You Wrote This So Beautifully Like Actually. It's Gorgeous, Like WOW Mind Blown

you wrote this so beautifully like actually. it's gorgeous, like WOW mind blown

tell my mom we're in love | h. sero

fake dating wasn't on your holiday to-do list—until sero invited you home for tamales and chaos (3525 words)

you regretted this the moment you stepped out of the dormitory and into the sharp chill of mid-december air, a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder and your dignity already teetering on the edge. trailing beside you was hanta sero, practically vibrating with the smug energy of a man who had just talked his best friend into making the worst decision of her academic career.

and technically, he had.

somewhere between his mother's increasingly invasive matchmaking attempts and his inability to say the word "no" like a normal person, he'd decided the solution was to invent a girlfriend. and of course, of course, he'd chosen you.

"come on," he said now, as a cab idled at the curb, white exhaust curling into the crisp air like smoke from a slow-burning disaster. "tell me this won't be fun. just a little bit."

"i think i'm too emotionally aware to find this fun," you muttered, hoisting your bag into the trunk as he leaned beside you with his usual careless grace.

sero grinned—that unbothered, insufferably pretty grin that always made it harder to stay annoyed with him for long. "emotionally aware, huh? sounds like you're already getting into character."

you leveled him with a look. "if i'm your girlfriend, you're going to need to stop flirting like a golden retriever with a god complex."

"babe," he said, slipping into the backseat beside you with the kind of unearned confidence that should have come with a warning label, "flirting is literally how i survive in social settings. don't take this from me."

you stared out the window, hoping the freezing glass would cool the creeping warmth crawling up your neck. "we're not actually dating, hanta."

"right," he said, and he sounded amused, not wounded. "but we could be really good at it."

you didn't answer. he didn't press.

the cab pulled away from the dorms, and for a moment the silence between you was companionable, like it always had been. you'd known sero for years now—long enough to understand that his laid-back demeanor was as real as it was performative. he was the kind of person who made a room feel lighter just by being in it, but who also knew the weight of silence better than most people ever would.

he didn't make you feel like you had to be anyone but yourself. and that, unfortunately, was the root of the problem.

somewhere along the road from "we're just friends" to "please pretend to be my girlfriend so my mom stops trying to marry me off," things had started to shift.

not all at once. not obviously.

but they shifted.

now he was dozing beside you, his head tilted toward your shoulder, and every bump in the road made him inch closer. you should have nudged him off. you should have drawn the line.

but you didn't.

instead, you studied the soft lines of his face—the relaxed set of his mouth, the faint crease between his brows like his dreams were just a little too fast for his thoughts to catch—and you wondered what the hell you'd gotten yourself into.

by the time the cab slowed, the sun had dipped low, casting golden light over a neighborhood that looked far too idyllic to be real. sero's house was two stories of warmth and welcome: string lights curled along the porch railing, a wreath hung slightly crooked on the front door, and smoke drifted lazily from a chimney that promised something warm inside.

standing at the threshold was a woman with sharp eyes, a kind smile, and the unmistakable aura of someone who could both bake you cookies and emotionally destroy you in the same breath.

sero's mother.

you froze.

he didn't.

without hesitation, sero leaned in, brushing your hair behind your ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. his voice dipped just low enough for only you to hear. "smile like you love me."

then he reached for your hand.

his fingers, long and warm, laced effortlessly through yours.

you didn't pull away.

and that was the moment—standing at the edge of his childhood, your fingers locked in his, heart skipping in the kind of rhythm you weren't prepared for—that you realized you were in far more danger than you thought.

because part of you didn't want to let go.

the cab hadn't even rolled to a full stop before sero's mom was standing in front of it, arms crossed, eyes already locked onto her target like a seasoned general. you had seen pictures, sure—sero had shown you a few over lunch one day, swiping through images of his mom with an almost reverent fondness—but none of them did her justice.

she was radiant. that was the first word that came to mind. not in some soft, dreamy way, but in the sharp, unmistakable warmth of someone who had mastered the art of existing unapologetically. she had a scarf looped carelessly around her neck, dark hair pinned up with wisps escaping, and that immediate, unnerving energy unique to mothers who know everything before you say a word.

"hanta," she said brightly as you approached. "you took forever, mijo. i was about to call."

and then her eyes slid to you.

her whole face changed.

"qué linda," she said, stepping down toward you without hesitation. "you're even prettier than the pictures."

you opened your mouth to answer—say something polite, maybe even charming—but instead you were pulled into a hug so warm and familiar you forgot how to speak altogether.

she smelled like cinnamon and butter, like café and home. her arms wrapped around you without hesitation, solid and reassuring, and you blinked twice before realizing she wasn't letting go just yet.

she pulled back, hands on your shoulders, eyes scanning your face with curiosity. "how old are you, mija?"

