Mha X Reader - Blog Posts

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

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

everything he does | s. todoroki

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

Hihi!! U said ud like to start doing more writings rather than smaus, so I thought I’d leave u a writing request this time! Okay so picture this, it’s post-war with bakugou x mia!reader who was presumed dead but apparently was just stranded in the middle of nowhere (this part is kind of a plothole but if u could figure out something that would be sososo amazing!!) and after like 6 months finally reunite post-war?? Ofc take ur time and stay healthy author !! Love ur work !!<3333

six months too late | k. bakugo

bakugo thought you were gone. for six months, he lived with that weight. but fate had other plans—and now, you're standing right in front of him.

bakugo had never been good at dealing with grief.

anger? sure. fear? he could mask it. pain? he lived with that shit daily. but grief? real, soul-crushing loss that settled deep in his bones and refused to leave? that was different.

and it was eating him alive.

you had been gone for six months.

the war ended, but not without casualties. the city was rebuilding, heroes stretched thin trying to repair the damage. civilians were starting to feel safe again. life was moving on.

but bakugo couldn't.

because you weren't there.

no body. no trace. no closure.

just... gone.

they'd looked for you. he'd looked for you—refused to stop even after the others tried to tell him it was no use. rescue teams had combed through the rubble, searching collapsed buildings and debris for any sign of you. but all they ever found were reminders of how brutal the battle had been.

a boot. blood on the pavement.

but never you.

bakugo had stood there, watching as they cleared the wreckage, hands clenched into fists so tight his nails left crescent moons in his palms. he didn't speak. didn't move.

he didn't cry.

because if he did—if he let that crack form even for a second—he wouldn't survive it.

he stopped saying your name after the first month.

it hurt too much.

everyone could see it. he wasn't the same.

bakugo still trained with the same intensity, still went through the motions of being a hero-in-training, but the fire was gone. his explosions felt duller. his anger, less controlled.

the dorms were quieter without you. your laugh used to echo through the hallways, bright and infectious. you'd tease him relentlessly, calling him out on his bullshit with that signature grin he pretended to hate.

now? silence.

even his friends had stopped trying to get him to talk about it. they didn't ask how he was doing anymore—probably because they knew the answer.

shitty.

he was doing shitty.

bakugo didn't sleep much anymore.

every time he closed his eyes, he saw you.

not the way he wanted to remember you—smiling, happy, calling him an idiot when he tried to act cool.

no.

he saw you in that moment.

the war. the smoke. the chaos.

"get out of here!" you'd screamed, shoving him back, your eyes wide with desperation. "go, bakugo!"

he didn't listen. he never would.

but then—the explosion.

a flash of light. a deafening roar.

and you were gone.

bakugo woke up most nights with his heart pounding, breath ragged as he reached for something—someone—who wasn't there.

his bed was cold. the dorm was quiet.

and you were still gone.

he should've been there. should've done something. should've protected you.

bakugo had played that moment over in his head a thousand times, wondering where it went wrong. how he let you slip away. how he—of all people—had failed to save the one person he couldn't live without.

six months. that's how long it had been.

life didn't wait for grief to pass. UA moved forward. class 1-a graduated and stayed on as provisional heroes to assist with the rebuilding efforts. the dorms weren't as chaotic anymore. they were quiet. colder. bakugo still trained like his life depended on it. he threw himself into work with relentless determination, trying to drown out the ache that never went away. his body was exhausted, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness that gnawed at him from the inside.

kirishima watched him with worried eyes. mina tried to get him to open up, but he brushed her off. kaminari—even kaminari—stopped cracking jokes about "grumpy bakugo" because this... this wasn't just grumpiness. this was grief. and no one knew how to fix it.

bakugo didn't say it out loud, but he had given up. he stopped checking the reports. stopped listening when the search teams gave their updates. stopped hoping. because hoping hurt too much.

it was a random afternoon when everything changed. the sun was setting, casting long shadows over the UA campus. bakugo was heading back to the dorms after another grueling training session, his body sore and his mind numb. he was used to this feeling by now—the hollow ache in his chest that never fully went away.

but then—

"bakugo." the voice was soft. almost too soft. his brain didn't register it at first. it couldn't.

