⋆˚࿔ When Courage Calls

dogpile

dream girl .ᐟ

featuring, denki kaminari

denki kaminari swore up and down you were his dream girl. ever since the day he met you, he knew he was doomed from the start. you were so cool in his eyes, and somehow everything about you seemed to impress him.

but what he didn’t know was how much you would take over his life. sure, he liked you, but he didn’t anticipate how much it would affect him. how you managed to slip into his mind 24/7. how he would pick up your silly mannerisms and habits. how he memorized your exact order at that little coffee shop downtown. or how he would ever so casually mention you to his friends, like "y/n watched that movie" or "oh! y/n likes that too." you were the only thing on his mind.

but contrary to popular belief, denki kaminari was horrible with girls. sure, he tried to pursue them, but did he have any luck other than being friend-zoned and labeled as the desperate funny type? sadly, no. so, he thought long and hard about how to confess to you, even going as far as contacting his mom and asking her what he should do. he wanted to do things right by you; he couldn’t mess this up.

so, when he showed up at your house with a bouquet of flowers and the candy you raved about, asking if you would be his girlfriend, he hoped for the best. he had held this off for weeks, too consumed by the nervousness. his palms were extremely sweaty, his legs felt like jello, and if he didn’t know any better, he was about to be friend-zoned. so when you started to giggle at his dorky smile and answered with the words he never thought he would hear, he was overjoyed. denki kaminari had gotten his dream girl.

© plushieni do not copy, steal, translate, repost any of my works

MORE KIRI STUFF YOU WRITE HIM AMAZINGGGG

⋆˚࿔ an orchid’s pollen

just as you find your artistic inspirations running low, a sweet flower boy sweeps in and gives you a new perspective on things.

contains: gn!reader, pre-established relationship, fluff, written + smau!!

authors note: thank u sm for the request AND compliment?? omg ur spoiling me 🤗 anywho i love kiri and i’ve had this idea for a minute now i’m soo happy i finally came around to writing it. this is for all the students or artist that are struggling rn :) u got this !!

word count: 2.8k

wandering. that’s what you were doing. wandering and pondering. 

the new school semester had left you with a fresh start; a clean canvas that you could fill however you wanted. the question was, what did you want?

even though you didn’t want to admit it, the evidence was there; you were slowly dwindling into an artist block. your motivation was low, school assignments being the only thing encouraging you to pick up your paint brush everyday. 

you groaned, your feet heavy on the pavement. anyone passing would undoubtedly see your pained expression. 

some ancient reddit post you’d read this morning said a change of scenery could “spark your creativity”. what a load of crap.

though you couldn’t deny, it was a pretty nice day out.

you found yourself in a boldly decorated plaza that you somehow never knew was so close to your campus. there was a slight breeze, but it was a warm, comforting one. fairy lights hung from the tall rising lamp posts, lighting up the smooth stone path under the soles of your shoes. beside the lights were mini pink banners printed with flowers, which you knew represented the spring flowers blooming. most shops had large windows, showing whatever it was they were selling on the display shelves. 

you scanned the side of the street you are on; a cafe, an antique shop, a bakery, another cafe. yeah, you weren’t feeling inspired. if anything you were feeling hungry. 

you moved your gaze to the other side of the street. more cafes, a clothing shop, and—.

a glimpse of a colorfully embellished shop caught your attention, managing to stand out on the already brightly decorated street. 

you picked up your pace, trying to get a clear view of the window. 

exploding with color were flowers planted on the window sill. there was a fair arrangement of different types of flowers with delicate shades of every color you could think of. roses, tulips, lilies. baby blue, lavender purple, golden yellow. 

your eyes widened, maybe that reddit post wasn’t lying after all. 

you quickly ran across the street.  

now, in front of the shop, you could see how pretty the flowers really were. their petals were shooting towards the sky, clearly having been grown in amazing conditions. 

you stared at the plants in awe for a moment. the petals seemed to speak back. your breath hitched and something sparked. you moved to pull out your phone, wanting to ensure you wouldn’t miss this perfect canvas opportunity. but before you could, a soft voice spoke up. 

“hello! could i help you with anything?” 

your body stiffened at the sudden disturbance. you looked over to where the voice had come from.

your eyes locked onto red ones.

the pair of eyes belonged to a boy who seemed to be around your age. he had bright red hair that stopped right below his chin though the back seemed to be longer, grazing along his nape. he had a sharp toothy grin plastered on his face, complimenting his soft eyes. you took notice in how he look just slightly disheveled, dirt speckled on his elbows and a thin line of sweat coating his forehead.

the green apron tied around his waist— which seemed to just barely wrap around his large figure —read: “daichi’s flowers”. the pockets of his apron seemed to be stuffed with hand tools; a white pair of what you assumed were gardening gloves, a scruffy towel, a pair of pruning shears, and a pack of seeds that you couldn’t quite make out the name of.

you realized how weird you must i’ve looked gawking at the flowers from outside the shop. 

