I Love All Their Writing Actually - Tumblr Posts

warnings: nsfwish, aged up characters, implied fem-bodied reader

"I know what you're doing."

Across the room, Shouto throws you his most innocent look.

"I am reading," he says evenly, giving the book in his hands a little tilt as if to emphasize its presence.

You don't buy it, and you open your mouth to say so. As if on queue, you can feel the temperature of the room raise another couple of degrees—and the heat is coming from Shouto's direction.

You hadn't noticed at first. Earlier this afternoon, you'd been wrapped in a knit cardigan, but you'd noted eventually that it was too warm for you, and discarded it over the arm of the couch.

After another half hour, you thought perhaps your fuzzy socks, too, were overkill, as the house was pretty temperate today. Another thirty minutes later you'd exchanged your sweatpants for shorts—and it was only then, as you passed the thermostat on the way back into the living room, that that you realized.

The temperature was set to low. But the room itself was registering very hot. The temperature was being fucked with.

And only one of you was a pro hero with a temperature-based quirk.

You'd sat back down in the arm chair, slinging your legs over the side and pretending to get back to reading. Shouto waited a long while, twenty entire minutes, but then your shirt started to feel too warm against your skin, the air of the room slightly thicker in your lungs.

And you knew it was Shouto's doing.

"You are not just reading and you know it," you say. "Turn it back down, Sho."

Shouto's features betray nothing, his damnably perfect poker face sliding into place. "Turn what down?"

"Your quirk," you tell him. "I don't know what you're up to but you've been caught, and this scheme ends here."

The temperature ticks up a couple degrees—you can tell by the tiny bits of moisture gathering at your hairline. It's suddenly almost like a sauna in the room.

"Todoroki Shouto," you start, pointing your finger at him. But his eyes don't follow it—they're locked somewhere below your waist, staring fixedly at the length of bare thigh you're now showing, thanks to your wardrobe change.

There's a click in your thoughts as the puzzle pieces slide together. You suddenly understand.

"Are you...? Are you trying to get me to strip?" you ask incredulously.

Absolutely nothing in your boyfriend's face changes, and his tone is purposefully bland. But there's an incredibly long pause before he says, "Your shirt appears warm."

As if it's just a fact he's observed. As if he's not the root cause.

"You are such a sneak," you tell him.

Two mismatched eyes slide to yours, but Shouto looks unfussed. If anything, the room gets warmer. A drop of sweat slides down your spine, incredibly uncomfortable.

Curious about his objectives, you finger the hem of your shirt. Shouto's eyes snap to your hands, and you can feel gaze practically burning through your shirt as you pull it over your head, leaving you clad only in your bra.

Finally, you spot little hints of weakness in your boyfriend as his jaw clenches the tiniest bit, his fingers curling restlessly over the sides of his book as though he's imagining taking handfuls of you. You fight down a helpless smile.

"Is it warm, love?" Shouto asks, as though it's only just occurred to him. "Would you like me to cool you down?"

He sets down his book, blinking two very innocent mismatched eyes at you. He opens his arms as if to take you into them.

You can't help but laugh at the transparency, the absolute stupidity of his ploy that he's apparently been working at nearly all afternoon. He is such a boy.

You linger a moment, like you're deciding. But of course you throw yourself into his grasp in the end, laying yourself out over him on the couch.

Though you doubt things will really cool down from there.

Not for a very long while, at least.