Ok.

Sketch Redraws: where I pick at random to redraw screenshots saved on my phone lol

Note: I’m considering doing sketch commissions for the summer but I’m still unsure I’ll have time

hai bloom thought of u 🙊

do not pull this photo up unless u want me to go FERAL

𐙚⋆° — reparation

pairings : hanta s. x gn!reader

warnings : i made this story from a dream i had guys pls pls sorry if its bad, reader is in support course :0, slowww buuurrnn, kind of IMPLIED but not explicitly said to be fem!reader (they just hang out a lot with the girls cause yea), LOTS of dialogue, and SWEARING , suicide joke SORRY

a/n : IM SORRY I MAKE SO MANY HANTA STUFF ZZZZZ i think i'll make eijiro next cAUSE this was kinda based off of this

➤ masterlist!

4,1k word count!

The Sports Festival was the first time you saw him. That lopsided grin present as his name flashed on the screen. Your first thought was how funny he looked. Sure, he’s cute, but those elbows are such a characteristic. You couldn’t help but snicker a bit. Seeing him get absolutely devoured by a certain two-tone haired, yet that smile persisted, as if it’s a stubborn stain, refusing to be washed away. 

You remember that time, texting Kyoka about it.

[ 12:30 ] you : was that guy from your class lol [ 12:30 ] you : he’s kinda cute :P 

And maybe that was the trigger point. 

When Higari asked your class to create a gear design based off of a quirk, you didn’t sketch out a gear for yourself, or a pro-hero, no. Maybe it was just inspiration, or maybe just admiration; but you made a gear based off of him. The page is still stuck in your notebook until now, complete with little notes of each parts’ functions and whatnot. Even Higari himself nodded in approval. Yet the gear never came to life.

Or so you thought.

It was the middle of the semester when students in the heroics course started flooding the workshop. Around that time Mei seemed to work tirelessly day and night from how many requests she’s gotten from them. You were not much different, although the requests sent to you were quite a bit easier. Then one morning, that same lanky figure, lazing grin and laid back voice was present. In flesh, Hanta Sero. 

His first awkward greeting to you was when you were carefully screwing shut a small contraption. 

“Hey uh…” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck while his other hand was holding something, like scraps of metal or something.

“C-can you help me uh… fix this?” His grin grew, a look of guilt present in his face, mixed with sheepishness. 

Your face contorted to confusion, brows stitched together while you attempted to figure out what was supposed to be fixed when all he held out was scraps of metals and screws. 

With a sigh, you lifted up your goggles, and said; “I can’t fix scraps,”

“I’ll just make you a new one. Just describe to me what your gear’s supposed to do.” You chuckled, hands already snaking to the table to grab your notebook and pen.

And now here you are. Second year, second semester. You had grown close with the girls in the heroics course, especially Mina and Kendo, since they visit the workshop a little bit too often.

It was lunch time, you sat with the girls from 2-A, chattering and laughing about.

“How about you, y/n?” Tooru’s voice chimed through your daze. “You never tell us anything!”

You raised your eyebrows in interest, a hum to respond. 

Tooru giggled, “You never tell us who you’ve got your eyes on! Come onn, there’s gotta be someone, right?”

You blinked. 

Someone..?

You huffed a chuckle, “Nah, probably someone soldering iron right now.” 

But then your mind flickered to that one page in your notebook. That lazy grin and those cheesy jokes he’d throw around while you measured his elbows, and how you’ve somehow memorized his blazer’s smell that always reeked of tangerines. Or maybe how he sometimes would bring your favorite snack with him, giving it to you as a token of gratitude.

Your eyes fell to your tray, your lunch still half eaten while your chopsticks hovered over your rice. “I dunno,” You shrugged. “M’ not really thinking of that stuff right now,” 

Mina whined, “See? I told you! It’s hard to get y/n’s mouth to open about these kinds of stuff!” 

A smirk tugged at your lips as you took a portion of rice into your mouth, chuckling at her acts. 

༉‧₊˚.

You hummed to the song playing in the workshop as you carefully placed a small chip into the gear laid in front of you. A small tweezer pinched in your hand as you slowly descended the small piece, only for the door to open with an ear-cracking holler.

“yyyyy/nnnnn” Hanta’s voice whined, his feet dragging him to your desk.

“My gear broke, again! Such horror…” He dramatically collapsed himself, placing a hand on his forehead as he handed out his wrecked gear.

You stifled back a laugh, rolling your eyes as you focused your attention on the gear on your desk again, carefully placing the chip.

