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bigboomboi · 2 years

Text

(do you ever wonder) why?

Pairing: college fratboy!Kaminari Denki (slight puppy!Denki) x fem classmate!reader

"She like the strings on my guitar neck and my blonde hair

I write about her thighs in my latest lines

I remember her eyes when I asked her why"

Summary: Quirkless AU. The dude you got project paired with for lab is so pretty. This class is hard enough as it is. Now you have to figure out how to talk to him, too? Turns out, he's more than happy to give you all the prompts you need for that.

CW: NSFW MATURE CONTENT below the cut. Please read this carefully. This is ANGST to HAPPY ENDING with graphic sexual scenes. Some of the angst is caused by reader to Denki at one point (so if you don’t want to take that on momentarily, don’t,) old dating trauma that is not detailed but is alluded to causes some fear and defense mechanisms, reader has she/her pronouns, reader has a slight and often stutter, reader wears a lot of baggy/formless clothes by preference but also wears a skirt, reader has a LOT of insecurity issues and also battles anxiety disorder, slight ANXIETY ATTACKS are detailed for reader, Denki is ADHD!coded, I wrote a VERY puppy Denki, but this is NOT a petplay!AU he’s just a dog-like person in all the best ways, unprotected sex, daddy kink language, foot play, dumbification, reader has stretch marks, light personality stereotyping and why we musn’t do that lol, reader has a pretty specific personality maybe I gues asdfghjkl so I’m sorry if this isn’t super relatable to everyone but it makes me happy and I want him to drool over each and every one of us he thinks we’re all so smart and cool and pretty.

“Soo,” Denki drums his fingers on the lab station counter, “You any good at this stuff?”

You peer at him from over your glasses. He’s wearing this smile that’s all warmth and light, almost negating the need for the sunrise to break through the classroom windows.

You mumble, feeling a bit small and drab in his presence.

“I should read the instructions before I answer that.”

“Great idea!” he beams like he’s solved something, “I should probably read those too.”

A detached “Um, yeah” is offered before handing him the lab manual with nervous hands. You try not to stare as he skims it over, but there’s something about Kaminari that’s so… exigent of attention. Getting paired with him for a lab project was the last thing you’d planned for this morning. The class is far enough outside your comfort zone to begin with, but required for your general studies credits. And according to your professor, what’s also required is to face the very bright, blonde, genial energy source that is Kaminari Denki– at 8:30 AM. Whether this dude actually likes early mornings or just never has a shortage of spirit to be friendly is beyond and above you.

You noticed him on the first day of class, even without instigating conversation, because who couldn’t? But then that was just that, because you’re really not sure what you’d talk to him about, anyway. Kaminari’s attractive, sociable, and well-liked by everyone. He gets either dropped off or greeted in the hallway by a group of other attractive, popular looking, and occasionally very rowdy men. He just… takes up space, so shamelessly. The wardrobe’s always been surprising, though, fairly edgy for a ball of light. Lots of black and band tees, even men’s accessories sometimes, like the leather choker he’s wearing today around his neck, which is admittedly, a super badass choice. His whole bubbly nature thing throws you, though. When he approached the start of the semester by talking to everyone in every chair he could, you felt almost winded yourself, like it was you who was bopping around like a human pinball. Friendly people are cool, and appreciated, but sometimes safer and less scary to appreciate from afar.

When he looks up from the lab manual, it’s overwhelming– just the charm in his simple body movements; the sparkle in his large, angled eyes that are unfairly beautiful; the fall of his warm, flaxen hair when he moves his head, that one black streak of highlight running horizontally rather than vertically through his strands, which is so different. He’s so different. And this smile isn’t just attractive, it’s genuine, the kind you’d feel guilty not to return. Yours feels a bit tight-lipped and forced, but Denki is overjoyed to receive it. He’s been wanting to earn one from you all morning.

“What do you want first, y/n, bad news or good news?” There’s mock solemnity in his tone.

You glance at the papers in front of you, your name not yet written on any of them. Did he remember that from syllabi week introductions? But that was so long ago….

“Um,” you nibble on your lip, “The bad news, I guess.”

Denki hums, nodding in a slow, dramatic manner, like he’s just agreed to the conclusion of some important debate. He’s got one leg crossed over his knee, leisurely. “The brave choice. I can dig it,” he swivels boyishly on his lab stool, “means you end on a good note.” His eyes look naturally cat-like, actually, without even needing eyeliner. To compare him to a cat in any other way though would go against his excitedly wagging dog tail of a personality.

“Wouldn’t it take more bravery to um, end on the bad note?” You didn’t intend to indulge this so suddenly, so boldly, but it’s an interesting point.

“Maybe,” he halts his spinning to contemplate, “but, you’d be sad all the time. Enjoying life is brave in a better way, don’t you think?”

He looks at you, not saying anything else despite your prolonged stunned quiet, looking at him with your lips parted. Denki tries not to stare at them. Your mouth looks pretty and soft. Overhead lights catch the sheen from whatever chapstick you’re wearing.

“You’re really asking me for my opinion.” Your eyes hold increasing confusion, voice hushed.

“Of course.” Denki laughs like it’s absurd that he wouldn’t, like anyone as pretty as him ever asks your opinion.

“Well, if there’s a choice,” you doodle aimlessly, nervously in the margins of a paper, “then yeah, choosing to be sad sounds pretty lame.”

“Agreed,” he sighs, looking at the ceiling, “Masochism is overrated.”

“Kaminari?” It’s quiet and hesitant, but it’s the first time he’s heard you say his name, so it immediately pulls his attention. “What was the bad news?”

“Oh! So, this,” he gestures at the list of typed instructions on the manual, “doesn’t look like it’s my forte, unfortunately. Is it yours?” You groan, holding your head in both hands. Denki is surprised and appreciative of the dramatics.

“Not even slightly.” You speak downwards, to the table.

“Well, hey! Good news is that what isn’t my forte can be my challenge!”

“That was the good news?” You crane your neck enough to look at him with your head in just one hand, now.

“What?” He moves his face closer to you, teasingly. “Not good enough for you, gorgeous?” Your heartbeat takes off. G-gorgeous? What’s with this guy?

“S-sorry,” you laugh nervously, shoulders tensed, “I just, ’m kind of shit in this class. I-it has nothing to do with my major.”

“Same here” he follows, not looking the least concerned for the two of you. Your face falls.

Denki doesn’t want you worried, but can’t help but notice how pretty you still manage to look, frowning.

"Hold off on the long face until we give it a shot, yeah?" He smiles this warm, comforting smile. You feel embarrassed to have even complained.

"Yeah, of course. Yeah." You adjust the collar of your shirt, feeling quite flushed for being in a classroom with fairly reasonable AC.

Despite the confidence he seems to insist you have in the situation, what follows is mostly anything other than lab related progress. Kaminari stretching his lean arms and legs; Kaminari restlessly tapping his Dr. Martens on the tile floor; Kaminari firing back something charming to each classmate who greets him as they pass. It’s hard to be upset about this when everything out of his mouth is about you, questions about you, for you. It thoroughly prevents you from planning the project. Has a man ever asked you this much about yourself before? Denki wants to know what you study; why you like it; what you do on slow days; what cinema you like. His questions are just as distracted, running in circles and confusing circuits as he tries to really meet you. Despite the energy behind his intrigue, there’s no force felt, no pressure to answer a certain way. He’s grateful for each shy, muttered response, like you’re handing him gifts, and he actually seems to prefer the unexpected, contradictory, or strange answers. There are soft crinkles at the corner of his amber eyes when he smiles at your thoughtful faces. He sounds like he means it when he says “That’s so cool” or “Nah, I totally feel you.”

And fuck if Denki doesn’t love watching the result of him asking you anything; how you put your pencil to your lips like you might chew on the eraser; how you wiggle slightly in your seat when you’re especially coy about something you tell him; how you fidget with the sleeves of your slightly oversized shirt that you look so cute in– he wonders what you’d look like wearing one of his. When time is up for class, you can’t bring yourself to comment on how little work the two of you achieved, or even to care as much as you should. You excuse yourself to go return the lab equipment neither of you put to use and when you return Kaminari’s handing you a semi-neatly collected pile of your class materials.

“Thanks,” you stare blankly, processing, “you didn’t have to.”

“I know.” Denki tucks some of his gorgeous hair back, black highlights falling around his ear, “Just that nice of a guy, I guess.” The smile that follows from you is his favorite yet, like you’re done with his shit, but he thinks I haven’t even started.

You “Tch” at him, rolling your eyes as you zip up your backpack and head for the door. “Um I’ll see you next week– Denki.” You hope it sounds confident, or neutral at the least, and not the million confusing things you’re feeling right now about him.

The best part is something you don’t turn around to see. Kaminari Denki, looking awe-struck off in your direction after you’ve already disappeared through the door, because whether you meant to or not, you finally used his given name– and he’s smitten.

You walk to your next class feeling more than strangely flattered, complimented. When was the last time someone asked you to talk about yourself– for so long? And he’s so charming, the mixed cockiness and dorkiness, included. What could he want from someone like you? The intrusive thoughts flood in. What could Kaminari get from flattering you? You couldn’t even do his homework for him in this class. And he didn’t want advice about a love-interest. He never even brought one up.

Focusing on actual work for this second lab session was the plan. And for the most part, you've been successful, quietly rerouting or shortly answering his off topic questions or statements despite your interest. Denki’s the one chewing on his lip this time, slightly beside himself about the change in vibe. The feeling in his gut is empty, either from missing lunch or the disappointment at your cold shoulder, but likely both. You two have nearly gotten to question 8 when he catches you staring at his chest instead of the paper you’ve still got your pencil to. He smiles like a kid in a candy shop.

“You alright?” He leans over, feigning interest at the question you’re on so you’ll feel his presence hover over you. The nervous wiggle of your ass in your seat is more than he could have hoped to see in response. “Didn’t finish your question there.” He’s just close enough to feel the warmth of his breath brush across your ear. There’s goosebumps on the small of your neck and your hair smells like– like lavender maybe? Something comforting. He thinks it suits you.

“Y-yeah, I’m good. I’m cool.”

He lowers himself back to his respective stool, reluctantly, and there’s a shared disappointment in the air.

“Good,” he smiles, “‘cause there’s no way I can answer that one.”

You giggle, air returning to your lungs. “You were staring a little.” Denki presses the topic, not ready to let it go; not wanting to return to the silence of this morning. He’d been waiting all week, looking forward to coming back here and making you smile or laugh or roll your eyes at him. You haven’t been giving him the proper chance– and he felt very close to sulking about it.

“I was just,” you avert your eyes, absolutely mortified at being caught, “I thought I recognized the album on your t-shirt,” you pause, mumbling, “cover art looks familiar.” Denki wishes he knew how you soothe your nerves. He wants you to stare at him for as long as you want, whenever you want. There’s no telling who’s more excited about it being the album you guessed it was, but you’re the only one trying to hide your grin in your shoulder, conversational resolve crumbling rapidly at the topic. The blouse you wore to session this week is a little more fitting than last week’s. Denki feels like he can see you a little in this and that enthralls him. He wants to give you so many compliments that he bites back, like that it’s a nice color on you, a shade of yellow you felt like donning today for some reason. When you break and ask him what other artists he listens to, he’s on cloud nine.

“A little bit of everything,” he rushes, “which I've been told before is a lame answer.” You smile at his honesty. How can he be so humble, sometimes, and so cocky, others? Denki watches your posture let down, relaxing as you listen to him. “I just think every genre has some good stuff in it, even if you have to dig a little more in some than others in order to find it.” You nod your head, turning towards him in your stool as he continues. “And I like that kind of investigation, ‘cause if you couldn't tell,” he gestures to himself and his grand, restless entirety, “I get bored pretty easily.” You laugh, eyes lighting up in his reflection, his energy and presence. He makes you so happy to be around– and that’s dangerous.

"Music is such a big part of my life,” you try, adjusting your glasses, “that limiting it for the sake of identity or whatever would be, um,” He wonders how many times a day you push those glasses up the bridge of your nose when they’ve barely even fallen. “counterproductive in many ways.”

“Yeeahh, you get it!” His smile is stunning, the brightest one to date. You could wheel him into the Biology class next door and tell them you brought a sun lamp. It’s like Denki’s excitement could come off in actual sparks from his beautiful body when you’re brave enough to indulge him. His dazzling teeth and the pretty pink tongue you can only imagine lies right behind them. “I live in a fraternity house,” he continues and something in you buckles, “so when we have parties and stuff it can be a whole lot of the same sound, but I've got like a million different records in my room when I need a change.” Denki’s too busy telling his story to catch how the flame in your eyes has dipped a little, “And the cool thing about having your own room in college is you can close the door and do or listen to whatever you want, you know?” He shoots you a suggestive grin. You’d have been more embarrassed by his playful, provocative air, but you’re slipping into something almost absent, so you just chuckle, lightly. And you go on like this, smiling politely at his tales for the rest of the hour before beginning to pack your bag. Denki’s got a pencil clipped to his flipped open notebook as he trips over himself to exit the classroom at the same time as you, stopping you outside the door. “Before we go, could I– maybe get your number?” You look up at him with vulnerability in your eyes but he’s so fucking nervous. All he sees when he looks at you right now is so pretty, holy shit. “We can talk project stuff over the weekend if you want. I know we’ve fallen behind schedule a little and–” you’re already writing your number on the page, your hand stuttering when he adds, “I could buy you dinner–” you look up and it’s that familiar, electric smile, twitching slightly at its edges from adrenaline, “since that’s very much my fault.”

Your smile, small as it is, holds so much confusion and reclusion and still yet– hope.

“Yeah, we’ll talk.” You write your name next to your number when you finish it, like he doesn’t already know, but your brain’s short circuiting. “L-later, Denki.”

You leave and he follows up with an awkward “Yeah, see you later!” as he watches your backside disappear through the door to the stairwell. Your brain, even when the fresh air hits you and you’re free of his intoxicatingly attractive presence, feels like mush. He’d asked for your number and you gave it to him. Kaminari Denki. Some class A pretty boy, a fucking fraternity brother asking for your phone number. It was… because you're lab partners. That's totally normal. He couldn’t mean anything else by it…right? He did make the dinner comment, though. You zip your jack up against the slight breeze, fighting the urge to pull the hood over your head like a security blanket. But, he couldn’t mean it as a date. You’re just another thing he'll get bored with entertaining, soon. He said it himself that he's like that– so there's no use fusing.

Totally not smooth, dude. Denki’s dragging a hand down his face when he catches the guys standing where they usually wait, staring. Kirishima can’t keep a laugh from escaping his covered mouth. Bakugou’s shaking his head towards the floor like he pities him.

"Never gonna’ happen, bro." Bakugou sighs at him.

"Oh yeah? Why not?" Denki folds his arms over his chest.

"You tell me, doofus” he sneers.

"Well, I just got her number so, HAH." Denki waves his notebook in Bakugou’s face with a childlike tenacity, absolutely vibrating.

"Did yah get her number because she's your lab partner ‘n she gave it to yah for academic shit?" Bakugou turns his face to the sky as they walk out into the afternoon sunshine, hands folding behind his head.

"Buzzkill," He pouts. Kirishima ruffles Denki’s hair with one giant hand and he’s happy again, just like that, nuzzling into Kiri’s palm with a smile.

"Yeah Katsuki, let the man have dreams.”

"Alright. Just saying she didn’t look that interested– or like the type that usually fucks you." None of Bakugou’s concern for Denki showing outwardly, of course, just his audacity.

“So she’s a bit tamer than the usual callers, who cares!” He smirks, “She’s a learning experience.”

“Learning? You?” Bakugou chuckles.

Denki softly wacks Katsuki over the back of his head. “Hey! I’m plenty smart–” but Bakugou is already lunging at him with surprise and rage at the offense.

