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2018-10-18
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2020-11-28
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soft hearts, electric souls

Summary:

Shinsou looks like he’s about to offer his condolences, but then he pauses.

“I don’t like that look,” says Midoriya. “The last time you made that face, I woke up and we had one less microwave.”

or, the one where Shinsou has too much free time, the general public is thirsty for hero gossip, and Shouto’s life spirals into a scheme to date his entire class in one month.

Notes:

you know how sometimes you want to read a fic but no one has written it so ya gotta do the dirty work yourself?

listen. hear me out. i have fake-dated five entire people for our mutual benefit, the most notorious of which ended in me and this girl i talked to online maybe twice deciding that since we called each other ‘plant girlfriend’ as an inside joke, we should go all out. we celebrated girlfriends day. she convinced her actual, genuine cousins that i was her datemate. when the news came out that we ‘broke up’, all of my friends were Genuinely Devastated.

ANYWAY, all this to say, you all should fake date your best friends more and also let me read this trope used for platonic bonding and pulling off bank heists, please, i beg of you.

ALSO, SHINSOU AND TODOROKI ARE NOT SIBLINGS IN THIS I’VE WRITTEN A LOT OF THAT AU AND REALIZED I MAY NEED TO CLARIFY THERE IS N O T INCEST THE AU THIS FIC IS IN DOES NOT BLATANTLY DISREGARD CANON AS MUCH

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Yaoyorozu & Shinsou

Chapter Text

I.

“Another reporter asked me when I was going to get a girlfriend,” Shouto groans, throwing his bag down onto the common room floor.

Midoriya, who is halfheartedly working on an English assignment, nods. “To be fair, at least they’re not making accusations that you’re All Might’s secret love child. Like some people.”

“Shut up.”

Several minutes later, Yaoyorozu walks in and drapes herself over her girlfriend in a way that is decidedly catlike. 

“It went that well, huh?” Jirou says, shifting her hot chocolate out of the way. The only response she receives is a distressed groan.

“Where was she?” Shinsou asks. He’s been sitting in the armchair that is unanimously acknowledged as his, making his way steadily through some series of books.

“A visit to my father,” she says blandly. “We had the same discussion as always. When are you going to get a boyfriend, Momo? He‘ll help you inherit the company, Momo. It will make us very proud, Momo. Like I want the damn company!”

Shinsou looks like he’s about to offer his condolences, but then he pauses.

“I don’t like that look,” says Midoriya. “The last time you made that face, I woke up and we had one less microwave.”

“You guys,” he says, ignoring him, “I have a great idea.”

It takes roughly three more sentences to send everything else spiraling into action. 

“The press will have a field day!” Yaoyorozu says. “We can stage some sort of breakup after a passionate fling. If we pretend to be heartbroken enough, no polite company will ask us about our love lives!”

 


 

It’s a pretty nice way to spend the week, all things considered. Class 1-A, as a whole, helps stir up gossip around the school concerning the unlikely match made in heaven.

Todoroki steals Momo from Jirou a few times a day. They go get calzones, walk around the local nature preserve, and help each other with homework. He’s really been too busy lately for things like this, which makes it even nicer. It turns out they have the same taste in movies.

Around day six of this, when both of their parents have called and said their part about ‘happiness’ and ‘having a respectable partner’, Shouto pops the big question.

“So, where do you want to break up?”

“I’ve been— oh, I started that show you recommended; Jirou told me she likes it as well— I’ve been thinking.”

 


 

The next day, they call a few magazines and wait in a local cafe until enough reporters are peering at them conspicuously from behind mugs and newspapers for their plan to work. 

“Babe,” Momo starts, not missing the way at least nine people lean closer to their table, “this has been a really nice week.”

“Is something wrong, love?” Man, this feels cheesy. Maybe they shouldn’t have plagiarized their script from a mishmash of shoujo manga.

“It’s just...” Her eyes turn to the floor. “I’m not sure this is working out.”

“What?” he demands.

“I rushed into this, and I think I need some time. The family name, hero studies... it’s all too much to deal with, even without the stress of a new relationship.”

“I thought we had something!”

“Keep your voice down! I loved you; maybe I even still do, but I think we should take a break.”

This performance should be nominated for... something. “Are you telling me we’re through?”

“You never listen to me!” Her voice actually shakes as she glares daggers at him, and he goes in for the kill. He grabs his entire glass of ice water and dumps it over her head.

She gasps, outraged, and splashes hers in his face before running out the door in tears. 

They meet on one of the back roads and return to school together.

“I think that went well!” Momo chirps, wringing out her ponytail. 

“Do you want me to dry you off?”

“Please. Are we still on for our Wednesday study session?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 


 

By the time they sneak back into their dorms, #TodoMomoNono is already trending.

(“That was all they had?” she demands the next morning, making them both a pot of her fancy imported tea. “My first breakup, and no one can think of something better?”

 “What jerks,” Shouto laughs, scrolling through his millions of new Twitter notifications. “How could they.”

”You can’t have your first breakup with someone you never dated!” Iida says, but they ignore him.)

 

 

 

 

 

II.

Shinsou throws a tabloid down onto Shouto’s desk, scattering the many piles of junk precariously gathering dust there. 

“I have another brilliant idea,” he says.

Shouto peers down at the magazine. It’s focused on trashy gossip, the type of thing he tries his best to avoid reading, but the cover boasts a picture of him and Shinsou with the caption ‘Equilibrium Rebounds From Creati With Simon Says? Hero World In Shock’.

“No way,” he laughs, but Shinsou is already down on one knee, holding out a watermelon Ring Pop.

Really, how can he say no?


After an intense training session a few days later, he opens the door to his dorm and immediately takes a step backwards, which is the Shouto equivalent of jumping five feet in the air. 

“Aizawa-sensei,” he says, considering his next words carefully. “Did you need something?” 

Aizawa is perched on his bed twirling his capture weapon between his fingers, obviously trying to be intimidating as possible. It’s reminiscent of Shouto’s final exam. “So,” he says, “I hear you’re dating Shinsou.”

There’s a slight pause where the wheels turn in his head. “Oh!” he says finally. “Oh, we’re having that conversation. Don’t worry. I’m not dating your son.”

Aizawa pauses mid-twirl. “You’re not.”

“Do you remember last week when the tabloids decided I was dating Yaoyorozu? Even though everyone knows she’s dating Jirou?”

There’s a small pause. 

“It pisses Endeavor off, Sensei,” Shouto says, hoping it’s the right thing.

It seems to be, because Aizawa wraps his scarf back around his neck. “Was this Shinsou’s idea in the first place?”

“Absolutely. There’s a waiting list of at least five people who want to take me on fake dates.”

“Why,” he says. It’s not a question. 

“Creating chaos for my old man and his reputation is a form of stress relief.” 

Aizawa crosses the room and gets halfway out the door before he leans back in. “When should I expect to hear condolences about your tragic split?”

Shouto stops to consider. “Since he’s my rebound from Momo, I think we’re going to forgo an official breakup and just see what happens.”

“You’re going to raise hell when you become a Pro,” he says. 

“You don’t expect anything less.”

He swears he can hear something like a laugh, but it’s probably nothing.


fairy floss: what did you do

fairy floss: why is mic giving me advice on how to get over someone

fairy floss: i’ve never gone on a date before in my life what have you done

peppermint twist: Oh, You Know ;)

fairy floss: THAT IS NOT COMFORTING

peppermint twist: Your dad was about to go in depth about ways to relieve me of my testicles if I treated you badly. 

peppermint twist: I had to do something.

fairy floss: AND HE DIDN’T TELL HIS HUSBAND IT WAS FAKE?

peppermint twist: Let the old emo have his fun.

fairy floss: i’m gonna tell him you call him the old emo and see who’s having fun

peppermint twist: I called him that to his face last year on a dare. He wears it with pride.

fairy floss: i can’t believe this 

fairy floss: betrayal by my own boyfriend!

peppermint twist: Speaking of, who’s next on the list?

peppermint twist: We haven’t even had any reporters show up on campus yet. Unacceptable.

fairy floss: okay so i’ve done some careful calculations 

fairy floss: and uh

peppermint twist: Continue.

fairy floss: well, it seems to me

fairy floss: if we keep it going at this rate

fairy floss: we could convince the media you dated the entirety of our class in roughly a month

peppermint twist: Perfect.

Chapter 2: Hagakure & Kouda

Notes:

it’s 6:58 in the morning. i have been awake since 2. please excuse any errors, and comments/ideas are greatly appreciated!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

III.

Hagakure tackles Shouto immediately after biology.

“I need a favor,” she says from somewhere above him. He sits up slowly; it appears he’s been dragged into a supply closet.

”I don’t have any weed, which I know is tragic,” he deadpans.

She rolls her eyes. “My family reunion is coming up this weekend. Dad asked me to bring a boy in a vain attempt to convince them all I’m not a raging lesbian.”

He stares at her for a second. “I thought your parents took you to Pride this summer. There were pictures of it on Mina’s Instagram and everything.”

She huffs impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, but this is going to be everyone! My grandparents, great-aunts, distant cousins— all the stuffy relatives I need to avoid another family scandal around.”

Shouto shifts to avoid being impaled on a broom. “So you think inviting the son of the number one hero is an easy way to dodge scandal?”

She waves a dismissive hand at him. “Come to my room later, and we can plan it out.” She starts to leave but pauses, turning around. “Bring Shinsou.”


As soon as they walk into view of the front of the house, Shouto questions all the decisions he’s made in the past week.

Hagakure shoves him towards the door. It swings open to reveal a middle-aged woman, wearing an apron and looking angry.

As soon as she sees Shouto, her face does a 180. She grins down at him. “Oh, Hagakure! And Todoroki.” She shakes his hand vigorously. “It’s an honor to have you in our home.”

“Aunt Hiroka, meet Shouto,” Hagakure says. The way she grits her teeth almost makes him laugh. He feels the same way.

“I can’t believe I’m meeting a genuine son of the number one hero!” she says, loudly enough that she must be signaling someone else.

“We’re going to go find my parents,” Hagakure says, and properly drags him towards the dinner table.

The house is nice, all things considered. It’s old and smells like a candle store. When he sits on the couch (carefully moving the handmade doilies aside), two cats move to sit on his lap. At least this reunion has something going for it.

There are around 50 people scattered throughout the rooms he can see. In the yard, a group of children are playing.

“You can sit here and make small talk for a little while until dinner is ready. I don’t— Hey!” She swats the arm of a man about to sit down on the couch. “Uncle Dazai!”

The man in question turns to look at her. “Oh!” he says sheepishly. “Did it again, did I?”

She nods. “Remember what I told you.” Returning to sit next to Shouto, she sighs. “Sorry about that. My brother has the same quirk as me, and people keep trying to sit on him.” She gestures to a barely visible DS hovering in one of the armchairs. “Mom keeps telling him to wear clothes that don’t match the seats, but I think he lives for chaos.”

”Did you two prank people as kids?”

She laughs. “You have no idea.”

Shouto is genuinely afraid to sit anywhere after that incident.

Hagakure introduces him to her parents, who are unexpectedly opaque. They seem nice, talking to him for a few minutes about his studies and thanking him for coming.

The next few hours go well. The first family Shouto’s ever felt a part of was Midoriya’s, so the whole concept is sort of foreign to him, but he enjoys it. He entertains some of the younger kids with his quirk and finds two more cats along the way.

Hagakure sneaks him an obscene amount of banana nut muffins. He promptly decides he will kill for the grandma that made them.

It all goes well up until the appetizers.

Every member of the family has somehow managed to cram around a few tables pushed together. Just his luck, they’ve gotten the pleasure of sitting next to dear Aunt Hiroka.

He hopes she’ll take the hint provided by the fact that he hasn’t once acknowledged her presence in the last three hours, but no such luck. She leans over Hagakure to tap him on the shoulder, smiling like a shark.

“So,” she asks, “how long have you two been together?”

Thank goodness for Shinsou, who insisted beforehand that they get their story straight (in every possible meaning of the word). “About a month.”

“It’s a shame about your breakup with that purple fellow.”

Next to him, he can feel Hagakure choke on her lemonade. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he says with a placid smile.

She waves her hand vaguely. “Oh, rumors, you know how it is. Everyone goes through a rebellious phase. I imagine it must be doubly so for you, what with your family.”

Shouto isn’t prepared to deal with half of the insults in that sentence. He’s resolved not to stoop to her level, but he feels Hagakure stiffen next to him. He remembers how it felt before he moved to UA, having to deal with people like this.

Hey, he’s supposed to protect his partner, fake or real.

In a move he mentally refers to as dialing up the Endeavor, he leans in. His eyes grow slightly feral. “If we want this to remain civil, I suggest you stop talking.”

She matches his expression eerily well. He’s almost impressed. “I just don’t want our little girl hanging around with someone who’ll get her in trouble!” she declares loudly. “I’ve always said I didn’t want her going to that school. A dreadful waste.”

Auntie,” Hagakure says in such a longsuffering tone of voice Shouto assumes she hears this every holiday season.

“You know what?” he says. No one at the table moves. “She doesn’t deserve to put up with your shit. Hagakure is an amazing hero. It’s her life, not yours.”

He takes a deep breath. “Everyone at our school has worked hard to get where they are. She’s survived things you can’t even imagine. You have no right to be upset about her choices, just because you resemble a prune, have the personality of a fucking wet piece of cardboard, and don’t have anything to do all day besides get into other people’s business.”

When he’s done, there’s dead silence. He isn’t sure how family reunions are supposed to go, having no frame of reference, but he’s pretty sure they don’t involve insulting your elders.

He glances over. Hagakure’s clothes are shifted; he thinks her hand is over her mouth. Awkwardly, out of reflex, he makes a peace sign and bolts as fast as possible for the door.


She finds him sitting on the sidewalk a few blocks down, head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says before she can speak. “I know you meant for this to be a normal family thing, and I ruined it.”

“Are you kidding?” she says, and the disbelief in her voice makes him look up at her. “That was great! That was so good. My dad can’t stop laughing. We all collectively hate my auntie, alright? It’s about time someone told her off.”

“You’re not mad?” he says in disbelief.

“Of course not!” she says. “I promise. Mom wants me to invite you to movie night.”

She pauses. “Do you really believe I’m meant to be a hero?”

“Of course,” he says. “You wouldn’t be in our class if you weren’t.”

She smiles gratefully before reaching into her jacket and handing him three more banana nut muffins. 

“Hagakure,” he says solemnly, unwrapping one of them, “your aunt can eat my shorts.”

In the end, they walk to a gelato place and take sickeningly cute pictures of each other. Shinsou sells them to an online hero fansite. They split the profits three ways.

Aunt Hiroka also gets paid for a juicy tell-all about her niece’s fling with the ill tempered heir to the number one hero’s throne, so Shouto supposes all’s well that ends well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IV.


Kouda, in an unforeseen twist, is next.

They’re paired up for a project— something about essays and the practical effects of Georgism— when Shouto notices him flushing a deeper shade of red than usual.

He knows sign language (partially because it’s practical in the battlefield, and partially because he wanted to understand Bakugou’s insults) so he gives Kouda his full attention.

The other boy waves his hands around frantically for a few seconds before beginning.