"katsuki."

that voice. his heart stopped.

slowly, like he was afraid moving too fast would break the fragile illusion, he turned around. and there you were. standing a few feet away, looking tired, worn, and a little worse for wear. but alive.

alive.

bakugo didn't move. didn't breathe.

"hey," you said, voice barely above a whisper, like you weren't sure he'd even want to see you.

bakugo's knees nearly gave out.

"holy shit," he breathed, his voice cracking as his feet finally moved. he stumbled forward like a man possessed, eyes locked on you as if he was afraid you'd disappear again if he blinked.

you didn't move. didn't speak. and then—you were in his arms.

bakugo crushed you against his chest, arms wrapped around you so tightly it was like he was trying to make sure this was real—that you were real.

"you're..." his voice broke, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like it would anchor him to reality. "you're real."

"i'm real," you murmured, your voice trembling as you clung to him just as desperately. "i'm here, katsuki."

bakugo's body shook. "where the fuck were you?" his voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "do you know how long i—"

"i know," you whispered, pulling back just enough to cup his face in your hands. "i know. i'm so sorry, katsuki."

his eyes were glassy, filled with too many emotions to name. anger. relief. pain. love.

"i thought..." his voice trailed off, and his grip on you tightened. "i thought i lost you."

"you didn't," you smiled, pressing your forehead against his. "i'm here now. i'm not going anywhere."

"swear it." his voice was barely audible, but the desperation in it was palpable.

"i swear."

bakugo's lips crashed against yours. it wasn't gentle. it was raw, desperate—a collision of lips and teeth and everything he'd been holding back for six long months. he kissed you like he was trying to make up for every second you'd been gone, like he was terrified this was still a dream. but you kissed him back just as fiercely.

and for the first time in six months, bakugo katsuki could breathe again.

you didn't talk about it right away. the first night, you stayed curled up in his bed, wrapped in his arms like he was afraid to let go. bakugo didn't sleep—just held you, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, grounding himself in the steady rise and fall of your breathing. he didn't ask where you'd been. didn't ask how you survived. because right now? none of that mattered.

you were here. that was all that mattered.

days passed before you could bring yourself to tell him. about how the explosion had thrown you so far, so fast, that no one thought to look beyond the city. how you'd been buried under debris, barely clinging to life, until a group of villagers in a remote area found you and nursed you back to health.

how you'd spent every waking moment after that trying to get back to him.

"i tried, katsuki," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you sat on his bed, hands trembling in his. "i tried to come back."

"i know."

bakugo's thumb brushed over your knuckles, his touch gentle despite the storm in his eyes.

"i didn't mean to leave you."

"i know."

his jaw clenched, and he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. "you're not leaving again."

"i'm not."

"swear it."

"i swear."

bakugo kissed you again, slower this time, softer—like he was memorizing every inch of you all over again. and for the first time in six months, he wasn't holding onto a ghost.

you stayed by his side after that. bakugo didn't sleep alone anymore. every night, he fell asleep with his arms around you, grounding himself in the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. and every morning, when he woke up and saw you there—he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay again.

it wasn't easy. some days were harder than others. but you were there.

and bakugo?

he wasn't letting go this time.

not now. not ever.

office hours | s. aizawa

⇨ in which a tired college professor starts texting his equally tired colleague

5+1 | s. todoroki

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

when you were laughing so hard you couldn't breathe

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

you were laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

and he panicked.

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

you beamed at him.

and the moment passed.

2. when you fell asleep on his shoulder

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

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

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

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

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

you shifted slightly, brow furrowed, murmuring something incoherent.

he froze. held his breath.

but you didn't wake up.

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

3. when you got your heart broken

it was raining. of course it was raining.

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

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

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

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

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

you laughed, but it sounded hollow.

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

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

you leaned your head against his shoulder.

and he didn't move.

4. when he thought you might be slipping away

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and he didn't say what he meant.

