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Nightswimming | Shouto Todoroki

Every summer, your family visits the same lakeside resort. It's a nice way to unwind after a busy year of college classes and part-time work, not to mention indulge in your love of swimming alone while the rest of the world is fast asleep. You're pleasantly surprised when an old friend from your childhood shows up one evening, and you find that nighttime in the water is more magical than you've ever dreamed. Written for @andypantsx3 Pretty Boy Summer Collab, and was also a sponsored WIP for @ficsforgaza. Thank you all for your support!

The details: gn! reader (no pronouns indicated, but written with afab reader in mind); no quirks au, childhood friends to lovers, discussion of family dynamics (this was supposed to be sexy and fun, how did this happen?) 5.4k words (help) . The title and fic were inspired by an old favorite song by R.E.M, aptly titled Nightswimming.

You envy families who can afford to spend the entire summer at the lake. Your own family manages to squeeze in a week at the end of the summer, when the August air is dry and nearly suffocating on the hottest days, when the grass is brittle and the leaves begin to rustle, signaling the beginning of another season. The cabin is cheaper because it's off-peak, and it's always one of the smaller ones. Your parents work hard, and you know they don't have to take you now that you're an adult, but it's been a tradition since you were just a baby. Even before you were born, your parents would vacation here as a newlywed couple. You'd feel bad for not coming, and you don't think you could handle the disappointment in your father's eyes if you told him you'd like to stay at home this year. So you load up the family van and head out. It's a half day's trip with a few pit stops along the way, a couple of heavy summer rainstorms, and nostalgia on the radio.

It's nearly sunset when you finally arrive. The air hangs humid and heady around, carrying the scent of jasmine and wisteria and pine; the crickets sing, the frogs trill, an owl calls out nearby. You're immediately transported back to days gone by, your childhood summers flashing before your eyes as you look out across the lake.

It's the closest thing to an ocean you've ever seen in person, and you know it doesn't compare, but it still makes you feel so small. The water laps gently up to shore while families with small children build sandcastles and eat hot dogs and drink lemonade. You smile fondly, remembering the summer your dad bought a kite and spent a good hour trying to catch enough breeze to fly it for you while you sat, bottom planted in the sand, clapping your little hands to cheer him on.

You learned to swim here. Your parents encouraged you, always made certain you were safe and grew confident in the water. As a result, your passion for competitive swimming was nurtured over the years. At home, you joined the swim team in both junior high and high school, going on to win several first place trophies and a full ride scholarship to university. Swimming to you was as important as breathing. Nowhere in the world did you feel as peaceful as you did when you were one with the water. At home, you were limited to the Olympic sized pool at the local athletic center, but here, you had the entire lake at your disposal.

You help your parents unload the van and get your room set up, then grab a towel and your sandals and make the short trek down to the boat dock.

“It's dark, honey,” your mother protests. “There won't be anyone else down there at this hour.”

“That's the point,” you say with a little smirk. She begins to say something else, but stops herself and waves you on instead. “Enjoy. You deserve some quiet time after being holed up with your dad and I for ten hours.”

The surface of the lake shimmers with yellow and gold light from the nearby cabins. Moonlight dances there as well, striking blue and white on placid waves. The water otherwise is dark and fathomless. The grass crunches with your steps until you hit the coarse sand of the little beach and you kick off your sandals and drop your towel, eager to touch the earth with the soles of your feet.

This time of year, the water is warm and inviting. As soon as the tide kisses your toes, you're almost tearful with relief. Welcome home, the water seems to say. It's been a long year without you.

I missed you, too, you think, toes curling into the wet sand as you step out into the lake. It's a warm embrace, a comforting and familiar reprieve. You wade further until you're waist deep, then push off and swim out a little further.

It's a leisurely dance, one you've executed a thousand times or more. The water flows through your fingertips, around your arms and legs, and you're weightless as you turn over onto your back, eyes trained toward the sky. Out here, it's a vast indigo blanket studded with diamond stars above. There's no one but you and the water and the sky. Tomorrow, you'll cook out with your parents and sunbathe on the deck of your cabin, maybe play a few rounds of gin rummy and catch a few fish for dinner. It's a peaceful, easy existence here– a welcome (and much needed) slow down from the hustle and bustle of your work and school schedule.