“sorry! did i scare you?” the red haired boy brought his hand to the back of his hand, rubbing it awkwardly as he smiled apologetically.

you then realized you hadn’t replied to his first question. 

“oh— no! i mean— it’s fine.” you sputtered stupidly. nice going. “i was just browsing..” you attempted to justify.

“would you like to browse inside?”

your eyes narrowed, “welll…”

the inside of the shop smelt like heaven, a mix of pollen and a fruity incense hanging in the air. it only made sense but there were flowers everywhere. hydrangeas in mini clay pots, shrubs hanging from the ceiling, even lotus flowers floating around in little glass bowls. 

the shop glowed with a fluorescent yellow undertone, courtesy of the lantern shaded lights. music from a japanese pop band you didn’t know the name of played softly from the speakers above. the excessive amount of flowers led to simple decor, just a couple of paintings and photographs hung up on the walls. your shoes clunked against the white oak floor. it was really nice.

the employee hovered close behind you, not-so-subtle observing your every move. 

you shrugged it off and made your way to the right wall of the store— which was right beside the window display. there, they had different types of flowers neatly organized into wooden crates. taped onto each crate was a piece of paper with the name of the flower written and a short description. you leaned in, reading the script for the first crate of flowers lined up against the wall. 

chrysanthemum — for fidelity, joy, and long life. 

you tapped your finger against your hip. flowers have specific intentions?

you read on.

ranunculus —- for radiant charm and attractiveness.

dark center poppies — for beauty, magic, and eternal life. 

“they’re pretty cool right? mr daichi works really had to make sure all the flower bloom properly.” the boy chirped from behind your shoulder.

you straighten your posture and turn to face the boy. when you saw his grinning face— the way his smile hadn’t seemed to falter since you first encountered him —you felt something strange curl up in your chest.

 “…yeah.” you simply replied, too stifled to say much more. 

he didn’t allow silence to take up your interaction, quickly adding, “these are my favorite.” he pointed to a crated full of pink heavily petalled flowers. 

peony — for bravery, honor, good fortune, and self-expression. 

“i bring them to the gym.”

a smirk curled onto your lips, “you bring flowers to the gym?” you ask, tone just barely brushing the boundary of being teasing. you didn’t know the guy, but the idea of a big guy arriving at the gym with a blushing bouquet of peonies made you feel..  intrigued.

“yeah man! i gotta motivate my community somehow right?” he grinned, making large gestures with his hands as he spoke. 

your brows furrowed but the smile on your face remained. “does it work? like, encourage your gym members?”

“for sure! i know the guy at the front desk likes it! oh and last time bakubro loved them!” he stopped to scratch his cheek, “well.. he didn’t crush them like he usually does so i’d consider that a win.” the employee placed a thinking finger on his chin before nodding confidently and you laughed. suddenly your day felt a lot more hopeful. 

“okay well, do you have any flowers that could … get me out of a tough situation?”

“oh, trouble in paradise?” the boy grinned. 

you almost laughed again. painting and university was basically your entire life at the moment, leaving no time for relationship. (unless you consider your on and off time in the studio a relationship) “not quite..”

“then i’d suggest…” he walked further into the shop, skimming the shelves. you followed him until he stopped in front of a smaller crate. 

there laid a generous collection of reddish pink flowers with dark, glossy green leaves sprouting from their stems.

camellia — for desire, passion, and refinement. 

“these babies are absolutely gorgeous.” he carefully picked a flower from the crate and placed it out towards you, offering. “they should help you feel brand new.”

you took the flower, spinning it between your fingers to really examine it.

“they’re a type of bush, evergreen. so we sell them as singles.” 

you nodded at his words but really all your attention was on the camellia. 

you traced a delicate finger atop the petal. there was something so beautiful, so simple, about a single flower standing strong and still. the view pumped a familiar feeling through your blood; inspiration.

the employee must’ve taken notice in your admiration because not too long after his voice rose, “sooo, want me to ring that up for you?” he pointed back towards the register, a cheesy grin still on his face.

snapping out of your trance, meeting the red eyed boy's gaze for the second time that day. though now the sweetness had melted away, his eyes full of smoldering fire.  

and thought you wanted to do anything but douse that flame, you were a very broke art student. “i.. wasn’t planning on buying today. sorry.” you said sheepishly.

you began to put the flower back but he stopped you, gripping a firm hand on top of your wrist. “don’t!“

before you had time to react he pulled his hand away. you watched as he attempted to stuff it into his pockets but found they were full, so he just hid it behind his back. he brought his other hand to mouth and let off an awkward cough, “i mean, you seem like use it. to brighten your day, yaknow?”

you shook your head, confused.

“it’s on the house.”

