Chapter Text
It all started on an early Friday morning.
Due to a villain attack earlier in the week that had left most of the U.A. teachers drowning with paperwork, classes had been called off for the hero courses— Shouto would've honestly preferred to sleep in, but he'd forgotten to turn off his alarm before going to bed, and it was just too much work to try and fall back asleep after waking up and putting on his uniform, so he opted against it and instead settled for browsing on youtube until everyone else woke up.
Like every other time he sat down for yet another session of mindless scrolling, Shouto once again pondered over what dark hole of Youtube videos he'd fall into today. Very few things on the homescreen managed to interest him on a good day, but videogame playthroughs and horror stories were his go to— the playthroughs were funny enough more often than not, and the horror story storytelling gave him material to either a) fall asleep to, or b) have stories to tell at the dekusquad hangout nights on Saturday.
Today, he decided, is a horror story kind of day. The sky was grey outside, still humid and dreamy like it usually got in the mornings during sunrise, and the promise of heavy rain was carried in the dark clouds that gloomed far in the horizon. Shouto wasn't really expecting to see the sun today.
After changing back into his pajamas (which consisted of a worn black t-shirt with a little white cat paw print over the chest pocket, a gag gift from Mina on his birthday a year and a half ago, and old plaid pants that he was pretty sure belonged to Natsuo) and tying his bangs up in a tiny bun to keep his hair from getting in the way, Shouto sat down on his tatami, feet tucked underneath his thighs. At some point during his second year, he'd gotten himself a laptop— one of those expensive ones that are costly for no good reason other than the aesthetic— and even though he did use it for assignments on occassion, he mostly used it for this; youtube marathons. His search history consisted of a very long list of youtube links that led either to very old Pewdiepie videos or some random "top ten scariest ghost stories" video that'd been on his homescreen recommendations. And, well, Shouto was nothing if not consistent, obviously, so he wasn't about to change that; as soon as the webpage loaded, he was browsing his "recommended" videos, and he quickly found himself lingering over a very unsaturated thumbnail.
"Three allegedly true scary stories", the title read. He didn't recognize the youtuber (didn't usually bother checking their names anyway), and the thumbnail itself wasn't very different from any other horror story narrator's, but this one somehow called out to him. Maybe it was the hinted sarcasm in the title, maybe it was the zombie cat profile picture, but he felt compelled to click on the video. So he did.
His hands found their usual place atop his lap after he adjusted the volume and skipped the ad (he should invest on that youtube premium membership he'd been considering), and he settled himself for the twenty four minute long video.
To this day he doesn't really know what he was expecting; maybe one of those google translate voiceovers, maybe a pre-teen trying desperately to void any voice cracks- hell, even a poorly written CC of the stories would've been a little easier to digest. But no, the uploader of the video- Devil Darling, his user read- just had to somehow surpass all his expectations and leave him a gaping, blushing mess in front of his computer, pupils dilated and cheeks beet read like he was a crushing schoolgirl.
"Before we begin," Devil Darling muttered into the microphone. "I cannot either confirm or deny the veridity of these stories. As always, discretion is adviced. Enjoy the video."
And okay, listen, Shouto is just a man. He's one of the most reknown students in the hero course of U.A. and the son of the current number one Hero, sure, but he's still just a horny, hormonal mess of a teenage boy. And like most horny, hormonal teenage boys, he's weak to certain things; one of those things, apparently, is a faceless man with a baritone so deep it could probably reach the pits of hell if he tried.
"Holy fuck." He wheezed quietly, left hand shooting out to turn up the volume. It should be embarrassing, really, how quickly that had gotten a reaction out of him— the black screen fading into consciousness, a wobbly animation of an old woman staring back at him, the promise of his voice returning for an undetermined period of time. He didn't care about the cartoon lady though, couldn't even try to bother focusing on the story being told as that low rumble reached his ears once again.
"I think you've all heard of the expressionless woman by now." He started, tone gentle and borderline silent. Shouto felt like he was listening to an ASMR. "If you haven't, then you must be living under a rock. That, and maybe you should pause this and go look it up, because you're not going to understand this story otherwise."