“You do this every week like it’s a routine,” You chuckled.

He gasped, placing his hand on his chest. “Foul creature!” 

He stood up, pointing his finger to the sky while his lips twitched to a smile. “I must tell you, this gear is simply not able to contain my true power!” 

“Falling down the stairs is not true power, Han.” You grinned, screwing shut the gear as you examined it one last time.

“...Okay, fine I dropped it.” He huffed, “But it just means your work needs to be evaluated!” He argued, pacing back and forth as if lecturing you.

“You’re one to talk,” You snorted, setting aside the small gear to a box before turning your chair to face him, to face his stupidly grinning face.

He laughed, getting on his knees as he handed the gear on his palms to you like it’s an offering. “Pleaseeee, pleaseee, fix this, pleaasee?” 

With a roll of your eyes, you snatched the gear, placing it on your desk for the umpteenth time, your hands already readying the same screws, bolts, and everything the gear needed, already embedded into your memory like it’s your mother’s recipe. “I don’t even have to ask what’s broken anymore, Han, it’s that often.”

“Hey, it makes your job easier, riigghtt?” He nudged your shoulder. “Besides, it gives me an excuse to see you, don’t you miss me sometimes?” He asked, pulling a chair to sit.

You smiled, hands pausing on the gears casing as you were unscrewing it. 

“I guess,” You mumbled.

He chuckled, the sound coming out more like a shriek more than anything. 

“I gueeess” He imitated, you can even hear him sticking out his tongue at you. “Lying is bad y/n. Admit it. Your workshop feels dead without me,” 

“I like the quietness better, actually.”

He giggled, “Ouch, man, here I thought we were long lost siblings.” With a creak of the chair, he leaned to your desk, eyeing you from the side. “I’ll pay you back, ‘kay?”

“With what?” You chuckled, eyes fixed on the gear. 

“Banana milk,” He snickered, “And maybe if I’m feeling generous I’ll also buy you those steamed cakes you always eat since our first year.” 

“The fuck?” You snorted. “You remember that?”

He pssh’ed, “Duh?”

“You eat that shit like it’s a reward every time you’re done with like… five gears or something,”

Glancing sideways, you couldn’t stop the grin tugging at your lips. “You’re weird.”

“You love me,” He teased, pushing himself to stand up from the chair. “Those steam cakes are ass, you’re weird.” 

You mumbled a mock to him, sticking out your tongue as you reached out to grab a mold from the drawer. 

His steps receded as he laughed, hands buried in his pocket while he walked backwards towards the door.

“I’ll get the original flavour,” He yelled. “Byeeee,” 

Clack.

An hour and thirty minutes.

It took an hour and thirty minutes for you to finish that damned gear. To be exact, an hour and thirty minutes after you’ve finished the other gears before that. With a small groan, you stretched your arms above your head, your body’s slouch finally stretched out to fix your posture. 

07:30 P.M. — The clock blinked, red bold digital numbers as if reminding you to stop and close the workshop for the day. So you did. 

With a soft click, you locked the workshop’s doors, sighing softly to yourself while your other hand clutched your bag, keeping it on your shoulder. The floors of the building squeaked with the rubber soles of your shoes as you dragged your feet, echoing against the empty building.

Tucked away carefully in your bag was the reason. His gear, you even painted it in his signature colors; white, black, and yellow. Maybe that was the reason your clothes smelled like fresh paint all over, but you didn’t mind. You’d stuck a small note on it, written in your handwriting;

‘Don’t break this one >:(‘

The conversation from earlier rang in your mind again. Tooru’s sweet voice chiming that casual question, but somehow it bugs you a bit. “Come onn, there’s gotta be someone, right?”

Someone.

You chuckled softly to yourself as you mindlessly made your way to his class, no need to remind you again; his desk was third from the back, second from the right. 

With a small noise, you placed down the gears, securing it into his drawer before you silently made your way out of the dark, empty classroom, then making your way to your dorm. 

༉‧₊˚.

“Jeez,” Hanta muttered in awe, carefully examining the gears now resting on top of his desk. His grin grew as he saw the note, an expression—that of amazed and amused. His thumb grazed carefully over it, as if afraid to smudge it. 

Even the colors were spot on, too, his colors. Small details you had implanted to the gear—maybe it was to ensure that he doesn’t break it again, or maybe it was just your way of evaluating your work. Either way, he finds himself grinning from ear to ear as he chuckles, looking at his newly fixed gear. You’d put an additional hole on the strap so he can adjust it more accordingly, the edges were smoothed out so that it sits comfortably on his arms.

