jean who wears a thin silver chain with nearly every outfit, out of habit more than anything else; a relic from his awkward early teenage years where he didn't know how to dress or what an accessory even was. he hasn't made massive progress in that regard, even he admits it, preferring plain black jeans and some band t-shirt over anything fancy, but the silver chain has become a reliable fixture in his life. he's fallen asleep with it on, sometimes. he'd even go as far as to say he feels bare without it.

but one thing he can't understand is your fixation on it. when he first built up the courage to approach you at the bar -- connie in his ear providing a drunken, barely legible pep-talk -- and you'd entertained his advances far longer than he expected, he saw your eyes drift down to his collarbones more than once. he figured the silver had just caught the light or something.

but then, when he first kissed you, and that gentle peck turned into something more, you'd hooked a finger around the tiny metallic links to pull him close. you weren't rough, careful not to break the clasp, but he remembered the feeling of the chain grazing the back of his neck, something hot and exciting curling low in his stomach.

and now, with you finally in his bed and with him buried deep inside you, he thinks he finally understands your fascination.

as he covers you with his body, your beautiful thighs spread open for his hips to drive in deep, you look down at the chain dangling over your bare chest, leaving goosebumps where it touches your sensitive skin.

at the slightest tug of it, jean angles his head in whatever direction you desire -- if you lead him towards your neck then he fastens his lips there, nipping beneath your ear and by your pulse point until your spine arches. if you change direction and guide him lower, he peppers kisses down the front of your throat before reaching your chest again, hungry for every moan that escapes your lips. he could spend a lifetime here, with you showing him exactly how you need to be touched.

then, when you're so close to the edge that you can't even speak, only articulating fractions of syllables as he thrusts deeper, faster, harder, you rest a hand against the nape of his neck, pulling him close so that his forehead is pressed against yours. when you both finish together, whispering repetitions of each other's names, he feels your fingertips, still at the back of his neck, tracing carefully over each loop of metal.

if he wasn't attached to that chain before, he certainly is now.

WHERES THE REST

date sweet men. men who can articulate themselves. men who are soft spoken. men who are patient with you. men who respect their own bodies. men who are kind to your soul. men that are gentle. men who have self control.

unfortunately my type is assholes and dickheads but i'll make notes

If ghosts were real—well, Bakugou didn’t believe in ghosts, but if they did exist—they lived in the spaces people left behind.

And you happened to have left behind too many.

It wasn’t just the obvious things. Not the clothes still folded in your drawers, untouched. Not the way your books still sat on the shelves, the spines cracked from overuse, the pages filled with notes in the margins. Not even the stupid coffee mug you always used, the one you once swore made everything taste better, still sitting exactly where you left it on the kitchen counter (because it had his and your face printed on it).

No, the spaces you left behind were quieter. More insidious.

Like the empty seat across from him at the dining table, where you used to sit, eating straight from the pot that one night because, “Why dirty another dish?”

Like the sound of the bathroom door not opening in the morning when he’s actually using the toilet—dammit, you didn’t even have the care in the world to give your boyfriend some privacy—the absence of your muttered complaints about how the water took too long to heat up.

Like the other side of the bed, cold and untouched, where he still reached out in his sleep, half expecting to find you there. Anticipating to hold you closer to him.

Grief was a strange thing to Bakugou.

It wasn’t like pain. Pain was easy. A broken rib, a busted lip, the sharp sting of impact—those things, he knew how to handle. You grit your teeth, you clench your fists, you keep moving. That was what you did. That was the kind of man he was.

But grief wasn’t like that.

It wasn’t a punch he could take and shake off. It was a weight pressing down on his chest, invisible but suffocating. It was the silence of an empty apartment. It was the echo of your voice in his head, the way his brain still filled in the blanks in conversations you should have been part of.

It was standing in the grocery store, staring at the shelf, reaching for the brand of tea you liked before stopping halfway, fingers hovering in the air, before dropping his hand back to his side.