Yes, Shouto had heard of the expressionless woman. He'd fallen asleep to her story many times before, actually, but even if he didn't he probably wouldn't have clicked off the video anyway. How dare this man even suggest it? Just the thought of it offended him. Instead, he leaned closer to the laptop, pink lips parted and the tip of his tongue running over the ridges of his teeth absentmindedly. The stimulation had drool pooling in his mouth, and he brought his thumb up to suckle on the tip as he waited for the man to speak again. It would probably help keep it from dripping to the floor. Probably.
"This is the story of the mannequin lady. I know, I know," Devil Darling paused to chuckle, his laughter quiet and steady and fuck Shouto is so fucking gay. "You're probably thinking it's going to be the same thing. Let me tell you right now, it's not— Quite the opposite, actually."
That's how Shouto spent his morning. After finishing that mannequin lady story, before the video was even finished, he found himself subscribing to Devil Darling and sitting through at least three fourths of his uploads; enough time for his legs to go numb and his back to ache from the uncomfortable position. Most of them were horror stories, but he had a couple bedtime stories as well (fuck, Shouto's gay), and even some gameplays. Horror games though, like Phasmophobia and Five Nights at Freddy's. Those were his favorite— the ones that had Devil Darling gasping sharply at the jumpscares, only to snort and make some lame joke right after, voice still as quiet as it always is and tone just slurred enough for it to be passed off as lack of sleep rather than intoxication. (Shouto wouldn't mind getting high with this guy though, not really. He'd probably cry and ask him to read some bad pickup lines from a random website just to keep him talking.)
He would've watched more videos, he really would have, but someone was knocking on his door and calling him down to eat ("is that Shouji? I think that's Shouji."), and his back seriously hurt from being hunched over for hours on end, and he should really start moving his legs before he loses mobility of them entirely, so he settles for pausing the video he's watching right now (a year old FNAF2 playthrough. His voice sounds younger and definitely a lot less deep in pitch, but it's still just as alluring) and walking downstairs, still dressed in his pajamas.
"Good afternoon, Todoroki-kun!" Midoriya greets him with a smile as he sits beside him on the couch, and he nods back in greeting. Iida and Uraraka are already there, but they're helping set the table instead of just lounging around. Shouto wonders briefly if he should help them, but the static-like sensation of his legs answers the question for him, and he doesn't bother scolding himself for doing absolutely nothing to contribute to his immediate society. "Have you been in your room all day?"
"Yes." Is his curt answer. He realized he sounded a little too cutting though, so he adds as an afterthought, "I've been watching Youtube videos."
"Damn, you must be really enjoying your day off then."
Shouto's neck probably should've cracked with the speed at which he turned his head, but judging by his still-very-racing-heart and the sudden shortness of his breath, it very much didn't. He kind of wished it had though, when he realized what he probably looked like— wide eyed, a crazed look in his mismatched irises, his bi-colored hair still tied in that messy and very ridiculous mini ponytail. Shinsou seemed to notice his embarrassment— either that, or he wasn't feeling as relentlessly teasing today, because he didn't comment on his current state of being.
"You could say that, yes." Shouto mused after quickly composing himself. For a second, it had kind of sounded like Devil Darling himself had walked into the room, but Shouto knew it wasn't possible. The guy was probably a college student somewhere, based on the low pitch of his voice and his sultry personality, and even if he wasn't the possibility of him being a U.A. student was basically nonexistent. There's just no way he'd suddenly waltz in on Shouto after he spent hours obsessing over the sound of his low, raspy voice, the way he rolled his r's and hissed his breath intakes, the way his 'm's and 'n's were practically undistinguishable if you didn't base its sound on the context, the way he had a little lisp that sometimes became more pronounced when he stretched the sound for long enough, or—
"Yo, candycane." Someone barked at him, shaking him from his trance. He looked up to find Bakugou's irritated glare fixed on him, only to shift to the empty plate in his hand not long after. "It's gonna get cold."
With a whispered "thank you" and a curt nod, he took the plate from Bakugou's hand and stood from the couch, noticing Midoriya wasn't sitting next to him anymore. Shinsou was gone as well, and Shouto allowed himself to be a little embarrassed over his fanboying as ge walked over to the kitchen, serving himself his portion and moving to sit at the table next to Uraraka. His friends were already engrossed in conversation about a topic he seriously couldn't care less about, so instead of sitting and listening in on their conversation (read: pretending to listen, chipping in with a nod here and there and some random hums of acknowledgment thrown in), he settled for reconstructing the train of thought Bakugou had interrupted.