Time is irrelevant when you're in the water. You pay no mind to how late it becomes until your fingers prune and most of the lights in the homes have been extinguished for the night. You propel yourself back to shore, properly tired out and satiated, not expecting to see anyone else.

You're rightfully startled when you notice a fresh set of footprints in the sand, a few feet from your own. They disappear into the water and you squint into the darkness to make out the shape of another person, cutting through the water with long, graceful strokes. Your mother's worry about you going alone rings in your ear, so you hurry to shuffle your sandals back on your feet, wrap your towel around your waist, and get the hell out of there.

Though you're startled, you're not frightened. Anyone who comes out for a swim at this time of night must have the same desire as you– to be in the water undisturbed, to swim without the risk of sunburn and screaming children and fishermen casting their lines. And though you know you ought to just turn and walk back, something compels you to stay. So you hang near a majestic old maple tree, hoping to catch a glimpse of the stranger in the water. Sure, it's a little creepy, but– well, you don't really have any way to justify it.

The person swims a little longer, and your patient curiosity is rewarded when he wades to shore. Under the brilliant full moon, he cuts a striking figure. His skin seems to shimmer as he pushes his hair back, rivulets of water tracing down his neck and chest. You suck in a breath and try not to stare, but you're drawn to him. The ripple of muscle in his thighs as he walks, the beautiful profile of his face, the ease with which he carries himself on the uneven sand.

A midnight breeze rustles through the trees and drops a friendly little spider on your arm. You barely contain a squeak of surprise and flick the little guy away. The swimming stranger stops and peers in your general direction; he can't quite see you, but he knows you're there.

“You're still here,” he says quietly.

You don't know what to say. He caught you. But you caught him, too. As if it was a crime to swim under the stars. “It's– I– dark. I'm– It's dark out here.” Duh.

He steps a little closer to you and you take a couple of steps back, retreating further into the safety of the thicket of trees that surround you. Your parents cabin is just a few yards up the hill. “I enjoy swimming at night more than any other time of the day,” he says. His voice is low and calm, soothing in a way that's disarming to you. It's then that you realize you've been holding your breath, so you let it out in a long exhale, your shoulders relaxing significantly. “You're new here.”

That makes you smile a little. “We just got here tonight. I come every summer, actually.”

“We used to. Before my mom got sick.” His voice takes on a different timbre; more somber, a little far away and softer. “This is the first time in a while that we've made the trip.”

Your interest is piqued even more, and you peer at him a little closer. Here in the shadows, it's hard to make out his features. There are several families you've gotten to know over the years who frequent this location and you remember most of them. Though your time spent at the lake is usually brief compared to some of the other visitors, you've managed to make some good friends over the years.

“I remember you,” he says. A few more steps, and he's visible in the moonlight. You could never forget that scar on his face.

“Shouto?” You whisper. The last time you'd seen him was the summer after you'd both turned ten. He'd been so small then. Quiet and awkward and seemingly shy, he'd latched onto you and followed you around while his older siblings had their own fun. Two older brothers and a sister. The oldest had a mean streak and had a habit of getting into trouble. Shouto always seemed to mind his own business and could often be found swimming or lounging under a shade tree with a book. You had passing, polite conversation with him but never it never really amounted to much more than that. He was nice enough, but you usually spent your time with your parents or another group of girls you looked forward to seeing every summer.

“It's nice to see you again,” you say with a smile, fiddling with the frayed edge of your towel.

You think he returns your smile, but you can't be sure. His expressions have always carried an undertone of melancholy, and it's a little bittersweet to see that it hasn't changed after so many years. His face is less round, more angular and masculine, his hair a little longer, his shoulders more broad. “How long will you be staying?” he asks.

Your stomach flips, a hopeful little feeling. “Just a week.”

“That’s hardly enough time,” he says, turning his gaze toward the water.

“It’s never enough.”

He nods in agreement, then turns his attention back to you. “Were you leaving just now? I can walk you back to your cabin if you like.”

You trip over your words again, feeling like an utter fool. “Yeah, no, I– sure, I mean. That's– that'd be fine. Great, actually.” Heat rises up your neck and onto your cheeks. You puff them out and blow out a breath as Shouto walks next to you.

