mdni cw: m. masturbation, fantasies and such, he's actually toxic, like bro, he's toxic ANNDDDD he's a Freak! CAPITAL F!!! i do not condone his behaviour.
wc: 1.3k
for, @updownandbatty & @plutooowo
starting track…
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
sero is such a fucking weirdo.
it wasn’t even a real argument, small shit, minuscule shit, honestly.
the kinda of thing that could’ve been solved in like three texts max, the kind of thing that, in his opinion, you were dragging.
he thinks you enjoy being angry at him, and he doesn’t help himself, not when he lives for pushing your buttons, not when being deeply irritating is his favourite pastime.
you left your phone charger in his car by accident two nights ago, so you called him, y’know, reasonably, asking if he could drop it off at yours.
he was in the middle of a game though, and he’s not your boyfriend, was he really about to drop everything just to drive over to yours and give you a charger, if you wanted it that badly you could come and collect it yourself.
you did not like that.
he rolled his eyes when he saw it.
you were typing… and typing… and typing…
and then.
voice message, after voice message, after voice message.
he snatched his headset off with a groan, not even pressing play on the audios yet, just checking his pockets for his keys, about to drive over to your place and give you your stupid fucking charger— and maybe talk to you nicely, sit on your couch, smoke your weed, eat whatever you got in your fridge, maybe eat you, if you let him.
yeah, he had a decent gameplan.
until he accidentally clicks the play button on the first voice note.
your voice comes tumbling through his phone speaker, lazy, pissed off, carefully crafted insults.
hanta smirks.
there’s something about the way you talk down to him that always did the job.
you just sound so effortlessly sexy when you’re annoyed. hanta can imagine the way your top lip would curl in disgust, the little wrinkle that appears between your brows and, you talk with your hands.
if you were here, you would have a finger pressed into his chest, all up in his face, practically itching to bite him.
it’s always been hot.
he flops back onto his chair, phone on in one hand, the instagram chat between you two open, the 2, 3, 4, 5 voice messages from you staring down at him like a dare.
he pulls his cock out.
spits on it, a huge wad of his saliva landing directly on the tip, it makes him flinch, finger grazing his phone screen, restarting the audio as he softly starts thumbing the tip.
“don’t piss me off right now,” there’s a pause where you chuckle, sarcastically, god, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever fucking heard, straight porn crackling down the speaker, “i’m so serious, you’re such a piece of shit.”
a piece of shit? him? never….
“i can’t be fucked to deal with your shit today…., i’m so fucking serious.”
yeahhhhhh, okay, okay, you’re being overdramatic as usual, but he’s weird in the head, and his cock jumps when you—
his head tilts back, he practically crumples into the chair, he loves when you say his name, especially when you spit it out like that, the same way you spit out his load when he breeds your throat, the frothy cum that bubbles over your lips, paints your face.
he can see it now, his hand moves on autopilot, his palm caressing his cock, the friction makes his eyes roll, as he imagines shutting you up like that, his cock just stuffing your mouth full, your teary eyes looking up at him, with your cheeks all puffed up, and those soft lips of yours, the way they curl, the way they sneer, the way they look so good parted in ecstasy—
“….don’t understand why you make such a big deal out of this shit….”
he nearly laughs, he’s making it a big deal? you’re getting yourself so worked up over what, a fucking cable?
“it’s not even about the charger.” of course, “it’s about you…..you just wanna drag everything out.” drag his cock across your soaked pussy lips, up and down and up and down, drag his cock in teasing circles around your clit, round and round, get you all worked up and achey and needy.
“….you always wanna piss me off…” maybe you’d wanna suck on his fingers while he plays with your nipples, soft skin bulging around his palm as his digits toy with the puffy buds, he knows you like that, like his fingers, you tell him that all the time.
“….i just don’t understand how a guy can be so fucking stupid…..that’s probably why you got that dent on the back of your head, because you were dropped as baby and it….”
mmmmmm, you love running your hands through his hair though, the dark strands bunching between your fingertips when you tug on it, like a fucking leash, like he’s a misbehaving dog, just thinking about it makes him leak.
he pumps faster, the messy, sticky, fap-fap-fap echoes around his room, mixing in with his breathy groans and cries of your name.
god, he's so fucking pathetic.
but he can't help it, you're so fucking hot, and he really does like you, your face, your eyes, your f-fucking voice--
".....don't play games with me hanta...."
there you go again, saying his name, practically spitting it out like a curse word, and he's giggling as he looks down at himself, at his throbbing erection, do you even know what you do to him?
