Ok Imagine This

after college maki was lost. he graduated, got a degree in pre law and had a job at some law firm that payed him to read legal papers and make sure they were ok or wtv. it paid ok, his apartment was ok, his life was ok. except the fact that he hated it.

his job, the people he worked with, his neighbors, he hated it all. makki is NOT a boring person by far yet his life was so… boring.

his saving grace was saturday nights where him, matsukawa and either matsu’s new gf of the week or iwa/oikawa (depending on if either were in town) would join them at a bar for drinks. maki loved it. the owner was this guy who had been here since the dawn of time, there was usually either stand up, karaoke or some band playing at the stage. it was an environment he felt he belonged in. despite every surface being a little sticky and the overall stench of the place consisting of beer and cheap perfume.

however, one saturday maki was alone. matsun was out of town and neither oikawa nor iwazumi were in japan at the time but he still went to the bar that night. a little drunk and a little pissed off at his co-workers, makki wrote his name on a price of paper and dropping it in the hat to be picked out of. tonight was stand up and if he was being honest, maki knew he was naturally a funny guy. he could make any situation hilarious, just the way he told stories and roasted ppl made them funny as hell.

“NEXT UP ISSsss- hanamaki!”

oh shit, now i actually have to go up there. he thought. he wasn’t nervous though, more just annoyed even though he volunteered for this. the crowd was already a bit dead and he was too mad at his life and drunk to care if he bombed or not. he started going on about his boss, stuff like how could a man in such a high position be so stupid. he went on about his co workers and his neighbors and his childhood. how growing up in single mother household with two older sisters was the definition of heaven and hell. (mostly hell) he glanced at the timer by his feet. 10 seconds. “wow only 10 seconds left? well thank you guys for laughing with me about my life. i’m Maki. y’all have a great night.” he closed off with a small roar of applause and stepped down ready to head out.

as he was collecting his things from his place at the bar, a man comes up to him slugging his arm around Maki suddenly. “you were pretty good up there y’know. you do stand up anywhere eles ‘round town?” he asked with an itialinan or brooklyn accent which makki found particularly unusual as they were in japan. “oh. nah man. that was my first time.” he replied casually whilst brushing the man’s arm off him to pull on his coat. “mm well i thought you were definitely something up there.” the man reaches into his front pocket of his trousers to pull out a card with matalic writting SI Alley on it. “i run a comedy club a little ways down, you shoukd really come by.” and the man slipped away.

little did he know that that one interaction changed Maki’s poor boring life into something much more exciting.

( a/n: uh basically he never showed up for his office job ever again. didn’t formally quit. no email. just didn’t show up monday. and now makes his living off doing stand up gigs and bartends at the SI Alley. BUTTT he becomes famous in tiktok and gets to become the host of a comedy show (Haikyuu ver of SNL but funnier) )

change of plans | master list

fuckboy!sero hanta x fem!reader

summary: Sero Hanta is a fuckboi if you've ever seen one. A smooth talker, tireless confidence, an amazing kisser... But you know he's going to become a much bigger headache than he's worth if you play into his little game. Problem is, he is way too good at luring you right back in.

total wc: (currently) 62k

NSFW 🔞 / tags / cw: university!au, no quirks, playboy!sero, slow burn, excessive flirting, fluff, slight angst, denial of feelings, pining, miscommunication, recreational drinking, recreational drug use (marijiuana), reader knows french, sero knows spanish, past relationships, meddlesome friends, smut, porn with (a lot of) feelings

you can also read on AO3

and special thanks again to leo @4xesp for helping me with the spanish in this fic and mia @pageantdisaster for helping with the french. i appreciate it so very much 🥹🙏

table of contents

🔞 — contains nsfw content

part 1 — birdfeeder

part 2 — aphrodisiac

part 3 — spider-man 🔞ish

part 4 — allons-y

part 5 — consequences 🔞

part 6 — sympathique 🔞

part 7 — reason

part 8 — mistletoe

part 9 — chance

part 10 — honest 🔞

part 11 — surprise 🔞

part 12 —

Sero thoughts!

