise.

hanta seems to curl into himself, almost flinching at the question. he takes too long to answer. shouto glares at him like he glared at the ceiling. “...shou, can we please not—“

his eyes narrow. hanta didn’t fall.

“tell me who did it.”

had shouto ever fought anyone in his life? absolutely not. was he ready to start now, to get revenge for hanta? you bet your sweet ass he is. his fists clench at his sides, skin crawling with fiery rage and icy guilt. he can’t be angry at hanta; it wasn’t his fault he was late.

“it’s nothing serious,” hanta deflects, rubbing the back of his neck. a nervous tick. “really, um—“

“hanta.”

hanta looks him in the eye, and shouto can feel shame radiating off of him now. after a few seconds, hanta finally melts. gives in.

he sighs. “these guys from class 3C, they—they needed money, i guess, and—“

“tell me their names.” shouto’s mind starts swiping through their classmates, looking for anyone who could be at fault here. they had plenty of ruffians in their class, plenty of thieves and liars, but to go to these lengths? like middle schoolers? they were seventeen years old, dammit. who does this?

shouto has to know.

hanta starts to stand up a little straighter. “shou, no. please. i really don’t want to talk about it, alright?” there’s an edge to his tone that indicates he really is ashamed, maybe even embarrassed.

shouto’s frown deepens. he wonders if hanta had even seen them coming, whoever they were, and if he was able to put up a fight. shouto doesn’t think hanta has ever used his hands for violence a day in his life. it’s likely they shoved him down, took what they wanted, and left a few marks just so hanta wouldn’t be able to forget how badly they humiliated him.

after a moment of heated eye contact, shouto finally gives in. it happened, it’s over, hanta is here now. late, but here and whole.

“fine,” he says. “come on. i can clean you up.”

does he have any experience cleaning people up? not really but he’s helped hanta with many scraped knees and hands from skateboarding incidents as well as general incidents. hanta can be clumsy.

shouto pushes away from the door, ignoring the way hanta’s dark eyes follow him as he steps forward and takes hanta’s arm again. he ignores the heat crawling up his neck as hanta quietly falls in behind him, following shouto to the bathroom with his eyes still boring into the back of his two toned head.

hanta is the main character, shouto decides as the taller boy sits at the edge of the tub, twisting his hands in his lap. hanta is too good, too pure, too wonderful to be anything less than the main character.

shouto pulls out a first aid kit gifted to him by natsu, most likely something natsu was just trying to get rid of, and a wet washcloth. he kneels in front of hanta, and gets to work.

if shouto is anything, he’s meticulous. hanta calls it gentleness. shouto always replies with only for you.

his fingers are searing on hanta’s skin, light and careful as he cleans up blood and dust from his wounds. hanta had been high on adrenaline up until reaching shouto’s front door that he really hadn’t felt any pain. now that he’s more relaxed, he can feel everything all the way down to the bits of dirt and rocks sticking in his knees through the tiny rips of his jeans.

the process is slow and hanta takes it as an opportunity to admire shouto from up close. he doesn’t even try being sly as his eyes follow shouto’s multicolored ones, watching the flutter of his lashes, the way he chews his cheek when he’s focused.

he blows red and white hair out of his eyes and hanta almost smiles, dreamy and dazed even despite the situation they’re in.

“when did you learn how to clean wounds?” hanta teases, breaking the silence.

shouto doesn’t look at him. “practice from knowing someone very clumsy with hardly any regard for personal safety.” his lip quirks when he hears hanta chuckle. “also, instinct.”

hanta seems to like this answer, shouto can feel him smile beneath his working hands. “i trust your instinct.”

there’s a pause, and hanta wonders if he should’ve kept his mouth shut.

“why didn’t you answer my call?”

ah.

hanta swallows, smile fading. “i was running to get here and just—“ he cuts himself off. “that’s not an excuse. i apologize for that. i should've let you know where i was.”

shouto hums and hanta doesn’t miss the furrow of his brows, brief as the movement is. “i thought you were avoiding me.”

“wh-what? no. no, oh my god,” hanta sputters out. “i’m—this is really—just—no. definitely not avoiding you.” the definitely is accented by nervous laughter. shouto catches it.

hanta had never even dreamed of avoided shouto, never thought about it and never ever wanted to. even if he had wanted to, shouto was a magnet, and hanta was forever in his orbit. they would always come back to each other, one way or the other. that’s how the universe created them, that’s how the universe would keep them. hanta wouldn’t have it any other way.

then shouto sits back on his heels, pushing the first aid kit to the side. something about hanta’s tone doesn’t sit right with him, and anxiety crawls up his throat again. shouto chokes it down, lifts a hand to hanta’s face. he grabs his chin and makes the raven haired boy look him in the eye.

hanta goes willingly, in orbit and in love. he even leans into the touch like shouto hadn't spent the last half hour touching him. it’s never enough.

“have i done anything to—“ shouto frowns, suddenly unable to spit the words out. he drops his hand. “would you tell me if i ever do anything wrong? cross any lines?”

question marks full hanta’s mind, and he tilts his head, hair coming untucked from behind his ear.

“of course,” he replies, true and instant. of course. when shouto doesn’t seem satisfied with that, hanta reaches for the hand that fell, despite the nerves dancing in his veins. “shouto—“

shouto shuts his eyes tight, and says, “i thought you didn’t want to hang out with me because of what happened last time.”

hanta stares, the hand in his own warm and grounding. he tilts his head even further.

last time?

hanta thinks of the last time in question, about a week and a half ago, and the kiss shouto had placed on his cheek. hanta couldn't, would never, forget. hell, he thinks about it when wakes up in the morning, while he’s brushing his teeth, during class when he’s supposed to be paying attention. he thinks about it before he goes to sleep, and he’s pretty sure he’s dreamt of it a number of times.

he thought of it when he knocked on the door. he’s thinking of it now.

hanta smiles at him, a shaky smile that shouto doesn’t see because of his squeezed shut eyes. “why would i avoid you for that?”

gray and blue eyes open wide, unblinking and focused on hanta’s shirt. he squeezes hanta’s hand. “because—because i thought—“ he bites his lip, gives himself a second to think of a proper response. “i thought i crossed a line and freaked you out. that you were trying to get rid of me without—“ he hangs his head, red and white locks acting like a curtain. “without hurting my feelings.”

there is no i guess at the end of that sentence, because shouto never guesses, but it hangs in the air nonetheless.