5. when you almost died

the explosions echoed down the street like thunder.

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

they said you were last seen inside the collapsed building.

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

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

and then he saw your hand.

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

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

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

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

you mumbled his name. tried to smile.

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

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

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

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

not yet.

so he waited.

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

it was late.

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

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

he turned to look at you.

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

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

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

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

"then just say it," you whispered.

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

you didn't move.

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

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

"i love you," he said.

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

you smiled.

"finally."

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

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

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

in your dreams | h. shinsou

⇨ he finally falls asleep, and there you are—again. in his hoodie. in his head. his dream girl, literally.

hii!! i love ur smaus i read the shinso and dabi fatherhood ones and they were amazing 🩷🩷

I wanted to request a fatherhood smau with either monoma or iida and ofc no pressure 🫶🏻

parenting.exe | t. iida

tenya iida is doing his best. you're doing... something. your child is doing whatever they want

reason #3 | n. monoma

⇨ it was just a list. a dumb, petty, handwritten list of all the reasons class 1-a is the worst. but your name stood out, and now he can't stop talking to you... or thinking about you

december, again | d. kaminari

you wrote "december, again" about heartbreak. you didn't expect to meet someone who'd sing every word back like he'd lived it too.

the green room was quiet—dim and humming with low light, the scent of hot tea and stage dust clinging to the corners. you sat cross-legged on the worn velvet couch, cradling a chipped mug between your palms, listening to the soft static of the soundcheck being patched through the in-ear monitors coiled beside you.

your guitar sat in its stand nearby, already tuned, the strap worn from years of shows and nerves. you had done this so many times before—but tonight felt different.

tokyo was the biggest venue on the tour so far. a full room. a sold-out show. an unfamiliar city and a familiar ache in your chest. you'd played coffee shops, tiny festival tents, even the occasional college auditorium—but this was your first international stage, and the butterflies were relentless.

you glanced at your phone, already on do not disturb, but still lit up with a few unread messages. one was from your tour manager. one from your sister. and one, tucked between them, was a twitter notification.

@lightningmcme

im the guy in the front row screaming every word. respectfully

you smiled without meaning to. your thumb hovered over the screen for a second longer than necessary, rereading the tweet. it was stupidly charming—just like all his other tweets.

you remembered him. the blonde with the ridiculous username. he'd been tweeting about your music for years. always saying something half-sincere and half-stupid, like your lyrics had personally destroyed him in the grocery store or that he'd cry if you ever released a deluxe version.

and he always meant it. every word.

you weren't supposed to follow fans back—not often, anyway. but his account had popped up more times than you could count. sweet. supportive. never creepy. just... soft.

so when you followed him and sent a quick thank you, you hadn't expected the all-caps panic or the flustered spiral of gratitude. you definitely hadn't expected to still be messaging him days later. he was funny. kind. endearingly honest. it was easy.

and now he was here. somewhere in that crowd. front row, he'd said. you hadn't looked yet. didn't dare. not until the lights hit you.

you pressed your hand to your chest, just for a second, trying to calm the stupid flutter that rose there.

"two minutes," someone called from the hallway.

you stood slowly, adjusting your mic pack, and reached for your guitar. as you walked toward the wings, the sounds of the crowd drifted in—laughter, chatter, low excitement building into something tangible. the air buzzed.

the lights backstage flickered as the crew called final cues. you did one last breath check, settled your fingers on the strings, and exhaled.

showtime.

the stage lights washed over you in a warm gold as you stepped out, your guitar slung across your shoulder. a hush fell over the audience, the kind that always made your heart beat a little harder.

"hi," you said into the mic, breath catching on the tail end of a smile. "i'm... really honored to be here tonight. i've been writing songs in my bedroom since i was sixteen, and somehow you all made it feel like something real."

soft cheers rippled through the audience. somewhere near the front, someone whooped.

you scanned the barricade briefly, and there he was—blond hair tousled, jacket sleeves rolled up to his elbows, absolutely beaming. he looked like he hadn't blinked since you walked onstage. mouth already forming the lyrics before you even began.

denki.

you felt a grin pull at your lips.