"...you're a fucking joke, y'know that right...."
nah, what's a joke is how quick he cums when you jerk him off. you're so good at that, you know his body so well, know how much he goes crazy for a sloppppyyy handjob, the messy kind, with one of your hands placed on his chest, holding him down, as the other hand massages his balls, your nails digging into his thighs, his tip drooling at the sensation.
"....so fucking stupid.....such an idiot...can't deal with your bullshit..."
fuck yeah, yeah, he's an idiot, a nasty piece of shit, he knows, he can't help it though, it's not his fault, it's your fault really, for enabling him, for giving him a taste of you in the first place, a taste of your pussy, god, your pussy, always so slick, and warm, and inviting. she treats him better than you do, she would never say mean things to him like you do, she just takes his cock, grips him so fucking tightly, fucking milks him every time.
ohhhh, he can't help himself, bucking his hips up into his fist like a wild animal, pretending that it's you. you look so gorgeous underneath him, all fucked out and whiney. and he’d let you bite all over him, sink your teeth into his skin, leave your fucking mark on him, stake your claim, all f-fucking yours, fuck, okay, okay, okay, shit, he almost forgets to breathe, your voice just swimming in his ears, changing his brain chemistry, holy fuck.
"you can't do shit properly, always half-assing shit.... can't even fuck me properly."
he knows you said that as a last resort, the final push.
he knows you, and you know him.
and hanta, like previously mentioned, is a fucking weirdo, so, of course, that’s what pushes him over the edge, because he knows, he knows for sure, that is a big old lie.
because, that's not what you said when this whole thing started, when you were in the backseat of his car on tuesday, and you squirted all over his leather seats, and the car reeked of pussy and sweat, and he could taste you in his mouth the next morning.
he runs a tongue across his teeth, the phantom taste of your juices in his mouth, and spurts everywhere, all over his hands, all over his sweats, accompanied by sorry's and thank-you’s and holy shit’s
he doesn't even bother to send you a reply, just likes that last voice message you sent, and starts cleaning himself up, because of course he was gonna come over, probably dangle that wire out of your reach, and then let you push him against the door, hands down his pants, your mouth on his neck, yeah.
fake dating wasn't on your holiday to-do list—until sero invited you home for tamales and chaos
(3525 words)
you regretted this the moment you stepped out of the dormitory and into the sharp chill of mid-december air, a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder and your dignity already teetering on the edge. trailing beside you was hanta sero, practically vibrating with the smug energy of a man who had just talked his best friend into making the worst decision of her academic career.
and technically, he had.
somewhere between his mother's increasingly invasive matchmaking attempts and his inability to say the word "no" like a normal person, he'd decided the solution was to invent a girlfriend. and of course, of course, he'd chosen you.
"come on," he said now, as a cab idled at the curb, white exhaust curling into the crisp air like smoke from a slow-burning disaster. "tell me this won't be fun. just a little bit."
"i think i'm too emotionally aware to find this fun," you muttered, hoisting your bag into the trunk as he leaned beside you with his usual careless grace.
sero grinned—that unbothered, insufferably pretty grin that always made it harder to stay annoyed with him for long. "emotionally aware, huh? sounds like you're already getting into character."
you leveled him with a look. "if i'm your girlfriend, you're going to need to stop flirting like a golden retriever with a god complex."
"babe," he said, slipping into the backseat beside you with the kind of unearned confidence that should have come with a warning label, "flirting is literally how i survive in social settings. don't take this from me."
you stared out the window, hoping the freezing glass would cool the creeping warmth crawling up your neck. "we're not actually dating, hanta."
"right," he said, and he sounded amused, not wounded. "but we could be really good at it."
you didn't answer. he didn't press.
the cab pulled away from the dorms, and for a moment the silence between you was companionable, like it always had been. you'd known sero for years now—long enough to understand that his laid-back demeanor was as real as it was performative. he was the kind of person who made a room feel lighter just by being in it, but who also knew the weight of silence better than most people ever would.
he didn't make you feel like you had to be anyone but yourself. and that, unfortunately, was the root of the problem.
somewhere along the road from "we're just friends" to "please pretend to be my girlfriend so my mom stops trying to marry me off," things had started to shift.
not all at once. not obviously.
but they shifted.
now he was dozing beside you, his head tilted toward your shoulder, and every bump in the road made him inch closer. you should have nudged him off. you should have drawn the line.