“shouto.”

“hanta.”

with his free arm, hanta summons every ounce of courage and bravery he has within him, and dips his fingers under shouto’s chin. it’s his turn to lift the boy’s head, gently and slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wants to. shouto is hardly ever upset, and even when he is, it’s never written all over his face like it is right here in this moment.

“you didn’t cross a line. you didn’t freak me out.”

shouto goes where hanta’s fingers lead, closer and closer to eye level. hanta leans down, dark eyes meeting a storm of gray and blue. he smiles again, so shouto can see it this time, sympathetic and calming.

shouto opens his mouth, head spinning a mile a minute. this closeness is much closer than before, closer than ever, and he wishes for a pause button to catch his breath. “but—“

hanta tilts his head again and shouto blinks the stars out of his eyes. “those things never even crossed my mind. in fact, it’s kind of all i’ve thought about since you went home that day.”

shouto’s mental processor starts to malfunction. hanta is so close, so warm, so inviting, shouto’s drawn like a moth to a flame. this is dangerous, unexplored territory. he forgets about his anger, his worry, he forgets why hanta was late to begin with.

all he can think of is hanta.

“really?”

“really, shou. so don’t worry—“

all he can think of is how much hanta means to him, how he might drown if he doesn’t tell hanta exactly how he feels, right here and right now.

“hanta, i need to tell you something.”

hanta blinks, pulls back a little. “what is it?”

the closeness. the magnetism. the comfort. the feeling of coming home.

shouto looks at the bruise, at his busted lip, at the way hanta’s chest rises and falls.

shouto’s never really been one to openly admit how he feels if someone doesn’t ask him first, but this feels important.

“i like you,” he says, the words coming out as fast as his head spins. “i really, really like you.”

what he doesn’t say is this: i hope this doesn’t push you away from me.

in a panic, shouto leans forward to press his forehead against hanta’s own, eyes shut tight as his heartbeat runs out of control.

cool, calloused hands plant themselves on shouto’s burning cheeks after a moment. hanta pushes him back, just enough to catch his eye again. it’s quiet in this bathroom, in this house, but hanta’s head is screaming, in panic and victory.

“i like you,” hanta says, voice wavering just a bit. “shouto. i like you a lot.”

it’s enough.

—

at the end of the day, shouto led hanta to his front door. he got on his tippy toes and kissed the edge of hanta’s mouth, the uninjured side.

hanta had gone home feeling giddy and ridiculous and high on whatever was in that kiss shouto had given him.

—

gonna be honest not really feeling this one but that’s okay have it anyway!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30010554

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #seroroki #boku no hero academia #hanta sero #todoroki shouto #seroroki brainrot #rarepairship #ao3 seroroki #exasperated shouto #confessions #i wrote this very quickly then realized it’s exactly like the krbk i wrote and decided i hated it before i even finished #but take it anyway lol

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kiriluvbot · 3 years

Text

tender loving care

—

seroroki, sick fic, the second half

—

ten years after graduation, pro hero shoto’s agency

“sho? you in here?” pro hero creati’s gentle voice asks from somewhere across the room.

the sho in question is slumped at his desk, lights off, a blanket wrapped tightly around his grimy hero costume. he’s awake, but barely, and momo can see him shivering.

“‘m here.”

“are you okay?” she makes a move to flip on the light. “obviously you’re not okay. maybe—“

“don't turn on that light,” a severely uncomfortable shoto hisses, turning his head to look at her through shadowed eyes. his head is pounding, pressure building up at his temples. he’s pretty sure he’s about to throw up, so he lies (you know, like a fool) and says, “i’m fine.”

“did you find him? why’s it dark—oh, he’s in there?” mina ashido joins momo in the doorway, looking like she just came in from a rather busy patrol, covered in dust. “hey, shoto, what’s up with you? we thought you went home.”

“don’t feel like moving,” shoto groans and turns his forehead back into the flat of his desk. he thought about icing his hand and using it to cool his head, but he’s already so bitterly cold, and he’s too out of it to use his quirk how he wants to.

how heroic was it for shoto, one of the top ten heroes, to get so sick he literally couldn’t even use his quirk properly?

even the darkness makes his head hurt, his stomach twist.

“i think he’s sick,” momo murmurs.

“i am not sick,” shoto retorts.

“he’s definitely sick,” mina shakes her head. she turns to momo, lowering her voice. “i’ll get hanta on the phone.”

this catches his attention. “don’t. let him finish his patrol.”

mina gives him a scathing look, already pulling her phone out. “his patrol ends soon, anyway, so no harm done. you need to go home, sho. so unless you want one of us to take you…”

momo’s eyes widen. shoto curls into himself at the thought of moving at all, at the prospect of mina’s awful driving. “mina—“

“also,” she interrupts, tilting her head toward him. “he’ll be upset if we didn’t tell him his lover wasn’t doing well.” she pauses for dramatic effect. “am i wrong?”

shoto groans again, which makes his head hurt. mina smirks, exits into the hall to dial hanta.

“when did you start feeling bad?” momo asks him mildly, crossing the office. she moves his discarded boots out of the way, hangs his coat on the rack, observes the state he’s in.

shoto’s eyes are shut tight. he should probably be making a move for the trashcan soon with the way his stomach is twisting and turning like this. he should also probably answer honestly, because momo could generally always see through anyone’s bullshit.

“...last night.”

“last night?” she squeaks, obviously surprised. “why did you come to work today?”

“wasn’t bad til just a bit ago. probably just a—a common bug. just gimme a bit, i’ll be—“

momo comes up behind him, careful and kind as she rubs his back. “you didn’t tell hanta you were feeling bad?”

he doesn’t respond.

