When Do They Get Slurpee’s ?

Put the war on hold, I wanna see this one first

★﹒₊‧mm kinda embarrassing things they do when they're down bad bad,,

< honestly... i don't think many of these are embarrassing but they're definitely not smooth or anything >

midoryia writes love letters and poetry to you but GOD FORBID THEY EVERT SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. it's not that they aren't good, they are REALLY good actually, he just tends to be a tad dramatic, and the emotions described and words used kinda boarder on obsession...

denki unintentionally stalks you. he's so drawn to you and your personality that he finds himself kind of d following you out the cafeteria and in the halls. he doesn't think you notice, and he kinda snaps out of his trance after all minute and just turns around ( 😭 )

bakugou stares at you. it's super embarrassing to him ESPECIALLY when he gets caught. he really can't help it, it'll be in a middle of class and his eyes will just fixate into you or in the gym (but not in a creepy way!!) he watched you and your form to make sure everything is good and he doesn't need to swoop in and save you. (lolz)

sero brings you up whenever he can. in conversations he WILL somehow find a way to make you the center of the convo. yeah training was hard...did y'all see y/n's new kick attack though?.... yeah she's really good at combat... her active wear is always so cute too! it's always matching.... and now everyone's talking about your style and how you're always coordinated. even if you aren't hell kinda manipulate everyone into believing you are.

girl breakfast girl lunch girl dinner girl snack

BMF- H. Sero

Part One // Part Two

Sero’s a flirt, but he might just win you over

Notes: Barely proofread, Latino Sero, college au, quirkless au, drinking & underage drinking, weed, suggestive, sfw but implied smut, mentions of sex

see playlist here

God, he wishes things went differently.

Hanta wakes up to a dull ache in his head and empty sheets. His arm reaches out instinctively, searching for warmth, for you—but there’s nothing. Just the cool fabric beneath his fingertips. Where were you?

His eyes crack open, squinting against the early morning light seeping through the blinds and he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sits up in the spare room of Denki and Jirou’s place.

He looks around, searching for any trace of you— a forgotten earring, the lingering scent of your perfume, something. But there’s nothing.

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, humorless. You’re gone.

Not that he even blames you. He knows about the rumors, he knows his type, he doesn’t blame your for protecting yourself but damn, he thought maybe he’d convinced you.

He meant what he said last night. Every word.

And that’s the problem. Because at first? It was a game. He’s not gonna lie to himself about that. It doesn’t take a genius to see how attractive you were and god he wanted you. The fact that you didn’t want him only made him want you more. Every time he saw you he’d think about what he’d do if somehow he could get you into his bed. That’s what it was, that’s how it started.

He’d known you for a while, the best friend one of his best friend’s girls, mutual friend group, occasional group hangs or cyphs. Never bothering to give him more than a glance, maybe a small smile or a laugh.

He wishes things went differently because about halfway through Denki’s party, while watching you laugh with Jirou he found himself thinking what if he could hear that laugh everyday? He told himself it was the weed talking. But now? Waking up alone, sheets cold where you should be—he can’t ignore the way his chest feels hollow.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. Too proud to admit it, even to himself.

Looks like you were just another notch on his belt after all.

Even if, for the first time, he’s not sure that’s what he wanted.

He doesn’t blame you, even though it hurts. Maybe he’d be fine, maybe he’d move on—if you weren’t acting like it never happened. Like he doesn’t exist. Like you regret him.

That stings more than he’s willing to admit.

Regardless of his feelings, his ego takes a hit. He wasn’t bad… was he? He’s never doubted himself before, never needed to. So why you?

He’s honestly embarrassed about how much you cross his mind, how badly he wants your attention even if it’s just to know why? Why you’re pretending. Why you let him have you just to leave before the sun was up. For someone who was so adamant about not playing his game, you sure as hell seem to be playing it well, better than him.

He finds out where you work. Totally by accident. Denki mentions it offhandedly while they’re hanging out, and Hanta makes a mental note—just in case.

And in a totally not weird way, he starts stopping by.

Enough to figure out when you work.

Enough to know that you know he keeps coming in.

Enough to notice that every time he shows up, you disappear into the back, leaving your coworker to take his order like he’s just another customer.

Like he wasn’t in bed with you a month ago.

Like he doesn’t still feel the ghost of your touch.

And god, that shouldn’t piss him off as much as it does.