but you didn't.
instead, you studied the soft lines of his face—the relaxed set of his mouth, the faint crease between his brows like his dreams were just a little too fast for his thoughts to catch—and you wondered what the hell you'd gotten yourself into.
by the time the cab slowed, the sun had dipped low, casting golden light over a neighborhood that looked far too idyllic to be real. sero's house was two stories of warmth and welcome: string lights curled along the porch railing, a wreath hung slightly crooked on the front door, and smoke drifted lazily from a chimney that promised something warm inside.
standing at the threshold was a woman with sharp eyes, a kind smile, and the unmistakable aura of someone who could both bake you cookies and emotionally destroy you in the same breath.
sero's mother.
you froze.
he didn't.
without hesitation, sero leaned in, brushing your hair behind your ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. his voice dipped just low enough for only you to hear. "smile like you love me."
then he reached for your hand.
his fingers, long and warm, laced effortlessly through yours.
you didn't pull away.
and that was the moment—standing at the edge of his childhood, your fingers locked in his, heart skipping in the kind of rhythm you weren't prepared for—that you realized you were in far more danger than you thought.
because part of you didn't want to let go.
the cab hadn't even rolled to a full stop before sero's mom was standing in front of it, arms crossed, eyes already locked onto her target like a seasoned general. you had seen pictures, sure—sero had shown you a few over lunch one day, swiping through images of his mom with an almost reverent fondness—but none of them did her justice.
she was radiant. that was the first word that came to mind. not in some soft, dreamy way, but in the sharp, unmistakable warmth of someone who had mastered the art of existing unapologetically. she had a scarf looped carelessly around her neck, dark hair pinned up with wisps escaping, and that immediate, unnerving energy unique to mothers who know everything before you say a word.
"hanta," she said brightly as you approached. "you took forever, mijo. i was about to call."
and then her eyes slid to you.
her whole face changed.
"qué linda," she said, stepping down toward you without hesitation. "you're even prettier than the pictures."
you opened your mouth to answer—say something polite, maybe even charming—but instead you were pulled into a hug so warm and familiar you forgot how to speak altogether.
she smelled like cinnamon and butter, like café and home. her arms wrapped around you without hesitation, solid and reassuring, and you blinked twice before realizing she wasn't letting go just yet.
she pulled back, hands on your shoulders, eyes scanning your face with curiosity. "how old are you, mija?"
"seventeen," you managed. "ua student. same class as hanta."
"top twenty," sero chimed from behind you, proud and useless.
his mom smiled wider. "good. you'll need that to keep up with him. he talks too much."
"i'm right here," sero said, offended.
"and what's your quirk, sweetheart?" she asked, guiding you inside like she owned every molecule of the house—which she probably did.
"just a luck quirk," you replied. "it's not anything big or flashy."
"flashy's overrated," she said. "flashy gets you on magazine covers, but smart keeps you alive. hanta could use some of that balance."
sero made a wounded noise. "i'm right here."
you stepped into the house and tried not to gape. it was warm and lived-in, with mismatched furniture and soft lights, and framed photos in every direction. you passed at least three different versions of baby sero—one with cake on his face, one dressed as a shark, and one in a tiny suit looking like he'd lost a bet.
you were immediately ushered to the couch, where sero flopped down beside you like he'd done this a thousand times. his arm stretched along the back of the cushions behind you, easy and casual, but you felt the heat of it like a brand against your neck.
his mom sat in the armchair across from you, one leg crossed, hands folded, expression deceptively pleasant.
"so," she said. "how long have you two been together?"
"six months," you and sero answered in unison.
your eyes met. you both smiled.
it was practiced, but god—it didn't feel like a lie.
"how'd you meet?" she asked next.
sero leaned forward like he was telling a secret. "training. she beat up kaminari. i've never recovered."
you tried not to laugh. "he followed me around for a week."
"i was courting you."
"you were loitering near vending machines."
"i was being persistent," he corrected. "it worked, didn't it?"
his mom watched you both, eyes narrowed just enough to make you sweat.
"and what do you like about my son?" she asked you, suddenly.
your mouth went dry.
sero glanced sideways, surprised.
but the answer came easy.
"he's reliable. and funny. and he listens—really listens. like you're the only person in the room."
you could feel sero's eyes on you, and the room felt warmer than it had a second ago.
"he's easy to be around," you said, a little softer now. "i feel like i can breathe near him."
a long silence stretched across the room.
then sero bumped your shoulder with his own, voice low. "you're not supposed to make me blush in front of my mom."
his mom smiled, pleased. "i like you."
you smiled back, because how could you not. "thank you."