Kiri’s prying them apart when Sero saunters over from his building, slinging a backpack over his shoulder. He lifts an eyebrow at Kiri like, What now?

“There wasn’t even a real argument,” Kiri chuckles as he holds the two men apart with an almost leisurely ease. “You’re making Sero look less cool by association! Get it together.” Bakugou snarls over the sound of Sero’s laughter.

“But babe, he hit me."

Kiri reaches down, pinching his cheek. "Did someone fight back to the rude thing you said?" Kirishima coos.

Katsuki, not knowing how to process that, turns on his heels and brats off, face and ears a beet red.

"Where are you going!?” Kiri calls after him, “Don't be like that."

Denki’s voice comes out in an awed whisper. "I can't believe you said that to him.” Sero nods in agreement.

"He'll cool off,” Kiri shrugs, but both men are still looking at him with clear concern. “Some things he needs to hear,” he sighs, “and better from me than from you. I won't lose a limb over it– he likes mine too much.” He stretches the muscles in his mammoth arms, grinning suggestively with that full row of big, white teeth, looking almost as cocky as his boyfriend– and any tension dissipates.

“Lunch?” Kiri chirps before wrapping his boundless wingspan around his housemates, pulling them along by their shoulders.

It’s Friday night when Denki texts you, early evening.

“Happy Friday, y/n. It’s Denki, your super cu–...” he backtracks his typing. Dial it back maybe. Just a little.

You look down at your phone as his messages arrive in quick succession.

Unknown Number (6:05 PM) : “Hey, y/n. It’s Denki. I’m free if you want to meet for the project or pasta.”

(6:06 PM) : “...or any other food. I went with pasta for the alliteration.”

(6:06 PM) : “Now I’m trying to think of other foods that start with ‘p.’ Panini? Italian is where this is going I guess, haha. Oh, and here’s my address.

(6:10 PM) : Just let me know if you’re interested :D

You stare at the screen until it times out. You’d half expected him to never text you at all, despite thinking about him nonstop. Denki asking you to dinner was like a strange, fever dream. Shouldn’t he have better, distracting things to do with his weekend; things that matched his energy; women who matched his energy. You don’t text back for a few hours, roaming around your apartment doing way too many chores for a Friday night, just to busy your hands. Still, there he was. You wash dishes, swirling a brush around the inside of a mug and it’s Denki, spinning the rings he wears on his lean fingers when he’s bored. You fold the laundry, stacking it neatly for your drawers and it’s Denki, stacking your folders and notebooks for you to pack away. You clean the bathroom mirror under the inferior, inorganic lights and it’s Denki, his stupidly perfect smile, outshining anything you’ve ever stood under. You just… couldn't go out with that Ken doll of a man. You’re not Barbie. And he’s so ridiculous and dorky in the best ways. What if this is all just one big joke at your expense? Maybe tomorrow, you decide. Maybe I’ll calm down and answer him tomorrow.

Ever the optimist, this is exactly what Denki hopes for when you haven’t texted. Maybe tomorrow. There’s still Saturday and Sunday. That’s why he hit you up on Friday anyway, so you’d have a choice of day from the weekend, so it’s chill. He heads downstairs to hang out with the guys, because it will distract him from you. He can help Kiri help Bakugou with dinner and it will distract him from thinking about what you two might have had to eat. He can crack jokes with Sero over a bowl and it will distract him from the image of your smile, how it feels to hear your laughter in real-time. He can watch TV with them on the couch, pretend he finds whatever plastic looking actress stars in the action movie to be as sexy as you and it will distract him from how adorable you look in those big shirts, and how turned on he gets when you wear something that allows him to even moderately see your figure. If that doesn’t work, if Denki can’t get you out of his head, he can tell them all he’s “going to bed,” and finish off his dirty thoughts in privacy. How would your face look if you let him under that blouse? If he rolled your nipples slowly and gently between his fingers before sucking at them harshly, grazing them a little with his teeth just to see what kind of noises you’d make, where you’d grab at him. If Denki couldn’t get you out of his head then he could sit on the edge of his bed and picture you there; how good you’d feel on top, riding his dick in nothing but one of his big shirts you’d start wearing in place of your own if you were together, if you were his. He’d ask you to, anyway, he’d beg you to wear his clothes. If Denki couldn’t get you out of his head he could fall backwards into his sheets after coming for the second time in a row like a fucking teenager, lay there on his back all wrecked and overstimulated, and realize how screwed he is if you’re not interested– so he does.

It’s Sunday afternoon when you finally answer.

Y/N: Hey, Denki. Sorry for the slow response. Got kinda’ caught up this weekend. It’s super nice of you to think of me. We’ll work something out in class?

The guys have been pretending like they don’t notice Denki moping around all weekend. Well, Denki’s version of moping. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His restlessness seems more from a place of discomfort than excitement. He doesn’t care what Bakugou makes for lunch. He isn’t sparking any opinion debates amongst everyone. He keeps wandering off to his room. What Denki doesn’t see is you, sitting on the edge of your own bed, practically rocking back and forth before you sent that text message. You, asking yourself why you’re still like this, why you have to be so scared, why you can’t just let yourself consider the butterflies in your stomach. He doesn’t see you, burning your dinner because you keep zoning out, looking over to you cell phone that you keep bringing with you into every room, waiting for a reply that never comes; one that that might make you feel better, prove you right about it probably being no big deal to him, after all. Denki sits down at his barely used study desk and tries to knock out some homework before sleep, but his ability to focus is even worse than usual. Instead he just sits there, knees hugged into his chest, appreciating how your name looks next to your number in his notebook, the particular style and angle at which you draw your letters. He thinks you have really cool handwriting. He turns the light out.

“Not that I don’t like you looking at me, but your sample B is gonna’ spill.”

“Oh! I’m–” you shoot up from where you’ve been hunched over the lab counter. The sudden recoil of one arm knocks your sample tube over, blue dye tinted liquid spilling all over the manual papers. “Shit! I’m so sorry oh my god.” Denki’s not half as stressed as you are about it. He’s honestly still recovering from your having gazed at him as you zoned out. There’s been a sad look to your mouth all morning and he hates to see it deepen even further the way it is now.

“Hey, it’s cool! Y/n, It’s alright.” Your hair’s a little messed up from how you’d been leaning on your hand. Your eyes are so alive, a bit frantic, he tries his best not to find it cute.

“No it’s not! I ruined them.” You sound so sad. “They’re yours too.”

“Y/n,” Denki attempts a serious tone and you look up, “We can just ask the professor for new ones.” You blink at him, shocked and calmed by his lack of anger regarding your mishaps.

“Just, breathe for a second, yeah? I’ll be right back.” Your responses are dazed, nodding as he stands from his stool and leaves. The spilled solution bleeds into more lines of printed text as the papers soak it. Your thoughts are interrupted by a hesitant, gentle tug at your sleeve. “Y/n?” He says your name so nicely and so often. Why is his voice just as heavenly as the rest of him? He’s touching you. That’s his hand on your sleeve, fingers barely brushing the exposed skin of your wrist, yet you feel like you've been shocked. If your arms were exposed, he’d see goosebumps everywhere.

“Arms above your head” Denki whispers. Your heart stops, mouth visibly parting. You look left and right as if anyone else was close enough to hear him, as if you two were even doing anything to be caught in.

“W-what?” Your immediate embarrassment is so sexy. Denki loves confident, experienced, outspoken women and his long history of salivating over them, but there’s just something about how shy and worked up you get the second he says something even remotely suggestive or looks at you for too long.

He giggles. “Well, at least the right arm.” You furrow your brows. “C’mon. Trust me.”

You do as he says, sheepishly raising an arm above your head, resting a hand on your warm, flushed neck. He leans forward and starts dabbing at your forearm with a wet paper towel that you hadn’t even realized he’d come back with. “See, you got it on your sweater.”

“Oh” is all you say because having Denki’s body so near is making your head swim. You can smell whatever cologne he wears. It’s sort of a classic scent, but there’s bright undertones to it, maybe some citrus behind…cedarwood?

“You could totally be mad at me right now, but you’re not.” It’s a quiet, bewildered murmur. Denki’s not sure you even meant to say it out loud. He’s been nothing but sweet and casual to you all morning, despite your texting disaster. And now, this happens– and he’s still the one comforting you.

“You think I’d be mad at you?” He says it like you’re insulting his character, and maybe you are from what you’ve learned.

“Well, you’d have a right to be.” There’s shame in the way you hold your shoulders. Your eyes downcast to match.

“We have a right to be a lot of things that are still kind of shitty to be.” You lift your face and it's so, so close to his. “But that’s just my own opinion.” The small grin on his kissable mouth. The slight squeeze he gives your elbow while he holds your arm, sounding like the first day you ever spoke to him. This man says these crazy smart things out of nowhere, not to assert himself over you or make you feel dumb– but, because he wants your opinion too.

“You’re really kind, you know.” Your whisper, sweet and confessional. Denki wants to hear it again, against his lips– anything you say in that tone.

“Yeahh,” he sighs dramatically, still working for a smile, “but, it’s nice to hear, anyway.” You roll your eyes, huffing. “I’m also really funny and cute and cool, so feel free to tell me those things too. Did I tell you I play the guitar?” You try to bite down your smile and he watches you lose, mouth wavering as it rises, curling upward just the way he wanted it.

“I’m going to go ask the professor for a new lab manual.” You state, but make no move to rise or take his arm from yours.

“Okay.” He replies, making no move to change your position, either. The longer you let yourself stare at him, the faster time passes. Slowly, and so fucking reluctantly, he lets your arm down, knowing that if you keep looking at him like that he’ll kiss you.

You return with the frown on your face Denki worked so hard to get rid of. He’s already a bit pissed at the professor for whatever he did to return it there so quickly.

“Oof,” he shakes his head, “not go so well?”

“He uh, sure did choose to be one of the shittier ways he had the right to be.” You’re disappointed when he doesn’t laugh, figuring he’d find that funny. He would have, usually, but right now he’s folding his arms over his chest, clearly unhappy. “Like a jackass?” It’s more of an announcement than a statement, not of modest volume level at all.

“Denki!” You step close and swat at him, practically standing between his knees where he sits. You both gasp a little at the contact, like you’re just as surprised by your own motions. “B-be quiet,” you plead, still staring at where your hand connected with his chest, “He’ll hear you.”

“Hm” is all you get back as Denki considers everything other than doing that. God, he can’t decide what he feels stronger about, you standing between his legs with that hot look on your face when you beg him to do or not do something, or that the shitty professor hurt your feelings.

He could get a hard on just from you standing there, lightly brushing against his thighs with your waist. Once you sit back down in your stool, thoroughly as strung up as him about the contact, the both of you are quieter than usual for the remaining minutes of class. You catch him side-eyeing the professor as he packs up, face is twisted, eyes accusatory. He looks like someone’s ticked off pageant mom.

“What’s that face about?” You laugh and he softens at the sound, eyes trailing your face, then your neck, then your shoulders. It makes your legs weak when Denki looks at you like he’s studying something, like he doesn’t give a fuck if you catch him.

“Just thinking of how to get back at him for being a jerk to you.” The mischievous grin makes you think he’ll really do something. “Lots of fun ideas.”

“No no. Let’s just, just call it a day.”

“Fiiine,” Denki submits.

Leaving class today feels like you’re missing something, or like you’re about to miss something, or maybe both. Should you have brought up the weekend? About not texting him? Denki’s trailing close behind you as you pass through the lab’s propped open door. “Hey y/n, my next class got canceled, so I was wondering if I could like, walk you to yours?” Oh God. He’s playing nervously with one of his stud earrings while he asks you, the ones he keeps in his upper cartilage which look so, so hot on him.

“But, what about your frien–” you look over to the corner they usually decorate when they wait for him, but no one’s there.

“My friends? Told them not to wait up. No worries.” Pink brushes Denki’s cheeks at the thought of you putting two and two together. He told them to knock off so he could ask to walk you.

“O-oh, thanks then.”

“Is that a yes?” He chuckles.

“Oh. Yeah.” You adjust your backpack strap. “Thank you.”

He follows you into the elevator and it’s just you and him standing side by side, shoes only an inch or two apart, adrenaline souring. That is until none other than your sour professor steps in at the last minute, giving you both a foul look. He turns away from you two, waiting for the doors to close as he bitches about something to someone on his cellphone. In an effort to make you laugh and, let’s be real, to obtain his own revenge, Denki stands in front of you and make pretends a phone with one hand, droning on like the professor is. He twists the headphones resting around his neck and and uses them to mime that he’s choking to death, likely from boredom, you assume. You seriously have to put a real effort into not laughing out loud. You look so hot with your hand half covering your mouth, teeth on your bottom lip. Denki should take that hand and pin it behind your back so he can see that gorgeous smile, so he can kiss you into a whole different kind of needing to contain yourself. When the professor starts turning around, you panic, grabbing Denki by the front of his v-neck and pulling him into you to stop his acting before it’s seen. The elevator dings, doors opening and releasing your professor who may or may not have seen what’s unfolding now. Neither of you can know or care with your fronts pressed together, bodies flush against each other. He’s so warm.

Denki looks down at your hand still fisted in the front of his shirt, and you quickly remove it, much to his chagrin. "'m sorry. He was going to see you. He–" your sentence drifts off as you simply can’t finish it. Denki looks contrary to his usual air. You’ve seen charming and teasing and tantalizing, but never this– hungry, motivated look in his eyes as he grits his teeth, doing everything in his power to not push you by your hips into the wall and taste that pretty mouth. What would you do if he told you to put both arms above your head this time. Would you listen? Would you press your hips into his? Could he get you needy in public? He’s still imagining this when the elevator dings, doors opening again.

“D-denki. It’s my stop.” Your breathy murmur breaks him from his precious, perverted scenarios. Once he comes to and follows you out of the elevator, he almost feels guilty about them. Denki told himself he’d try to ease up on the flirting, give you a chance to tell him to buzz off, to say you don’t like him and that’s why you never texted back, but it’s so hard around you, so hard.

“My next class is in Jamison” you mutter and he nods, turning off in the appropriate direction beside you. “Sorry if I, uh–”

“Don’t apologize,” Denki says pathetically quickly, “I minded like, 0%”

You feel your face heat for maybe the 20th time today. “Oh.”

Denki watches the way your shoe laces bounce on top of your boots as you walk, one bow tie lopsided and ready to loose. He’d lean down and fix it for you if you let him.

“You’re mad shy with compliments, aren’t you?”

Your hands start shaking. “Um they– only give me like a minor heart attack, yeah.”

He laughs. “Is that why I didn’t get to cook you pasta over the weekend?”

“Did you… actually want to do that?” You haven’t looked up from your shoes.

“What do you mean? Of course.” You fidget with the drawstrings of your hoodie, missing the nervous look on his face, the deep breath he has to pull before adding “I was asking you out, y/n. Of course I did.” You can feel yourself begin to panic, the nausea rising in your gut, head spinning. You didn’t know he was asking you out, not for sure, and it was scary. You weren’t used to this shit being real.

“I’m not s-sure that would go over well.” The ground looks like it’s started to spin.

“Why?” There’s that earnest wondering of his. Why? you think, Fuck, why?

“You’re um, sociable, Denki, a-and happy, and talkative.” They’re compliments, an urgency in their conveyance, trying to explain why you’re not good enough for him without saying just that.

“Is that not, um?” He scratches at his neck, trying to find the words, “what a date should be like? Do you want someone who’s like, rude and absent?”

It hits you like a fist to your upset stomach. It hits you like the truth. And you can’t process that kind of truth while you’re narrowly avoiding feeling the most vulnerable you’ve felt in ages, as well as an anxiety attack.

“Why would you want to go out with me? We have like, nothing in common.” It sounds mean, crawling out of your mouth from a place of ugly, defensive fear.