“wha— are you sure? i could just leave it, it’s no big deal.” 

he nodded persistently, “i’m sure.”

you felt your cheeks grow warm. you weren’t sure if you were flattered or just embarrassed that this guy felt you needed handouts. 

you clenched the flower in your hand. “okay then,” you searched his apron for a name tag to no avail. “thank you..?”

thankfully he took the hint. “oh! kirishima! eijiro kirishima. and you’re..?”

“f/n l/n.”

“f/n l/n,” he repeated easily, the syllables rolling off his tongue. “l/n with the sticky situation, got it.”

you giggled. “well, thank you kirishima. for your help and—“ you carefully waved the flower, “this.”

“‘course! no problem at all.” he nodded.

you both stood there for a moment. you considered leaving then but for whatever reason the conversation felt unfinished. 

and like he read your mind, kirishima spoke up, “we get new flowers every friday.” you surveyed his face, his attitude seeming to have changed into a persuading one. “roses, sunflowers, sedums…” he trailed off. “um i guess what i’m trying to say is, you should stop by often! i swear these flowers bring good luck or something.” he chuckled, large hands finding their way to tangle up with his hair once again. 

“oh…” you blushed. was he flirting with you? “i’ll be really busy this semester...”

that was true. with your final project coming up you had to be super attentive to your work. 

“that’s fine!” he waved his hands frantically. “how about i text you whenever we get a new shipment? if you like the flowers we got then you could stop by.”

you were taken aback by his request, “you’d really do that?” you asked, but for some reason you felt like he wasn’t lying. he had such an honest, charismatic aura that you could clearly see when he first approached you at the front of the store and you were sure anyone else could spot from a mile away. 

“if it makes your day better then totally!” he proved, glowering in hospitality. 

“okay then. sure, why not.” i couldn’t hurt. occasionally text about flowers? yeah that couldn’t hurt at all. 

“awesome!” he pulled his phone out from his jean pocket and handed it to you. 

you typed your number in and gave it back. 

“kirishima!” the voice of an older man called from out of sight. “i need you out the back!”

“that’s my cue. guess i’ll see you when i see you, yeah?” he jogged off towards the back of the store, giving you two thumbs up as he did.  you shook you head and smiled, “yeah, yeah. see you.” you gave him one last nod before you walked out of the glass doors, the start of a new inspirational era for you in hand.

“kirishima.” 

the red haired boy, who was facing the opposite side of the street, spun around. “hey! there you are.” 

you had taken the same walk you did three weeks ago, ending up at the exact spot where you first noticed daichi’s flowers from across the plaza. “the shop’s on the other side of the street, you know that right?” you joked, gently nudging his shoulder.

he let out a playful laugh, “of course. i just wanted to walk you across the street.” he said, nudging you back.

“oh..” you bit the inside of your cheek, praying that the slight burn you felt wasn’t showing on the surface of your skin. “thanks.”

kirishima smiled and looked both directions before tilting his head towards the road. you both walked across the street together, safely making it to the entrance of the flower shop. 

“we’ve been pretty busy recently. with the season change and all that.” kirishima said as he opened the glass door for you. 

when you walked in, you felt a rush of calmness wash over you. the plants were in the same place they had when you last came— as a matter of fact there were even more —and the smell of the strawberry incense still flurried in the air. you could definitely get used to this. “i’m glad we could find time to hang out.” 

“me too.” you said. you ogled at all the new additions, taking notice of the ones that kirishima had been texting you about for the past weeks. 

kirishima walked ahead of you and ducked behind the front counter. “i actually have something for you.” 

“you do?” you gripped onto your bag, which contained a mini 4 by 4 canvas. on the canvas, you had painted the camellia kirishima had given to you and a pink rose, which you remember him telling you meant appreciation.

it wasn’t your best work. it definitely didn’t take the most amount of time. but it had a deeper meaning, a strong feeling behind it. and wasn’t that what art was all about?

“yeah, it’s not much but..” you could see his hair— which was styled in big, tall spikes today —poke out from behind the counter as searched for your gift. when you heard rustling that sounded like paper you immediately knew what it was.  

kirishima pulled out a beautifully paper wrapped bouquet. twine and white ribbon circumstanced to lower stem, coming up in the front with a perfectly tied bow. the greenery consisted of boxwoods and yew that surrounded the main flower.

“they’re—“ 

“orchids.” you finished. within the brown paper held delicate pink orchids, their soft petals brushed with faint streaks of yellow. “representing love and.. confession” you said softly.

“you know.” kirishima spoke, almost breathless, like he couldn’t believe it. he came around the counter to be face to face with you and handed you the bouquet. “how’d you know?” he spurred stupidly. 

you took it bouquet, connecting your fingerprints to the vevetly speckles of yellow. “i may or may not have been touching up on my flower knowledge.” you confessed. you peered up at him, catching the way his expression went from and intrigued to radiant. he was practically glowing; his signature boyish smile on his lips, his pupils dilated and shining. and it was an absolutely precious sight. 