"this first song..." you said, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. "it's called 'december, again'. it's about holding onto something long after it's let go of you.

the opening chord rang clear. you let yourself fall into it.

i bought your favorite drink out of habit left it in the fridge 'til it went bad wore your sweater out in public just to see if anyone would ask

you sang like you were remembering every ache in real time. the lights were low and soft, like candlelight, and you could hear the audience singing with you.

your name still fits wrong in my mouth but it's the only thing i don't spit out

the lights dimmed slightly, drawing the audience closer. you caught sight of denki mouthing the words, his hands clasped against the barricade like he didn't trust himself not to float away.

it's december, again and i swore i'd be fine but the lights look like your headlights and the cold feels like that night when you left without saying goodbye and i still stand by the door like i'm waiting for you to come back in it's december, again and i'm missing you like it just happened

the audience went silent as you strummed your guitar. it was a silence that proved they were listening. really listening.

friends ask how i'm doing i lie like it's my second language there's still boxes in my closet of the pieces i can't manage

a girl in the third row wiped her eyes. you caught her movement out of the corner of your eye and softened your voice.

i sleep better with the TV on but you still show up when the volume's gone

it's december again and i swore i'd be fine but the lights look like your headlights and the cold feels like that night when you left without saying goodbye and i still stand by the door like i'm waiting for you to come back in it's december, again and i'm missing you like it just happened do you think of me at all? when it starts to snow when someone plays our song too slow i burned all the letters but not the words i still remember what i never heard

you opened your eyes again and let them rest on him. denki. he hadn't moved. his expression was soft, reverent, like he'd never seen anything more important than you at that moment.

it's december, again and the silence is loud you're still gone but i'm not proud of the way i keep breaking like it's some kind of vow and i still stand by the door like i don't know how this ends it's december, again and i'm missing you like it just happened

the last chord faded into a hush.

a beat of silence.

then the applause began—gentle, reverent. a swell of warmth.

you scanned the crowd.

denki was still at the barricade.

still glowing.

not in a flashy, spotlight kind of way—but in the way someone looks when they've found something they didn't know they needed.

you played the rest of your set like you were singing just for him.

⋆˙⟡

when you stepped offstage, your hands were still buzzing. you passed your guitar to one of the techs, accepted a bottle of water with shaking fingers, and headed straight for the security staff near the wing.

"hey," you said. "can i ask a favor?"

one of them looked up. "depends. how weird is it?" you smiled. "sweet blond boy. front row. looks like he sings along to everything even when he's about to cry. think you can bring him back here?"

the guy laughed. "yeah, i know exactly who you mean."

⋆˙⟡

denki didn't know how to move.

people were leaving. voices echoing. but he just stood there, staring at the empty stage like it still had something to give him.

he was pretty sure he hadn't blinked since you looked at him. actually looked at him. he had replayed it ten times in his head already. the exact second your gaze found his and you smiled.

his knees were weak.

and then a security guard was walking toward him.

"hey," the guy said. "you're the blond one, right? artist wants to see you backstage."

denki had exactly three brain cells functioning, and all of them screamed.

he followed the guard without speaking. his legs felt fake. his mouth was dry. this had to be a dream. it had to be.

backstage smelled like lights and sweat and something warm—something safe.

he tried not to trip over a cable as the door opened.

⋆˙⟡

you were curled up in a hoodie over your stage outfit, sat in a chair, when the door opened.

there he was.

golden and breathless and so clearly overwhelmed you almost stood up just to steady him.

"hi," you said, heart hammering. "denki, right?"

he nodded fast. too fast. "hi—yeah. yes. oh my god."

you laughed. "it's okay. you made it."

he blinked. "did i black out?"

"maybe a little."

you motioned for him to sit. he did. slowly. like it might be a trap.

"i just wanted to thank you," you said. "like i said, i've seen your tweets. your support. it's... it's meant more than you know."

denki looked like he might combust.