“It's just me and my sister this time,” he says. “We are also leaving at the end of this week.”

Questions begin to form in your mind, but you don't ask them because you don't want to be invasive. Though you were young the last time you saw his family, you could tell that his family's dynamic was a little unconventional. His mother always seemed quiet and sweet– perhaps a little bit too nice– and his father scared you. Large and loud and intimidating, he wasn't someone you'd want to upset. And as a kid who was taught to respect authority, you made sure to always be on your best behavior around him.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” you ask.

Shouto gives you a little smirk and studies you out of the corner of his eye. “I'm on vacation.”

You huff out a nervous laugh. “Well, duh. But like…what are you doing tomorrow? Do you have any concrete plans?”

By now, you're close enough to your cabin that the soft yellow glow of the porch light illuminates his face, and it takes your breath away when you dare a glance at him. He's breathtakingly beautiful. Your heart climbs to your throat and you swallow around it.

“I'm catching up with an old friend,” he says simply. Nervous as you are, you're disappointed at first and he reads your face immediately. It isn't until he steps a little closer and lays a hand on your shoulder that you realize he meant you. You're the old friend.

You nod and laugh a little. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Meet me down by the boat dock at sunrise.” It isn't a question, but there's an air of hope in his words, in the way his eyes don't leave your face.

“Yeah, okay. Sunrise.” Nevermind the fact that sunrise is less than six hours from now and one of your favorite things to do on vacation is sleep late.

He lets his hand slip off your shoulder. His smile is more easily noticeable now. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Shouto.”

Your parents are awake, having coffee on the deck overlooking the lake when you leave in the morning.

“Where are you headed so early this morning?” your dad asks, grinning at you. “It's not like you to be up with the chickens.”

You giggle at the old idiom. “I'm going down to watch the sunrise. I found an old friend last night and I think we're going to catch up today.” You hope he can't discern the spike in your heart rate when you think about Shouto.

“Oh! Was it that sweet Ashido girl? She always seemed like so much fun!” Your mother smiles fondly and reaches for your dad's hand. He threads his fingers through hers and gives her a squeeze, then sips his coffee with a little affirmative grunt.

For a few summers, you and Mina had been inseparable from the moment you arrived at the lake. You hadn't seen her yet this time; hers was one of the lucky families who spent a good chunk of time there each summer, and you kept in touch with her periodically throughout the years.

“No. Do you remember the Todoroki's?”

Your dad bristles. Your mother looks out over the lake and doesn't say a word.

“It's Shouto,” you murmur.

Your dad nods once. He doesn't look happy, but his shoulders have relaxed considerably. “Just be careful,” he says.

“Of course, dad.”

You hug them both and fast walk down the path to the boat dock, where Shouto waits for you. He's sitting on the little wooden platform, bare feet tickling the surface of the water. The lake is calm this morning; you see the occasional bubble of fish feeding at the surface, and birdsong fills the air. The first rays of sunlight begin to filter through the trees, and Shouto regales you with a smile that rivals its brilliance.

“You came.”

“Of course I came.” You sit next to him and lean back on your hands, head tilted toward the canopy of trees at the other side of the lake. A boat is tied to the dock. It's small, but it looks expensive. “Are we going out for a ride?” You nod toward the boat, and he hums in response.

“The best view of sunrise is just around those trees,” he says. “When I was little, my mother and I would wake up and watch the sky before the rest of our family got out of bed.”

You smile, watching his face as he must recall the feeling of that time with his mother. You get the impression that he must have enjoyed spending time with her more than any other member of his family. “Let's go.”

It takes you a moment to find your footing. The boat rocks side to side as you step in, and Shouto reaches out a hand for you to take to steady yourself. You accept with a smile and lower yourself comfortably, though even after you're sat, your hands remain together. There's a beat of something that passes between you, then you pull back first with a nervous, short laugh. Shouto, however, just looks at you. It's both intense and nonchalant all at once.

It takes a few cranks of the engine to get the boat running, but once it roars to life, you're on your way. With each passing second, the sunlight shimmers more and more brightly on the surface of the water. You have to raise your voice a little to talk over the sound of the motor, so you find that it's just easier to sit back and enjoy the ride and the view.

