About The Blog .ᐟ

ngl after working on a presentation for my ap class for 2 hours straight atp your smaus have been refreshing to read (esp the new izuku one UGH love that guy) and gave me the energy to keep working 🫶🏽🫶🏽

UGHH I LOVE YOU IM SO GLAD :3 GLAD U GOT UR WORK DONE

denki kaminari

evil(ish) coworker | smau ⤷ working at a diner would be fine if your coworker wasn't both a hazard and a menace december, again | smau + fic ⤷ you wrote "december, again" about heartbreak. you didn't expect to meet someone who'd sing every word back like he'd lived it too off the clock | smau ⤷ you and denki are coworkers, best friends, and almost something more—until he starts spending all his time with jirou. now you're just trying your best not to care.

parental guidance | s. aizawa

being aizawa's teenage daughter means sharing the house with a sleep-deprived cryptid and 3 cats.

player two | t. shigaraki

⇨ you beat him in a match. he found your number. unfortunately for you, he’s chatty.

i beg pls do a shoto x reader smau just like cutesie things and theyre already dating i need it for my daily serotonin intake ^^ like where he just does the most boyfriend things without noticing...

w2e, the marias, beabadoobee, laufey typa romance i beg 🙏

everything he does | s. todoroki

in which loving you comes naturally to him—even if he rarely says it out loud

oh my days this newest sero piece brooooooo i lovedddddd itttttt so soooo sooooo gooddddd

AHHH THANK YOU

i had a devious smile on my face the whole time i was writing it

5+1 | s. todoroki

the five times he almost confessed (and the one time he did)

when you were laughing so hard you couldn't breathe

the common room was loud in that cozy, familiar way—someone had turned on a movie, kaminari was yelling about the plot inconsistencies, and a half-empty popcorn bowl had already made two laps around the room. shoto wasn't really paying attention to the screen. he was sitting off to the side, legs folded neatly under him, arms resting on the back of the couch, his eyes on you.

you were laughing.

not the polite kind you gave during class or the half-hearted chuckle that came after a bad pun—no, this was the full-body, head-thrown-back, tear-filled kind of laughter that made everyone around you start grinning too, even if they didn't know the joke.

and it was over something dumb. kaminari had tripped over mina's fuzzy slipper and face-planted into kirishima's protein shake. chaos followed. you were absolutely losing it.

shoto watched as you grabbed your stomach and gasped, "oh my god—that was the dumbest thing i've ever seen—" and wiped at your eyes like it hurt.

he felt something twist inside his chest. something warm and terrifying.

he should tell you. he should lean forward, tap your shoulder, and just say it—i like you. i think i like you more than i'm supposed to.

but then you turned to him, smile still wide, and said, "what? why are you looking at me like that?"

and he panicked.

shoto shook his head, lips twitching just slightly. "nothing. you look... happy."

you beamed at him.

and the moment passed.

2. when you fell asleep on his shoulder

it was movie night again. the common room was quieter this time. only you, him, and iida, who had already fallen asleep thirty minutes in, glasses askew and arms crossed like a disappointed father.

you had slowly started leaning on him as the night wore on, drifting closer each time you yawned. he didn't move. not when your head tilted, not when your hair brushed his collarbone, not even when your hand settled lightly over his.

eventually, you dozed off completely. he could feel the rise and fall of your breathing, soft and steady, against his side.

shoto stared straight ahead at the flickering screen, but his heart was slamming against his ribs like it was trying to break out.

"i love you," he whispered, so quiet he wasn't sure if he actually said it or just imagined the shape of the words in his mouth.

you shifted slightly, brow furrowed, murmuring something incoherent.

he froze. held his breath.

but you didn't wake up.

so he stayed still. and didn't say it again.

3. when you got your heart broken

it was raining. of course it was raining.

you showed up at his door soaked and shaking with the kind of smile that didn't reach your eyes. he opened it without a word and stepped aside to let you in. you toed off your shoes, jacket dripping on the mat, and mumbled, "sorry. i didn't know where else to go."

he handed you a towel. "you always know where to go."

you sat down on his bed, towel wrapped tightly around your shoulders, hair clinging to your face. he made tea. it was silent, but not the uncomfortable kind. it was the kind that let you breathe.