“How’d you figure that?” Again, his wanting to know, his questioning. You’re exposed. It’s like the sun, every star, every light in the galaxy is pointed at you, looking for something you don’t have; someone you can’t be– so bright you want to hide.

“I don’t know! I’m s-sort of nerdy and you don’t s-seem to care about your grades that much and I–”

“When did you get that impression?” Denki is defensive now too, if only slightly, or he wouldn’t be interrupting you this much.

“Well, you–” you’re sputtering, not taking enough breaths, “s-spend most of class either talking to people or staring off into space and–”

“That’s not because I don’t care about what we’re learning.” You look up and he looks so embarrassed, so sad, like he’s the one being bullied. Your chest stings to see it. “It’s just hard for me to focus in class.” He sighs. “That’s partly why I want to study together….” Denki’s arms have lost their usual sway and bounce when he walks, hanging weakly at his sides.

“Oh. I’m sorry then, that I uh…” you bite your lip.

“Blew me off?” Denki makes a conscious choice to giggle, to lighten the mood for you the way he does for everyone, to ease the pressure of wounds before reaching your building, but it’s a sick sound. He can take a hint and be respectful where he’s not wanted. He’s not a teenage boy anymore. “It’s alright. “Look, I get it. You’re not interested. It’s cool.” There’s a desperation in your eyes that he can’t see. He can’t look at your face again right now. Denki can’t see past what he’s forcing himself to output so he can leave this conversation on a brighter note. You’ve reached the doors of your building. “Just let me know when we can meet about the project, cool? ‘Cause it does um,” his face looks feverish, “matter to me.” You're lost for words. You feel so stupid and shitty. Denki turns on the heel of his Converse and waves goodbye with, somehow, still a hint of that boyish smile for you, even if you did just pull his heart out. “See yah, y/n.” And then he’s gone. And your anxiety sits down in the wake of an overwhelmingly heavy, lonely guilt, rolling out across your insides– with no sun, no stars. And the so dark is worse than the so bright, much worse.

When Denki doesn’t show up to class the next session you can’t focus on the lecture, the lab, anything. You’re even more indisposed than you’ve already felt constantly since last session. You even dressed up today, putting on your favorite skirt with a blouse that mildly hugs your figure, a slight v-neck frame with a length that can be easily tucked into the shirt. Is he not going to give you a chance to apologize? Still, he shouldn’t miss class material. He cares about his grade and it's important to your project too. Your cellphone hides in your lap and you fuss with it, turning it back and forth, considering texting him. Is he sick, maybe? He did text you his address last week, so maybe you should bring him your notes? Would that be invasive? Even if he doesn’t want to hear you out about the other day, he should still have the make-up material he missed in class. You’re his lab partner, you can take that much liberty, at least. Plus, if Denki’s not home or doesn’t want to see you then you can just hand it to one of his housemates and run away. Oh God, you inhale shakily, his frat brothers. If you go, you’ll have to meet them. It’s a lot of fear to ruminate on all day, but apparently not enough to not go, as you fidget with your outfit in the shitty lighting of the bathroom mirror after your last class, smoothing over wrinkles that don’t exist, adjusting straps that don’t need adjusting. All you can think of is explaining yourself. That matters more than the fear, apologizing.

Being in Greek Village felt like being a 15 year old emo at homecoming court. Your sneakers seemed to carry you there though, pretty decisively, even if you did feel like you might throw up your bento the whole time. It wasn’t just Denki’s fraternity house, it was all of them, in a roundabout, like a little hellfire circle. You do mentally guided breathing practices while you check for house numbers until you find the one matching the address he texted you. It looks like any other house around town that existed before the university bought it to rent out to fraternities. It’s a tan color, kind of boring exterior, but the greek letter plaques above the garage differentiate it from what might be your run-of-the-mill suburban family home. The porch is surprisingly well-kept and a handful of plants, maybe herbs, grow in pots fastened to the railing. A quaint loveseat swing sits next to a coffee table that has a copy of the county newspaper strewn across it, pages flipping up and down in the breeze. The lack of broken glass and crushed solo cups you had expected to see gives way to a much more interesting scene. Who sits out on the porch and reads the newspaper at a fraternity house? You’d think they keep some nice little ol’ lady here. The front door swings open before you’ve ever knocked on it, jarring you from your thoughts. Behind it is a very muscular blonde man, one you recognize from the group of dude’s Denki’s always with, standing with his shoulders back, looking like a mixture of a crossfit model and an angry guard dog. He gives you an uncomfortably obvious up-down, before his eyes rest on the newspaper clutched to your chest.

“Can we help you, princess? Or did you just come to steal my newspaper?”

“O-oh, this is yours?” You try not to sound too shocked.

He grunts.

“It was going to fly away, so I grabbed it. H-here.” You shove it toward him with an almost pleading urgency.

“Thanks,” he puts it under one of his massive arms, “Wasn’t finished with my crossword puzzle.”

Your eyebrows raise and drop quickly, but he notices, chuffing softly.

Bakugou doesn’t need to ask who you’re here for, but he can avoid creeping you out with that information, so he waits for you to speak.

“I’m y/n, Denki’s lab partner. I–” his crimson eyes are either scary or intoxicating, but either way you feel dizzy trying to hold them, “I wanted to know if he’s okay?” Cute, Bakugou thinks. “He didn’t come to class today, so I brought him my notes from lecture!” You say a little too enthusiastically to seem casual, “In case he’s sick or… something?” Clearly, you want an answer to “something?” If it were Kirishima at the door, hell, even if it were Hanta, you’d have likely received some socially courteous lie amongst the lines of “Denki’s up in bed with a fever.” or “He’s got a terrible headache today” or even “He thinks class blows and there’s cooler ways to learn.” But, since it’s Bakugou Katsuki who received you, he tilts his brows, squints his eyes distrustfully and says, “He’s probably just avoiding you.” Fuck. Um.

“U-understandable, I just thought I’d–”

“Hey! Who’s– Oh, hello,” Kirishima sings once he sees that it’s you, his arm perched on Bakugou’s shoulder as he peers out the door. “I hope you were nice to our guest.”

There is a grand silence from both you and Bakugou. Like crickets.

“Please, come in.” You think about refusing, but if you can get around the cold wall of reception that is Bakugou, maybe you can remember what you came here for. You follow the massive, red-haired man into his home. There’s another man lounged on the couch, much leaner than the previous two, built more like Denki. His presence completes the list of who you recognize of Denki’s friends. Sero is smiling at you gently, intrigued by the slight chaos of the scene. “I’ll go get Kaminari,” Kirishima chirps before ascending a set of stairs. With him gone you feel suddenly like a kid, like your guardian dropped you off somewhere that wasn’t too scary until they left. But, when Kirishima returns with Denki, you’ll have to actually face Denki, actually apologize, actually ask him out. You’d have way more room to feel anxious about that if your nerves weren’t entirely focused on the two men sitting on the couch, looking at you, shamelessly. Hanta’s eyeing you like he could have you for a nice lunch, and Bakugou’s eyeing you like he could kill you so Hanta could have you for a nice lunch. You tap your red Keds together, nervously, knees bending as you rock back and forth a little on your toes, waiting.

Denki’s voice is something it almost hurts to hear, because you’ve missed it, and hadn't realized just how much.

“Uh hey, y/n.” He’s wearing a black jacket over a plain white v-neck and black skinny jeans, looking classically him, classically handsome, but also– maybe also a little like someone who may have just thrown pants and a jacket over their lazy day shirt when told that the girl from their I’m Staying Home to Avoid This Girl Day showed up at their house. His hair is a little mussed up, not as perfectly shaped as normal, but still just as gorgeous. He looks nervous, but hopeful, a spark in his eyes that wasn’t there when he left you on the steps of Jamison.

What is she wearing? His brain starts overheating. That’s a skirt. Holy shit, y/n, those legs…

You need him to say something. Why isn’t he saying anything. Is he? Is he actually sick maybe? The cognitive decline is rapid. He looks like someone pulled a plug. He inhales deeply, evenly, thinking, Stop it Denki. She hurt your feelings– b-but there are so many bedrooms so close to us right now that outfit could be on the floor of outasdfghkl so hot so hot.

“Denki?” Your voice pulls his eyes to your face, no less distracting than the rest of you, but you look ill. “I came to–” you look terrified actually, which helps sober him a little, “i-is it okay if I apologize?”

He takes a few steps forward, pushing off the railing of the stairs, so you can feel his familiar presence in at least the same room as you. Amongst all these strangers, Denki can only assume you’re struggling quite a bit to speak up. He wants to grab your hands between his, comfort their shaking.

“Yeah, I mean you don’t have to–” You immediately cut him off.

“Y-yes. I do. I’m s-sorry.” He tilts his head at you like a puppy, concerned at how upset you sound, voice trembling.

“I was rude and mis-misleading. I th-thought about,” you take a deep, loud inhale, not giving a fuck about how obvious you make it that you’re emotional. You need to get this out right now or you won’t do it. Breathe. “I thought about what you s-said. Dates that are mean or ignore me isn’t what I want, but it is what I’m used to.” Everyone’s eyes soften in your direction, including Bakugou’s. You twiddle your thumbs. “And people as handsome as you are just asses to me, usually.”

“So you do think I’m handsome?” Denki’s eyes are huge. He looks like one of those orphaned puppies in kids movies. The pristine golden retriever puppy you’re supposed to find in a cardboard box on the street, which isn’t realistic. And that’s your point. Denki looks like what everyone wants and no one abandons.

“Pathetic,” Bakugou growls, “let her finish.” Kirishima shoots his boyfriend a look that says You, shut up.

“Duh, Denki. I have eyes.” Denki is aglow now, almost literally. He could shoot off into space at your compliment, but he’s trying to pay attention. “I was being close-minded and– everything you said about me was true.” The way he’s raking his eyes all over you right now makes your knees weak. You can’t believe you’re saying this in front of all his friends. “You’re v-very smart, actually,” and in any even shyer whisper, “and more emotionally intelligent than I am, prob’ly.”

“‘bout time” Bakugou mutters. Sero reaches over quickly, tapping his mouth shut with a hand.

“Sorry about him, sweetness,” Sero grins as Katsuki growls into his palm, “he’s muzzled now.”

You don’t really care that much. You’re consumed by Denki and how to stop rambling and what he’ll say when you do stop rambling and if your nervous knees are going to buckle into the floor of Sigma Phi Delta’s living room.

“Anyway, I’m just,” you shuffle your feet a little, eyes shifting to the ground because you can’t look at him and say this part. “I’m really sorry. And if you want to come study tonight I’d make you dinner at my place and we can um–” Denki’s ecstatic to hear that, coming to full-bodied life again as if his heart has some master switch you just flipped back on, “work on the project, but I know it’s a school night, so–”

“Hah! Like he cares that it’s a school night,” Bakugou howls from the couch.

“Hey!” Kiri yells from the kitchen, pointing a finger, “when did you lose your muzzle!?”

“Sorry, Mom!” Sero tapes a hand back over his mouth, but Bakugou slaps it away.

“Quit that shit or else.” Hanta weighs his options, having too much fun with everything in the room.

You lift your head and Hanta’s kicking off the couch. “My apologies, princess. He does bite, so I’m not risking my fingers. You’ll just have to ignore him.” Katsuki rolls his eyes as Sero saunters over, extending said fingers for you to shake. “I’m Sero, by the way.” You’d never noticed him much from afar, but he’s quite captivating one-on-one. His smile is natural and charming as he shakes your hand, bowing his head a little. Denki has seen him woo too many girls at too many parties in this living room to be okay with this. Everyone, actually, is paying too much attention to you for his liking. He steps forward, slotting himself between you and Sero. You finish shaking his hand with that coy smile on your face that none of them should get the privilege to gawk at.

Denki grabs it, gently squeezing your fingers. “Let’s get you away from the vultures.”

There’s a unified chorus of mild uproar. “Vultures!?” and “Yo!” and “What the fuck?”

“Oh no, it’s fine!” you naively insist, “They’re um, they’ve been nice to me, Denki.”

“Yeah, Denki,” Sero smirks at him, chock-full of conspiracy, “We’ll be really nice to her.”

Bakugou chuckles lowly from the couch.

A sudden tug at your shirt sleeve pulls you forward, urging you towards the stairs behind him. “Nah, you’re coming with me to grab my bag, please.” It’s decisive and a tad pathetic, like Denki can’t let you get away anymore for anything– which is exactly what the boys were working for.

“Boo!” Sero calls out after you both, “Lame!”

“But, Denki! I didn’t even take my shoes off!” You protest. All three men behind you still watch your skirt ascend the stairs, cackling as you struggle to keep up with him, despite their mostly good intentions.

“It’s fine,” Denki dismisses, “Bakugou’s a cleaning junkie.”

The walk back to your place is warm, a hum of energy in the air between you two, quietly giddish. You don’t know what to do with your hands. All skirts should just have pockets. Denki keeps sticking his hands in his own pockets and pulling them out while he talks in circles. You’d think he hadn’t seen you in months, the amount he has to say.

“Sorry to show up all unannounced like that. I hope that Bakugou guy isn’t too mad. He didn’t seem to like me very much.” You giggle.

“Oh no, it’s cool! He’s just a little… protective.” Denki smiles, shyly. “I think he saw me sulking a little when I didn’t hear from you.” You’re flattered and ashamed at the same time, smiling down at your feet. “Bakugou just has a mouth on him like that about anything,” he assures.

“Damn. Really?” You watch your feet pass over concrete sidewalk blocks, so Denki watches them too, relishing in how fucking good your legs look in this outfit, your pretty, exposed skin.

“Yeahh. At dinner last night he called Kiri a ‘tasteless, inferior coward’ for preferring his chips without dips, and that’s his boyfriend, soo…” your head is already thrown back in laughter, “if that’s any indicator,” he finishes, gazing at you with a satisfied expression. He’d do anything to make you laugh like that as often as he can. And God, this blouse. He can actually make out the slope of your shoulders, how they move up and down with your laughter.

“Well is he like, lactose intolerant or something?”

“No,” he says and you crinkle your cute little nose with judgment.

“Oh. Then, that is kind of questionable.”

The walk to your apartment feels like five minutes rather than the 20 it truly takes. Denki says your Keds are cool and “a good choice for you since your shoes always need retying,” plus whatever else he can conjure up to keep you oscillating between your witty sarcasm and those shy little smiles you give when he points out something else about you that you didn't expect him to notice or to like.

Denki wants to know what your room looks like, like really wants to know (so he can have new material for his guilty daydreams that are feeling less and less guilty every time you look at him with your lip between your teeth.) When he steps into your apartment though, what he gets is just as good. You’ve spread blankets on the floor with pillows to lean back on and there’s a nice air freshener going, something fresh and cool smelling, maybe cucumber. One of the living room windows is cracked for the warm evening breeze to come through. Some of your folders and notebooks already lay out on the floor, the only thing distinguishing the scene as a study date.

“Damn,” he whistles, “someone expected me to say yes, didn’t she?”

You hide your face in your hands, but he pulls them away, leaning down to get in your space like he’s wanted to for so long, teasing you.

“Not expected, j-just hoped! I was gonna’ ask you in class, originally, and I–” you bat your pretty eyelashes at him, and that alone makes his pants feel tight. “I’ve been feeling kind of horrible, and I don’t have any roommates, so this gave me something to do.”

“Yeah?” he presses, trying to not get stuck on the no roommates thing, “Been a wreck over hurting my feelings, doll?” You’d say something smart, but the nickname makes your head spin and your stomach flutter.

“A little, yeah.” You mutter, a grand understatement.

“‘s all okay.” He pinches your cheek. “What’d you make me to eat?”

“Pushing it, Kaminari.” Your frown is adorable.

Denki makes himself comfortable on the floor, taking some books out of his bag as you go pull a platter of finger foods from the fridge, returning to sit down beside him. You fold your legs into each other and he can’t take his eyes off of them, the way your feet tuck up into your thighs as you sit criss-cross in that sinfully angelic skirt. You’re fucking killing him in this outfit.

