#ignore me trying to get all the tags possible bc ion want this to flop

[lununnunna]

i cant sleep without you || todoroki shouto x reader

have you ever grown so used to one’s presence that you find yourself unable to complete an otherwise simple task without them?

warnings: angst, death, not a happy ending, tiny breeding kink if you squint hard enough

shouto did his best to keep a regular schedule for you, as he didnt like to be away from you— because for starters, he didnt want you to be hurt and/or kidnapped by a villain looking to exploit the second highest-ranked hero, secondly, because he loved you, and lastly, because he hated missing out on time he could be spending with you.

thats why, on the few occasions he told you he’d be home late, he wound up finding you still waiting for him in the ungodly hours of the night.

“i couldnt sleep without you here,” you would confess, fingers fiddling as if you were shy, though your tired gaze told him you only wanted to sleep. and that was a sentiment he wholeheartedly agreed with.

he would let out a soft puff of air, a gentle smile on his lips as he welcomed you in his arms, nose buried in your neck as he carried you up the stairs despite his weariness from battle. after all, he would always have enough energy for you.

you never minded his dirtiness on nights like those. he never once heard you complain about how sweaty he must have smelled, or how he might soil the bedsheets. you would only cuddle into him, seemingly ignoring all else solely for the comfort of him, and in the morning hed find you humming to yourself as you drew him a bath, the first aid kit on the bathroom counter. a part of him felt as though he didnt deserve to be spoiled this way by you, but youd constantly remind him that he did. you would tell him he deserved the world, and everything you did was out of love— also, that tending to his wounds wasnt spoiling him, and your melodious laughter would spill into your explanation about how his wounds probably should have been cleaned right away.

it also didnt help that he couldnt bring himself to refuse your gentle touch, small, slender fingers tenderly washing away the sweat, dirt and blood built up on his skin and in his hair. by the time you were done, he was left smelling of sunlit strawberries— a scent that wasn’t his first choice, but was the “fee of your service.”

you would leave him to dry and dress himself, and when he left the bathroom, he would find the bedsheets missing. you had once again taken on a chore without prompting and without complaint. god, he never deserved you, did he?

there had also been nights when he’d be home late without your knowledge— and when he finally stepped through the front door, he found you in the dark, silent tears soaking your skin.

it didnt take much to spot his injuries, and realize the reason he had been late. “why didnt anybody call me?”

it felt like a stake in his heart, how quiet your voice was. how broken sounding. how much worry and fear and sorrow filled your wet gaze. he vowed to never let you feel that way again— but sometimes, he couldnt help it.

he couldnt help the night you ran to him, lying in agony on the street of the city. he couldnt move. he hated seeing you cry. he hated not being able to kiss away the tears on your cheeks, hated not being able to tell you he was okay, not being able to hold you tight as you screamed and begged for him not to close his eyes. he had always made sure to have energy for you— but his body betrayed him as his vision grew dark, his body feeling heavier with every passing second.

the last thing he heard, the last thing he felt, was your anguished cries and your tears on his cheeks.

“i cant sleep without you here,” you whispered to what you thought was his comatose state in the hospital, moonlight filtering through the window. his mind felt numb. his feelings were hazy. yet nothing could stop him from recognizing your voice; your touch. he managed to squeeze the hand that was grasping his so tightly, and by the time the nurse entered the room, he was conscious enough to fix you a weak smile.

you began to cry.

time was a fickle thing. the nights he spent with you felt too short, and the nights away from you felt too long.

he craved more time with you, more memories— and someday, more noise. he knew it was too early for kids, but he wanted them. he wanted several with you. and to add, he wanted the time to be home with them. you didnt like how hard he was pushing himself just to make more time, though.

and you didnt like when he got angry with you for expressing this.

god, how foolish he had been. he never meant to snap. he was tired and overworked; a fault that was entirely his own. the same fault you had been trying to point out to him.

regret had settled deep in the pit of his stomach the moment he saw your wide-eyed, tearful expression. you looked so small before him, and he moved to cup your cheek; to apologize for the harsh words that had left his mouth as a result of the stress and anger that momentarily blinded him.

but you flinched.

and never had he felt such a sick feeling in his gut, twisting and carving away at his insides. panic and anxiety flooded his senses, tides of rage and self-hatred washing over him. it made him tremble, watching, frozen in place as you took a step back. and then another. and then you turned away, gaze hardened as you disappeared up the stairs. he fell to his knees, stewing in his remorse.

you had given him the silent treatment for the rest of the evening. he didnt blame you. he had also been silent, not wanting to speak to you— he didnt trust himself, and more importantly, he felt as though scum like himself didnt deserve to in the first place. no good husband would ever speak to his wife that way, stressed or not.

“im going for groceries,” you muttered quietly, so quiet he barely caught it. he watched as you slipped your shoes on, every atom in his being screaming at him to hug you— to hold you tight and kiss you goodbye. he wanted to tell you to drive safe, to offer to come along, to tell you he loved you. anything but watch you leave without another word from either one of you.

and he so desperately wished he had gone with you.

that night, you were caught in a wreck. that night, you left him. that night.. he lost you. the love of his life. his everything.

he lost you.

and every day since then, he had been lying in your once-shared bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, recounting every moment of that day. he wallowed in the empty place beside him, tears soaking your pillow as he let out screams of agonized rage. he would get so angry that hed nearly burn away the bed— but the thought of losing your scent, still soaked into the sheets, would drag him back into his broken sorrow.

and there he would remain for the hours of the night, staring out the window as he waited for the sun to rise. his eyes felt heavy. he knew he was exhausted. and yet, he couldnt bring himself to sleep. he couldnt quiet his mind.

ironic, wasnt it? ironic that his wish for more time with you, was exactly what took you away from him. ironic, that every day since your death, he had been feeling everything that you must have felt when he came home late. 

except this time, you werent coming home.

and he cant sleep without you.