Masterlist!

In my mind Sero can play the guitar and the ukulele so beautifully and he can also sing, I feel like he would actually have that scratchy raspy singing voice that's so pretty and relaxing loll!! and its a plus he also can sing in Spanish because again in my mind Sero is half Mexican half Japanese. Sero one time stayed up to 3am to write a song for you and when he played it for you you literally started tearing up because is was so beautiful and full of love. Sero is such a love struck boy like seriously you do something to that boy he is absolutely OBSESSED with you to the point it's so adorable. Most of the time he doesn't really sing in Spanish because he feels like his voice isn't as good as it is when he sings normally (which is such bs) but if you beg him (ask once) he'll do it for you because ur his sweet little baby! If you ask him so sing you too sleep he usually always sings in Spanish then because you mentioned one time before y'all were dating that weirdly Spanish music helps you fall asleep so now every time you ask him to he sings in Spanish. He's so lover boy coded guys like idk what it is about him but something abt him just gives off such lover vibes and its so cute SIGHHH I wish he was real :(

Songs he would sing to you:

The hornier I am the more fucked my kinks become like idk who that nasty bitch is but she scares me sometimes 😭

hi love! idk how long ago you posted that you wanted sero requests but here i am.

tattoo artist!sero and it’s like your first time getting tattooed and he talks you through everything that’s going to happen and everything that he’s doing and just making sure that you feel safe. i acc love it so much honestly it could be his partner or a complete stranger but honestly OBSESSED with this idea rn it’s doing my head in i just NEED it on paper

thank u sum for the request & i love tattoo artist!sero !!

You've been thinking about this for quite some time. Ever since you saw your eldest cousin with their first tattoo when you were much younger, you’ve been dreaming about getting your own.

On an impromptu girls' trip into the bright city of Tokyo, your closest friends, Momo and Ochako, convince you this is the time! “but I need to do so much more research about what place I want to go to! what sized needle I should get, and… SO MUCH MORE!” you say in the dimly lit bar, tipsy enough to even be thinking about this idea but not so much that you’re stumbling. “Oh, com’on Y/n !! my girlfriend knows this guy who owns a tattoo place, I think it’s near here, and he’s like, so legit ! she only goes to him and his people.” Momo chimes in. This made you even more unsure. You love Momo’s girlfriend! She is cool and funny but the crowd she runs with is… a wilder than you’re used to. “Is this the same guy that almost got us arrested at that house party?” you say back, reminding her of that night year or two ago. “oh my lord no !!! That’s Denki. this guy is Sero, he is super chill, an amazing artist, and can do anything. even those super small, dainty ones you like.” After about 3 more drinks, the three of you guys are outside by the bar, and Momo is calling this Sero guy, asking if his place is still open. and it is.