“I brought snacks” you chirp and he slowly lifts his eyes, traveling from your thighs to your waist to you clavicle and by the time he reaches your face, you feel like your heart has stopped.

“Mhm, you sure did.” Denki’s voice is darker, golden cat eyes dilating several centimeters as they stare you down. You have a feeling he’s not talking about the cheese and crackers.

“Th-the grapes are my favorite.” You pick one off the plate and pop it into your mouth, skittish under his intense ogling. Shit, that was dorky.

Denki chuckles, picking another grape up and scooching closer to you, holding it out in front of your face.

“Open,” he says it gently, but there’s no room for argument in his eyes. He can feel himself getting hard from just your lips brushing across his fingers as he places it on your wet, pink tongue.

You're absolutely pulsing. It’s all you can hear in your ears and all you can feel between your thighs, how aroused you are with him in your living room like this, feeding you.

“You did all this for me?” Denki asks.

“Yeah.” You’re still staring at him, “I– really am sorry, Denki.” He tries to excuse your 20th apology, but you keep going, because it’s important. “Remember w-when we were talking about choosing to be happy?” Darkening eyes flit across your face as he listens. “You know, like when you have a choice?” Your voice is unsteady. He nods. “I’m still working on that,” you whisper, bare and confessional.

Denki drags a knuckle across the span of your cheek.

“It’s okay, y/n. You can just make it up to me by like, doing our entire project or something.”

“W-what!?” You attempt to move away from him, but he puts a hand at your lower back, keeping you there.

“Or,” he stresses, theatrically, “you could let me kiss you?” It’s so smooth the way he pitches it, but the rouge that thoroughly dusts his cheeks gives him away, just as vulnerable and wanting as you.

“Second one,” you mutter, “D-definitely.” He’s too excited to laugh. You’re too excited to scold him for teasing you. Denki cups your face with his opposite hand, pressing his lips to yours, bringing your body in closer. There’s so much behind his kiss, so much you still don’t understand, but want to accept it. When you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip he groans, lifting your body to straddle him. Denki's kisses are deep and playful, like him. He nips at your lip gently and when you moan, pulling at his shirt, he does it again. Denki tries to keep his hands on your hips, move slowly, but all he wants to do is feel you everywhere, know you everywhere. You break away when you’re nearly breathless. In your eyes is just, total fondness… and comfort, maybe, which is what he’s wanted from you all along.

“You’re so pretty,” you smile, pushing blonde locks behind his ear before reaching up to play with an earring. Denki melts under the affection.

“Am I?” He smirks with his eyes shut. You rock your hips into his boner to see that smug face shift to the image of him biting down on his lip, whining pathetically.

“Fuck, y/n.” Denki can’t be patient anymore. He holds you firmly in his arms, lowering you down onto your back. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about you like this." He kisses along your clavicle as your chest moves up and down rapidly, breathing deeply from his touch.

"Jerked off to the thought of you in my lap, riding me like that." You moan shamelessly at his pervert tales. "More than once," he hisses, sounding almost pained. "So, don’t tease me. Please.” He’s begging. Denki is begging you not to tease him.

“Not teasing," you bend one leg so you can rest it into his side, caging him, nudging him into your center, “want you.”

Denki's kisses travel lower, even when your shirt gets in the way, he keeps kissing, down your chest, down your stomach while he massages your breasts, squeezing harder each time you sigh.

There are stars in his eyes when he looks up at you.

“Gonna’ put my hands under this little skirt?” but he says it like a question, attempting permission through determined lust.

“O-okay” you say demurely. His hands are on your bare thighs, inching upwards slowly, too slowly. You whine and wriggle. He just wants to feel the heat of your soft skin in his hands the way he’s imagined, not miss any of it, enjoy every second. You can be patient.

“You wore this for me?” he muses out loud, but again, it’s like a question. Denki can’t bring himself to believe this is happening, that you’re here, letting him take you. He’s got his eyes full of everything but your face right now, almost boyishly, shyly. It doesn't matter how many people he's been with– you're you.

“Yes,” you whisper softly, “For me too, but I want you t-to, to…”

“To what? 'cause I'll do it.” He says it so quickly, you giggle, gaining confidence.

“Want you to– look at me, you know, ‘like that,’” you hint suggestively at your meaning. He can’t handle how cute you are. He's nearly going down on you and you still act like this. “Just I’m, I’m n-not really sought after–”

“That you know about,” he chuffs in firm disbelief, but you frown at the interruption. “My bad, my bad,” he concedes. He'd flash his palms but he doesn't want to take them off your thighs, still peppering kisses over them while you speak.

“I want you to look at me, though." You blink at him with big, cherubic eyes. The things he wants to do to you. Denki moves up your body so he can tilt your face to his.

“What if I told you I’m looking at you all the time?”

“L-like that?” you squeak, brows raised.

“Mhm,” he hums, pulling your bottom lip down slowly with his thumb. “Like that.” When it snaps back, the kiss is immediate, hungry. It’s sudden, rougher than the last makeout. The feeling in your stomach is immeasurable, like you just need him, the pressure of him everywhere. You're hot and desperate, bucking your hips into his to urge him on. He holds you down, pressing his groin into your clothed pussy and it’s like being struck by pleasure.

“Feel what you do to me?” He’s so hard. It’s enough to have you throwing your head to one side, overwhelmed by how good it is, even with your clothes on. You’re panting and whimpering like you're in heat, pawing at him for more. Your hair is splayed out messily, lips kissed all swollen and wet by him, parted while you gasp and whine. “Baby, so sensitive,” he muses, “When’s the last time someone touched you?” He plants kisses along your jugular vein, pronounced from the turn of your head, skin damp and salty on his tongue. He'll taste you everywhere if he can, literally everywhere.

“Long time” you breathe out. There’s a firm squeeze at your breasts in response. Denki doesn't usually give a fuck, but with you? The thought of being the only one who's touching you sounds so appealing. He makes his way back to your thighs. The rings he wears feel cool to the touch in contrast to the heat of his fingers. He presses his face into your lower stomach and you yelp, needing the pressure right there somehow, right there. He inhales your scent there, everywhere, moving you around as he pleases to put his mouth somewhere. “If I had it my way you’d get fucked in everything I’ve ever see you in. Any room, any outfit.” Denki’s breath is on your thighs, lips still wet from his own salivating. He looks high off your pheromones, watching you rub your thighs together for friction. “‘Cause I thought about it in all of ‘em.” Teeth bite down at your stretch marks.

You gasp, looking down at him with awed, watery eyes.

“You are a dog.” You say under your breath as he licks each almost-wound he creates, like he’s sorry; like he isn’t just going to do it again; like you don’t desperately want him to never stop.

“Drooling at the mouth,” he agrees. Denki lifts the edges of your skirt between his index and thumbs, looking at you, expectantly. “Can I have my treat, baby?” Your head reels at the sight of him between your legs, actually salivating.

“I’ve waited so patiently, haven’t I? Been such a good boy?” You keen at his dirty language. He’s such a freak–it’s so sexy.

“Fuck” you whine, “Yes, yes you have.”

He nudges your skirt with his nose, flipping it up onto your stomach so he can get to his meal.

“Pretty,” Denki comments as he traces the front of your cute little panties, “But I bet your pussy’s prettier.” He hooks a finger into the soaked cotton over your center, pulling it over to one side so harshly you jump a little, licking his lips. “Yeahh,” he hums, “just what I fucking thought.” You can’t take it anymore, pressing his head into you and he moans at the action, at your taking initiative, and at the immediate taste on his tongue. He nudges at your soaked folds with his nose, licking as he travels up, up, until he finds– “Oh!” You gasp, squeezing his head between your thighs and he chuckles.

“Good girl. Keep me right where you want me.” He could pass out here for all he cares. Denki slips his hands under your shirt. You pull it over your head restlessly, needing less obstruction and he almost, almost leaves your pussy to get a look at you. When your gasps grow shorter, whines higher in pitch, he hounds at your clit with his nose while his tongue flicks in and out of your delicious cunt. “Taste s’ good, so fuckin’ good.” You’re nearly thrashing, thighs tensing around him even tighter, spewing incoherent words. “C’mon, baby. Let me have it.”

All it takes is a few more tight circles, a few more laps.

“Denki, denki,” you pray as you come undone for him. He’s elated, so romantic, so satiated with your pussy in his mouth and your voice in his ears.

“That’s it, babydoll.” The slurping sounds he's making are debauched and you’re so, so sensitive, pleading with him for a breather.

The only thing that pulls Denki from the taste of you is remembering that the sight of you topless waits above him. And it doesn’t disappoint. He eyes you so adoringly, so thoroughly, like he always, always has. Makes you feel warm in another way.

“Kiss me” you plead and he spreads the taste of you all over your own mouth, sharing it with you like a gift. There’s whispers between sweet, slow kisses that get slower and slower until he seems to have settled above you.

“Why’d you stop?” You squeak shyly and he smiles.

“Wanna’ keep going?” he asks evenly, sounding in better control of himself than he is.

You wrap both legs around his waist, pulling his front back into you. He chuckles at the wordless response. You grind against his covered hard-on through his pants, reaching for his belt.

“We can move to a bed if you want.”

“Here is fine,” you excuse the idea, “Here is good.”

“Needy,” he smirks. “Want me that badly, huh?” It’s that smug shit of his, not all talk, but easily flustered and broken.

“C’mon, Denki,” you turn the tables, “Told me you’d fuck me anywhere,” you pout up at him.

His eyes could roll back in his head just hearing you say that. You, wiggling your hips on the floor, writhing impatiently underneath him is the sexiest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

“You on birth control, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathe, “Yes, promise.”

“Gonna’ take this off now.” He hooks a thumb in your ruined panties and drags them down your legs, completely distracted when they catch at your ankle and hang there from one foot. You try to kick out of them but he grabs ahold on your leg, nibbling at the top of your foot before you feel his front teeth bite down ever-so-lightly on the pad of your big toe. You gasp, embarrassed at the sight.

“You’ve got the cutest feet, princess.”

“Denki, that’s dirty.” You whisper like it’s a secret.

“That’s nothing.” He holds eye contact while he slips the toe into his mouth, releasing it with a pop sound. “‘m an animal, love, remember?” You blossom internally at the nickname, relaxing fully back into the blankets, putty in his hands. When he unhooks your panties from your ankle and shoves them into his jean pocket for later, you don’t question him. You’re more concerned with the fact that he still has jeans. Your fingers fumble to get his belt undone, tugging at the length of it once it’s unbuckled. It takes you a few tries, but you free him of it. You’re helping him tug his jeans off when he sees a decision spark in your eyes. “Lie down” you whisper.

“Huh?” He’s lost some serious ground, looking quite like the needy one now.

“On your back,” you explain, grabbing his torso, twisting him behind you and onto the floor. You straddle his lower legs, lowering your head to his dick. He lets in a sharp breath and you giggle.

“I haven’t even touched it yet.” He loves that confident smile of yours, the rare sight of it becoming less and less rare. You two have so much in common when you let loose. You almost look cocky right now as you reach your hands around his hips, grabbing his ass and squeezing.

“Oh?” he grins in surprise. You giggle, over the moon. “Respect, babe. I respect.” You pinch him, harder than he expected, and he whistles, playfully.

You take his black boxer-briefs by their band, pulling them away. Denki watches how the curves of your hips move in this position. He can’t wait to take you like that, from behind, with your pretty ass up in the air.

Denki’s dick is as pretty as he is, a few inches above average length, and oozing precum from the dark pink tip. It’s your turn to drool.

“Babydoll,” you look at his clearly struggling face, “Wanna’ be inside you.” He’s whining again.

“But I’m gonna’ suck your dick?” Fucking hell.

“Another time.” Your shoulders fall and you turn away, looking embarrassed.

“Shit that’s not what I meant, I–” just the feelings of your warm breath on his cock is driving him insane, “want your mouth everywhere,” he assures, forcing you to look back at him, “but tonight’s about you?” You paw at his hips, unwilling to give in, leaning down to leave wet kisses on the length of him as he groans from somewhere deep in his throat. “Please?” You ask above the noise of Denki losing his mind at each touch of your lips.

“Fuck, princess. J-just a little, okay? Get me nice and wet before I fuck it into you?”

You feel proud, attractive even, when your tongue laps out to kitten lick at the swollen tip and he lets out a strangled noise. You swirl his precum around with your tongue, staring innocently at him while the flat of your tongue laps all the way down the thick vein running across his base.

“Holy shit,” he chokes, “You’re so hot.” You grin, wrapping your lips around the head. The warm, wet cavern of your mouth is a fucking trap. Denki has no idea how he’ll last. He’s too set on fucking you, but how, how the hell does he bring himself to stop this? You hum happily around his cock as you push him towards the back of your throat, moving your tongue around while you bob your head.

“Just like that, baby. Hnn- fuck,” the last word being drawn out in an ugly, honest whine. He’s loud and messy, letting you know just how good you’re making him feel, what he does and doesn’t like. Denki’s hips start to thrust into your mouth without his permission, moving on their own, but you can tell he’s still trying to control himself. When you spit in your hand and start massaging his balls, he reaches down with a stuttered hand.

“S-stop gotta’ stop so I can fuck you.” You give the head of him a slow, open-mouthed kiss like you’re telling it goodbye while you complain at him with sad eyes. He keeps himself from coming all over your face right there.

“Can I swallow some other time?” You beg in a raw, fucked voice. Jesus Christ. Denki grabs your face with both hands and pulls you into a sloppy kiss.

“I promise you,” sounding comically passionate about it. He cups your head for safety before flipping you roughly over onto the ground, hands groping the expanse of your ass in search of a skirt zipper. He pulls away first, appreciating how the twisted piece of clothing looks around your waist with no panties on, needy pussy on display for him. “As much as I love this,” he fidgets with the pleated edges of the skirt, “and I do love this– I wanna’ see all of you.” You’re lifting your hips for him to remove it. “Can we leave it on some other time?” His begging is so hot, so comforting, so empowering. “Promise you,” you echo him as he pulls at the band of your bra. When all your clothes are off he stops. He actually stops to stare. You have to tug at his shirt to make him realize you want him completely bare too. “You’re perfect, y/n. You’re so, so perfect.” You don’t say anything, too busy admiring his skin just as thoughtfully, sucking love marks into his collarbones. You feel his tip prod at your entrance and you shift your hips, trying to push him inside. He stills your movements though, holding you down. “Did you hear me? Tell me you’re perfect.” The meaning, the intent inside the demand is dizzying in its affection. You pull at his shoulders, hugging him into you, feeling his heartbeat through his chest. “’m perfect” you whisper. It’s fragile, but it’s trying, he can tell. Denki drags his dick along your folds, up and down, collecting your need while you shudder against him in anticipation.“Denki, plea– ah.” He slips inside, just a few inches, but you choke on your words, already drowning in the sensation.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Denki focuses on staying still, needing to know you’re okay first. “Y/n–” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Mhm” you hum, not caring what you’re answering to. You just want him already, taking him in further with a rise of your hips.

“Shit,” he snarls, “So, it’s like that?” He lets your pussy suck him in more as you whine into the skin of his neck. “Don’t care what I have to say anymore? Long as I’m inside you?” He teases, well, tries his best to tease, but your cunt is the most distractingly perfect thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’re so warm, so wet, so heavenly.

“D-deeper, Denki. Please fuck me.” He caves immediately, blessed with a little moan in his ear as he bottoms out, filling you to the hilt. “Faster, Denki. Please.” With a voice as soft and sweet as the rest of you, begging with his name, for his dick, he’d probably do whatever you asked him to forever. When his tip kisses that spongy spot deep inside you he’s rewarded with a string of yeses and moans. He targets it like a mission, canting into you mercilessly so you’ll never stop making those sounds.