"i made tamales," she said, rising to her feet. "sit tight. i'll get you a plate."
"do you need help—?" you started, half-standing.
"no, no. you're a guest. you sit and let yourself be adored."
she vanished into the kitchen with surprising speed.
the moment she was out of earshot, you collapsed sideways onto the couch.
"i blacked out," you whispered. "what did i even say?"
"that i'm amazing and you love being around me," sero said smugly.
you shot him a look.
he leaned a little closer, voice dropping. "also, you were adorable. you didn't have to go that hard. i almost forgot it was fake."
you didn't answer.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
dinner came after a comfortable lull in the afternoon—just enough time for you to grow used to the house's warmth, the quiet hum of kitchen sounds, and the sound of sero humming to himself as he helped his mom plate tamales. there was something undeniably domestic about it—watching him lean over the counter, sleeves pushed up, swiping a bit of masa from the corner of a dish with a grin when he thought no one was watching.
you caught yourself watching.
a little too long.
and when he turned around and caught your eye, offering you a wink that made your stomach stutter—you looked away, pretending to study the wall like it had secrets.
the house filled slowly with more noise, more feet, more voices. by the time dinner was ready, the table was surrounded by people—his siblings, all younger, all chaos incarnate. there were five in total, ranging from what looked like barely ten to maybe sixteen. all of them clearly adored sero, and all of them clearly had a thousand questions about you.
"are you really his girlfriend?" one of the younger girls asked, blinking up at you from her seat at the far end of the table.
sero, already sitting beside you, reached for your hand under the table without hesitation. "of course she is," he said easily. "she puts up with me. that's gotta mean something."
you glanced sideways, surprised by the way his thumb started tracing circles into your palm. his fingers were warm, his grip relaxed, like this was a habit and not a performance. your first instinct was to pull away—but you didn't. you let him hold on.
"do you like him?" one of the boys asked bluntly, somewhere between a dare and a test.
you looked over at sero, who was already looking at you.
and the smile that spread across his face wasn't teasing. it wasn't even smug.
it was soft.
"i do," you said honestly. "he's easy to like."
one of his sisters actually swooned.
their mother returned from the kitchen, a stack of warm plates balanced in her arms. "aye, look at you two," she said fondly, setting down the food. "you look like you've been married five years already."
sero snorted. "that's because she already tells me what to do."
"someone has to," you said, nudging his leg under the table.
his knee pressed into yours and didn't move.
the meal began in full, voices rising over each other, stories flying back and forth like birds across the table. tamales were unwrapped, passed down, devoured. rice and beans steamed in bowls at the center. someone spilled horchata and got teased for it for fifteen minutes straight.
sero kept his hand under the table the entire time.
sometimes on your knee. sometimes brushing your fingers. once, briefly, resting on your thigh with a touch so casual and confident you forgot how to breathe for a second.
"so how did you know?" his mom asked halfway through the meal, raising an eyebrow. "that you liked each other, i mean."
you blinked. "um."
sero didn't miss a beat.
"she made this face at me once," he said, totally serious. "during training. right after i got my ass handed to me. and i thought—yeah. i'd let her ruin my life."
you choked on a sip of water. "that's not what happened."
"you raised your eyebrow," he insisted, "like i was both impressive and pathetic. it was very motivating."
"you were bleeding."
"romance is about timing."
the table erupted in laughter.
"you're ridiculous," you muttered, but there was no bite to it. you felt lightheaded from smiling too much.
his younger sister leaned over the table toward you. "you make him less annoying," she said seriously. "he's, like, way less weird with you here."
"he's still weird," someone else muttered.
"hey," sero said, deeply offended. "i'm the glue of this household."
"you're the glitter glue," one of the boys shot back. "unnecessary and all over everything."
the conversation swirled, but it was warm. easy. you felt like you'd slipped into a rhythm you hadn't known you were missing. sero's family didn't make you feel like an outsider. if anything, they treated you like a permanent fixture—like they already liked you, just because he did.
and sero—he kept looking at you.
in the quiet moments between bites. when you laughed at something his brother said. when you wiped your fingers on your napkin and he passed you your drink like he'd already anticipated you'd reach for it.
"you're really good at this," you whispered during a lull, leaning in.
"at what?" he asked, voice low, chin tilted toward you.
"this," you said. "pretending."
his eyes flicked down to your mouth, just for a second.