“that’s—” he let out a happy sigh. “awesome.” he swayed back on his heels “i mean, i was looking towards to telling you myself but,” he raised his hand towards the bouquet. “looks like you got it all figured out.” 

“thank you.” your smile was wide. you could feel how prominent your blush was but you felt no shame. “i have something to you too.” you reached for the canvas in your bag, almost hesitant, but when you glanced up and caught kirishima blazing eyes again, you felt at ease. “since my main piece isn’t done yet i made you this.” 

kirishima, who already had his hands out, accepted the gift. “y/n.” he only looked at the painting for a moment before meeting your gaze again, as if he couldn’t take his eyes off you. your heart fluttered in your chest. “you didn’t have to.” he uttered, voice as soothingly as a lullaby.

“you didn’t either.” you held up the bouquet.

“it’s just—“ he inhaled deeply, pressing his lips together to desist his growing smile (which wasn’t working at all). “you’re like the coolest person i’ve ever met. and i’ve only know you for a couple weeks!” his eyes then abruptly fell to the floor. his next words were barely audible as he professed, “id love to get to know you more.” 

you giggled at his sudden feel to get shy.

hooking an arm around his, you proposed, “want to get stuffed on cafe pastries?” your tone clear of your intentions. 

he soften at your touch, “only if it’s a date.” he pressed, watching your lips quirk up into a smile, leading to his own doing the same.

“of course it’s a date.”

i’m scrolling through the hanta sero hashtag and it’s just fanart, a seraph post, fanart, MY POST… more fanart, MORE OF MY WORK

fem bakukami kofi request :) tysm for ur support

i still have 2 slots open for anyone on here interested

💌

tip jar

𐙚⋆° — reparation

pairings : hanta s. x gn!reader

warnings : i made this story from a dream i had guys pls pls sorry if its bad, reader is in support course :0, slowww buuurrnn, kind of IMPLIED but not explicitly said to be fem!reader (they just hang out a lot with the girls cause yea), LOTS of dialogue, and SWEARING , suicide joke SORRY

a/n : IM SORRY I MAKE SO MANY HANTA STUFF ZZZZZ i think i'll make eijiro next cAUSE this was kinda based off of this

➤ masterlist!

4,1k word count!

The Sports Festival was the first time you saw him. That lopsided grin present as his name flashed on the screen. Your first thought was how funny he looked. Sure, he’s cute, but those elbows are such a characteristic. You couldn’t help but snicker a bit. Seeing him get absolutely devoured by a certain two-tone haired, yet that smile persisted, as if it’s a stubborn stain, refusing to be washed away. 

You remember that time, texting Kyoka about it.

[ 12:30 ] you : was that guy from your class lol [ 12:30 ] you : he’s kinda cute :P 

And maybe that was the trigger point. 

When Higari asked your class to create a gear design based off of a quirk, you didn’t sketch out a gear for yourself, or a pro-hero, no. Maybe it was just inspiration, or maybe just admiration; but you made a gear based off of him. The page is still stuck in your notebook until now, complete with little notes of each parts’ functions and whatnot. Even Higari himself nodded in approval. Yet the gear never came to life.

Or so you thought.

It was the middle of the semester when students in the heroics course started flooding the workshop. Around that time Mei seemed to work tirelessly day and night from how many requests she’s gotten from them. You were not much different, although the requests sent to you were quite a bit easier. Then one morning, that same lanky figure, lazing grin and laid back voice was present. In flesh, Hanta Sero. 

His first awkward greeting to you was when you were carefully screwing shut a small contraption. 

“Hey uh…” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck while his other hand was holding something, like scraps of metal or something.

“C-can you help me uh… fix this?” His grin grew, a look of guilt present in his face, mixed with sheepishness. 

Your face contorted to confusion, brows stitched together while you attempted to figure out what was supposed to be fixed when all he held out was scraps of metals and screws. 

With a sigh, you lifted up your goggles, and said; “I can’t fix scraps,”

“I’ll just make you a new one. Just describe to me what your gear’s supposed to do.” You chuckled, hands already snaking to the table to grab your notebook and pen.

And now here you are. Second year, second semester. You had grown close with the girls in the heroics course, especially Mina and Kendo, since they visit the workshop a little bit too often.

It was lunch time, you sat with the girls from 2-A, chattering and laughing about.

“How about you, y/n?” Tooru’s voice chimed through your daze. “You never tell us anything!”

You raised your eyebrows in interest, a hum to respond. 

Tooru giggled, “You never tell us who you’ve got your eyes on! Come onn, there’s gotta be someone, right?”

You blinked. 

Someone..?

You huffed a chuckle, “Nah, probably someone soldering iron right now.” 

But then your mind flickered to that one page in your notebook. That lazy grin and those cheesy jokes he’d throw around while you measured his elbows, and how you’ve somehow memorized his blazer’s smell that always reeked of tangerines. Or maybe how he sometimes would bring your favorite snack with him, giving it to you as a token of gratitude.