“oh, shoto,” she mutters, half to herself. “you push yourself too far. it’s okay to take a break when you need one. you’ve been telling that to us for over ten years now, you know.”

then she gets a grunt in response, followed by his most miserable moan yet. shoto pulls back from the desk, already reaching for the trashcan. his cheeks burn, feverish and embarrassed. if only momo could turn around or something—

too late.

his throat burns. how long has it been since shoto has been sick this badly? momo rubs his back through it all, respectfully quiet. it’s awful.

then the door opens, and yellow hallway light pours in, spotlighting shoto in all his sickly glory as he kneels on the ground, clutching that stupid trashcan like his life depends on it. it’s awful.

please go away, shoto thinks. please let me wither away and die here in peace.

pro hero cellophane stands in the entrance in all his 6’2 glory, decked in the crisp black, yellow, and white of his costume. he isn’t looking yet, and if shoto didn’t want to crawl into a hole at this exact moment, he’d take this opportunity to admire hanta, with his spidery limbs and thin waist. that costume does wonders for his figure; shoto should tell him that, shoto has told him that, but—

it’s been thirteen years. shoto will never tire of admiring hanta. shamelessly or secretly.

now shoto considers telling him to go away. he’s exposed and embarrassed himself enough already in front of momo, and now—

it’s been thirteen years, and pro heroes shoto and cellophane have seen it all, yet shoto is still cripplingly embarrassed to be found crumpled on the floor in such a state.

“he’s in here? oh—“ hanta pushes the door open even further, turning his focus to the state of his lover, as mina so kindly described him. “shoto, there you are,” he says, voice horrendously soft.

“he’s—“ momo frowns at the multicolored head dipped into the trashcan. “well, he’s not doing well. i think he has a fever.”

hanta is on the floor next to them in the blink of an eye, hair slicked back from his helmet. his hand finds shoto’s neck, feeling for the heat of his fever. the touch is generally a comforting gesture, but shoto nearly flinches away from it. sero looks a little distraught, like he’s never seen a sick person before.

let me be sick in peace, dear god.

it’s at this moment shoto seriously considers melting into the floor. he hasn’t been sick since middle school, probably. this is so embarrassing, he thinks bitterly. throwing up in front of your boyfriend and your best friend, unable to even stop yourself. he groans again.

“when did this start?” hanta asks no one in particular.

“i’m fine,” shoto mumbles, hating the taste in his mouth. what he would give to be at home, hidden under seventeen blankets with no light in sight.

“he’s not fine,” mina cuts in from the doorway. “hanta, please take him home. we’ll cover for you for the rest of the day, alright, sho? no worries.”

ah, mina. ever the natural leader. shoto appreciates the concern, even if he desperately hadn’t wanted to get caught whining around in his office. it’s minor, really, nothing big, he tells himself. you guys don’t need to be worried about me. you have jobs to do, and i’m just getting in the way. that thought leaves a familiar burn in the back of his throat.

“and as long as you need after that,” momo reassures him.

he vomits again. everything is horrible.

hanta sends a distressed look at momo, then at mina. a look that says what the hell can i do for him? he takes over rubbing shoto’s back as momo stands with a pitying look at her friend on the floor. she only hopes shoto isn’t too embarrassed (he is); she hopes he knows it’s okay to take a break, to go home and heal (he doesn’t, not really, not even after all this time).

after mina gives hanta a short run down on what he should do when he gets shoto home, both women bid hanta a silent good luck, then a quiet get well soon, alright? to shoto. then they're gone, and it’s only them left in the darkness of his office.

“can you stand?” hanta asks quietly as shoto starts to lean up.

“so embarrassing,” shoto mumbles, trying not to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. his hero suit is too warm, too tight. the floor hurts his knees. his feet are cold. “‘m sorry, hanta.”

“what? what are you apologizing for?” hanta doesn’t take his hand away from shoto’s back. “you don’t have to apologize, sho. i came to take care of you, okay?”

just like you always do for me, hanta thinks.

the sweetness and reassurance laced in hanta’s voice makes shoto hurt even worse. his eyes sting. why is it so hard to accept a helping hand? from your boyfriend no less?

shoto frowns and hanta watches his brows furrow, his lips purse. then his shoulders begin to shake. shoto’s crying, which makes him feel even worse.

“hate being sick,” he whispers as tears track down his cheeks. “so gross. so embarrassing.” he turns toward hanta, on his way to being completely distraught. “wanna go home, hanta.”

it’s a horrible sight, to see someone you love so out of control, so sick they can barely stand, so feverish they can’t see straight. it’s horrible because it feels like there’s nothing you can do, and hanta sighs, because he can’t take his pain away. he pitches both hands up, pushes shoto’s hair away from his forehead, and plants a ghost of a kiss there. his skin is scalding, slick with sweat.

shoto lets out half a sob.

“i’ll take you home, sho. i’ll take you home and fix you up and you’ll be better in no time at all, okay?” he whispers hurriedly, holding multicolored locks back away from shoto’s face.

a few more tears fall as shoto tries to nod. nodding makes the pounding in his head worse.

hanta scoops him up like he weighs nothing at all and carries him straight out of the building.

—

half an hour later, in shoto and hanta’s home

getting shoto off the floor had been easy enough, despite him because six feet of solid muscle and jelly-like limbs that refused to work properly. getting him out the door went smooth, as did getting him into the car and down the road. hanta had stolen a stray trashcan and gave it to shoto for him to hold on to in the passenger seat. just in case.

the entire ride home, shoto had only stared straight ahead at the road, unseeing. he didn’t throw up again, thankfully.

once hanta had gotten him into their house, he started running cold water for a bath, then got to work attempting to remove shoto’s hero costume.

that was hard, because shoto was horribly feverish at this point, like the car ride just allowed the heat to build, and he was insisting he could do it all himself then stumbling as soon as he stood up, trying to get hanta to turn around or leave the room.

“you don’t have to totally strip. it’s not a regular bath, silly.”

“don’t want you to see me like this.”

shoto is hopelessly defiant in this state.

