the thing about writing denki aus is that i can make him as pathetic as i want in the name of characterisation, for example:
“WET DREAMZ”
a mha college au WITH DENKI K. feat. HANTA S.
“got me daydreamin’, man, what?”
wc: 6.7k
this is for @rumisgf very late birthday gift
mdni.... cw: denki being foolish and bisexual, best friend reader!, reader is fem and black coded, bad language, spitting in his mouth, eating pussy, semi public, teasing, friend whereeeee????, minor kamisero, eventual threesome, bakusquad mention, less smut then you’d think. but still smut, recreational drug use.
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
starting track….
denki fucked up.
he fucked up baaaaaaad.
and the thing is, he could've saved this, he could've saved himself a whole lot of trouble, a whole lot of sexual tension, a whole lot of bisexual confusion, and a whole lot of horny delusions.
his first mistake was letting sero meet you.
because, you're denki's high school best friend.
best friend, like, best fucking friend. best friend like you made denki what he is today.
he took his first shot with you, smoked his first joint with you, bought his first vape with your fake id.
every morning, he'd meet you at the bus stop, share those cheap ass, shitty ass, earphones of his, with your playlist saved onto his phone, only half of it downloaded with the 200MB he had left, using your phone to check the homework updates that neither of you completed.
and then you'd get the homework answers off some random, and spend registration scribbling out absolute bullshit, because even if it's incorrect and illegible at least it was done, and you wouldn't be given detention.
because you guys couldn't get detention, not when you had rustled up twenty dollars between you, to buy cheap weed off some sketchy guy, and smoke in the park next to his house.
late nights on face-time during family holidays, dinner at his house almost three times a week, helping your dad fix something that was broken in the backyard.
your lives were so intertwined, that when you made-out for the first time, it didn't feel like a big deal.
because, of course your first kiss would be with denki, of course the first guy to see you naked would be denki, of course the first guy to dry hump you on some random girl’s couch, would be denki.
so natural, so not-a-big-deal, so normal.
and then he left for college.
you knew it would happen at some point, that he would leave, that he would get tired of having to hide himself, quiet himself, tone himself down, in your small conservative little town, fucking duh. right?
and he told you he was going to leave, you were there when he applied for the university. and you were there, right fucking next to him, jumping for joy, when he got accepted.
doesn't mean it didn't hurt.
doesn't mean you didn't feel it in your chest.
despite the fact that you were doing your own thing, living your own life, becoming your own person.
it doesn't mean that every time you get a notification from him, an update about his new friend group, or something dumb that happened on a night out, or he comes back for a weekend, and he has a new piercing or tattoo or a different hairstyle, that you don't miss him so fucking much.
that doesn't mean that he doesn't miss you too.
every time he makes a joke that doesn't land, or references a meme from five years ago, or wants to go to a gig, or talk bullshit, or get high and go grocery shopping, he sighs to himself.
because no one really gets him like you do. no one sees him like you do.
you’re his person, his everything.
he had to invite you to come and see the city eventually, it took a while for your schedules to align for sure, but you got there in the end.
got here.
and denki's late.
you're late too if we're being honest. you missed the transfer, and had to wait for 45 minutes for the next train, enough time to leave the station for a smoke, fall asleep on the train, and nearly miss your stop.
but you're here now.
outside this big, loud, city station, suddenly feeling conscious of how you must definitely reek of weed, tapping your foot on the cracked concrete, lent up against the metal railing, idly scrolling on your phone.
travel bag full, headphones on, you don't even realise someone is calling your name till—
“—holy shit dude, are you that fucking deaf?” a sun-kissed hand waving in front of your face, “haven’t changed a bit—”
he cuts himself off to borderline tackle you into a hug, you nearly drop your phone, his warm body heat enveloping your system. arms wrapped tightly around your waist, he still smells the same, so do you.
you barely notice how he takes a deep inhale when he noses at the junction of your neck.
it’s so fucking weird to have you here, but in the best way. it feels like a dream, you feel like a dream, all disgruntled and weary from the journey.
“you gonna take her bag or what?”
oh right.
denki’s head stays where it is, nestled into your shoulder. the only move he makes is to stick a finger up from behind his back, but your gaze snaps up, meeting with the owner of the voice.
dark eyes meet yours, half-lidded, grin creeping onto his face, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, a few paces back from where you’re embracing the blonde.
“hey—”
“oh, fuck off, man,” denki still hasn’t let go, you feel his voice rumble through your skin, “don’t even talk t’er.”
“relax,” you say grabbing the back of his hair and pulling him off you, he lets out a small whimper, minuscule really, but you know him, yank a bit harder, voice dropping to a whisper, “don’t you dare.”
but denki doesn’t budge, he hums almost dreamily, “don’t talk to me like that, y’know it’s been a while.” with his arms squeezing you tighter, practically melting into your chest.
“free show for the general public, i knew you were freaked out but seriously dude—”
that does the job, denki finally unwinds his limbs from you to turn and scoff at his friend, talking about some, “you can’t let me have a moment,” and then turns back without waiting for answer, grabbing your travel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
“not if i’m uninvolved,” the other guy scoffs out, hands in his back pockets, and he smirks down at the blonde who’s marched over to give him a light shove in the chest.
denki snatches the lit cigarette from his friend’s mouth, with a mocking sneer, and pops it into his own.
“‘uninvolved’ that’s not even a real word,” the words curl around the smoke as he waves you over.
“maybe you should read a fuckin’ book.”
“maybe you should shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he clears his throat, then dramatically flourishes to the guy standing next to him, whom you vaguely recognise. from blurry snaps, from instagram stories, from half of his figure in face-times, the one, the only, “hanta sero.”
he smirks at the introduction, something you reckon he does a lot of, and nods at you in greeting, “i’m surprised you’re a real person, i was almost sure this shit-head was making you up.”
your smile is strained because of the sunlight glaring right in your eye line, but your tone is warm, if not a little dry, when you reply with, “talks ‘bout me a lot, does he?”
“you don’t know the half of it—” denki shoves him forward, and sero laughs, bright and loud, let’s the momentum carry him into a step, which turns into another, and another, and then denki takes your hand to pull you along with them, as you make your way down the street, away from the station’s exit, back to their place.
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“finally.”
denki huffs as he flops onto his bed with a groan, it creaks and shifts when you drop down next to him, his legs intertwining with yours like second nature.
and denki’s smelling you again. it’s less weird than it sounds, but still weird. it’s not his fault, you smell like sunshine and home, how could he not, nose buried into the top of your head, arms curled around your body.
you both lay like that for a minute, content in the silence, just basking in each other’s presence. electricity buzzing under your fingertips as he softly grazes his knuckles against your back.
until you decide to be a little bitch.
“your friend’s cute,” you murmur into his chest, you can feel denki’s heart pitter-pattering, vibrating through your body.
he doesn’t say anything for a beat.
you crack open an eye, try again, “i said, your friend is hot—”
he doesn’t give you the reaction you’d hoped for, which is a shame. instead he chuckles, snickers, softly against your hair, still tracing patterns into your skin, “you really gonna talk about another guy while you’re in my bed, no class.”
“take that back asshole,” and he catches your hand when you move to hit him, brings a thumb down to curl around your wrist, rolls his eyes as you squint up at him, “no class?” you repeat, “i’m so classy, so fuckin’ classy i brought my own bud—”
yeaaahhh, that wakes him up.
and because it's denki, because he has no manners, or boundaries, or concept of personal space, both his hands start sliding down your body until they feel the bulge in one of your back pockets.
you squirm out of his grip, feebly kicking at his legs, but he's so solid. you can feel his muffled snickers as you smack his arms away from you, but he barely moves, just presses you further into the mess of pillows and blankets that cover his bedspread.
“you're such an asshole,” but your shoulders shake with the uncontrollable laughter that tumbles out of your body when he starts trying to curl his fingers into the pocket.
you get a face full of armpit. “and you smell so fuckin’ bad, couldn't even take a shower before inviting me over here—”
he kisses his teeth at your insult, but doesn't flinch when your heel catches his shin, just lightly slaps your thigh to get you to chill the fuck out, because his bed-frame is cheap and creaking like it might collapse any second.
"dude," as he sits back on his knees and sticks out his tongue in victory, shiny foil package dangling between his fingertips, "the water pressure here sucks balls, i promise you, i tried my best."
you kick at him again when he starts to open it, and the baggy drops from his grip. you snatch it up before he gets a moment to breathe, and point a finger at him in warning, “nah-ah-ah. say please.”
he collapses on top of you again, bullshit doe-eyed expression, and juts out his bottom lip as he simpers, “oh please, my perfect princess,” you don't budge, “oh, please, dear goddess, let us roll a zoot.”
“well, seeing as you’ve always been a loyal subject.”
“you’re such a fucking dork.”