He wondered for a second if Devil Darling had ever shown his face before. It's not like it mattered, honestly, at least not to Shouto— he could look like a deformed pig with nose implants and a receding hairline and he'd still have Shouto fucked six ways to sunday with just a couple words whispered into the microphone. But... Still, he can't help but be curious. Anyone would be— Darling has a decent following, his numbers dancing along the lines of a million, and his videos all have at least five hundred thousand views; any other youtuber with his kind of content would've at least given a hint or two about their appearance. From the videos Shouto had watched, however, there was absolutely nothing about what the man could possibly look like anywhere. Sure, he'd made that joke about having eyebags deeper than his own voice that one time, but that's about it. Shouto and Darling's other nine hundred thousand followers are entirely in the dark about his appearance, and it's probably as enticing and alluring as it is frustrating.
As he chewed on his cut up pork slice, Shouto allowed his thoughts to drift; would Darling be tall? Taller than him, at least? He'd grown a but from his freshman years, his height now standing in the 180's and leaving him in the "tall people in the group" category amongst his classmates— Would Darling stand at his same height? Or would he stand a couple inches below him, having to tilt his head back to look him in the eye? Just the thought had a smile poking at the corners of his lips.
He maybe had a bite or two of his lunch before he was being gently nudged on the side by a sharp elbow, and he turned his head to look at the owner. Shinsou's worried purple eyes bore into his, a question hanging from his sealed lips and his raised brow.
"Yes?" Shouto hummed, swallowing the (cold) bite of pork he'd been chewing.
"Everyone else is done already." Was his reply, and Shouto felt the tips of his ears flush as he realized that yes, everyone else had finished their meals and retreated to their prior activities while he was left to daydream over some random guy he'd just found out existed that same day. "Is everything okay?"
And Shouto should be moved, he knows he should be, at the genuine concern he could see laid out in Shinsou's words. He's just embarrassed though, a frown tipping his brows down and jutting his bottom lip out in a petulant pout.
"Yes." His extensive vocabulary just had his blush darkening, eyes focused on the food on his plate as he stood from the table and motioned to the elevator with a sharp jerk of his chin. "I'll go finish this in my room. I apologize for worrying you."
"If you say so." Shinsou didn't comment further, so Shouto took that as his queue to leave. His long legs carried him to the elevator in record speed, and he only felt himself relax once the doors had closed and Shinsou's calculating eyes weren't hyperfocused on him.
It's whatever, he comforted himself, nibbling on his bottom lip as he watched the numbers on top of the elevator doors change. I'll just finish Darling's FNAF series while I eat and then read the manga Sero lent me last week. I need to return it soon.
Needless to say, he didn't finish the manga that day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. He did finish Devil Darling's creepypasta playlist though— all twenty eight videos, 30+ minutes each.
Two weeks later and Shouto's no less addicted to Devil Darling and his monotone narrations. In his older videos, he always tried to put some emotion into his acting, but sometime into his career he realized it just wasn't working and gave it up entirely. Shouto kind of missed the slight (but quite obviously intentional) waver of his voice, but the emotionless drone of his baritone was just as pleasant to the ears, so he couldn't really complain. Not sincerely, anyway.
Devil Darling had reached the million milestone just five days after Shouto discovered him, and he felt kind of betrayed by the algorithm; of course, he was happy for him and wished him success and fortune, but a selfish part of him kind of wished he could keep Darling to himself. It's a silly thought that reached him late at night when listening to his old narrations, clinging to the gentle curves of his voice and sighing pleasantly whenever he whispered into the microphone for ambiance. It'd come to him suddenly; no prior thoughts were similar to the vicious possessiveness that overcame him when he noticed Darling's following count rising steadily. It felt like his deepest, darkest secret was being ripped from between his hands and shoved into the limelight, climbing from 1M to 1.5M in just a week and gifting Shouto (and Darling's many [and multiplying] other followers) a short "thank you" video that consisted of Darling reading thirst tweets, as requested on the only other video he'd uploaded before that.
The thirst tweets didn't help Shouto's jealousy. They did make him laugh though, that with the way he related to them added onto the way Darling's laugh quickly escalated from an embarrassed giggle here and there to a full on wheeze at some of the things people said. Shouto wanted to make him laugh like that too.