Mina has been practically on her knees begging you to come to this party for at least a week. Denki and Jirou are going too, and while that should be enough to convince you, there’s a nagging feeling in your gut telling you to stay home—get high, watch a movie, avoid the bullshit.

Turns out, your gut was right.

Because you do agree and when you arrive you overhear one of the stupid jocks from the baseball team talking about Hanta’s 21st birthday. You see red.

Seriously, Mina?

Her little tricks aren’t funny, and now? You definitely aren’t staying.

“C’mon, Y/N,” she whines, linking her arm through yours. “Please don’t be mad at me I swear I didn’t know!” You shoot her a glare because there’s no way that’s true but she speaks again “You can’t ignore him forever! Half our year is here—you probably won’t even see him.”

You roll your eyes, shaking her off. Yeah, sure.

You debate calling an Uber, already reaching for your phone, but one glance at the price makes you swear under your breath. This frat house is too far from your dorm, and there’s no way you’re dropping that much money just to leave.

And your only ride here?

Mina.

You exhale sharply, shoving your phone back into your pocket. Looks like you’re staying—at least until Mina is ready to leave. She grins, sensing your reluctant acceptance. “Just have fun, okay? Don’t let him ruin your night.”

You don’t dignify that with a response, just roll your eyes and push past her, weaving through the crowd toward the kitchen. If you’re going to be stuck here, you might as well get a drink.

The house is packed—bodies pressed together, music blasting, the air thick with alcohol and sweat. You find an opening at the counter, grabbing whatever’s closest to pour into your cup. You take a sip without thinking, wincing at the burn of cheap vodka.

“You okay?” You glance up to find Jirou at your side, concern flickering in her dark eyes. “Mina’s a liar.”

She snorts, not even questioning it. “Yeah, she does that.” You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m fine. Just annoyed.” Jirou doesn’t push, just clinks her drink against yours. “Then let’s fix that.”

You let her drag you back into the crowd, trying to push all thoughts of him out of your mind. It doesn’t matter that this is his party. It doesn’t matter that he’s probably somewhere in this house, surrounded by people who adore him.

You won’t see him.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But as the night goes on, as the drinks settle warm in your stomach and the bass thrums through your chest, you feel him.

Maybe it’s just in your head. Maybe it’s the way your body is hyperaware of the possibility of him. But every time you laugh too loudly, every time you move through the crowd, every time you let yourself enjoy the party—you swear there’s a pair of eyes burning into you.

And then, when you least expect it, you turn—and there he is. Across the room, Hanta is leaned against the wall, drink in hand, watching you. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t wave, doesn’t look away.

He just watches.

And fuck, you feel it.

Your stomach twists, heat creeping up your neck, but you refuse to let it show. If he wants to watch, let him. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s in your head.

So you do what you do best—you pretend he doesn’t exist.

You turn away, grab Jirou’s hand, and pull her back toward the kitchen. “Another drink?” She raises a brow but follows. “That bad?”

You don’t answer, just pour yourself another shot. Jirou sighs, taking the bottle from your hands before you can pour another. “Mina was right, y’know. You can’t avoid him forever.”

“I can tonight,” you mutter, downing your drink.

Jirou doesn’t argue, just squeezes your shoulder before getting pulled away by Denki. You’re left alone in the kitchen, hands braced against the counter, trying to steady yourself.

But then you feel it again. That pull. That weight of someone’s gaze pressing into you. You don’t want to look. You shouldn’t look.

But you do.

And he’s there, leaning against the doorframe, watching you with that same unreadable expression. You swallow, pulse thrumming in your ears.

It’s stupid, so stupid, but your feet move before your brain can catch up. You brush past him, heading toward the back porch for air.

You don’t check to see if he follows. You don’t have to. Because you know he will.

The night air is a relief, crisp against your heated skin. You take a slow breath, gripping the wooden railing of the porch, steadying yourself. You shouldn’t have come. You knew this was a bad idea.

But before you can convince yourself to leave, you hear the door creak open behind you.

You don’t turn. You don’t move. You just stare out into the dark, listening to the sound of footsteps approaching.

Then, his voice—low, smooth, and way too damn close. “Enjoying the party?”

You looks at him, and pretend you dont feel your pulse pick up. “Yeah. You?” You mumble out, trying to seem nonchalant. He hums, tilting his head. “Would be better if my friends actually said happy birthday.”