“Shut up,” He laughed, the sound coming out more gentle—awestruck, adoring.

༉‧₊˚.

Knock knock knock! — The workshop door opened slightly, creaking as a shuffling sound made its way into the room. He’s right behind me, isn’t he.

“Moooorning,” He sang out, shaking the plastic bag in front of you. 

“Banana milk, and steamed cake. Just how my favorite mechanic likes it.” He placed the bag beside your arm, “Yooouu’re welcome,” Pride laced his voice.

God, all you can do is smile, as you slowly peeked your hand into the plastic bag, peeking inside with the exact things he said. “You know you don’t have to do this aaall the time, right?”

“I know,” He shrugged, rocking back and forth on his heels. “But I wanna,” 

“...You’re just bribing me,”

“I’m for reeaaaalll”

“...Thanks, Han.” You hummed, smiling softly as you reached into the bag, unwrapping the small steamed cake. The plastic rustled against your fingers as you tried to open it.

“You suck at opening shit,” He snickered, snatching the cake from you, ripping it open before handing it back to you. “Hm, eat,”

You blinked at him, feigning offense. “I was getting there.” You said, chuckling. 

“Sure you were,” he teased, plopping down onto the nearest stool like he owned the place. “At the speed of a dying turtle.” The noise he made next was ugly. Imitating a grandma talking. 

“Screw off,” You giggled, sticking your tongue out at him but took a bite anyway.

He watched you, arms crossed and chin propped on the edge of the worktable, eyes all full of mischief and… something else. Quieter. Warmer.

“You should smile like that more often,” he said out of the blue, his smirk faded into a small smile.

Your chewing paused. “…Like what?”

He leaned back with a stretch. “Like you actually like me.”

You shot him a look. “Han—”

“Kiddingg!” he grinned, holding his hands up in surrender. “Juusst kidding.”

After a small pause, he spoke up, “I gotta go now, my first class is heroics,” Hanta smiled, slapping his palms to his knees as he stood up. 

With his hands in his pockets he walked to the door. “Byyyee, don’t miss me,”

“Oh, and finish the cake, it was super expensive.”

It had been like that for a little over a year now. He’d come to you, whining about his broken gear, begging on his knees for you to fix it—and every time you did so, you threatened him to never break it again or you’re not fixing it ever again. But that never happened. Every time he whined back to you, you’d fix it, no matter how much you groaned about it, you still fixed it for him. And he’d come to you the next morning to bring your favorites; always the same banana milk and steamed cake. 

And honestly? It stuck to you. It became a small little routine for you, something you’d grown used to. But today—after yesterday’s little chat at lunch—it felt special, somehow. It felt like he saw you, like he…

…cares about you. 

But that was just a silly thought. 

You snorted. 

Hanta’s nice. That’s what he is, nice, friendly. Welcoming to everyone, and you were no exception. 

༉‧₊˚.

God, these projects show no mercy. And if you weren’t that much of a procrastinator, maybe these wouldn’t be stacked up into a bundle that you had to finish by tomorrow. A small grumble left your lips as you tweaked the final blueprint, scratching down the stiff paper before huffing a small celebration, rolling it up to tuck it behind your desk. 

The clock showed the time—06:30 P.M.

Ugh. You missed your show again. With a small sigh, you stepped towards the door, rummaging through your pocket to ready the keys and lock the door. 

Clack. The door closed, the lock clicking softly as you turned it to the right, jingling before you stuffed it back into your pocket. 

“Like you actually like me.” His joke echoed. 

His joke.

You brushed it off, even though a small smile tugged on your lips as you adjusted your bag over your shoulder, steps light towards the exit. 

Wait. Is that…?

Standing by the gates was that same lanky figure, tall and lilt, hair slicked from the rain while his laugh echoed through it. You almost smiled, almost laughed at his face. Almost. Before you saw her. A small girl standing next to him, smiling so sweetly at him while his blazer was draped over her, fitting and perfect. The same blazer he usually draped over your shoulder when the workshop felt too cold, and he felt too warm. The one that had a small twinge of oil stuck to its cuff. The one that smelled like tangerines.

He said something. Something that made her laugh. And he smiled at that. He smiled at her laugh.

Like he was proud of it. 

You felt your chest twist. Scrunched up and stretched. The rain wasn’t making anything better. The fact that you’re tired and pent up from today made everything worse. 

So you ran. 