What was the point?

don't make me cry at 2am please

making fun of your boyfriend, kuroo, when he starts doing work as a chemistry tutor while the two of you are in college. most of his students are highschoolers so they’re younger but not by so much. still, they treat your boyfriend like he’s way old. you make a few lighthearted jabs at his expense about it because of course you do.

you call him sensei for a similar reason, just to get under his skin. cmon kuroo-sensei, lighten up. its really just a joke but he stops laughing soon after.

you’re worried you pushed it so you settle down, but kuroos already backed himself into a wall. red to his ears, eyes wide, and so hard you can see it through his jeans

i miss kuroo era ten i gotta write something about him soon

i will not be explaining but this is my ideal man in both form and attitude

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

"How far do you think you can squirt?"

That question had lead you to your current situation; laying on your bed with your legs spread, being fingered and edged by your boyfriend for what feels like hours. Hanta had made you squirt on his cock before, but curiosity got the better of him and he wanted to do a little experiment with your capabilities. You'd long since started crying, more overstimulated than you'd ever been, tears staining your cheeks. You had a death grip on his forearm, your nails digging into his flesh and leaving indents.

"Hanta," you hiccup, "it hurts."

"Yeah? You need me to stop?"

You shake your head frantically, moaning as he pounded your g-spot with three fingers.

"Thought so," he smirked. "Don't worry baby, I'm gonna let you cum soon, okay? And you're gonna make a nice, big mess for me, right?"

"Yeah!" Your voice comes out sounding small, not much more than a squeak. Your chest heaves and your muscles twitch, your senses all in overdrive.

"Good girl... You ready? I'm gonna go harder. Then you're gonna hold it in until I count to three. Sound good, baby?"

You can't speak. That last squeak of a word was the last noise to escape you, taking your voice with it all together. You nod quickly, ready for the sweet release you desperately needed. Ready for it for the past hour.

Hanta quickened his movements, a disgusting squelch and the slap of his palm making contact with your mound with each inward thrust the only sounds in the room. Your body had already started to shake before he brought his other hand to your sensitive, deprived clit and began rubbing it. He kissed your slacked jaw as silent gasps racked your body, heat filling you and shooting down to your lower half.

"Wait until three," Hanta reminded you in a devilish whisper. "One..."

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears like a wild stampede, anticipation swarming your fucked out brain. You still were incapable of making any noise, all of your energy going towards not cumming.

"Two..."

Your toes were curling and your nails dug deeper into Hanta's arm, likely starting to pierce his skin. It took every ounce of strength you had left in your body to hold out for that last number. You'd swear he was dragging it out longer just to watch you fight to hold it in for him.

"... Three. Cum, baby."

Finally you cried out in pleasure as your whole body spasmed, shockwaves coursing through you as you came so hard you were seeing white. The moment your orgasm hit you, Hanta removed his fingers from your cunt and focused solely on your clit, watching as your squirt shot across the room, landing on the floor in front of a pair of shoes.

Denki stood in the now open doorway to your bedroom, face flushed and eyes glazed over while you were still laying trembling, unaware of the extra presence in your home.

Hanta looked at him a raised brow, incredulous at the turn of events but proud of how far you managed to squirt. "Fuck," he practically laughed, "that was so fucking good."

"You guys... Left your door unlocked," Denki breathed, eyes still locked on your poor, twitching pussy. "I didn't hear anything in here so I thought you were just-" He didn't finish his sentence, distracted by a small sob and moan coming out of you. You were slowly starting to come back down to earth. Hanta soothed you, kissing your hairline and murmuring things Denki couldn't make out into your ear.

He should leave the fucking room. But it was like he was glued to the floor or hypnotized by the sight in front of him.

"What'd you think?"

"Huh?" Denki asked dumbly.

"I said, what'd you think?" Hanta repeated. "Impressive, right? My girl's got a super soaker."