“me? me? i’m a dork?" you repeat back to him, voice wavering in astonishment, “the first thing you did when you moved in here was put up that zelda poster,” and you gesture to the aforementioned poster, corners peeling, plastered onto his wall next to the window, “and you wanna talk about dorks.”
“well if i'm a dork and you’re a dork,” he says, and with his face so close to your own, you can practically count the freckles matted across his cheeks. and that annoying little smile, so unchanging despite the time you've spent apart, despite the distance. "what does that make us?”
he answers for you, not before his eyes flick down to your lips as his tongue pokes out to wet his, “it makes us perfectly compatible.”
your eyes roll and you shove his face back with the palm of your hand, “you're a fucking loser.”
his hands crawling over your thighs, “yeah, what else?”
“a freak.”
his eyes boring into your soul, “keep going.”
“pathetic.”
his breath ghosting over your ear, “nearly there."
“and,” your hand suddenly stretches out, and denki keens when you take a fistful of his hair into your grasp, his body folds inwards towards you as you pull him closer, gently grazing your teeth across his earlobe while he shudders and you murmur, “i don’t fuck with blondes.”
unserious to a fault, denki breaks down into snickers, nuzzling his nose against your neck. it would’ve been believable, if not for the fact that, “y’know i can feel your lil’ boner pressing against my stomach.”
that makes him chuckle even harder into your neck. “guilty,” sarcastically muttered, and then denki cranes his head so he’s at the perfect angle to lick your cheek.
you groan in disgust and push his face away, but that doesn’t stop him, and you get his slobber all over your palms.
“get the fuck off me, i swear to—” he covers your mouth with his palm and continues to lick your face like a demented cat, what the fuck? “is this what the city life does to people?”
“no,” he whines suddenly, interlocking his fingers with yours against either side of your head, “i-i just missed you.”
oh.
you didn’t expect him to say it outright.
there’s been an annoying, awful, nagging, voice that has been whispering in the depths of your brain ever since he left. whispering that he stopped caring about you, that you were just a placeholder until he got cooler, funnier, friends, that you were nothing but an insignificant speck in the long, vibrant, life he was going to live.
denki’s warm, honey, eyes scan your face.
he’s frowning, and, well, denki should never be frowning.
you shake his hand off one of your wrists and he sits back immediately. no longer breaching your personal space, a brief look of hurt flashing through his eyes as you say nothing.
but then, your free hand reaches up, and your thumb, very carefully, very gently, smooths out the wrinkle that has appeared between his brows.
“i missed you too.”
the corners of his mouth uplift, his eyes shine, god, it's like the sunlight breaking through the dawn, the way denki's face contorts into a smile, “you really know how to make a guy sweat, baby.”
you snort, “oh, you're sweating now?”
“amongst other things, yeah.”
"amongst?" you repeat, eyes squinting in the way they do when you're about to take this piss, “is that a new vocab word?”
you’re trying to ragebait, but it doesn’t work.
because denki can't stop smiling.
there's just something so fucking dreamy about how you're here, in his college house, on his horrible twin xl bed. it's really hard to describe the feeling, because, sure, he's seen you, during holidays, on face-time and the like, but it's different having you in the city with him.
with him.
as in, not only did you trek all the way here, three fuckin' buses, two trains, all your essentials packed, with the sole intention of spending time with him.
but you missed him too?
that notion, that suggestion, that you thought about him nearly a fraction as much as he thought about you.
it makes him dizzy.
"you really like being mean to me, don'tcha?" and he can't keep his hands off of you, his fingers tracing patterns along your sides.
"i think you like it more than i do."
"you can't prove that."
that makes you laugh, genuinely, because, it's like, do you mention the hard-on that is throbbing against your thigh, again, or do you let him live in his delusion? questions, questions.
or…
the secret third option.
bringing your hand down, and cupping his erection through the material that covers his bottom half. using your nails to scratch at the seam that is straining with his hard cock, and watching his breath hitch, his brow furrow, his eyelids flutter.
"you're playing dirty," denki whines, as if that could hide the guttural moan that literally comes from the depths of his spirit.
you lean up towards him so you can mouth at patch of skin where his ear meets his neck, and you murmur into his ear, "i think you like it when i play dirty."
“well, i think,” as he traces your pulse points with his nose, “that you only have one voice line option," and then with his teeth, like the most least obvious vampire, "where's the variety?"
"don't be a dick."
"thought you liked my dick."
"i like your mouth more."
"oh yeah," he turns his head, kisses along your jawline, softly, like you’re something delicate, something he has to hold very carefully, something that he couldn't afford to break, something he wants to take his time with.
it makes your heart race, being loved on like that, you needed it to be honest. someone that knows you intimately, someone that knows exactly what you want.
you shrug his hand off you, from where one of his palms still had a firm grip on your wrist, so you can grab his chin, bring his face closer to yours, your breath intermingling.
and the next time he opens his mouth to make a smart comment, you stop him before he can even start.
by grasping his tongue with two of your fingers.
you know him as much as he knows you.
and you absolutely could not miss the shudder that wracks his body, or the way his eyes practically roll back into his head.
you have to tut at him until he stops trying to wrap the pink textured tip of his tongue around your digits.
so you have the space, to spit in his mouth.
oh wow.
there are not enough words to describe the pathetic mess denki makes out of himself at that moment.
i won't bother attempting to walk you through it.
but sero can.
denki's bedroom door slams open, hanta sero, giving no prelude before making his entrance, "are we still gonna go out tonighhh…"
now imagine this, your best friend, practically on his knees, on top his best friend, literally eating out of the palm of her hand, with both of his hands underneath her shirt.
sero grins.
and carelessly swats away the pillow that comes flying at his face.
the three of you just kinda blink at each other for a minute.
before sero turns on his heel and walks right back out.
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“this is the best spot in the entirety of the old town, i'm telling you.”
“you said the same thing about the bar by the river—”
“—and about that arcade on the high-street.”
“anddddd, when we found the spot along the bridge with the benches.”
"that, that, that, that,” denki slurs, well stutters, a step behind you, “that doesn't diminish my point.”
you can’t see him but you hear the sound of him smacking sero when he mocks the blonde with a, “uh-ba-ba-ba-ba-da-ba-dah."
"shut up, just shusshh,” oh god, he really is licked, you can’t take him seriously, “i'm trying to show my beloved friend–in fact, you guys are even proving my point.”
"and what is your point exactly."
"well... that old town has all the best spots."
they all hum in agreement.
all being, the rest of denki's new friend group.
honestly, they're a cool bunch.
the girls are fucking lovely, stunning, nice as hell, like surprisingly. not that you thought his friends would be dickheads, but still, it's refreshing to be around.
almost as refreshing as the cool night air.
the sunset a while ago, while you were still pre-gaming at this one girl's flat, mina. she's a fucking legend. super hospitable, one of those people who never let's anyone sit out of conversation, a little prying but not enough to make you uncomfortable.
but she mixes drinks like a demon.
sero had warned you.
after denki had, ahem, had a shower and cleaned himself up, the three of you made your way over to mina's together.
but, denki was on the phone the whole time. one of the guys was having a crisis and apparently, it was very, super, extremely, important, so he had left sero to entertain you on the twenty minute walk over.
this sero guy is something else.
there's something very telling about the way he talks, like he's constantly trying to sus you out, but in the least discrete way he can. his questions are really leading, and it doesn't matter how you answer, it feels like you've fallen into a trap.
it doesn't help that he's fucking sexy.
with the piercings, the way his hair falls into his face, and that ridiculous sleeve of line-drawn patchwork tattoos, that denki seems intent on copying.
but his smile gets you the most.
this annoying, slick, grin that he gets when you say something a bit too sarcastic, or a bit too rude, or a bit too risky, and he visibly bites his tongue while he cheeses, flashing his pearly whites, all half-lidded eyes and barely concealed snickers.
fuck denki for leaving you to your own devices.
you'd been walking side by side with the dude, bare arms brushing, up until you got to the front steps of mina's flat, and even then, denki had disappeared almost instantly, leaving you with this guy, again.
and sero had not left you alone, maybe denki had told him to keep an eye on you or something, but you can't deny it, the attention was addicting. fetching you drinks when you asked, lighting your blunt for you, letting you smoke his cigs with nothing but a shake of his head and another one of those confusing, biting, grins.
aside from that, the rest of denki's friends had been great.
aside from the drinks.
sero, and the other girl, jirou, had fuckin’ warned you, that mina enjoys playing bartender, and that she takes her job very seriously. you had waved them off at the time, because honestly, two blunts deep, the glass you had tasted like fuckin' juice. really sweet, really orange, and apparently chock full of tequila.
which leads us to now, a large gaggle of about seven undergrads, arguing, then bursting into cackles, then tripping over their own feet, then arguing again, stumbling along the high street.
one dude, the guy that was having a "major crisis sorry for stealing him," is on your right, recounting the lore of their last night out, the group of 'em, getting lost on the way home, missing the last train, no ubers picking up the request, and having to walk back to the student housing, two hours away from where the gig was.