After about a 10 minute walk, you arrive at the place. “Tokyo’s Ink” looks cool enough. Rustic and dark enough to draw in the right crowd but oddly clean and tidy enough so no one thinks it’s some sketchy dump. you stumble in with the help of Momo and are greeted with a tall male at the front desk. “uh.. Momo, are you sure she’s ok to like do this?” aww sweet. you think. he clearly cares about his clients which makes you more open to trusting him like this. “yeah yeahh she’s fine. not as bad as ochako though.” momo replies, laughing before she notices- oh shit. where’s ochako? after mumbling you can’t understand between the two tall dark haired people, she dashed out, assuming to look for her. “so, y/n right? i think we met a couple times when you went out with momo and jirou.” oh yeah. You remember seeing him in the crowds with Jirou’s ragtag friends group. “oh yeahhh. you used to have a lip piercing, where’d that go?” you ask, peering up at his face. “oh i uh, got into a fight and it got ripped out.” he says so nonchalantly, leaving you stunned, wide eyed. “holy shit!” “yeah, so you’re thinking of getting a tattoo?” he says and sits back on the desk in the entry way. You can see him a little more clearly now and he’s gorgeous. His hair looks clean and soft, a little outgrown mullet but it looks good. His hands show the ends of some complex artwork going up his arms. even though his lip ring is gone, he still has a lot of other jewelry hanging from him. Earrings and bulky silver rings and a thin chain around his neck. “um yeah i’m definitely getting ones,” you say a little louder than you intended. “but i need to know you are like, legit.” you say and he laughs. It’s a nice, deep laugh that makes your heart do flips. He says he can take you to the chair where he’ll go over the procedure and you can ask any questions you want. “so hopefully you’ll come back when you’re in a better, state and we willl start by sketching out some designs of the tattoo you want. we’ll work on that untr it’s perfect for your pretty self,” your ears perk up and blush at his comment. He notices and smiles back at you, “then i’ll print it out as an outline and trace it with a marker on the spot you want, once that placent is where you want it to be then we will start inking.” he says.

Sero starts talking again. About needle sizes, ink color, if you wanted shading and color or just an outline, blah blah blah. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t focus on his words when he looked like that. he sat directly in front of you, legs slightly spread, you could see the tension his muscular thighs were putting those tight black jeans through. Sero, with his pericings almost glistening in the overhead light, a light that contorted the muscles of his arms, was slouching and leaning forward ever so slightly so that you could see down his thin and baggy white t-shirt to his chest. He stopped talking but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his torso. god he looks so good.

He said something. Your name maybe? Then he was standing. It only took half a step until he was towering over you. His hand reached up to caress your jawline and lift your chin up to him. You could smell him now. Not the sandalwood that aired in the shop but him. He didn’t smell like a cologne, more like fresh sheets, warm vanilla with a hint of that manly musk. “you got it, princess?” he said. you could feel his warm and calloused hand against your hot, soft skin. god he definitely works out. you don’t get calloused hands from tattooing. you thought. “um yes. i-i- i’m sorry what do i got?” you replied. Suddenly the buzz you felt in the bar was back but this wasn’t from alcohol, you were high off something else. He laughed softly before saying “i asked if you understood everything i just told you. we you want i can schedule you for an appointment tonight.” his hand dropped from you face and planted on the table behind you. He was leaning down, closer to you. You could practically feel his breath, his lips on you. Sero’s eyes darted down to your lips, then slowly back up to you. His eyes were determined. Searching for any discomfort in yours as he slowly, and i mean slowly, attempted to close the distance between you two until,

ba dingg !

the bell above the door jingled, causing the both of you to retreat quickly. “Found her !!” Momo exclaimed as she was dragging a very sad Ochako, face covered in ice cream, by her side. “O-Oh great !” you said standing up. Sero stood and backed up, giving you room to walk to your friends. He went behind the front counter and grabbed his scheduling book out from under it. Opening it he look at back at you, “so are you free next friday?” he asked clicking his pen, looking at you. “um, oh yes. yes i am after 4pm!” you replied. he scribbled something down and looked back up at you. “great then. i’ll see you at 5:00pm next friday.” he said with his million dollar smile. Momo then proceeded to tell you how late it was and how your group should probably turn in for the night. “I’ll walk you guys out!” Sero jumped into the conversation following Momo and Ochako already half way out the door. Then he put his hand on your lower back, guiding you out of his shop. You turn your head to thank him for letting you come in way past business hours. “don’t worry about it princess, it was my pleasure.” he whispered back to you. his lips softly kissing your neck for the first and last time that night before leading you out.

god you can’t wait until friday. now you just have less than two weeks to figure out what kind of tattoo you want.

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.