“Knew you’d have the sweetest pussy.” Your walls tighten around him at the praise. “God, squeezing me like it’s trying to prove something.” Denki presses your shoulders down to the floor because he misses your face. You kiss away the sweat dripping from his temples, his forehead, the concentrated look on his face like he’s holding something back. He thinks you look fucking angelic, tending to him with your mouth while he maps you out for the first time.

“C-can you be rough?” you look bashful at the request, “I won’t break.” A particularly hard jolt of his hips makes you yelp.

“Can I be rough?” He snickers, shaking his head. “You want that, babydoll?”

Denki sits up on his knees, grabs you by the waist, and pulls you into him, hard, shifting you so your thighs remain on the ground but your calves hang loosely in the air. He places a gentle kiss on one of your shins. “Let me know if I answer that too clearly?” Oh. You blink up at him with need and some cute, dumb look of surprise on your face. Smart girl too fucked out, huh?

“Yes, Denki.” You squirm against him, needing the friction of him moving inside you again.

“Good girl,” he coos. Thumbs press into your hips, hands grabbing at your ass, pulling you up and into him. Denki starts a pace that soon has your torso sliding back and forth on the blanket as he fucks crudely into you. The bullying of his cock head into your G-spot over and over is making you see stars, feels sparks all over your skin.

“S’ so deep, Denki– ah!” He lifts your hips even higher in response, fucking you at an even deeper angle while he admires the lewd look on your face. So cute.

“Yeah, baby?” He grunts, lost in the vice grip of your perfect pussy, the squelch of how wet you are for him, “Am I making you feel good?”

You cry incoherently, gripping at the blankets with your fists. The bounce of your chest from the force of his canting into you looks absolutely pornographic.

“Look at me, y/n.” You try, you really do. Your head feels tingly and thoughtless and heavy in such a good, good way. You look so cute all wrecked under him, but still trying so hard to focus, to look at him like he asked you to. You meet his eyes with your forehead creased, lips wobbling, eyes all teary, and something in him snaps. Denki grabs you all over, hands everywhere; palms pressing at your knees to spread you out wider for him; grabbing your feet to move your legs, perching them over his thighs with your legs out long just to pick them up again, like he’ll die if he doesn’t have you in every way a man can from him knees. “Can’t believe anyone ever fuck– treated you like that.” He’s not sure you can even hear him with your eyes rolled back, mind lost to the merciless rocking of your body like a doll, pliant and bouncing in pleasure. “Chase this ass around constantly if you let me.” He spanks you, instantly addicted to the image it creates.

“D-denki. Oh!” you babble between hits. Soft palms and hard rings sting so nicely across the skin of your ass.

“Fuck you so often you wouldn’t even have time to wonder if I found you attractive– hnng, baby,” he moans as you squeeze around him from his words.

“Please, please” you mewl and his eyes light up.

“Oh, you’d like that?” Denki grabs your face, resting his forehead against yours, “Wanna’ be my pretty little cocksleeve all the time?” He’s squishing your cheeks together with one hand.

“Mmf, all the time” you return all muffled, nodding dizzily as your eyes roll back again.

Has he died and gone to heaven? He sighs, feeling you get impossibly tight around him again.

“I’m gonna’! I-I’m…”

“Gonna’ come for daddy?” He whispers in your ear, nipping at the earlobe and you come undone, holding onto him for dear life, shaking and seeing white.

“Fucking perfect,” he groans– and he means it. The way your pussy hugs him while you milk your orgasm is unfuckingreal, ethereal.

“You good, pretty girl?” Denki moves in to kiss along your jaw as you come down.

“S’ good” you slur out. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so focused on chasing his own high, caught up in your pussy pulsing around him. His dick is covered in your orgasms, and desperately hard.

“Think you can give me one more?” He kisses you messily, one hand in your hair.

“Can try, daddy.”

Denki growls. It’s quiet, but intoxicating, vibrating from somewhere hidden in his pretty, lean chest. Another thing you might not have expected from him. “Arms around my neck, babydoll.” He takes your weakened thighs and wraps them around his waist, hoisting you upwards into his lap. “C’mere. Wanna’ see that face.”

You’ve found a project Denki can pay attention to. He treats you like he’s playing a game almost, thrusting his hips at different speeds with varying forces, all just to watch your reactions, it seems. He searches your face the whole time without lenience. You can’t hide anything from those big, auburn eyes, wholly focused on you. It’s debauched how mindless you’re starting to feel, the weak pleas and senseless confirmations from your mouth as he commits to your deepest, most sensitive spots like he’ll never let you see straight again. You couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore if you tried. You let him do whatever he wants.

“Good cocksleeve,” he praises. You tug the hair at the base of his neck, eyes fluttering, taking him whatever way he drives into you. “Look at that. Already so good at your job, yeah?” Denki records it all to memory. Each time you crumple into his chest with quivering thighs, grabbing at nothing, looking for a respite he won’t give you; every loll of your head, eyelashes wet with your cute, overstimulated tears; every sound of his name, or string of slurred words that don’t even make sense, all dumb on his cock.

He won’t leave your breasts alone, finally having proper access to them in this position, one hand on your back and the other kneading them, roughly.

“Put those pretty tits in my mouth.” You’re no longer good for commands, the coil in your stomach winding itself tighter and tighter again, so he just does it himself. “Such a cute rack,” he murmurs mostly to himself. You rest your head against his, fingernails in his back. You feel too, too good bouncing on him, approaching another release.“‘m so close,” Denki admits and you nod, either in approval or mutual agreement or both. He stuffs two fingers in your mouth for you to drool all over before reaching down to rub at your puffy, abused clit, making you hiccup in pain and pleasure. “I’m gonna’ fill you up soon, okay?” He musters to ask, clenching his jaw.

“Yes, Denki,” you say so sweetly, “s’kay.” Your wanton voice of approval wanting him to come inside, the way your warm walls clamp down around him as you spiral into another orgasm, sends him over the edge.

“S-so tight, oh fuuck,” he whines, spilling into you. You move your hips as much as possible, bouncing lightly so you can work him through it, milking him like a good little sleeve, despite your exhaustion. “Dammit, y/n.” He struggles to catch his breath in your shoulder, fingers digging firmly into your sides, but they ease up as he comes down.

“Denki?” you whisper, but he just breathes. “Denki, wanna’ lay down.” You ask softly, kissing at the top of his ear, trying to pull him back to reality.

“Oh. Yeah, for sure.” He sounds so dazed, meaunvering you both slowly to the ground, on your sides, facing each other. He tucks your head into his chest, pulling one of your legs, sticky with his cum, to rest between his own. You stay like that for awhile, breathing, recovering, until he hears you mutter something worried into his chest.

“Oh, no.”

“What?” He’s quick to lift your face to his, “you okay?”

“Now you won’t focus in our study sessions, either.” You look genuinely concerned.

He bursts out in exhausted, satisfied laughter. “You might be as funny as me– almost.”

“So cocky, playboy.” You roll your eyes and he kisses the bridge of your nose. “What have I gotten myself into?”

“Wait ‘till I'm not dripping out of you,” he collects some with a swipe of his finger across your thigh, making you watch him slip it into his dirty dog mouth, “before you pretend not to like it."

Notes: Soo this was inspired by two things. One was the extensive convos I’ve had on dash mainly with Tas about how I think Deki kinnies Dominic Fike’s music. The vibes are just the same okay I just hc that. Actually just gonna’ link the playlist I made while writing this lol Denki would want that. It’s mostly just fun and all over the place, like him. Also, like a month ago when I was talking about MBTI personality type compatibility I found out Denki is actually the Bakusquad member I’m most compatible with and I just sat there like yo whaaaat and then I wrote this, therapeutically, about our favorite hypersexual boy. So, not that important, but if you’re an INFJ then uh, here’s your ENTP man you deserve him shut up yes you do he is so very thoughtful give him a chance.

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bigboomboi · 3 years

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liability // villain!sero hanta x femreader

Rating: Explicit Characters: (Villain) Sero Hanta Inspiration: My piece for the Citrus Dome Discord server’s Hero/Villain Redemption Collaboration. Okay listen, I love Sero Hanta and this boy does not nearly get enough credit for what a good boy he is. Get ready to thirst for a tape dispenser folks. Prompt: You’re captured by a villain/hero. This is a double whammy! The character you pick must be written with the opposite alignment. So, if they are heroes, they must be portrayed as villains. If they are villains, they must be depicted as heroes. On top of that, you (reader) or they must try and corrupt or redeem the other character! Tags: Villain!Sero Hanta, bondage, shibari, overstimulation, oral, vaginal sex, abuse, talk of sexual assault. (The last two are not Sero and only last like, a paragraph or two.) Word Count: ~6.4k Collab Masterlist here

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The museum was dead silent with the exception of your brush making slow, careful strokes on the painting you were working on. Of course, it was expected that it was dead silent. You were at work near in the middle of the night. It wasn’t that the restoration department was noisy during the day, but there was always some sort of audio. Someone talking, other people working, someone sipping tea. And for this specific piece, you wanted absolute silence to concentrate. Not even music. Dead silence. It was the first time you’d found a piece by your absolute favorite artist and you had begged to be the one to restore it. But in order to concentrate as much as you felt you needed to, there had to be no noise. So you’d gotten permission to stay late, after the museum closed. And you were grateful. This was going to be the absolute highlight of your career. You pause to dip your brush into the specialty varnish remover and hear a noise. You pause, and glance at the clock. It wasn’t time for the security guard to make the rounds. You immediately feel on edge. No one else is supposed to be here. Maybe… maybe something just fell over in the artifact room. You grab your cell phone, trying not to think about how utterly impossible that is, and turn on your flashlight app. You exit your offices in the restoration department and head to the next door, where the artifacts not currently on display are held. It’s possible that the security guard made rounds early. Likely more possible than something falling over. Especially since the door to the artifact room is ajar. You’d go in, see the guard, and then maybe it was time to head home. You make it only a handful of steps in before you hear something that sounds vaguely familiar, and you’re quickly wrapped in some kind of tape. You immediately struggle but lose your balance, falling to the ground. Your phone skids away from you and slides directly under a shelf. You stare at the spot in dismay and when someone speaks up behind you, you freeze at the voice.

Keep reading

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bigboomboi · 3 years

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Summary: You recently moved back to your home town and bump into your high school crush… Emotions stir and you get exactly what you want

Pairing: Sero X Reader

Some slight angst

“Hey Sero!” Denki slurs slightly, flinging an arm around his shoulders. “Did you hear (Y/N) is back in town?”

Sero rolls his eyes at Denki’s suggestive eyebrow wiggle, swinging down another shot. He hadn’t even been here 30 minutes and he already found Denki drunk, the annoying kind. He pushes Denki off of him, leaning back on the couch.

“I did.” He states.

“I heard she’s coming tonight with the girls.”

That got Sero’s attention, snapping his head in Denki’s direction. It had been five years since you two had seen each other, he suddenly felt like he was back at UA waiting for you to appear so he can catch a glimpse of you. He always silently thanked Mina for adding you to the group. You two immediately hit it off and became inseparable. One of his biggest regrets was not telling you how he really felt, never really thinking it was the right time. Then you left and his chance was gone forever or he thought it was.

“Did you drink too much already, Sero?” Kirishima asks, taking a seat across from him. “You’re face is really red.”

Denki bursts out laughing, confusing Kirishima even more. He tries to get Denki to tell him what’s up, but the electric bimbo just flops on the couch. Sero stands up, mumbling something about getting more drinks and makes his way through the crowded dance floor. His eyes scan the crowd, eyes jumping to and from every girl that might be you. Coming up empty, he sits down at the bar and orders another drink. He runs his fingers through his hair aggressively. He orders another drink, downing it in one go, and and decides it’s time to head back to the others. Anxiety starts to set in. What if you didn’t come? What if you didn’t want to see him? He should have kept in contact with you more, he should have pushed his pride aside and called you. He thinks about heading home to wallow in his self pity, but his heart skips a beat when he spots you sitting next to Denki and Mina. You scrunch up your nose as Denki and Mina chant ‘Chug! Chug! Chug!’ You slam down your glass, cheering triumphantly. You look absolutely perfect, wearing a tight black dress with a slit down to your knee, a gold necklace glimmers in the club lights across your collar bones. You’re just as stunning as the day you left. When your eyes meet his, the breath gets knocked out of him. For a moment he can’t move, staring at you like an idiot. His body moves on his own, trying to act cool but ultimately failing and almost landing face first on the ground. He chuckles awkwardly, sitting down in a chair across from you.

“I thought you could handle your liquor.” You smirk, leaning forward.

He stutters, a light blush forming on his cheeks. “I can!”

You let out a laugh that’s music to his ears, causing him to blush him even more. Denki shoves a shot in your hand, and one in Sero’s. He quickly downs it and you do the same.

“Let’s get this party started!” Mina grabs your hand and basically drags you to the dance floor.

Sero tries his best not to stalk you as you squish between Mina and some random guy. You press against Mina more, but the creep just follows, clearly not getting the message. The last straw is when he grabs your waist snd traps you against him. Sero nearly knocks the chair over as he bolts toward you. He maneuvers through the crowd with ease. As he reaches you, he uses his tape to stick the creeps’ hands together and pulls you flush to him. The guy huffs in annoyance, sauntering off the dance floor. With you so close to him now, he can’t help but think he really didn’t think this through. His hands on your waist burns, like he shouldn’t touch you like this, but he can’t help himself. You lift yourself up on your tippy toes and get close to his ear, he can feel your hot breath against his neck as he silently tells himself to not get too excited.

“Thank you for that.” You try your best not to yell too loud.

You place your hands on his chest and slightly sway to the music. You can’t help but feel some type of anxiety too. You haven’t seen him in years and now you’re suddenly pressed against him. You hope he can’t feel your heart beating through your chest. Sero follows your lead, his grip relaxing. Your head rests against his chest now.

“I missed you.” Sero blurts out.

You look up at him with wide eyes. “I missed you two.”

He can’t help but grin, gaining confidence as he takes your hand and twirls you around. You giggle and roll your eyes. The rest of the night is spent on the dance floor or with Denki, who somehow always convinces you to take another shot. Sero holds you up as the group makes it out of the club. Mina and Denki sing along to the music from outside. You shiver slightly at the cold air outside, wrapping your arms around you. Kirishima helps the pair of idiots into Bakugo’s car, who’s muttering swears and empty threats. You contemplate calling a cab or asking for a ride, taking out your phone.

“How far are you from here?” Sero asks, a bit more sober than the rest.

“Just a couple blocks.”

“I’ll walk you home.” He makes it more of a demand than anything, but you happily accept.

You say your goodbyes to the group, promising to text them once you make it home. Part way through the walk to your new apartment, your feet begin to ache and you can’t help but slow down. You take off your heels, cursing yourself for wearing them, and groan. Sero takes your shoes from you and turns around to offer a piggy back ride.

“Come on, Hop on.” He bends down a bit.

“No, Sero, you don’t have to. I can walk the rest of the way.”

“I’m not asking.” The tone of his voice sends a wave tingles down farther your body than you expect.

You ungracefully, settle yourself onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hooks his arms under your thighs and starts walking. It’s a comfortable silence, one just like the old days when you two would study together or hang out in the dorms. You let your emotions get the best of you as you think back to all the times you thought to call but never did. You hold back a sniffle, nestling your head against his back.

“You ok back there.” He glances at you, concerned.

“I-I’m sorry I never called.” You begin to ramble. “I was just so excited to start my new job, then I met this guy, who turned out to be an absolute asshole a-and I lost track of time.”

Sero’s silent for a moment, causing your anxiety to spike. “I’m sorry too. The phone works both ways.”