"and then, and then, that's not even the worst part," kirishima nearly hits you in the face when he gestures towards the other blonde of the group. he pats you gently on the shoulder in apology, but the volume level of his voice does not lower in the slightest when he says, "this dude, this fuckin' dude, ran off, like literally, sprinted into the distance, and left us."
jirou, who is to your left, chokes on her snort, pulls on your arm, calling your attention back to her, "all of our phones were dead, mind you."
"don't start talkin’ shit," the blonde in front of you suddenly cuts in, he's been quiet most of the night, aside from the occasional jeer, "i left you with the portable charger, i'm not a fuckin' asshole."
kirishima buffers, and then cries out, "dude, you left us. stranded."
"y'all made it home, didn't ya?"
"that is sosososo not the point."
the girls burst into snickers again, you are included in the hyena laughter, and you take a deep breath.
the streets are not quiet. it’s late, but it’s still so busy. cars and buses whizzing past, laughter and music pouring in from every open bar door.
this place, this city, it’s no wonder denki wanted to move up here.
bright, loud, vibrant.
just like him.
speaking of…
there’s suddenly a horrific, wailing, screech, that echoes around the street. you spin your head, sero and denki, both two steps behind you. or… were?
sero’s standing, sorry, crouching, hands on his knees, in a fit of cackles, coughing and spluttering. and denki, poor, sweet, denki, rushing back over to the group from where, you’re guessing, he was pushed into the road.
“stop fuckin’ around,” the blonde, scary, one bellows out at the both of them, to which they suddenly stand up straight, like well trained military dogs, “i’m not goin’ to a&e again for you schmucks.”
ah, that kicks off the idiots, “whadidhesayyy?”
“schmuck.” —and they both burst into another fit of boisterous cackles.
“are they always like this…?”
“yup.”
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“mhmm, mhmmm that’s it baby, shiiiiit.”
denki’s always had this weird obsession with the way you smell. it’s not that you smell bad, usually you smell really fucking good, you have a… what’s the word… routine.
you have a routine. he’s seen you, watched you, even earlier tonight, he was sat on his bed ready to go, half scrolling, half watching you lather lotion across your limbs, practically drooling at the sight of your doughy thighs glistening with body butter.
and he thought that was the end. but then you pulled out your body oil, oh okay, which is actually very different to body lotion… apparently? and then, you’re done— oh, wait, no, now you have, uh, body spray? okay now you’re definitely finish– perfume oil? how many oils does one person need?
he can admit, the routine lasts, it does the job, he can get hints of it now, this close to you, whiffs of jasmine, and vanilla, and whatever that yummy spicy smell is, but that’s not what he means.
he loves the smell of your skin, of your sweat, of your natural body odour, that’s what makes it weird.
like right now, you’re sat on the closed toilet seat, in the back of that bar, the supposed ‘best spot in old town,’ with your legs thrown over denki’s shoulders, and him, on his knees before you, taking turns between viciously eating your pussy, and taking deep inhales of your cunt. he can’t help himself, there’s something addictive about you, pretty pink lips suckling on your clit, tongue lolling out to lick fat stripes across your sloppy, gummy, entrance, and his eyes rolling at you scent.
fuck, it’s “so good,” he dazedly mutters, nose buried into your bush, “sosososo so goooood mama holy fu-uck.”
your foot digs itself into his shoulder blade, as the vibrations of his drunken praise send shivers up your spine, “you’re so fucking nasty.”
“mmmm, i know, i know,” he does know, but he also doesn’t care, how could he, your fingers gripping his hair, your nails scratching at his scalp, your clit throbbing between his lips.
he takes a moment to very carefully trace his teeth along your pulsing bud, that makes you jolt, and hiss at him through your teeth, and clamp your thighs around his head, just like he wanted.
fffuck, he’s dizzy.
denki was already decently faded, but the smell of your pussy is even more intoxicating then any liquor, and so much sweeter, your juices just spilling into his mouth, so fucking delicious, oh lord.
you always get mean when you’re close, like your body doesn’t allow itself to experience pleasure without a negative output.
good thing denki likes it, right.
“shiiiiiit,” he gasps, between, disgustingly wet slobbers, his tongue prodding at your sensitive, stimulated, walls, “you gonna squirt in my mouth?” your mushy, gummy, pussy, just oozing with slick, all for him to gobble up, “oh, shit, please, pleasepleaseplease—”
and you cum with a hand burying his face into your cunt, hectic rolls of your hips, quivering thighs. your jelly legs collapse around his shoulders, your body slack against the wall, just panting for a minute, chest rising and falling with your laboured breaths. denki looks stupidly proud of himself, with that smug grin gracing his shiny lips. your heel kicks out again to smack that ridiculous look off his face, but it literally does nothing to deform his starry-eyed expression.
“well, shit,” you breathe out finally, your eyes, half-lidded, as you watch him stand up, and snort at the crack of his knees.
“s’that all you got t’say?” denki snickers down at you while dusting the floor imprints off of his jeans.
“what d’you want me to say?”
“oh, i dunno,” he fake contemplates, and then, in a stupidly high pitched tone that sounds absolutely nothing like you, goes, “kwahhh thank you, big dick daddy denki for eatin’ my pussy— OW FUCK.”
your foot, again, saying hello to his shin.
“who the fuck is calling you big dick daddy denki, you fucking loser?”
“ehhhh you’d be surprised.”
you’re about to say something else, maybe comment on how there’s a little wet patch on the crotch of his jeans, when a loud thump at the stall door interrupts your train of thought.
and, of course, no shame kaminari goes, “yellooo?” in the fucking most ridiculous, you’ve used ridiculous to describe him many a time but there really isn’t a better word, voice you’ve ever heard from a guy who was literally on his knees, seconds prior.
but, who’s voice is coming from the other side of the door?
“you’ve got all my smokes in y’er pocket, shitface.”
and you watch denki check, then pull a face, because he does have all sero’s smoke in his pocket, “oopsie, we’ll be right out!”
“we?”
and again, no-shame kaminari, just hits the latch on the door, and swings it open, while you’re still sat on the fucking toilet, recovering, and he’s still got your remnants smeared all over his mouth.
“stop fuckin’ disappearin….”
sero’s dark lazy eyes scan his friend, his glossy mouth, his flattened hair, the stain on his jeans.
he raises an eyebrow very slowly, then calls out to you, whom he can not see, but still, he knows his friend, “we have to stop meeting like this.”
“what did i say?” denki practically whines, “don’t fucking talk t’er.” and shoves his friend in the chest to make him back away from where he was leaning against the doorframe.
“what the fuck is your problem today,” sero sighs, not moving an inch, instead crossing one arm over the other and sneering down at his friend, “one minute it’s don’t talk to her, the next it’s please stay with her? what— i don’t even know what you’re thinking half the time.”
this is so fucking awkward, you wanna say something, or get up at least, but you also think, maybe, if you don’t move a muscle, they’ll both forget you’re there.
“unless…” sero pauses, the tip of his tongue peeking out, as he releases another one of those, vicious biting grins, “i know exactly what you’re thinking ‘bout.”
“you don’t know shit.”
“oh really?” he snarks back at denki, who is shaking with… you can’t even tell, and you’ve known denki for a long time, agitation? maybe?
until.
denki decides to make the very poor choice of turning his head, only slightly, to look back at you.
and it’s written all over his face.
because he's flushed, with something that is not the embarrassment of being caught eating pussy in a public restroom. in fact, he’s bitten his lips raw, his pupils are blown, and his eyes are formed into an expression you know very well.
you’re not stupid.
and this time you do want to say something, but you don’t even have the time to formulate the sentence in your head because denki pushes sero out of the stall with one hand, the other hand firm against the door frame, obscuring any vision of you from the outside, and says to you, “can you… uh… give us a minute? we’ll meet you outside—”
and then he’s gone. not by his own will, but because a tanned, flexed hand, has reached out, gripped his t-shirt and pulled him away.
the two guys stumble their way outside, through the bathroom and the purple lit bar interior, with sticky carpeted floors, and overwhelming chatter. there's no 'sorry’s' or 'excuse me’s' as they push past the intoxicated crowd with their elbows out, just denki spluttering the whole time.
“you are so— you’re such a— i can’t even—”
“then don’t,” sero breathes against his neck, as he pushes the blonde against the wall of the deserted alleyway. before his lips attach, grow teeth, and sink deep into denki’s skin, just below a mark that, sero assumes, you had left.
“so fucking needy, ain’t ya?” as he nibbles across the blonde’s pulse points, and curves his palm so he can cup denki’s straining erection. “s’kinda embarrassing if you ask me.”