Your eyes fell to your tray, your lunch still half eaten while your chopsticks hovered over your rice. “I dunno,” You shrugged. “M’ not really thinking of that stuff right now,” 

Mina whined, “See? I told you! It’s hard to get y/n’s mouth to open about these kinds of stuff!” 

A smirk tugged at your lips as you took a portion of rice into your mouth, chuckling at her acts. 

༉‧₊˚.

You hummed to the song playing in the workshop as you carefully placed a small chip into the gear laid in front of you. A small tweezer pinched in your hand as you slowly descended the small piece, only for the door to open with an ear-cracking holler.

“yyyyy/nnnnn” Hanta’s voice whined, his feet dragging him to your desk.

“My gear broke, again! Such horror…” He dramatically collapsed himself, placing a hand on his forehead as he handed out his wrecked gear.

You stifled back a laugh, rolling your eyes as you focused your attention on the gear on your desk again, carefully placing the chip.

“You do this every week like it’s a routine,” You chuckled.

He gasped, placing his hand on his chest. “Foul creature!” 

He stood up, pointing his finger to the sky while his lips twitched to a smile. “I must tell you, this gear is simply not able to contain my true power!” 

“Falling down the stairs is not true power, Han.” You grinned, screwing shut the gear as you examined it one last time.

“...Okay, fine I dropped it.” He huffed, “But it just means your work needs to be evaluated!” He argued, pacing back and forth as if lecturing you.

“You’re one to talk,” You snorted, setting aside the small gear to a box before turning your chair to face him, to face his stupidly grinning face.

He laughed, getting on his knees as he handed the gear on his palms to you like it’s an offering. “Pleaseeee, pleaseee, fix this, pleaasee?” 

With a roll of your eyes, you snatched the gear, placing it on your desk for the umpteenth time, your hands already readying the same screws, bolts, and everything the gear needed, already embedded into your memory like it’s your mother’s recipe. “I don’t even have to ask what’s broken anymore, Han, it’s that often.”

“Hey, it makes your job easier, riigghtt?” He nudged your shoulder. “Besides, it gives me an excuse to see you, don’t you miss me sometimes?” He asked, pulling a chair to sit.

You smiled, hands pausing on the gears casing as you were unscrewing it. 

“I guess,” You mumbled.

He chuckled, the sound coming out more like a shriek more than anything. 

“I gueeess” He imitated, you can even hear him sticking out his tongue at you. “Lying is bad y/n. Admit it. Your workshop feels dead without me,” 

“I like the quietness better, actually.”

He giggled, “Ouch, man, here I thought we were long lost siblings.” With a creak of the chair, he leaned to your desk, eyeing you from the side. “I’ll pay you back, ‘kay?”

“With what?” You chuckled, eyes fixed on the gear. 

“Banana milk,” He snickered, “And maybe if I’m feeling generous I’ll also buy you those steamed cakes you always eat since our first year.” 

“The fuck?” You snorted. “You remember that?”

He pssh’ed, “Duh?”

“You eat that shit like it’s a reward every time you’re done with like… five gears or something,”

Glancing sideways, you couldn’t stop the grin tugging at your lips. “You’re weird.”

“You love me,” He teased, pushing himself to stand up from the chair. “Those steam cakes are ass, you’re weird.” 

You mumbled a mock to him, sticking out your tongue as you reached out to grab a mold from the drawer. 

His steps receded as he laughed, hands buried in his pocket while he walked backwards towards the door.

“I’ll get the original flavour,” He yelled. “Byeeee,” 

Clack.

An hour and thirty minutes.

It took an hour and thirty minutes for you to finish that damned gear. To be exact, an hour and thirty minutes after you’ve finished the other gears before that. With a small groan, you stretched your arms above your head, your body’s slouch finally stretched out to fix your posture. 

07:30 P.M. — The clock blinked, red bold digital numbers as if reminding you to stop and close the workshop for the day. So you did. 

With a soft click, you locked the workshop’s doors, sighing softly to yourself while your other hand clutched your bag, keeping it on your shoulder. The floors of the building squeaked with the rubber soles of your shoes as you dragged your feet, echoing against the empty building.

Tucked away carefully in your bag was the reason. His gear, you even painted it in his signature colors; white, black, and yellow. Maybe that was the reason your clothes smelled like fresh paint all over, but you didn’t mind. You’d stuck a small note on it, written in your handwriting;

‘Don’t break this one >:(‘

The conversation from earlier rang in your mind again. Tooru’s sweet voice chiming that casual question, but somehow it bugs you a bit. “Come onn, there’s gotta be someone, right?”

Someone.

You chuckled softly to yourself as you mindlessly made your way to his class, no need to remind you again; his desk was third from the back, second from the right. 