The sky is brilliant. Orange and red and pink and intense, you're mesmerized by the colors so much that you barely register that you've stopped coursing through the lake. Shouto shuts the engine off and glances at you for a moment, then turns his attention to the sky. An old rhyme your father taught you comes to mind as you watch the colors begin to fade as the sun climbs– red sky at morning, sailors take warning.

“We'll have a storm today,” Shouto says quietly as if he's read your thoughts, his eyes tracking the clouds. He seems disappointed at that.

You shrug. “‘s not such a bad thing. The grass is crunchy. We could use the rain.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. You wish there was something else to say, to fill the silence. It makes you a little uncomfortable to sit and not speak, but Shouto doesn't seem bothered by it at all. He's in his own thoughts, mesmerized by the scenery. You tap your fingers on your thighs and sigh, watching heavy clouds move as a heady breeze picks up into a more intense wind.

“Are you bored? We can go back, if you'd like.”

You gasp, as if to protest, then offer him a smile. He relaxes a little. “No, it's beautiful out here! I just– well, I don't know what to talk about.”

“We don't have to talk. We can just listen,” he says.

But you want to talk to him. You don't know much about him beyond the quiet boy you knew when you were both kids. You want to ask him what he's studying at school. You want to ask what happened to his mother. You want to ask why just he and his sister made the journey here this summer and not the rest of his family. The rational part of you says there will be time for that later. It's early enough in the day that you have hours to spend with him (if, indeed, he plans to spend the day with you, and you certainly hope he does) and you know there's no need to rush. It goes against every instinct you have, but you sit and remain silent, trying desperately to not feel uncomfortable in the silence.

Shouto seems at ease, despite your internal struggle. He squints into the morning light, one hand shielding his eyes from the most offensive rays. Your eyes are drawn to the scar across the left side of his face, and before you can overthink, you blurt out, “How did you get that scar?”

“It was an accident.” He doesn't change his posture, doesn't seem annoyed by your question or otherwise bothered. You nod, accepting that he isn't going to elaborate. “Do you want to swim here, or head back now?”

If he's upset by your question, he doesn't show it. He calmly waits for your answer, and you're so disarmed by his demeanor that you don't know what to do. “I didn't mean to pry,” you offer.

“It's just not something I like to talk about, that's all.” He lets his hand graze the water as if he's checking the temperature. “We should probably swim now, in case there's a storm later.”

Before you can suggest anything else, he's shirtless and diving into the water. The boat rocks precariously in his wake, and he surfaces a few feet away. “It's cooler out here than it is closer to the shore,” he says. “You should see for yourself.”

He treads the water for a moment, watching you. Your eyes flit from him to the sky and the tops of the trees, then back again. You shrug and strip down to your bathing suit. “Here goes nothing,” you mutter to yourself before taking to the water.

“I learned to swim when my brother would throw me in,” Shouto says, floating on his back, his eyes trained on the sky. “Our father used to say that there's no better way to figure it out.”

You're alarmed at the mental image of a little Shouto flailing through the water while his brother stood by and watched. You imagine it was the oldest, the one who had a devious glint in his eye and always seemed to find trouble in the most peaceful places. “That's awful.”

“Not as bad as you'd think. I learned quickly.” He kicks his legs and pushes through, a little closer to you. “What about you? When did you learn?”

You smile fondly at the memory of your parents, always encouraging, always standing by, proud and supportive. “I learned here, when I was really small. My parents were really good at being helpful without being overbearing.”

Shouto seems to consider this for a few minutes. He rights himself and cocks his head at you. “I wish I knew what that was like.”

It's such a sad thing for him to say. You've always tried not to take your relationship with your parents for granted, but to come face to face with someone who very obviously didn't have the same childhood experience as you is humbling in the strangest way. “I'm sorry,” you offer.

There's a slight downturn of Shouto's mouth. “Why?”

“I–” Why are you sorry? It isn't as if you're the one who has caused his experience to be such a difficult one. Not that you know for a fact that it was. You only know small details, things you remember from years ago and the few tidbits he's provided in your stilted conversation up to this point. You're assuming things that may or may not be true, and–

“You think too much. Look up.” You're distracted from your derailing train of thought when Shouto taps your forehead and points to the horizon. You gasp and watch as the sun climbs to her full glory, casting rays of golden yellow and orange to ignite the sky. Out here, you're closer to the majesty of nature, surrounded only by the basic tenets of earth. The sun gives life to all of it, even you and your unlikely companion.