"seventeen," you managed. "ua student. same class as hanta."

"top twenty," sero chimed from behind you, proud and useless.

his mom smiled wider. "good. you'll need that to keep up with him. he talks too much."

"i'm right here," sero said, offended.

"and what's your quirk, sweetheart?" she asked, guiding you inside like she owned every molecule of the house—which she probably did.

"just a luck quirk," you replied. "it's not anything big or flashy."

"flashy's overrated," she said. "flashy gets you on magazine covers, but smart keeps you alive. hanta could use some of that balance."

sero made a wounded noise. "i'm right here."

you stepped into the house and tried not to gape. it was warm and lived-in, with mismatched furniture and soft lights, and framed photos in every direction. you passed at least three different versions of baby sero—one with cake on his face, one dressed as a shark, and one in a tiny suit looking like he'd lost a bet.

you were immediately ushered to the couch, where sero flopped down beside you like he'd done this a thousand times. his arm stretched along the back of the cushions behind you, easy and casual, but you felt the heat of it like a brand against your neck.

his mom sat in the armchair across from you, one leg crossed, hands folded, expression deceptively pleasant.

"so," she said. "how long have you two been together?"

"six months," you and sero answered in unison.

your eyes met. you both smiled.

it was practiced, but god—it didn't feel like a lie.

"how'd you meet?" she asked next.

sero leaned forward like he was telling a secret. "training. she beat up kaminari. i've never recovered."

you tried not to laugh. "he followed me around for a week."

"i was courting you."

"you were loitering near vending machines."

"i was being persistent," he corrected. "it worked, didn't it?"

his mom watched you both, eyes narrowed just enough to make you sweat.

"and what do you like about my son?" she asked you, suddenly.

your mouth went dry.

sero glanced sideways, surprised.

but the answer came easy.

"he's reliable. and funny. and he listens—really listens. like you're the only person in the room."

you could feel sero's eyes on you, and the room felt warmer than it had a second ago.

"he's easy to be around," you said, a little softer now. "i feel like i can breathe near him."

a long silence stretched across the room.

then sero bumped your shoulder with his own, voice low. "you're not supposed to make me blush in front of my mom."

his mom smiled, pleased. "i like you."

you smiled back, because how could you not. "thank you."

"i made tamales," she said, rising to her feet. "sit tight. i'll get you a plate."

"do you need help—?" you started, half-standing.

"no, no. you're a guest. you sit and let yourself be adored."

she vanished into the kitchen with surprising speed.

the moment she was out of earshot, you collapsed sideways onto the couch.

"i blacked out," you whispered. "what did i even say?"

"that i'm amazing and you love being around me," sero said smugly.

you shot him a look.

he leaned a little closer, voice dropping. "also, you were adorable. you didn't have to go that hard. i almost forgot it was fake."

you didn't answer.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

dinner came after a comfortable lull in the afternoon—just enough time for you to grow used to the house's warmth, the quiet hum of kitchen sounds, and the sound of sero humming to himself as he helped his mom plate tamales. there was something undeniably domestic about it—watching him lean over the counter, sleeves pushed up, swiping a bit of masa from the corner of a dish with a grin when he thought no one was watching.

you caught yourself watching.

a little too long.

and when he turned around and caught your eye, offering you a wink that made your stomach stutter—you looked away, pretending to study the wall like it had secrets.

the house filled slowly with more noise, more feet, more voices. by the time dinner was ready, the table was surrounded by people—his siblings, all younger, all chaos incarnate. there were five in total, ranging from what looked like barely ten to maybe sixteen. all of them clearly adored sero, and all of them clearly had a thousand questions about you.

"are you really his girlfriend?" one of the younger girls asked, blinking up at you from her seat at the far end of the table.

sero, already sitting beside you, reached for your hand under the table without hesitation. "of course she is," he said easily. "she puts up with me. that's gotta mean something."

you glanced sideways, surprised by the way his thumb started tracing circles into your palm. his fingers were warm, his grip relaxed, like this was a habit and not a performance. your first instinct was to pull away—but you didn't. you let him hold on.

"do you like him?" one of the boys asked bluntly, somewhere between a dare and a test.

you looked over at sero, who was already looking at you.

and the smile that spread across his face wasn't teasing. it wasn't even smug.

it was soft.

"i do," you said honestly. "he's easy to like."

one of his sisters actually swooned.

their mother returned from the kitchen, a stack of warm plates balanced in her arms. "aye, look at you two," she said fondly, setting down the food. "you look like you've been married five years already."

sero snorted. "that's because she already tells me what to do."