"i'm the one who's grateful," he said. "you wrote the soundtrack to my favorite breakdowns."

you grinned. "best compliment i've ever received."

there was a pause. something soft.

he glanced around, cheeks flushed. "this is... insane. you're, like, the reason i made it through last winter. that song? 'december, again'? i think i listened to it every day for two months. not even because i was heartbroken, i just—i don't know. it made me feel like i wasn't broken for feeling too much."

you blinked. slowly. carefully.

then denki tilted his head and said, "can i ask you something kind of personal?"

"sure," you said. "shoot."

"what got you into music?"

you smiled, soft and a little faraway. "i guess... i always felt a little too much. too loud in my head. writing was the only way i could let it out without exploding. and then one day, i put it to chords, and it stuck. it felt right. like i was finally telling the truth."

denki was quiet for a moment, like he didn't want to break the silence. then he said, "well, i'm really glad you did."

you looked at him, his wide eyes and messy hair and nervous energy. and then, without really thinking about it, you asked, "are you doing anything right now?"

he blinked. "me?"

you laughed. "yeah, you."

denki shook his head. "no, i... i mean, i was probably just gonna cry in a ramen shop alone about this whole night, so—"

"perfect," you cut in. "come cry in a ramen shop with me instead."

he stared. "wait. you're serious?"

"dead serious," you said. "you comin'?"

he nodded vigorously. "yes, of course."

you stood, grabbing your jacket. "cool. i know a good noodle spot. let's go, sweet blond boy from barricade."

and denki followed you out into the cold tokyo night, warm from something that had nothing to do with the stage lights.

and everything to do with you.

player two | t. shigaraki

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

ts pmo ong 🥀 | i. midoriya

midoriya is a hero, a strategist , a prodigy— and a little brother who steals your leftovers and pisses you off.

not a date, btw | e. kirishima

in which you and kirishima spend weeks fake-denying your way through very real feelings.

HIII I love ur smaus and the way you write the characters are just ,,,,,jdjdjdjjs anwyas,, could u mayhaps pls do a Bakugou x romantically oblivious reader?? I just think the dynamic would be hilarious LOLL !! ty and hope u have a great day/night!! :)) <33

wait, are you flirting? | k. bakugo

bakugo is very obviously into you. you think he's just a strangely intense friend.

hai!!! i love ur writing sm

can u write a hitoshi shinso x reader fic and they have a child or smth cuz i’m in LOVEEE with your dabi smau fic😣💞

it’s okay if not, ur writing is so good 💗💗💗

fatherhood looks good | h. shinso

shinso didn't plan on having a kid, but now there's a tiny version of him running around the house and yelling about the moon.

(fic/drabble under the cut!)

there's a crash from the living room, followed by the unmistakable sound of bare feet slapping frantically against hardwood. you don't even look up from your phone.

"he's running," you call.

shinso sighs from the kitchen. "is it a happy run or a 'he's about to break something' run?"

you pause, listening. a door slams. a tiny voice wails, "why did they turn off the moon?!"

"...meltdown," you say casually. "moon's out. emotionally spiraling."

shinso leans against the doorframe with a tired sort of grace, stirring a mug of hot chocolate like this is completely normal. which, unfortunately, it is.

"i told you not to say the moon was a night light," he says.

you shrug. "he was scared of the dark. i panicked. i gave it personality."

"well," shinso mutters, setting the mug down with a small clink, "now it's personal."

you both wander toward the noise—your son has collapsed dramatically on the floor by the window, clutching his stuffed cat, face pressed to the glass.

"they turned it off," he sniffles without turning around. "the moon's gone. my night light's broken forever."

shinso sits down beside him cross-legged, like he's done this a thousand times. because he has. you watch as your husband gently tilts his head to try and meet his son's eyes.

"it's just cloudy, kid," shinso says quietly. "the moon's still there. can't always see it, but it doesn't go away."

your son frowns. "are you sure?"

"yeah," shinso says, voice lower now. "same way i can't always see you when i'm at work, but i still know you're being a tiny menace at home."