☆༉ — RYOMEN SUKUNA. santa’s little helper.

about. dressing up as slutty santa warrants some unwanted attention, luckily, sukuna is there to play santa’s grumpy little helper. merry christmas.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, meet cute, reader gets harassed/cat-called, reader is wearing a dress, modern!sukuna, fem!reader. it’s still christmas somewhere - enjoy !! (1K).

you meet modern bf!sukuna at a train station on christmas eve.

all your friends have gone home with guys that they fancied from the club, all the ubers in the area are either booked out or have sky high prices just to get you thirty minutes away not to mention the fact that it’s ice cold and your stupid mean girls themed santa outfit keeps riding up.

if you huff hard enough a cloud of smoke appears in place of your breath — like that of a mighty dragon, accumulating in the night air. it entertains you for all but a moment and doesn’t waste enough time for your train to come faster.

it’s not due for another thirteen minutes.

in that time you watch gangs of girls, groups of guys and just about anybody come and go from the station. your platform isn’t packed but it’s not too empty to the point where you feel unsafe.

“hey pretty girl.” ugh. as if your night couldn’t get any worse, a dingy looking stranger appears from nowhere — breathing down your neck, nastily drinking you in as if you’re a free shot at a bar. like you’re easy.

waving your hand away, you focus your gaze on the platform across the track and pray that someone notices your predicament. “no thank you.”

“oh come on gorgeous, give a guy a chance!” they press, crossing all of your boundaries to be in your space. even as you try to walk away, you can still feel the ghost of their sleazy words against the bare and exposed parts of your skin.. “where are you going all dressed like that, with no one to admire you?”

on instinct, you pull down your skirts as if to hide yourself from greedy eyes — storming down the platform. “none of your business!”

“hey now, little miss santa! don’t you wanna know? i’ve got a sleigh you can ride!”

“not interested! i’m all good.”

“why? you got a boyfriend?”

“yeah, i do.” you lie smoothly.

“then where is he?” the stranger mocks and closes in on you — you look around pathetically, waiting for some good passer-by to come and help you.

a heavy hand land’s on the stranger’s shoulder — making them jump in shock. you watch as the hand squeezes down, almost tight enough to break bone. “right here,” says a gravelly, husky voice that instantly fills you with warmth and relief. stepping aside, your hero reveals himself — tall with rippling muscles and spiralling black tattoos, lazy blood red eyes and a snarl that reveals sharp fangs and canines. all topped off my tufts of soft pink hair, which don’t do anything to dim his threatening aura. “you got a problem?”

“n-no! sorry man, i didn’t—“

“fuck off, will ya?” your hero spits out venomously and the stranger nods — practically disappearing into thin air after that. your shoulders sag and tensions dissipate from your body. “you okay…miss?”

tentatively, you give the pink-haired man your name — you owe him that much after he’d more or less saved your skin. “all good, thanks to you…”

“sukuna.” he doesn’t look at you, instead pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lighting one with a flicker of a flame. it’s like he feels you watching him in dismay, and laughs as he takes a drag. it’s kind of sexy, you’ll admit — the way he throws his head back let’s you see the thick lines of black ink extending down his neck. “ticket office is closed and security is shit here. small station. no one’s watching me smoke.”

“right…thanks, sukuna.”

he finally turns to you, deep and blood red eyes drinking you in — almost scrutinising you. you squirm under his gaze, heat prickling at the back of your neck and providing some protection from the cold. “where were you off too?”

“christmas party with some friends.”

“where are they now?”

“sucking face somewhere, and no, they didn’t offer me an Uber before they left.”

sukuna taps the ash from his cigarette and it falls away in the icy breeze. “shit night.”

wringing your fingers, you shrug a little bit. “i guess it could have been worse. so thank you for helping out,” you hum appreciatively. “all i have to do now is wait for this stupid train.”

a beat of silence passes between you both, only broken by your chattering teeth and sukuna’s occasional sniff between puffs of smoke. you hate smokers, but you don’t ask him to stop. not after he’d helped you and is willing to be your human shield until your train comes. anyone else would have left by now.