"someone has to," you said, nudging his leg under the table.

his knee pressed into yours and didn't move.

the meal began in full, voices rising over each other, stories flying back and forth like birds across the table. tamales were unwrapped, passed down, devoured. rice and beans steamed in bowls at the center. someone spilled horchata and got teased for it for fifteen minutes straight.

sero kept his hand under the table the entire time.

sometimes on your knee. sometimes brushing your fingers. once, briefly, resting on your thigh with a touch so casual and confident you forgot how to breathe for a second.

"so how did you know?" his mom asked halfway through the meal, raising an eyebrow. "that you liked each other, i mean."

you blinked. "um."

sero didn't miss a beat.

"she made this face at me once," he said, totally serious. "during training. right after i got my ass handed to me. and i thought—yeah. i'd let her ruin my life."

you choked on a sip of water. "that's not what happened."

"you raised your eyebrow," he insisted, "like i was both impressive and pathetic. it was very motivating."

"you were bleeding."

"romance is about timing."

the table erupted in laughter.

"you're ridiculous," you muttered, but there was no bite to it. you felt lightheaded from smiling too much.

his younger sister leaned over the table toward you. "you make him less annoying," she said seriously. "he's, like, way less weird with you here."

"he's still weird," someone else muttered.

"hey," sero said, deeply offended. "i'm the glue of this household."

"you're the glitter glue," one of the boys shot back. "unnecessary and all over everything."

the conversation swirled, but it was warm. easy. you felt like you'd slipped into a rhythm you hadn't known you were missing. sero's family didn't make you feel like an outsider. if anything, they treated you like a permanent fixture—like they already liked you, just because he did.

and sero—he kept looking at you.

in the quiet moments between bites. when you laughed at something his brother said. when you wiped your fingers on your napkin and he passed you your drink like he'd already anticipated you'd reach for it.

"you're really good at this," you whispered during a lull, leaning in.

"at what?" he asked, voice low, chin tilted toward you.

"this," you said. "pretending."

his eyes flicked down to your mouth, just for a second.

"what can i say," he said quietly. "i'm something of an actor."

you snickered.

and then his mom called your name from across the table.

"you like dessert, mija?" she asked, already bringing out the plates.

you blinked twice before answering, forcing a smile. "of course. thank you."

sero didn't look away from you for a long time.

dinner had long ended. the noise had faded. sero's house, once pulsing with overlapping voices and clattering plates, now thrummed with a different kind of energy—low, contented, quiet.

his siblings had scattered, full-bellied and sugar-sticky, off to bedrooms and couches and wherever else they disappeared to in the evening. someone had turned on a dusty old playlist in the den, and the soft hum of vintage boleros curled through the walls like warmth that refused to die.

you stood in the hallway between the dining room and the back door, hovering in the in-between of things: of conversations and thoughts, of what was real and what had only started out that way.

you weren't sure what to do with your hands.

or your heart.

sero appeared beside you like he always did—quiet-footed and comfortably close, smelling faintly of soap and masa and something sweet from dessert you hadn't caught the name of. his sleeves were still pushed up, revealing his forearms, and you hated that you were looking at them. not because they weren't worth looking at—they were—but because it meant your guard was down. again.

"come on," he said softly. "balcony?"

you didn't answer. you just nodded and followed.

the air outside was sharp and clean. the kind of cold that wakes you up without being cruel. you wrapped your arms around yourself more out of instinct than discomfort. the balcony was small, with a windchime shaped like a lizard hanging from the overhang, and a view of soft suburban rooftops and yellow windows scattered like lanterns across the horizon.

you leaned against the wooden railing. he did the same.

neither of you spoke.

you were too full of the evening. of tamales and laughter. of too much touch under the table. of words you'd said with a smile that weren't lies—but weren't supposed to be true either.

the problem wasn't pretending.

the problem was that pretending didn't feel like pretending anymore.

you didn't know when it had changed. maybe it was gradual—each time he laced his fingers through yours without asking, or rested his hand on your thigh mid-story, or offered you a grin across the table that was so familiar, so soft, you forgot why you were here in the first place.

but it hit you now, standing beside him in the chill—this unshakable, irreversible knowledge:

you were in love with him.

god, you were in love with hanta sero.

not just in a surface-level, crush-colored way. not just in the i-like-how-he-makes-me-laugh way. it was deeper than that. older. something that had snuck in when you weren't looking and taken root so quietly you hadn't noticed until it was everywhere.

you were in love with the way he held space. with the way he listened without trying to fix you. with the way he let the world land on him lightly, and still carried it in both hands when it mattered.

you were in love with someone who didn't even know you weren't faking anymore.

you exhaled.

"you're quiet," he said, not looking at you. "regretting it already?"

you shook your head. "no. it's just... weird how easy it was. with your family."

he hummed. "they like you."