“I heard you were fake dating the entire class?” he signs, not meeting Shouto’s eyes.

Well, this is a turn of events. “I am,” he replies, “or at least I’m trying to.”

“I have...” he starts, before pausing to consider. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to do while the weather is right, and I need someone’s help with it, and Jirou is busy.”

That sounds vaguely like something a serial killer would say, but it’s probably fine. “Only dating me for my mad skills?” he jokes.

“Since Shinsou has been asking around, I was thinking that it’s the sort of thing that would probably seem romantic enough — but it’s not, of course! Not that I wouldn’t date you, sorry, I made this awkward!”

Shouto interrupts the rambling. He has practice, considering his friendship with Midoriya. “I would love to go. When is it?”

“This Friday,” he signs, looking relieved.

“And what exactly are we doing?” he asks, but Kouda only shrugs.

“You’ll see. It’ll be fun. Besides, it’ll be easier if you’re coming along. I won’t have to carry as many things.”

They work on their essay for the rest of class, but the conversation hovers at the back of Shouto’s mind.

That weekend, Kouda texts him to wear something warm and meet him outside at 6.

Shouto’s first thought is the zoo, but that seems like it would be too overwhelming. Besides, that’s open year-round. Soon, though, his focus is back on school and training, and he barely thinks about it again until the moment has suddenly arrived.

He doesn’t know much about Kouda, not that he’s ever gone out of his way to learn. Shouto slides into the passenger seat of a beat-up car, looking at him expectantly.

He smiles at the ground. “Since I can’t, y’know, chat while I drive, I usually put on music! Feel free to be on your phone or whatever! I don’t mind. When you lose service, you’ll know we’re almost there.”

“When we lose service? How long are we going to be gone?”

Kouda grins and provides no answers. “Music?”

He takes a long drink of his latte and nods. Kouda pushes a button.

The stereo starts blaring death metal.

Shouto has never come so close to a spit take in his life, but he manages to cough into his arm and glance over at Kouda discretely. He seems unbothered, drumming his hands along to the rhythm.

Somehow, lulled by the screams and clangs, Shouto manages to fall asleep. When the car shuts off, he jolts awake. The air feels different here.

“Come on!” Kouda signs, vibrating with energy and already out the door. Shouto follows.

They’re somewhere in the mountains. The moon shines through the cluster of trees next to them. They’ve pulled into a small clearing labeled by a sign, but it’s too dark to read it.

The air is cool but not uncomfortable, and Kouda leads him down a short path. They stop, and Shouto can barely make out his words in the moonlight. “Can you make a flame? Small, please. Don’t burn down the national park.”

“Okay?” he says, a small flicker igniting in his palm. He immediately realizes his mistake.

There are moths. There are so many moths, and they are all focused directly on the light emitting from his hand. By some blessing of heaven, none of them move.

“Hey, guys!” Kouda says softly, sitting on a small stump. The moths beat their wings in response. His voice is soft; Shouto almost feels honored to hear it.

“They say you’re their new overlord.”

Genuinely nothing in Shouto’s life has ever prepared him for becoming the new ruler of the moths. He stares at Kouda, tilting his head to the side, mouth slightly agape.

“It’s fine. They’re just messing around.” More fluttering. “Oh, that’s great! Tell her I can’t wait to meet the new caterpillars.” He looks at Shouto. “They want to know if you can make it into shapes.”

“The fire?”

Kouda nods.

“I can make it into a heart, but that’s about it.”

“That’ll work.”

Few people in this world know the sound of moth applause, and on a cool October night, Shouto was added to their ranks.

Kouda takes a selfie. Though Shouto will never admit it, it’s one of his favorite pictures. The moon filters through the trees, glassy light tinting the entire scene. Bugs swarm in circles around Shouto, who is staring at his hand with an expression of intense focus.

The flames dancing on his palm are shaped in a perfect heart. The light looks like a halo around his face and does wonders to illuminate Kouda, who is doing a peace sign in the corner of the frame.

Somehow, it gets posted to the school’s official Twitter account. Shouto doesn’t bother asking how Shinsou knows the password.

Talk shows aimed at middle-aged mothers collectively lose their shit.


chat title: You Can’t Take Down The Banjo King

steve irwin: Very Important: Class 1-A

steve irwin: (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧

hot n cold: Thank you! Unfortunately, I hate it.

steve irwin: (´•̥̥̥ ‸ •̥̥̥`✿)

homed stuck: NOW LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE YOU MONSTER

bop it: mina’s right you’re doing great sweetie

hot n cold: Forgive me for my mistake. It is a work of art.

hot n cold: Shinsou is actively trying to kill me. Send help.

bop it: Shouto Says He Loves It.

steve irwin: (⁄ ⁄◕⁄ω⁄◕⁄ ⁄✿)

Notes:

2023 EDIT: i don’t know how to fix the imgur link right now, but it was a version of the ‘is this a pigeon?’ meme of a moth holding up shouto and saying ‘is this our overlord?’ and it FUCKED

Chapter 3: Kirishima & Kaminari

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

V.

Kirishima is next in the line of people clamoring to fake date Shouto, presumably for varying and bizarre reasons of their own. His case is a delicate one, though, seeing as he‘s already dating Bakugou.

“It’ll be fine,” Kirishima says. “He won’t mind.”

The next day while Kirishima is on patrol, two villains show up. One has an explosion quirk, and the other has the ability to create objects.

“Why?” Shouto asks flatly when he feels Yaoyorozu press a prop knife to his throat.

“There’s nothing the media loves more than a good hero couple,” she says, a little too much excitement in her voice.

“Dickhead! We’ve got your precious boyfriend!” Bakugou shouts.

Shouto schools his expression into the closest thing to fear he can manage. The least he can do is play the part. “Where did you two even get these villain costumes?”

“There are questions not worth asking,” she replies, which means Shinsou had something to do with it.

Thus begins a very heroic rescue in which a disguised Bakugou and Kirishima exchange some surprisingly realistic banter, Yaoyorozu seems giddy to play the part of a rebel for once, and Shouto wonders how his life got to his point.

The hero sites eat it up, publishing articles about Red Riot as Shouto’s newest romantic escapade.

“Look at this,” Shinsou says. He’s already sitting in Shouto’s room when he gets back to the dorms.

“You don’t have a key,” he says, but he lays down on his bed anyway. Shinsou is sitting balanced on a chair with the two front legs in the air. Shouto restrains himself from kicking the other two out from under him.

“Dad let me in.” He waves his hand through the air. “That’s not important; what’s important is how surprisingly slut-shamey this article is.”

“That’s not a real adjective.”

Shinsou ignores him. “Listen to this bullshit. Did Endeavor’s Son Really Get Into UA With His Grades? Of course you did.”

Shouto smiles a little despite himself. “My old man’s going to flip over this one.”

Shinsou grins, waggling his eyebrows up and down. “Maybe they’ve got a point, though. You can ask Kirishima to help you with your human biology homework.”

Shouto kicks the chair and watches Shinsou fall flat on his face.


Kirishima laces their fingers together without preamble.

“Shouto,” he murmurs. The way he says it is filled with longing. His mouth moves closer to his ear; he can feel Kirishima’s breath ghost along his skin.

“In my room,” he whispers, “are roughly 4 million unused Orbeez.”

Shouto pauses. “What? I thought we were— was that not supposed to be fake sexy?”

Kirishima looks him solemnly in the eyes. The determination blazing behind them is impressive. “There is nothing on this planet sexier than that many Orbeez.”

Shouto hasn’t had nearly enough coffee to deal with this. “That’s so many fucking Orbeez.”

His face lights up. “Isn’t it great?” 

“I... would not choose those particular words.”

“Come on, bro! Lighten up. Come to my room and I’ll show you the goods.”

“I did not want to hear about your sexual escapades immediately after waking up,” Tokoyami says as he passes by.

“It’s not—“ Kirishima flushes. “They’re water marbles!”

Tokoyami takes a sip of his tea. “Who am I to kinkshame?”


“Your assignment,” Aizawa says, “is to fashion a weapon by the time we meet again tomorrow out of only materials found in you and your partner’s rooms. It’s important to use your surroundings, be able to improvise, use logic, and work your way through situations.”

Kirishima and Shouto are paired up. Shinsou grins at them from across the room. He has entirely too much power.

“Our first spar is against Jirou and Bakugou,” Shouto says, looking at the details of the assignment. “They’ll figure out how to make a cannon or something, so what do we...” He looks up and notices the way Kirishima is looking at him. It’s reckless and stupid and inherently lovable. He smiles with his shark teeth in full view.

No,” Shouto says, horrified.

“Dude,” Kirishima says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We have to.”

“No!”

“The fates have aligned. The timing is perfect. The entire universe is begging us to do this. And, more importantly, to get Kaminari to film it.”

Shouto is still for a long second before he pulls out his phone and scrolls to Mizushima Masaki’s number. “I think I might know a guy.”


Aizawa sighs. He looks much more tired than usual.

“Why,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Technically,” Shouto says, “we followed the rules.”

“You dumped 75 pounds of small, water-filled balls onto Katsuki.”

“We did not think to weigh the balls,” Kirishima says, barely containing laughter.

Shouto thinks about apologizing, but instead says, “I guess our balls were too large.”

Kirishima reaches over and high fives him.

Aizawa has the rage of a thousand suns burning in his eyes. “He’s in Recovery Girl’s office.”

“The balls were a very successful weapon.”

“He’s fine,” Shouto says. “He’s already texting me death threats.”

“Your behavior was extremely irresponsible. Both of you are lucky his injuries aren’t more severe. Three days of detention for both of you, and if I see any video of this being shared, it’ll be four.”

“We understand,” Kirishima nods.

Aizawa raises an eyebrow. “You do?”

“We’ll be getting four days of detention.”

Kirishima books it out of the office to avoid Aizawa’s wrath, with Shouto right on his heels.

The video of Bakugou’s horrified expression before promptly being taken out by a massive, multicolor wave has 3 million views by the end of the day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

VI.

Kaminari is next. This is not surprising.

“—And remember,” he says, his voice blaring over the intercom. It’s Kaminari’s turn to read the morning announcements, and they’ve made it through relatively joke-free. “Art Club is meeting in Midnight’s classroom this Wednesday after school for all who are interested.”

Shouto is holding Kirishima’s hand, partially because it’s warm, partially to piss off Bakugou. No one ever accused him of being a saint.

“See your homeroom teacher for tickets to the upcoming dance. Love is in the air. Speaking of which, I have a confession to make.” His voice goes up a few octaves. “The love of my life is out there listening to me today. Shouto, if you would make me the happiest man in the world, I’d like to ask you to coffee tomorrow at six.”

He spins around in his seat and looks Kirishima directly in the eye. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“About time,” Bakugou says.


In all honesty, Shouto forgets that he’s supposed to be dating Kaminari. He hangs out with him just as much as usual, and Kaminari’s a naturally cuddly person, so not a lot changes. It just sort of... slips his mind.

Until four in the morning one Saturday into Sunday, when Shouto wakes up to an intense banging on the door.

“We have a problem,” Uraraka says, her hands laced together in front of her. Behind her, Mina and Kaminari are working hard to conceal something.

“What,” he sighs, “is that?”

“I overused my quirk when I was in the gym training by myself earlier, and when I woke up in my room three hours later, it was just me and this llama,” Kaminari says. The llama is taller than him, with black fur and dead eyes. “It’s from Kirishima’s farm. I need some help to sneak it around Aizawa and back to where it belongs.”

“And you asked me to help you why?”

“Be a good boyfriend, dude!” Kaminari says, struggling to keep a rope over the animal’s nose. It starts to whine like a beaver thrown into a wood chipper.

Shouto gapes at it. “Why is it making that noise?”

“Her name,” Mina says, “is Jenkins.”


Uraraka helps them float Jenkins down the stairs, and together they manage to herd her to the door silently. They’re in the home stretch, almost to the front door, when they run into All Might. He’s wearing pajamas and holding a cup of coffee. He looks concerned when he sees them. “What are you doing, young Denki?”

“This is our new student, Jenkins VonWool,” Shouto says, his face completely blank. “She’s from America. Just arrived.”

“Really?” All Might says, looking at the animal with renewed interest. “What’s your quirk?”

Shouto looks his childhood hero directly in the eyes and says, “Her quirk is Llama. She doesn’t speak much Japanese.”

Tears of laughter are welling up in Uraraka’s eyes. Mina is nowhere to be seen. Kaminari looks like he’s about to die on the spot, so he pats Jenkins on the back. “She’s having a hard time adjusting, what with the culture shock and all. We’re going to show her to her room.”

They hustle Jenkins away before she can start chewing on All Might’s hair.


chat title: I LIKE EM BIG I LIKE EM SHONEYS

creati challenge: you guys

creati challenge: you guys

creati challenge: why did we not just ask kouda to talk to the llama,,,,

creati challenge: why did you go to all the TROUBLE

sewwo: Where’s The Fun In That

kaminawwi: because then i don’t get to have the adrenaline rush of sneaking a farm animal out of the UA dorms and back to kiri’s moms.

kaminawwi: im not addicted to crack cocaine yet and this is how

bakugay: ...HE HAD THE LLAMAS IN THE BACK

frogger: llama tack attached.

kaminawwi: S.HU T UP YO UR F UC K

youtube logo: Denki, as fun as this was,

youtube logo: I can’t keep funding your llama habits.

youtube logo: We’re through.

kaminawwi: BABE NO

kaminawwi: ;((((

shins undertale: don’t cry because it’s over smile because it happened

sewwo: i can’t believe no one got the 4 am llama fiasco on tape

sewwo: the orbeez went viral

sewwo: can you imagine the views this would get????

creati challenge: most respected hero school in the world my ass

mr minastic: do you think. all might is ever going to figure out we just introduced him to a fucking llama

Aizawa: I’m going to pretend I didn’t see these.

shins undertale: HOLY SHIT WHO ADDED DAD TO THE CHAT

Notes:

i’d like to dedicate this chapter to BurningBodies. i have 0 idea who you are, but your kind comments are one of the only reasons this chapter got finished in a bout of 1 am inspiration, so thank you.

if you’re enjoying the absolute chaos that is happening here, i have three other fics with significantly more plot that you might enjoy, so go check those out if you’re interested!

also, yaoyorozu’s name is creati challenge because her name. is momo

Chapter 4: Izuku & Bakugou

Notes:

this is pure crack i wrote in the first four days of summer, fair warning

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

VII.

The rumors about Midoriya happen before Shouto even has a chance to start them. There’s no one he’s ever met quite like Izuku, one of two people he feels comfortable calling his best friend.

Also, their battle in the Sports Festival was broadcast on live television, and the shippers went absolutely mental over it.

He’s getting used to going to his house. The one with his siblings. The one with Endeavor. Sometimes, though, he really wants to go home for the weekend, and it’s been one of those weeks.

Inko Midoriya signs them both out, talking to Aizawa in her usual soft tone about grades and the latest recipes they’ve tried. He can’t believe Aizawa’s much of a cook, especially given what he’s heard from Shinsou, but she brings out the best in everyone.

