Tutoring, Atsumu Pining Like A Lovesick Puppy, Gn!reader, Not Proofread, Reblogs Appreciated

★﹒₊‧ more sero headcanons bc i'm in love w him

in middle school he started puberty before everyone meaning he had bad acne before everyone else too :/ and he was so insecure about it that he would drown his skin in chemicals so much so that it just got worse until his sister (i also hc that he is the 2nd oldest of 5 BIG FAMILY) went into his room and saw all those damn products that doesn't do shit so she took him to a dermo and got him on some actual good shit that help. but he does still have light purple-ish acne scars on the bottom of his cheeks which are pretty faint but but look so good in him.

like i said he had a rlly big family. 5 siblings (including him) and he's the 2nd oldest. it goes his oldest sister(19), sero(16), twin boys (10), and a sister (2). his older sister is in her first year at uni studying to be a pharmacist and she has a very calm and inviting presence. like you just instantly feel safe with her and want to tell her all your secrets. denki 100% tried to hit on her the first time he went to his house over break. the two twins are rowdy as hell. they absolutely destroy the house on the regular and sero finds himself cleaning it up before his parents get home. (sweetest boy ever) his youngest sister is only two but she is prefect. yk the whole 'terrible 2's' thing most kids go through? yeah not her. she's so quiet and amused by everything around her she only cries when he's REALLY hungry or she's hurt/scared. sero and his brothers are also so protective over her and def will be when she gets older. his parents work so incredibly hard to keep their children happy. his dad owns a dinner in their small town and his mom is a teaches english and AP european literature at a private high school.

his music taste is all over the board. i can see him liking bands like valley, coin and artist like frank ocean or/and tyler the creator, especially when he's in a love sick mood.

i feel like he eats the most clean out of the bakusqaud. like bakugou eats gel they but he also downs those ultra spicy ramen packet things. not that sero is trying to be healthy i just don't think he cares for/likes junk food that much. like hell only eat junk food if he's out with friends and they stop at like some place.

also he played basketball in middle school and he was GOOD AT IT TOO! idk how basketball works but ik he was good as hell. ik canonically he's not very popular but i'm ignoring that bc in my head sero is popular. not like he's hanging out with ppl, partying 24/7 or in drama type of popular, just like everyone knows him and tells him bacially everything. he's your girlfriends "guy bestie🥺" and he knows all the drama. HES A FLIRT TOO i don't remember if i mentioned that in my last post or not but it's worthy mentioning twice.

thank u for reading ♥︎

Thinking about Hanamaki Takahiro who met the love of his life in high school.

First year, you two were just friends. It started with small jokes and laughing about the teacher and the uptight teachers pet in your shared classes. Then he was getting his homework answers from you. You two began partnering up for every group project, he’d come up with a creative presentation and you’d do the informational part.

Summer between first and second year he gradually spent more time with you. It was you and him, then you, him and mattsukawa, then iwa and oikawa joined in some times. It was great that you fit in so well into his friend group but, Hanamaki couldn’t help but cringe at the way his friends or random guys would blatantly flirt with you. No matter how uninterested you showed you were. It was the weekend before their second year started and that’s when Hanamaki realizes how he feels towards you. It’s under the stars in his beat up 2002 light blue Honda Accord where he comes to terms with the fact that he likes you. A lot.

First half of Second year was spent fighting and growing apart. Hanamaki couldn’t deal with these emotions he felt and still hang around you. It hurt too much, it was too complicated. He started canceling plans, then making up excuses not to go, then ignoring you outright. Mattsukawa knew. He sorta figured it out and yelled at him every day for ignoring you. “You’re pushing her away!” Good. Maybe if you’re far enough he can live his life never having to face your rejection. But instead, no matter how far he pushed you away, you comeback with a greater force. Sometimes it’s not even you specifically pushing back, but the universe sending signs. When he’s not with you everything Hanamaki sees reminds him of you: he orders your coffee order when he’s alone so feels closer to you, on cooler or rainy weather he day dreams about the Saturday afternoons you guys spent dancing in the rain with his sisters.

It’s day 17 without having taked to you in person. He messages you all the time with memes and/or regular conversations but it isn’t the same as hearing your sweet voice. 9:22pm and it’s raining outside. He can’t help but wonder if you’re watching the water drip down as it hits your window right now. It’s 9:27pm when he gets an overwhelming urge to go to you. It’s late, his parents are on their anniversary trip so they won’t know if he goes out this late. And he does. He gets in his car and tells his oldest sister he’s getting sweets from the store but really, he’s driving to you. Hoping he hasn’t pushed you too far. His mind goes into autopilot as he parks, rushes up the pavement stairs, and knocks on your door. He hears you look through the peep hole before unlocking the door to question why he’s here at 9:36 at night. He doesn’t say a thing, he doesn’t hear a thing. His ears go deaf momentarily while you’re probably spewing out questions at him but he shuts you up with a kiss. His hands gently holding your cheeks as they burn red in his callused hands. The two of you break apart for air after what feels like an eternity, his forehead is resting against yours as he inhales deeply before saying, “I’m so sorry, gorgeous. I know I’ve been a dick friend to you. I just,” he pauses, “I-I-uh didn’t really k-know how to go about this. But uh, is this ok? Am I doing this right?” He asks pleading for you to say yes. “This is about the only thing you’ve done right all month” you reply smiling before going in to kiss him in return.

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.

cant get motorcycle gang member issei outta my head.

i'm done for

Help I think I like someone and I wana be their lover alexa play lover by Taylor swift

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND THE IN BETWEEN 🗣️🗣️🔊🔊

I really would love some sero hanta fic recs :(( ive resorted to going back through my reblogged to find some ive already read !

It can be wattpad or tumblr or Ao3 I am NOT picky 😞

his fantasy!au design is something..

wow ….. that’s crazy ……

𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 𝟏𝟎𝟏: 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲 — 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐚 𝐧.

pairing monoma neito x gn!reader

synopsis in which...

academic rivalries, to most, are often just fun ways to drive competition between peers. but for two aerospace engineering majors at ua university, it’s anything but lighthearted. infamous for their competition, y/n l/n and neito monoma are constantly at each others throats. so what happens when they’re paired together for a semester-long project worth 50% of their grade?

content tags college!au, aged up!au, quirkless!au engineering student reader, engineering student monoma, academic rivals (enemies) to reluctant allies to lovers, genuine idiocy, reader is an instigator, hurt/comfort, angst, emotionally constipated reader

warnings swearing, usage of kys/kms jokes, gay jokes, engineering majors, implicit mentions of drug/alcohol usage, innuendos but no explicit mentions of sex

taglist is open, 24 more slots remaining, please leave a comment or send in an ask to be added to the taglist

disclaimer i do not own any faceclaims, they are taken from pinterest, i try my best to keep y/n’s faceclaim as neutral as possible in terms of gender and race but regardless any pictures i use do not reflect y/n’s race or gender.

student directory ; hogwarts rejects | d1 crash outs

academic calendar (chapters with ✐ᝰ include written portions)

syllabus day.

week one.

week two.

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