You ran past them, bag over your head as you picked up your pace, your face was wet, and cold, not just from the rain. You hoped he didn’t see you, didn’t see that grimace you had on your face, didn’t see the way you bit your lip. But you hoped he did. Hoped he saw you. 

The streets were blurry by the rain, thunder clapping above your head as you ran to the dorms. And you slipped. Slipped just enough to make you drop to your knees and scraped your palms. You groaned in frustration, in hurt.

So all this time you were just his fixer upper? Cool.

༉‧₊˚.

Two weeks.

It took him two weeks to notice something was wrong. Sure, you still fixed his gear, although he didn’t break them this time. Said they were ‘too pretty’ to be broken, but even that didn’t earn your usual witty remark, you just smiled faintly to him. 

But he brushed it off. 

Maybe you were just tired, maybe his trick of ‘breaking’ his gear was starting to piss you off. Maybe he needed a new excuse to see you other than fixing his gear. 

Maybe you were growing tired of him. Naaaahhh. No way, jose. 

You like his company, you enjoy being around him. He sees that, he sees you. 

…But why were you pulling away? Did he say something? Okay maybe he did throw a small offensive joke. But you always laughed at that! So what was wrong? What was so wrong that you’re not even laughing at his jokes? His actions? Him?

Okay, fine. Whatever. Maybe you just needed some space. 

So he gave you that. 

But the moment he came into the workshop shaking your usual banana milk and steamed cake combo, and you rejected that? 

“I’m good, Han. Thanks.” You replied. Blunt, short, precise, to-the-motherfucking-point.

Oh he screwed up. He screwed something up. 

“Oh, uh..”

“Okay, I’ll uh… give this to Denks then, dude eats everything.” He chuckled awkwardly, the plastic rustling by his side.

“Mhm, okay.” 

Shiiiittt he’s so screwed. 

You didn’t even chuckle, and that’s how he knew.

༉‧₊˚.

“They hate me. They hate me so bad. I’m killing myself.” Hanta whined to his pillow, Kaminari perched by the edge of his bed.

“They didn’t even CHUCKLE at me, Den.” He groaned, his muffled voice cracking as he threw his arms up.

Kaminari sighed, arms folded as he glanced at the ravenette. “You’re being dramatic, Han.”

“No I’m not!” He protested, shooting up from his bed to sit up. “I’m not, okay? I just—I don’t know what I did, I just—...” He sighed, flopping back into his bed, groaning as he ran his hands over his face. “I don’t wanna lose them, Den..” He mumbled in a trembling voice.

“Then tell them that.” Kaminari shrugged, a chuckle on his lips as he scooted closer, patting Hanta’s thigh.

“...How?” He croaked back. “I don’t even know what I did wrong, dude I just…”

“Two weeks ago we were fine, I even made risky ass jokes to them and they laughed! And when I was lending that girl my blazer—”

Kaminari whistled. “Bingo.”

The bed shuffled as he sat up, head darting to Kaminari’s way while his mouth hung open. “Shit.”

“Go, Han.” 

༉‧₊˚.

The halls of UA had never felt so… suffocating. He’s been here before, like hours like these too. Just now he feels like he’s risking his life as he stares at the slightly cracked open door of the support course workshop. His steps felt heavy, like lead weights dragged through the ground, and his mouth felt dry, like water had never touched his tongue, and suddenly the plastic bag in his right hand felt too plastic-y. The faint tune of your favorite song was humming through the air, as well as the consistent whir of the sanding machine. 

As he slowly pushed the door open, the creak felt loud—too loud. Loud enough for you to dart your eyes to the door and paused your hand. His throat fell dry, drier than before.

“H-hey,” He grinned. It felt too wide, too stiff. But he didn’t care.

You held your gaze on him for a moment, brows furrowed, and he swore even when he couldn’t see your eyes through your goggles, he felt your stare pierce through him. 

The sanding machine came to life again, louder this time as you ducked your head back to the gear in your hand. “Hey,” you mumbled back, not bothering to look at him.

“I uh…”

“I wanted to talk to you,” He chuckled, stepping just a bit closer, his hand gripping the plastic bag tighter.

Perhaps his portion of response from you had run out. You stayed silent as you continued sanding the casing of the gear, stopping briefly to examine it. 

“...Y-you’re mad, at me, …I think,”

“And I uh…I just… I wanted to fix that, y/n.” He shifted his weight between his feet, chewing his bottom lip as you slowly paused the machine, setting it aside on your desk.