"they liked that i made you less annoying."

"that is the highest compliment in my house."

you smiled, faint. "they're sweet. loud, but sweet."

"you kept up fine."

"i think i blacked out for half of it."

"you were golden," he said, softer now. "you always are."

you turned toward him slowly.

the lights from the kitchen spilled faintly through the curtains behind you, catching just enough of his face for you to see how relaxed he looked. how present. how close.

you swallowed.

"hanta?"

he looked over at you, brows raised. "yeah?"

there was a beat of silence.

"i don't know how to lie to you," you said.

he blinked once.

then again, slower.

"what?"

"i mean," you continued, hands curling around the edge of the railing. "i've been trying. all day. and i thought i could. i thought i could pull it off—play the part, pretend—but then we got here, and your mom hugged me, and you touched my hand under the table, and i just... i don't know when it stopped being a bit."

his eyes searched your face like he was looking for something he'd already lost.

"hanta," you said again. "i'm in love with you."

his face froze.

the air between you seemed to still. the windchime didn't move. the whole world narrowed into this one pinpoint moment, bright and fragile and terrifying.

he stepped back—just barely.

"you don't have to keep pretending," he said. carefully. cautiously. "no one's watching anymore. you can drop it."

you stared at him.

"i'm not pretending," you said.

another beat. a sharp exhale.

his lips parted slightly. his brows furrowed, not in confusion, but in disbelief. in the kind of fear that came from wanting something too much and being afraid to reach for it.

"you're serious."

"i've never been more serious about anything in my life."

sero let out a long, shaky laugh. it cracked halfway through.

"say it again," he whispered.

"i'm in love with you."

and this time, you reached for him.

your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, and you felt the moment he melted—slow and overwhelmed, the way something melts that's been cold for too long.

"you've got to be kidding me," he muttered, leaning into your touch. "i thought—god, i thought i was the only one losing my mind over this."

you smiled, eyes stinging.

"you weren't."

"i've been in love with you since second year," he admitted, voice breaking a little. "you kissed my cheek that one time after i carried your books back from the nurse's office, and i nearly died. like, actual cardiac arrest."

"that was a year ago."

"welcome to my long, slow descent into insanity."

you laughed, quiet and ridiculous.

and then he kissed you.

it wasn't rushed. wasn't showy. it wasn't a fireworks-and-credits-roll kiss.

it was the kind that happened in doorways, in hallways, in quiet rooms where hearts beat too loud. the kind that changed nothing and everything all at once.

he kissed you like he meant it.

you kissed him like you'd been waiting your whole life to.

when you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours.

"you're real?" you whispered, breath catching.

"i better be," he said. "otherwise you've just confessed to a figment of your imagination."

you swallowed a grin.

his thumb traced your cheek.

"i thought this would end in disaster," he said quietly. "that pretending would ruin everything."

"and?"

"and now i don't want it to end at all."

you leaned in, bumping your nose against his.

"then it doesn't have to."

he smiled, and kissed you again.

not like he was pretending.

like he was home.

Tags

mha my hero academia hanta sero i love this sm This is so beautifully written! mom can we have hanta sero UUUGHHHH IM IN LOOVE WITH HIIIMM like i had to pause for a moment and think and so AAAAAHHH

༄.° — when you’re sober.

pairings : hanta s. x gn!reader

warnings : use of drugs, swearing, no gender mentioned but reader is called pretty

➤ masterlist!

You can’t really remember what started your friendship with Hanta. It was a haze, an echo of memories, blurring together. But all you know is that nowadays, you’d lie around his apartment doing whatever. Sometimes it was playing stupid games on his console, reading his comics, or cooking together, or gossiping, anything. And you fell comfortable with it all, the small routine you would do together. You even bought a new toothbrush just to leave at his place in case your work caught you too late into the night, and the road just felt too scary to drive through alone.

“It’s alright sweets, m’ always happy for a company.” He said that time, the first time you called him nervously to ask if it was okay to crash by his place. The sultry, smooth tone of his voice had always seeped through, lazy and giggly. Classically Hanta—always sounding high even when he wasn’t.

It was another one of those nights, you had only gotten off work at around midnight, and the thought of driving all the way back to your own place felt like such a drag. Hanta’s apartment was just a few blocks away. The day felt like hell anyway, you needed some form of entertainment. Your finger went autopilot as you scrolled through your contacts, immediately knowing where to stop at tap at his number.

Beeeep… beeeep… Then a click. A small shuffling sound was heard before Hanta’s grinning voice was heard.

“Yeess, you can crash at my plaacee,” He answered immediately, knowing what your question was going to be. He chuckled before you heard him inhale, a small crackle of fire heard by the side.