“i can give you a ride home, if you want?”

you frown… was he, trying to make a move on you?

“if you have a car why are you at a train station.”

sukuna smirks slowly, dropping his cig to the floor and crushing it under his sneaker. you don’t remind him that there’s a law against smoking on the platform. “i’m waiting for my little brother to get home from a trip with his friends. we don’t live too far from here and i offered to pick him up from the station.” he shrugs.

you blink up at him with wide eyes. you’d never imagine a man that looks and carries himself like he does to care so deeply for someone else. you suppose you’re judging a book by his cover.

you’re dressed like slutty santa, so you honestly have no right to do so.

“what’s your brother’s name?”

“yuuji. it’s just us, no parents. that’s why i’m picking him up.” sukuna turns to you, running a hand through his messy pink undercut. “look, i promise i’m not some creep. y’just look cold and i’m not about to let some girl get fucked over by weirdos at this time of night. i won’t touch you, but you can sit in the back with yuuji if it makes you feel better. people usually prefer his stupid face over mine anyways.” he mumbles that last part to himself, but is pleasantly surprised by the cute flutter of laughter that escapes you. “what’s s’funny?”

with a hand resting on your bare stomach, you try to contain yourself. “is it the tattoos or the fact that you have resting bitch face?”

“both.” sukuna sniggers in response, shoving his cold hands deep into his pockets. “so, you takin’ up the offer or what?”

“yeah, thank you…sukuna,” you smile, subtly sliding up beside him for warmth on the chilly platform. “i’d like to meet yuuji for myself, see which brother i prefer.”

“oh fuck you.”

“maybe some other time.”

and even though he’s sure that you’re joking, sukuna detects a glint of honestly in your sparkling eyes as the train finally approaches — it’s yellowing light from inside the carriage only illuminating that spark. you turn your head, trying to spot yuuji while he ponders your words.

sukuna is definitely going to ask for your number after he drops you home. he’ll have to thank that brat of a baby brother yuuji for the opportunity next — without him begging for sukuna to come get him, this would have never happened.

you would have never met.

it’d be a great christmas story to tell the grandkids too. so he’d really have to thank yuuji, even though sukuna would never hear the end of it.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

thought about sunarin. 12 dead 57 injured

not to be horny on main, but thinking about the height difference between hobie and his s/o and how he likes teasing them whenever, be it in public w/ him putting his head in theirs, wrapping his arms around their waist, getting things for them… and also ofc, pulling them onto his lap, trapping their hands with one of his, dwarfing them in pretty much every position, hobie using it to his as advantage when getting frisk in a wall…

i am so delusional for this man!!!

─ : 𝐒𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐄 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

★ cw: smutty themes, explicit phases, size kink.

★ notes: thinking thoughts...

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 loves hugging you, he loves to smother your face into his chest absolutely crushing you, you whine about it but he knows otherwise. He can trap you within his arms for as long as he wants and you cannot get out because of his spidy strength. He’ll trap you there and place kisses everywhere on your face just cause he likes to make you giggle. 

He loves to pin your hands above your head and suck hickies all over your neck, using his strength as an advantage once again. When he’s balls deep inside you, he often does the same thing, imprisoning your hands in between his while pounding hard and fast into your tiny pussy. He laughs at your pathetic attempts in trying to free your hands. 

During spider society meetings he’ll keep one hand secured tightly around your waist, squeezing your hip every now and then. 

He’s the kind of person who likes to have eye contact while talking, he’ll hook one finger under your chin and tilt your head up, making sure you look at him properly while he speaks, of course, he knows how flustered this makes you and he enjoys every second of it. “Look at me while I speak, babe.” 

While he’s practicing a new song on his guitar, he likes to have you sit on his lap, sometimes even letting you play, his voice low and raspy against your ear, while his veiny hands guide you to the right string. This usually ends with him thrusting his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt.

Bakugo Activities, x