You realize in that moment that you need to worry less and listen more to what's going on around you, not inside you.

You find in the next several hours that Shouto is nothing if not endlessly patient. The more time you spend with him, the more you come to know of his life and his experiences, you find that his view of the world is quite simple. And what he lacks in common sense, he makes up for in a profound sense of purpose. In the wake of his mother's illness– the details of which he is vague about– he grew up fast. He's still the baby of the family, but with a delinquent brother and an absent father, he's taken on the important role of peacemaker. He has an air of gentleness around him, a kindness in his eyes that softens his sometimes deadpan stare when you stutter over your words and feel foolish in the presence of his mature calm.

You spend the day with him hiking through trails in the woods, taking shelter under broad tree limbs when it rains, talking about school and friendships, about future plans and past mistakes. All the while, you grow more fond of him and his deadpan sense of humor. He's witty and intelligent, and the more you get comfortable with making eye contact, the more handsome you see he really is. Your mind begins to wander when evening settles in and you're walking back to your respective cabins. He's quiet and contemplative as you meet his stride; his pinky brushes yours, and you think (you hope) it's intentional. You decide to test your theory and “accidentally” brush against him again, and your heart skips a beat when he hooks his finger around yours.

“There you are!” His sister jogs to greet the two of you as you make your way up the hill. Her smile is laced with laughter, her eyes reflecting relief. “I was just about to send out a search party!” Her tone is teasing when she adds, “Glad you found some company. Who's your friend, Sho?”

When her eyes flit to where your hands are touching, Shouto lets go and introduces you by name. “This is Fuyumi, my sister,” he says.

“Well, are you hungry? I just made dinner if you want to stay.” Her smile is warm, and her eyes gleam as she looks to Shouto and then to you.

You tell her that you'd love to, but that your parents are expecting you. Shouto frowns a little. “Will you come down to the lake tonight?”

“Haven't you been in the water enough today?” Fuyumi asks.

“We didn't swim all day. Just this morning.” Shouto turns his full attention to you. “Will you?”

You nod. “I'd love to.”

Shouto's smile is as brilliant as the sunrise. “I'll bring a jar to catch fireflies.”

Fuyumi laughs. “Twenty-two years old and still a kid at heart.”

You think it's sweet, and maybe even a little bit romantic. The thought of catching fireflies with the most handsome guy at the resort makes your heart race. “Growing up is overrated,” you say with a shrug. Shouto nods, Fuyumi winks.

You have a quick dinner with your parents, whose adventures of the day consisted of a mid-afternoon lap around the lake and a nap on the sun porch. They're a little disappointed that you don't plan on staying home after you eat, and your mother begins to give you a little guilt trip.

“We've hardly seen you,” she says, worrying her brow. Your dad reaches for her hand and gives her a look, shaking his head to keep her from saying anything further. She sighs and presses her lips together. “But go. Enjoy yourself. And be careful. That Todoroki boy–”

“Don't,” your dad interrupts.

“You're right,” she says with a nod. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Mom.”

She laughs lightly and pours herself a second glass of wine while your dad gives you a wink. You wave and take off before they can protest any further.

Shouto is in the water already when you get back down to the lake. You toe off your sandals and leave them in a pile with your shorts on the shore. It's dark, but still early enough that there are still lights on in most of the homes up the hill.

He surfaces and pushes his hair away from his face, then swims toward you with practiced strokes while you wait patiently for him.

“What happened to catching fireflies?” you call. Your voice echoes out over the water in delicate ripples.

“Couldn't find a jar. Besides, you like swimming at night, so don't complain.”

You gasp and splash at him a little. “Hey! I am not complaining!” you laugh.

He recoils slightly, then shakes the water from his face like a dog would before splashing you back with more vigor. “We have tomorrow, too.”

You sputter and blink the drops away from your eyes, shocked that he'd return the gesture. When you look at him, his eyes glimmer with moonlight and mischief. “Don't you want to hang out with your sister?”