You scoff. “Oh, please. We’re hardly friends, plus you’ve been surrounded all night, plenty of pretty girls and guys wishing you a happy 21st”

“Yeah?” He takes a step closer. “And yet, the only person I wanted to hear it from hasn’t said shit.”

Now youre really feeling the heat. He’s looking at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Like he’s daring you to keep pretending like nothing happened. And you try to brush past him, but he catches your wrist—gently, but firm enough to make you stop.

“C’mon, ma,” he murmurs, voice all smooth and teasing but laced with something else, something real. “I know you didn’t just come here for the drinks. You really gonna keep pretending?”

Your throat goes dry, and you hate the way your body reacts to him—like it remembers too much, like it wants more.

You force a laugh, rolling your eyes as you tug your wrist from his grasp. “I came because Mina begged me to. That’s it. Didn’t even know this was your party ‘til I got here.”

Hanta doesn’t let up, stepping in just enough that you catch the scent of his cologne, the faintest hint of liquor on his breath. “Sure. So it’s just a coincidence that you’re out here alone, looking like you’ve got something on your mind?”

You narrow your eyes. “You think everything’s about you, don’t you?” He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah. Just this.”

You hate the way your stomach twists, because he’s right, it is about him. You hate the way he makes it so damn hard to act indifferent.

But you refuse to give him what he wants.

So you smirk, tilting your head. “Happy birthday, Sero,” you say, voice dripping with false sweetness before turning on your heel and walking back inside.

He doesn’t stop you this time, but you feel his gaze burning into your back the whole way.

The night drags on, the party buzzing around you, but your focus is shot. You’re trying—really trying—to act like everything is fine, like Hanta isn’t watching you from across the room, like your skin doesn’t still burn from the way he grabbed your wrist.

It’s just the alcohol. That’s what you tell yourself as you down another drink, as you let Mina spin you onto the dance floor again. The music pulses, bodies move, and for a little while, you manage to lose yourself in it.

But of course, it doesn’t last.

Because suddenly, he’s there again, standing way too close, just like before.

“Didn’t know you were such a sore loser,” he muses, voice low against your ear. You turn, brow furrowing. “What?”

“You left before the game was over.” He smirks, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Didn’t even give me a chance to win.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t that mean I won?”

“Yeah? Was it about winning?” He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Or maybe you’re just scared.”

It’s bait. You know it is. But you’re just drunk enough, just irritated enough, to take it. “Scared of what?” you challenge, stepping closer.

His smirk deepens, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. “Me.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but before you can fire back, he leans in, voice dropping even lower.

“You talk a big game, but we both know you weren’t just curious that night,” he murmurs, lips barely brushing your ear. “And I don’t think you regret it as much as you pretend to.”

“I was drunk and curious. Don’t flatter yourself by thinking it was more than that.” You shoot back, your tone cold and part of you feels a little bad, it’s his birthday. But he’s being a dick on purpose

Hanta pulls back just enough to look at you, a wicked grin curling at the corners of his mouth. “Right. Drunk and curious. That’s all it was,” he repeats, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He knows exactly how to push your buttons, and it’s working.

You feel the heat rise in your chest again, irritation mixing with something else. “Yeah, that’s what I said.” You cross your arms, trying to regain control of the situation. But the way he’s looking at you, with that damn smirk still playing on his lips, makes it harder to keep up the act.

“Fine, if that’s how you wanna play it,” he says, as if he’s decided to back off, but his eyes tell a different story. You hate that he’s right. You’re not as indifferent to him as you want to be, and every word he says seems to chip away at the wall you’ve been trying to build up. The alcohol in your system isn’t helping either—it’s making everything feel a little too raw, a little too real.

“Stop trying to act like you know me, Hanta. You don’t.”

“Is that so?” His eyes darken, and he takes another step closer. “You’re still playing games, huh? Pretending like you don’t care, pretending like I don’t know exactly how you felt that night.”

The distance between you feels like a vacuum, pulling you in, making it impossible to just walk away. He knows he’s getting to you, and you hate how easily he’s doing it.

“I don’t owe you anything, Sero,” you snap, your voice wavering slightly. “I’m not here to play into whatever head game you’re trying to start. Don’t be a dick, maybe I bruised your fucking ego since I didn’t crawl back begging you to fuck me again, but don’t act like you know me”

He doesn’t flinch at your words, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Something—maybe guilt, maybe frustration. Maybe both. But he doesn’t back down. Instead, his lips curl into a smirk that feels sharper than before.