“i promise you there's nothing to be worried about,” hanta insists. “i’m mostly here just to make sure you don’t pass out in the tub.”

shoto has the audacity to pout.

“you really think me seeing you in boxers is that bad?”

no response. being sick has made shoto both unnecessarily shy and even more stubborn than usual.

hanta lifts a brow at shoto’s indignant silence. “shoto, i hate to break it to you but i’ve seen your ass before. several times.”

shoto looks properly scandalized at that.

“why’d you have to say it like that?” he whines, head falling back.

hanta tries not to laugh. “come on, angel. let me help you.”

shoto flushes all the way down his chest at hanta calling him angel, like he’s seventeen and yearning all over again.

now he’s out of his costume and shivering and refusing to get into the bath.

“sho, the cold is gonna help draw out the heat from your fever. your quirk isn’t really stable right now,” hanta gestures to the tub. “so this is the next best option. you gotta do it.”

shoto stares at the tub with pure disdain, arms wrapped around himself. then he glances back at hanta, heterochromic eyes muted and heavy. and finally, finally, unfreezes from his spot and climbs into the tub.

hanta helps him, little by little, one dip at a time. it’s not super deep, but shoto has to submerge at least up to his chest for a bit in order for this cold bath to be worth it.

generally, shoto is hardly ever bothered by cold, but he’s having issues self regulating right now. obviously, or else this bath wouldn't have even been considered. his skin breaks out in goosebumps.

hanta feels awful. he sits on the edge of the tub, holding shoto’s quivering hand and dipping his free hand into the water, dragging it over shoto’s neck and forehead. he’s cheeks are blisteringly red.

“after this, you can get into something comfortable,” hanta promises him. “i’ll make you soup and tea, if you want. you can finally get some rest.”

shoto’s eyes are closed, brows furrowed as he tries not to complain about the cold. hanta only flicked on one light in their bathroom, because surely both would’ve been too bright. he’s just glad shoto hasn't thrown up again. hanta isn’t sure how well he could handle that.

he very nearly called his mother when they stumbled into the house and shoto tried to collapse on the couch and not get back up. he’s doing his best here.

shoto squeezes sero’s hand when he brushes some water over the back of his neck, wetting the ends of two toned hair a little by accident. he doesn’t say much at all in the tub, just sits and takes it as the cold works to draw out his fever. maybe him not saying anything ridiculous is a sign that his delirium is starting to ebb, along with his initial fever.

i wonder if he remembers taking care of me in the dorms all those years ago. shoto todoroki, always reaching out a hand for others but refusing to accept a helping hand in return.

even despite being stupidly in love for twelve and a half years, shoto has a hard time asking for or accepting help from hanta. from anyone at all, really, but especially hanta.

it’s taken a lot of time and devotion, but it works. they’ve torn down a lot of walls and defenses together.

hanta smiles fondly at the memory of tiny shoto and tiny hanta holding hands for the first time. oh, how far they’ve come. the panic in tiny hanta’s chest, the pinkness of tiny shoto’s cheeks.

“too bad you're sick,” hanta starts, teasing, “i can't kiss you until you’re better.”

shoto peeks a gray eye at him. he looks exhausted. he pulls his free out of the water and reaches up, dancing his fingers over hanta’s cheek, like he’s trying to be sweet. then he splashes him with all the strength he can muster.

sero gasps outright before bursting into a fit of laughter. that water really is cold.

“wish you’d kiss me anyway,” shoto grumbles, still peeking as hanta tries wiping away specks of water from his face. “we live in the same house, so you’ll prolly get sick, too, han.”

he’s already talking a little smoother. that's progress.

hanta grins. “think so?” he takes shoto’s hand again, brings it up to his lips. “you gonna make me take an ice bath if i catch a fever, too?”

“just out of spite.”

“whatever makes you feel better.” then hanta kisses his hand once, twice for good measure. “come on, let’s get you dried off.”

—

shoto is now bundled with his favorite blanket on the couch, a warm cup of tea cradled in his hands. he’s got the most outrageous red and green christmas pajama pants on, covered in little trees. he’s also wearing one of hanta’s hoodies.

and by hanta’s hoodies, that is to say, pro hero cellophane merch. it’s huge, even on shoto. it’s black with yellow markings that mimic hanta’s costume, cellophane written in hanta’s own handwriting across the back. shoto has the hood pulled over his head. his eyes are fixed on the tv, where he’s put on totoro.

he’s already doing ten times better. now he just needs to eat and rest.

hanta rounds the couch with a bowl of steaming soup. shoto looks up at him with pure wonder in his eyes, lips parted like he might’ve just been about to fall asleep. hanta takes the half empty cup from his grasp and replaces it with the bowl.

then hanta folds his long legs up underneath him and sits next to shoto.

“thank you, han,” shoto murmurs, blowing the steam away.

hanta glances at him, at the light returning to his eyes. red and white hair peek out of the hood. his chest tightens just a bit, like he’s sixteen all over again. “you don’t need to thank me, angel.”

shoto falls asleep immediately after finishing his soup. hanta lets him collapse onto his lap; hanta lets his fingers dip into soft two toned locks; hanta lets his heart soar.

i’d steal all the stars in the sky for you. that’s how much i love you. i’ll never tire of loving you.

—

sappy right? i suck at writing angst.

anyway, here’s the rest of the fic :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29718771

32 notes · View notes

kiriluvbot · 3 years

Text

hidden in the sand pt. i

in which feelings are discovered under early morning light.

—

i do not have a crush on shoto todoroki.

the boy in question takes a deep breath, muscled shoulders rising as he starts to shift. his head pops up, a mess of pink cheeks and disastrous, disgustingly endearing messy hair, and he squints at the light pouring in from the window.

all the air is knocked from sero’s lungs.

oh shit.

i have a crush on shoto todoroki.

yeah. this is that story.