With a small noise, you placed down the gears, securing it into his drawer before you silently made your way out of the dark, empty classroom, then making your way to your dorm. 

༉‧₊˚.

“Jeez,” Hanta muttered in awe, carefully examining the gears now resting on top of his desk. His grin grew as he saw the note, an expression—that of amazed and amused. His thumb grazed carefully over it, as if afraid to smudge it. 

Even the colors were spot on, too, his colors. Small details you had implanted to the gear—maybe it was to ensure that he doesn’t break it again, or maybe it was just your way of evaluating your work. Either way, he finds himself grinning from ear to ear as he chuckles, looking at his newly fixed gear. You’d put an additional hole on the strap so he can adjust it more accordingly, the edges were smoothed out so that it sits comfortably on his arms.

“Shut up,” He laughed, the sound coming out more gentle—awestruck, adoring.

༉‧₊˚.

Knock knock knock! — The workshop door opened slightly, creaking as a shuffling sound made its way into the room. He’s right behind me, isn’t he.

“Moooorning,” He sang out, shaking the plastic bag in front of you. 

“Banana milk, and steamed cake. Just how my favorite mechanic likes it.” He placed the bag beside your arm, “Yooouu’re welcome,” Pride laced his voice.

God, all you can do is smile, as you slowly peeked your hand into the plastic bag, peeking inside with the exact things he said. “You know you don’t have to do this aaall the time, right?”

“I know,” He shrugged, rocking back and forth on his heels. “But I wanna,” 

“...You’re just bribing me,”

“I’m for reeaaaalll”

“...Thanks, Han.” You hummed, smiling softly as you reached into the bag, unwrapping the small steamed cake. The plastic rustled against your fingers as you tried to open it.

“You suck at opening shit,” He snickered, snatching the cake from you, ripping it open before handing it back to you. “Hm, eat,”

You blinked at him, feigning offense. “I was getting there.” You said, chuckling. 

“Sure you were,” he teased, plopping down onto the nearest stool like he owned the place. “At the speed of a dying turtle.” The noise he made next was ugly. Imitating a grandma talking. 

“Screw off,” You giggled, sticking your tongue out at him but took a bite anyway.

He watched you, arms crossed and chin propped on the edge of the worktable, eyes all full of mischief and… something else. Quieter. Warmer.

“You should smile like that more often,” he said out of the blue, his smirk faded into a small smile.

Your chewing paused. “…Like what?”

He leaned back with a stretch. “Like you actually like me.”

You shot him a look. “Han—”

“Kiddingg!” he grinned, holding his hands up in surrender. “Juusst kidding.”

After a small pause, he spoke up, “I gotta go now, my first class is heroics,” Hanta smiled, slapping his palms to his knees as he stood up. 

With his hands in his pockets he walked to the door. “Byyyee, don’t miss me,”

“Oh, and finish the cake, it was super expensive.”

It had been like that for a little over a year now. He’d come to you, whining about his broken gear, begging on his knees for you to fix it—and every time you did so, you threatened him to never break it again or you’re not fixing it ever again. But that never happened. Every time he whined back to you, you’d fix it, no matter how much you groaned about it, you still fixed it for him. And he’d come to you the next morning to bring your favorites; always the same banana milk and steamed cake. 

And honestly? It stuck to you. It became a small little routine for you, something you’d grown used to. But today—after yesterday’s little chat at lunch—it felt special, somehow. It felt like he saw you, like he…

…cares about you. 

But that was just a silly thought. 

You snorted. 

Hanta’s nice. That’s what he is, nice, friendly. Welcoming to everyone, and you were no exception. 

༉‧₊˚.

God, these projects show no mercy. And if you weren’t that much of a procrastinator, maybe these wouldn’t be stacked up into a bundle that you had to finish by tomorrow. A small grumble left your lips as you tweaked the final blueprint, scratching down the stiff paper before huffing a small celebration, rolling it up to tuck it behind your desk. 

The clock showed the time—06:30 P.M.

Ugh. You missed your show again. With a small sigh, you stepped towards the door, rummaging through your pocket to ready the keys and lock the door. 

Clack. The door closed, the lock clicking softly as you turned it to the right, jingling before you stuffed it back into your pocket. 

“Like you actually like me.” His joke echoed. 

His joke.

You brushed it off, even though a small smile tugged on your lips as you adjusted your bag over your shoulder, steps light towards the exit. 

Wait. Is that…?

Standing by the gates was that same lanky figure, tall and lilt, hair slicked from the rain while his laugh echoed through it. You almost smiled, almost laughed at his face. Almost. Before you saw her. A small girl standing next to him, smiling so sweetly at him while his blazer was draped over her, fitting and perfect. The same blazer he usually draped over your shoulder when the workshop felt too cold, and he felt too warm. The one that had a small twinge of oil stuck to its cuff. The one that smelled like tangerines.