You laughed, already packing your things into your bag, zipping up your laptop in its small sleeve. "Thanks, Han."

Exhale.. “Can you grab somethin’ for me though?”

“Mhm? From the grocery store?”

“Uhuh, just some milk, if ya don’t mind.”

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The small apartment studio now ghosted with smokes from the small roll of paper on Hanta’s hand, flowing the grey-ish fog like river through a forest, while you busied yourself with a cup of coffee by his counter, the small metal spoon clinking to the sides of the glass as you stirred in your sugar, your mouth grumbling about your hell of a day.

“And then he yelled at me! In front of everyone!!” You exclaimed, disbelief in your voice as you looked over to him.

“Dickhead,” He giggled, taking another drag before blowing a thick smoke to the air. “Shoulda slapped him right then and there.”

You plopped down next to him on the couch, placing your coffee down before you huffed as you crossed your arms to your chest, throwing yourself back to the plush backrest of his couch.

You groaned, shoulders tense. “I did everything he asked for, and he just— ugh!!” You threw your hands up, running them up your face as if that could clear your head.

Hanta’s chuckle sounded low. “Here,” His voice softly offered, nudging his hand gently to your cheek to offer you his half-smoked joint. His weed-filled smile now turned to something soft, sympathetic, almost sorry for your state.

“M’ not in the mood, Han.” You rejected, almost sounding like a low whine as you gently pushed his hand away as you leaned to his shoulder.

“Aw,” He huffed, that stupid smile not leaving his face as he pulled the joint away.

The day’s haste caught up to you, the frustration, exhaustion, stress, yanked you by the hair, prickling tears to your eyes. And you could only grunted in anger to stop it from flowing down your cheeks.

You choked in a sob, groaning in frustration. “Fuck, why am I—crying?”

Before you could protest, his thin hands wrapped by the other side of your shoulder, softly pulling you into his embrace as he tutted gently. “It’s okay to cry, hm?” He lazily assured, a small grin gracing his lips as his hand traced small circles on the small of your back. “Your boss's a shitload, y/n.” Hanta’s words slurred, a small hum slipping in between his words as he struggled to form coherent thoughts. “You're too pretty to be sad about him,”

Then he paused, the air only filled with your soft sniffles and his small breaths. His mind a haze, and what he thought he said in his mind suddenly slipped out of his mouth.

“Too pretty, too good, too… everything…”

You looked up, hands softly wiping your slight tears as you searched for his eyes between his guilty grin and weed and smoke reeked breath.

“You’re everything, darling..” He giggled, softly brushing the back of his finger to your cheek.

A smile graced your lips, and you slowly pulled away from his embrace, studying his face from afar.

Silence fell upon you two, just the small sounds of cars honking outside and the fan from his bathroom whirring. Then you scoffed in amusement, “You’re so high right now” Words you said, with a chuckle.

His smile slowly faded as the words echoed in his mind, blurring to the sensation in his head. He quickly shook his head, “No, m’ not…” While smoke slightly puffed out of his mouth. His hands quickly placed the small rolled up paper, still oozing out smoke from its end. “Bein’ high’s one thing, but m’ being honest, sweets” He slurred, begging softly as he reached his hand to yours.

His hand graced yours, as you looked up to his eyes again, staring back at you were his dark, half lidded, slightly bloodshot eyes. And you couldn’t bring yourself to believe. It’s already three years since you've known him, and he’s shown you too well that he had a silver tongue.

“Yeah?” You asked. “The same words you said to–maybe… five? Other people, hm?” Leaning your head slightly to the side.

Hanta’s brows furrowed—confused. His elbows moved to struggle and support him from the couch.

He stammered a few vowels before slowly rubbing his hazy eyes to look at you again. “No, no…” He waved his hand lazily, letting it drop to his lap. The other supported his seemingly heavy head, swaying slightly from side to side. “Just to you, sweets… m’ being honest here…” He continued, rasp and croak in his tone as he tried to reach for your hand again.

You sighed, reaching for the-now-cold-cup of coffee. A small sip brought coarse and sweetness to your tongue. “Really?” You glanced at him, his form still slowly reaching for your hand as he nodded, tugging on your arm again to pull you into his embrace.

“Of course really,” His smile returned slightly, leaning his chin to your shoulder. His hand slowly snaked beneath your arm. “Always did.” He said those two words with hesitance, volume smaller than usually. He slowly buried his face to the small curve between your neck and shoulder, his breath fanned through the thin material of your shirt. And you scoffed.

“You’re just high.”

He chuckled lazily. “Maybe,”

“But it’s still honest, y/n.” That sounded ridiculous to you, somehow.

