I decided to write Todoroki x Reader. Most of the chapters are on Patreon, but I wanted to give you all a sneak peek. The backstory for Toodoroki 20 years ago is actually essential to the story (this happens in the same universe/timeline as parallels)
Here you are <3
Todoroki
20 years ago
Sometimes I lose track of why I want to be a hero at all. The days become routine. Catch villains, make sure everyone made it out alright, deal with the press, repeat. Even if I work under my father's agency, I'll be able to start my own very soon. So why do I feel so displeased with my life?
The bartender gives me looks every now and then, like he's not sure if he should ask if I really am Shoto Todoroki. On the other side, an easy hum of pool players and late-night regulars frolic, drink, mingle, and flirt.
So far, no glass bottoms read out my fortunes. None tell me why I feel so empty either.
Instead, they make me think of my sister's phone call when she told me she'd eloped with Bakugo. Of my father handing me paperwork. Of all the friends I have, Hanta, Momo, Izuku, Ochako- all settling into their careers, lives, and relationships.
What am I doing?
Getting drunk, perched on a barstool, in the company of unwelcome thoughts, all because I don't know how to follow a path that's already been laid for me.
Pathetic isn't it?
"Here you are, miss."
I sincerely hope the bartender isn't talking to me as I look up. A few stools down, a woman waves her hair back as she takes her place.
Hm. A fellow bird pecking away at hard liquor I see.
As the bartender places it in front of her, she takes a moment, sitting her bag down, clasping her hands together, and letting a sigh loose. When her gaze meets mine, my brain lacks sobriety, the common sense to avert my eyes gone entirely.
"Are you alright, sir?" She asks, her voice a deep, smirkish thing.
"Yes," I answer, blinking to regain some focus, sniffling once. "I'm sorry, was I staring?"
"Just a bit."
Her smile, despite my gawking, lingers. It's when I notice her eyes are heterochromatic as mine are, one the shade of aged whisky, another bright like fire. Add in the smooth waves washing down her back and I may as well be staring at a painting in a museum.
"Rough night?" She chuckles, fire and whisky eyeing me up and down as I somehow still reluct from taking my eyes off her.
"Well," I hunch my shoulders lightly. "That's the first time anyone's called me sir. You tell me."
"Were you not going for the boring middle-aged man look?"
It's a tease. A rather good one considering the dress shirt and sweater I put on in expectations of going to dinner tonight.
I look down at myself.
"I look boring?"
"You look a tad flushed, actually. Taking a cab home or are you with a friend?"
"No friends," I confess, raising my glass to her in a faint cheers motion.
She cocks her head to the side, letting me admire the slope of her shoulders, her nose too. Delightful strangers with a taste for taunting are always nice to look at just a little too long. Plus it's only a matter of time before she recognizes me and this back and forth goes from delightful to work-related.
