I Love And Hate Having Adhd Because It’s Really Helpful When I Want To Multitask Or Be Insanely Efficient

oh they definitely talk shit about people LMAO

LOVERS ROCK.

ft. h. shinsou x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was another thing about you, your confidence. It wrecked him. He had spent so long second-guessing himself, wondering if people wanted him around. And then you appeared, all pretty smiles, inked skin, and that ridiculous ability to know exactly what he needed.

He thought back to the early days, when your relationship was still new and awkward in that stupidly endearing way. Two friends navigating the space between them, learning each other’s rhythms, unsure of what was too much or what wasn’t enough. He remembered the first time he kissed you, the way his lips caught on the cool metal of your lip ring, the shiver it sent down his spine, how his hands instinctively gripped your waist. He’d never kissed anyone with a piercing before.

Then there were your tattoos. He didn’t know why they fascinated him so much. Maybe it was the way the ink settled into your skin, or maybe it was because he had spent so much of his life feeling invisible, yet here you were; bold, defined, and seen.

Tracing over them had become a habit. He couldn't keep his hands to himself for long and would find himself dragging his fingers along the intricate designs. He liked the contrast; his rough calloused hands against the smooth ink of your skin. Sometimes, he’d imagine adding to them, his own marks on you, in places only he could see.

Shaking his head at the thought, he swallowed hard. He avoided your gaze as his fingers trailed along the ink on your arm, watching the way your body instinctively leaned into his touch. “Still think you made a mistake?” he mumbled, only half-teasing, self deprecation slipping easily off his tongue.

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “If I wanted out, don’t you think I’d be gone by now?”

That shut him up. Logic told him you weren’t going anywhere; it was in the matching marks on your necks, his faded band shirt slipping off your shoulder, the cosigned cat purring in his lap. But logic didn’t quiet the part of him that still felt like a kid, like the outcast who was too much trouble to be around.

Sighing, you tilted his chin up, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “I love you.” A kiss, pressed slow and deliberate to the corner of his mouth. “And I’m yours.” Another kiss, this time catching his bottom lip, lip ring clicking against his teeth. “So stop worrying about things that’ll never happen.”

He hummed, leaning into you, letting himself be wrapped in your warmth. Burying his face in your neck, he huffed a laugh as your fingertip traced over his chest, crossing his heart.

“Besides,” you murmured, amusement lacing your tone. “You’re hopelessly in love with me.”

He flicked your side, making you yelp. “Yeah, yeah.”

A few weeks later, while babysitting Eri, a thought hit him like a freight train.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, Eri perched in your lap, tiny fingers grasping colored markers as she carefully filled in the lines of a tattoo on your forearm.

Shinsou, half-dozing on the other end of the couch, cracked an eye open at the sound of your laugh. “Looks great, kiddo,” you said, smiling as Eri beamed up at you.

His heart clenched.

The domesticity of it, the way you cradled Eri so easily, the way she trusted you, the way you just fit into his world, it hit him all at once. And then his mind betrayed him, spiraling into thoughts of a future with you.

Later that night, you were curled up beside him, sprawled across his bed, your legs draped over his lap. You looked sleep-soft and warm. His fingers toyed with the charms on your anklet, his initials among them, a gift he’d given you. It made his throat tighten.

He felt stupid. You hadn’t even said anything, and here he was, acting like some lovesick idiot, giddy over the thought of having his mark on you, as if the ones that littered your neck weren’t enough.

You glanced at him, noticing his silence. “Toshi,” you murmured, linking your pinky with his. “You okay?”

Shinsou swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He exhaled. “Just… thinking.”

You squeezed his finger. “Good thoughts?”

The corners of his lips twitched. “Something like that.”

You studied him for a second longer before deciding to let it go, tugging him closer until his head rested against your shoulder.

And just like that, the weight in his chest lifted.

He really, really hoped this was forever and judging by the sound of your quickened heartbeat, he hopes you do too.

© property of cyberesc 2025. please refrain from plagiarizing any of my works and do not repost/copy onto any other sites.

i felt like rebranding myself so here are my hcs about what music the UA students listen to so here we go

(i’ll make a part 2 with more people)

Izuku Midoriya

you cannot tell me that this boy doesn’t unironically listen to the entire Pray For the Wicked album by Panic! At the Disco.