“Why?” You bluntly asked. Perching your elbow on your armrest as you lifted up your goggles. 

God, you’re such a sight to him. Even angry and frowning at him like this, you took his breath away, if not more.

“B-because—...”

“I care?” 

“I mean–! I care, I care, …I care… a lot,” He grinned again, nodding as if convincing himself before he cleared his throat, louder than necessary. “I care… I care about you, y/n.”

His gaze fell to the ground, pressing his lips into a thin line, he shut his eyes. “I…I made a mistake, okay? A-and… I hurt you, and I’m… real sorry, y/n.”

“...I don’t…wanna lose you,” He breathed that out, coming out barely above a whisper while his hand gripped the plastic bag tighter.

“Look–.. that one time, y-you saw me with that girl at the gate? S-she meant nothing, okay?”

“I just…wanted to be nice,” He muttered quietly, almost as if in shame. 

“You’re always nice, Han.” You blurted, finally opening up your voice. It felt cold, different from what he was so used to hearing. “You’re always nice to everyone, aren’t you?” Your voice shook.

“...You probably think this is stupid, I don’t care.” You spat, your voice held a small tinge of anger in it.

“You made me think that you… you liked me, and—” 

“Because I do.” 

The words hung there, waiting for your response as the air conditioner hummed through the air.

“I…I do like you, y/n.”

“A lot.” He whispered quietly, his arms swinging in nervousness as he chewed on his lip, suffocated by the silence you answered with. 

You stared at him. 

Not just because he was standing there, but his words rang to your ears. It was what you wanted to hear. That confession, that maybe he cared for you for a reason. And he did. He did care for you for a reason. 

“For a long time now, okay?”

“I—... I don’t even know when– I just–...”

He sighed. “I just… really like talking to you, I like how you understand my dumb jokes, and you even—...it’s dumb, but you flirt back when I do, okay? And that shit was hot… for me.”

He groaned, wiping his eyes with frustration in his movements, throwing his head back as he stammered; “I’m screwing this shit up– I’m..” 

“y/n I’m just… sorry,” He said, finally looking at you. Hints of tears threatening to fall down his cheeks while he stared at you with desperation written all over his face.

“Please don’t… don’t leave,” 

And you wanted to cry, and laugh, at the same time. Cry because you’ve never seen him like this, because did he really just lay his heart bare to you? Laugh because God he looks ridiculous right now. So desperate, so sad, if this was a less serious moment, maybe you’d pull out your phone and record him. 

So you smiled, “I like you too,”

“H–..What..?” He croaked back, his voice unsteady as he looked up at you again.

“I like you, Hanta, I like you, back.”

He breathed out a laugh, finally smiling after what felt like his face was stretched down to the earth for the past few minutes, he grinned, running his hand through his hair. “You– what?” 

Ahem. “Okay wait, pause—” 

“C-can I–..?” A hand reached out to you hesitantly, sheepish and nervous, twitching slightly as if scared you’ll break if he touches you. 

Slowly, you reached back, enveloping your hands into his, letting him slowly pull you into his embrace. Warm, quiet, and… smells like tangerines. A small giggle escaped his lips as he brought his hand up to your hair, carefully caressing it. “Shit, I’m so— happy right now,”

His heartbeat was fast, shinkansen speed-kinda-fast, you heard it as you slowly buried your face to his shoulder, your arms awkwardly wrapping around his waist, and you couldn’t help but smile widely, nuzzling yourself into him. 

“I thought I messed this up, I swear— like, real bad, y’know?” He murmured into your hair, a hand gently resting over the line between your hip and waist. “I thought I lost you,” 

With a swift motion, he took off his blazer, carefully resting it on your shoulders, as he wrapped his arms around you again.

“S’ yours now,”

“...What?”

“My blazer—...your blazer.”

You giggled, lightly pinching his shoulder. “Shut up,”

“Hey come on!” He chuckled, “I’ll even trademark it for ya,”

You grinned against his shoulder, arms wrapping just a bit tighter around him.

“C’mon, I know you looovee me that much, but I know you’re also hungry,” His hand nudged your arm with the plastic bag, “I brought my favorite mechanic’s favorites,” He hummed out.

“Steamed cake and banana milk.”

He grinned. “Just how you like it,” 

And in the warm, quiet thrum of the workshop, under buzzing lights and the soft scent of sawdust and tangerines, it finally felt right.

Like home.

dworkism | do not repost!