—

you’ve heard a thousand love stories told a thousand different ways, with teary eyed confessions on a battlefield or explosive professions of adoration under a moonlit sky, but this story, however, is not that story at all.

this is a story of an extended hand, a knowing smile, a spot saved on the couch. it’s bumping shoulders in the hall, eye contact in a dark room, whispers over the phone. it’s one boy who never quite learned how to love, and one who has an abundance of love to share.

it’s learning how to be gentle, how to accept gentleness. it’s falling slowly, smoothly, oblivious.

it’s doing something completely mundane, like reading manga at one in the morning on a school night. it’s hearing a muffled bit of laughter, it’s catching the light in their eyes, it’s seeing a special smile they’ve reserved only for you, and realizing: oh shit.

there is no particular starting point, but it goes a little bit like this:

—

“poor little shoto todoroki. how tragic.”

heat and hate and rage washes over him, suffocating, crushing, inescapable. hands clasp as his ankles, his elbows, his throat. the pressure is unbearable, his skin is roasting, it’s falling apart, he’s crumbling at the seams, he’s—

“there’s nowhere to run.”

it’s too hot too hot too hot—

todoroki jolts up, sweat gluing his shirt to his spine, blanket trapping his legs to the bed. it’s too much, too hot. there’s no air—

he tosses the blanket back and jumps out of bed, tearing the shirt over his head, throwing it as far away as possible as his chest heaves.

“what’ll your friends think when—“

“shut up, shut up,” todoroki hisses, doubling forward until he’s on his knees, hands tearing through red and white hair. “you’re fine. you’re fine.”

it’s hard to breathe.

help, call for help, don't just sit here, don't just—

scrambling, todoroki crawls across the floor, tossing blankets and pillows out of the way. he finds his phone and unlocks it, ignoring the shake in his hands, the way his fingers can’t seem to hit the right buttons, and opens his contacts.

“fine, fine, fine,” he mutters. the clock says 2:37 am. shit. he takes the deepest breath his lungs will allow and hits call on the only name he’s sure might be awake.

one ring. doubles over again. two rings. presses his forehead into the floorboards. three rings. his throat catches.

“todoroki, holy shit, dude, whats—“

“sero, oh—“ another deep breath. “sero. i know it’s late, i’m sorry, i just—“

“woah, woah, slow down. todoroki, what’s wrong?”

“nightmare,” todoroki hisses, leaning back up and clutching the phone with both hands. “wasn't fast enough. sorry—“

“hey,” sero interrupts him, sounding more and more awake by the second. “don't apologize, okay? you’re gonna be alright. listen, you need to get your breathing under control. i’ll help you.”

sero’s voice alone, anyone’s voice at all, makes todoroki feel grounded to the earth. sero is calm and cool as he helps todoroki with his breathing, counting and humming. when he’s finally able to see straight, todoroki sits cross legged on his bed, still gripping the phone tight.

“sorry for waking you up,” todoroki mumbles, relishing in the clearness of his lungs. every nerve still shakes. “um—didn’t know what else to do.”

what he doesn’t say is: for some reason, you always know exactly what to say to help people feel better, in any situation at all.

sero is quiet for a brief moment. todoroki can almost hear him smile. “like i said, man, you don’t need to apologize.” a pause. “you sure you’re alright?”

“yeah.” todoroki runs a cool hand down his face. his lights are on now. he sits back on his bed, shoulder blades meeting the wall. on the other side, sero sits in a similar position. “i’m okay now.”

“if you need anything else,” sero murmurs, voice gentle, “anything at all, you can—you can come to me. doesn’t matter what it is. or what time it is.”

something about sero’s tone, his word choice, something about the late hour, about the nerves still dancing just beneath todoroki’s skin… he smiles, in spite of himself.

—

they never really talk about it after they hang up. not off the phone, and certainly not in broad daylight. talking about it meant admitting it out loud and—well, todoroki has a hard time thinking about any nightmares at all after he finally catches his breath. it’s something he’d rather ignore. sero understands.

“did you have another nightmare?”

“please just—talk to me. about anything else.”

shortly after that, classes got harder, tests more difficult, and sero turned to todoroki for aid. smoothly, nonchalantly, of course, because sero didn’t need anyone to know that if he didn’t get extra studying in he might just drown. he had briefly considered asking to join kirishima on his study sessions with bakugo before he saw how the blonde would take to literally beating the knowledge into kirishima’s poor head.

sort of unrelated, sero had stumbled in on them in the kitchen blushing under those buzzing fluorescent lights, practically nose to nose.

bakugo was furious, furious enough to deny sero extra help with his homework, that’s for sure. then there was kirishima, who couldn’t look sero in the eye for the remainder of that day.

sero’s still not sure why both of them had looked so embarrassed. it’s not like he hasn’t noticed they’d been fooling around, stealing glances across the common room and holding hands under the cafeteria table for weeks on end now. did they honestly think they were being sneaky?

not only that, but sero’s pretty sure bakugo’ll never let anyone else into his room aside from kirishima. not to study, and certainly not to peek at his limited edition all might posters. sero’s positive he wasn’t supposed to know about the posters, but kirishima kinda has a loud mouth.

and anyway, todoroki is much more patient.

“have you gotten number twelve yet?”

“hm? oh, uh, no. i’m kinda confused on this part right here, but—“

“i’ll walk you through it.”

most of the time, the studying took place downstairs in the common area. however, there were times when downstairs was just too loud. so naturally...

todoroki’s room is quiet. peaceful. also super fuckin’ fancy. needless to say, work is easier to accomplish in the peace of his space.

except for when it’s not.

“sero, focus on your work.”

“wh-huh? i’m focusing! just—“

“you were trying to balance that pencil on your nose.”

“still counts as focusing, roki.”

turns out todoroki makes a great tutor when sero actually pays attention.

—

sero takes it upon himself to start sharing his favorite manga after catching todoroki in the courtyard curled up with a familiar cover peeking through his fingers.

they liked to read a lot of the same things, they’d learned, but sero always had something new to show todoroki, and todoroki always had a classic to introduce to sero. it was a good back and forth, an excuse to escape their loud classmates and sit in companionable silence and read until they felt they’d go cross eyed.

todoroki sits on sero’s multicolored rug, hugging his knees to his chest. his chin rests on one knee, idly flipping the page of some romance manga sero claims is the best. his eyes find the spidery boy twisting around in his hammock, sticking his legs in the air and shifting until his head is upside down.

it’s an odd position, and todoroki has no idea why he refuses to sit still, but sero dips his head even further until his hair meets the floor, until dark eyes find blue and gray.

then he smiles, and time seems to slow.