He definitely listens to Imagine Dragons when he’s training 💀

He also listens to musicals and soundtracks a lot (he has hamilton memorized)

Mina Ashido

Hear me out, she LOVES Chappell Roan

She’s def a little fruity or at least an ally (will try to teach Aizawa the hot to go dance)

She also undeniably loves Brat by Charli XCX

Eijiro Kirishima

Dad Rock Fan

His favorite song is Seven Nation Army

Knows everything about the Grateful Dead for some reason

Denki Kaminari

His favorite song is Pretty Fly (For a White Guy) by the Offspring which i think makes complete sense

In general likes the offspring, green day, and other pop punk from that era

Institutionalized by Suicidal Tendencies is his favorite to listen to during training

His favorite band is machine girl and he also likes death grips

Gets most of his reccomendations from Jiro

Katsuki Bakugo

He listens to punk

Dead Kennedys, Sex Pistols, Misfits, The Clash etc.

he dabbles in riot grrl and grunge but is very hesitant to take reccomendations from others

Favorite Song is Police Truck

in general likes angry songs

Ochaco Uraraka

Since she grew up poor i hc that she mostly listened to cds she found in thrift stores

after joining UA, Jiro and Mina introduced her to a lot of stuff

She loves folk punk

Her favorite band is the Moldy Peaches

Her favorite song is Deceptacon by Le Tigre

Shoto Todoroki

He’s sheltered as fuck so before coming to UA he rarely listened to music

I feel like he really gets into radiohead because it has this sort of passive anger to it

He also definitely likes Sufjan Stevens, Phoebe Bridgers, and other soft sad music

Also a big classical fan

Hanta Sero

He definitely listens to rock

Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana, Hole, etc.

I feel like he secretly likes some emo stuff too like Sunny Day Real Estate and mcr

Momo Yaoyorozu

She is a beatles girly

George is her favorite

Also likes Simon and Garfunkel

In general melodic 60s stuff

Toru Hagakure

She is obsessed with Sabrina Carpenter

Olivia Rodrigo too

Has the Guts album on vinyl

Ass class 🤨 why you need a class on asses?

assasination classroom 😭 it’s the shortened version of it

Pls do Ulmite as the friggin packet yo kid

for context this is my brother who requested this lmao

also did you mean all might?!?

this is a crack fic btw

basically I imagine Aizawa is teaching class and he gives the 1a kids a packet of work to do, because he needs to catch up on sleep or something and then All Might just bursts in and recites the friggin packet yo speech.

link to og video

bring back tumblr ask culture let me. bother you with questions and statements

reblog if you're gay, not gay, slightly gay, or if you just want to launch donald trump into a dying star

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

And you happened to have left behind too many.

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

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

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

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

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

Grief was a strange thing to Bakugou.

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

But grief wasn’t like that.

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

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

What was the point?

He hated how much space you had taken up in his life. Hated how even in your absence, you still lingered, threading yourself through his routine, his thoughts, his goddamn muscle memory.

But more than anything, he hated how much he wanted it to stay.

Because if ghosts were real, then maybe—just maybe—you weren’t completely gone.

He hadn’t cried. Not when he first got the news. Not when he stood at the funeral, jaw locked so tight it ached. Not when he walked through your apartment alone for the first time, every corner of it filled with your presence, your things, the remnants of the life you lived.

But tonight, he was exhausted.

Physically. Mentally. It comes down on him like something tangible, something inescapable—all at once.

And for the first time in a long time, he spoke into the silence.

“…This is fucking stupid.”

His voice was hoarse, rough from disuse.

Nothing answered.

Of course, nothing answered.

Still, Bakugou exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You’d be so pissed at me right now.”

The quiet stretched.

Bakugou let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tch. You always said I was too stubborn for my own good. But look at you. Still haunting me, huh?”

His eyes flickered to the couch, where you used to sit cross-legged, laptop balanced on your knees, pretending to listen to whatever bullshit he was ranting about while actually getting work done.

