Did I Wake Up 3 Hours Earlier Than Usual To Watch My Little Pony Friendship Is Magic Except With Teenage

if my friend group was mha characters we’d be:

- uraraka

- shinso

- mina

-kirishima

-jiro

-sero

wait why are we lowkey the coolest characters

You better write those fics we talked about 😈

oh god im scared

tracing secrets onto your skin. e!kirishima

in which you are stuck in a hotel room, with the guy you've loved for years. and oh did i mention? there's only one bed.

authors note: 1.3k words! one bed trope, pure fluff, mutual pining. this is so similar to a shoujo manga. m.list <3

You and Kiri had been assigned a mission together in a completely different country, but now, arriving at the already booked hotel room—the one the HPSC had provided, courtesy of you both saving the day—there was one slight problem.

Upon stepping inside, weak bruised aching limbs and battered hearts, you opened the door to reveal only one bed.

Yep. Only one bed.

And to make matters worse, it was incredibly small—supposedly a queen, but barely bigger than a twin. And who was standing next to you? Only the guy you’d been painstakingly in love with for three years now. Ever since you first saw him as a first-year at U.A., with his sharp teeth and kind eyes, you had been on the floor for him.

You and Kiri were friends—sort of? Maybe? It was complicated. He was nice to everyone, and it was hard to call someone like that a friend when they belonged to everyone. Mr. Aizawa had always partnered the two of you together. At first, you weren’t sure why, but then you realized—it was because you hesitated. You were shy, timid, and always second-guessing yourself even when you knew you were capable. And Kirishima was loud, outgoing, and so completely kind, that he had a way of making people feel so sure of themselves, which is exactly what you had needed.

Being the gentleman he was, Kirishima immediately insisted on taking the floor. And by the time you emerged from the shower, hair damp and clinging to your face, wrapped in a shirt far too big for you, he was already curled up on the ground.

You climbed into the plush bed, the blankets swallowing you whole in their softness, but your mind couldn’t settle. Not when you knew his back was aching from today’s mission. Not when you knew his body was probably in even worse shape than yours.

You swallowed down the thoughts, let them mix inside like creamer in coffee, before finally whispering, as softly as ever, as if your words could shatter the distance you’d held between him and your heart for so long.

"Kiri?"

He responded quickly—faster than you expected. Your heart clamored against your ribs as he spoke your name so sweetly, laced with the haze of sleep, like he was stumbling through a dream.

"Yeah?"

You hesitated before murmuring, “Come sleep on the bed. The floor is cold and hard, and I know you’re hurting, Kirishima.”

He swallowed, his hesitation stretching into the dimly lit room, then cut through the tension with a quiet chuckle. “No, the bed’s for you. I’m okay.”

But you weren’t convinced. 

You leaned over the edge, your long hair spilling down, a tendril brushing against his cheek. The moonlight filtering through the curtains cast a silver glow over his face as his gaze flickered up towards yours, his crimson eyes shining in the glow. His gaze softening as he reached up, twirling a lock of your hair between his calloused fingers.

Your heart beat louder. Faster. It was dangerously close to falling right into his hands, to be held and guarded by him.

You spoke again, this time more hesitantly, afraid your words wouldn’t reach him.

"Please, Kiri?"

He just stared at you, like you were the most fascinatingly beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Like he saw straight through your beating heart to the secrets you held captive. And then, finally, he agreed.

The bed dipped beneath his weight as he climbed in beside you.

The room was filled with silence, save for the soft rhythm of your breathing and the distant sounds of the busy street below. Then, finally, Kirishima spoke—his voice soft, yet raspy, like the soft currents of waves nipping at your feet.

"Thank you."

And you echoed it back. "Thank you."

The silence stretched, turning the room upside down. You listened to the way he shifted, turned, unable to get comfortable. With a bit of confidence, you finally asked, "Having trouble sleeping?"

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh, like he wanted to downplay it, to make it seem not that bad. But you knew him better than that. You knew he was hurting. And you knew he wouldn’t admit it.

"Is it your back?"

He exhaled. "Yeah… strained myself today. Should’ve known when to quit."

You pocketed the last bit of his sentence away in your mind, tucking it into the back of your thoughts like a trinket, to find later but in this case to bring up later. Then Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, your fingertips ghosting over his scarred skin “Is… this okay? I just want to help.”

His breath hitched. Then, after a moment, he murmured, “Yeah.”

Carefully, you ran your fingers over his scarred back, kneading at the sore muscles along his shoulders, pressing into the tension lingering in his body. Your touch grew bolder, tracing the sharp ridges of his shoulder blades, following the delicate line of his spine. He smelled like warmth, like golden honey bottled up with love, like spring flowers dipped in sunshine,mixed with the lingering glances and hidden touches of a teenage love scorned into the pages of a romance novel.

He was everything you’d ever want. Something you would chase—not in a bruised, bloodied-knees, face-full-of-dirt kind of way, but in the way a child chases bubbles, laughing as each one pops. In the way you run toward the sound of the ice cream truck, sneakers untied, heart racing for something sweet.

With every soft breath he let out, it was like tuning into a radio signal— the softness of the faint static giving way to something clearer. Your fingers trailed absentmindedly, and he let them, his body still, his breaths shallow. 

Your fingers mapping out something secret, something you’d never been brave enough to say. And with shaky hands, you finally traced the words—

"I love you."

You lingered on the last letter longer than you should have.

Then—

A sharp intake of breath.

Before you could react, he turned over, grasping your wrist in his free hand, enclosing your fingers within his own. His red eyes bore into yours, searching, uncertain.

"You… said you loved me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Well… you traced it on my back."