His brain kept coming up with different comments he could make, recalling the different thoughts he'd had and the many very-not-lucid notes he made when clinging to consciousness with Devil Darling's videos playing on loop on his computer, and eventually this train of thought led to the inevitable; should he make a stan account?
He'd watched the 1M video about a hundred times now, and his cheeks always felt sore from how hard he smiled at the wheezy sound of Darling's full-blown laughter. His low timber gave in to surprisingly high pitched chuckles, but his voice was so silent it was almost inaudible amongst the gasping breaths and the choppy sound he let out with his laugh and just. Shouto really, really wanted to make him laugh like that, even if he didn't get to hear it. He wanted to at least know he'd done his part in possibly bringing a smile to his face, just like the many smiles Darling had gifted him, and that'd been what settled it.
Who cares if he gets caught? Who cares if it's really fucking embarrassing to crush on someone so publicly like that? He certainly doesn't. Not a lot, at least— Or at least not at a marking that could affect him for more than maybe a week. Besides, stan accounts are normal; especially amongst people his age. It's not like he was trading marijuana or indulging illegal activities, he's just making funny thirst tweets for a sweet stranger that has a voice so deep it has him fucked six ways to sunday.
Shouto knows it's risky. He knows it's risky, and that he probably shouldn't do it, and that it isn't very "becoming of a hero", and that it's a very, very bad idea, but— he's using an alias, for fuck's sakes, and if bad comes to worse and his dirty laundry gets aired out, daddy dearest can always shove some cash to the media outlets and ensure their silence. Besides, it's not like he's posting anything too explicit... Right?
Fuck it, who cares. Who cares? He doesn't. Shouto Todoroki does not care. Not one bit.
Nope.
It's late, his brain registers distantly when he pulls out his phone to download the twitter app. Almost three in the morning. He has class in a few hours, and a training session early in the schedule. He should probably be sleeping right now— should've been asleep hours ago. But, as the baby blue icon finished loading and his thumb jumps to tap it, drowning his full screen in the pretty color, he couldn't really be bothered to care. Shinsou gets about two hours of sleep at best— and that's on a regular basis— yet he's still the top wrestler in class and one of the best students in the hero course. If the mummified grape man can do it, then so can he. Hopefully.
It took Shouto maybe twenty minutes to make the account itself, but the decoration aspect of it wasn't nearly as hard. The only difficult thing about the whole ordeal was coming up with a name he could use. Would a girl name work? Darling was probably straight, so there was a bigger chance of him seeing or interacting with his tweets if it's under the name of a female subscriber. He quickly comes to the conclusion that no, he doesn't want to lie about his gender online, and so that discards a big chunk of the aliases he'd been planning on using.
He's left with two options; should he use an actual name you'd hear on the street, or should he just use any random inanimate object? He saw many of those in Darling's 1M video; people with names like "spinach" and "teddy", one even naming themselves after Darling himself— "Dixie Darling". Apparently a play on words with their real name (Pixie) and Darling's pseudonym. Shouto could probably do that.
Name idea after name idea pops into his head, and he's left to stare at his ceiling with his phone screen illuminating his bedroom as time ticks by. He's never been the best with aliases and names (peep his hero name), and even though the whole point of the account is to make Devil Darling laugh a little, he doesn't necessarily like the idea of Darling mocking the name he's going to use to go through with his plan. Like— yes, make it witty and fun, but not to the point where he's going to be mocked by the guy for having such a weird ass alias. Maybe he's a little lost on social queues and whatnot, but he's not entirely as clueless as most people make him out to be— no, he doesn't have much hands on experience, but he definitely had a reputation online. Under a different name, of course. He'd learnt the hard way just how ruthless teenagers could be.
After what felt like hours of careful deliberation, he settled for a classic; the alternative people were a really big chunk of Darling's following (read: punks, egirls, cosplayers, etc.), and most of them had cutesy anime themes with some gore sprinkled here and there on their profiles and carrds. Darling himself had used an art style similar to that of Sailor Moon to make his icon (the zombie cat with purple eyes and blood dripping from its left ear)— and, well.
Shouto was nothing if not consistent.
So he picked out an alias, and he set up his profile, and he made a carrd with as little information about himself as he could possibly discern, and he made some tweets. Then he went to bed with 5:32AM glaring at him from his phone screen.