"he broke up with me," you said, finally. "said i was... 'too much.' whatever that means."

shoto sat beside you, mug in hand. "it means they're an idiot."

you laughed, but it sounded hollow.

he wanted to say more. he wanted to tell you that you were exactly enough. that your laugh made the world quieter in his head. that your presence was the one thing that didn't overwhelm him.

but instead, he said, "you deserve someone better."

you leaned your head against his shoulder.

and he didn't move.

4. when he thought you might be slipping away

training had been brutal. everyone was sore, tired, and half-dead by the time aizawa dismissed them. but you looked worse than tired. you looked distant.

you hadn't texted him back in two days. you missed lunch. you didn't sit with him during the bus ride back. and he noticed—every bit of silence, every missed message, every glance that used to last longer.

so he waited outside the locker room, arms crossed, heart pacing faster than his footsteps ever could.

"hey," you said, blinking at him in surprise. you looked like you wanted to smile, but didn't quite manage it. "you okay?"

"i miss you," he said, too blunt, too honest.

your eyes widened a little. you laughed it off, but there was a crack in it. "i'm right here, shoto."

he looked at you. really looked. your hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. your eyes tired. your mouth tugging into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"yeah," he said. "you are."

but he didn't believe it. you were standing in front of him, but you felt like you were disappearing by the second.

he thought about reaching for your hand. about saying the words out loud, finally. but instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and watched you walk away.

and he didn't say what he meant.

5. when you almost died

the explosions echoed down the street like thunder.

shoto didn't wait. he was already moving, already tearing toward the smoke, already deaf to the ringing in his ears and the shouts behind him. his vision blurred. his heartbeat drowned everything else out.

they said you were last seen inside the collapsed building.

he didn't think. he didn't breathe. he just ran.

the debris was everywhere. the smell of ash, blood, and panic choked the air. he called your name once. twice. again.

and then he saw your hand.

half-buried. covered in dust and cuts. but moving.

he dropped to his knees and started digging, calling your name again, voice shaking. his fire flared too hot, too close, and he forced himself to calm it—you couldn't get burned. not by him.

when he finally got to you, you were barely conscious, lips split, blood trickling down your temple.

"stay with me," he said, voice low and sharp with panic. "hey. look at me. you're okay. i've got you."

you mumbled his name. tried to smile.

he gathered you into his arms and held you like something sacred. he didn't let go until the medics forced him to.

that night he sat beside your hospital bed, fingers wrapped around yours, head bowed.

"i have to tell you," he whispered. "i have to. i almost didn't get to."

but your monitor beeped steadily, your face was still pale, and he couldn't bring himself to add anything more.

not yet.

so he waited.

+1. when you didn't let him walk away

it was late.

the dorms were quiet, shadows stretching across the hallway as he leaned against the railing outside. cold wind brushed against his cheek, but he didn't mind. he stood there, staring at nothing, waiting for the weight in his chest to go away. it didn't.

you found him like that, barefoot in socks, hoodie too big, voice small as you whispered, "you okay?"

he turned to look at you.

the wind caught your hair. the moonlight made your eyes look softer than usual. you looked tired, but more than that, you looked worried. for him.

he looked at you like he always did—with something like awe, like fear, like you were the sun and he wasn't sure if he deserved the warmth.

"i keep trying to tell you something," he said.

you stepped closer. close enough that your shoulder brushed his.

"then just say it," you whispered.

he hesitated. how many times had he rehearsed it? how many times had the words caught in his throat, choked back by fear or timing or circumstance?

you didn't move.

"shoto," you said softly, eyes never leaving his, "if you don't say it now, i think i might."

his breath hitched, and for the first time, he didn't flinch.

"i love you," he said.

it came out quieter than he meant it to. barely a whisper. but it felt louder than any explosion.

you smiled.

"finally."

then, you leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure, like you'd been waiting forever. and maybe you had.

he kissed you back like he was making up for all the times he didn't say it.

and finally, finally, he didn't have to wait anymore.

re-up | h. sero

⇨ sero was supposed to pick up and leave, but somehow, he keeps finding new reasons to stay.