You whined in embarrassment, slapping your boyfriend's chest before you buried your face into it.

"Never seen a woman actually do that before," Denki said. "Only in porn."

"Yeah?" Hanta wrapped you in his arms. "It's not hard to do. Not with her, anyway. You wanna try it sometime?"

Denki's cock, already rock hard from walking in on his close friends in bed, twitched in his pants. He had to take a second to adjust himself, and when he was done you could see you were peaking at him from the safety of your lover's arms.

"You serious?"

"She likes attention," Hanta told him. "Bet if I hadn't edged her for so long she'd be ready to go again right now."

"You can make me squirt next time," you tell him sweetly, as if you were offering him a slice of cake. "Maybe you can try to make it go farther."

jaw dropped

Just General Sfw headcannons about Sero and being his partner.

Authors note: so I have two different fics for Sfw headcannons and all together it adds up to 6 paragraphs per person so instead of making two different fics I just added them all to this

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HUNDRED PERCENT QUALITY TIME !!!!! PEAK LOVE LANGUAGE IF YOU ASK ME

tracing secrets onto your skin. e!kirishima

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

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

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

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

Yep. Only one bed.

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

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

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

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

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

"Kiri?"

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

But you weren’t convinced. 

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

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

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

"Please, Kiri?"

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

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

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

"Thank you."

And you echoed it back. "Thank you."

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

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

"Is it your back?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you."

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

Then—

A sharp intake of breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you."

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

fuck i nearly combusted and died this is so wholesome it almost made me forget that LOVE ISNT REAL

“93 'Til Infinity”

college au! denki kaminari + hanta sero x reader

“gettin' weeded makes it feel like maui, now we feel the good vibrations, so many females, so much inspiration.”

wc: 2.6k

technically a part 2 of hoe cakes but could be read as a stand-alone

cw: mature, mentions of sex, implied sex, everyone is implied bisexual, recreational-drug usage, bad language, good times to come

starting track...

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

....

"it was definitely for me."

"dude, are you fucking kidding? it was definitely for me-"

"what the hell are you talking 'bout? i was the one that spoke to her."

"yeah, but you didn't see the look she gave me."

it was about two days later. early evening still, and hanta sero had the brilliant idea of going to the park to watch the sunset. he and denki kaminari had missed class that day. it was a friday, and, in denki's words, why should we waste a perfectly good friday being stuck in some pointless lit tutorial.

but yeah, hanta had been on his reconnecting with nature bullshit again.

as in, he'd been offline, no minecraft or running duos on valorant, deleted all his social media, his screen time was at an all time low, and instead of sparking up and jerking off, he's slap his headphones on and go smoke and skate in the park.

at first denki had been sick of it. hanta does this all time, it only lasts for about three months, then he gets bored, re-downloads instagram and the cycle repeats itself.

but right now, he can see the appeal.

the sunset is beautiful, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange. the air is still, the park is basically deserted, they're far enough out from any main roads, so all they can hear is the rustle of the trees and the occasional chirping of birds mixed in with their own music.

denki doesn't even know the genre, some sort of underground nameless hiphop, lofi, rap, shit that hanta listens to, with the bass turned up so high, that if he concentrates denki can feel the thrum of the baseline vibrating through his body. they have a joint, a can of beer and a vape to share between them.

they're debating the interaction they had with you right now though, what had happened, and which of them you had left your number for.

"what look?" denki coughs out in between drags.

the snickers hanta lets out, when denki passes him the joint back so he can take a couple hits of the vape to soothe his poor sensitive baby lungs, is mean and teasing.

the dark haired boy takes a long pull, inhales, shapes his lips, and blows thick rings of smoke right into his friends face, ignoring denki's shriek of complaint and the subsequent whack to the shoulder he receives.