He treads closer to you, and you maintain your position. “I see her all the time. I haven't seen you in twelve years.”

“Has it been that long?” you wonder aloud.

Shouto nods. “At least that long. Maybe more.” He lowers his voice to a more intimate volume now that you're face to face. “I thought about you every summer I didn't get to come here.”

“You did?”

“I did. You were the only kid who ever wanted to talk to me.”

He's closer now, and it's hard to breathe. “Oh.”

“I never felt lonely when you were here. All summer, I'd wait for your family to come so I could see you.” He reaches out to thumb away a droplet of water from the end of your nose, and you flinch at first. His eyes widen slightly and he gasps, then lays a cool hand against your cheek. Your eyes haven't left his face, and you're impossibly close to him now. You wish you were close enough to shore to find your footing, because you feel like you might drown if he's about to do what you think he's about to do.

“I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again,” he says. You're both still weightless in the water, but you realize in a moment of clarity that he's guiding you closer to the sandbar. Your toes graze something solid, and suddenly you're aware of Shouto's arm around your waist.

You scoff playfully, hoping to soften the mood. “You're the one who stopped coming.”

“Not by choice.��

“I'm sorry.”

He's so close now that he whispers, and his lips bump yours. It's electric. “‘s okay.”

His kiss is tentative, soft, all things tender. You don't really kiss him back at first. You allow him to take the lead– applying pressure, tilting his head a little to the left, curling his fingers just under your chin to guide you where he wants you. You sigh into him, eyes fluttering shut, arms weightless in the water as your feet sink into the sand. You're barely cognizant of anything besides the plush silk of his mouth on yours and the gentle ripple of water against your skin.

He draws back with a muted, wet sound of his lips disengaging with yours. “You're not kissing back,” he says, eyes trained on your mouth. “Did I do something wrong?”

You can't speak. All you can do is shake your head slowly, mouth slightly agape; you thread your arms around his shoulders and kiss him back, nearly knocking him under the water with how eager you are. Shouto laughs into your mouth and the vibration on your tongue makes you giggle. You wrap your legs around his waist and allow him to wade up to where the water is barely above his knees. He nearly stumbles once or twice, but you hang on for dear life until he's steady. When you stand on your own, he still doesn't let go of you.

“Did you really think about me?” you question, watching the way his eyes seem to reflect his smile.

“All the time.”

“We should have stayed in touch.”

Shouto brushes his thumb over your cupid's bow. “We were young.”

You giggle. “My friend Mina had a crush on you.”

“Did you, too?” he asks, hopeful.

“Not back then. I was too busy swimming.”

He pouts. But there's a playfulness to it, and you flick his forehead lightly before kissing the expression clean off his pretty face.

“What about now?” he asks.

“Hmmm, maybe a little,” you tease.

“Only a little?” His lips graze your jaw, then feather over the side of your neck.

You suck in a shaky breath. “Maybe more than a little.”

You kiss and kiss and kiss him, trying to convey just how much you like him in hopes that he can feel it through your actions. He responds in kind, his hands wandering down your spine, around the curve of your waist, hot against the cool, damp fabric of your bathing suit. He overwhelms you in the best way.

There's no doubt in your mind that he feels much the same when he pulls away from you and studies your face. He's flushed and intense, eyes scanning yours, one hand resting on the side of your neck. “Do you want to stop here?” he asks.

No. Yes. I don't know. Take me here. Take me now. I want you. We should stop before– “Do you?”

“We have a few more days here,” he whispers, kissing the apple of your cheek, your temple, your forehead. It's as if he's trying to cool himself down, talk himself out of doing something irrational.

“What about after?” you ask.

He stiffens a little, and you wish you'd kept your mouth shut. You've always wanted to be the kind of person who lives in the moment, and here you are, pushing ahead. Searching for answers before you've allowed yourself to enjoy what's happening right before your eyes. You feel bad for taking his beauty for granted.

He grins and blushes a deeper shade of red. “I'd like to think we'll have plenty of time.”

You let the implications of his words sink in, a slow realization that brightens your expression and makes a giddy giggle bubble up from your chest. He kisses you again, confirming his sincerity, and you're comforted by the promise of summer bleeding into fall with Shouto at your side.

#shouto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #prettyboysummercollab

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