"i'm not a menace," he protests immediately.

shinso raises an eyebrow. "you bit your mom over cookies."

your son pauses.

"...she deserved it."

"absolutely not," you say from the hallway, and both of them flinch in sync.

there's a beat of silence before your son lets out a very long, dramatic sigh. "okay," he whispers, still watching the sky. "but tell the moon to stop hiding. i don't like when it goes away."

shinso leans back on his hands, glancing toward you. his expression softens a little—less tired, more tired and in love.

"i get it," he murmurs. "i don't like when things go away, either."

you tilt your head. he doesn't look at you, but he doesn't need to. that's just how he is—quiet affection, full volume in everything except words.

later, when your son's asleep, curled between the two of you with his limbs spread out like he fought ghosts in his dreams, shinso kisses your shoulder and says:

"you made him weird."

you smile. "you made him soft."

shinso brushes a hand through your son's hair, voice barely audible.

"yeah," he says. "we did good."

parental guidance | s. aizawa

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

Literally eating up every smau you pump out 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 could I rq an Iida one? One where he has a hung crush on his bestie of YEARSSS but they're dating a guy he literally cannot stand?

not mine, still yours | t. iida

tenya knew being your best friend meant loving you from the sidelines, even while you gave your heart to the wrong person.

do you think you could do some Dabi smau where he has a kid with reader and all the fluffy things?

I’m in pain after the last one </3

if you’re not comfortable do not feel pressured to do it! <33333

-🐦‍⬛

domesticated | t. todoroki

parenthood was not in the plan, but now there's a glitter drawing of you and touya on the fridge.

Hihi!!! I hope you’re having a good day ! I was wondering if you could please do friends to lovers texts with Bakugou and a weird, energetic reader? i really hope im doing this the right way lol and if im not im really sorry!! TvT

bite first | k. bakugo

you're the weirdest part of his routine, and lately, his favorite.

user error | k. takami

⇨ as the ceo of a tech company for pro heroes, you’re used to dealing with malfunctions—just not one with wings and a flirting problem

burnt edges, unread messages | t. todoroki

⇨ not dating. not nothing. something in between. something you never got to name before it was gone.

brother’s best friend | s. todoroki

⇨ the only thing standing between you and shoto is your brother—unfortunately for him, neither of you listen well.

pussy bitch mentality | t. iida

⇨ when rule-following iida gets partnered with chaos incarnate for a lab partner, he expects disaster—not a crush.

extra credit | i. midoriya

⇨ midoriya agrees to tutor UA’s least interested student for extra credit.

character customization | e. kirishima

⇨ in which, kirishima is madly in love with his girlfriend, even if she’s constantly reinventing herself with questionable methods

little drummer boy | k. bakugo

⇨ being bakugo’s upstairs neighbor would be fine if he didn’t treat his drum set like it was a weapon of mass destruction.

re-up | h. sero

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

evil(ish) coworker | d. kaminari

⇨ working at a diner would be fine if your coworker wasn’t both a hazard and a menace.

⋆˚࿔ ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏᴜ + ᴘᴅᴀ. ✩˚⋆

✧ hellooo!! the unexpected support on my first lil drabble made me want to write another one!<3 This one’s just a little longer though

✧ fluffy fluff, suki loooves youu, gn reader

During the early stages of yours and Katsuki’s relationship, when it came to being publicly affectionate, furthest he would go would be hand holding.

You didn’t mind however. His hands were always comfortingly warm, and despite his explosive, even deadly quirk, would always hold yours firmly, yet ever so gently. Such a simple gesture, though it always brought a feeling of safety.

Besides, Katsuki didn’t seem like the type to go past handholding beyond closed doors to begin with. You knew what you were getting into, and you were completely content with just that. You simply took it as a silently set boundary of his, and you didn’t want to force your boyfriend out of his comfort zone.

Which, you realised overtime, even if you wanted to, you didn’t have to.

It was like he was exploring his own boundaries, pushing his own buttons. The more steps he took out of border, the further his hands wandered.