"y'know," hanta says contemplatively, "the look girls give when they want you, it's like-"

he turns to face denki, careful of where the ash drops. his eyes slowly flit from one amber eye to the other, he drops his gaze to the blonde's pink lips for half a second, then back up so he's making square eye contact with him, and finishes off with a slow smile.

".....that is pure bullshit."

hanta scoffs and takes a swig of the beer, "no it's not." he burps out, "you just don't understand women like i do."

"you understand women?" the blonde replies incredulously accompanied by a raise of his eyebrow.

"yeah, well... more than you at least- AH, OW FUCK-"

hanta swears under his breath as he tries to brush off the imprint of the bottom of denki's sneaker from the side of his acid washed jeans, "these are new, fucking jackass."

"dude, shut up. y'know what, i'm gonna text her."

"yeah for sure," hanta snarks, "and say what, 'yo it's that blonde idiot from the other day—" another kick to the thigh. "what did i just say? would you stop that."

the blonde shushes him and pulls his phone out.

"are you actually texting her?" hanta takes another drag and blows the smoke out upwards, "i'm telling you, she left her number for me."

"we'll see won't we," denki grins and sticks his tongue out fingers tapping hastily away, "ok, how's this, "hey it's the blonde guy from your lit class.""

hanta rolls his eyes as denki slips his phone back into his pocket and makes grabby hand's towards the zoot.

"whatever, i bet she won't reply—" a ping from denki's phone. "no, fucking, way."

the laugh denki lets out is diabolical as he gets his phone back out with a smirk, "and you said i didn't understand women- damn, it's just mina— oh shit."

"what's she done now?"

"no, dude," denki taps hanta once to call his attention, eyes alight as he reads the text message out loud, ""why are you texting my friend you freak, lying bout being in her lit class"."

they both pause and stare at each other, "wow... small world huh."

"does that mean she's off-limits now?"

"no, what? you can't assume that, women have like autonomy and allat shit, tell mina to mind her own business."

"are you sure 'cos—" another ping from denki's phone. ""i don't take lit.""

hanta scrambles to see the screen, "no way she messaged back, let me seeee."

"nuh uh," denki replies childishly and raises his phone high above his head as he scoots back, "you don't get see this, not after you doubted me." regardless of denki's reasoning, hanta snatches the phone off of him.

"ok, okay, crying emoji, we can work with this," he passes the phone back to his disgruntled friend who scoffs at him and then hanta points to the device, "say 'are you free tonight? you wanna go over the class notes with me' umm, 'me and my friend'."

denki just blinks at him and exhales through his nose, "i am not typing that shit out, are you crazy?"

"don't even. you were the one talkin' 'bout golden opportunities," he does a poor mockery of denki's voice, "and whatnot."

"is that not a bit forward?"

"uh no? its a suggestion, she can say no, no harm no foul."

"you're fucking stupid, fine, are you free tonight-"

hanta switches off his speaker and watches as denki types out the rest of the message.

"and now, we wait."

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

"how do you do that?"

"do what?"

It’s just gone ten pm, denki’s string lights are glowing softly, the mellow beat of hip-hop filling the room, and the three of you are fucking chilling. you're sprawled out on the couch sharing a joint with hanta, who's been eyeing up the snacks spread out on the table for the last ten minutes at least, his long legs splayed out. while denki, clearly proud of his hosting skills, is bouncing around his room scrolling through his playlist, searching for the perfect vibe.

you gesture to how sero is blowing rings of smoking casually as you relax further into the couch.

"oh, how do i blow o's? it's actually super easy."

he does it again, and damn, you hate pretty boys.

everything they do is so effortlessly attractive. the way hanta is laid out on the couch, so casually, inhaling and exhaling, his stupid pretty lips forming such beautiful shapes. they way his dark eyes watch you so intently whenever you speak, like he's hanging onto every word. the way his hair is tussled in that perfectly effortless messy way.

denki is the same, if not worse. the way he's been making you laugh, he talks to you like he's known you his whole life. no filter, completely authentic. the way his bright amber eyes sparkle. the way the soft lighting makes his hair glow, highlights his high cheekbones and perfectly sculpted face.