“Bruised my ego?” He laughs, a sound that’s both mocking and amused. “Is that what you think this is about?”

Your chest tightens, heart pounding, and you realize it’s not about that at all. It’s not about his ego. It’s something else entirely.

“No,” you say, voice softer than you want it to be. “It’s about you pretending I’m just another girl you can mess with. Like I’m a game you can win, and you hate that I’m not playing by your rules.”

His eyes narrow, dark and intense, locking onto you and he pulls you into an area of the house with less foot traffic. “And you think I’m playing games with you?” His voice drops, low and steady. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life than I am right now.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You want to argue, to tell him he’s full of shit, but you’re not sure anymore. Not when he’s standing there, looking at you like that, like he’s waiting for you to see something you’ve been too proud to admit.

“I didn’t want you to leave that night,” he says quietly, his tone steady but raw. “I wanted you to stay. I don’t care if you don’t believe me, but that’s the truth.”

You freeze. His words slam into you, unexpected and sharp. Everything in you wants to push back, to tell him it was just one night, that it doesn’t mean anything—but you can’t. The raw honesty in his tone pulls at something inside you, and you hate yourself for it.

Before you can respond, he steps closer, the space between you two almost nonexistent now, and you’re forced to tilt your head to meet his gaze.

“Stop pretending like you don’t feel it too,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, but it feels like a punch to the gut. “This thing between us… it’s real, Y/N. You know it, and I know it. So don’t act like it doesn’t matter.”

You swallow hard, your mind spinning, your heart racing. For a moment, you almost want to believe him, almost want to give in. But you shake your head, breaking eye contact, and step back.

“I’m not doing this with you, Hanta,” you mutter, voice hoarse. “I’m not playing your game. I’m done.”

And with that, you turn and walk away, away from him, away from whatever this is—away from whatever he wants it to be. Your heart still pounds in your chest, but you refuse to let him see it. You refuse to let him win.

You find Mina in the crowd, her laugh cutting through the noise. She’s talking to some of the other people you don’t care to know, but the look on your face is enough for her to notice something’s off.

You grab her arm, tugging her out of the conversation before she can protest. “Mina, we need to go. Now.”

She looks at you, concerned, but after seeing the desperation and something else in your eyes, she nods. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get out of here.”

Mina had only had a drink a few hours ago and is mostly sober by now. She doesn’t argue, just grabs her purse and follows you outside, guiding you to her car. The drive back to your place is quiet, the tension in the air thick and uncomfortable. Mina keeps glancing at you, but you don’t have the energy to explain, not now.

When you finally get home, she pulls into the parking lot and turns to you. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod, though you’re not so sure yourself. “Yeah. Just… needed to get out of there.”

Mina gives you a small smile and ruffles your hair. “Alright, I’ll check on you later, yeah? Call me if you need anything.”

You thank her, and as she drives off, you sit in the quiet of your room, the night replaying over and over in your mind. The words Sero said, the way he looked at you, how close you’d almost gotten to letting it all slip.

But no. You couldn’t. You’d already made up your mind.

To say you had feelings for him… would be an exaggeration. You don’t even like him that much. You just think he’s attractive—hell, he is attractive. He’s charming in that annoying, cocky way. You can’t deny the way he makes you feel, though, the way his gaze seems to zero in on you like you’re the only person in the room. And then there’s his humor, that effortless way he makes you laugh, even when you want to hate him.

But then there’s the arrogance, the way he thinks everyone wants him, and the fact that he knows how to get under your skin—how easily he can make you second-guess everything.

Fuck.

The more you think about it, the more complicated this all feels. You didn’t want to care, and yet, here you are—alone in your room, questioning everything. Why’d you let him get to you? Why’d you let him even try?

The night you spent together? It doesn’t mean anything. It was a moment of weakness. You were drunk, curious, and he was there. That’s all. There’s no deeper connection, no real chemistry.

He’s just trying to play you.

And you’re not stupid enough to fall for it again. He’s not going to have that power over you. You won’t let him. It was a mistake, and you won’t let him turn it into something more, no matter how many times he smirks at you like he knows something you don’t. You won’t fall for it again.