Need... Worried asf monoma x barely alive reader who got their ass sent to the hospital... Shit ton of angst and a fluffy ending and my life is yours unc 🙏🙏

what silence held | n. monoma

the mission went wrong. she didn't make it out whole. he held what was left, whispering promises and apologies into bloodstained skin, praying she'd come back just once more. (2407 words)

neito monoma had always been a figure sculpted from layers of meticulous deflection and purposeful arrogance, a carefully constructed image designed to repel rather than invite closeness. beneath that armor, however, lay an earnestness few had glimpsed, an admiration that had quietly rooted itself deep within him, growing stronger with every interaction he had shared with you—an admiration he kept stubbornly hidden behind sarcasm and rivalry.

but now, standing rigid and hollow-eyed before the stark hospital window separating him from your battered form, monoma felt every carefully laid barrier crumble beneath the weight of profound fear. the clinical white lights cast sharp, unforgiving reflections across the polished floors, illuminating your frail, unmoving figure beneath the sterile sheets. the stark contrast between your vibrant spirit—once so full of stubborn resolve—and the battered body now sustained by machines cut deep into his consciousness, a visceral pain he'd never known before.

your body was a ruin.

blood still crusted around the stitches at your temple, a wound that split your skin down to the bone. your left eye, swollen shut, was purpled nearly black. dried blood rimmed your nostrils. deep bruises bloomed across your collarbone and arms, fingerprints in violent shades of plum and yellow. a jagged gash peeked from beneath the gauze on your abdomen, where they'd reopened you twice due to internal bleeding. a rib had pierced your lung. he'd overheard the doctors say it was a miracle you'd made it to the hospital at all.

inside the room, it was too quiet.

the low whir of the oxygen machine, the faint hiss of air being pushed into your lungs, the soft, consistent beeping of the heart monitor—it should have been reassuring. instead, it felt like a countdown, like a fragile metronome ticking away the seconds you might have left. monoma sat motionless in the corner of your room, the plastic chair beneath him stiff and biting. the rhythmic tick of the wall clock carved into his skull with every passing second, each one sounding louder than the last.

he hated it. hated the silence. hated the way it filled his ears and forced him to listen to the slow, labored breaths you weren't taking on your own. hated the sterility, the scent of antiseptic that clung to the air like guilt. he wanted to scream, but the moment he opened his mouth, nothing came. just the sound of that damned beeping.

monoma sat in rigid silence, watching as your chest rose with the help of the machines, not strength. not anymore. all he could do was sit there and remember. not the good memories. no—the last thing he wanted, the thing he couldn't stop seeing, was how it happened. how you ended up like this. how he let you end up like this.

and then he was back there.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

the air was thick with smoke and ash, turning daylight into a choking haze that painted the battlefield in bruised, sickly hues. rubble littered the ground, the shattered remains of buildings cracked open like bone, and the screams of distant civilians echoed behind the veil of destruction. fires burned unchecked, consuming what little structure remained. it was the kind of scene that stripped away any illusion of heroism—just ruin, blood, and the desperate need to survive.

monoma was bleeding.

he stumbled behind a half-collapsed wall, hand pressed tightly against his ribs, where something inside cracked with every breath. he had copied a quirk minutes ago—strength, maybe, or speed—but the user had gone down too fast, and now the power was bleeding out of him like the rest of his strength. he was running on fumes. his vision was doubled. he was useless.

he was alone.

except for you.

you were still standing. just barely.

ahead of him, through the smoke and flame, you faced the villain who had carved through half your team like wet paper. their quirk was monstrous—pure kinetic manipulation, an ability that turned every limb into a wrecking ball. every punch split concrete. every kick ruptured the earth. the sheer pressure rolling off their body was suffocating.

and you stood in front of it.

you were a wreck. blood soaked your shirt, a dark patch blooming from your side where a rebar had grazed your abdomen. one of your arms dangled slightly off-kilter—dislocated or broken, monoma couldn't tell. your face was almost unrecognizable: your cheek had split open, swollen to the size of your fist, and one eye had completely shut from the bruising. blood matted your hair and dried at the corners of your mouth. your jaw trembled with exhaustion.

but your legs held. barely.