“good thing no one was asking,” denki replies with his own fingers tracing along sero’s waistband.
sero groans at the tease, bucking his hips up into the sensation, “m’just saying, if you wanna ask her, ask her.”
this is like, the worst place possible to have this conversation.
it’s nearly 2am, the rest of the group is still inside, getting up to some bullshit like they always do, like denki has spent most of his college career doing. except he can’t participate properly, not this time, not when he has the self-proclaimed 'biggest moral dilemma of the century' looming over his head.
sero sighs, giving up on trying to undo denki’s belt, and rutting forward against his friend so both their crotches meet in this delicious tingle of friction, “i can hear you thinking y’know.”
“what if,” denki cuts himself off with a groan, and a roll of his hips, the cold brick wall doing nothing to soothe his feverish skin, “what if she thinks it’s weird?”
“why the— shit, that’s good— why the hell would she think it’s weird?”
his nails dig into sero’s shoulders at a particularly forceful thrust that has his head reeling, and his body whining, “’cos what do i even say like, hey i want you and my other-bestfriend-slash-roommate-slash-guy-i’m-currently-fucking-with to share me?”
“is that it?”
denki stills at the sound of your voice.
he tilts his head left and, you’re lent against the other side of the wall, half a joint hanging out of the corner of your mouth, patting your pockets down in search of a lighter.
sero, cheeses again, you roll your eyes at the sight of it, but hum in thanks when he tosses a zippo your way. the sound of the spark wheel is like a honing signal, and sero releases the tight grip he had on denki, who now crumples against the wall in embarrassment, to get a hit from you.
you inhale deeply, the end flaring up a bright cherry red, illuminating the bored look on your face in the dark alley.
you exhale in silence, pass the joint to sero, and make your way over to denki.
“dude,” you say softly, leaning your shoulder against the blonde, “you know you can ask me anything.”
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“now what do you say?”
denki’s bed frame sounds like it’s gonna break, for real this time. it’s creaking and rattling like it only has seconds left to live before it collapses in on itself and takes the three of you down with it.
your pussy won’t let go, denki thinks he might actually die, with the way your walls are pulsing around his dribbling cock, practically milking him.
it wouldn’t be a bad way to go, the crease where your stomach meets your thighs and the sight of your jiggling tits will follow him into the afterlife. along with the way your hips tortuously grind down on him, and the unforgettable sensation of your pussy bubbling around the base of his cock, coating him in a juicy shine of slick, leaving that creamy ring stained forever into his memory.
“s-s-sorry?” he gasps out with laboured breaths, his chest caving, his heart feels like it’s gonna fall out of his throat from how fast it’s beating.
“hmmm, sorry for what?” you don’t give him a moment to think, sucking the soul out of his dick, you see his eyes roll back into his head, dreamy, dopey, pussy drunk smile glazing his face.
“for–for being weird about it?” he finally croaks out when you slow at his silence.
you share a look with sero across denki’s shaking shoulders, from where he’s pistoling his cock into the blonde’s ass.
he sends you a smile, it forms slowly, beginning with a small grin, eventually spreading across his face, his lips stretching and curving, his teeth biting, with that same smirk in his eyes.
“and,” sero murmurs into his ears as his hands find purchase in denki’s hair, a mean grip that has the blonde carolling into your sweat slicked chest, the stimulus making his mind hazy, “you can ask for anything.”
denki’s head lolls, the sight of him, disoriented with pleasure, has you involuntarily clenching, which send him into another spiral, and leaving sloppy marks over any part of your body he can reach.
“say it.”
“i can—” denki groans against your skin, absolutely fucked out, his fingers bruising your hips with his grip, “holy fuck— i can a-ask for anything.”
"good boy," your voice is like honey in his ears, trickling sexual syrup right through his nervous system. the praise makes denki throb inside of you, you can feel it, the pulse, and you send it right back, rudely clenching down on him again, making him jerk his hips back in agony, right back into sero's cock.
it's disgusting, so fucking filthy, the room reeks of weed and your combined bodily fluids, his mattress is probably soaked in your sweat, and in denki's drool.
it's agonisingly good though, the near constant push and pull of three bodies.
denki feels like he's about to black out, and he keeps pathetically humping into both you and sero like that's gonna keep him from disaster.
his head tilts to suck on your tits, and you use his shoulder for leverage, so you can bounce on him properly, the motion sending him backwards into sero's hard chest, "denki, baby, you gonna cum for us?"
he gurgles in reply, too sex drunk to string any coherent thoughts together, just pleasure, pleasure, and more pleasure, his kiss-bitten body trembling, all your grunts and moans poured into his ears like fucking music.
“denki, denki, denki.”
god, he's gonna cum, he can feel it building, the two of you aren't far behind if the pick up in pace is anything to go by.
he can feel it, fuck, hot under his veins, ecstasy thrumming through his body, it's never felt this good, he might die.
“denki—”
he's so fucking close, so close, oh god, everything, this long ass day, the constant tease from the both of you, and he finally gets to have this—
“denki.”
“huh, huh, what?”
his head flops back down into the pillow.
the sunlight streaming through the open blinds is hurting his eyes, and god, his head’s fucking pounding.
his tongue slips out to wet his dry lips, fully intending on going back to sleep, back to that fucking dream, anything to get away from this horrible sunlight.
oh, nevermind.
he can't go back to sleep, not with his excrutiating morning wood, leaking pre all inside his boxers.
he ruts down against his suprisingly smooth mattress with a satisfied groan, and another sleep filled sigh.
“dude are you serious?” an equally sleep stricken voice calls out from next to him.
oops.
turns out his soft, smooth, mattress was his best-friends thigh.
denki's eyes flutter open weakly, and sero stares back at him, his dark hair a mess, his limbs stretched out across the bed.
“are you gonna stop that or what?” sero drawls again, voice hoarse with disuse, he raises a tatted arm to cover his eyes, and curses the morning under his breath.
the blonde's hips are still moving on auto pilot, relentlessly chasing a pleasure he can only imagine, until sero swats at him to stop.
hands rubbing his face, denki turns back around with a deep yawn, then starts feeling under the blankets for his vape.
“aren't we—” sero yawns uncontrollably mid sentence, so hard tears start forming in his waterline, “aren't we supposed to go meet your friend at the station in a few?”
denki stretches his back with another deep yawn in reply as he grumbles, “s’too early man, s'way too early.”
suddenly, the blonde bolts up against the headboard, smacking his dry lips for a minute, and says:
“dude, i just had the craziest dream.”
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
… end of playback
taglist my asshole im so sorry im like dead on the inside lowkey
how i think mha boys would do this trend :3 if you want anyone specific pls leave ur character in the comments & i'll make more parts!
part 2 here!
katsuki bakugo would be absolutely smug about it once he realized what he had to do. he wasn't one to do tiktoks with you, but he couldn't say no to your pleading eyes. katsuki would grab you and hoist you over his shoulder effortlessly and flash the camera his midle finger before pressing the button on screen to end the video.
izuku midoriya would tug on your hand with a proud smile on his face to bring you towards him. he'd be a little shy on camera, but izuku would then grab you by the face and smother it with kisses as the two of you giggled. that's his lady and yes, she is very fine!!
shoto todoroki would gently grab your hand with a soft smile on his face and lift your intertwined hands up to spin you. ARGUE WITH THE WALLLLL I AM RIGHT. he is a fella and he is (gently) grabbing his lady because his lady is FINEEEE AS HELL I TELL YOU. shoto would know what he's doing, staring at you with hearts in his eyes.
eijiro kirishima would absolutely not even hesitate to lift you up into his arms bridal style with a kiss to your cheek. eijiro would somehow maneuver his hold into a fireman's carry just to show off to the camera (and totally not you. tooootally...) just how strong he was...and how good of a boyfriend, too!
denki kaminari would do that cute dance move where he'd pull you by the hand into spin, making sure you landed securely in his arms before dipping you low enough you'd think you were about to fall. denki would top it all off with a dramatic kiss before sticking his tongue out at the camera.
hanta sero would sling himself over you back and press all of his body weight onto you, no hesitation. his arms would be tight around you, swaying you side to side before lifiting you up in that position and spinning you around. he loves you to his heart's content and wouldn't be afraid of acting silly just to prove it.
tenya iida would politely wrap his hand around your shoulder. a little stiff, but he had the spirit! he would however very quickly pull you into a hug as he saw the face of disappointment you made, large arms wrapping around you in a protective hug. tenya would be the type to proudly show you off, whether in front of a camera or not.
❀•°•A/N: I wouldn’t really say it’s turn one but also just things they like and appreciate! Fluff and a little pinch of sexuality is evident. I tried my best and hope you guys enjoy xx
—Headcanons of the MHA men
Bakugou Katsuki
Whispering In His Ear: It's a vulnerable spot. To let you close enough to Murmur something only he can hear—a secret, a compliment, a dirty little promise—is an act of immense trust. The feeling of your breath against his skin can make his entire body seize up.