➤ masterlist!

i gotta write other things other than this man i swear

WHERE ARE THE OIKAWA OILED UP IN SWEAT GYM PHOTOS DID YOU LIE TO ME.

one minute response time is so funny i’m giggling

Save The Last Dance For Me.

NOW PLAYING: Michael Bublé — Save The Last Dance For Me

SYNOPSIS: It’s your last night as an engaged couple. So, obviously, he takes you out on the town to celebrate.

Established Relationship || AgedUp!Sero X Fem!Reader || SongFic Fluff

A/N: Dudes i spent too long making that header graphic. also this was a shit idea i got this morning so now you get this. listening to a sero playlist, this song showed up, IMMEDIATELY got a fic idea. have fun reading this crap lmao. uuuhhh as for ages, both of you are 24-26. Sorry for it being Fem!Reader. I will absolutely try to make something GN! in the future i promise 😭 he’s probably gonna be ooc ugh

“Now you can dance every dance with the guy Who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight And you can smile every smile for the man Who held your hand beneath the pale moonlight”

“You ready?” He asks, grinning at you. All his. You had been for the past few years — seven years together, three spent engaged. But tomorrow was the day the knot was officially tied, and you were properly married. You nod excitedly, stepping out of the car after he opened the door for you.

What better way to celebrate than a night out?

“But don't forget who's takin' you home And in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

He laughed from the bar, watching you. You were having fun. That was all that mattered. He knew you were his and his alone; your loyalty had been tested so many times when he went off with his hero work. You hadn’t cheated. Not once, not ever. So, he didn’t care what you did.

Sero watched you with a smile, feeling his chest ache with sheer love. It was hard to think you’d be his wife in the morning- But that was just the truth. And he was thankful for that.

“Oh, I know that the music's fine Like sparklin' wine, go and have your fun Laugh and sing, but while we're apart Don’t give your heart to anyone”

You were dancing. It was fun. Sero didn’t care what you did. You loved that about him. He was so confident in just letting you do what you wanted. Which, he was right to be confident in it- You were his. You knew it, and you loved him.

You could feel his eyes on you. You liked that fact. Your freedom was something that made him feel good. Seeing him all smiley the way he always got… It was nice.

“And don't forget who's takin' you home And in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

He remembered your first date. It was back in U.A.’s halls; you’d been dumped, and he’d comforted you. He just sat there and rubbed your back in small circles, letting you cry and rant about your ex. Sure, it wasn’t a “date”, but it was what got his number in your phone. Originally, it was so you could call him when you needed comfort.

It was hard to think that the sad girl he’d found in the hallway was becoming his future.

“Baby, don't you know I love you so Can't you feel it when we touch I will never, never let you go I love you oh, so much”

You remembered the official first date. He’d taken a walk around campus with you, then took you to a boba place. You nearly started snickering. It felt like so much back then. Compared to the current lifestyle you two shared, that first date was so simple.

“You can dance, go and carry on 'Til the night is gone And it's time to go If he asks if you're all alone Can he walk you home, you must tell him no”

You flopped into the chair next to your soon-to-be, grinning at him tiredly. “Do you wanna dance, pretty?” Hanta cooed, holding out a hand for you to take. You did. You smiled as he pulled you up and out onto the floor.

“'Cause don't forget who's taking you home And in whose arms you're gonna be Save the last dance for me”

You could smell his cologne as he spun you once, twice around. It was nice. “You’re so pretty, y’know that?” He asked you softly, his raven hair brushing around with the movement of your twirls. You looked away with a tiny smile, barely pulling back to offer a small nod before moving close again. He just laughed.

“Oh, I know that the music's fine Like sparklin' wine, go and have your fun Laugh and sing, but while we're apart Don't give your heart to anyone”

Your laughter rang through the night as he pulled you back to the outside, your fingers locked with his as you ran. What for, he hadn’t said. He just tugged you along, grinning and giggling like a kid.

“And don't forget who's taking you home And in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

He pulled you along the sidewalk, over to an old building. It looked abandoned and worn with time, but Sero continued to guide you through it, heading for the staircase. You looked at him quizzically. “Just trust me,” he smiled, his eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them. He was excited for whatever his surprise was.

“So don't forget who's taking you home Or in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

Each step was taken two at a time; for you it was out of curiosity, for him it was from delight.

When you finally got to the abandoned rooftop, he’d set up something small — not much, but it was still beautiful. There was a radio, which was playing love songs, with a picnic basket set aside for later.

