Work Text:
The first sign that something was wrong should have been in line for security.
Ayako—your favorite member of the Todoroki Agency security team—was waving a detector wand over your clothes when she asked casually, “How’s it going?”
Any other morning, your response was something along the lines of, “Oh, it’s going. How are you?” This morning, however, you blurted, “Good! Except that I bumped someone on the train and spent ten minutes trying to get a coffee stain out of this shirt, and I feel a little sick when I think about leading the KPIs review because Shouto’s property damage numbers are up again which doesn’t look great, so I skipped breakfast but honestly I’m super hungry right now, that was a bad choice, and—”
You cut yourself off, utterly bewildered. Ayako looked similarly nonplussed, raising a slim brow.
“Uh, nevermind. I’ll just be going,” you said, and hared off to the rest of the security checkpoints before she could give commentary.
So you might have known that something was wrong even before you let yourself into Shouto’s manager’s office, armed with your monthly spreadsheets and performance slide decks. But you hadn’t given it more thought since then, a move which proved to be a complete mistake.
Shouto was already there, lounging in the set of chairs in front of his manager’s desk, looking less like a hero waiting for a meeting and more like some airbrushed ad for his dark turtleneck or his close-fit grey slacks. Your heart shot into your throat at the sight of him, like it usually did, and you had to remind yourself to relax.
Though he was unbearably handsome to the point of distraction, Shouto was relatively easy to get along with, something that should have made you calmer in his presence. He was straightforward, possessed of very little ego, thoughtful, and a very linear and strategic thinker—you’d worked extremely well with him the past couple of years, and Shouto, though he had less to do with the daily operations of the agency, had helped push your promotion last year to Director of Public Relations. It should have added up to an easy and uncomplicated work partnership, but his personality only made your unfortunate crush on him even worse.
He was so horribly, horribly perfect. And you were an awful little metrics gremlin, called in to roast him over the open flame of public opinion once a month. Really not something Shouto might be interested in.
“Y/N,” he said, looking up from his phone and fixing you with an intent look. Your heart stuttered under those heterochromatic eyes.
“Hi, Shouto,” you said, setting down your bag and digging out your laptop for something to take your attention off of him. “How are you?”
“I’m well,” he answered in his deep tone. “How are you?”
And that was it. The damning question that sent it all to hell.
“My heart feels like it could explode any second, and I feel kind of faint, weirdly weak, and incredibly distracted,” you answered, naming the symptoms of his very presence.
There was a beat of silence. You froze, crouched over your bag, laptop halfway out of it. Then it hit you what had just been said, and you slapped a hand over your mouth in horror.
Shouto was up out of his chair in the blink of an eye, kneeling in front of you with cool fingers on your face, angling it towards him.
“You’re not well?” he asked, those eyes locking on you with an alarming intensity.
His attention only made things worse. “I feel like I might pass out,” you said, cringing even as the words left your mouth.
Fuck, what the hell were you saying? You were making it sound like you were some Victorian maiden, ready to swoon in the mere company of a gentleman. And why were you saying this shit? You’d worked with him for years and you’d never let slip the effect he had on you—what was wrong with you this morning?
You thought back to the coffee incident on the train this morning, the way the girl whose drink you had spilled had startled, the way she had weirdly apologized to you even as you were in the midst of your own apology.
A sense of foreboding settled over you.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
“I think I’ve been hit with a quirk,” you blabbed.
Shouto’s features shuttered, a hard look you’d never really seen before entering his eye. He went over to his manager’s desk, dialing a number on her office phone, and then he was talking in low tones, asking someone from medical to come up to her office immediately.
Then he was back at your side, easing you carefully to the floor like you actually were in danger of passing out, and not just a huge idiot with an incredibly fat crush that made you say the world’s most ridiculous things.
“When I find out who’s responsible for this,” he uttered, low and dangerous, “they might never be able to use a quirk again.”
For some reason, the threat warmed you, even as it sent a little shiver down your spine. Was it weird to find him hot when he was angry?
You clamped your mouth firmly shut, lest you tell him exactly what illness prevailed you, but your silence was all for naught.
Because when one of the medical staff made it up to the office, pressing a quirk testing strip to your skin, she pronounced, “A truth quirk.”
Shouto caught your hand before it could smack into your forehead, looking surprised that he had done so. And then even more surprised at the pronouncement.
“A truth quirk,” he echoed, looking down at you curiously. His fingers were gentle where they held your wrist.
You squirmed uncomfortably under his scrutiny.
“But then, you’re still not well,” he said. He looked up at the medical staffer. “She’s feeling faint, and having problems with her heart.”
“She’s fine,” the staffer confirmed, holding up a scanner with your vital readings. They were embarrassingly perfect—incredibly, perfectly, damnably normal.
You could have died. You literally could have died.
Shouto looked down at you with a little wrinkle on his perfect brow, obviously wondering how you could admit symptoms like that given a truth quirk, only for there to be no physical sign of them. You tried to hold down the truth, but another question from him doomed you.
“But how?” he asked, clearly concerned, cool fingers smoothing over your cheekbone.
“I have an insanely huge crush on you,” you blurted. Then you unleashed a string of colorful swears, flushing so hot you thought you might catch fire.
Those heterochromatic eyes went a little round at the edges.
The medical staffer looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh as she bade a quick farewell. She was out the door before you could catch her sleeve and hold her like a shield against Shouto’s incredibly penetrating stare.
“I’m. Um. You know, sorry and everything,” you added. “I won’t let it interfere with work. I mean, I haven’t, any of the past couple years—fuck, oh my god, I just said that—”
Shouto was watching your mouth like he couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of it.
“Say it again,” he said.
You paused, staring at him. “What?”
“Tell me how you’re feeling.”
“My heart feels like it could explode any second, and I feel kind of faint, weirdly weak, and incredibly distracted,” you answered obediently.
“Because of me,” he said, like it was a wonder.
You gave him an annoyed look. Obviously because of him, who the fuck else did he think wielded that combination of attractiveness and straightforward appeal like an S-class quirk of its own?
Shouto choked on a laugh, and you realized with some horror that you’d said all of that out loud.
Damn the fucking truth quirk.
“I don’t know,” Shouto said, sounding amused. “I think I rather like it. When I find out who is responsible for this, I might have to thank them instead.”
This stopped you short.
He what now?
“I’m sorry, what?”
Something a little like a smirk curled the corner of Shouto’s mouth. “It is generally gratifying to know one’s feelings are returned, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I wouldn’t know—” you started, feeling annoyed with him again. Then you choked when the implication of his words sank in.
Shouto’s fingers slid down to cup your chin, and suddenly it felt like every nerve ending in your body was concentrated there, the touch magnified a thousand-fold into an all-consuming sensation.
“Would you like me to kiss you?” he asked lightly, looking smug.
“Oh my god yes—” The answer was out of your mouth before he’d even finished the question.
Shouto laughed, and then he was leaning in. You could feel the smile still on his mouth when it met yours. Shouto’s kiss was careful and attentive, but you could sense something deeper beneath, the same kind of restrained sort of passion that underlaid his quirk. Having that kind of controlled intensity turned on you was something you could have never prepared for.
The kiss became deeper and more heated, and Shouto was just easing you backwards again, still pressed firmly to you, when the door opened and his manager blew in.
“This is a fucking office,” she said, stepping over the two of you like you were a grimy puddle in the street. “Now hurry the fuck up, we have KPIs to review. Shouto—don’t think this will derail me from your property damage numbers increasing.”
Shouto huffed into your mouth, slumping against you.
You couldn’t do anything but laugh.