His words lighten the mood, you sigh deeply and relieve any tension in your body. Sero’s heart bursts and he tries his best to keep it together. Once you reach your apartment building, he insists on walking you all the way to your door. He leaves light touches on your arm, waist, the small of your back, just about anywhere he can when he has the chance. It makes your skin burn and turn stomach flip every time his fingertips graze your bare skin.

“Well this is me.” You stop in front of your door.

He hands you your shoes, hands lingering a second too long on yours. You stare up at him with those big eyes, pleading for something, anything at this point to relieve the tension in the air. You bit your lip, ready to head inside, but instead he grabs your waist and pulls you into him. Your gasp is muffled as he mashes his lips onto your’s, not very gracefully, but at this point you don’t care. He’s kissing you, actually kissing you. You wrap your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair and tugging slightly. He groans into the kiss, picking up his pace. You pull out your keys, breaking the kiss to unlock the door. His hands run up and down your sides, kissing the back of your neck impatiently. You two practically fall over as the door opens, quickly regaining stability and becoming tangled once again. You take the lead and maneuver your bodies toward your room. Sero nearly trips over a box.

“Sorry, still unpacking.” You giggle.

“No complaints here, mi amor .” He grins into the kiss.

In the bedroom, you push him onto the bed, straddling his hips. A dangerous look fills his eyes as he stares up at you full of lust. A slight roll of your hips has you gasping slightly, feeling his already large bulge brush against your clit. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, earning a chuckle from Sero. He bucks his hips up, nearly knocking you off balance.

“I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already a gasping mess.” It’s meant to tease you, but it just makes you pick up your pace.

He guides your hips with an iron grip, desperate to take control. Your hands plant themselves on his chest to keep yourself stable. You can feel a tension start to rise in your lower part. His hands slip under your dress, brushing over your panties, earning a soft gasp from you. He can’t help but enjoy how sensitive you are to his touch.

“Please.” You whimper.

“You’re going to have to use your words, sweetheart.” He chuckles, rubbing small circles onto your hips.

“I wan-“ He thrusts up roughly into you as you glare at him. “I want you to fuck me.”

He sits up to help you out of your dress, cupping your breasts and squeezing. You quickly pull his shirt off and run a hand down his abs, biting your lip. The air in the room suddenly changes as his touches become light and placed delicately along your body, dragging him fingers from your hip, up your side and arm. His hands make their way to your head, cupping your cheeks gently. A small blush forms when your eyes meet his. His gaze is soft but powerful, it makes your stomach turn with excitement.

“You are so beautiful.” His thumb rubs your cheek lightly.

You tilt your head into his touch, placing a hand over his. You’re sure he can feel the heat coming off you face, but at this point you don’t care. All that matters is that you’re here with him now, just like you’ve always wanted. He guides your face closer to his, lips hovering an inch from your’s. You lean forward to close the gap, but he leans back and chuckles. Your bottom lip pops out as you whimper.

“So needy.” He exhales deeply.

When his lips meet your’s, a moan slips out. Your arms wrap around his neck, pressing your breasts against his bare chest earning a groan from him. The kiss is passionate, but still testing the waters. You take the lead and pull your panties off, he takes the hint and pushes his pants and boxers down in one swift movement. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, he’s not huge, but it’ll do that job. He takes his length in his hand and pumps it a few times, you can feel yourself clench at nothing. With one hand he maneuvers you on top of his lap, rubbing the tip of his cock against your folds. Your head falls forward onto his shoulder as little moans and groans fall from your mouth. He presses into you slowly then grabs your hips and slams all of his length into you. The moan he lets out to turns you on even more. You begin to move your hips on your own trying to hit the right spot. His muscular arms wrap around you as he thrusts up, matching your rhythm. Your release builds up slowly, but it’s still not enough.

“Hanta.” You gasp..“Faster, please.”

He nods, picking up the pace. All you can hear are his moans and the sound of sweaty skin slapping against each other. His fingers squeeze one of your nipples between his fingers, while his mouth attacks the other one. You snake a hand between you two, attempting to rub circles in your clit, but ultimately falling short. At this point you can’t keep up with him.

“You’re such a mess.” Sero grunts right next to your ear. “Making such a mess for me.”

“Only for you.” You whimper.

The tip of his cock hits the same spot over and over again, sending you over board. He holds you up as you slouch against him, gripping his shoulders tightly. You clench around him, but he continues through your release, not letting up for a second. His thrusts begin to stutter, the way you clench around him makes him groan, digging his fingers into your skin.

“Where do you want my cum, sweetheart.” He grunts. “Tell me where you want it.”

“Inside.” You barely get out, still recovering from your orgasm.

He latches onto your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin. He thrusts up deeply, shooting his seed inside you. You both plop back onto the bed, a mess of tangled, sweaty bodies. A comfortable silence fills the air as you catch your breath, a little less embarrassed when you realize Sero is huffing and puffing as well.

“That was.” You trail off.

“Amazing? Spectacular? Absolutely marvelous?” He grins.

You roll your eyes, playfully hitting his chest, but you’re thankful for it. It eases any shyness suddenly bubbling. You stand up and rush to the bathroom to clean up, coming back to search for your suitcase. Sero watches you, unsure of what to say. So much he wants to, but what to start with. He stands up and slips on his boxers, setting his shirt and pants on a box nearby. You slip on some random shirt and a pair of panties then slide back into bed. He swears he can feel himself get hard again, his dick twitching against the rough fabric. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, squirming under his gaze. For a moment you can’t help but think he’s gonna leave, tell you this was a one time drunken mistake and to just forget this happened.

“(Y/N),” He starts, suddenly serious.

Your eyes snap up to his, eyebrows knitted together with worry. “Yes?”

He sits down on the bed, running his fingers through his hair. You run your fingers down his back as some form of comfort.

“Is something wrong?”

“I love you.” He blurts out.

He looks at you with pleading eyes, hoping the feeling is mutual. For a moment you honestly believe you’re dreaming and any second you’re gonna wake up in your old shitty apartment with your old shitty boyfriend, but you don’t. You’re still with the boy of your dreams and he’s still waiting for you to say something.

“(Y/N)? Did you hear me?” He’s ready to run and hide at this point.

“It took you long enough.” You huff out. “I love you too.”

Sero exe has officially stopped working, completely silent as he stares at you. He suddenly jumps at you causing you to squeal as he kisses your face all over. He stops at your lips, hovering over them lightly. You snake your arms around his neck and pull him into a quick kiss. He settles down next to you, pulling you to his chest, placing one last kiss to the top of your head. You cup his cheek in your hand smiling from ear to ear.

“You know Denki totally set this up right?” You giggle.

“He is partly responsible for this.” Sero chuckles, placing amother kiss to your forehead.

You nestle your head into his chest, eye lids growing heavy. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He mumbles.

-2 years later-

Shitty was the only word to describe today. Work was terrible, filled with ungrateful coworkers and ridiculous demands from customers who have no idea what they are asking for. Not to mention Sero hasn’t been responding to your messages, going as far as leaving you on read. You know he was probably busy saving some civilian or taking down some villain, and deep down you knew he could take care of himself, but you couldn’t help but worry. Hero business is a dangerous job and Sero always put those in need first, coming home late with new a scar. All you hoped was he’d be home soon after you and you could just cuddle the bad day away. You unlock the door and enter your dark apartment, throwing your items on a table nearby, promising to clean up later, then heading towards your bedroom. A small dark blob on the ground stop you in your tracks. You pick up the soft petal, confused as to how it got there. Sero hasn’t bought you flowers since last week and they didn’t have petals like this. That’s when you notice a trail of dark spots leading into the living room. You follow, finding the room filled with rose petals and candle light with your dinning room table set up as if it was placed in a fancy restaurant. A savory aroma fills the air from the kitchen, drawing you near. You find your favorite dishes prepared and ready to be devoured. Your heart bursts with affection toward your kind boyfriend, a little tearful.

“I thought you weren’t going to be home till later?” A shocked voice comes from the doorway.

Sero leans against the frame in gym shorts, hair dripping wet onto his shoulders and muscular arms, glowing in the light. Your mouth waters at the sight, more than when you saw the food. Sero was always hot, but to you he was more than that, just absolutely drop dead gorgeous. He smirks as he makes his way over, eyes grazing your body.

“Work was terrible so I went home early. What’s all this for?” You ask, slipping your arms around his neck.

“I just wanted to show my girlfriend how much I love her and cook her favorite food.” He pecks your lip.

Butterflies fill your stomach as you deepen the kiss, running your fingers through your hair. Sero groans into the kiss, but pulls away before you two get lost in each other.

“Shall we eat?” He asks.

“Put some clothes on first.”

“And here I thought you liked seeing me naked.”

You playfully pat his bare chest, rolling your eyes. He chuckles, placing a kiss on your forehead then heads into the bedroom to change. You set the table, serving yourself as you hear Sero walk up behind you.

“Thank you for cooking,” You start, turning to look at him. “I- Why are you wearing your suit?”

Sero shuffles nervously on the balls of his feet, a very large bouquet of roses laying in his arms. You can feel your heart speed up in your chest, pounding in your ears. He clears his throat, taking a step toward you.

“(Y/N),” He takes a deep breath. “I had something planned to say, but you came home early and my mind went blank. I love you. You are the light to my everything, my love. I want to come home to you every night and wake up every morning with you, and at some point when we have kids, they’ll wake us up and beg you to make your famous pancakes.”

His hands tremble slightly as he kneels on one knee, handing you the roses. He takes out a small black box from his pocket, looking up at you with such a soft expression your heart melts.

“Will you marry me.” He opens the box to reveal a beautiful ring, exactly your style.

Tears spill out of your eyes as you laugh, gripping his hand. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

You pull him into a messy kiss, laughing into it. Sero grins into the kiss, cupping your cheek. He slips the ring on your finger when you pull away. You can’t help but admire it, moving your hand this way and that way to see every angle. You laugh again, a crazed happy one and pull him into another kiss.

“I love you so much, Hanta, and I cannot wait to spend the rest of my days with you.”

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bigboomboi · 3 years

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— sugar rush | sero hanta (nsfw)

pairing: aged up!sero hanta x f!reader

summary: it’s hanta’s big day, and you’ve got all the things needed to make his birthday dreams come true— intentionally sloppy neck kisses and some cake.

content warnings | nsfw/smut, all characters are of age (18+), established relationship, food play with cake frosting, kitchen sex, unprotected sex, creampie, female bodied reader with g/n pronouns, explicit language, minors dni!

wc: 2.5k

author’s note: happy belated birthday to my boyfie hanta! 🥺 ( the sero fanart above is from @DSH_0 on Twitter! )

“You’ve been lookin’ at me like that all night,” Sero muses. You gaze back up at him with feigned unawareness, pursing your lips before they curve into a sweet smile. “Like what?”

To that, Hanta merely sighs. Your eager, glistening irises that had nothing short of raw need pooling in them— that's what it’s like. You’d been eyeing him for a while now; from the second the pair of you left the house to have a pleasing dinner at Japan’s best restaurants in honor of his birthday up until now, coming home from a night on the town.

He swings the apartment’s front door wide open, letting you slip through the entryway; but not without landing a teasing smack on your butt while you stroll past him. He squeezes the fat of your ass, and you swat him away with a playful gasp. “Just get in the house already, ‘Han...” you crane your neck to peer his way, lips upturning into a grin that looks just as cheeky as his own.

“I’m talkin’ about that, babe! That look on your pretty lil’ face,” in a flash, he’s encircling his arms around your waist from behind. His exceptional height requires him to lean low so he can press feather-like kisses along your jaw. Bursts of laughter leave your lips, and you feel the way he smiles against your skin. “Can’t I admire my man on his birthday?”

He smirks before dropping the volume of his voice, mouth leveled with your ear as he questions you lowly. “You have something planned, bebé?”

“Maybe,” you hum in response, grasping onto his bicep for a sense of balance while you kick off your shoes. “Just follow me, yeah?” He’s quick to comply, and you take hold of his wrist and lead him past the coat rack, around the couch, and over to the kitchen.

One glance at the inviting cake that sat pretty on the dining table is enough to get Sero giddy. “I got somebody to drop it off here while we were out,” you tell him, and he silently replies with a wide, genuine grin.

“My favorite cake from my favorite bakery, huh? You know me so well,” Sero coos, and you giggle over the way he dashes towards the dessert, dipping a finger into the frosting and swiping some into his mouth like a little kid. He’d had his fill of wheat noodles and hot pots for the night, but he could certainly make space for a slice of cake or two.

Hanta scours the kitchen for a fork before taking a seat at the table, shoveling pieces of the sugary dessert into his mouth. You merely watch and laugh with a hand resting on his shoulder, for he wasn't the type to intake sweets often. “Don’t finish it too quick, ‘Han.”

“No promises...” Is what he utters, licking his lips clean of any frosting residue. He darts out his tongue and swipes it along the corners of his mouth, and you’re sure that he doesn’t have the right to look so damned good while doing so.

You perch yourself into the seat beside Sero, purposely scooting the chair closer to him in order to make the proximity slim. “Could I have a taste?” You murmur aloud, and he turns your way. “Yeah, of course! Here,” he scoops up a piece and brings it to your mouth, watching how your lips part expectantly to take a bite.

You let the taste of buttercream simmer on your tongue, resting your head upon his shoulder. “... ‘Han, d'you remember when we held a party back at Yuuei for your sixteenth?” Hanta recalls the memory with a hearty laugh, and the fact that it’s been a good five years since then has him thinking about time; how it just flies and never stops.

“That one time when Denki smashed the cake into my face?” he scoffs playfully when reminiscing all those high school antics, “how could I forget?” You’re shooting him one of those intriguing glances again, the subtle gleam in your eye showcasing that you must be up to something.

You lean close towards Hanta, and the intimacy of his nose grazing yours with legs touching underneath the table, has the pair of you smiling and giggling. Every happy grin and glance you and him exchange is nothing new, like it’s this coupley type of familiarity.

“Now I’m thinkin’ about the way that frosting got all over you,” you utter. He finds it rather abrupt, how you run your tongue along your teeth before nibbling at his earlobe. Sero releases a low gasp, breath catching within his throat. Before long, his lips curve upwards into the prettiest grin, anticipating your next display of affection. Your hand runs across his firm thigh, while the other fumbles with the buttons on his formal dress shirt, popping them out one by one.

With Hanta’s buttons undone, it leaves his lean but muscular build exposed for your viewing pleasure. You press a palm against his broad chest, and his hand moves up to catch your wrist within his hold. “What’re you doing? Not that I’ll stop you,” he chuckles, and you feel the rumble of his laughter vibrating onto your touch.

“I’m recreating memories, Hanta...” You whisper hushedly, bringing about the confused rise of his brows.

Sero swears that he’s slick, for he’s so sure he could get away with just about anything undetected— but you notice the way he tilts his neck to the side all too quickly, catching onto how he’s silently urging you to put a mark or two on his slightly tanned skin. His desire is as broad as daylight, just like yours.

Wasting no time, you latch your lips onto his neck, and he groans low in return. Inching further down and swirling your tongue on the supple skin of his collarbone gets him hot in the face, and the heat flows through him before it rushes on down. The way you’re sucking a pretty love bite onto his undecorated body has him wanting even more; Hanta’s damn lucky that this is hardly the beginning.

Then comes your erotic little surprise, the one that you’d probably been thinking of since the first hours of the night. It’s sudden when you do so, but it has him finally understanding what you'd meant earlier. While he’d been busy reveling in arousal with his eyes fluttered closed, you were dipping naughty fingers into the cake with a purpose.

The sensation of frosting gracing Sero’s skin has him blinking his eyes wide open. You lather it on him, smearing it from his chest to his abdomen with a wicked smile, and he practically moans over the feeling. “S’just like the time when you got cake all over you, yeah?” He wants to wipe that smug look off your face, kiss it off, actually. Between the two of you, he’s the one who makes the sly remarks. Though, being on the receiving end was all the more enjoyable.

