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Every day, you learned something new about Shoto Todoroki. Sometimes, it was about the ordinary–the little things that every couple was expected to know: likes, dislikes, insecurities, dealbreakers. Then, there were the eccentricities. For instance, most people would never guess it by looking at him, but this man loved his garbage television. Soap operas, B movies, reality shows–if it was corny and over-the-top, it was perfect. Stranger even, he never seemed to actually watch the screen. He always had to multitask, scrolling through his phone or juggling pots and pans in the kitchen. You’re half-convinced he doesn’t even know what the characters look like. Still, experience had taught you that he always listened and he always remembered.
It was one of those lazy dates–the kind where you ate lunch then just sort of lounged around your house wasting time together. You were a couple months into your relationship, so you’d already passed that stage where you felt the need to make awkward chatter. Hero work was emotionally draining, and both you and Todoroki appreciated the opportunity to unwind by merely sitting together.
You’d sprawled out on the sofa with the intention of shutting your eyes and resting for a while. Your boyfriend hadn’t seem bothered by the idea in the slightest, letting you drape your legs across his lap as he read through some emails from his agency. Although the two of you didn’t speak, the house was anything but silent; You liked it that way though. The persistent click of the ceiling fan, the enthusiastic babbling of TV personalities, the occasional buzz of Shoto’s phone–these were the just the sorts of white noise you needed in order to nod off. The only issue was that today, there was a new sound added to the mix.
It’s faint, so quiet that, for a moment, you think you might’ve imagined it. It doesn’t help that it’s sporadic; Sometimes it’d be there for a couple seconds and then disappear for ten, while other times it’d stick around like a drone. Squeezing your eyes closed a bit tighter (like that actually helps you hear better), you listen closer. Yeah, it definitely wasn’t in your imagination–but what was it? Where was it coming from? You stretch out your arms behind your head and groan, too riled up by the mystery to even consider sleeping.
It starts up again. It’s deep-pitched and rhythmic, syncopations matching up almost perfectly with the insurance ad you can hear playing on the television–like someone’s humming along.
It dawns on you. The commercial ends and so does the sound, confirming your suspicions.
You’re suddenly very aware of the twitching of Shoto’s legs beneath your own, and your eyes shoot open. He looks completely at ease, still peering down at his phone, head lolling back on the couch cushion.
You watch and wait, slowly reaching into your pocket. You twist a little, trying to pretend you’re just shifting into a more comfortable napping position; The last thing you wanted was for him to notice you and stop. Once you manage to fish out your phone and prop it up against the armrest, all that’s left is a little bit of waiting. Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long for some cheesy sitcom to pop onto the TV. Perfect. The great thing about sitcoms: they always had the catchiest theme songs. Sure enough, before the guitar riff is even over, Shoto is humming along. It takes everything in you not to immediately burst into a fit of giggles. You make it about fifteen seconds in before one forces its way up. Then, his eyes are on you.
At first, it’s more a look of acknowledgment than anything else. When he sees your phone–camera trained on him–he raises an eyebrow, saying nothing. You think of the best way to articulate the multitude of feelings bubbling in your chest.
“You’re adorable.” You say, grabbing your phone. “Have I told you that before?” You tap through your library and smile wide when you see your newest video there. Success.
“Why?”
He looks confused, like he doesn’t really understand what it is you’re talking about. Itching to get some sort of a reaction out of him, you hit the play button. You notice the way his jaw tightens when the audio plays back, his humming extremely recognizable over the hokey guitar riff. Thank God for modern recording technology. Shoto takes a deep breath of air through his nose, staring.
“Delete that.”
He should’ve known it would be pointless to make demands; You were an opportunist and most definitely not going to destroy such a perfect piece of blackmail.
“No.”
Then he makes his move. He reaches out to snatch your phone and you swat at him, taking full advantage of your superior speed. You try to roll away, but a cold hand pins you by your knees. When he leans in, you frantically extend an arm backward, dropping your phone over the armrest. He shoves your legs off and stands to retrieve it. You’re more reckless, hurling yourself straight onto the floor, beating him to the punch. You scoop up the device and slide around the edge of the furniture to escape his eyes. The second you break his line of sight, you stash your phone away into one of the (many) holes marring the underside of the couch. You’re positive he doesn’t see you do it–stealth was your specialty, after all.
You don’t even try to escape when he flips you onto your back, one hand pressing down on your abdomen, the other prying open your hands one by one. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he shoots you an accusatory look. You can’t even be bothered to play dumb; A wicked grin twists at your lips. It only fades when, to your horror, a prominent buzz gives away your hiding spot. It was his turn to smile.
He turns his back to you, and you know this is your last chance. You throw yourself at him full-force, winding your arms his waist and dragging him back. It doesn’t work–he isn’t budging. To be honest, you don’t really have another plan. So you stick with your guns and keep trying to throw off his balance, even as he reaches beneath the couch and recovers your phone. When he starts scrolling through your library, you get desperate.
“Shoto,” You whine, trying to wiggle in over his shoulder and stop him. “Please!”
He tenses up beneath you, finger hovering over the delete button. You try to grab at the phone in his moment of hesitation, but he holds it out of reach. Using force was useless–coercion was your best option. You lean forward, burying your face in his shoulder.
“I promise, I won’t show it to anyone. It’s just for me.” The words are muffled against the fabric of his shirt. You crane your neck upward, noting the way he refuses to look back at you. This wouldn’t do. You grab his chin, making sure that he can see the way you pout. “Please?” You drag out the word, making sure to jut out your bottom lip just enough to be convincing.
Shoto’s gaze flits between the screen and your puppy-dog eyes. He sighs, dangling your phone in front of your face. You giggle and grab it, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
You’d just learned something new: Shoto Todoroki had a soft spot for begging. That was something you’d have to remember.