Wearing His Clothes: Specifically, his black skull-print t-shirts or a worn-in hoodie. Seeing you in his things, swallowed by the fabric that smells like him (faintly of caramel and smoke), triggers a primal, territorial part of his brain.
Subtle, Possessive Touches: In private, a hand ghosting up his back to squeeze his shoulder, fingers tracing the ridiculously sharp lines of his deltoids, or a thumb stroking over his knuckles. These small, claiming gestures bypass his verbal defenses and go straight to his system.
Praise for his skills: Not his Quirk. Praise his cooking, his strategic mind, his surprising dexterity with detailed tasks. Acknowledging the things he's worked hard on, separate from his innate power, makes him feel seen in a way that fuels a possessive sort of pride.
Matching his Passion: He finds it incredibly hot when you don't back down from an argument. When you can meet his intensity with your own fire, standing your ground and challenging him, it shows him you see him as an equal.
Kirishima Eijirou
Taking the Initiative: While he loves to dote on you, he melts when you take the lead. Grabbing him by the shirt for a kiss, pushing him back onto the couch, or whispering what you want from him makes him feel incredibly desired.
Playful Biting: A playful, sharp nip to his shoulder, bicep, or even his jawline when he’s hardened. It’s a fun, feral little challenge that his Quirk is uniquely suited for, and he finds it ridiculously hot.
Praise for His Emotional Manliness:Forget his muscles. Tell him, "It was so manly how you comforted Uraraka after that test," or "The manliest thing about you is how kind you are."
Casual, Constant Affection: He lives for it. Playing with his hair while you watch a movie, holding his hand while you walk, leaning your head on his shoulder for no reason. These small acts of love make him feel grounded and adored.
Genuine Vulnerability: When you feel safe enough to cry in front of him or confess a fear, it doesn't make him see you as weak. It triggers a deep, primal instinct to protect and cherish you. Your trust in him is a powerful aphrodisiac.
Denki Kaminari
Carefree Physical Touch: Ruffling his hair, leaning against him while you’re standing around, throwing an arm over his shoulder. He’s incredibly tactile, and these casual, friendly touches are like stocking a furnace that’s just waiting for a spark.
Loving His Music:When you genuinely jam out to a new song he’s excited about, or you put on one of his playlists and sing along. Sharing his passions and showing you get his vibe is a massive turn-on.
Playful Competitiveness: Challenging him in video games, especially rhythm games or fighters. The trash talk, the focused energy, the way you bump his shoulder when you win—it all fuels a fun, electric tension.
Needing His Tech Help: Asking him to help you fix your laptop, set up a new speaker system, or jailbreak your phone. It allows him to show off a skill he's genuinely good at and makes him feel useful and competent.
Praising His Intelligence: Seriously. Complimenting his surprising knowledge of literature or modern art, or telling him his plan for a team exercise was "brilliant." It bypasses his goofy flirt filter and hits him right in the heart (and lower).
Sero Hanta
Showing Casual Physical Dominance: Because he's so laid back, he finds it incredibly hot when you take charge in a small, playful way. Grabbing his hoodie to pull him down for a kiss, or shoving him playfully. It's an exciting change of pace.
Falling Asleep on Him: The ultimate sign of trust and comfort. If you can nod off using his shoulder or chest as a pillow, it sends a wave of protective, possessive warmth through him that is deeply arousing.
Laughing at His Dumb Jokes: When he cracks a truly terrible pun and you let out a genuine, unforced laugh, it makes him feel seen. He loves making you happy, and your laughter is his favorite sound.
Lazy Day Cuddles: He is the king of low-energy affection. Spending a whole Sunday in sweatpants, tangled up with you on the couch watching movies, is his idea of a perfect date and gets his mind racing in the best way.
Appreciating His Quirk for Mundane Things: Genuinely delighting in it when he uses his tape to grab a remote from across the room or rig up a hammock for a lazy afternoon. It makes him feel clever and appreciated.
—Scenarios of the MHA men
Bakugou Katsuki
The air in the training gym was thick with the smell of ozone, sweat, and effort. You were both utterly spent, leaning against opposite walls of Gamma Gym, chests heaving. It had been less of a spar and more of a mutual beatdown, a way to work off the adrenaline from a patrol that had gone sideways earlier that day. Bakugou had been a hair's breadth from blowing a city block to smithereens over a low-level villain who’d gotten a lucky shot in on you. You'd stopped him, but the rage had simmered in him all day.
“You’re getting predictable with that left hook,” he rasped, wiping a smear of grime from his cheek with the back of his hand. His voice was rough, but it lacked its usual bite. It was just an observation.
“And you’re still over-relying on your right to set up a blast,” you shot back, a faint smirk playing on your lips despite the ache in your ribs. “One of these days, someone’s gonna take your arm off.”
A sharp, dangerous grin stretched across his face. This. He lived for this. “Let the fuckers try.”
He pushed himself off the wall, muscles coiling and uncoiling under sweat-slickened skin. He strode over to you, his red eyes scanning you from head to toe, cataloging the new bruise forming on your jaw, the way your training top was ripped at the shoulder. He didn't offer a hand. He just stood in front of you, a formidable mountain of pissed-off man.
“You’re a mess,” he grunted.
“You’re one to talk,” you retorted, finally finding the energy to stand. You were close now, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. You reached out, your fingers gently touching the edge of a cut on his cheekbone. He flinched, but didn't pull away. “This is going to need cleaning.”
His jaw worked, his gaze intense. “Whatever.”
The walk back to the dorms was mostly silent, the comfortable quiet of two people who had exhausted all need for words. You showered separately, the hot water a blessed relief on screaming muscles. When you emerged, wrapped in a towel, you found him in the communal kitchen, the lights dimmed. The tell-tale clang of a knife against a cutting board echoed softly. He was meticulously dicing onions, his movements precise and economical. Already dressed in a loose black tank top and grey sweatpants, he seemed to have shed the explosive hero persona, leaving only Katsuki.
You padded over, leaning against the counter and just watching him for a moment. He moved with a brutal sort of grace, even with something as mundane as making dinner.
“You know,” you began, your voice soft, “everyone talks about your power. How big your explosions are.” He grunted, not looking up. “But they never talk about this. Your control. The way you can go from leveling a building to chopping a spring onion so thin I can see through it.”
The knife stilled. He slowly, deliberately, placed it on the counter. He turned his head, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. The air crackled, charged with something new. It wasn’t anger. It was something deeper, hotter.
“What’s your point, dumbass?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
You smiled, a genuine, tired smile. “My point is… it’s impressive. You’re impressive.”
He scoffed, but a faint, almost imperceptible flush crept up his neck. He turned back to his task, but his movements were stiffer now. You walked around the counter until you were standing behind him. You hesitated for only a second before wrapping your arms around his torso, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. He went rigid. You could feel the rigid wall of his abs against your forearms, the thunder of his heart against your chest.
“What the hell are you doing?” he growled, the sound vibrating through you.
“Hugging you,” you Murmured into his back. You slid one hand up his chest, your fingers splaying over the solid warmth of his pectoral muscle, a silent, possessive touch He didn't move. He just stood there, breathing. After a long moment, one of his hands came up and covered yours, his calloused fingers wrapping around your own. It was the closest he ever came to returning an embrace.
Later, after you’d eaten the ridiculously spicy, yet perfectly made katsudon he’d thrown together, you found yourselves in his room. It was surprisingly neat, save for a pile of clothes in the corner. You were wearing one of his old, worn-out hoodies, the one with the faded skull graphic. It swamped you, the sleeves hanging past your hands, and it smelled entirely of him.
You were sitting on the edge of his bed, and he was pacing. The restless energy was back, but it was different now. It was coiled, predatory. He stopped in front of you, looking down at you in his hoodie, and an unfamiliar expression flickered in his eyes. Raw, unfiltered want.
“Stop looking so damn pleased with yourself,” he muttered.
You tilted your head. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he insisted, taking a step closer. “You’ve got that stupid little smile on your face.”
“Maybe I’m just happy,” you offered.
“Tch.” He reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below your hairline. His touch was hot, demanding. He pulled you gently to your feet, so you were flush against him. His other hand settled on your hip, holding you in place.
“You pushed it today,” he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly low pitch. “In the gym. Arguing with me.”
“You were being an ass.”
“And you liked it,” he stated. It wasn’t a question. He leaned down, his face so close you could count the flecks of black in his red irises. “You like pushing my buttons. Seeing how far you can go before I snap.”
You swallowed, your heart hammering. “Maybe,” you breathed.
That was all the confirmation he needed. He dipped his head lower, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You shivered as his hot breath washed over your skin.
“Good,” he whispered, the single word a guttural promise. “Because I’m about to snap right now.”