Her minivan is parked in front of the school. Izuku waves goodbye to everyone that’s leaving as well, even getting a small grumble in return from Bakugou. As soon as they get in the car, Shouto turns on his phone’s music.

“I’ll never understand the craze behind this Korean idol business,” Inko muses to herself.

Midoriya digs through the backseat before tossing something at Shouto’s face. “You left your shirt at my house last weekend. It’s comfy. I’ve taken it hostage.”

He looks down at the blue fabric in his hands. “I wondered what happened to this!”

“What do you want for dinner, dears?” Inko asks over the roar of Lee Taemin’s voice.

“Soba!” chirps Izuku.

“The souls of the damned,” says Shouto.

“Lots of soba! And red bean buns.”

They pull up in front of the small apartment complex, and both of them bolt for the car door. Izuku channels his quirk into his legs, leaping for the stairs, but Shouto reaches out and ices him to the ground. He touches the doorknob to the apartment a second before Izuku can reach it.

“That’s not fair! I had to do the dishes last week!”

“I wasn’t the one who made the rules,” Shouto says, reaching into his pocket for the house key. “And now I’m not the one who has to clean bean paste out of the pots.”

He dumps his bags in Izuku’s room. It really is a shrine to All Might. One of Shouto’s favorite hobbies is putting the limited edition hero dolls into compromising positions.

“Do you need any help with dinner?” he yells down the hall to Inko.

“I don’t think so, but thank you for asking!”

“It’s time for a Mario Kart tournament, then?” Izuku says, tossing a controller at Shouto. This time it hits him in the face.


“How the fuck,” Shouto yells, roughly two hours later, “are you beating me, you rat bastard?”

“Language!” Inko chastens from across the house.

“Sorry, Auntie!” He continues swearing at a slightly lesser volume.

“You’re just mad because you haven’t won a single round,” Izuku taunts, sticking his tongue out and swerving his avatar’s car to avoid Shouto’s red shell.

Inko knocks softly on the door. “Dinner’s ready!”

Both boys vault off the couch, rushing to wash their hands as quickly as possible. Izuku Midoriya, for all his unique qualities, has the same voracious appetite of every other teenager.

They sit down, smelling the warm buns in front of them. Shouto puts some pineapple rice onto his plate. This is where he feels safest: talking to the Midoriyas about his day, losing miserably at video games, eating home cooked food straight out of the oven.

She leans over and scoops more noodles onto Izuku’s plate. “So how were your weeks?”

“Pretty good,” says Izuku, like always. “Training is going well. I’m improving my reaction times more than I ever thought possible. Shouto?”

Shouto looks at Izuku: eyes shining, barely holding back from a tangent on the logistics of the pro hero quirks he’s analyzed this week.

Usually, this is when he’s able to vent about everything that’s happened over the past seven days. Today is different.

“Actually,” he says, “my week’s been really good as well.”

He pretends not to notice the blinding smiles both the Midoriyas give him.


That night, Shouto and Izuku are sprawled across the couch. Their legs are tangled together. He isn’t sure what body part his head is resting on, but it’s warm and comfortable, so whatever.

The movie on the screen is some Indian romance— Izuku’s choice— full of twists and turns as a couple is pulled apart by the hands of fate.

He’s about to fall asleep, his eyes half closed, when Izuku clears his throat. “How’s the dating going?”

“I haven’t dated anyone,” Shouto says, as if he has no idea what Izuku means.

“No. I mean the— y’know.”

He shifts to look at Izuku. “It’s going well. I’m having a lot of fun, actually. Our class is more interesting than I expected them to be.”

“Are you ever— I mean, do I need to help? Because no offense, but I really think—“

“Izuku,” he says, looking him dead in the eye. “Are you telling me you haven’t seen the people out there who make romantic edits of our fights?”

Izuku falls back into the cushions melodramatically. “Damn it. Yes.”

“So no. I don’t think we’ll need any assistance leading the public to that conclusion. Endeavor tried to invite you to Christmas dinner.”

He looks up. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“It was this Christmas. I’m still mulling it over. Also, I figured you’d spend it with your family.”

“You’re also family,” he says, mussing Shouto’s hair until the red and white merge together.

“I don’t know,” he says instead of showing any form of affection whatsoever in response to Izuku’s earnest smile. “We’ll work things out when the date gets closer.”

He nods. “Sounds good.” There’s a pause, and his tone grows serious. “I wish people would leave us alone sometimes. I mean, it’s hard enough being a teenager, let alone in romantic relationships, let alone while trying to become a serious hero. And people won’t leave us alone about who’s kissing who!”

“I know,” he says, leaning back. “I think that may be part of why I’m doing this. I like having control over what they write about me. This way, I know what rumors are coming, and they’re all so absurd that none of them hurt.”

He looks at Shouto. “Don’t worry about what they say about your family.”

He shrugs. “It’s hard not to. We’re like the Kardashians of the hero world, with twice as many problems.”

“You’re trying. That’s all any family can do.”

“I guess.” There’s a long pause. He thinks Izuku might have fallen asleep, but he speaks anyway.

“Actually, I do have a favor to ask. Have you ever been to a wedding?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

VIII.

Shouto steels his nerves before knocking on the door. During dates number 5 and 6, he’d asked Kirishima and Kaminari for tips on persuading Bakugou to do things without facing immediate explosive death.

The door swings open. “What the fuck do you want?” he demands. He’s wearing Kirishima’s tiger onesie. It makes the words significantly less menacing.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“You can damn well talk to me when it’s not an unholy hour of the night.” His hair is mussed. He was definitely asleep.

“It’s, like, nine in the afternoon.”

“Piss off,” Bakugou says, eloquent as ever. He goes to shut the door, but Shouto wedges his foot in the crack.

“I need to ask you a favor.”

The door opens slightly. “You have ten seconds before I blast your ass into next week.”

“I want you to escort me to a wedding.”

That causes a silence that lasts at least thirty seconds before he groans, tilting his head back. “Why don’t you take fucking Deku?”

“Oh, I am. I managed to finagle two spots and decided to invite the most wholly unpleasant bastard I could.”

“You piece of shit—“ His hands start sparking, and it’s Shouto’s turn to close the door slightly.

“But seriously. No one has the ability to cause as much sheer destruction and scandal as you. Having not only two boyfriends, but these particular two? It‘ll be my magnum opus.” He pauses. “Plus, you get out of school for the whole day.”

Bakugou pauses, chewing the sleeve of his hoodie in contemplation. It’s kind of nasty. Kirishima could do so much better, he thinks.

Despite what Bakugou might claim, he’s part of the Bakusquad. He’s not immune to the desire of creating insanity for the hell of it.

“Why the fuck not,” he says finally. “When is it?”


Shouto pulls up to school in a limousine. That, he thinks, is when Bakugou realizes he may be in over his head.

Endeavor sent the chauffeur directly to UA. It’s not like the class has anything better to do, so most of them crowd outside and gawk at the fact that Bakugou is wearing a suit.

Izuku is wearing his tuxedo from the whole ordeal at I-Island, but Shouto offered to pay for Bakugou’s, and he’s never been one to turn down money. He’s wearing a floral suit that looks like it was tailored by the gods.

“You look stunning,” says Kirishima, trying to kiss Bakugou on the cheek.

“Fuck you,” he replies while kissing him back.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Kirishima shoots back as he runs his hands through Bakugou’s meticulously styled hair. 

Shouto rolls his eyes. “Get in the car, Bakugou.”

The drive to the venue is short and mostly cordial, with a sum of only 15 swear words (he counts).

“I don’t know why I agreed to come to this,” Bakugou complains.

“You secretly love us,” Izuku replies, obviously delusional. “Do you want something to drink?”

Shouto shakes his head. Bakugou grunts, which Izuku takes as a yes. He reaches into the cooler, his eyes dancing at the fact that this limousine has a cooler, and hands a drink to Bakugou.

The windows are heavily tinted, leaving only the light blue glow of the car lights to illuminate their faces. Both of them pop the lid on the cold glass bottles, take a long drink, and immediately spit it out.

Shouto freezes the liquid before it can hit the floor, narrowly missing Izuku’s hand. “What the hell?”

Bakugou coughs into his arm, trying to suck in a breath. “That,” he says, pointing a horrified finger at the bottle, “was straight fucking vodka.”

“That was so bad,” Izuku gasps. It sounds like a dying fish. “It’s like I just drank rubbing alcohol.”

“I’ve never even had a fucking beer.”

Shouto resists the urge to take pictures of their suffering. He leans forward, speaking to the chauffeur.

“Sir, can you pull over? We need to...” He looks down at the chunk of frozen saliva in his hand. “We need to drop something off.”

When they get to the wedding, Shouto slips the man another 10,000 yen for dealing with their nonsense.


It’s a very nice wedding. There are lots of pro heroes there, many respected colleagues that his father wants him to make a good impression on.

There are several obstacles to this goal from the get-go.

“Are we on the groom’s side or the bride’s?” Izuku asks.

Shouto shrugs. “Where’s Endeavor?”

“It doesn’t look like he’s here yet,” Izuku says. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

He shrugs again. “I mean I don’t know. I have no idea who’s getting married here or why I should care about them. That’s why I invited you people.”

By the time they make their way to a table marked Todoroki Shouto and Guests, they’re not any closer to figuring out whose wedding it is. Bakugou has somehow acquired a fucking turkey baster and is tossing it from hand to hand as they sit.

“Give that here,” says Shouto; he takes the baster and proceeds to put it in his mouth absentmindedly.

“What the fuck are you doing,” Bakugou demands flatly.

“I hate to say this,” Izuku says. “Ever. In any circumstance. At any point in my life—“

“Get on with it,” Bakugou snaps.

“But I’m with Bakugou on this one,” he concludes.

Shouto shrugs. “I chew on things when I’m stressed. It’s a nervous habit.”

“Icy Hot, that’s not a nervous habit.” He lays a hand on Shouto’s shoulder and looks him in the eye. “That’s sexual coping.”

“Shut up!” he yells, yanking his shoulder away. “Gross!”

Bakugou holds his hands up placatingly. “I’m just sayin’.”

“How can you even stand to have that in your mouth?” asks Izuku. “It’s like, at least a foot long.”

Shouto looks him in the eye. “That’s what she said.”

Bakugou snorts. Izuku looks like he regrets his existence.

Shouto shrugs before continuing. “I don’t have a gag reflex, and I use that power for evil.”

“You should use that power to be naughty,” Bakugou says. He even winks, and there’s no fucking way Shouto isn’t hallucinating this.

“Bakugou, you’ve been around Kaminari too much,” he informs him. “I’m becoming a pro hero, not a stripper.”

Izuku smiles slightly to himself. “A pro hero, more like a pro-stitute.”

Shouto turns to face him. “Babe, I am going to murder you in cold blood.”

Bakugou is considering the entirety of the turkey baster. “I don’t think it’s that fucking hard.”

“That’s what she said,” he coughs into his hand.

Shouto!

“No, I mean,” Bakugou continues, ignoring them. “I bet I could shove that whole damn thing down my throat. You’re not special.”

Izuku looks at him with a pleading expression. “Don’t try,” he says, but it’s too late. Bakugou already has half the baster in his mouth and immediately retches into a bush.

“Now it has your spit all over it,” Shouto says, looking at the abandoned baster with disdain. “I‘m not gonna touch that.”

Bakugou is still trying to catch his breath as he rasps out, “Deku, you try.”

Izuku looks at Bakugou, still hunched over a decorative shrub. “Absolutely not! Shouto’s right, that’s disgusting.”

Shouto lives for suffering and disaster. “Bet you won’t,” he says. “No balls.”

Soon, Izuku is kneeled over the same bush. Bakugou laughs at him, ignoring the fact that he was worse off mere minutes before.

Shouto wipes the baster off with his cloth napkin, contemplating whether or not he should chew on it again.

“Here,” he says, handing it to Bakugou instead after a cursory nibble. “I don’t want this anymore. It tastes like gasoline. I don’t know how Kirishima lives like this.”

A bridesmaid walks by, looking worried, and lights up upon seeing Bakugou. “There it is! Thank you so much. I’m helping cook the turkey for the reception dinner, and if it doesn’t get in the oven soon, it’s never going to be ready in time.”

“No,” Shouto signs to Bakugou behind her back, horrified. “Don’t you dare. That has been deep into an orifice of your body.”

An evil grin spreads across Bakugou’s face. He lets her take it.


“So,” says an old woman who does not deserve whatever is about to happen to her. “Your Endeavor’s son?”

Shouto nods.

“And these are your — escorts?”

“They’re my boyfriends,” he says, not bothering to consult the other two.

“Ah,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Awfully... modern.”

“We get together on Wednesday nights at UA and have hot sex,” says Bakugou, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

“The hottest,” Shouto confirms.

Izuku’s face has turned an entirely new shade of red. They’re standing next to the refreshments table, so Shouto pours out a cup of punch and hands it to him. He doesn’t drink it.

The woman hurries off to whisper to the other people at her table. Bakugou spends the next half hour waxing poetic on the art of orgies to anyone he deems unlikely to impact his future.

“You,” Shouto says, his eyes aglow, “are an absolute fucking gremlin.”

“Thank you,” says Bakugou.

“I’m never going anywhere with you two again,” says Izuku, head in his hands.

It all goes fine (or as well as this can go) until Shouto joins in on a discussion with a man Izuku apparently recognized as a pro hero before promptly disappearing.

He tunes out most of it, but a few minutes in, Bakugou elbows him. “We’re perfect for each other. Isn’t that right, my little love bear?”

Shouto has to take a moment and shudder at the prospect of Bakugou ever addressing him with any term of endearment, let alone little love bear, before he answers. “That’s right. We’re in mad gay love, and I top.”

Bakugou pauses mid-sentence. “No the fuck you don’t.”

Shouto immediately decides, from a combination of sheer boredom and hatred of Bakugou, that this will be the hill he dies on. “Yeah. I do.”

“Okay,” Bakugou says, the concerned hero behind them forgotten. “In the horrifying circumstance that we ever actually dated, I would rather die in a fucking fire than bottom to you.”

“I think you’re overreacting to an obvious statement of facts,” Shouto tells him.

Bakugou picks up the punch bowl and dumps it directly onto Shouto’s head. There’s really no salvaging the situation after that.


“You set the cake on fire,” Izuku says. His head is so far in his hands that they can only see a hint of green hair.

“Bakugou set the cake on fire,” Shouto protests. Bakugou immediately starts a string of every curse word in the book.

Both of you,” Izuku says sharply, “set the cake on fire. At a stranger’s wedding.“ He sighs. “I’m not going to become the number one hero because I’m particularly strong. I’m going to become number one because I’m the only one of us three that has any semblance of manners.”

Shouto pulls a bottle of vodka out of the cooler, presses it to his black eye and the burn marks on his wrist. “I don’t know how I’m going to cause a bigger scandal than this,” he says.

“Please don’t try,” Izuku begs.

Bakugou scowls without speaking and grabs the bottle of vodka from him. Shouto heats it to a boil before he can get it to his bruised leg.

“You’re both insane anyway,” Izuku continues. A stupid grin spreads across his face. “In this horrible alternate universe, I top.”


The three of them both come down with mono the next week, presumably because of the turkey baster.