"stay down," the villain growled, voice grating through clenched teeth. "i'll make it quick."

you spat blood at their feet. "you first."

monoma wanted to scream.

you moved first.

you ducked under the first blow. the wind it produced nearly knocked you off balance. you countered, striking fast—a jab to the ribs, a glowing blast of energy from your fingertips—but it only staggered them.

then they retaliated.

their elbow cracked against your jaw with the force of a sledgehammer. monoma saw your teeth snap together hard, blood spraying as your head snapped to the side. you crumpled against a lamppost, rebounded, and charged again with reckless, suicidal momentum.

he wanted to stop you. he wanted to grab your wrist and scream that it wasn't worth it.

but he couldn't even stand.

the villain slammed their foot into your stomach, lifting you off the ground. you flew ten feet and landed with a sound that monoma never wanted to hear again—flesh hitting stone, followed by silence. a wheeze escaped you, thin and wet.

you pushed up on shaking elbows, coughing violently. blood spilled from your mouth. you were wheezing, your breath broken like cracked glass. you reached for the pavement, tried to draw strength into your limbs, but your knees collapsed.

still, you got up.

monoma watched in horror as the villain lunged again.

they grabbed you by the throat and lifted you from the ground. your legs kicked weakly, a final show of resistance. your fingers clawed at their wrist, tearing at the skin, but you couldn't breathe.

they slammed you into a wall.

then the ground.

then again.

you weren't even screaming anymore. just hoarse, rasping gasps.

they punched you in the stomach. once. twice. three times. each hit echoed with a sickening crush. blood streamed freely from your mouth and nose. your arms dropped. your eyes rolled. your head lolled.

monoma could barely see. he was crawling—literally dragging himself across the pavement, nails scraping along the broken asphalt. he left a trail of blood behind him, from his own split skin, from your splattered remains.

you made a noise. it wasn't a word. just something small. a protest. a whimper.

the villain dropped you like a broken doll.

you didn't move.

monoma reached you in time to catch your head before it hit the ground. your face was slack, your eyes glassy. blood bubbled at your lips. he could feel the broken ribs beneath your skin, the sick heat of internal bleeding pressing against your side.

your chest fluttered. barely breathing.

your lips moved.

he leaned in. "don't—don't talk. you're okay. you're okay, just hold on."

your fingers twitched. you tried to raise your arm, but it fell uselessly.

and then, the villain turned.

monoma looked up. he met their eyes—calm, detached, like they were already moving past this scene.

he didn't have the strength to fight. he didn't even have the strength to stand.

but he spread himself over your body anyway, shielding what little was left of you.

sirens in the distance. voices. shouting. too far. too late.

he screamed your name. screamed for help until his voice cracked.

when the others finally arrived, they had to pry his fingers off you. he was still trying to hold your head. still whispering, "she's still breathing," even though you weren't.

they started cpr before they got you on the gurney.

monoma watched the chest compressions. the blood that seeped through the gauze. the oxygen mask they fitted over your mouth. the way your body jolted with every push.

he saw them restart your heart.

twice.

he saw the paramedic shake their head.

he rode in the ambulance. he held your hand the entire way.

and he didn't realize he was still whispering your name until they pulled him off at the er doors, dragging him back as the double doors slammed shut between you.

and he stood there, hands shaking, blood everywhere, not knowing if you were alive or already gone.

and in that moment, monoma broke.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

his body jolted forward, dragged violently back into the present. the smell of blood still clung to his nose, phantom pain still pulsed in his chest where he'd slammed against the pavement. but your hand was still there. still in his. and barely—just barely—you were still breathing.

he stood up suddenly and crossed to your bedside, dragging the chair behind him, the legs screeching softly against the floor. he took your hand into both of his, warming it with his touch, rubbing gently like he could coax life back into you through sheer willpower. his thumbs traced the bones beneath your skin, too sharp now, too still.