His mouth crashed down on yours. It wasn't gentle. It was a kiss born of adrenaline and pent-up frustration and a desperate, burning need. It was punishing and possessive, a blatant claiming. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting of spice and victory. You moaned into the kiss, your hands fisting in the fabric of his tank top, pulling him impossibly closer. He broke the kiss only to Trail a line of open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, settling on the pulse point that was hammering wildly.
“You asked for it,” he growled against your skin, a sound that was half threat, half prayer. He lifted you with an ease that stole your breath, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you the single step to his bed. He fell onto the mattress with you, caging you beneath him, his eyes burning with a ferocious, unrestrained hunger. The world narrowed to his weight on top of you, the scent of him, and the raw need radiating from every inch of his body. He tangled a hand in your hair, tilting your head back for another bruising kiss, the first of many that promised to leave you just as wrecked as the training gym.
Kirishima Eijirou
It had been a week of hell. Midterms were a nightmare, a practical heroics exam had left you feeling bruised and inadequate, and to top it all off, you’d gotten into a stupid fight with your parents over the phone. You were at your breaking point.
You found yourself outside Kirishima’s door, hesitating. You didn't want to be a burden. But the thought of being alone in your room felt suffocating. You knocked softly, a pathetic little tap.
The door flew open almost instantly. Kirishima stood there, a wide, sunny grin on his face that faltered the second he saw you. "Hey! I was just—" He stopped, his expression softening into one of deep concern. "Whoa. Are you okay?"
And just like that, the dam broke. The question, so simple and so genuinely kind, was too much. A sob tore from your throat, and tears you’d been holding back all day began to stream down your face. You tried to cover your face, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," you choked out. "This is stupid."
"No," he said, his voice firm but gentle. He immediately stepped forward, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you into his room, shutting the door behind you. He didn't say anything else, just held you. He was warm and solid, a rock in your emotional storm. You buried your face in his chest, soaking the front of his 'Red Riot' t-shirt as you cried out all the week's frustrations.
He rubbed your back in slow, steady circles, resting his chin on the top of your head. He smelled like clean laundry and something uniquely Eijirou, something warm and comforting.
After a few minutes, your sobs subsided into sniffles. You felt drained, but lighter. "Sorry about your shirt," you Murmured into his chest.
"It's just a shirt," he said softly. He gently guided you over to his bed, sitting you down before grabbing a box of tissues from his desk. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
And so you told him everything. The exams, the fight with your parents, the feeling of not being good enough. He listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration, never interrupting. When you were done, he took your hand, his calloused thumb stroking the back of it.
"That's not stupid at all," he said, his voice full of conviction. "That's a totally rough week. It's okay to be upset by it. Anyone would be." He squeezed your hand. "And for the record, you did amazing on that practical. That move you used to disable the faux villain? It was super smart. I was watching." He beamed, that familiar sunshine returning to his face. "I was so proud of you."
His simple, honest validation felt like a balm on your frayed nerves. A warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with him. You leaned your head against his shoulder, a silent thank you. He immediately responded, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.
You stayed like that for a while, watching some mindless comedy show he put on. His presence was so calming. Absently, you began to play with the ends of his bright red hair, twirling a spiky strand around your finger. He practically purred, his entire body relaxing into your touch.
“Y’know,” you said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. “Everyone always says how manly it is to be tough and strong.” You looked up at him, meeting his soft red eyes. “But I think the way you just listened to me, without judging or trying to fix it… that's the manliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Kirishima’s breath hitched. A dark blush spread across his cheeks, making his freckles stand out. His eyes, fixed on yours, suddenly held a new, intense light. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the comforting warmth thickening into something heavy and charged.
"You really think so?" he asked, his voice a little strained.
"I know so," you whispered.
An unspoken permission passed between you. He leaned in, and you met him halfway. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, a question. You answered by pressing closer, deepening it. It was a kiss of comfort and gratitude that was quickly catching fire.
Feeling bold, you shifted, clambering onto his lap to face him. He made a surprised noise, his hands automatically going to your hips to steady you. You grinned against his lips, a spark of your usual mischief returning.
"What's this?" he chuckled, his voice husky.
"Takin' charge," you Murmured, before capturing his mouth again.
This time, the kiss was more demanding. You tilted his head back, exploring the warm cavern of his mouth as he groaned, his hands tightening on your hips. He was so responsive, so eager. It was intoxicating. His skin was warm under your hands as you traced the line of his jaw. On impulse, you hardened your own teeth and gave his bicep a sharp, playful nip.
Kirishima let out a strangled groan, a full-body shiver wracking his frame. His Quirk flared to life instinctively, his skin turning rugged and hard under your lips for a split second before softening again.
“Whoa,” he breathed, his eyes wide and blown out with desire. “Okay. Yeah. That’s…”
“Good?” you prompted, a wicked smile on your face as you leaned in and did it again, this time on his jaw.
“So good,” he growghed, the sound low and guttural. His control snapped. He surged up, flipping you onto your back on the mattress without breaking contact. He loomed over you, his expression one of pure, unadulterated adoration and raw need. The sweet, comforting boy was gone, replaced by a man who looked ready to worship you and devour you in equal measure.
"My turn," he rasped, his voice thick with want. He lowered his head, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you knew the quiet evening had just ignited into a raging inferno. The sheets started to tangle around you both as he began his loving, desperate assault.
Denki Kaminari
“No, no, no, you’re plugging the HDMI into the *output*! It’s an input-only port on the graphics card,” Denki said, leaning over your shoulder. You were both on the floor of your dorm room, surrounded by the guts of your new gaming PC that you’d foolishly attempted to assemble yourself. The air smelled of plastic and static.
“It’s a hole that fits the plug, I don’t see the problem,” you grumbled, frustrated.
“That’s what she said,” he chirped instantly, before visibly cringing at his own joke. “Sorry. Force of habit.” He gently nudged your hand out of the way, his fingers brushing yours. “Here, let me.”
You sat back on your heels and watched him. When he was focused like this, his whole demeanor changed. The usual class clown persona melted away, replaced by a quiet competence. His fingers moved with practiced ease, rerouting cables, snapping components into place, his brow furrowed in concentration. You found yourself staring at the sharp line of his jaw, the way a strand of golden hair fell across his forehead.
“You’re actually really good at this,” you said, the words coming out softer than you intended.
He glanced up, a surprised but pleased smile touching his lips. “Yeah? Well, I gotta be good for somethin’ other than being a walking stun gun, right?” He winked, but you caught the flicker of insecurity in his eyes.
“Don’t say that,” you said firmly. “This is legitimately brilliant. My brain turns to soup just looking at all these wires. You’re like a tech wizard.”
The look he gave you was different. The playful spark was still there, but it was deeper now, warmer. A faint blush dusted his cheeks. “Wizard, huh? I like the sound of that.” He gave a final, satisfying click as he slotted the last cable into place. “Alright, Kaminari-sensei’s work is done. Time for the moment of truth.”
He connected the power and hit the switch. The case fans whirred to life, bathing the room in a soft blue glow. The monitor flickered on, displaying the boot screen. You let out a whoop of joy, throwing your arms around his neck in a spontaneous hug.
“You’re the best!” you cheered.
He laughed, his arms coming around your waist to steady you both. He was warm and solid. “All in a day’s work for Denki the Tech Wizard.” You pulled back, but he didn’t let go right away. His hands lingered on your waist, his thumbs drawing slow, lazy circles. The playful atmosphere suddenly felt charged with something else. His golden eyes searched yours, and for a second, you thought he was going to kiss you.
Then came the tell-tale scent of ozone. “Uh oh,” he mumbled, his eyes going wide. The PC flickered, and a tiny, harmless spark jumped from his fingertip to the metal case. The screen went black.
“Ah, crap,” he sighed, slumping. “Did I… did I short it out?” He looked so genuinely disappointed, so crestfallen, that your heart went out to him.
“Hey, no,” you said quickly, putting a hand on his arm. “It’s probably just a loose connection. Don’t worry about it.” You saw the dazed look starting to creep into his eyes, the precursor to a full-on "whey" moment. "Hey, look at me." You took his hand. "Come on, let's get you some water. We'll figure it out in a minute."
You led him over to your bed, sitting him down. He was pliant, a goofy, unfocused smile on his face. "Pretty lights," he said, staring at your lava lamp. You rolled your eyes fondly, handing him a bottle of water. While he recovered, you fiddled with the PC, finding the power cable he’d jostled loose. You plugged it back in, and it booted up perfectly.
When he was clear-headed again, he looked mortified. “Dude, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I almost fried your brand-new rig.”
“You didn’t,” you said, gesturing to the running computer. “And even if you did, it’s just a thing. I was more worried about you.” You sat next to him on the bed, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Now, as payment for your wizardry, you owe me a game of Mortal Kombat.”