The headlines practically write themselves.


chat name: hatsune miku york city you are what you eat

mr minastic: everythings been too quiet around here with the chaos trio gone to a wedding

mr minastic: and now sick

mr minastic: cause theyre idiots

Tenya: I know!! What am I supposed to do without the constant threat of fiery death looming over my head??

sewwo: oh my god iida’s being salty

kaminawwi: he Sister Snapped

simon says: have y’all seen the fucking headlines

owojirou:Endeavor’s Son: Home Wrecker In More Ways Than One?

owojirou:Todoroki Shouto, All Might Junior, and Sports Festival Champion: Video Evidence of Wedding Carnage

owojirou: Shouto Scandal: Dirty Little Secrets Endeavor Doesn’t Know

owojirou: like literally how? i’m a little impressed? a little concerned? how did they even?

doorknob: You can’t possibly forget “Surpassing All Might? More Like Up All Night! New Throuple In UA...

owojirou: HAGAKURE I AM GOING TO PISS FROM MY EYE SOCKETS

kaminawwi: I HADNT SEEN THAT IM WHEEZING

doorknob: That last one is written by my aunt.

uwuraka: KFBKSBSJSBDKDBWKS DEKU NOOOOO

simon says: i’m going back to general studies. i’m switching to class 1b. i gotta get out of here

monomeme: now u see my point!!!!!

simon says: calm down babe

target logo: Ew, who added cockroach bitch to the class chat?

simon says: Calm Down Babe

monomeme: i thot i was ur babe :,-(

kaminawwi: is it true that you three ruined that poor woman’s wedding arguing over who would hypothetically top

target logo: I plead the fifth.

frogger: we live in Japan.

frogger: also, Izuku tops.

bakugay: WHAT DID YOU FUCKING SAY

monomeme: press f to pay respects

creati challenge: f

simon says: f

target logo: F

mask kink: f

frogger: f

frogger: hiding from Bakugou currently. who are you fake dating next?

target logo: I have no idea, actually.

simon says: .......

mask kink: look out

taco mommy: i think moto moto likes you

mask kink: I LIKE EM B I G

taco mommy: HE LIKES EM C H U N K Y

target logo: Oh, fuck—

Notes:

headcanon that the pro hero bakugou calls shouto his love bear in front of is nighteye

Chapter 5: Shouji & Iida

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

IX. 

Shouto likes to pride himself on having nerves of steel. But really, when all you need from the kitchen is a hard boiled egg and cup of coffee at five in the morning, nothing can prepare you for an arm-mouth being shoved in your face.

“Do you want to go bowling?” it says, and he almost drops his mug.

He presses one hand melodramatically against his heart. “Why are you even awake?”

Shouji’s arm smiles. “I like to get up a little before Yami to shower. Then I can t-pose directly over him until he wakes up.”

Shouto climbs onto a stool and takes a sip of his drink before responding. “There’s a lot to process in that sentence, but you calling him Yami is so sweet it’s about to give me a cavity.”

“I think the amount of creamer in that coffee could keep your dentist in business for a year without my help,” Shouji shoots back. “Anyway, you never answered my original question. What’re you into? Bowling? Movies? Strip tease?”

“Maybe to the first two, no to the second,” he says, contemplative. “At least until I finish eating my eggs.”

Shouji grabs a chair and sits on it backwards. “We’re going on a fake date if it kills me, Shouto.”

Shouto takes another sip of coffee with a normal and regular amount of creamer, thank you very much. “What if I fake say no?”

Shouji gasps. “There’s nothing artificial about rejection.”

“Don’t you already have a boyfriend?” Shouto says as he looks at the egg in his hand. He contemplates whether saving it to throw at Bakugou during a strategic moment would be worth the effort of cooking another egg. 

Shouji waves his hand and makes an eh noise, which, Shouto isn’t even going to try and dissect that. “Then it’s settled,” he says instead. “I’m fake busy for the next week.”

Shouto,” he whines. “Tokoyami’s taking Jirou camping for some emo festival and I love both of them but I can’t do it, do you hear me, I cannot handle this, the eyeliner seeps into my mask and I don’t know any of the lyrics—“

Shouto shoves the entire egg into his mouth, dabs with every bit of effort in his body, and sprints back to his room. 


He walks into the common room later that day to find Shouji and Mina fighting.

“I would not lie to you about something so important. It was five in the morning, I asked him on a fake date, and when he said no, he dabbed.”

Mina scoffs. “I just don’t believe it. I don’t think he—“ She looks up and points at him. “Here he is now! Shouto, do a dab!”

He tilts his head to the left and furrows his brow in the same constipated expression Endeavor makes every time he’s asked to contemplate genuine human emotion. “A what?”

“I told you!” she yells. “He’s the least meme savvy person in the world.”

“I am telling you,” he says, clutching the fabric of her sleeve, close to begging. “He’s got us all fooled. He’s pulled the wool over your eyes. He has powers we cannot begin to comprehend.”

“I’m done,” she says, unlatching him from her sleeve and letting him crumple to the floor. “I’m meeting the girls in Hagakure’s room for mani-pedis.”

As soon as she turns the corner, Shouto launches into a perfect rendition of Orange Justice. Shouji almost starts crying on the spot.


“What isn’t there to love?”

If it weren’t for his finely tuned hero impulses, Shouto would have fucking obliterated Shouji. As it is, he falls flat on his ass instead, staring at the source of the voice above him. 

The idiot in question has somehow managed to situate himself between two panels in the top of the elevator. He’s practically nesting up there. Somehow he’s balancing two cups of blueberry tea and a box of Cocoa Puffs. 

Why,” Shouto says. He promptly decides that, despite liking Shouji more than 75% of their peers, this is the hill he will die on. 

“I mean, I have lots of good qualities!” Shouji continues. “I run knitting club. I have my provisional license. I think I’m decent at hands-on behavior, public displays of PDA, that sort of thing.” 

“Hold on—“ Shouto says, frowning.

“For crying out loud, you dated Denki ‘E-Boy’ Kaminari. You took Bakugou to a wedding.“ He lays back as if wounded. “Am I not exciting enough? ‘Cause I’ll kill a man if I have to. I can make a scandal, I can create intrigue—“

“Hold on,” Shouto repeats. “We have a knitting club?” 

Shouji waves another hand through the air. The tea almost spills. “Yeah. Yami won’t come, but a bunch of people do. Aoyama. Satou. Hitoshi.” 

Shinsou?” Shouto laughs, reaching for the cup and taking a sip of the tea. It’s piping hot. 

“Yeah. Ectoplasm sponsors it. This is our little secret, unless you want to join, in which case it meets in Workout Room B—“ 

Shouto blows on the tea gingerly. “Do I have to bring my own needles?”

“I think we have spares,” Shouji tells him.

“I’ll pass anyway,” he says, pressing a button on the elevator. He feels it move up a floor, but somehow Shouji stays still above him. He swings down from the ceiling to stand next to Shouto. 

“You should come. It’s fun, I swear!”

Shouto looks him dead in the eyes. “Unfortunately, I can’t. People might think we’re dating.” 


“I asked Yami out today,” Shouji says. “He said yes. See, there are lots of people out there who’ll date me.” 

Shouto looks up from his homework and sighs. He doesn’t know how Shouji got through the locked door, and he doesn’t want to know.

“He’s not a man,” Shouto tells him. “He has a bird head.”

“This is how I'm going to play hard to get,” Shouji continues, undeterred. “By getting a whole ass boyfriend.”

Shouto sets his books aside. “How do you plan on kissing him?” 

Shouji looks at him for a moment, opens his mouth, closes it, and takes a seat on the small beanbag in the corner.

“Shit,” he says. 

“Because like, between the mask and the beak, I’m just saying. There’s a lot going on there, and it isn’t all pleasant.” Shouto thinks about asking him again why he wears the mask, but the answers he’s gotten so far range from tragic past to no lips to it’s a porn thing.

“Listen, Hagakure and Tsu make it work,” Shouji says. “I’ll ask them. That’s an invisible mouth and five feet of tongue.”

Shouto frowns, considers this new relationship dynamic. “Do you ever find feathers up your—

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Shouji says, trying to play it off as casual, as if it’s not the funniest fucking thing Shouto has ever heard. “It’s the same kind of weird as finding hair everywhere.”

Shouto takes a few minutes to recover from laughing about that, mumbling things like feather ass  and make a pillow.

Shouji stands up. “I don’t know why I ever wanted to date you.”

“Hear me out,” Shouto begs through his laughter. 

“No.”

“Hear me out,” he repeats.

Shouji looks at him, unimpressed. “I have limitless appendages and none of them are ears.”

“If you’re dating a bird, does that make you a furry?”

Shouji opens the balcony and jumps out the window. 


On Monday, Shouji gets down on one knee in front of the class.

Shouto, to his credit, resists making a single suggestive joke about getting down on two knees instead, even though they’re so easy they basically write themselves. He’s a saint and a martyr, essentially. 

“I’m begging y’all,” Snipe says, “to let me get through one period without any tomfoolery. Just one.” 

“What is that?” Ojirou asks Shouji.

Shouto sighs. He knows what it is. “It’s a ring pop.”

“It’s watermelon,” Shouji says.

“Cherry is the best kind,” Shouto tells him.

Shouji looks up. “You ungrateful bitch.”

”I am trying to teach,” Snipe continues. “We still have a whole lesson to get through, folks.”

Shouto waves a hand in the air. “Let’s get this over with.” 

“Okay,” Shouji says. He takes a deep breath, in and out. “What’s my shirt made of?” 

Shouto sighs again, because the situation really warrants more than one longsuffering sigh. “Do you get these lines from Kaminari? Because if you tell me it’s boyfriend material, I’m calling the cops on you.”

“Just go with it, Shouto. What’s my shirt made of?”

He looks Shouji in the eye. “It’s made of polyester. Cheap, loose, and disappointing, much like its owner.”


He doesn’t know who took the video. It still manages to become a meme. The remix makes its way to the morning news. 

Shouto steals his dad’s credit card and buys Shouji all the fancy knitting supplies he wants. 








 

 

 

 

 

 

X.

“This whole scheme is going surprisingly well,” Shinsou says.

Shouto doesn’t ask why Shinsou is in his room, just nods and sets his backpack down. “It’s weird,” he says.

“Having publicity?”

“Having friends,” he says, smiling. 

Shinsou gasps. “The stoic Shouto, showing emotion? It can’t be.”

”Bold words from someone in knitting club,” Shouto says as he reshelves his textbooks. 

Shinsou gasps. “Shouji promised!”

Shouto looks him in the eyes. ”He lied.”

”The first rule of knitting club is you don’t talk about knitting club,” Shinsou says, crossing his arms with a pout. “But if you already know about it, you should join. We’re practicing loop stitches this week.”

Shouto tosses a pillow at him, makes it a little icy for good measure. “What do you want?”

“For you to come over here and warm the bed up,” Shinsou says. “I’m freezing.”

“Shinsou.”

“What, do I have to want something?” Shinsou says, fake wounded. “What if I just want to spend time with my best friend by breaking into his dorm and commandeering his mattress?”

Hitoshi.” 

He does not relent. “Can’t a man want a good spoon?”

“Go cuddle Midoriya,” Shouto tells him with no trace of sympathy. “He’s like a koala.”

“But then I can’t be the little spoon,” Shinsou whines. 

Shouto launches himself directly on top of Shinsou’s ribcage. His response sounds a lot like a Minecraft oof. “What do you want?”

He wriggles to get comfortable under the entire weight of Shouto’s body. “Right. The only problem I can foresee with this entire operation is Tenya Iida.”

Shouto frowns at him. “What?”

“I mean, he’s all blah blah rules, regulations, I’m a human Tetris block, blah —“

“Shinsou,” he says, sitting up to look at him. “I break the law for you, and this is what I have to put up with?” 

He places a hand on either side of Shinsou’s face. “I told you all the details of us saving Bakugou. I broke, like, nine separate confidentiality agreements to tell you that Iida went to chase down a serial killer. And you’re here on your bullshit about him not wanting to create well-intentioned chaos?”

“I…” Shinsou nods slowly. “Y’know what? That’s fair. That’s a good point. I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Shouto says, nodding with satisfaction. 

Shinsou shoves him.“Then make the bed warmer, asshole. I haven’t figured out how to knit sweaters yet.”

Shouto grins and freezes Shinsou’s hair.


Iida’s been bowing with his head to the ground for about five minutes before Shouto asks him if he needs something.

“I understand that you have been going on romantic outings with our peers!” he says.

Shouto nods. Despite what he said to Shinsou, there’s still a little bit of doubt; maybe Iida will try to stop him.

“I would like to request that you come home with me this weekend!” He's still bowing, head so low it’s basically touching the ground. 

Shouto pauses. Considers it. “Sure.”

Iida looks up. “What?”

“Sure. Why not?”

He looks around, a little bewildered. Maybe he’s seen the video of Shouji. “Oh. Alright! You can properly meet my family!”

“Taking me home, huh, Iida? Isn’t that like, fifth base?” he says with a straight face.

“Good on you, Shouto. Heaven knows he needs to get laid,” Sero calls from the other room. 

Iida flushes bright red. “That is not what I meant!”

“Leave the poor boy alone,” Uraraka says, and Sero cackles. There are sounds of a struggle. Shouto doesn’t care enough to investigate.

“Yes, that sounds great. I’m serious, I’d love to meet your family,” Shouto says. “But you know we’re not actually dating, right?”

Iida rolls his eyes. Honest to god rolls them all the way around. Maybe Bakugou is rubbing off on him after all.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, Shouto,” he says, and that settles the whole matter. 


Aizawa escorts him to the Iida household, partly to keep him out of trouble, partly because he’s visiting as well, on what he calls official business.

…The house is big. 

Shouto is no stranger to big houses, being the son of the number one hero. His own house is also much, much larger than it needs to be. This isn’t just large, though — everything is high tech, gleaming, and somehow still welcoming. 

The doormat talks to him, fully speaks to him and confirms his identity, and that’s when he begins to suspect he might be in over his head.

”Iida,” he whispers when he comes out to meet Shouto, “you didn’t warn me your house was the biggest flex in the world.”

Iida runs a hand through his hair, embarrassed. “We like to test products for the company personally.”

Shouto looks around. The chandelier is made of smartphones. He feels lightheaded. “You’ve told your parents this is a prank, right?”

”Indeed. My mom said she was happy I was getting into ‘shenanigans’, whatever that means. I think she would be on board for anything. She’s very glad I have friends.” He pauses. “She really hates Endeavor.”

Shouto grins. ”Wonderful.”


As soon as they enter the living room, Shouto notices Tensei making his way across the house. It’s weird, seeing one of the best pro heroes in his own home. He looks up, waves at Shouto, grins at Tenya.

When his eyes meet Aizawa’s, he stops in his tracks and immediately hits the hardest whoa ever witnessed by mortal men.

”What—“ Shouto starts, but then Aizawa lunges. Despite being in a wheelchair, Tensei speeds away and leaves Aizawa to chase after him, foaming at the mouth. 

There’s a moment of silence. Neither of them say anything. They just stare at the empty hall.