They went from your own, snaking their way to your shoulders, waist, anywhere on your back. The fleeting touches eventually leading to sweet, careless hugs and kisses. Becoming second nature to him.

Walking down a street? You’re not walking unless you’ve got a hand around his bicep, your head on his shoulder.

In a crowd? His arm is not leaving your waist.

Waiting in line? Your impatient grump of a boyfriend is hugging you from behind, leaning his head on your shoulder as he grumbles complaints into it.

You think about it every once in a while. How he went from having the tips of his ears burning at your hand nestling in his, to having his arms shamelessly around you at all times. You don’t know what is it that gave him the push, just happy it’s you he feels comfortable with to such extent.

All the while, Katsuki wishes he could put it into words for you.

Falling for you, then falling in love with you has taught him a lot. The kind of love you showed him has helped him realise things, look at them from a different perspective. It made him yearn for and want everything he never thought he would. Being publicly affectionate a small, nonetheless great example of that.

Katsuki used to think there was no need for not just you and him, but anyone to be all lovey-dovey in public. He used to think it was completely unnecessary, obnoxious even. That is, until the small sense of longing surfaced from the depths of his heart.

Katsuki thinks it grew stronger the deeper he fell. It wasn’t long before he’d decided to act on it, languidly at least.

It was weird, kind of a newfound feeling for him. He quickly pinpointed it to, pretty much, wanting to show your guys’ love off. He wants to show off how good he is to you and how happy you are with him. To the whole world, preferably, because he loves you that much and more.

In Katsuki’s head, he notably matured for this. Something he did next to, and thanks to you. But he guesses that’s just part of being in love.

⋆˚࿔ ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏᴜ + ᴄᴜᴅᴅʟɪɴɢ. ✩˚⋆

✧ hey hii heyyy! first time i have the courage to post a drabble i wrote... plz have mercy

✧ pure fluff, bakugou is a bit ooc, reader is gn!

As expected of the great explosion murder god, he insists on always holding you. The stubborn boy will literally wrestle you until you are both lying down, his arms around you, chin on top of your head.

That being a short sum up of how cuddling usually went with your boyfriend… until the moment he’d shockingly, begrudgingly agreed to being held.

“Fine.” He muttered, almost spat out. “Just this once.”

Safe to say it was not just that once.

Katsuki would rather walk barefoot on glass particles before he’d admit just how much he adores being held by you.

He adores hates! how safe and even small it makes him feel. Lying on your chest as you gently card your fingers trough his hair with one hand, slowly rubbing his back with the other. The soothing rise and fall of your chest, the comforting, steady sound of your heartbeat. Not to mention the occasional soft kisses you plant to the top of his head, sometimes accompanied by whispered sweet nothings.

And although flustered, Katsuki will demand this treatment every night. Wordlessly however.

Unless you initiate holding him, he’s crossing his arms, tossing and turning next to you, purposefully loudly sighing until you’d just get the damn hint and pull him into your arms. (You already know what he wants. He’s just too cute all huffy, stubborn as usual.)

It’s unspokenly become your guys’ little secret - the most important part of your nightly routine. You holding him, him being held by you.

You, who he loves so much, he’d let all his walls break down for.

A fact you’re very blissfully aware of, so you’d happily spend the rest of your nights holding your pretty blonde in your arms.

DRESS PRESENTATION!

keigo takami x reader smau model au

an: very short. next one will (hopefully) be longer (it will also take longer. get ready for another two week wait chat)

͙͘͡★ prev (slate/trailer)

͙͘͡★ next

tag list (open): @chaoslibra @samm1e13 @seijuroww @personally4runa @2dmenfr

dividers from: @saradika-graphics

sorry this took so long for how short it is (it's literally just a slightly longer trailer holy) but i'm gonna try to do better next time! :)

DRESS PRESENTATION!

keigo takami (hawks) x reader smau, model au

an: more of a teaser than a trailer.. sorry. formatting sucks but we deal w it.

tag list (open): @chaoslibra @samm1e13 @seijuroww @personally4runa

dividers from: @saradika-graphics