His face lit up. “Oh, you are SO on. But we gotta have the right soundtrack.” He grabbed his phone, connecting it to your new speakers via Bluetooth. A second later, a high-energy pop-punk track filled the room. It was the same band he’d been telling you about for weeks.
“Hey, I love this song!” you exclaimed, your head starting to bob along with the driving guitar riff.
He beamed, his whole body seeming to vibrate with happiness. “Right?!”
You spent the next hour trading wins and losses, yelling at the screen, and laughing until your sides hurt. The earlier tension had melted back into easy friendship, but it was still there, simmering under the surface. Finally, after a particularly brutal match that you won by a hair, you both flopped back on the bed, exhausted and exhilarated.
The music shifted to something slower, an indie rock ballad with a soulful melody. You were lying side-by-side, staring at the ceiling.
“Hey,” Denki said, his voice soft.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For… you know. Earlier. Not getting mad. And not treating me like an idiot when I… you know.”
You turned your head to look at him. He was already looking at you, his expression open and vulnerable. “Denki, I could never think you’re an idiot.”
He gave a small, wry smile. “Everyone else does.”
“Then they’re not looking close enough,” you whispered.
The space between you felt electric again, but this time it had nothing to do with his Quirk. He propped himself up on his elbow, his body hovering over yours. The music seemed to swell, filling the quiet space.
“Can I… uh…” he started, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Can I try something that doesn’t involve wires and motherboards?”
You didn’t answer with words. You just reached up, your fingers tangling in his soft blond hair, and pulled him down. The kiss was tentative at first, just a soft press of lips, but it was full of all the unspoken things that had been buzzing between you all night. It tasted of sweet victory and a hint of static electricity. He moaned softly, a sound of pure contentment, and deepened the kiss, one hand coming up to cup your jaw. The playful energy was gone, replaced by a surprisingly intense, focused desire. He pulled away slightly, his breath warm against your lips.
“Wizard, huh?” he whispered, a smirk in his voice, but his eyes were dark with need. He lowered his head again, and the playful teasing of the day gave way to the serious business of the night as his body settled over yours.
Sero Hanta
The rain was coming down in sheets, drumming a steady, hypnotic rhythm against the windows of the Heights Alliance dorms. It was the kind of Sunday that was practically a legal mandate for laziness. Most of the class had braved the weather for a trip to the mall, but you and Sero had taken one look outside and declared it a "bones day."
Which is how you ended up in a fort of blankets and pillows in the middle of the common room floor, a laptop propped up on a cushion playing a marathon of old samurai movies. You were in your softest sweatpants, and Sero was in a pair of equally worn grey ones and a thin long-sleeved shirt.
“You know,” Sero said, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth, “I feel like this guy’s sword is basically just a really sharp, unfriendly version of my tape.”
You snorted, a laugh bubbling up against your will. “Oh my god, that’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all day.”
He grinned his signature wide, toothy grin. “But you laughed! That means it was a good one.”
“It was not,” you argued, smiling. “It was terrible. Give me the popcorn.”
The bowl was sitting on the coffee table, just out of arm’s reach. Instead of moving, Sero just lifted a finger. A strip of cellophane tape shot out from his elbow, wrapping neatly around the bowl and zipping it through the air directly into your waiting hands. He gave you a look that was pure, smug satisfaction.
“Show-off,” you said, but you were beaming. “Okay, that was actually cool. You’re like a household Spider-Man.”
“The Friendliest Neighborhood Sero, at your service,” he said with a little bow of his head. He looked so pleased with himself, and you felt a familiar warmth spread through your chest. It was easy with Sero. Everything was just… easy.
You settled back into the nest of blankets, leaning your head against his shoulder as the movie played on. He smelled like clean laundry and the faint, sweet scent of his Quirk. His arm came around you naturally, his fingers toying with the ends of your hair. You ate popcorn and made quiet, dumb comments about the movie, your bodies pressed together from shoulder to thigh. The combination of the rain, the warmth of the fort, and Sero’s steady presence was a potent lullaby. Before you knew it, your eyelids were getting heavy. The last thing you remembered was the comforting weight of his head resting on top of yours.
You woke up to the soft glow of the laptop’s screensaver and the continued drumming of rain. The movie was long over. You were still cocooned in the fort, but you’d shifted, your head now resting on Sero’s chest, his arm a warm, heavy weight around your shoulders. His other hand was loosely tangled in your hair, and his breathing was a deep, even rhythm beneath your ear.
You stayed still for a moment, just listening to his heartbeat. It was steady and strong. For a guy who seemed so perpetually relaxed, he was solid muscle under his shirt. You could feel the hard planes of his chest, the defined line of his bicep under your cheek. The comfortable intimacy of the afternoon began to feel different in the quiet twilight of the room. It was charged, heavier.
You shifted slightly, and his breathing hitched. His eyes slowly blinked open.
“Hey,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “You’re awake.”
“Sorry, did I wake you?” you whispered.
“Nah.” He didn’t move his arm. If anything, his fingers tightened ever so slightly in your hair. He looked down at you, his dark eyes soft and unguarded in the dim light. “You’re comfy.”
Your heart did a little flip. “So are you. You’re a good pillow.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “One of my many talents.”
You just looked at each other for a long moment. The easy camaraderie was still there, but it was now overlaid with a palpable tension. You were intensely aware of your leg pressed against his, of his hand in your hair, of the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your head. He wasn't the "buddy" Sero right now. He was a man, looking at you with an expression you’d never seen on him before—an expression of gentle, budding want.
Taking a breath, you decided to act on the strange, bold impulse that had been building in you. You rose up on your elbows, your face now level with his. He just watched you, his eyes wide with surprise and anticipation. Without a word, you grabbed the front of his shirt, fisting the soft cotton in your hand, and pulled him upward, crashing your lips against his.
It was a clumsy, enthusiastic kiss, full of all the pent-up affection from a months-long friendship. He made a surprised noise against your mouth, but he responded instantly. His hand left your hair, moving to the small of your back to pull you flush against him. The other came up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss.
He tasted like popcorn and something uniquely Sero, something warm and sweet. When you finally broke for air, you were both breathing heavily.
“Whoa,” he breathed, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay. So we’re doing this.”
“Is that a problem?” you asked, your voice a little shaky.
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, a slow, devastatingly hot grin spreading across his face. “Not a single one.” He then flipped you both over with a surprising, fluid strength, so he was looming over you, caging you with his arms. “But now it’s my turn to be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”
He lowered his head, his lips tracing the line of your jaw, and you giggled, your hands tangling in his dark hair. The lazy Sunday had taken a turn, the comfortable quiet now filled with sharp breaths and soft moans. The rain outside seemed to beat a rhythm just for the two of you as the blanket fort became a world of its own.
note: this was originally a stand alone turned into a series, not proofread enjoy!
✦ ✦ ✦
you realize bakugo doesnt like you when your high.
it's unfortunate of course, the weed already has you paranoid about everything and now, sitting in between all his friends you realize he probably never did.
your rambling, bakugo next to you his eyes hazed slightly, he hasn't responded once but thats not particularly uncommon for the man.
it's when your mid sentence, egging for his attention when he interrupts you, a finger pressing on your lips, "wait be quiet, 'm tryna hear." and you stop, almost to shocked from the touch to realize what he means.
kirishima is below him speaking in hushed tones to denki about whatever nonsense they go on about. giggling and sharing puffs of smoke.
and you look at bakugou, his fingers back on his lips, and he smiles. white canines peeking from behind his knuckles.
you realize sero had been looking at you for a little bit, and your paranoia spikes tenfold.
you'd been loud, and ruining the vibe. katsuki, blunt as always swooped in as the hero to save everyone from your sickening voice.
you excuse yourself to the bathroom of the males house, trying to calm the hurt in your chest.
the unnoticed gestures, the dimissed words. it was all there.
you clenched your knees, your heart was at an erratic pace now.
the comments, the looks of dissaproval and shame. you'd never fit in with them, bakugo especially, he's never even saw you.
never even considered you.
god, you needed to get out of this bathroom, it was getting hard to breathe.
you quietly made you way out of the back door, though you weren't sure it was necessary, would they even notice you'd gone?
would he?
you didn't want to think about it, your failed frienships, your failed relationship, if you could even call it that.
you're halfway through katsuki's driveway when you realize you didnt drive here and just ran out of money for an uber.
fuck, what were you supposed to do? walk? it was to far, plus you were still midly high, and with no sidewalks you didnt want to risk a car taking you.
before you could come to a decision a voice sounded behind you.
"hey, [name], babe are you okay?" it was sero, his touch made you jump.
"shit! sero, you scared me.." you mumbled trying to wipes tears you know he'd already seen.
"sorry, just..came to check on you. we were looking for you in there."
pitifully the comment made your heart swell. "oh well, just getting some air."