A strange, bittersweet feeling lodged itself in his chest.

“…You remember that time you swore up and down that ghosts were real?” he muttered, voice quieter now. “I told you you were full of shit.”

Silence.

His fingers curled into fists. “Kinda wish you were right.”

No answer. No sign. Just the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the faint buzz of the city outside the window.

But in the quiet, he thought—just for a second—he could hear it.

A breath. A whisper of movement. The sound of something shifting just out of sight.

He knew it was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him.

But still, Bakugou closed his eyes, exhaled, and let himself pretend.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

MHA CHARACTERS AS RANDOM SHIT ME AND MY FRIENDS TEXTED EACH OTHER

@misssprinkles @matcopii

uraraka + mina

———

jiro + momo

———

shinso + monoma

———

sero

———

bakugo

———

iida + denki

———

jiro

———

kirishima

———

Izuku

———

Denki

Can I request an established relationship with katsuki x reader where reader has a healing quirk, but whateber injury she heals, she feels a fraction of the pain and drains her own energy.

she had to heal a lot of civilians in the mission and katsuki finds her before she passes out

Borrowed Pain

The battlefield was finally quiet. Smoke and dust still clung to the air, the acrid scent of destruction mixing with the metallic tang of blood. It had been a brutal fight—villains tearing through the city like a wildfire, leaving behind wreckage, wounded civilians, and far too much loss.

But you had done your part.

Your hands trembled as you pressed them against another injured civilian’s body, your quirk flickering to life in a soft, golden glow. You gritted your teeth as their deep gash slowly sealed itself shut, your skin prickling with the familiar burn of borrowed pain. The moment the wound disappeared, a sharp sting lanced through your own abdomen—a phantom pain, a fraction of what they had endured, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You had lost count of how many people you had healed.

Your body was barely holding together. Each time you healed someone, it took something from you—your energy, your strength, your stability. The worst part wasn’t even the fatigue; it was the cumulative pain, layer upon layer of injuries you hadn’t actually sustained, but still felt as if you had. Your arms ached as if they’d been broken and reset a dozen times over. Your ribs throbbed with phantom bruises. Your head was spinning from the strain.

But you couldn’t stop.

Not when another civilian, a mother clutching her unconscious daughter, was crying out for help.

Not when people needed you.

You forced yourself forward, dragging your heavy limbs across the debris-littered ground. You sank to your knees beside them, nearly toppling over from the sheer effort of staying upright. The little girl was breathing, but her leg was bent at an unnatural angle. Fractured, at the very least.

You exhaled shakily. “I’m going to fix her,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, because the mother’s sobs made it clear she wasn’t hearing anything beyond her own panic.

You placed your hands on the girl’s leg and summoned what little energy you had left. The glow of your quirk was duller now, weaker. You weren’t even sure if you had enough in you to mend the break.

But you had to try.

The moment the healing process started, a searing pain shot through your own leg. You bit down hard on your lip, trying to suppress the strangled sound of pain that threatened to escape. It felt like your bone had snapped, like the marrow itself was burning—but then, after a few agonizing seconds, it was gone.

The girl stirred with a soft whimper, her leg whole again.

But you—

The world tilted violently. Your vision blurred, colors bleeding together in a hazy mess. You tried to push yourself up, to move onto the next person, but your limbs refused to cooperate.

Your heart pounded sluggishly in your chest. You could barely feel the ground beneath you.

Too much.

You had given too much.

Your body swayed, and just as you felt yourself pitching forward, a voice—loud, rough, unmistakable—cut through the fog in your mind.

“The hell do ya think you’re doing?!”

A pair of strong arms caught you before you could hit the ground. The scent of burnt caramel filled your senses, familiar and grounding. Katsuki.

You wanted to say something, to reassure him that you were fine, that you just needed a second, but the moment you met his gaze, the words died in your throat.

His expression—fierce, scowling—was betrayed by the sheer panic in his crimson eyes. His hands, calloused but warm, cradled you carefully, as if afraid you’d break apart if he held you any tighter.

"You overdid it again, dumbass,” he growled, voice thick with frustration. “I told ya not to push yourself like this!"