"you want me to teach you?"

it was a bad idea coming here.

not because of them, you spoke to mina before you pulled up. she had said that while they were both total idiots, with zero tact, sense of shame, and uncaring of most people's opinions about them, they're decent guys, extremely respectful and really good fun to be around.

no. not because of them.

but because you know yourself. you're such a fool for pretty boys, with pretty eyes, pretty hair, pretty lips. they're both taller than you, good sense of style and music. they smell good. they've been making you laugh like it's nothing and, if things progressed further, you probably wouldn't be able to stop yourself.

and you probably wouldn't regret it either.

but the way hanta's lookinng at you right now, with his half lidded eyes, and the stupid attractive ass smirk on his face, makes it hard to care.

so you say, "sure, show me how."

hanta smiles at you, gestures for you to come closer, passes you the joint. when he starts talking, fuck it's so hard to concentrate on his words. maybe its the weed in your system, maybe it's his tone of voice, low and rumbling, as he instructs you gently. when you cough the first time you attempt it and the smoke goes down the wrong way, he doesn't comment, just wordlessly passes you a bottle of sprite that's unopened and takes the smoke from you.

"watch me do it, then try to copy," he says, yeah you're watching. watching how his supple lips form the perfect o as he exhales the smoke and performs perfect rings.

and you're definitely a visual learner, you don't embarrass yourself this time. not that either boy would've cared, they're both just happy that they didn't scare you off and that you're enjoying yourself.

you're so beautiful, the haze of the smoke, the way the glowing lights touch your soft skin and makes the jewellery you're wearing glimmer. denki shares a knowing look with hanta, who breaks his cool guy act for a second to smile cheesily at his friend.

you're definitely the one.

denki queues up a couple of songs before placing his phone down on the table, and passes you and hanta a couple of the snacks each.

hanta silently thanks his friend by ignoring the elbow to the chest he gets, when denki clambers onto the couch in between the two of you. the blonde leans back into the couch, its a small but cozy thing, and makes grabby hands towards the joint.

"holy shit," you say, when you hear the familiar intro to the next track that starts up, "i fucking love this song."

"shut up," denki gasps when he turns his head to face you, genuinely happy that there's someone who actually likes the same music as him, he's tired of hanta's underground garabage, and exclaims, "you know souls of mischief?"

the excitement in his tone makes you smile softly, "of course i do."

this is how we chill from '93 till.

he calls your name and you laugh softly when he says, "i didn't know you was cool like that."

"what does that even mean?" hanta questions you both through a face full of chocolate, "'93 till."

you look away from where you've staring at the stars on denki's ceiling and say smoothly, "its like chilling, rolling up and relaxing, enjoying the moment, from now until... forever."

"exactly," denki sits up and passes you the joint back, "i feel like, this life that we live, it's our life. y'know. and, we can do whatever we want, and why should we not enjoy it from now till forever like-"

and he stops mid flow. he has both yours and hanta's attention, as he grabs his vape out of his pocket.

"...like?"

"oh, no, i'm done."

"that's some really profound shit denks."

it really wasn't that funny, and it's probably the weed in your system, but you burst into peals of laughter. and it seems your laugh is contagious, because it sets denki off. and denki is one those people that laughs with his whole body. his face lights up, his legs start twitching, and he slaps hanta on the shoulder. the dark haired boy just rolls his eyes and takes the joint from him as he watches the two of you die of laughter with a smile creeping onto his face.

"soooo," the blonde rolls the word around once he's composed himself, and calls your name out, you mumble in reply, "we have a proposition for you."

you raise an eyebrow, curious, you nod for them to continue.

"wait," hanta cuts in as he takes another pull, "ask her the question first."