You bring your index finger up to your pursed lips, ridding your digit of sugary icing with the help of your active tongue. Hanta eyes you all the while, cheeks flushed pink with his chest rising and falling in anticipation. He swipes a hand through the onyx tresses of his voluminous mullet-style hair, lifting a brow.

“You like makin’ messes, hm?” he says lowly, unashamedly pulling you into a kiss. It’s sickeningly sweet, more so than usual thanks to all the frosting that sat atop the tips of your tongues.

You moan onto his lips, and he laughs deeply against yours before mumbling something aloud. He flits his dark brown eyes downwards, hinting at the mess you made of him.

“Lick it clean.”

His cake-dirtied body couldn’t stay unattended for any longer. You’re fast to comply, for this is what you’d wanted from the start. You begin at his pelvis, glancing at his subtle happy trail before licking a teasing stripe up his body. As you go higher and let your smooth tongue across his form, you get more and more delightfully dizzied by the overpoweringly saccharine taste. By the last lick, you’re flattening your wet muscle across his collarbone; yet you’re far from finished.

Hanta merely enjoys it all, easing back into his chair when your hands make hasty work of his belt, slipping it out of the loops. Before you can unzip his pants and pull them down until they’re pooling at his ankles, he stops you. “No need, bebita.” he smiles. Albeit the endearing expression he bears, you know of his intent— To wreck you with pleasure.

You sit back just as he tells you to, while he stands to his feet and discards his clothes all by himself. The dress shirt drifts it’s way to the ground, and he tugs off his slacks before kicking them to the side. All that’s left is his thinly silver chain that greatly accentuates all those hickeys adorning his neck, and a pair of skin-tight boxers that left not a thing to the imagination.

“C’mere,” mumbles Hanta, ushering you to stand up with him. You’re unsure on what to focus your attention on; his alluring smile that consisted of flawless pearly whites and extremely soft lips, or the unabashed bulge that prodded against the restrictive underwear he wore.

Though, there’s no need to choose when you could opt for both. You grin right back, eyes dragging along his clothed hard-on before you take his hand and allow him to spin you the other way, your back facing him as you brace all your weight onto your forearms, resting upon the marble table.

Hanta rubs your sides and leans down to press a kiss on your shoulder before ridding you of every cloth that could get in the way. He wants to feel you on him, body to body, in the same way that the sticky, sugary icing caked his lean frame and stuck to him.

You release a sharp gasp over the feeling of his tip nudging against your slick. With lidded eyes and a wide smile, Hanta pushes past the ring of muscle until he’s delved inside of you about halfway, palming your ass while his unoccupied hand laid restive on your back, fingers playfully trailing your spine.

Every motion that sheathes Sero inside deeper has you stammering for him, bucking your body back in search of a sense of fullness that just couldn’t be topped. You want him, his dick, all the way in. Just as you open your mouth to plead, he reverts back out and leaves you whining.

“C’mon, Hanta…” you huff. He leans forward, chest pressed to your arched back. Even in your peripheral, you catch sight of his trademark beam. “C’mon what? Gotta be specific,” you’re in no mood for his taunting ways, but he decides to test your patience anyway. You rock your ass onto his stiff length eagerly, earning a breathy hiss from him.

“Want you— need you inside,” you correct, and the way he plunges back into your wetness shows that all you said was more than enough. You cry out over the ecstasy of being filled to the brim, pussy gripping at his girth fervently. Hanta groans into your ear, rolling his hips at an easy pace.

“Damn,” Hanta whistles low, for your essence is already coating him from the tip to the shaft, wetting his balls and inner thighs, “you’re so fuckin’ good for me...” He knows he has an undeniable charm, but sometimes he can hardly believe the impact he has on you, even when he hasn’t even lifted a finger to get you drenching your panties.

The motion of your colliding bodies aren’t as slow anymore, and his hips smacking against your ass, balls wetly slapping your clit, causes the lewdest sounds to elicit into the air. Hanta stares at the ripple of your body with every thrust, cheeks blooming red with pride. He clearly knows a thing or two on how to make you feel good— judging by the way you claw onto the table with an iron grip, tongue lolling past your glossy lips as your moans never cease— and he couldn’t be happier about it.

A combination of his name and loose profanities are what you repeat by every passing second, brows furrowing in pleasure when he pounds your cunt just the way you like it. You tighten around the thickness of his cock, an undeniable pressure in your gut growing just as fast as he fucks you.

“‘Han—!” You whimper aloud with your head resting upon the table, legs wobbling from his increase in speed. You can’t manage to get another word out, not when he’s fucking you against this marble surface as if both your life and his depends on how hard he can make you cum with his cock, how much he can get you shaking and moaning with every deep stroke, how limp and achy you’ll be by the end of it all.

You sense the way he twitches and pulses, how sloppy he’s getting with pumping his dick into you, how his labored breaths are heavier with every swift roll of his hips. Hanta throws his head back with a loud groan, allowing the gratifying orgasm take over his being and wrack through him like that of a great, crashing wave.

You lurch forwards with your eyes rolled back, meeting your own awaited high when he makes one last deep, impacting thrust. You shudder over the feeling of thick, warm ropes spurting onto your inner walls, making a sharp inhale while clenching on his pulsing dick.

Sero stills himself inside of you instead of pulling out per usual, keeping every ounce of cum stuffed within your sensitive cunt.

His large, warm hands rub along your hips and waist once again, and he leans your way to tenderly kiss and nip at your neck with agape lips, perfect teeth and a teasing attitude, just as he did when you and him first made it back home.

“Hey, baby,” he coos, and you smile tiredly in response, letting the table take the responsibility of holding your weight. “We should get another cake, don’t y’think?”

taglist: @izukine @glittrkink @lazyezstudy @grandetan @kloesklarity @chocoboba @ereh-simp @straightestgay-voice @strawbub

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bigboomboi · 3 years

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I'm excited 😊

either gonna post my collab fic today or tomorrow 👀

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bigboomboi · 3 years

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hi so let’s talk about sero hanta for a moment, whose main love language imo is physical touch (quality time and acts of service are very close seconds though 😳)

sero hanta who just thinks that holding hands is so neat, who constantly goes out of his way to stand at your side just so he can lace his fingers between yours, who finds so much comfort in the feeling of your palm flush against his that he feels empty when he has to let go, who reaches for your hand so often that it’s become a whole language of its own. he can tell you “i love you” with a small squeeze, “you’ve worked hard today, let’s get some rest now” with two, “i want you - no, i need you” with a gentle swipe of his thumb across the back of your palm. and his heart always soars when you respond to him in the same language.

sero hanta who never grows tired of hugging you, who eagerly catches you in his arms and spins you around when you charge him at full speed, who always sneaks up behind you and snakes his arms around your waist, ignoring the small shriek you let out when his fingers tickle your sides, who gently takes your arm and pulls you into a warm hug after either one of you has had a rough day, using each other’s embrace to recharge your mental battery. sometimes, you can’t help but wonder if he’s truly glued himself to you this time, with the way he practically attaches himself to you like a giant koala, refuses to let you go even as you attempt to drag yourself to the shower.

sero hanta who kisses you at every opportunity he gets, who slowly pulls you out of dreamland by attaching his lips to every part of your skin that isn’t covered by your clothing or the blanket, who never stops attempting his own version of the spider-man kiss despite your protests that he might mess up the paint on the ceiling, who always presses a kiss against your cheek when you wander into the kitchen while he’s making breakfast, who loves the way your breath catches in your throat when his lips find the golden spot just above your collarbone. bonus points if you like to return the favor just as much. he always gets this stupid giddy grin on his face when you unleash your counterattack, showering him in kisses between snickers and giggles.

sero hanta who almost depends on the feeling of your skin against his like a lifeline, who feels his mood dropping when he’s been away from you for too long, who can instantly be cheered up just by having you cup his face in your soft hands, who can’t start his day properly until he’s given you your twenty-four good morning kisses — and yes, he keeps count, won’t let you get out of bed until he’s counted twenty-four exactly — all over your face and shoulders, who absolutely will not go to sleep under any circumstances unless he’s got you wrapped in his arms with your head tucked under his chin.

sero hanta, who just really really fucking loves you more than words could ever describe, so he simply allows his body language to do the speaking for him.

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bigboomboi · 3 years

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Kindered Sparks

This is my entry for @gg9183’s soulmate collab - Oof, I was almost late for your birthday ( I know that I'm technically no where near late, but I put this out so much later than I would've rathered. Sorry, I'm a Virgo, mate.) Anyhoo! Happy Birthday! And congratulations on your amazing Milestone! Thank you for organizing this collab too and allowing me to be apart of it! Honestly, I love soulmate pieces so much, so I was so excited seeing this prompt (I'm excited to read the others as well!) My friend helped me put together an idea for a SM connection and I really enjoyed writing it, hope you do as well :) Happy reading!

Fem!reader x Denki Kaminari

Soulmates au; People are born with a dream realm connecting them to their Soulmate. Warning; harsh language, Hurt/comfort, pretty fluffy, cursing. Implied readerxfemale relationship. BakuKiri relationship (I got bullied last time I didn't say that was a pairing, so, just being safe)

Word count; 4.6K

“Another lonely night in this stupid world.” Y/N grumbled staring up at her dreamy night sky.

A sky she was supposed to share with someone else.

In this wonderful, bittersweet world, you were tied to another person. Destiny decided from day one of your birth who you’d be with for the rest of your life and then set you in a special plane of existence only accessible when you fell asleep, once you turned the ripe age of fifteen. The kindred-plane.

A place specially made for you and your soulmate to meet each night when you fall asleep. It was a place to get to know each other without the prying eyes of all those around. A shared dream land you could even decorate and make your own. It was your partner’s and your safe space.

It was a place you guys could explore together, where your imaginations combined like an amazing world of minecraft. Some people made completely different lives in their heads at night. Others used it to see their long distance lovers. Hell, there was a blog story sharing what sounded like a whole scripted tv show where a woman’s soulmate had set off to save her from an uncompromising kingdom.

Sadly though, your shared safe space could be destroyed in a matter of moments. It wasn’t unheard of for your soulmate to reject destiny’s plan and divide your dreams. You could absolutely reject your soulmate and quite literally lock them out of your dreams. All presence of them would disappear from your dreams within a few nights, sometimes even faster, and you’d be left alone with only your creations.

Of course, being divided from your soulmate hurt. But something hurt much worse.

Your soulmate being unintentionally stolen from you. A divide where you lose your soulmate despite neither saying they’d like to divide. A situation where your soulmate dies.

Y/N sighed at the reminiscent of her once was soulmate. So sweet and kind, someone Y/N fully imagined meeting one day in the daylight. Yet, now at the sad age of seventeen, Y/N had no dreams of ever seeing her soulmate ever again.

She only had the one year of memories they made…

“Class, This Y/N. She will be joining our class for her final year of hero training, treat her well.” Aizawa introduced her to the class of 3-A.

“Thank you, Sensei” Y/N bowed slightly. “Nice to meet you all.”

Not even a moment of silence was granted before the class erupted in questions. Half about her quirk, the other half about where she was from. A few off hand questions about why she transferred. All a mess.

“Enough!” Aizawa shouted, hushing the entire class. “You all can get to know her later, on your own terms. For now, Y/N please take your seat.”

Y/N nodded and scurried back to the only free seat in the back. Between a pretty pinkette and sweet looking round faced brunette. Before she was even seated, Aizawa began his lesson.

Y/N quietly sat through the classes of her day, ignoring the judging looks aimed her way, as the new girl. She could hear the quiet whispers going around, speculating what type of person she was and tried to ignore those as well. She was well aware of the fact that she appeared very off-standish.

Dark eye bags, complete resting bitch face that quite literally screamed ‘I will stab you with a pencil if you speak to me’, earbuds tucked into each ear and a hunched over form that could rival Quasimodo. Thankfully, the aura she set into place actually warded off her new classmates for several days.

Up until a week later in the common room where her bubble was invaded.

She didn’t look up at the person sitting next to her and subtly tried to turn up her music. She felt the presence of several others join her and they all stared at her silently until finally, the pinkette she sat next to on her first day, plucked her book from her hands. Y/N slowly looked up at her dully and raised an eyebrow.

She reached out for her book, but the girl pulled it back out of her reach. She tried again, reaching forwards further, but the book was yoinked by a strip of tape, pulling it across the coffee table. Gritting her teeth slightly, Y/N stood up to reach across the table and the music in her ears paused.

The girl had unplugged her headphones.

“You just have no regard for personal belongings of others, hm?” Y/N sighed, sitting down.

“We just want to get to know our new classmate!” The pink girl grinned. “I’m Mina!”

“Hi, Mina. Now give me back my shit.” Y/N tried to grab her phone, only for someone behind her to tug her ear buds away. “Seriously?”

“We’ll give you back your things if you let us get to know you.” Mina smiled.

“Or, you could just give it back.” Y/N tried to grab her earbuds from the bright blonde behind her.

“Nope.’ He said, a grin on his face as well. “I’m Kaminari Denki, nice to meet ya, beautiful.”

Y/N sighed and rolled her eyes. “Or, I could just take my stuff back.”

“You could but there’s five of us and one of you, good luck.” A bitch faced blonde mumbled, flipping through her book.

“Fine. Here’s one thing about me.” Suddenly she appeared behind the bitch blonde and snatched her book. Another one of her appeared behind the one who taped her book away and grabbed her book mark. Two other Y/N’s came into existence on opposite sides of her seating couch to grab her phone and ear buds. All while the original Y/N sat in her place. “Don’t touch my things.”

“Woah, you can make multiple you’s!” The redhead gasped excitedly. “That’s so manly!”

“That’s so cool! They feel so real!” Kaminari said, poking the side of the one near him. It yelped and swatted his hand.

“They are real! Don’t poke me, I’m ticklish!” Y/N snapped, rubbing her side.

“Woah, can you feel this?’ The tape one reached out to pinch the clone’s arm.

Y/N’s other clone smacked him with her book. “Yes, I can feel that! Ow!”

“So your quirk is duplicating yourself? Boring…” Bitch face rolled his eyes, another Y/N appeared behind him and swatted the back of his head.

“My quirk is omni-replication. I can create continuous versions of myself and others. But they can act on their own.” Y/N sighed, bringing herself her book.

“Woah, make another me!” Kaminari grabbed her arm.

“G-Get off of me!” Y/N shoved him away, ignoring the literal spark between them. “I can’t make one of you now!”

“But you just said-.” Mina tried.

“I have to know your ins and outs. Otherwise I’d just make a weird melty blob of you.” Y/N sighed. “I need to know more about you guys before I can make you. I need to know you, how you fight, how your quirk works, I need to know how to play the game before I can participate.”

“So, what I’m hearing is…” Mina smirked. “You need to get to know us to succeed.”

“Oh god…” Y/N groaned. “I have no choice in this do I?”

“We have a specialty of making friends with people that don’t want to be friends.” The red head threw his arm over bitch face’s shoulder.

And thus a new friendship was born.

“Bakugo, why do you keep moving my pillow in our dreams, it’s so not manly.” Kirishima whined.

“Neither is the massive rock sitting in the middle of nowhere, dude.” Bakugo argued.

“It’s not just a rock.” Kirishima mock sniffled. “It’s a boulder.”

Y/N snickered at the reference that earned the kind redhead a smack to the back of his head. “Are you delivering pizza on it?”

“Yes!” Kiri grinned.

“No! Don’t encourage him!” Bakugo shouted.

“Aye, don’t shout at me. Your boyfriend is a literal rock, he’s encouraging himself.” Y/N laughed, throwing a fry at him.

“Oh yeah, what trash has your soulmate cluttered in your dream world?” Bakugo argued back.