“gettin’ to the good part yet?” sero asks, kicking his legs back and forth above him. his face starts to turn a little red. todoroki’s never really seen his forehead before.

todoroki blinks. time returns to normal. he goes back to his page. “all the blood’s rushing to your head.”

sero doesn’t seem to notice todoroki’s brief pause. if he does, he doesn’t spend too much time thinking about it. he smiles until todoroki considers asking if his cheeks hurt.

“you're deflecting. that’s deflecting, right? it’s gotta be. you’re totally deflecting, roki.”

maybe being upside down is affecting sero’s eyesight, but are todoroki’s cheeks a little pink?

it’s an excuse for them both to disconnect from the world, to indulge in something unreal, to explore another world with all its wonders and secrets and forbidden loves.

—

sero is in the middle of popping ungodly amounts of popcorn when todoroki makes his way into the common area. his classmates are either chasing each other around the couches, already trying to decide on a movie, or on the phone convincing the rest of them upstairs to come down and join them.

sero grins to himself when he thinks he hears mineta’s sly voice followed by a series of warning sparks from their friendly neighborhood bakugo. iida and kirishima’s voices follow soon after.

“do you need help in here?” a voice asks, startling sero out of his half daze.

“jesus, dude!” he chokes, clutching his chest. “you scared the hell out of me!”

todoroki is unphased, sidling up to sero and taking off the plastic covers of the remaining three bags of popcorn he still needs to pop. “guess i should’ve knocked?” he says, lip quirked just a bit.

after sero catches his breath (there’s an unholy screech from the living room that could only come from kaminari), he jostles todoroki with his shoulder.

“i saved us a spot,” sero says.

by saved, he means he stretched two long pieces of tape across one of the smaller couches in a big X shape. it was todoroki’s favorite couch, and sero was tired of seeing him show up last and have to sit on the floor. kaminari had been more than offended when sero told him the spot was already reserved.

sero didn’t see bakugo eyeball him suspiciously.

“i didn't know any of these heathens actually honored saved seats,” todoroki replied, working side by side with sero.

sero grins again, eyes bright. it’s warm, radiant. it’s lethal. todoroki bites his cheek to keep from grinning back.

“they’ll honor it if they don’t wanna get taped to the ceiling in their sleep, don’t you think?”

todoroki laughs at that. together, they exit the kitchen with their arms full of their own snacks. todoroki’s eyes find a giant X made out of tape on his favorite couch, and dips his head a little to smile to himself.

mina and kaminari sprint up to sero, who grins easily at them, too. kaminari has sparks in his eyes, but that might just be excess energy from whatever twisted game of tag they’d been playing before todoroki and sero exited the kitchen.

“are those for me?” kaminari gasps. “oh, hanta, you’re too kind!”

sero turns his arms away, rolling his eyes lightly. mina has already snuck behind him and is trying to tease a can of pop out of his grasp. he attempts to twist, tries to back away before they get their grubby little hands on his hard earned snacks, when he backs into kirishima instead. the redhead is already smirking mischievously before he joins the other two offenders on their quest to rob sero blind.

bakugo blows right past them, naturally. “you’re in my way, damn kids!”

todoroki smiles at that, too. damn kids. there’s a lot to smile about tonight. he takes away the tape X and sits cross legged on his saved spot. momo has the remote to the tv, and jirou is whispering movie titles in her ear.

“this seat taken?” sero asks, but he plops down next to the multicolored boy anyway. he managed to make it to his spot with nearly all his snacks. mina got a hold of the popcorn. todoroki notices, and offers to share with him.

it takes them awhile, but eventually the whole class makes their way into the common area, strewn across seats and the floor, snacks and drinks everywhere. they decide on some ridiculous romantic comedy movie. on their way in, midoriya and uraraka both ruffle todoroki’s hair as they walk past, and kirishima plants a kiss at the top of sero’s head.

sero and todoroki spend the entire night whispering their predictions for the end of the movie, making fun of terrible monologuing, brushing knees and shoving shoulders. it’s comfortable, easy. it’s fun.

“stupid icyhot,” bakugo grumbles to kirishima later on that night, in the quiet of kirishima’s room. “stupid soy sauce.”

“hm?”

“they’re both fuckin’ stupid.”

“oh yeah?” sometimes it takes bakugo a minute to figure out what exactly he’s trying to say. kirishima waits for him, always.

“fucking—dumbasses don’t even realize.”

kirishima feels his lips threaten to split in a grin, sitting at the edge of his bed. he watches bakugo pace. “you noticed, too?”

bakugo turns to him, eyes ablaze as they always were. he’s just within arms length. “of course i realized. only an idiot wouldn’t notice that. and they’re fuckin’ stupid! it’s gonna be a pain in the ass to watch them—watch them just—“

“dance around it?” kirishima suggests.

“fuckin’ stupid,” bakugo hisses again.

then when he throws his hands up, kirishima wraps his arms around bakugo’s thighs and pulls him close. it’s instinct at this point, to pull him closer, pull him out of his head.

they both used to be the idiots in question, dancing around the truth, around what they really wanted.

“give them time,” kirishima mumbles, cheek pressed to bakugo’s stomach. the blond’s hands rest on his shoulders. “they'll figure it out if and when they need to.”

kirishima tilts his head back, observing bakugo’s frown.

“if i have to watch those two losers pine—“ bakugo pretends to gag, sticking out his tongue.

laughing gently and taking bakugo’s collar, kirishima pulls him down until their lips meet. he kisses him like he means it, to remind him that they were both pining losers at one point.

in his own bed down the hall, sero sleeps soundly, curled around todoroki’s favorite manga. he’s read it three times now, but it never seems to get old. just next door, todoroki sleeps with his back pressed to the wall separating their rooms. he doesn’t dream, not this time.