“Oh baby, won't you save the last dance for me Ooh, you make a promise That you'll save the last dance for me Save the last dance The very last dance For me”

Abruptly, he pulled you close, dipping you low to the ground. You gasped, not ready, but managed to keep yourself from falling. He just smiled down at you.

“Tell me, wifey. Did you save the last dance for me?”

ngl i love the fact that kirishima was lowkey inspired by mina when it comes to becoming a hero (or like taking charge). i just feel like so often in media everything has to be the girl looking up to the guy and then aspiring to be like him and then they forget to give her like... any other traits and its so bad. but with mina and kirishima they established the both of them and then explained what they mean to each other and how they inspire/inspired each other in different ways

omg hi bloom i love your work sm ! >< can i please request mha boys with their naturally flirty girlfriend!!?

⋆˚࿔ flirty and unfiltered

— includes: kirishima, kaminari, sero & shinsou (in that order)

contains: gn!reader, crack, established relationship if you want, hantas is suggestive but it’s all silly

authors note: thank you for the request! this was soo fun to make. or maybe i actually crack myself up, idk.

⋆˚࿔ e. kirishima

⋆˚࿔ d.kaminari

⋆˚࿔ h.sero

⋆˚࿔ h.shinsou

Oh that makes sense! Do you have any recs of other writers who write for Bakugou?

yes! here’s a couple of my wonderful mooties that have some great bakugo works:

@juviabrainrot

@katsulina

@s6rine

@bratzblondie

@megumismyhusband

@kitkat13001

@luvseraphh

@peachesvault

@dollyichi

I dabble in realism

CAN WE PLEASEEEE GET DENKI WITH “get on ur knees” WHERE HE GETS US TO BJ IN THE SCHOOL BATHROOMS OR SOMETHING?? I WOULD LOVEEEE THANKYOU

authors note - hey sweetpea!! i try to avoid making my characters students in nsfw content, so i added a little twist and made denki a soccer player, bluelock is taking over my life ><

here’s the valentine’s day event, there’s still prompts available!! ⊹. warnings - nsfw content

“stupid stupid stupid!” you muttered to yourself as you ripped off your boyfriends, (now-ex) soccer jersey, the same one you proudly wore this afternoon to cheer him on from the stands, while he dribbled the soccer ball across the field, “i’m such an idiot!” you threw the jersey onto the bathroom floor as you washed your face, the memory from seconds ago, playing over and over in your head, the girl your ex-boyfriend ran to and kissed. 

hell, he didn’t even look at you. you looked like an idiot wearing his jersey, he made you look like a lovesick fan. you could never forgive him for that, ever. 

“something bothering your pretty face?” the voice came from behind you, your eyes darted to the mirror infront of you, pairing a face to the voice. 

denki kaminari. 

your ex-boyfriends rival. 

“fuck off” denki walked towards you, you hated how calm he looked, for someone who just lost the biggest game of his life. 

“so hostile..” denki closed the space between you two as he pushed your hair behind your ear, “stupid boyfriend of yours can’t treat you right or something?” 

“none of your fucking business!” you screamed, each word with more animosity that than the previous one. 

“i’d never treat you like that ya’know” denki leaned against the bathrooms sink, as he crossed his arms against his chest, watching you with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. 

“oh yeah?” you looked at him with a glint in your eyes, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, taking him by surprise. 

“heck yeah, let me show you how a real man treats his girl hm?” he caressed your cheek, as his thumb rubbed circles onto the apple of your cheek, dragging you towards one of the cubicles, a click followed, making sure the door was shut close. 

“get on your knees.” denki pulled his sweats down, rock-hard against his boxers, you could make out how big he was, your mouth slightly agape. denki chuckled, “don’t worry babe, you can take it can’t ya?” you nodded briskly, there’s no way you can back out now. 

“you mind me recording this? wanna send it to a certain someone” you shouldn’t have said yes, but you wanted your ex to feel the same pain you did, and you were all for going lower than he did, and the bar was in hell. “be a good girl for me and take me in your mouth yeah?” 

denki waited for you to grab his dick, before he pressed record, he watched you considerately lick the slit as he twitched violently. f-fuck,” he grunts, a hand on your head pushing you to take more of his length, until your tongue is tracing along the protruding veins, until the curve of his cock is slipping down your throat, testing your gag reflex. “just like that, babe.”

he bobs your head up and down, cockhead pounding against the back of your mouth with each thrust, and you do your best to loosen your jaw, to breathe through your nose and catch a whiff of his musk, of the heady scent of sex that permeates the surrounding air as the seconds pass. mindlessly, your hands float up to your chest, playing with your tits and pinching your nipples through your bra. He grunts, brazenly gaping at the way you push your tits together, eyeing the trail of spit and pre that dribbles out of your mouth, along your throat and down your cleavage.