Eventually, Iida claps his hands together. “I’ll show you my room!”

”But—“

Room time!”


It’s a nice dinner. Despite the formality of his surroundings, Ms. Iida and Tensei are warm and friendly.

And normal. He really, truly wonders how they ended up with a child like Tenya. 

It turns out Iida likes to play go fish, and Shouto likes a challenge. By the time they call it a night, it’s too late to go home, and it’s not like Shouto is rushing back to the dorms anyway. 

Iida falls asleep halfway through debating the merits of every single type of cheese at four in the morning.

Shouto, barely lucid, decides to go find a bathroom and brush his teeth. It’s difficult navigating the maze of monotonous doors, but he manages. 

Suddenly, the sound of a struggle comes from behind one of the doors. He braces himself in front of it, ready for a fight, and presses his hand to the keypad. It flies open.

Aizawa is grappling with Tensei, who is laughing his ass off. Aizawa’s eyes are glowing, but it’s not doing him any good.

The window clicks open, and Midnight hurls herself through it. She tackles Tensei to the ground, knocking him out of his wheelchair and sending the three of them crashing into a pile on the floor. 

She looks up, catches a glimpse of Shouto, and stills. He considers pretending he didn’t see anything and shutting the door.

Instead, he makes eye contact with Aizawa, hits the woah, and runs. 


“I saw Iida hit the woah at Aizawa,” Shouto declares as soon as he walks into homeroom on Monday morning. He genuinely cannot go another second keeping this critical information to himself.

Most of the class looks at Iida; the others alternate between Shinsou and Aizawa. 

“Sure you did,” Shinsou says.

“What—“ he says, feeling his face flush. “I’m not making this up!”

“Do you really think Aizawa-sensei knows what a meme is?” Iida asks. “The reporters may listen to this kind of drivel, but I will not stand for it.”

Shouji looks at Shouto, buzzing with happiness. “Feel my pain,” he whispers.


chat name: N A K E D A N D U N A F R A I D

uh, meow: tenya is marrying the todoroki kid

uh, meow: i don’t care how

uh, meow: i don’t care when

uh, meow: i need him as my brother in law, the funky little hellion

scrub daddy: tensei, i want you to know that reading that sentence and imagining its implications made my eye involuntarily twitch.

scrub daddy: if they ever have kids i’m marking the day they get into ua and THAT will be the day i retire and go live in a cave w hizashi.

scrub daddy: i’m still not over the orbeez incident.

mew noon: i don’t think i’ve EVER laughed as hard as i did when he opened the door and saw us

mew noon: it was a free for all.

mew noon: tensei was like. chewing on ur fucking leg

president bike: I’M SO SAD I MISSED IT

president bike: I SKIP OUT ON REC NIGHT ONCE AND THIS IS WHAT I GET

type owo: i’ve never been more vindicated in turning down an invitation 

president bike: SUCK MY DICK VLAD!!!!!!!!!

scrub daddy: zashi when will you be home

president bike: THATS GAY

scrub daddy: we’ve been married for seven years, babe.

scrub daddy: we have a child

420: shouta, climbing on top of the fridge: 

420: this family is a fucking NIGHTMARE

president bike: ...I’LL BE HOME IN LIKE TWENTY MINUTES

president bike: DO YOU NEED ME THERE SOONER

scrub daddy: nah, just wondering. take your time.

mew noon: i’ll come keep you company shouta~

mew noon: ;-0

president bike: BEGONE, THOT!

yeehonk: back on topic:

yeehonk: if yall want iida to marry todoroki isn’t he gonna have to compete with the hearts of every member of class 1-a

type owo: and class 1-b

420: and like the entire population of japan

uh, meow: So Be It.

Nedzu: As much as I’m enjoying this, you really do need to pay attention to the meeting.

mew noon: YES SIR

president bike: SORRY SIR

scrub daddy: thank you, sir.

uh, meow: i don’t even work at ua??

Nedzu: Not with that attitude you don’t!

uh, meow: ah. i’m terrified!

 

Notes:

woooooah we’re halfway there woOOOAAAH 5/10 ON A PRAYER

all the chat usernames are puns i put too much effort into

the editing on this is kinda rushed but i had this in my drafts for like four days just waiting to be posted so

some fics that i would like to credit as inspiration:
- @kamisukis au on instagram, which is every bit as sad and chaotic as one would expect
- The Misadventures of Explodo-kill Agency by Erina, which is an amazing fic that influenced the wedding chapter as well as the general idea of fake dating that doesn’t end in romance, and also one of the funniest things i’ve ever read, fic or not
- The Evil Is Defeated by Agitated_Procrastinator, the best bnha chatfic and influencer of the way i categorize all the pro heroes

Chapter 6: Uraraka & Jirou

Notes:

if any of you make art of your favorite parts of this fic, i’ll hang it on my wall, and that’s a promise. even if it’s the turkey baster scene.

one year anniversary of this fic. hell yea. happy holidays bitches. it’s january and i do what i want

also, i can’t believe i used the ring pop trope twice and no one noticed or said anything, least of all me.

late merry christmas, @mikudako. this is for you.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

XI.

 

Shouto kicks the door in with an amount of glee he doesn’t display often. “Uraraka,” he says, “it’s time for our hot girl summer.”

 

She blinks. Tsuyu sits on the bed next to her, hair half-braided. “I’m kind of—“

 

“Busy, yes, yes, I know. This can’t wait.” His mouth is half open in a manic smile, the red and white in his hair tangling together.

 

“It’s almost Christmas,” says Tsuyu. “Your window for having a hot girl summer closed, like, months ago. This is your Christian girl autumn at best.”

 

“This is urgent!” he insists, shaking his head. “Endeavor’s going to realize which one of his credit cards I stole soon, and we have to buy as much stuff as we can before that happens. Tsu can come too. I don’t care. Just help me pick out presents for everyone.”

 

“No thanks. I’m biding my time to cash in on that fake date,” Tsuyu says, and hell if that isn’t the scariest thing he’s ever heard, but at this point he can’t be bothered to care.

 

“Shouto,” she starts. “We’ve been over this. I don’t need you loaning me any money. I don’t need charity—“

 

“It’s not charity by very definition. I see a sexy, sexy woman and I, an older man with loads of disposable income, have no choice but to offer her some.”

 

Uraraka puts her head in her hands. “You’re only three days older than me.”

 

“And four hours!”

 

“Never call me sexy again.”

 

“Bodacious.”

 

Shouto , you’re not even attracted to women.”

 

“Nubile.”

 

“I’m going to send you out the window like a balloon and there will be no mercy.”

 

“Then I’ll never tell you the PIN number,” he says, waving the plastic card through the air. She stands up and punches him in the face.

 


 

The mall isn’t as crowded as they expect, all things considered. Kids stand in line to greet Santa, and several employees in the food court offer free samples.

 

Shouto is wearing four shirts, a hoodie over his toboggan, and wool underclothes of every possible variety. They’re hit with a blast of warm air as soon as the automatic doors open in front of them. He makes no move to take any of it off.

 

“Isn’t your Quirk temperature regulation?” Uraraka asks him with no small amount of judgement. “Like, isn’t that the whole thing?”

 

He flips her off. It’s not as effective when his arms can barely move above his waist.

 

“So,” she says, walking forward and ignoring him, “do we have a plan of attack?”

 

He pulls out a list. In a move that he practiced for about forty-five minutes in the privacy of his dorm, he tilts the list so that it starts out small and then unrolls onto the ground, like Santa’s list in the movies.

 

Uraraka, for her part, does laugh extensively at this. He feels extremely proud of his foresight.

 

“Are we going to catch a movie while we’re here?” she asks as they pass the theater, laden with bags and boxes of all sorts.

 

He shrugs. “Might as well. What do you want to see?”

 

She pulls out her phone, looking at movie times. “There’s a few I’ve had in mind.”

 

“What,” he teases, “the new Frozen sequel?”

 

“Mmm,” she says without looking up. “Something like that.”

 


 

Shouto realizes he’s in over his head when the first brutal dismemberment occurs on screen. He must whimper out loud, because Uraraka looks over at him.

 

“Are you okay?” she whispers.

 

“Fine,” he replies, immediately before closing his eyes and suppressing a scream.

 

“If the gore is too much for you, we can totally leave. I probably should’ve asked beforehand—“ Uraraka says, looking at him with concern.

 

“No! It’s not, like, a childhood thing. I’m fine,” he insists, but then the monster appears onscreen and he stands up. “I’m sitting in your lap.”

 

“You can’t—“

 

“Lap. Time. Now.” He moves so fast that she doesn’t have time to stop him.

 

Uraraka looks at the back of his head, now resting on her left shoulder, and blinks once. “Are you scared?”

 

“No.” His voice is three octaves higher than normal.

 

“Of that?” she says, gesturing to the poorly rendered pig creature onscreen.

 

“Of course not. Don’t be stupid.” The last word is loud enough that a woman in front of them turns around to glare, sees Shouto struggling to balance in Uraraka’s tiny seat, decides whatever is happening back there isn’t worth the mental energy, and turns back around.

 

Uraraka flails vainly beneath him, but he’s had plenty of practice suffocating Shinsou, so he clings to her easily. “I’m taking Bakugou with me next time — get your elbow out of my trachea!”

 

He shoves his elbow in the direction he thinks her throat should be. “Maybe if your trachea wasn’t so close to my elbow, this would go better!”

 

Uraraka reaches up and yanks on his hair. “I’m just trying to have a nice day at the movies!”

 

Then there’s a bright flash of light with a tired looking movie theater employee behind it.

 


 

“Let me get this straight,” says Midoriya, sitting on the couch in the common room and filled with despair. “You two got kicked out of a movie theater?”

 

Uraraka nods and high fives Shouto with an expression of glee.

 

“And we spent over a hundred thousand yen on my old man’s credit card,” Shouto adds quietly.

 

“Uraraka!” Iida starts. “You can’t just—“

 

Kaminari shushes him. “Just let it happen, bro. If she wants to be my sugar daddy, I am more than happy to let her.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

XII.

 

Sometimes a man needs ramen at two in the morning, so Shouto makes his way to the cabinet where Shinsou usually stores his snacks. He  buys the good stuff, not the cheap bowls the school provides in their vending machines.

 

Shouto had briefly considered waking Lunch Rush, because lord knows he would never turn down a chance to make ramen, but he decided against it in the end. He’s perfectly capable of making his own post-midnight snack, as long as he can steal from Shinsou. 

 

“We are going to have the best holiday fling the world has ever seen,” Jirou announces as soon as he opens the door. She’s somehow managed to fit inside the cupboard, music blaring through her headphones loud enough for him to hear.

 

He closes the cabinet door and counts to ten.

 

When he opens it, she’s still there.

 

“You’ve been hanging around Shouji too much,” he says.

 

She ignores him. “I have it all planned out. I have playlists. Checklists. Shinsou helped me make a storyboard.”

 

He reaches under her to get the ramen and walks away.

 

“I’m going to get you a gift for each of the twelve days of Christmas,” she continues, her quirk amplifying the sound. “Of course, you’re going to be the one buying the gifts.”

 

“Because you’re broke?” he ventures.

 

She nods. “Because I’m broke as hell, and also because I feel like Kirishima’s moms will be more willing to loan you three French hens than me.” She stares at the ceiling contemplatively. “Don’t know if we should start with day one or day twelve. The lords a-leaping seem like they might require more planning.”

 

“Why would they loan me the hens and not you?” Shouto asks as he unwraps the foil packaging of the ramen. 

 

“You’ve dated their son.”

 

“Mm,” he says, unimpressed. 

 

And you’ve dated their son’s boyfriend! Besides, you got Jenkins back to them safe. That’s what really matters.”

 

“Jenkins?” Shouto asks.

 

“The llama,” she says, like he’s an idiot. Which he might be, but not for the reasons she’s thinking of. 

 

“Ah. Our dear classmate. How could I forget.” He pauses for a moment, trying to remember which faucet handle is for cold water and which is for hot.

 

“Are you using the stove to boil that?” Jirou asks, rolling lithely out of the cabinet and onto the tile.

 

It’s kind of gross down there. He doesn’t think he would sit on the dorm kitchen floor.  “Yeah,” he says instead.

 

She stares at him. “Why?”

 

“Why not?”

 

Jirou gestures to his left arm. “You have a, y’know, a spicy side.”

 

“Jirou,” he says as he fills a pot with water, “I’m a simple man. I’m lazy. I type 3 times 2 into my calculator during math class. I use the stove to boil water for my noodles instead of my quirk. Let me live.”

 

“Izuku told us you don’t know your multiplication tables,” she says with a horrible grin. “You probably can’t even heat up noodles without burning them.”

 

“Izuku better stop talking shit before he gets hit,” Shouto says. The water on the stove comes to a boil; he dumps the noodles in followed by a pack of seasoning and, upon a moment’s consideration, another pack of seasoning stolen from the box.

 

“Okay,” Jirou says, pulling over a barstool. “Okay, back on track. What’s the first day of Christmas again?”

 

“You’re the one with a storyboard,” he tells her.

 

“Bold of you to assume I didn’t just watch Shinsou make it in mesmerized awe,” she says. “Alright, here we go — a partridge in a pear tree. Gonna be real with you, chief, I don’t know that I’m confident in what a partridge is without googling it first.”

 

“The twelve days of Christmas are actually fascinating to study,” Shouto says, slowly stirring the noodles as they cook. “You know, back in 1558, Roman Catholics in England couldn’t worship freely due to persecution, and they had to secretly show others they were—“

 

Jirou waves him off. “Yeah, of course. A signal to others in the Illuminati. Everyone knows that.”

 

He looks at her for a moment and sighs. “I should date Iida again. He would listen to my trivia.”

 

“I’ll be in contact,” she says. She returns to the cabinet he found her in. He eats his ramen and does not see her leave.

 


 

“In hindsight,” Jirou says, “maybe—“

 

“There is no maybe here,” Shouto tells her, bordering on hysterical. “Go and get Kouda.”

 

On the other side of the door, a very angry partridge in its pear tree of wrath tries its damnedest to demolish Shouto’s room.

 

“What am I going to tell Midnight? That a bird shat all over my homework?” He turns to Shinsou, who is staring at the door with a look of horror as the squawking rises in pitch. “You couldn’t have picked a less volatile option? Five golden rings. I would have loved getting five golden rings, maybe even some maids a-milking—“

 

“You can’t just start at day six, Shouto!” he shouts back, equally as hysterical but unwilling to admit defeat. “That undermines the whole purpose of the thing! The drama! The joie de vivre!”

 

“I don’t think you even know what that word means.” Shouto layers more ice around the door as aggressive pecking comes from the other side.

 

“I planned this so well,” Shinsou says, more to himself than to Shouto. “I had an outline. A storyboard.”

 

“Where did you even get this thing?” Shouto despairs. “Do you know an illegal bird dealer? How did you get the tree into my room?”

 

“Told All Might it was for a project,” Shinsou mumbles into his hands.

 

Shouto screams in anguish. “We implicated the number one hero in not one, but two animal related crimes?”

 

“There’s nothing illegal about owning a bird,” Hagakure says from behind them. They both jump. “Or a llama, for that matter.”