He said something. Something that made her laugh. And he smiled at that. He smiled at her laugh.

Like he was proud of it. 

You felt your chest twist. Scrunched up and stretched. The rain wasn’t making anything better. The fact that you’re tired and pent up from today made everything worse. 

So you ran. 

You ran past them, bag over your head as you picked up your pace, your face was wet, and cold, not just from the rain. You hoped he didn’t see you, didn’t see that grimace you had on your face, didn’t see the way you bit your lip. But you hoped he did. Hoped he saw you. 

The streets were blurry by the rain, thunder clapping above your head as you ran to the dorms. And you slipped. Slipped just enough to make you drop to your knees and scraped your palms. You groaned in frustration, in hurt.

So all this time you were just his fixer upper? Cool.

༉‧₊˚.

Two weeks.

It took him two weeks to notice something was wrong. Sure, you still fixed his gear, although he didn’t break them this time. Said they were ‘too pretty’ to be broken, but even that didn’t earn your usual witty remark, you just smiled faintly to him. 

But he brushed it off. 

Maybe you were just tired, maybe his trick of ‘breaking’ his gear was starting to piss you off. Maybe he needed a new excuse to see you other than fixing his gear. 

Maybe you were growing tired of him. Naaaahhh. No way, jose. 

You like his company, you enjoy being around him. He sees that, he sees you. 

…But why were you pulling away? Did he say something? Okay maybe he did throw a small offensive joke. But you always laughed at that! So what was wrong? What was so wrong that you’re not even laughing at his jokes? His actions? Him?

Okay, fine. Whatever. Maybe you just needed some space. 

So he gave you that. 

But the moment he came into the workshop shaking your usual banana milk and steamed cake combo, and you rejected that? 

“I’m good, Han. Thanks.” You replied. Blunt, short, precise, to-the-motherfucking-point.

Oh he screwed up. He screwed something up. 

“Oh, uh..”

“Okay, I’ll uh… give this to Denks then, dude eats everything.” He chuckled awkwardly, the plastic rustling by his side.

“Mhm, okay.” 

Shiiiittt he’s so screwed. 

You didn’t even chuckle, and that’s how he knew.

༉‧₊˚.

“They hate me. They hate me so bad. I’m killing myself.” Hanta whined to his pillow, Kaminari perched by the edge of his bed.

“They didn’t even CHUCKLE at me, Den.” He groaned, his muffled voice cracking as he threw his arms up.

Kaminari sighed, arms folded as he glanced at the ravenette. “You’re being dramatic, Han.”

“No I’m not!” He protested, shooting up from his bed to sit up. “I’m not, okay? I just—I don’t know what I did, I just—...” He sighed, flopping back into his bed, groaning as he ran his hands over his face. “I don’t wanna lose them, Den..” He mumbled in a trembling voice.

“Then tell them that.” Kaminari shrugged, a chuckle on his lips as he scooted closer, patting Hanta’s thigh.

“...How?” He croaked back. “I don’t even know what I did wrong, dude I just…”

“Two weeks ago we were fine, I even made risky ass jokes to them and they laughed! And when I was lending that girl my blazer—”

Kaminari whistled. “Bingo.”

The bed shuffled as he sat up, head darting to Kaminari’s way while his mouth hung open. “Shit.”

“Go, Han.” 

༉‧₊˚.

The halls of UA had never felt so… suffocating. He’s been here before, like hours like these too. Just now he feels like he’s risking his life as he stares at the slightly cracked open door of the support course workshop. His steps felt heavy, like lead weights dragged through the ground, and his mouth felt dry, like water had never touched his tongue, and suddenly the plastic bag in his right hand felt too plastic-y. The faint tune of your favorite song was humming through the air, as well as the consistent whir of the sanding machine. 

As he slowly pushed the door open, the creak felt loud—too loud. Loud enough for you to dart your eyes to the door and paused your hand. His throat fell dry, drier than before.

“H-hey,” He grinned. It felt too wide, too stiff. But he didn’t care.

You held your gaze on him for a moment, brows furrowed, and he swore even when he couldn’t see your eyes through your goggles, he felt your stare pierce through him. 

The sanding machine came to life again, louder this time as you ducked your head back to the gear in your hand. “Hey,” you mumbled back, not bothering to look at him.

“I uh…”

“I wanted to talk to you,” He chuckled, stepping just a bit closer, his hand gripping the plastic bag tighter.

Perhaps his portion of response from you had run out. You stayed silent as you continued sanding the casing of the gear, stopping briefly to examine it. 

“...Y-you’re mad, at me, …I think,”

“And I uh…I just… I wanted to fix that, y/n.” He shifted his weight between his feet, chewing his bottom lip as you slowly paused the machine, setting it aside on your desk.

“Why?” You bluntly asked. Perching your elbow on your armrest as you lifted up your goggles. 

God, you’re such a sight to him. Even angry and frowning at him like this, you took his breath away, if not more.