Y/N’s laughter silenced and immediately her lips curled into a scowl. A light switched on and they remembered the one rule they had set in place. No one talks about Y/N’s soulmate. Or lack thereof.

“Bakugo!” Mina snapped.

“Shit, I didn’t-.” Y/N didn’t give him the time to apologize and stood up from the lunch table.

“Wait, no, Y/N! He didn’t mean to!” Kaminari grabbed her arm.

She flicked him in the forehead and pulled away. “No, it’s fine. You guys talk about your soulmate shit, I’m going to the training field.”

“Wait, Y/N, really!” Mina tried. “It’s just, we’re so used to casually talking about it!”

“I don’t care if you guys talk about yours, but you know I don’t have one, so we don’t bring up mine!” She huffed, before taking a breath. “You know what? Never mind.”

Y/N ignored her friend’s protest and stomped out of the dinning hall. She rushed to the training area, stopping by the locker room to change and grab gear, briefly.

Activating her quirk she began fist fighting her clone, taking her anger out on herself. Very early on into her friendship with the group she told them she didn’t want to talk about the soulmate shit. At least not her own. She told them she didn’t have one, leaving them to believe she never did.

They were incredibly understanding after they found that it upset her. So much, to the point that she copied Kirishima to punch himself when he kept asking. After that ordeal and several days of being ignored, they respected her wishes of not bringing it up.

She knocked herself down and punched herself in the face. She turned off the connection to the clone so she wouldn’t feel the pain herself. Disconnected clones only had a few minutes to live really and faded away with enough damage. Once that one faded, she created another in its space and continued pounding away.

“Stupid soulmate bullshit.” She huffed each word with a punch. “Stupid divide rule.” Another clone. “Stupid. Fucking. Erg- Everything!”

Y/N beat her final clone to death and didn’t bring a new one out. She sniffled, the tears she’d been holding back for years now finally breaking her dam. She hated the horrible lonely feeling she had been surrounded by for so long. She missed out on so much sleep, just to avoid going to her dream world. She set alarms to wake her up every hour or so to stay away from it and at this point, she was losing her mind.

She cried more thinking back to the last time she had been in her kindred-plane. She’d avoided it for a few days before exhaustion actually hit her like a bus and made her sleep. This time her plain little dream seemed to have adopted new items in her absence.

A bundle of comic books, a guitar, even a really, really big pikachu plushie.

Not that they were placed anywhere in particular. The guitar was outside of the little home she had reimagined, laying haphazardly on the ground. The pikachu was placed in front of a tree, facing it and the books were strewn across her loveseat couch. It was like her dream realm had become a lost and found for thrown away items from other planes. Which, honestly, Y/N could believe, as she didn’t use it so much.

She wished she could just give away her realm and dream of nothingness.

“Y/N?” She jumped, hearing her name and quickly wiped away her tears, ignoring the way they stung her open knuckles.

“Kaminari, I’m not really in the mood to talk.” Y/N muttered.

“Okay, that’s fine. We both know I talk enough for the both of us.” He joked, coming to sit in front of her.

Y/N turned to look away from his seating and ignored him, but he set off into a spiel about a new game he got. He did what he did best when one of his friends were upset, he talked. And normally that worked, but minutes into his yabbering, she started crying again.

“Hey, no! No crying! Crying is sad!” Kaminari tried.

“I am sad Kami!” She snapped. “I am really fucking sad! Everyone gets to have stupid fucking soulmate but me! And all because mine fucking died!”

Kaminari immediately paused his frantic attempts to calm her. “Huh, I thought you said you didn’t have one?”

“I don’t because she died! My god damn soulmate died literally months after meeting each other damn it!” Y/N yelled, sinking her fingers into her hair. “And now my kindred-plane is empty and lonely and shit keeps getting piled into it like a fucking trash can!”

Kaminari was silent for a moment while she cried. He slowly crawled over, closer to her and pulled her into a hug. This wasn’t a moment for talking randomly and he knew that. So they sat for the rest of the lunch period in silence, save for her soft hiccups.

After that, somehow, Y/N started talking to her friends the next day. She rationalized that it wasn’t their fault she was sensitive about the subject, they didn’t deserve the aggression. So with a tense apology, she was back to sitting with them at lunch and hanging out.

Y/N was determined to not let her disrupted dreamland destroy her outside reality.

“Okay, really?” Y/N blinked at the ugly rug that appeared draped over her bookshelf. “How the hell did you even get there?”

She tugged it down and stared at it in disgusted contemplation. “Guess you get to go in front of the fireplace…”

Y/N walked towards the warmth and paused, noting that it felt like it took a few more steps than usual. She looked around and found that the picture she carefully centered on the wall was no longer centered. Was her house getting bigger? More and more shit was popping up out of nowhere and her place felt spaceyer…

“What the actual fuck universe?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and laid down the new rug.

An odd whooshing noise sounded behind her and she turned around to see a lamp fizzled into existence, a hand accompanying it this time. Y/N fumbled over own feet trying to hurry and grab it. Someone was putting shit in her realm and she was about to find out who.

Actually she wasn’t.

The moment she grabbed the hovering wrist, it was like she had rubbed her socks across her new rug a million times and then touched an outlet. The hand shocked her, hard. She yelped and fell backwards on her butt, accidently taking the lamp down too, except when it fell apart it fell backwards toward the floating hand and disappeared from her plane.

Y/N gasped sitting up out of her bed, the shock kicking her out of her own dream. “Ow, what the hell?”

Y/N looked over at her clock, finding that it was five in the morning. She sighed and climbed out of her bed, grabbing her ear buds and phone. There was no school the next day, it was Saturday so she aimed to sneak down to the common room and spend her day dead on the couch, fighting off sleep again.

Not ten minutes after snuggling into a comfy spot on the couch, it dipped slowly as someone sat on the other end of it. She looked up from her book, to find Kaminari on the other end. He held up a bag of doritos in exchange for her company.

“What are you doing up?” She asked, pulling out her ear buds.

“Got startled awake by something in my dream world.” He answered, holding the bag out to her.

“Ah, that sucks.” She hummed apologetically.

“What about you?” He asked carefully.

Y/N snorted. “Kami, you know I don’t sleep.”

“Yeah, I know, but you’ve been up for the past few days.” He sighed, remembering seeing her in the kitchen at three am. “You’re going to trash your health if you don’t sleep.”

“Eh, it’s alright.” She crunched on a chip, before yawning. “Plus, you stay up every night gaming, bite me.”

“Gladly.” He winked. “But seriously, a lonely dream realm can’t be all bad.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he was going to continue this topic of conversation. And he did. “I mean mine’s pretty lonely and I think it’s alright.”

“What?” She furrowed his eyebrows.

“My kindred-plane has but just me since like, forever, and I don’t think it’s that bad.” He shrugged.

Kaminari didn’t have a soulmate? That didn’t make sense, he’d tell them about all the adventures he’d run on in his dream. “You said you were helping some Jill girl fight zombies and stuff, just the other day.”

“Yeah, Jill Valentine. From Resident Evil.” He laughed. “I figured out a long time ago that I could just make her up in my dreams if I played the game until I fell asleep. She’s not my soulmate-.”

“You don’t have one…” Y/N whispered, sitting up.

“Nope, never did.” He offered her more chips, but Y/N just looked at him with sad eyes.

She cried in his arms about her soulmate dying and it turned out he never had one in the first place. “Don’t look so sad, Sunshine. It’s okay.”

“Denki, you don’t have a soulmate. That shit sucks.” Y/N flailed her hands.

“Yeah, but at least I didn’t get attached to mine and then they died. That sucks even more.” Kaminari argued.

Y/N slumped back against the couch. “This soulmate business is quite literal shit.”

“Yeah, but other people are pretty happy with it, so it’s okay to me really.” Kaminari hummed, nonchalantly. “Plus, no one can yell at me for my taste in decorations. That can really make or break a relationship ya know.”

Y/N laughed. “Oh yeah, totally. If my soulmate tried to decorate our space with half the shit that seems to appear in my room I’d have to throw hands.”

“Stuff appears in your dream?” Kaminari asked. “What, like, someone’s statue of Scooby doo?”

“Kaminari Denki, please tell me you don’t have a statue of Scooby doo in your kindred.” She tried not to laugh.

“No!” He said quickly. “I have a statue of Scrappy Doo.”

“Oh my god, no, you don’t!” She gasped.

“Yep! There’s a pond in front of my house and he’s in the dead center of it.” He grinned proudly. “And he looks amazing there.”

“Oh I bet he does.” Y/N snickered. “Bet he pulls the whole place together.”

“As a matter of fact he does.” Kaminari declared smugly. “What about your plane? What’s one big special thing you’ve got in it?”

Y/N hummed and thought for a second. “There’s a really big oak tree just behind my house and it’s covered in string lights, with a small ladder up the trunk. There’s a flat area in some of the branches so I can sit up there and read.”

“That sounds beautiful.” Kaminari said, fondly. “I have a tree kind of like that in mine too.”

“Does yours have a massive Pikachu in front of it?” She taunted, laughing.

She just barely missed the furrowing of his eyebrows before he answered. “I’m not entirely sure, I think, I’d have to take a look. I hope I do though, otherwise, I’d have to come steal yours.”

“Absolutely not! He’s my friend!” Y/N gasped and shoved at his leg. “Stick with your Scrappy Doo statue.”

Kaminari smiled. “Fine, fine. But if I don’t have a Pikachu in my dream, you owe me.”

“Mmhm, sure.” Y/N grinned.

For the next few months, Y/N and Kaminari grew closer, having bonded over their lack of soulmates. While they grew closer, not only did Y/N become happier, her kindred-plane seemed to get brighter, despite all the random things finding purchase in her realm and the fact that it was still growing. It was nice, she didn’t hate spending the night there anymore. She didn’t run into the disembodied hand anymore, but that was okay.

With what was happening in reality, she wasn’t too bothered by her dreams anymore. Instead, she focused on her friends, they were a wonderful reminder that life didn’t go to complete shit. For the first time, she actually let these people get close to her and drag her out of her hole she kept herself in.

… And out into the living room to watch the boys yell at each other over Mario Kart.

Y/N cursed and pushed Kaminari’s face away from her own as he laved his tongue across her cheek. “Denki, I swear to god if you don’t stop licking me, I’m going to bite you!”

“Ooh! Promise?” He flirted, smirking. “What else are you gonna do with that mouth?”

“Hurt your feelings, Sparkler boy.” She laughed, squishing his cheeks.

Kaminari threw himself into her arms, taking her to the floor. “So mean, I thought you loved me!”

“Oh yeah, she totally loves you with the way she made you beat yourself up today.” Bakugo snickered.

“Yeah, dude, she used your quirk against you better than you.” Kirishima pipped up.

“Hey, hey, clones don’t get fried when they use their ultimate! They just disappear and another one pops up!” Kaminari argued in defense.

“Jesus, Denki, you’re heavy!” Y/N shoved at his body, half heartedly. “Get off, you loser.”

“Uhg, fine, only because I have a race to win.” He rolled off her, to grab his switch controller.

“Oh thank god, I was going into the light for a second there.” Y/N gasped, dramatically.

Kaminari pinched her leg in retaliation. “Hey, I’m not that heavy!”

“Your head is though.” She stuck her tongue out.

“So mean.” He pouted as she turned to lay her head in his lap.

Y/N giggled as she pulled out her phone, to scroll through Tumblr for a fic to read. Moments went by before a snapchat notification popped up. Tapping on it, she found a common message from Mina.

‘You guys are too cute.’- Pinkiepie

‘We’re just friends, Mi.’-Y/N

A snap picture appeared in their feed and she tapped it open. There she was laying in Kaminari’s lap and there he was looking down at her, sweetly. ‘He’s giving you major heart eyes.’- Pinkiepie

‘Stop taking pictures of people, it’s stalkery.’- Y/N

‘That’s why you took a ss.’ -Pinkiepie

‘Oh fuck off.’- Y/N

‘Oh come on, just give him a chance, neither of you have sm’s so your not stealing him from anyone.’- Pinkiepie

‘You’re*’- Y/N

Y/N sighed and looked up to Kaminari’s face above hers. It apparently hadn’t been uncommon knowledge that Kaminari was Soulmateless, probably why the group had been so confused as to why she was so upset about it. It was normal to them, because it had always been Kaminari’s story.

Would it be so bad to make her own soulmate? Most divided soulmates stayed by themselves for the rest of their lives, but would it be alright if they didn’t?

“Oh, guys! I meant to tell you; I think I actually do have a soulmate!” Kaminari blurted into the air.

His admission quite literally derailed the entire room. Bakugo drove off the map in Mario Kart, Kirishima completely looked away from the game and Mina choked on her spit and her eyes flew to Y/N who paled significantly.

Sero was the only one who appeared unaffected. “Guys, he’s probably just saying that to throw us off, he’s in last.”

“I’m gonna blow you up, you put me in fourth with your little stunt.” Bakugo threatened.

“No, I’m serious!” Kaminari argued. “Over the last few months my dreams have been changing and stuff. Like it was making room for another person. My house is super spacy now, new decorations have been showing up for no reason, like there was a vase of flowers on the floor near my door, and my curtains changed colour, they’re a cute lavender colour now. Plus there’s a really big pikachu next to a beautiful oak tree in my yard.”

“Woah, dude, really?” Kirishima paused the race and turned to his friend.

“Yeah, totally.” Kaminari nodded, subtly looking down to meet Y/N’s wide eyes. “I was super confused for a while.”

“Holy shit, you’re serious.” Sero laughed. “Have you met them yet? Or are they just leaving surprises for you?”

“Well, I’ve seen her a few times, but I haven’t got the chance to talk to her yet, she wakes up pretty fast.” Kaminari shrugged.

“That’s so good Denki, I’m so happy for you.” Mina said softly as Y/N sat up.

“Me too, Denks. But speaking of waking up, I’m tired, so I’m gonna go take a nap.” Y/N hummed, yawning.

“Okay, see you later, Y/N.” They all chimed as she walked away.

“Yeah, see you later.” Kaminari called, carefully.

Y/N tried her best to contain herself and all but ran to her dorm. Along the way, her phone buzzed, no doubt a message from Mina. Once she was in her room, she flew to her bed, never had she been so eager to fall asleep before.

She quickly responded to Mina, ensuring her that she was alright and actually wanted to sleep. Y/N even sent her a reassuring picture of her smile with a short caption ‘I’m off to go see a Pikachu.’ After that, it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, but it was too long.

Y/N blinked open her eyes, finally appearing in her kindred-plane and spun around, trying to identify things in her dream house. She hurried to open the door and looked over to her tree, with the ever so famous Pikachu there. She turned and jogged in the opposite direction for the one thing she needed to see to make sure she was correct.

There it was. Scrappy Doo. In the middle of her pond.

Y/N jumped up and down, squealing to herself. It was happening, oh my god, it was happening. Now she just had to wait.

And wait she did. She had run back to her tree and climbed up to sit and await her soulmate. The soulmate she actually had again. Someone to share her dream world with again.

She had a soulmate.

Quietly for the next hour, Y/N sat and read one of her books, waiting almost patiently for him. She’d made it through the third chapter when a voice startled her away from the pages.

“Sorry, I couldn’t fall asleep for the life of me.” Kaminari said, smiling.

Y/N bit her lip and grinned. “I thought you missed my cue for a bit there."

"No, I was just a little too excited to fall asleep." He crawled up into her tree nook. "You see, I suddenly got a new person roaming my world almost like, uh, a forever person or something. What's it called?"

"Mm, I don't know. Kinda sounds like you've got a soulmate there, Denki." Y/N whispered as he came closer.

"Fucking finally." He muttered, leaning forwards to connect their lips.

But before he could make contact he ran into her hand first. “But, really, we are going to have to talk about your decorating choices.”

“Yeah, yeah, we can talk about that after this.” Kaminari chuckled and moved her hand to kiss her.

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