"you always did chase trouble," he whispered again, throat raw. "always leaping into things like you were invincible. i admired it, you know. even when i mocked you, i admired it."

he swallowed, breath shaking. "you make people braver just by standing beside them. you make me braver. and i hate how much i didn't say it before."

his voice wavered as he leaned forward. "you have to wake up. i need you to wake up."

the monitor continued its measured beeping.

and then, in an instant, that beeping stuttered. changed. slowed.

it was like watching a glass fall from a ledge. monoma's head snapped toward the monitor.

then the alarm.

the shrill wail of the machines filled the room, loud and final. flatline.

"code blue! room 308!"

monoma stumbled back as a tidal wave of medical staff poured into the room. hands gripped his arms, pulling him away, guiding him to the wall.

your body convulsed once under the defibrillator's shock. a nurse straddled the bed, counting out compressions as another prepared the next jolt. the beeping was gone. it had been replaced by that long, singular tone—flat and cruel.

he could see the color draining from your face. could see how your limbs had fallen loose, like strings cut from a marionette. you weren't breathing. your chest didn't rise. and he felt something inside him crack wide open.

the compressions were brutal. blood bubbled at your lips from the force of them, smeared across your cheek as your head lolled uselessly to the side. the nurse's hands were slicked in it. every thrust against your sternum echoed in monoma's ribs like he was being punched himself.

"again! clear!"

the jolt lifted your chest off the bed. still nothing.

one of the nurses looked up at another, eyes wide. "her vitals are too unstable. i—i don't know if we're going to get her back."

"we keep going!" another shouted, voice fraying at the edges. "she's young. she can still fight."

but doubt was a living thing in the room now. it crept through the gaping silence between the shocks, through the gory mess staining your gown, through the flatness of your chest.

monoma shoved against the arm trying to steady him. "please," he said, voice low and strangled. "please just—just do something. don't let her—don't let her die."

he was shoved back as they resumed cpr. he could hear bones breaking. could hear his own blood in his ears, roaring.

he was watching you die.

and then.

a single, weak beep.

then another.

the line began to flutter, erratic but blessedly alive. the flat tone faded into silence.

"we have a pulse!"

monoma collapsed into the nearest chair like a marionette cut loose. his hands were shaking violently. he reached for your hand again—still cold, still limp—but now, thankfully, attached to something living.

he didn't speak for hours. couldn't. his voice felt locked somewhere deep in his chest, behind the weight of what he'd seen. what he'd almost lost.

—

days passed in a haze.

he hardly left the room. ate only when someone forced him. he sat beside you, head bowed, whispering things you couldn't hear but said anyway. apologies. promises. secrets.

he memorized the peaks and valleys of the monitor's readout, flinched at every hiccup in the rhythm. he learned the shift rotations of the nurses, knew which ones brought your meds, which one checked the iv. he hated all of them for seeing you like this.

when your fingers twitched, he almost didn't notice.

then, they moved again.

he sat bolt upright. "y/n?"

your eyes fluttered, unfocused. your lips parted. "neito..?"

the breath he exhaled was more like a sob. "you're awake. you're really awake."

you tried to smile. "i feel like i got hit by a truck."

he laughed, broken and soft. "you look like it too. but you're here."

silence stretched between you again. but this time, it was the kind that held weight.

there were things in the air—things he had left unsaid. things you'd never had the chance to hear.

monoma reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead. "there's something i have to tell you."

you blinked slowly, but your gaze was steady. "okay."

"i can't... i can't keep pretending i don't care. you've always meant more to me than i let on. i admire you. i rely on you—" he paused, breath catching. "i love you. i didn't know how badly until i thought you were gone."

your breath caught too—but not from weakness. your eyes softened, a glint of warmth returning to your face.

"i think i've been waiting to hear that for a long time."

monoma swallowed hard, trying and failing to suppress the tremor in his hands. "then i'm sorry it took almost losing you to say it."

you smiled, slow and tired. "i forgive you. but you're not getting rid of me that easily."

he leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours. the machines continued to beep, slow and steady. for the first time in days, monoma let himself close his eyes.

"then i'm not going anywhere. ever."

have you thought of doing a master list (i think that’s what it’s called)

yes! im working on one rn but im still lowk new to posting on tumblr so its taking me forever LMAO i will have one soon tho trust