—

part two on my account !

25 notes · View notes

kiriluvbot · 3 years

Text

hidden in the sand pt. iii

in which feelings are discovered under early morning light, finally.

psst, part one and two on my account :)

after the war.

another nightmare—no, memory, rages through todoroki’s head. he’s drowning in blue flames, bakugo is bleeding out on the ground, midoriya is lost in the sky. there’s unspeakable pain all around him, inside him, and there’s no way out.

he sees bakugo fall from the sky, hears the sickening thud of him hitting the ground.

he sees midoriya erupt in black and green light, running out of energy, running out of time.

he sees his brother’s horrible smile, the old scars and fresh burns pulling at his skin.

this is a nightmare. this isn’t real. it’s over, so you can wake up. just wake up. wake up!

todoroki bolts upright with a massive gasp. he’s completely still for half a second before he plants his face in his hands. his eyes sting and he wills the tears away, wills the fear away, wills himself to calm down. it doesn’t work.

it’s over. it’s over. it’s over.

you’re safe now.

it’s over. it’s okay.

sero.

without hesitating and without checking the time, todoroki yanks his phone off the charger and calls the first contact in his favorites list.

inhale.

one ring.

exhale.

two rings.

inhale—it’s too warm—

three rings.

exhale—too cold—

four—

“i’m up—oh, todoroki, hey—“

“nightmare,” todoroki sucks in another breath, voice weak and hitched. “i know it’s late, it was—it was horrible. i had to watch them fall—had to—“

“hey, hey, shh,” sero cuts him off. “you don’t have to relive it. you're okay now.”

todoroki bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, shuts his eyes tight. he refuses to cry. not now. “there were—“ another crack in his voice; he tries again. “there were so many things i could have done differently.”

he doesn’t need to spell it out for sero to know exactly what he’s talking about.

the war. it’s still not over. they've all been dealing with the effects, the aftershocks, in their own ways. the dorms are quieter, classes still haven’t resumed, even after sending a number of students home for a short amount of time. everything is wrong.

todoroki had stayed here, then, when the majority of his classmates had gone.

“hey,” sero starts, drawing it out, like he’s thinking something over. “todoroki?”

todoroki peeks one eye open. “sero.”

“why don’t you… come over?” sero murmurs. “might be better than laying there all on your own, after a nightmare like that.”

todoroki wipes a stray tear from his cheek with the back of his free hand. it takes him a moment to process sero’s offer, and no time at all to make up his mind.

“you’re—you're sure?”

“of course,” sero says immediately. “to be honest with you, i couldn't really sleep either. i can at least keep you company, you know?”

“yeah, okay.”

“i’ll leave the door unlocked.”

the line beeps, and todoroki heaves a heavy sigh. he slips out of bed, fixes his twisted t-shirt. leaving his phone on the pillow, todoroki exits his dorm as quietly as he can. as expected, the hall is silent and empty. light bleeds out from underneath sero’s door.

todoroki tiptoes in with no preamble, not allowing himself time to second guess his actions. sero is in the middle of kicking something under his bed when todoroki crosses the room and sits right next to him.

purple fairy lights are strung up around the ceiling. the light cascades around them like they’d entered another realm. sero’s room is, by far, the homiest, coziest room on this floor, including todoroki’s own. his curtains were pulled open, window cracked just a bit. a breeze blows in and sero’s hair blows with it.

sero peers carefully at todoroki, hardly processing the way their thighs are pressed together, the way todoroki smells like the air after a heavy rain, the way his heart pounds in his rib cage. he wasn’t even the one who had a bad dream.

todoroki is clad in gray and blue, pajama pants and a slightly too big t-shirt, wrinkled and soft. his hair isn’t smooth like usual, but frizzy in the back where he likely had it pressed into his pillow, sticking up on the red side in odd places. sero’s never seen todoroki so pulled apart, so raw, except for on a battlefield.

this was different.

this was… intimate.

sero may be sitting by his right side, but todoroki radiates a lulling kind of warmth.

and despite all that, the shorter boy looks like he might dash for the door at any moment, still strung up from his nightmare. even in this dim light. sero can see the dark, almost bruise-like colors under todoroki’s eyes.

sero reaches for him without thinking, fingers ghosting over the small of todoroki’s back. “how long has it been since you’ve had a proper night's sleep?”

how many nightmares have you had and haven’t told me about?

“i—ah, can’t remember,” todoroki replies. he leans into the touch, just barely. it’s instinct at this point, to fall into sero’s orbit, to turn toward his light. already, he feels closer to earth than he had in the silence of his own dorm.

prior to attending ua, todoroki hadn’t known what closeness could feel like, but with sero, there was no other option besides closeness. he never wanted anything else, anything less. closeness with sero was different from closeness with anyone else. and now that todoroki’s gotten a taste of true connection, true closeness, it’s like he can’t—doesn’t want to—live without it. sero’s touch makes his skin prickle through the fabric of his shirt.

despite his nightmare, despite being shaken, terrified, todoroki considers curling up next to sero like a cat. he just wants—what do you want?—to be held. that’s it. it must be.

sero takes his hand away.

“why don’t we, uh—do you think you could sleep better here?” sero whispers hurriedly, tensing like he might stand or make a run for the window. “in my bed? i can take the—“

then he really does stand, gesturing vaguely to the hammock todoroki has seen him fall asleep a number of times in. todoroki reaches for him, this time, cool hand taking sero’s wrist.