Your eyes widened. And for a moment, you felt like you were thirteen again, drowning in the dizzying rush of first love, when every feeling was new and everything mattered too much.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, already turning over, already bracing yourself for rejection.

But then he shifted, moving closer, his body hovering slightly over yours, eyes locked onto your face.

"I'm not good with words," he admitted, voice rough, quiet. "Can I show you instead?"

You barely realized you nodded until you felt the vibration of your own agreement, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands—so big, so strong, so gentle—cradled your face like you were porcelain, like he was learning how to be careful with something fragile. And then his lips met yours.

Hesitant. Careful. You could taste his uncertainty, but as your hands threaded through his soft, unstyled red hair, as your fingers traced the edges of his jaw, dancing across his skin, eliciting goosebumps he eased into it—deeper, surer. Your bodies slotted together, moving in perfect harmony, wrapped in warmth and the quiet, breathless overwhelming ecstasy of everything unsaid.

Bodies slotting together, sheets shifting beneath your weight, drowning in something too big to name.

Kissing him felt like the summer afterglow, mosquitos nipping at your flesh with sticky hands from a melted popsicle.

And when he finally pulled away, the moonlight glowing against his face,  his hand ghosted over your collarbone, tracing the same words you had left on his skin.

"I love you."

With the same hesitation. The same gentleness. The same certainty.

i strongly believe that Denki is a theatre kid. Like look at him and tell me he didn’t have a crash out during tech week of his middle school’s production of suessical. I feel like he’s a baritone but gaslights everyone else (including himself) that he’s a tenor. He always goes for the romantic lead but gets the funny best friend anyways. He is definitely one of those straight guys in theatre I fear. He joined theatre to get girls but then he found out he actually loved it.

ahajsjshahshsh i love this

“is this okay?” 

when eijirou looks up from his phone, you gesture to the outfit you’d just put on for mina’s party. 

“y-yeah,” he coughs, clearing his throat. the flush in his cheeks deepens. “you look incredible.” 

“and you’re okay?” you ask. “if i wear this out, i mean.” 

eijirou’s brows pull together as he blinks at you, seemingly trying to figure out if he heard you right. he sounds a little offended when he says, “babe. you’re not seriously asking me that.” 

when you don’t immediately respond, he crosses his arms. starts soapboxing a little about how it’s his responsibility, as a man, to challenge toxic masculinity and the patriarchy. and telling his girlfriend what to wear is being part of the problem, not the solution. 

then, he scrubs the back of his neck with a big hand, somehow managing to look both sheepish and cocky when he adds, as an afterthought, “..... and i can fight.”

Pls do Ulmite as the friggin packet yo kid

for context this is my brother who requested this lmao

also did you mean all might?!?

this is a crack fic btw

basically I imagine Aizawa is teaching class and he gives the 1a kids a packet of work to do, because he needs to catch up on sleep or something and then All Might just bursts in and recites the friggin packet yo speech.

link to og video

i felt like rebranding myself so here are my hcs about what music the UA students listen to so here we go

(i’ll make a part 2 with more people)

Izuku Midoriya

you cannot tell me that this boy doesn’t unironically listen to the entire Pray For the Wicked album by Panic! At the Disco.

He definitely listens to Imagine Dragons when he’s training 💀

He also listens to musicals and soundtracks a lot (he has hamilton memorized)

Mina Ashido

Hear me out, she LOVES Chappell Roan

She’s def a little fruity or at least an ally (will try to teach Aizawa the hot to go dance)

She also undeniably loves Brat by Charli XCX

Eijiro Kirishima

Dad Rock Fan

His favorite song is Seven Nation Army

Knows everything about the Grateful Dead for some reason

Denki Kaminari

His favorite song is Pretty Fly (For a White Guy) by the Offspring which i think makes complete sense

In general likes the offspring, green day, and other pop punk from that era

Institutionalized by Suicidal Tendencies is his favorite to listen to during training

His favorite band is machine girl and he also likes death grips

Gets most of his reccomendations from Jiro

Katsuki Bakugo

He listens to punk

Dead Kennedys, Sex Pistols, Misfits, The Clash etc.

he dabbles in riot grrl and grunge but is very hesitant to take reccomendations from others

Favorite Song is Police Truck

in general likes angry songs

Ochaco Uraraka

Since she grew up poor i hc that she mostly listened to cds she found in thrift stores

after joining UA, Jiro and Mina introduced her to a lot of stuff

She loves folk punk

Her favorite band is the Moldy Peaches

Her favorite song is Deceptacon by Le Tigre

Shoto Todoroki

He’s sheltered as fuck so before coming to UA he rarely listened to music

I feel like he really gets into radiohead because it has this sort of passive anger to it

He also definitely likes Sufjan Stevens, Phoebe Bridgers, and other soft sad music

Also a big classical fan

Hanta Sero

He definitely listens to rock

Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana, Hole, etc.

I feel like he secretly likes some emo stuff too like Sunny Day Real Estate and mcr

Momo Yaoyorozu

She is a beatles girly

George is her favorite

Also likes Simon and Garfunkel

In general melodic 60s stuff

Toru Hagakure

She is obsessed with Sabrina Carpenter

Olivia Rodrigo too

Has the Guts album on vinyl

MHA CHARACTERS AS RANDOM SHIT ME AND MY FRIENDS TEXTED EACH OTHER

@misssprinkles @matcopii

uraraka + mina

———

jiro + momo

———

shinso + monoma

———

sero

———

bakugo

———

iida + denki

———

jiro

———

kirishima

———

Izuku

———

Denki

i think the characters you had a crush on in middle school really shape your personality.

like why was i obsessed with karma from assassination classroom at age 11 😭

or like jd from heathers

or toga from mha like girl 😭