"what can i say," he said quietly. "i'm something of an actor."
you snickered.
and then his mom called your name from across the table.
"you like dessert, mija?" she asked, already bringing out the plates.
you blinked twice before answering, forcing a smile. "of course. thank you."
sero didn't look away from you for a long time.
dinner had long ended. the noise had faded. sero's house, once pulsing with overlapping voices and clattering plates, now thrummed with a different kind of energy—low, contented, quiet.
his siblings had scattered, full-bellied and sugar-sticky, off to bedrooms and couches and wherever else they disappeared to in the evening. someone had turned on a dusty old playlist in the den, and the soft hum of vintage boleros curled through the walls like warmth that refused to die.
you stood in the hallway between the dining room and the back door, hovering in the in-between of things: of conversations and thoughts, of what was real and what had only started out that way.
you weren't sure what to do with your hands.
or your heart.
sero appeared beside you like he always did—quiet-footed and comfortably close, smelling faintly of soap and masa and something sweet from dessert you hadn't caught the name of. his sleeves were still pushed up, revealing his forearms, and you hated that you were looking at them. not because they weren't worth looking at—they were—but because it meant your guard was down. again.
"come on," he said softly. "balcony?"
you didn't answer. you just nodded and followed.
the air outside was sharp and clean. the kind of cold that wakes you up without being cruel. you wrapped your arms around yourself more out of instinct than discomfort. the balcony was small, with a windchime shaped like a lizard hanging from the overhang, and a view of soft suburban rooftops and yellow windows scattered like lanterns across the horizon.
you leaned against the wooden railing. he did the same.
neither of you spoke.
you were too full of the evening. of tamales and laughter. of too much touch under the table. of words you'd said with a smile that weren't lies—but weren't supposed to be true either.
the problem wasn't pretending.
the problem was that pretending didn't feel like pretending anymore.
you didn't know when it had changed. maybe it was gradual—each time he laced his fingers through yours without asking, or rested his hand on your thigh mid-story, or offered you a grin across the table that was so familiar, so soft, you forgot why you were here in the first place.
but it hit you now, standing beside him in the chill—this unshakable, irreversible knowledge:
you were in love with him.
god, you were in love with hanta sero.
not just in a surface-level, crush-colored way. not just in the i-like-how-he-makes-me-laugh way. it was deeper than that. older. something that had snuck in when you weren't looking and taken root so quietly you hadn't noticed until it was everywhere.
you were in love with the way he held space. with the way he listened without trying to fix you. with the way he let the world land on him lightly, and still carried it in both hands when it mattered.
you were in love with someone who didn't even know you weren't faking anymore.
you exhaled.
"you're quiet," he said, not looking at you. "regretting it already?"
you shook your head. "no. it's just... weird how easy it was. with your family."
he hummed. "they like you."
"they liked that i made you less annoying."
"that is the highest compliment in my house."
you smiled, faint. "they're sweet. loud, but sweet."
"you kept up fine."
"i think i blacked out for half of it."
"you were golden," he said, softer now. "you always are."
you turned toward him slowly.
the lights from the kitchen spilled faintly through the curtains behind you, catching just enough of his face for you to see how relaxed he looked. how present. how close.
you swallowed.
"hanta?"
he looked over at you, brows raised. "yeah?"
there was a beat of silence.
"i don't know how to lie to you," you said.
he blinked once.
then again, slower.
"what?"
"i mean," you continued, hands curling around the edge of the railing. "i've been trying. all day. and i thought i could. i thought i could pull it off—play the part, pretend—but then we got here, and your mom hugged me, and you touched my hand under the table, and i just... i don't know when it stopped being a bit."
his eyes searched your face like he was looking for something he'd already lost.
"hanta," you said again. "i'm in love with you."
his face froze.
the air between you seemed to still. the windchime didn't move. the whole world narrowed into this one pinpoint moment, bright and fragile and terrifying.
he stepped back—just barely.
"you don't have to keep pretending," he said. carefully. cautiously. "no one's watching anymore. you can drop it."
you stared at him.
"i'm not pretending," you said.
another beat. a sharp exhale.
his lips parted slightly. his brows furrowed, not in confusion, but in disbelief. in the kind of fear that came from wanting something too much and being afraid to reach for it.
"you're serious."
"i've never been more serious about anything in my life."
sero let out a long, shaky laugh. it cracked halfway through.
"say it again," he whispered.