 

Shouto narrows his eyes and aims them at the general area of where hers should be. “The llama was theft and you know it.”

 

“It’s only theft if Kirishima’s moms didn’t get it back,” she says, but the inevitable debate is interrupted by the  sound of two people running up the stairwell.

 

“Got him!” says Jirou.

 

“Why are you people like this?” signs Kouda.

 

“The bird’s in there,” says Shinsou. Shouto melts the feeble barrier of ice that stands between them and a feathery death.

 

Kouda opens the door and closes it behind him. There are several avian screams, a quiet whisper, and the dawn of a horrifying silence.

 

Shinsou shuffles awkwardly from side to side. After a few minutes, he clears his throat. “Should we open the—“

 

No,” says Hagakure firmly. “He’s lost to us now. Shouto, you have to tell his family.”

 

”I did not,” Shouto insists, “buy the fucking bird.”

 

“He’s dead, guys,” Jirou says flatly. “We killed Kouda. I’ll remember you all fondly in Tartarus.”

 

The doorknob rattles; all of them flinch. Shouto shoves Shinsou in front of him automatically.

 

“Why are you sacrificing me?” Shinsou shrieks.

 

Shouto shoves him again. “Brainwash it!”

 

“It’s called short-distance mental influencing, and I can’t do it to birds!”

 

“How do you know if you’ve never tried?” Jirou says. 

 

“Jirou!” Shinsou says, betrayed, whirling to face her. “Don’t agree with him!”

 

“Plus Ultra!” Shouto gives him an encouraging little fist pump. “Go beyond!”

 

“That was never aimed at people using their quirk on a deranged bird!” he continues. “What if we mind meld, Shouto? What if I become a chicken?”

 

”Well then, there won’t be much of a difference, will there?” Shouto tells him. Shinsou lets out a strangled cry and tries to throat punch him, and as he does, the  door swings open.

 

“It’s not a chicken, and she has babies, idiot,” Kouda signs.

 

“I want to see them,” Shinsou says, all thoughts of murdering Shouto momentarily forgotten. 

 

“She says you kidnapped her,” Kouda continues with a disapproving frown.

 

“I didn’t know I was kidnapping her!” he says, throwing his hands in the air. “It seemed like a good idea at the time!”

 

Kouda gives them all a look of longsuffering, even Hagakure. “I’m taking the bird.”

 

“But—“ Shinsou starts. 

 

“I’m taking,” he repeats. 

 

“I paid good money for—“

 

“The bird,” he says, backing down the hall and away from them, the partridge in tow. 

 

In the end, none of them can stop him.

 


 

“I’m sorry your plan to get me twelve gifts didn’t work,” Shouto says.

 

Jirou has been staring out the window for a substantial amount of time. Not that he, of all people, is allowed to judge someone’s allotted time for staring out the window and brooding about their foiled and ultimately futile plans. But she did march into his room, so he feels like he should say something.

 

“It was a good plan. You had the logistics figured out. It was only in practice that it failed,” Shouto continues. “Solid hero course basics. Trial and error. But please don’t ever bring a bird into my room again.”

 

Jirou sighs.

 

There’s a long pause.

 

“Did you know,” Shouto tries, “that once, two foreign spies originally assigned to kill each other ended up trying to work together and introduce hippo farming to the swamps of Louisiana?”

 

She sighs, even more forlorn than the first time.

 

“Listen,” he starts, but Momo slams the door open and walks in.

 

Shouto looks at her. “You may enter.”

 

“Shut up,” she says. She’s holding a stick with a green plant attached to it, presumably an attempt at mistletoe; she holds it over her head.

 

“I’m flattered,” says Shouto, “but I think we already broke up.”

 

“Shut up,” she repeats. 

 

He looks at her sad, drooping stick. “Those are cherries.”

 

Fuck!” she says emphatically. 

 

Momo storms into the bathroom, flipping him off as she goes.

 

“What did I do to your girlfriend?” Shouto asks.

 

Jirou hums. “Made me upset, probably.”

 

There’s the faint sound of glitter, and Momo walks back out with actual mistletoe.

 

Shouto stares at her. “What did you do with the cherries?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says as she stalks over. Jirou leans into her without looking up.

 

Shouto leaves (even though it’s his room, because apparently nothing is sacred to these people) at the sight of Jirou finally smiling, looking up at Momo with an expression of pure love.

 


 

In the end, Shinsou does a shitty job of photoshopping Shouto’s body over Momo’s. A reporter pays him 200 yen for it anyway.

 


 

e: Shouto.

 

s: Yeah?

 

e: Do you have my credit card?

 

s: No. Why would I?

 

e: Because I just received a bill for almost 325,000 yen at a mall very close to your school.

 

s: Huh. Weird.

 

e: Shouto.

 

s: Must be one of those new scammers. Insidious these days, I tell you.

 

e: So I shouldn’t be interested in the pictures of you and that gravity girl being forcibly removed from the movie theatre?

 

s: ...Mere coincidence.

 

e: You could try to be a little more hospitable to the paparazzi, you know.

 

s: Yeah. Sure.

 

e: At bare minimum, PLEASE, and I can NOT stress this enough,

 

e: DON’T tell the reporters that you’re making “sweet and juicy love” with anyone ever again.

 

e: When we both know you’d rather chew off your own arm than even touch Bakugou.

 

s: Where’s the fun in that?

 

e: Sigh.

 

s: Did you really just type the word sigh out instead of actually sighing?

 

e: So it seems.

 

e: Are you and Izuku coming to Christmas dinner?

 

e: ...

 

e: Shouto?

 

s: Yeah, Dad. We’ll be there.

 

s: Six, right?

 

e: Right.

 

s: Tell Fuyumi to not eat all the dumplings before I can get some.

 

e: I will.

 

e: Thank you.

 

s: Whatever.

 

s: Goodnight.

 

s: I’m not apologizing for the credit card.

 

e: I think I’ll be able to handle it.

 


 

s: ...Hey Iida.

 

run run fashion baby: Yes?

 

s: Do you know about the Louisiana hippo farming scheme?

 

run run fashion baby: Do I? What kind of question is that?

 

run run fashion baby: This isn’t amateur hour, Shouto! Get trivia that’s more obscure.

 

s: Oh, yes, daddy likey.

 

run run fashion baby: I will tell you about my favorite time zones if you promise to never call yourself Daddy in my presence again. 

 

s: Be up here in ten or the deal’s off.

 

run run fashion baby: I’ll make it five.

Notes:

anyway one time a boy told me about his favorite outlying time zones and i literally almost kissed him on the spot. did you know venezuela does time zones in 30 minute intervals.

endeavor iida and shouto use autocaps bc they’re all Like That

i don’t know if i converted the yen right. i figured that if i was wrong it’d be funny that i accidentally said shouto spent like ten billion dollars.

there was a whole section of this chapter i didn’t write for a long time, instead simply writing Shinsou And The Partridge Incident and every time i saw it i lost my mind. anyway comment or offer up your firstborn or whatever

Chapter 7: Aoyama & Satou

Notes:

this is proofread only in the vaguest terms of the word. the amount of times people make a “that sounds kinda kinky” joke is about six and i’m not sorry. also yes i wrote this chapter during Christmas time what about it

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

XIII.

“He’s stealing my cheeses.”

Shouto glances up at Aoyama. He’s sitting in the common room, drinking hot cocoa, heretofore undisturbed. The walls and shelves are decked with every sort of holiday ornament. 

“Who?”

“That...” Aoyama wrings his hands together. “That sugary little table-licker!” His French accent comes out in full force when he’s upset, though privately Shouto suspects he’s never even been to France.

“Mm,” Shouto replies. “That is… definitely not a word in Japanese.” He takes another sip of cocoa and turns the page of his textbook. 

“He can’t get away with this! Every week I stock the fridge, and I mean fully! Colby jack! Havarti! Cheddars both mild and sharp! Swiss, baby Swiss—“

“I get the picture,” Shouto says, finally setting his book down on the heavy oak coffee table. 

Aoyama nods at him. “So you understand what we have to do.”

Shouto has no idea what on earth that means. “Definitely,” he says.

“Cheese theft is a heinous crime that cannot be left unpunished, and this has been going on for weeks.”

Hesitantly, Shouto picks his textbook back up. 

“That’s why you’re going to help me catch him in the act.”

His glass of cocoa pauses halfway to his mouth. “Sorry, I’m what?”

“You heard me,” Aoyama says, pacing. “We can set up security cameras, or hack into the existing ones—“

“That is very illegal.”

Aoyama points a finger at him. “You snuck a stolen llama out of this school.”

Shouto holds up his hands. “If I returned Jenkins, then she was merely borrowed.”

Aoyama lets out a noise of pure despair. “That’s not the point. The point is, you can’t call the licorice black when you are also a skunk!”

“I don’t — think that’s how the phrase goes,” Shouto tries, but Aoyama is still going.

“Well, then what do you propose we do? My babies are expensive! I spent fifty dollars on a block of Munster the other day, and now it’s gone!”

Shouto looks at him suspiciously. “Is that why you have to borrow pencils and paper from me every day in homeroom? Because the rest of your budget goes towards cheese?”

Aoyama puts his head in his hands, each word punctuated with a click of his heels against the wooden floor. “Not. The. Point!”

“Okay,” Shouto says, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright. Why don’t you...”

He considers the options to himself. Considers how to maximize the chaos.

“Why don’t you prank him?”

Aoyama sits down next to him and puts his legs up on the table. To Shouto’s chagrin, he sets his feet on top of the textbook. “I’m listening.”


As students crawl back to the dorms after a long day of training and classes, a piercing scream echoes through the halls of the 1-A dorm.

“What? What’s wrong?” Kirishima says, bursting into the common room.

“Is anyone hurt?” asks Midoriya, hot on his heels. 

“Someone’s going to be!” yells Aoyama. The substantial crowd that appeared at the sound of yelling makes their way to his room. 

“Is everything okay?” Shouto asks through the closed door. 

Another anguished wail. “No!”

Kirishima moves Shouto out of the way, presses his mouth to the door. “Can we come in?”

A shriek of despair. “Absolutely not!”

“I’m coming in,” says Jirou, her hand already on the doorknob. 

A pause, a sniffle, and then, “...Fine.”

The door opens and shuts before anyone else can see what’s inside. 

“Hey now,” Jirou says in the soothing tone she picked up from Momo. “It can’t be that bad — oh, sweet mercy.”

Another devastated shriek comes from behind the door. “See?

“What happened?” Mina demands.

The door slams open. Aoyama, hair dyed a fluorescent red, looks around with murder in his eyes.

Shinsou and Midoriya, to their credit, try hard to look sympathetic. The effect is undermined by Sero and Mina absolutely losing their minds.

“Mina!” scolds Hagakure. “Show some respect, the man’s been dyed!”

Sorry,” she gurgles, wiping tears from her eyes, not sorry at all.

“We can fix it,” Shouto says soothingly. “Somebody in this class is sure to have bleach.”

“Yeah,” Jirou continues. “I can—“

“It’s not the same!” Aoyama wails, crumpling to the floor. “I won’t be a natural blonde anymore!”

Shinsou rolls his eyes. “Listen, man—“

“I look like Elmo!“ Aoyama screams into the floor. “I look like 2012 Gerard Way! I...”

He tilts his face up, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I look like Kirishima!”

Hey!” says Kirishima, eyes narrowing. “You better not be saying that when you know I’ve helped you dye your roots!”

Aoyama gasps dramatically. “Take it back!”

“What’s going on?” Satou says, walking down the hall, oblivious to the Shakespearean tragedy of epic proportions unfolding in the dorm hallway.

Jirou gestures to Aoyama’s entire body.

“Hey!” Aoyama yells.

Shinsou looks Satou over before stepping between him and the exit.

“I think we caught the culprit red-handed,” Shinsou says, pointing to the boy’s dyed hands. “Literally.”

Satou laughs nervously, eyes wide. “What? I don’t even—“

Aoyama punches him square in the face. It’s only downhill from there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

XIV.

“He’s stealing my cheeses!”

Shouto looks up from the movie he’s watching on his laptop with a dawning sense of familiarity. “Who?”

“Our local ex-pat-ri-ate,” Satou says with an atrocious French accent. “Even if he’s using my kitchen space to make the best linguini the world has ever seen—“

“Is linguini even a French dish?” Shouto muses.

Satou waves him off. “You’d think a man with such good manners and- and impeccable fashion sense would know the unspoken rules about another man’s cheeses.“ He sighs. “That someone with his gorgeous hair and fascinating quirk—“

Shouto glances up again from his bootlegged copy of Venom. “Are you gay for Aoyama?” 

“Not today!” Satou gestures with a single meaty fist. “Today I’m gay for you.” 

Shouto nods, eyes still glued to the screen. “Many are.”

“And as if the cheese theft wasn’t enough!” Sayori continues. “The other day, I showered in sauce.”

“Please keep your fetishes to yourself,” Shouto tells him mildly. 

Satou punches his shoulder. In the other room, he hears Midoriya struggling to contain laughter. 

“No!” Satou insists. “After I confronted him about it, Aoyama denied the whole thing, accused me of stealing his cheese, and then managed to get a whole bottle of spaghetti sauce into the shower pipes! Just to get back at me!”

“How?” Shouto raises his eyebrows. “I mean, like. That’s impressive. I’m impressed.”

“I wasn’t!” Satou yells. “I smelled like Italian! All day!”

Shouto shrugs. “There are worse things to smell like.”

“Yeah. Like Bakugou,” Mina yells from the other room, followed by a loud explosion. They both ignore it.

“So you understand why I need you,” Satou concludes. 

Shouto looks at him hesitantly with a dawning sense of deja vu. “Are we… going to punish his cheese crimes?”

Finally!” Satou says, grinning. “Someone who gets it. So, what do you want to do? How do we prank him back?”

Shouto reaches into his book bag and pulls out a box of hair dye he stole from Kirishima during the Great Orbeez Heist of Two Weeks Ago. “I think I have a few ideas.”


“I smell a scheme brewing,” says Shinsou as soon as Satou leaves.

“Fuck on a stick,” says Shouto, who neither saw nor anticipated Shinsou being in the five inches of space beneath the couch. 

“You know you can’t have mischievous plans and not tell Daddy,” Shinsou says, unfolding himself in an unnatural way and stretching out his crackling joints. 

“If Iida hears you’ve taken to calling yourself Daddy as well, I think he might actually die,” Shouto says. “How did you fit under there?”

Shinsou waves a dismissive hand. “C’mon, spill. What’s happening? Who are we conning?”

Shouto sighs. “Satou and Aoyama are blaming each other for cheese theft. Frankly, I couldn’t care less who’s really stealing it, but Satou just asked me for help and I don’t know how to tell him it took me thirty minutes to shove an entire can of Chef Boyardee into that showerhead.”

“That was you?” Shinsou says, looking impressed. “What if someone else had used the shower first?”

“I made sure there was an out of order sign on the door until Satou got back from training.” Shouto sighs melodramatically. “I’m just sad the noodles got stuck.”

Shinsou pauses. “Did you get them out? Dad’s going to kill you if you break another shower, you know.”