He fell silent again, and the small whir of the wind dancing through the open window filled the room again. His breath continued to gently greet your skin, and your finger absent-mindedly rubbed the body of your coffee cup.

You cleared your throat, “...You’ll forget this tomorrow.” You softly mumbled, standing up to collect your bag.

Hanta's grin stayed there for a moment longer before he realized what you were doing. Then his mind scattered, he reached out to you, stumbling over his own feet as he stood up. “N-no, no,”

His hand reached to you slowly, eyes hazy and drifting from side to side.

“Y/n, wait..” his voice came out weaker than how he wanted it to be, his vision is mixing everything up and God if he can get the weed out of his system right now, he’ll do it.

“M’ being honest, sweets, truth,” He reached out, supporting himself to the wall as he tried to register his surroundings. Your form fell clear upon his eyes, and he could only attempt to reach for your wrist. “L-listen…”

You wrapped up the last of your things into your bag with a ziip! Before looking back at him, messy and high, half lidded and bloodshot. You grimaced. Never had his high-thoughts made you this… sad? Hesitant? Hopeful?

“I’ll listen when you’re sober, Han” You muttered, walking to the door.

“But I’m bein’ honest, y/n, please…”

“I just… I can’t say it… when I’m sober please… listen,”

clack.

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You’re met with the same familiar—almost sickening sight of your computer in front of you. Your cubicle is a cluttered mess of papers and sticky notes, it’s almost lunch, and not once have you seen a text notification other than from your boss. Not that you were expecting a text from anyone… right?

And the day went on just like that, just like any other day. You find yourself having to do overtime again. As you finished the last sentences of the document, you glanced at your phone, it was midnight again. God, the road to your house was too far to drag yourself through, but you just couldn’t.

You just couldn’t open up that contact card to press the phone button, and ask if you could crash at his place. You can’t, and you won’t.

So you switched off the computer, rushingly picked up your earphones, your phone, and grabbed your car key before turning to the elevator, marching your way out of the empty office.

As the elevator dinged, you stepped inside. With doubt—and hope, you checked your phone again. A small voice hoped he had called, or at least texted you. But he didn’t. You scoffed, “So he was just high.”

The familiar lobby of the building greeted you again as you stepped out of the elevator, slowly walking towards the glass doors as you said your goodbyes to the security guards there. With a huff, your hand pushed the glass door, the midnight air greeting your face. Tears pricked by your eyes, not from the cold, you couldn’t quite place why, but you felt like crying.

You felt like crying because today was so tiring, because you have to drive home alone,

...because he said those things while being high, and decided not to say anything the next day.

“Stupid Hanta with his stupid fucking weed, making me hope for—”

The soft crack of concrete broke you out of your sobs, you turned to your right.

And there he stood.

His stupid grin staring back at you as he swayed back and forth on his feet, his hands buried in the pocket of his hoodie. He cleared his throat, a bit louder than he had to as he walked slowly, closer to you now.

“...M’ sorry, pretty” He softly spoke, his hand emerging slowly from his pocket to softly brush away the hair on your face, his thumb wiping your tear hesitantly.

You flinched slightly from his touch, tearing your face away, making him stare at your back. “Do you even know what you’re sorry for, Han?”

A small moment of silence fell, broken only by the soft winds swooshing in your ear and the small crickets of the night.

You huffed, exactly. He forgot. So you opened your mouth to say—

“For… saying those things,” He caught before you.

“...While I’m high,” He stuttered, the sound of the concrete cracking again beneath his feet as he swayed back and forth again. And that caught you silent. He remembered.

“I-I…I’m sorry,”

He walked closer, the heat of his body slowly taunting upon your back. “Sorry for… not texting you all day,”

“I was… nervous, sweets.” He admits—almost shyly. Biting his lip in hesitation before he gently pulled your shoulder, making you turn and look at him.

“...I was scared you’d… laugh at me,” He said, his eyes drifting to the ground before muttering, “Or somethin’..”

With a soft tug, he pulled you close, his hand finding his way to your waist, the warmth of his hands contrasting the cold night. “But I mean… everything that I said, y/n, truth.” Tender was his voice, soft and gentle as his finger slowly tilted your chin up to search upon his eyes. It felt…real now. His eyes clear as day and dark as night at the same time, his voice hoarse and low, almost desperate.

He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes as if he’s preparing for something, “I mean it when I said you’re pretty, when I said you’re too good, too kind,”

“...Fuck, y/n, I mean it when I said you’re everything to me.”

And silence fell again, you couldn’t wipe away the disbelief written, no, painted all over your face. Your mouth parted open, closing again, opening—say something!

So you decided that words weren’t your answer.