“B-because—...”

“I care?” 

“I mean–! I care, I care, …I care… a lot,” He grinned again, nodding as if convincing himself before he cleared his throat, louder than necessary. “I care… I care about you, y/n.”

His gaze fell to the ground, pressing his lips into a thin line, he shut his eyes. “I…I made a mistake, okay? A-and… I hurt you, and I’m… real sorry, y/n.”

“...I don’t…wanna lose you,” He breathed that out, coming out barely above a whisper while his hand gripped the plastic bag tighter.

“Look–.. that one time, y-you saw me with that girl at the gate? S-she meant nothing, okay?”

“I just…wanted to be nice,” He muttered quietly, almost as if in shame. 

“You’re always nice, Han.” You blurted, finally opening up your voice. It felt cold, different from what he was so used to hearing. “You’re always nice to everyone, aren’t you?” Your voice shook.

“...You probably think this is stupid, I don’t care.” You spat, your voice held a small tinge of anger in it.

“You made me think that you… you liked me, and—” 

“Because I do.” 

The words hung there, waiting for your response as the air conditioner hummed through the air.

“I…I do like you, y/n.”

“A lot.” He whispered quietly, his arms swinging in nervousness as he chewed on his lip, suffocated by the silence you answered with. 

You stared at him. 

Not just because he was standing there, but his words rang to your ears. It was what you wanted to hear. That confession, that maybe he cared for you for a reason. And he did. He did care for you for a reason. 

“For a long time now, okay?”

“I—... I don’t even know when– I just–...”

He sighed. “I just… really like talking to you, I like how you understand my dumb jokes, and you even—...it’s dumb, but you flirt back when I do, okay? And that shit was hot… for me.”

He groaned, wiping his eyes with frustration in his movements, throwing his head back as he stammered; “I’m screwing this shit up– I’m..” 

“y/n I’m just… sorry,” He said, finally looking at you. Hints of tears threatening to fall down his cheeks while he stared at you with desperation written all over his face.

“Please don’t… don’t leave,” 

And you wanted to cry, and laugh, at the same time. Cry because you’ve never seen him like this, because did he really just lay his heart bare to you? Laugh because God he looks ridiculous right now. So desperate, so sad, if this was a less serious moment, maybe you’d pull out your phone and record him. 

So you smiled, “I like you too,”

“H–..What..?” He croaked back, his voice unsteady as he looked up at you again.

“I like you, Hanta, I like you, back.”

He breathed out a laugh, finally smiling after what felt like his face was stretched down to the earth for the past few minutes, he grinned, running his hand through his hair. “You– what?” 

Ahem. “Okay wait, pause—” 

“C-can I–..?” A hand reached out to you hesitantly, sheepish and nervous, twitching slightly as if scared you’ll break if he touches you. 

Slowly, you reached back, enveloping your hands into his, letting him slowly pull you into his embrace. Warm, quiet, and… smells like tangerines. A small giggle escaped his lips as he brought his hand up to your hair, carefully caressing it. “Shit, I’m so— happy right now,”

His heartbeat was fast, shinkansen speed-kinda-fast, you heard it as you slowly buried your face to his shoulder, your arms awkwardly wrapping around his waist, and you couldn’t help but smile widely, nuzzling yourself into him. 

“I thought I messed this up, I swear— like, real bad, y’know?” He murmured into your hair, a hand gently resting over the line between your hip and waist. “I thought I lost you,” 

With a swift motion, he took off his blazer, carefully resting it on your shoulders, as he wrapped his arms around you again.

“S’ yours now,”

“...What?”

“My blazer—...your blazer.”

You giggled, lightly pinching his shoulder. “Shut up,”

“Hey come on!” He chuckled, “I’ll even trademark it for ya,”

You grinned against his shoulder, arms wrapping just a bit tighter around him.

“C’mon, I know you looovee me that much, but I know you’re also hungry,” His hand nudged your arm with the plastic bag, “I brought my favorite mechanic’s favorites,” He hummed out.

“Steamed cake and banana milk.”

He grinned. “Just how you like it,” 

And in the warm, quiet thrum of the workshop, under buzzing lights and the soft scent of sawdust and tangerines, it finally felt right.

Like home.

dworkism | do not repost!

➤ masterlist!

i gotta write other things other than this man i swear

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎

pairing: sero hanta x gn!reader

genre/warnings: camp counselor au/summer camp au, fluuuuffy fluff, suggestive, substance use (weed), cussing, implied sexual content in public (making out)

nothing brings out the attraction between two counselors more like late night smoke sessions and the inevitable end of summer camp

⋆˚࿔ shared spaces

kaminari moves into the spare bedroom in your apartment

contains: roommate!kaminari and gn!reader but feminine terms used. weezer mentioned

authors note: honestly this can be taken as romantic or platonic! i just had this idea and wanted to make a little smau out of it