“The last one wasn’t my fault, and I tried to tell him that,” Shouto protests. “Besides, they’ll... work their way out. And disintegrate. Or something. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I wonder who’s really stealing—“ starts Shinsou. His words cut off as his face drops, finally putting together puzzle pieces Shouto cannot see.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Shinsou says quickly. 

“Partners in schemes don’t keep anything from each other,” he says, draping himself over Shinsou and attempting to suck out all his body heat. 

“Nah. I’m probably wrong,” Shinsou says, shaking his head. “And for real, don’t worry about the whole Aoyama-Satou thing. It’s just a few pranks. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Shouto thinks about the box of dye and slowly picks his laptop back up.


“It’s been so long,” Shouto says, face pressed into the common room floor as he lays on his stomach. “I haven’t seen food or water in years. I’m going to waste away and die here. Without getting to say goodbye. Away from everything I’ve ever—“

“Shut up!” Kaminari says, tossing a pillow at him from the other side of the room. It hits his chest with a soft thud.

Things are winding down. It’s been about an hour since Aizawa opened the door, saw Aoyama trying to bite Sero’s arm off, and closed it back immediately.

Bakugou walks into the common room and looks over all the furniture lying out of place. He sips gently on his strawberry boba. “Are you all finally done acting like fucking children? I’ve been gone for two hours.”

“Don’t act like you have the moral high ground here!” Izuku yells from inside one of the cabinets.

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “At least I didn’t get involved in a class fight over some shitty pranks.”

“Two words,” Shouto says into the carpet. “Turkey. Baster.”

“Hey, we promised not to talk about that!” says Izuku.

“That’s a little kinky, boys,” says Mina.

”You have no idea,” Shouto assures her.

“Listen,” Bakugou says. “It’s almost eight. I’m going to bed. Good luck with whatever is going on in your pitiful lives. I hope you could find some fulfillment in this dumbass fight, and if anyone wakes me up, you will fucking eat it. Capisce?”

Shouto shoots him in the head with a Nerf gun, and Bakugou promptly tries to detach his head from the rest of his body.


About an hour into The Class Fight Plus Bakugou Now, Monoma walks in, observes pillow forts around him, and holds up both his hands. “I come in peace.”

“You couldn’t have chosen a better time?” Shinsou yells. The entire wall behind him is scorched, wallpaper curling up around the burn marks. 

Monoma frowns. “There’s never a “better time” with you people.”

Shouto watches as Monoma makes his way to the fridge, opens it, and grabs a tray of cheese. He gasps at the top of his lungs and points at him. “Traitor!”

Shortly thereafter, Aizawa has to step in and prevent a murder.


“Babe,” Monoma whines. “It huuurts.”

“You’re such a baby,” Shinsou says.  They’re sitting in Recovery Girl’s office; Shinsou’s begrudgingly bandaging up Monoma’s arm. 

“It was just cheese!” he says pathetically. “I thought everything in that fridge was fair game!”

“Nothing in this class is fair game,” Shinsou says solemnly. “It’s all dirty game. With lots of cheating. And hair pulling.”

Monoma leans back in his chair. “There were a lot of good foods in there I’ll miss. I’ve never had tea that good, ever.”

Shinsou stops his bandaging. “You drank the tea? The kind Momo gets specially imported?”

Monoma groans. “Oh no. Does she? Her family is rich enough. They can deal with it, surely. …If she figures it out, how long do you think I’ll live?”

Shinsou hums. “Ten.”

Monoma looks at him with confusion. “Ten what?”

Nine,” says Momo from behind Monoma’s chair. 

Monoma, in an act of unprecedented intelligence, stands up and starts running.


Anonymous: [Attachment: 1 Image]

Anonymous: here

Shio: Another one?

Anonymous: another one. 

Shio: All our columns have been about UA students lately.

Shio: It makes you wonder how any work gets done at that school.

Shio: What’s your pitch for these pictures?

Shio: Are there any new ones of the Todoroki kid?

Shio: The public eats that up.

Anonymous: sadly i got no pictures of natsuo 

Shio: You know who I meant.

Anonymous: word on the street is that two students got into a fistfight for his hand which then spread to all of Class 1-A.

Shio: His hand? This isn’t the Middle Ages.

Anonymous: and yet he was still being courted

Anonymous: by a boy with six arms and a boy with a bellybutton laser

Anonymous: kinda freaky if you ask me

Shio: I don’t ask you, sir. Truly.

Shio: I only pay you, and every day I ask myself if it’s worth it.

Anonymous: then my job here is done


Aizawa: Hawks.

Aizawa: Are you, by chance,

Aizawa: selling pictures of my class to hero gossip magazines?

Hawks: how dare you

Hawks: bringing my very integrity into question!

Hawks: i would never do that.

Aizawa: Hawks.

Aizawa: From one hero to another

Aizawa: If I find out you’re lying to me I’m taking the train to your town, tracking down your house and breaking in at the stroke of midnight with a pair of sharpened gardening shears

Hawks: ...

Hawks: what’s that i think i hear tensei calling me

Hawks: i have to go bye sir nice chat

Aizawa: That’s what I thought.


peppermint patty: Did you deliver the goods? 

m. othman: shouto would i ever fail you

peppermint patty: Yeah

m. othman: >:-O

peppermint patty: So I take it I’ll be seeing an article about the epic fight for my love within the next few weeks?

m. othman: absolutely mon capitan

peppermint patty: Wonderful!

peppermint patty: Shinsou will be in touch >:-)

Notes:

no one has made me art of this fic and i am now entitled to financial compensation!

also y’all should read the fic An Education In Interruption on here bc i’ve been thinking about nothing but it for the past week it’s so gooooood it’s literally one of my favorite pieces of writing ever

in case it wasn’t clear:
Anonymous: hawks
m. othman: still hawks
peppermint patty: shouto
Shio: a random gossip reporter whose name i pilfered from aeii bc it’s so good

Chapter 8: Mina & Tsuyu

Notes:

hello!! it’s been a while hasn’t it! as i explained in a few comments, a combination of covid, mental health, The Inherent Tragedy Of Being In High School, and less involvement in the bnha fandom made it necessary to put this fic on the back burner for a while, both for the story’s benefit and my own.

 

but i’m finally ready to go full speed ahead and finish this with a bang. it’s been more than two years in the making, SO much fun to write, and now officially my longest fic ever! i hope y’all have enjoyed the journey :-)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

XV.

 

Shouto gets, at most, twenty-two hours in which he is not trying to fake a relationship before Mina grabs his arm on the way to class and yanks him into a supply closet. 

 

Upon glancing around, he realizes it’s the same one Hagakure dragged him into. If the small baskets of candy, pads, and assorted trinkets are any indication, it’s a place other girls frequent. He gets the sudden sensation he’s entered a strange and powerful domain in which he is just a visitor deemed worthy enough to pass through.

 

He looks up to see Mina standing in the corner, shuffling through a bag of something. 

 

She hands him roughly 35 sheets of googly eyes. They vary in size, shape, and color. He’s a little impressed, albeit a little intimidated.

 

“Why?” he asks, for lack of anything better to say.

 

“We’re going to commit a crime,” she says instead of answering. “You’re gonna love it.”

 


 

“I’m losing to Bakugou,” Mina laments as they make their way down the street, Shouto leading the way. Her backpack is filled to the brim with sheets of adhesive googly eyes. “To Bakugou. I can’t let that happen. He wins at too many things as is.”

 

“So why,” says Shouto, who conceived of their current plan before he heard any backstory and subsequently finagled them a pass to leave school for the afternoon, “is this a competition?”

 

“Well, Kaminari was going to get like, three sheets of these bad boys for a school project, and Sero didn’t proofread the order before he paid for it, and now we have… so many.”

 

Shouto leads them down a small side street. “Do you have an estimate of the amount, or—”

 

Mina looks him in the eyes. “So many.”

 

He nods, thinking of Kirishima. “Your friends do like to buy things in large quantities.”

 

“So we decided to make it a competition to put these in as many places as possible,” Mina continues. “Points for creativity, humor, and skill. Jirou’s the judge because she got dragged into it during pep band practice, and we needed a neutral third party.”

 

She puts a hand on each of his shoulders solemnly. “I have to do something drastic to win, which requires an extra set of greasy little hands. I’m losing miserably.”

 

“To Bakugou?” he ventures. 

 

“To Bakugou!”

 

“Here we are,” he says before she can begin a tangent of rage aimed at Bakugou Katsuki, which Shouto can come up with just fine on his own. Instead, he reties his shoes and slings his backpack over his shoulder.

 

“No,” Mina says. There’s a flat sort of disbelief to the words.

 

The house in front of them is giant, traditional furniture visible through the picture windows. Whereas Iida’s home felt warm despite its minimalistic decor, the building in front of them is foreboding despite the knick-knacks and obvious signs of existence.

 

”Yes,” Shouto says, and begins to climb the fence surrounding his childhood home.

 

“If he’s going to be the Number One Hero, you would think he could afford some shrubs,” Mina says, glancing around the bare front lawn as if Endeavor might erupt from the ground and strangle her on sight. “Even some flowers. Maybe a jade tree or two.”

 

“Bold of you to assume he loves things that require effort.” Shouto looks at the fence, now observing it from the inside, and fiddles with the keypad attached to it. The house is surrounded by a forcefield and barbed wire; he knows the passwords to deactivate the alarms and packed some extra strength gloves.

 

The place can’t really be immune to villain attack if two high schoolers with a smartphone, a vendetta, and access to a Walmart can get in unnoticed. Really, he’s doing Endeavor a favor, checking for holes in his security like this. 

 

“You’re sure he’s not here?” Mina says, grinning, as she wedges one of her combat boots through the slats of the fence. 

 

She lands on the ground with a thud; he pats her twice on the back as she catches her breath. “Even if he is, I could probably take him. Now go. Commit some acts of vandalism.” He presses a button on the keypad, and the front door slides open.

 

Mina whoops with delight and runs off in the direction of several priceless family heirlooms, clutching five sheets of googly eyes.

 

Shouto makes his way to the pool where Endeavor does his aerobic exercises each morning. He does pool jazzercise religiously with a shower cap to stop the steam from enveloping the entire yard, like a grandma made out of a bonfire. Shouto speaks from experience, and he also regrets ever having been given the gift of sight.

 

Silently, he unloads the contents of his backpack and freezes the water solid.

 


 

“It’s an honor to have you here,” Shouto says, with the inflection of someone who would rather boil their own teeth and drink the scalding remnants. 

 

Power Loader ushered him out of class earlier and informed him in a hurried whisper that someone very important was waiting for him.

 

That, Shouto thinks, was a lie. 

 

Endeavor is sitting in Shouto’s dorm room now with a constipated expression, trying not to set everything on fire. He’s not doing a very good job of it. Hawks stands behind him and tries not to laugh. He’s also not doing a very good job of it.

 

“I assume you know why I’m here,” Endeavor says, crossing his arms. 

 

Shouto nods. “To humbly accept I will be a better hero than you someday soon.”

 

Hawks covers his mouth and turns to ‘cough’.

 

“I’m proud of you for being the bigger man. What a noble thing to do,” says Shouto.

 

Endeavor crosses his arms more, if such an action is even possible.

 

“Recently, every piece of priceless fine art in my home was defaced.”

 

Shouto lets his hand drift up to cover his mouth in surprise. “Oh, really? With what?”

 

Endeavor ignores him. “As were all the chairs, and the kitchen utensils, and the hygiene products—”

 

“Each. Individual. Spoon,” Hawks mouths to him. It’s a good thing Shouto has had years of practice maintaining his facade as an emotionless shell, or else he would be on the floor right now.

 

“—And my entire pool filter had to be removed and replaced, causing thousands of dollars in damages, as well as compromising the structural integrity of the concrete.” Endeavor says, his flames growing hotter with each word. “And do you know why, Shouto?”

 

“Tell me,” he says, grinning at Hawks, his chin resting on one palm.

 

“Seventy-five pounds of water marbles.”

 

Hawks excuses himself, mumbling something about hero business. They can hear him laughing all the way down the hall.

 

“Well,” Shouto says, “I don’t know who would do something like that.

 

Endeavor looks at him with a combination of despair, confusion, and either constipation or affection.

 

“I think this benefitted both of us in the end,” Shouto says. “I helped you identify several weak spots in your security system.”

 

“Couldn’t you possibly, just once, come over when I’m actually there?” Endeavor sighs.

 

“I came to Christmas dinner,” Shouto tells him on his way out the door, already en route to assure Mina their plan was a success. “Don’t push your luck.”








 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

XVI.

 

There’s a sign on the wall. 

 

To the right is a picture of Izuku gesturing aggressively, and to the left a lovingly handwritten message: This is a SELF DEPRECATING HUMOR FREE ZONE! If you make a joke about how you’re going to jump off a bridge or join the League of Villains because you burnt your toast I'm gonna throw you into our graduation!

 

Izuku is sitting on Shinsou’s bed, typing up a paper that’s due in three weeks. Shouto is pretty sure they haven’t even gotten the entire assignment yet, but he doesn’t doubt that Izuku stayed after class just to ask for it. His lowest grade is a 98, but he’s not even in the running for valedictorian because of insanity like this.

 

Nonetheless, Shouto is next to him lying on his stomach, asking the occasional question about verb conjugations. Shinsou is under the bed, listening to dubstep barely audible from Izuku’s position.

 

As peace never lasts long, the door slams open; the breeze from it ruffles the curtains in the corner.

 

“I’m here out of a sense of obligation,” Tsuyu says. “You were nice to my girlfriend.”

 

Shouto closes his textbook and nods. Shinsou peeks his head out from under the bed. Tsuyu makes eye contact with him and does not flinch.

 

“I heard Uraraka let you be her sugar daddy,” Tsuyu continues. “I want that life. Art supplies are expensive.”

 

“Sorry. I don’t think my father will give me another one of his credit cards soon.” He thinks about the pool full of Orbeez. “Quite possibly ever.”

 

She crosses her arms. “You’d better get cracking if you want me to cause a public scandal with you.”

 

Shinsou’s face lights up. He scrambles from beneath the bed like some sort of nightmarish, human-sized spider. “I have the perfect idea for a photo op.”

 

“If you bring the nightingale back, I think I’m legally required to tell Aizawa-sensei,” Izuku says mildly.

 

“It was a partridge, and no,” Shinsou says, digging through the back of his closet. It’s a disorganized mess full of button-ups and dresses and clothes that definitely aren’t his. With a noise of triumph, he pulls out a lavender and mint crop top that reads, in neon yellow Comic Sans, What Dat Tongue Do?

 

Tsuyu launches herself at him in what is presumably a murder attempt. Shinsou ducks under his desk and back beneath the bed, where Tsuyu follows him with no hesitation and Shouto’s giant textbook in hand. The entire bed begins to move; Shinsou’s screams are muffled by the still-playing dubstep music. Shouto picks up the shirt and puts it on. 

 

“It’s things like these that make me wonder if maybe Stain was right,” Izuku sighs into the bed. 

 

“Hey!” Shouto says, pointing to the sign.

 

Okay,” Tsuyu says, popping up somewhere near the headboard. Izuku lets out an undignified shriek.