“stay,” todoroki blurts out. “stay by me.”

sero turns to meet his eye, deep brown on dull gray and blue. his brows pinch together helplessly. todoroki doesn’t look away, giving sero a solid, sure look.

sero feels infinitely heavier and, somehow, lighter, than he had just moments ago.

it takes some time, some adjusting, but eventually they’re both settled side by side on top of the covers on sero’s bed. cool night air flows over them. the fairy lights have been unplugged, leaving only the moon to brighten the high planes of each other’s faces. glow in the dark stars dot the ceiling. their sides are touching, and sero tries to soak up some of todoroki’s radiating heat to fight off the goosebumps.

sero talks into the open air, he’s not sure how long, trying to keep quiet. he mentions the betrayed look on iida’s face when he’d walked in and found sero and a few others with their feet on the couches or chairs they were sat in. he mentions something bakugo had said, something particularly bakugo-esque, trying to mimic the blonde’s rock salt voice. that makes todoroki chuckle, and sero’s chest blooms with warmth. he talks todoroki through the complexities of his younger self’s favorite anime.

then, sero turns on his side, hands flat between them. todoroki’s eyes are closed.

“are you asleep?” sero asks, not entirely expecting a response.

“not yet,” todoroki replies. with his eyes still closed, todoroki shifts until he’s on his side, too, hands tucked under his cheek. red hair falls, splays across his forehead.

and sero—clueless, hopeless sero—in a moment of quiet awe, silent confidence, lifts a hand to brush that hair back, revealing todoroki’s forehead.

the wave of pure adoration hits sero so hard he nearly leans forward to plant a kiss in the center of the other boy's forehead.

todoroki’s eyes blink open. they shine in the moonlight, brighter than they’ve been in weeks. they shine with exhaustion, with contentment, with something else close to… daring, maybe.

unthinking, sero sighs and says, “you look really pretty.”

it’s true. it’s always been true. sero has thought so since the first day of school. but somewhere along the line, it became a new kind of pretty. a kind of pretty that almost felt like it was reserved solely for sero. todoroki had opened up a lot since starting here, sure, but there’s a certain look to him whenever they’re alone that always leaves sero breathless, wondering if todoroki smiles at everyone else in private like that, too.

sero hadn’t ever wondered something like that about anyone else before.

todoroki flips onto his back and shifts until his head is over the edge of his bed, just like sero had been all those weeks ago in his hammock.

sero tilts his chin up, already grinning. then todoroki smiles, upside down and pure, and time seems to slow.

it’s a look sero’s never seen before, a look he’ll likely never forget.

of course, sero’s never been shy of telling his friends how much he appreciated them, loved them. he’s never shied away from consuming them in his arms, hoping to share his gentleness and kindness. he never wants anyone to forget just how important they are to him.

but this—this was starting to feel different.

sero has no idea when it started.

not even the shadows of the room can hide the way todoroki flushes, all the way down his neck. his eyes widen, just a tiny bit. then his mouth opens, and sero turns away before todoroki can say anything at all.

he slaps his hands over his face, groaning half to himself. “i'm sorry, wow, i really—i’m really tired and i guess i just—“

that same cool hand takes sero’s wrist again, featherlight as it drifts down his forearm. then todoroki pulls, pulls sero’s hand away from his face, pulls it closer to him.

“don't apologize,” todoroki hums.

sero blinks. then blinks again. he turns his head, and suddenly the distance between them is no distance at all and too much, all at once. heat crawls up the back of sero’s neck.

todoroki had shifted, brought his legs up until one knee is nudged into sero’s thigh. both hands wrap around sero’s forearm, gently, almost like he’s coddling it.

sero can hardly catch his breath before todoroki pulls again, lifting sero’s hand up to his lips, ghosting a kiss over his knuckles. sero watches, in a trance, as two toned eyelashes flutter shut, as lips graze over his skin. he’s burning.

his only coherent thought is: holy shit.

“is this okay?” he does it again, kissing those knuckles a little more firmly.

holy shit.

“yeah,” sero responds, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “yes.”

the smaller boy cracks a small smile, a pure one, a tired one, and does it again.

maybe sero’s dreaming. that’s got to be the only explanation, right?

not long after, todoroki falls asleep, just like that; he holds sero’s arm close, dragging cool fingertips over his skin. his cheeks are still tinged a light pink.

sero shifts, just a little, just enough to hook his ankle over todoroki’s. they fit together, somehow. it just… works. like it was always meant to be that way.

he breathes a goodnight into the air and is out like a light.

—

bright light and a chilly breeze washes over sero—and todoroki—the very next morning. the sun has just barely crested the horizon; the sky is freckled with puffy clouds, painted pink and orange.

the raven haired boy wakes first, which is a first in and of itself, squinting away the sunspots in his eyes. he’s very warm on one side, and his neck hurts a bit. as he starts to lean forward and stretch his arms over his head, he realizes.

shoto todoroki is curled into his side, lips parted, sound asleep.

his cheek is pressed into sero’s ribs, legs stretched over sero’s own, a hand tossed over his stomach. his hair is a mess and sero’s pretty sure he might be drooling a little bit, but this warm toned light makes todoroki look more alive than he’s looked in weeks. his forehead is free of worry lines, and there are red lines from his position etched into his chin.

it’s… endearing.

and overwhelming.

“you look really pretty.”

sero inhales sharply at the memory. fuck. exhales jaggedly at the memory of todoroki’s lips pressed into his knuckles, of his fingers exploring the skin of sero’s hand. fuck.

he takes another look at the two toned boy practically attached at his hip and tries to smother the butterflies in his belly, the electricity soaring through his veins.

shoto todoroki is asleep in my bed.

shoto todoroki is asleep on me, in my bed, in my room.

shoto todoroki kissed my knuckles.

oh, how desperately sero wishes he’d kissed him back now, indulged in the feelings he hadn’t acknowledged until only last night.

i do not have a crush on shoto todoroki.

all the air is knocked from sero’s lungs.

“mornin’, sero,” todoroki mutters, unable to even keep his eyes open. “‘s too early. ‘m goin’ back to sleep.”

then he drops his head back down and squeezes impossibly closer to sero.

shit.

sero leans back, careful to not disturb the other boy, and plants his palms on his cheeks. nothing in the world is strong enough to smother the stupid grin growing on his face. nothing in the world is strong enough to settle sero’s pounding heart.

i have a crush on shoto todoroki.

—

they'd never slept so good in their lives.

#seroroki #seroroki fluff #todoroki shoto #sero hanta #todosero #mha #bnha #rarepair #rarepairship #seroroki owns my soul

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