"what questi- oh OH, the question," he turns to face you suddenly all serious, "we've been debating amongst our friend group."

"right..."

"and, hmm," he regards you curiously, "i guess your answer might be different because you're a girl, but would you rather, have a threesome with two guys or two girls."

"that is definitely a question," you deadpan and hanta snickers from other denki's shoulder, "is that the only two options?"

"what do you mean?"

"as in like, is this tmi? actually i don't care. i've had a threeway with two other girls-"

"really?"

"yeah," you nod "and that was really fun actually."

"i can imagine-" denki is cut off by y slap to the neck by hanta and your short laugh "f'cking joke dude."

he continues on, "but no, this is a particular scenario, like technically i'm like pronoun fluid, but in this hypothetical, its like either two guys and one girl or two girls and one guy."

as hanta passes you the blunt back, you take a moment to think.

"i said two guys because i feel like i'd run out of stamina, and i wouldn't want to leave either girl unsatisfied just because i can't keep up."

"you know what," hanta calls out and denki turns to face him when he says, "that is actually a good point."

"exactly! and you all were clowning me earlier, but i'm thinking logically."

you take a drag as you ponder your reply, "are the two guys doing stuff with each other or-"

"well, i dunno, denki you wanna get it on with me?"

"hundred percent i'd get it on with you- i'm receiving though."

"y'know itttt."

you cut them off as you hum and say carefully, "or, are they 'sharing' the girl."

"well, when u put like that," denki scrunches his face, "it sounds kinda asshole-ish but, i mean, sharing is caring.

you and hanta both snort but then you reply, "wait, why are you even asking me this?"

"oh yeah, we were gonna ask you if you wanted to bang us." sero is blunt with his words as he leans down onto the table to ash the joint.

maybe it's the weed in your system, maybe it's the way denki has his right arm curled around your shoulder, but you can think about that later, all you say in reply is, "no, fucking way."

"yes fucking way."

the reply is from denki but hanta takes in your form with careful eyes and speaks out. "it doesn't have to be right now."

the blonde boy nods at his friend and says with a smile, "think it over, offers on the table."

"oh yeah?" his smile makes your fingers tingle and your heart rate pick up, "i finish work early next saturday."

"hanta—"

but sero already has his phone out to see his work timetable, "hold on, i'm checking- my one free saturday this month, let's fucking go."

"let's fucking gooo," denki cheers, as he his grin brightens.

you snicker at their antics, "no way we just scheduled a threesome."

"yeah babe," the way the pet name rolls off his tongue as is as natural as the way he relaxes back into the couch, "that's how we roll."

"is it really?" you say semi-sarcastically.

"he's joking," hanta dismisses his friend with a wave of his hand, " ignore him, his body count is like two."

denki cuts him off matter-of-factly, "two and a half."

"oh, yeah, my bad gang," hanta says with a loud exhale, tone dripping with sarcasm, "two point five."

"how can you have half a body?"

"oh, you're gonna love this story..."

...end of playback

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

side note I FUCKING LOVE THIS SONG

LOVERS ROCK.

ft. h. shinsou x reader

˖⁺‧₊˚ tags/warnings: fluff !! , reader has tattoos and piercings, eri and shinsou are aizawa's adopted kids, established relationship

note: my submission for @https-bakugo's event, congrats on 250 followers !! I got a little carried away with the "drabble" hehe

Shinsou wasn’t used to softness, to someone looking at him like he was worth holding onto. But then you came along and ruined that for him. Years later, he was still getting used to it.

Which was why, when you leaned down to kiss him, your lip ring cool against his lips, he still turned pink in the cheeks about it.

“God, you’re so in love with me,” you teased, voice low and amused.

Shinsou scoffed, trying (and failing) to will the heat from his face. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly subtle either.” His eyes flickered to where your fingers were absentmindedly tracing the veins on his forearm.

You hummed, unbothered. “Never planned to be.”