You tried to smile, tried to play it off, but even that was too much effort. “People needed help,” you mumbled instead, eyelids fluttering.

Katsuki clicked his tongue, his jaw clenching. “And what about you, huh? Who the hell’s gonna help you when you’re passin’ out on the goddamn street?!”

You had no answer.

Because, deep down, you hadn’t even considered yourself.

You had only been thinking about them.

Your head lolled against his shoulder, exhaustion wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. Your body felt weightless and unbearably heavy all at once, limbs refusing to respond, breath shallow and uneven.

Katsuki tightened his grip, as if he could physically hold you together with just his arms alone. His heart was pounding against your cheek. “Don’t you dare pass out,” he muttered, shaking you slightly. “Oi, stay with me.”

But you couldn’t.

You fought it—really, you did—but the darkness was already creeping in, dragging you under. The last thing you felt before everything went black was Katsuki pulling you closer, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the icy numbness in your veins.

And the last thing you heard was his voice, raw and desperate.

“I got you, alright? Just—fuck—just stay with me.”

*-*-*-*

Your eyelids felt like lead, heavy and unyielding, but the warmth pressed against your side was familiar. It anchored you, coaxing you from the depths of unconsciousness. The air was different here—cleaner, free of smoke and dust, carrying the faint antiseptic scent of a medical ward.

You stirred, your body protesting with a dull, lingering ache. Every muscle felt wrung out, every nerve frayed at the edges. A low, irritated grunt sounded beside you.

"'Bout damn time you woke up."

The voice—gruff and unmistakable—sent a wave of relief through your foggy mind. You managed to pry your eyes open, blinking against the dim light. Katsuki was slouched in a chair beside your bed, arms crossed, brows furrowed in a scowl that didn’t quite hide the tension in his shoulders. His usual hero gear had been replaced with a simple black shirt and sweatpants, but he still looked battle-worn—his hands wrapped in gauze, a faint bruise darkening his cheekbone.

"Katsuki…?" Your voice came out hoarse, your throat dry and sore.

His scowl deepened. "Yeah, dumbass. Who else would be here watchin’ your reckless ass?"

You tried to push yourself up, but the moment you moved, a sharp pain lanced through your limbs. Katsuki was there in an instant, his hands firm but careful as he eased you back against the pillows. "The hell do ya think you’re doin’? Lay the fuck down."

A weak chuckle escaped you. "I feel like I got hit by a truck."

"Yeah? Well, servin’ yourself up on a silver platter like that’ll do that to ya." His voice was gruff, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed something deeper—anger, frustration… concern.

You let your head rest against the pillow, exhaling softly. "How long was I out?"

Katsuki hesitated, then muttered, "Almost two days."

Your eyes widened. "Two—?" You tried to sit up again, only for his hand to press firmly against your shoulder, keeping you down with surprising gentleness.

"I swear to god, if you don’t stop fuckin’ movin’, I’ll tie you to the damn bed."

You huffed a tired laugh but obeyed, sinking back. "What happened?"

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. "You pushed yourself way too far. You were burnin’ up, shakin’ like a damn leaf. Could barely fuckin’ breathe." His fingers curled into fists. "You scared the shit outta me."

That last part was muttered under his breath, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it. But you did. And it sent warmth blooming in your chest, even through the exhaustion.

"I just…" You swallowed, throat tight. "People needed me."

"Yeah? And what, you don’t?" Katsuki snapped, eyes flashing. "You think you can just keep throwin’ yourself away for everyone else and it won’t fuckin’ matter?"

His words struck something deep inside you, something raw and unspoken. You had always known the risks of your quirk. The cost of healing. But you had never really thought about what it did to you—only what it did for others.

Katsuki dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Look, I get it. You wanna help people. That’s what heroes do. But not at the damn expense of your own life, dumbass."

You hesitated, searching for the right words. "I don’t know how to stop."

For a moment, he just stared at you, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then, with a sigh, he shifted closer, resting his forearms on the edge of the bed. "Then I’ll make sure you do."

His voice had lost its usual bite, softened into something steadier. A promise.

You met his gaze, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself lean into the warmth of someone else’s care.

"Okay."