His world fell still when your hand slowly pulled his face close, his lips brushing upon yours before you spoke softly, “...That was all I wanted to hear, Han.” Last words he heard before he pushed himself to you, gently basking in the warmth of your lips upon his. He gently pulled you flush against him, sighing softly against your lips, he smiled. “Took you long enough,”

You smiled, hands finding his hoodie to grip it, pulling him closer to you to kiss him again.

“Shut up,” You giggled, finally pulling away shyly as you hid your eyes from him.

Then he grinned, gently pulling your face to look at him again. “My place, hm?” He smiles, his thumb tracing your cheek softly, wiping the tear that stuck to your face from earlier.

“Gotta make it up for not callin’ you, hm?” That stupid grin was back, laced with something else, the cherry on top? winking at you.

A giggle was all you managed, nodding shyly.

He squeezed your waist just a little, snatching the car key from your hand before leading you to your car. “After you, sweets.” He ushered, opening the passenger seat. You obliged, looking back to him with a small smile and confusion lacing your eyes just slightly.

“Not gonna let you drive back,"

"Now that you’re mine, gotta treat you right, hm?”

dworkism | do not repost!

a/n: hihihihi sorry if this was kinda fast paced :)))

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mha bnha sero hanta boku no hero academia mha x reader bnha x reader mha smau mha fluff hanta sero hanta sero x reader bnha smau sero hanta x reader dworkism divider by hyuneskkami

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dworkism

1 month ago

testing the waters to see if you all would like some office au tenya iida cause i fear i may or may not have written a 4k word count on it

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whoops... he's so fun to write like SO FUN slowburn material at its finest

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dworkism

3 months ago

can you pretty please write something based on the song Would You Fall in Love With Me Again from Epic? I was thinking like, barbarian bakugo but he went to war or somethin’ and finally gets home to his wife?

the village gates loomed in the distance, barely visible through the morning mist. the scent of rain and blood clung to the air, but for the first time in years, katsuki bakugo paid it no mind. his fingers twitched at his side, the leather of his armor worn from war. his sword, heavy as the burdens he carried, hung loosely at his hip.

he had returned. but would she still want him?

his steps slowed as he neared the familiar path leading to their home. it was still there—unchanged, untouched as if time had waited for him. the wooden beams, the carved symbols of protection along the frame, the worn stone path leading to the door. a home he had built with his own hands.

a home he feared he no longer belonged in.

the door creaked open before he could knock.

“katsuki?”

there she stood. his wife. his love. the woman he had fought for across a thousand battlefields.

you.

you looked just as he had remembered and yet… not. there was something in your eyes, something weary, something knowing.

"is it really you?" your voice trembled, your hands gripping the doorframe as if to steady yourself. "or am i dreaming again?"

his throat went dry. he wanted to say something—anything—but all he could do was stare.

he had imagined this moment a hundred times, had whispered your name into the cold night air of distant lands, had prayed to gods he no longer believed in just to see you again.

but now that you were here, he didn’t know if he had the right to reach for you.

"you look... different," you whispered. "your eyes… they look tired."

his lip curled, not in anger, but in some bitter, broken thing that resembled a smile. "that ain't the only thing that's different."

you took a step closer, hesitant, searching. your gaze trailed the hollows of his cheeks, the sharpness of his jaw. your fingers twitched as if aching to touch him, but you held back.

a sharp breath left him. he knew what you saw. he wasn't the man you had once known. he was something else now. something ruined.

"i'm not the man you fell in love with," he admitted, voice rough like gravel. "not the man you married."

you flinched, but you didn’t look away.

"i'm not your husband anymore," he continued, his voice quiet, pained. "my love... would you fall in love with me again, if you knew all i've done?"

your breath hitched. "what... have you done?"

katsuki shut his eyes. when he opened them, they were dark with memories he wished he could forget.

"left blood on every fuckin' battlefield," he sighed. "traded soldiers like weapons. hurt more lives than i can count." his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "but every goddamn thing i did… was to come back to you."

he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "so tell me. would you still love me?"

your eyes shimmered with unshed tears. you studied him again, truly seeing him, the man he was now—the weight he carried, the sins etched into his skin.

then you turned, walking deeper into their home. katsuki's chest ached as you disappeared from view. maybe this was it. maybe you couldn’t—

"could you do me a favor?" your voice drifted from within.

"what is it, my love?" his brow furrowed as he followed, stepping inside for the first time in years. the air smelled of you. of home.

you were quiet for a long time, the wind whispering between you. then, at last, you stepped forward, eyes steady.

you turned your gaze to the large wedding bed in their home, carved from the sturdy olive tree that had stood as a silent witness to your love since the beginning.

“that bed,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “could you lift it? carry it far away from here?”

his blood ran cold.