“shit, look up, baby, look at the camera,” he growls, keeping his cock buried in your throat as he tugs you by the hair, forcing your gaze up to the bright light. you blink back tears, widening your eyes to look more innocent, more desperate, and he groans at the sight of your clouded gaze, of the drool and spit dripping out of your mouth around his cock. “who’s fucking your mouth, huh?”

He knows you’re enunciating his name in reply, it’s just a shame all the camera can pick up is you mewling around his cock, his thick girth reducing your syllables to nonsensical garbles, to slurred, wanton moans as he pulls back and shoves himself back in once more. the coarse hair around his cock itches your nose when he holds you steady, and you can feel his cock twitch in your throat when you gulp around it before he finally pulls back to let you breathe properly. 

he doesn’t let up, though, pumping his cock in his free hand, smearing the mess of pre and spit all over your cheeks, over your rolled out tongue before he smacks the tip against the wet muscle.

“whose cock d’ya want?”

“yours,” you reply instantly, pursing your lips around the tip, and he slides his cock in further, making it poke against the inside of your cheek.

“louder, baby.”

“yoursh, den’ki,” you whine around his cock, tugging on his wrist so he’d push his cock in properly, so he’d fuck your throat until your voice turns raspy.

“yeah?” he grins, moving his hand back to your head, and you immediately take him deeper into your mouth, one hand dropping to fondle his balls, squeezing so he jolts in your hold, hips slapping against your face.

you can feel your own panties grow wetter each time he groans your name, each time you look up to admire the way he throws his head back, mouth wide and singing praise, but are greeted by the bright flash of his camera instead; just the thought of him sending this video to your ex-boyfriend, who’s gonna be fuming and losing his shit, has you clenching around thin air, leaking into your underwear. you sneak a hand down to alleviate yourself, trying to rub your clit through the fabric of your pants, and the movement doesn’t escape denki’s notice.

“look at that, you’re getting off on this? fucking touch-touching yourself with my dick in your mouth? shit, baby.”

he pulls out just to get a clear shot of the way you spread your knees and circle your nub, but the feeling is so underwhelming, muted because of all the layers of clothes in the way, and it makes you whine up at him childishly. “denki, please, need you.”

“fuck, you’re so hot,” he murmurs, voice low and husky, captivated by the way you roll your hips in search of a better angle. “how badly d’you need me?” he’s cruel to ask when he can see how anguished and zealous you are, but he takes great pleasure in seeing the way you reduce yourself to whimpers and mewls of his name, sobbing for his help.

“so badly, denki, I can’t— really need you, want your help, please, please, baby…”

“go on then.” He smirks at the way your brows cross, confused until he nudges your knee with his socked foot. “help yourself, baby.”

you’re so cute, he can’t help but think, watching your lips drop in disbelief.

“seriously…?” so fucking adorable. “denki…”

“It’s that or nothing, babe, now open up again.”

he slips the tip of his cock back into your mouth, but his eyes haven’t left yours, raising a brow as you just sit there and take what he does to you, keeping your mouth ajar so he can slide his cock back and forth, keeping your legs grounded as he taps his foot on your thigh. you shoot him a small glare, lacking any real fire, before scrunching your eyes closed, and pushing his foot off of your leg. it drops in the gap between your thighs and his smirk grows, his hips stop moving, as he watches in awe as you hover over him before lowering your hips.

“joly shit,” he wheezes, lost for words as you grind down on him. He’s stuttering, choking on his own words as the heat from your sex engulfs him-he didn’t expect you to be so filthy, but he isn’t complaining. his cock twitches in your mouth every time you rut your hips over him, digging your nails into his calf, and if this goes on for any longer, he knows he’s going to blow his load down your throat, and this is going to make for the shortest sex tape ever.

“f-fuck, shit, baby, you’re so desperate, huh? Humping my foot like a fucking dog, fuck-  fuckin’ bitch in heat, oh god, oh shit, shit-”

His legs are trembling, like an earthquake is running straight through his body, and he’s sure the camera is a shaky mess, but can’t bring himself to fix his grip when you’re sliding yourself along his foot like you’re riding his dick. 

“fuckfuckfuck gonna cum-“ cum dripped down the side of your mouth as he pulled out, ending the video. 

“let’s show him who you belong to yeah?”