"i get it." and he's silent for a moment. "are..are you okay?"
and the way he asks you, so tender, so soft it almost makes you cry again. "i'm..i–" you choke on your words, and you almost want to tell him.
how out of place you feel despite the 5 of you being friends for as long as you can remember.
though in hindsight, it was only a semester, a single semester of trying and failing to belong.
how stupid you were you. going that long without catching on to bakugos obvious annoyance.
you swallow instead, hard and say, "i'm fine, just—i'm fine." sero doesn't press which your thankful for but the moment doesn't last long as kirishima, foggy eyed and so obviously fadded bursts through the front door and perks when he sees you and sero.
"guys she's out here!" and the words make you cringe, but you can't stop the onslaught of people that crowd you now. you can't make a scene, you can't fuck this up even more.
"so what, you guys are just having all the fun without us?" kirishima says, pouting. hes whiny when he gets high. and it hurts more that you know bakugo probably loves it.
sero responds for you thankfully, slinging a casual arm over your shoulder, something denki's eyes flicker at though you don't notice. "don't be jealous, were comin' back inside now." and sero momentarily looks at your face for approval, you nod.
you don't look at bakugo, so afraid to see his expression, though if you did, you would have saw something some might say is akin to jealousy.
✦ ✦ ✦
main masterlist :: series masterlist :: prev / next
sero’s girlfriend is a bit of a bitch, but he doesn’t really mind.
18+, minors do not interact!
Sero is head over heels in love with his mean ass girlfriend. You're high maintenance and bratty, and your words are sharper than your stiletto-tipped nails. He doesn't mind any of that; in fact, those traits are some of his favorites. His calm, collected, laid-back nature is just what you need to cool the fire that runs in your blood. Sero would never admit it to anyone but you, the way your vicious words and the nasty bite of your tone always send blood rushing straight to his cock. He loves how mean you are, and how pliant you turn when he gives you what you want.
You hate everything in your closet? "Why don't we go shopping? Get you whatever you want."
You need a new necklace? "How much, sweets?"
You need your nails done? "You bet, babe."
Sero reaps all of the benefits of these things. He's in heaven when you trace your nails along the thick shaft of his cock, the sharp tips pulling soft whines from his throat.
"Ohh, fuck yeah, baby, just— just like that." He breathes out, his head thrown back as you cup his balls in your hand, digging your nails in just enough to push pleasure over the edge into delicious pain.
Sero's favorite view is the diamond choker he bought you sitting prettily on your neck, glinting in the low light of the living room. The sparkle of the jewels is accentuated by the movement of your throat as he stuffs his cock in your mouth. "Shit, shit, shit, so—mmph, pretty with my cock in your mouth." He groans, his dick kicking in your throat at the sight of the glossy red stains your lipstick has left on his skin.
His favorite pastime? Obviously, helping you choose new dresses and skirts, watching you model lingerie sets. "Come on, mama, spin around for me, lemme see." Sero drawls, watching you from the dressing room chair. There's a lazy grin stretched across his lips as he watches you spin for him, a pretty smile on your own face.
"You like it, Hanta? Wanna buy it for me? Pretty please?" You plead, leaning forward just enough to give him a spectacular view of the way the lingerie top hugs your tits.
"Shit, baby, you're killin' me." Sero groans, taking a look at his wallet. Nevertheless, you leave the store happy with three shopping bags, stuffed to the brim.
No, Sero doesn't mind your attitude at all. Not when you beg so sweetly for him to just "fuck me already" after what feels like hours of torturous teasing. He takes his time with you, enjoying the sounds of your wanton moans and pleas, holding your hips down as you squirm helplessly beneath him. Your thighs are aching and trembling with the effort it takes to hold them open while Sero absolutely devours your dripping cunt.
Sero eats you out for so long that by the time he finally stuffs his cock in you, you're an incoherent mess, babbling out a string of "thank you, thank you, thank you".
"Aw, now you wanna be nice, huh? Only nice t'me when you're getting what you want." He grunts, punctuating his words with harsh, mean thrusts. You let out a long, simpering whine when he leans his head down and bites your nipple, hard.
"'Se—Sero, 'm sorry! Please please please, gonna cum!" You cry out, scratching angry red lines down his back.
"Shit, yeah, that's it—ah! Cum on my cock, baby." He grunts, pawing at your tits with one hand, rubbing fiercely at your clit with the other. He clenches his jaw, clearly trying to hold back his own release. Your cunt clenches down tight around his cock when you do cum, pulling him along with you, painting your creamy walls with his thick load. He collapses on top of you, peppering your chest with short, sweet kisses.
No, Sero doesn't mind your attitude at all. He fucking lives for it.
tags: @sozila @dssstiny @kamislop @riotsgrl
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if paradise really existed, it was right there in hanta’s bedroom every single time you guys smoked a joint and you rode his dick.
your hips are shaking, his tip rubbing right against your belly button. hanta takes a drag from the joint and groans, letting the smoke out through his nose as you take his whole length inside, mumbling something like fuck... just like that, princess. look at you…
he hands you the joint and grips your waist, lifting you up and sliding you back down. you take a deep hit, letting the heat fill your throat while he fucks you hard.
“hanta…” you moan. he takes the joint back and laughs softly, totally chill, like he isn’t completely wrecking you right now.
“need some help?”
he fucking loves teasing you. his lips wrap around the joint, and he leans back to watch your gorgeous little pussy swallow him whole.
“look at you, taking it like that... holy shit.”
you grip his bare shoulders, weak from the compliment. you press your mouth against his, hungrily stealing the smoke right out of his throat. a rush of intense heat passes between you two, leaving both of you lightheaded.
hanta loves hyping you up like this. he loves seeing how turned on you get with every whisper, how your tits bounce right in front of his face. while your hand tangles in his dark hair to pull him close, his hands squeeze you, digging deep into the flesh of your thighs.
“fucking gorgeous,” he rasps out the compliment, his heavy, bedroom eyes blown wide. he sets the joint down on the ashtray on top of the dresser.
in these quiet moments, he’s so sweet, pacing himself and taking his time inside you. with you, hanta just takes it all in, completely lost in how good you feel around him.
“can you handle it on your own, babe?”
“can’t…” he chuckles softly, his breath tickling your skin. “just use me, please.”
he can’t keep his cool. not when you’re looking up at him like that, with those wide, teary, completely infatuated eyes.
“use you?”
you nod eagerly, pouting. he takes a deep breath, feeling you squeeze him even tighter.
“use you like a fucking whore, yeah? is that what you want? want me to fuck you till you cum?” you gasp, but it only makes you wetter, moaning non-stop. his hands grip your waist again, slamming you down all the way to the hilt. “shit, girl. has nobody ever dick’d you down right before?”
your only response is to cling to him, pressing your breasts right against his face. he groans, clicking his tongue, his black-painted nails digging into your hips.
“fuck, you’re killing me,” he breathes out, his breath brushing over one of your swollen nipples. he sucks it into his mouth, letting it pop out a second later. “then i’m gonna use you, just like the needy little bitch you are.”
“do– do it, hanta. please, please, please–”
fucking perfect.
hanta flips the positions, pinning you hard onto the mattress. he leaves marks on the curve of your ass, fucking you over and over.
“touch yourself, baby” he says, his pupils completely swallowing his irises. “let me feel you melt all over me.”
you blush at how dirty it is, even though you’ve ended up in his bed a million times.
you’re soaking him, squirting as your fingers and his press against your clit, pushing you right over the edge. he follows right after, covering your back in thick, sticky cum since you guys don’t use protection.
you’re panting. he gently pulls your hair back and kisses you softly.
“beautiful, sexy as fuck,” he whispers, kissing the back of your neck. “my princess.”
it’s been like this since the day you found each other. you lie down, and he brushes the hair out of your face, just staring at you, his eyes saying things words could never do justice. turning you over, eating you out, and making you cum all over again, never letting a single drop of your sweetness go to waste. you smoke and fuck a little more until the rest of the world fades away. eventually, you fall asleep high as a kite in the messy bed, naked bodies barely covered by the sheet.
and it’s that same kind of celebration every single time you guys smoke.
Twitch streamer!gf (you) dating pro-hero sero, and during one of your live streams your fans SWEAR they saw a glimpse of shirtless, pro-hero cellophane walking in the background of your podcast-like stream.
You decide to tease both your fans and your bf by saying “i dunno who cellophane is guys, wth???”
“Yes, I have a boyfriend, and I’m honored you guys think he’s hot enough to be a pro hero” to which sero scoffs and walks into frame saying “yes, I’m dating this beautiful woman, and YES, it’s me pro-hero cellophane. We wanted to keep things quiet but, oh well.”
The chat starts speeding up in record time, question upon question flying across your screen. A mischievous smile spreads across your face as you pull him in for a quick peck on the lips.