 

She continues to kick Shinsou in whatever body parts she can reach while standing up. “You’re sure you won’t have any funds in the foreseeable future?”

 

“Quite sure.”

 

She sighs. “I’ll have to get on Iida’s case about new watercolors, but I’m not done here. Word on the street is that you have the power to get out of school with no questions asked. And by the street, I mean the Girl Closet.”

 

“She means the what?” Shinsou says, emerging from under the bed. She tosses the book at his windpipe.

 

Shouto hums noncommittally. “Depends on what you’re getting out of.” 

 

“It’s more like what I want to get into.”

 

“The answer is your pants,” Shinsou says, winking.

 

“This is strictly platonic,” Shouto assures him. “I’m too young to have tadpoles.”

 

Tsuyu hits him in the head with a pillow and leaves by jumping out the open window.

 






If he times it right, office employees who both know nothing about Shouto and are still naive enough to be in awe of his father will let him leave school, off the record, no questions asked.

 

This is how, at the beginning of one lunch period, he meets Tsuyu behind the school at a borrowed grey minivan.

 

“Whose car is this?” she says. Her hair is tied back with a bandanna, and she’s wearing several different pieces which leave no doubt in Shouto’s mind she could make it big in the cottagecore lesbian scene. She’s holding a picnic basket— he thought those were just in movies, but it’s wicker and has red and white gingham poking out of one side. Given that he’s never seen Tsuyu touch a pot, he’s hopeful she asked Uraraka to cook it.

 

“Oh, you know,” he says in response to her question. “What’s in the bag?”

 

“Oh, you know,” she says. There’s no good response to that other than getting in the car, so he does.

 

“Hey,” she says, “how come you get to drive?” 

 

Shouto starts the engine and puts the car into reverse. “Because the last time I let someone drive me to an unknown location, I became revered by and beholden to a colony of moths.”

 

Tsuyu stares at him.

 

“I go visit them every other weekend.” He meets her eye. “I can’t take any more of that kind of commitment.”

 


 

“So I’m not saying I was wrong,” Shouto says, “because I wasn’t.”

 

Tsuyu lets out a large sigh. She could probably get into a Guiness Book of World Records with that kind of exasperation.

 

“But you know the last time you asked to see my phone and get directions, and I told you not to touch it because it was an insult to my sacred dignity and navigational abilities?” Shouto looks in the rearview mirror. It displays nothing but trees and a worn old barn with the roof caved in. The road has been dirt for a few miles. “Yeah, that was a load of bull.”

 

“The League of Villains isn’t going to be able to kill you, because I’m going to get to you first,” Tsuyu says. She pulls out her phone and glances at it. There are a few more moments of silence than are strictly comfortable; her expression grows darker.

 

“What?” he asks. 

 

“I don’t,” she says carefully, ”think there’s any cell service.”

 

“What are you talking about?” he says, continuing to drive in the direction of nowhere, passing a field that looks like it should contain cows and now only contains memories. ”Of course there’s cell service. My music is still playing.” It’s true: the soft sounds of lo-fi hip hop are still streaming through the car.

 

She picks up his phone from the cupholder. “Your playlist is downloaded,” she says, an edge of despair beginning to creep into her voice. There’s a moment where neither of them speak. The only sound is the rumble of the engine. The car continues to roll forward into no man’s land.  

 

“Uh-oh,” he says.

 

Yeah, uh-oh. You’re the son of the Number One Hero, and all you have to say after getting us lost in the middle of nowhere is uh-oh?”

 

He takes his eyes off the road to look at her. There’s nothing he could possibly hit; he can see the next thirty miles stretching out in front of them. “Well, what else would you like me to say?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe here’s the radio I keep in the back of my car for emergencies so we can call for help even though we're two top students in the most competitive and respected school in the country and perhaps the world?”

 

“Now, I think that’s giving a little too much credit to a school that’s run by a sentient rat,” Shouto says calmly. She throws his phone at him. 

 

“Listen,” he says. “The road we’re on has gone straight since we left town. We can just turn around right now, follow our path back, and be in class before anyone even knows we got lost.”

 

Tsuyu doesn’t even have the decency to pretend she believes him.

 


 

“Okay, so maybe I took a couple of turns I shouldn’t have, and maybe I’m not super sure where we are,” Shouto says thirty minutes later.

 

Maybe?” she yells. 

 

The hip hop is now drowned out by the torrents of rain falling on every part of the car; they have to shout to be heard. It looks like it might turn into snow soon.

 

“I thought that it would be a straight shot! And besides, it’s not like we have directions to go off of!”

 

She stares at him with bewilderment and cranks the heat, even though privately Shouto thinks there’s no way she can feel the rain through the windows. “I wonder whose fault that is!”

 

“Okay, listen, if we can survive countless criminal attacks—“

 

Tsuyu throws her hands in the air. “I’m starting to think it was more luck than anything else!”

 

He ignores her “—we are in logical and tactical training all day, and it’s time to put it to use. The most we can do right now is park and wait for the rain to stop.”

 

“Gee,” she says. “I sure wish I had a radar so I knew when that would be.”

 

“I’m sure it will let up soon.” He looks out the window; the rain is coming down in sheets. Even with the fog lights on, he can’t see more than a few feet down the road. “And besides, if we’re gone long enough, somebody will come looking for us.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“It’s not that bad—“

 

“I’m going to turn your teeth into a windchime.”

 


 

After thirty more minutes have passed, the rain begins to let up a little. 

 

At least, Shouto is pretty sure he could see someone if they jumped directly in front of his car. Probably.

 

Somewhere around the fifteen minute mark, Tsuyu gave up and opened the picnic basket. Uraraka was definitely involved; there’s some sort of curry packed in thermoses, rice, a large bowl of mochi, a little container of fruit next to a variety of sauces both sweet and savory, and a few other things he is left to wonder about forevermore, because Tsuyu slaps his hand away as soon as he gets close to them.

 

“People who get us lost in the boondocks get their special girlfriend side dish privileges taken away,” she says sternly, and he doesn’t really think it’s his place to argue.

 

Especially not when he turns the key in the ignition once they’re ready to get back on the road, only to have the engine sputter and die out.

 

“Tell me,” she says.

 

Shouto stares very steadfastly at the gauge in front of him. “Tsu—”

 

Tell me we are not out of gas.” She puts a hand on his arm. “And if it is a lie. You had better make it a damn good one.”

 

He grits his teeth together and shrugs in what he hopes gives off a what can ya do vibe.

 

It obviously isn’t successful, because Tsuyu slams both hands against the car and lets out a scream of absolute despair. The glove compartment, the only thing she can reach from her current position, pops open; something clatters out of it and onto the floorboards.

 

Shouto stares at the radio for a second. Tsuyu stares at the radio for a second.

 

Both of them dive for it at the same time in such a way that they almost knock each other unconscious.

 

“You mean this whole time—”

 

“And no one thought to check—”

 

“We could have been—”

 

“That’s my dad’s—”

 

“Okay,” Tsuyu says, taking a deep breath. “Okay. We have this now, and that’s all that matters. We can tell Aizawa-sensei our car broke down, and he’ll come and get us.”

 

Shouto fidgets with the controls until he reaches a channel he’s pretty sure should connect with a pro hero. At least, if Endeavor possessed any common sense in the way he ordered his radio channels, which can never be a given.

 

“Hello?” Tsuyu says hopefully. There’s a small noise of static from the other end, like someone walking across a room.

 

“Eraserhead’s not present right now, what’s poppin’?” says a very familiar voice.

 

Shouto grabs the door handle. “No. Actually, I think I’m going to walk home, thanks. Never mind. Bad idea.”

 

“Shinsou, I think what Shouto has done to me today qualifies as an attempt on my life,” Tsuyu says, wrenching the radio out of his hand.

 

The confusion in Shinsou’s voice is palpable. “Aren’t you two supposed to be taking cute photos today? Picnic, right?”

 

“We are stranded in the woods in the rain with no gas and I am begging you to go ask your dad to come get us. This isn’t about dignity or pride anymore. If you leave Shouto to his own devices, I genuinely think I’m going to become an urban legend.”

 


 

The rain is still coming down pretty heavily, so both Shouto and Tsuyu jump when a knock comes on the car window. They look out to see Aizawa, soaked to the bone. 

 

Shouto unlocks the car door and just barely cracks it open. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

 

It’s funnier in his head, because Aizawa presses his eyes tightly together until the vein in his neck that means he’s angry looks like it’s about to burst. Shinsou, from somewhere behind him, is laughing so hard he can’t stop, but Shouto’s pretty sure it’s not because of his joke. 

 

Aizawa looks pointedly down. Shouto follows his gaze to his own chest. They both spend a long second staring at the blaring lavender and mint of his crop top.

 

“In my defense,” he says, “this is your son’s.”

 

For a good ten seconds, Shouto is pretty sure Aizawa is going to turn around and leave him here, consequences be damned. Shinsou managed to get the worst of his laughing under control, and now he’s lying on a pile of leaves, wiping his eyes and trying to catch his breath. Shouto isn’t really sure what’s tears and what’s rain. 

 

Tsuyu hops into Aizawa’s car and hands him a container of peaches. He raises an eyebrow at her.

 

”Consider this a bribe,” Tsuyu says, “and none of us will ever speak of this again. Also, I’m using it to strongly encourage you to leave Shouto in the woods, but I understand there are rules.”

 

Shinsou starts laughing again. “I am like, at least ninety-five percent sure Endeavor would personally thank you.”

 

The hour long drive back to UA feels like it lasts an eternity. The cold of the rain must really get to Tsuyu, though, because she falls asleep in Shouto’s lap. Aizawa throws another blanket over her fondly while still managing to look Upset And Parental. 

 

Shinsou snaps a picture of them and sends it to Hawks, making sure to get the crop top front and center.


 

After getting a Stern Talking To from Aizawa which mostly consists of being told he’s a bad influence on Tsuyu and not allowed to reframe midday picnics as integral to their hero education, Shouto is twenty minutes late to algebra.

 

He heads directly to the Girl Closet. Hey, in for a penny, in for a pound. What have quadratic functions ever done for him, anyway?

 

He opens the door and blinks several times. Aoyama and Satou are sitting in the corner next to a mini fridge he swears wasn’t there a few days ago. Satou is somehow in Aoyama’s lap, despite the obvious physical limitations to such a thing, and he’s running his hands through Aoyama’s (now pink) hair. Their faces are dangerously close together. He doesn’t look for long, but he swears Aoyama has literal hearts in his eyes.

 

“Oh, kill me now,” says Shouto as he begins to shut the door.

 

“Get back in here,” says Aoyama. Satou jolts at the sound of Shouto’s voice and tries to edge his way out of such a compromising position, but Aoyama drags him back in and kisses the tip of his nose.

 

Shouto walks back in, closes the door, and sits down with as much force as he can muster, which, after the day he’s had, is a lot. “Why are you in the Girl Closet?”  

 

Aoyama gestures to all of himself. “I’m better at eyeliner than half our class. And besides, the rules aren’t enforced by gender. They’re enforced by the spirit of the thing.” 

 

Shouto wonders what that means with regards to his own frequenting of the Girl Closet.

 

Out loud, he says, “Why is he here?” He points at Satou, who has now at least moved into a sitting position, pressed as close as he can against Aoyama.

 

“Everyone gets a plus-one to the Girl Closet,” Satou says matter of factly, ”and it’s an honor.”

 

“He left them baked goods until Najire let him come in between classes,” Aoyama says.

 

Shouto stares at them. “Don’t you… Don’t you have class right now? We’re in the same class?”

 

“Don’t you have class right now?”

 

“Touche,” he says.

 

Aoyama opens the mini fridge and hands him a juice box. He takes it gratefully.

 


 

Incident Report Transcript: File 2843-J: UA Press Conference

 

[The video opens on a sea of reporters in front of the gates of UA Academy. Pro Hero Eraserhead sits at a table next to Principal Nezu, speaking in a dull monotone and trying to calm the crowd pressing in around him. Several pro heroes and students are scattered throughout the crowd, presumably to provide information as well as extra security.]

 

Reporter One [Identities Redacted]: How are we supposed to trust that you can keep our children safe after so much evidence to the contrary?

 

Reporter Two: Too many lives have been endangered through sheer carelessness, and it seems this generation of heroes is unable to approach the task of protecting our citizens with the seriousness it requires. Is this the fault of the teachers?

 

Eraserhead: I hardly think you can blame a societal issue on one school, and even less so on a singular class. 1-A has been the target of a surplus of media attention, no one can deny that, but—

 

Reporter Three: Even the heroes highest up in the rankings don’t seem to do a good job of controlling their children. Think about—

 

[Eraserhead sighs. Nezu subtly kicks him.]

 

Reporter Three: — Endeavor’s own son, Todoroki Shouto. Ever since attending this school, wave after wave of rumors involving sexual scandals and promiscuity have been featured in every newspaper in Japan. How can you possibly expect us to— 

 

Eraserhead: Sir, with all due respect, I’m not here to discuss every rumor or exaggeration you’ve been told. The Todorokis have always been followed by… unsavory gossip, so why should this be any different? 

 

Principal Nedzu: We take the education of our students very seriously. UA didn’t become the top hero school overnight, and we have the proper training regimen in place to raise what appears to be an extremely promising new group of heroes. [He chuckles.] I’m sure all of you have seen them in action through news stories, internships, or sports festivals. I can’t wait to see what they’re able to do out in the community with their real hero licenses.

 

Eraserhead: As the principal said, our students are still children, but they treat their hero training with the utmost seriousness and— 

 

[The crowd descends into uncomfortable silence. From beneath the table, Eraserhead has produced his iconic golden mask, presumably to put on before leaving. Over the eye slots are two giant, neon green googly eyes.]

 

Reporter Three: … 

 

Eraserhead: … 

 

[A group of students standing in the back fidget nervously, glancing at each other and inching further and further away from the assembly.]

 

Shinsou Hitoshi: Oh, you’re dead dead, huh?

 

Mina Ashido: Shut up.

 

Kirishima Ejirou: I’m changing classes. Wherever Shinsou came from, I’m transferring there. I’ve never talked to you people, ever.

 

Shinsou Hitoshi: You can come with me. I’m going back to General Studies. It’s been nice knowing you, for all— 

 

Mina Ashido: Shut up!

 

Todoroki Shouto: No, he’s right. I can go ahead and call an undertaker.

 

Bakugou Katsuki: … 

 

Mina Ashido: Don’t you say it. Don’t you dare say it.

 

Jirou Kyouka: I think you guys won this competition. 

 

[Mina puts her head in her hands.]

 

Notes:

take this

Notes:

come compliment/torment/seduce and support me at my tumblr!

 

shinsou and shouto’s hero names are from the fic anyone can be a hero by redbluepalatar!

title is from this. the other working titles for this were ‘upstanding model of a modern day cain with impeccable style’ from this which i listened to an absurd amount while writing this but i eventually decided was too long and also irrelevant, and also ‘i like me better when i’m with you (and you and you and)’ which is a pun on this.

my friend also tried to get me to name this ‘toe sucking the musical’, which is when i stopped asking for possible title suggestions.

feedback is my life and blood. leave them Please i love hearing your thoughts do a book report up in this comments section.