"i'm in love with you."
and this time, you reached for him.
your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, and you felt the moment he melted—slow and overwhelmed, the way something melts that's been cold for too long.
"you've got to be kidding me," he muttered, leaning into your touch. "i thought—god, i thought i was the only one losing my mind over this."
you smiled, eyes stinging.
"you weren't."
"i've been in love with you since second year," he admitted, voice breaking a little. "you kissed my cheek that one time after i carried your books back from the nurse's office, and i nearly died. like, actual cardiac arrest."
"that was a year ago."
"welcome to my long, slow descent into insanity."
you laughed, quiet and ridiculous.
and then he kissed you.
it wasn't rushed. wasn't showy. it wasn't a fireworks-and-credits-roll kiss.
it was the kind that happened in doorways, in hallways, in quiet rooms where hearts beat too loud. the kind that changed nothing and everything all at once.
he kissed you like he meant it.
you kissed him like you'd been waiting your whole life to.
when you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours.
"you're real?" you whispered, breath catching.
"i better be," he said. "otherwise you've just confessed to a figment of your imagination."
you swallowed a grin.
his thumb traced your cheek.
"i thought this would end in disaster," he said quietly. "that pretending would ruin everything."
“Hanta likes what?!” You choked on your pink dango, hearing minas words.
“He said he likes tying bitches hands behind their backs and watching them suck him wit no hands, light bondage since it feels ‘kinda mean’, gagging, butt plugs and harem.” Mina said, reading a screenshot she sent to herself from eijirous phone.
Mina had gone through her boyfriend, Kirishimas, phone, coming across their boy group chat where EVERYONE talked about their sexual encounters.
“Oh my Gosh, I knew he was a slut!” you exclaimed as Mina cackled. “What else??”
“Oh, damn fren!” Mina gasped as she stared at you in abit of shock.
“W-what? Let me see—” your heart dropped as you saw your boyfriend, Hitoshis, message.
<Hitoshi🧠🧽: shit I lowk be tying y/n with my scarves Ian gon lie😂😂>
<Hanta🎞️: I fw it gng>
Fuck. This was embarrassing. You would definetly be finding a way to embarrass him in that fuckass gc later. “Don’t look at me like that! Continue reading.!” you rolled your eyes before smacking her on the arm.
“Denki likes being a bottom. No surprise. He’s a certified munch too, any girl with thick thighs and an ass WILL be sitting on his face. Immediately.” Mina snickered as she read his text word for word.
“He’s so fucking easy..” you cried, massaging your temples from how stupid he was.
“hes gonna get herpes!” Mina shook her head. She was right.
“Shoto likes temperature play and praising, he thinks missionary is the best position. he also thinks aftercare is the best part.”
“I can’t believe shotos dirty.” she gasped.
Neither could I. He looked so innocent— scared of girls even.
“Katsuki likes face fucking. No surprise there. His favourite position is doggy. He says he likes exhibitionism, like fucking on rooftops and places where he could be caught easily. For the thrill”, her brows furrowed as she scrolled down further. “That’s not all. He has a dick piercing and is into giving AND receiving pain, and also ass aswell..”
“For some reason I’m not shocked. Of course he likes giving pain.” you snickered as you said the last part.
“Izuku likes pleasuring. Someway somehow he’s a dom. he likes giving anal, toys, and.. rough sex?? That’s unexpected.” She raised a brow.
“Shinso said some more. He likes—A lot actually.” Mina gasped as she side eyed you.
“I think I would know. Just a thought tho” you smiled sarcastically as you watched her eyes widen at the long list of stuff he liked.
“Punishment?? Shibari?? Heavy bondage?? Brainwashing— how the fuck do you live..” she cried in horror.
“How do you live?? Kiri said he likes size kinks and how his dick always touches YOUR belly button while he’s in you.” you gasped, reading the messages on her phone as her face flushed.
I guess you guys were surrounded by a whole bunch of sluts besides JUST denki.
"Fear Mustard"
[bkdk mer au]
While Shoto shrimp is babysitting, Peaku decides to crack open his new box of crayons, much to the jealousy of his siblings. Shoto is a good uncle though!
pairing: plug!sero h. x fem!reader
note: requested by @sprinkles09 and i couldn't say no to plug sero hehe also, yes, i did a play on words with the song glitter by tyler the creator !!
content: smau, modern/college au, smoking, weed, plug!sero, getting together, miscommunication, angst to fluff, mentions of shinso x reader kind of (?)
divider by: @/strangergraphics