“how could you say that?” his voice cracked, the anger, the exhaustion, the heartbreak all colliding into one. “i built that bed with my own fuckin' hands. carved it from the tree where we first met. the only way to move it is to—”

his breath caught. he looked at you, realization striking him like lightning. his chest ached. his arms, worn from war, longed for your warmth.

“…you knew."

you stepped closer, cradling his face in your hands. his hands came, gripping your waist as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

a small, trembling smile touched your lips. "only my husband would know that. so i guess that makes you... him."

his knees nearly buckled. he surged forward, hands cupping your face, his forehead pressing against yours.

tears slipped down your cheeks, but you smiled, truly smiled, as your hands finally touched him—fingers ghosting over scars and bruises and the remnants of war.

"i will fall in love with you over and over again, katsuki," you whispered. "i don't care how, where, or when. no matter how long it's been. you are mine.”

he crushed you to him, burying his face into your hair, his body shaking. katsuki swallowed hard, his vision blurring. “i told you… i’m not the same.”

"you're always my husband, katsuki," you murmured. "i've been waiting for you. i would have waited forever."

katsuki's arms tightened around you, grounding himself in your warmth, your love, your unwavering belief in him.

"you don't have to anymore," he whispered. "i'm home."

katsuki held you tightly, his arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. the weight of years, of battles, of bloodshed, all crumbled beneath the warmth of your touch.

you swallowed hard. “how long has it been?”

katsuki exhaled, his forehead resting against yours. his voice was barely above a whisper.

“twenty years.”

a breath hitched in your throat. twenty years. twenty years of waiting, of uncertainty, of praying that the man you loved would return to you. “god, katsuki…”

“i thought i’d never make it back to you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “i thought—” he stopped himself, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours. “i don’t deserve this.”

"don’t say that," tears spilled down your cheeks as you cupped his face, your fingers trembling. “i love you.”

his breath shuddered. he had been through war. he had seen death, had taken lives, and had lived in the darkness for what felt like an eternity. and yet, nothing had ever struck him down the way those three words did.

a harsh, broken laugh escaped him, and he pressed his lips against your forehead.

“i love you more. always have. always will.”

you sobbed, burying yourself in his chest as he held you tighter, his body shaking from exhaustion, from relief, from love.

and for the first time in years, katsuki bakugo finally let himself fall. back into the home he had fought so hard to return to. back into you, his wife.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

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IM CRYIIIIIIIIIIIIINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG this is so sad im gonna explode haha get it

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dworkism

3 months ago

hi juno! (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

yk i love ur writing so i need to know how you think sero would treat his gf on valentine’s day!

bloom! (^０^)ノ

thank youuueuueueu sm your writing is amazinggg!!! without further ado, I present to you, sero treating his girlfriend on valentine's day :D

જ⁀➴ ── take my money, and my heart, too!

pairing : hanta s. x fem!reader

scenario : it's valentines day! let me treat you right, pretty ;)

warnings : none!

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Hanta would be the type of guy who wouldn't even act like valentine's day was closing in. You were getting hopeless when you had asked him “Guess what’s tomorrooww?” and he just responded with,

“Wednesday…?” along with a confused grin on his face.

Little did you know, that was just his facade of trying to act nonchalant, but then… BAM! It’s 14th of February, you walk into your dorm, now decorated in heart balloons on its ceiling, and ‘careless whisper’ suddenly plays, along with the sight of him laying on his side on the floor, holding back a laugh while his finger still lingered on his phone.

“...Hey, cariño.” He said, his voice trembling with held back laughter while you would laugh, taking pictures of him.

The noon continued with him bringing out two plates of heart shaped pancakes, which—yours were almost perfect, with some of the batter obviously cooked outside of the shape, but it still looked adorable, a total contrast to his stack of pancakes, which were almost burned, and didn’t even look close to hearts.

“I tried my best.” He sheepishly chuckled, placing your plate to your grasp, he dashed out of the room, before coming back with his laptop, sitting down beside you on the floor while you two ate the pancakes and watched a classic romance movie he picked. He would then repeat all the cheesiest lines of the movie, all while looking at you.

"Your eyes shine like moonlight, cariño."

"Ugh, shut up you're so cheesy." You chuckled, pushing his shoulder lightly.

"And your smile makes my heart go on a chase!" He grinned, dragging his words, putting his hand on his forehead as he pulled you to his embrace, earning a ticklish giggle from you.

You leaned into his chest, “I thought you forgot about valentine’s day.” You smiled, letting your hands rest on his shoulders

“Never,” His kiss lands on the top of your head, “I'd have this over everything, anytime."

dworkism | do not repost!

a/n : euuhh i hope this was okay :"""

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Tags

mha bnha sero hanta mha x reader bnha x reader sero hanta x reader dworkism

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dworkism

1 month ago