You don’t sleep at all that night—just tossing, turning, and staring at the same glow-in-the-dark stars you’ve had on your ceiling since you were a kid. By morning, exhaustion weighs heavy on you, but it’s nothing compared to the pit in your stomach. You call out of work, guilt gnawing at you, but you know you can’t fake a smile and play barista today. Not after last night.

Meanwhile, Sero shows up at the café, greeted by a line nearly out the door. He waits, jaw tight, hands shoved in his pockets, and when he finally gets to the front, your coworker, Tsuyu, barely glances up before deadpanning—

“Ah, if it isn’t Y/N’s stalker. What do you want?”

His eye twitches, but he lets it slide. “Tell her to come out of her hiding spot. We need to talk.”

“She’s not here.”

“I’m serious, Tsu. I’m done with this childish shit—she can come out and talk to me like an adult.”

Tsuyu finally looks at him then, unimpressed. “And I’m serious. She’s not here. Why do you think we’re this swamped?” She nods toward the overwhelming crowd before fixing him with a blank stare. “So either order something or go, dude. I don’t have time to waste on you.”

Sero exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t know what he expected. Of course you’d duck out of work today. You’re avoiding him—again.

“Fine,” he mutters, glancing at the menu board even though he’s been here enough times to know exactly what he wants. “Iced caramel macchiato.”

Tsuyu hums, punching it in. “That all, stalker?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah.”

She takes his cash, hands him his change, then leans on the counter. “She doesn’t wanna talk to you,” Tsuyu says simply, then passing his drink ticket to the other barista. “Maybe take the hint.”

Sero clenches his jaw, but doesn’t respond. What’s he supposed to say? That you’re wrong? That he knows you’re avoiding him, not because you don’t care, but because you do? That he can still feel the way you looked at him last night, the way your breath hitched when he got too close?

Instead, he just takes his drink, mutters a “thanks,” and walks out. Sero exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he steps away from the café. He pulls out his phone, scrolling to Instagram. He doesn’t have you on there, but Mina does. And Mina posts everything.

It doesn’t take long to find what he’s looking for—a tagged picture from last week. You, Denki, Jirou, and Mina on someone’s apartment floor, a movie paused on the TV behind you. His eyes flick to the caption. Girl’s night (plus Denki)

And there it is. The location tag.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips.

He knows it’s a long shot—maybe you don’t even live there, maybe it was just a hangout spot—but at this point, he’s not above testing his luck.

So he pockets his phone, hails an Uber, and heads straight to the campus apartment complex. Sero leans against the entrance of the apartment building, hands in his pockets as he waits for someone to walk in or out. He’s not about to creep around and start pressing random buzzers—he’s got some dignity left—but he’s also not leaving without at least trying.

He’s been here for maybe ten minutes when his opportunity presents itself—a couple of students push through the door, laughing about something, and he slips inside before it swings shut.

Now comes the tricky part.

He scans the mailboxes in the lobby, looking for a familiar last name. He doesn’t even know if you live here, but it’s the best lead he’s got. His fingers drum against his thigh as he reads through them, debating whether or not he should just text Mina and ask outright.

Then, before he can decide, a voice cuts through his thoughts.

“…Sero?”

He turns, and there you are—standing just a few feet away, holding a bag of takeout, looking at him like you can’t believe he’s actually here.

His stomach tightens. Shit.

“Oh, this is a new low,” you say, shaking your head. “You’re weird as fuck for this, bro.” You let out a dry chuckle, but there’s nothing funny about it.

You’re exhausted—running on barely any sleep and way too much caffeine, and now he’s here, standing in your building’s lobby like he has any right to be. You feel like shit, and the last thing you need is him making it worse.

Sero doesn’t look fazed. If anything, he looks determined, which pisses you off even more.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just talk to me,” he says, shifting his weight against the wall.

“I don’t owe you anything,” you snap, pushing past him toward the stairs. “You’re not my boyfriend, you’re not even my friend, so why the fuck are you here?”

He follows, not letting you shut him out so easily. “You can pretend all you want, but I know that night meant something to you.”

You whirl around, eyes blazing. “You don’t know me, Hanta.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “Then let me.”

You scoff, turning back toward the stairs. “Go home, Sero.”

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to figure out what it’ll take to break through.

And the worst part?

You don’t know if you want him to stop trying. The way he won’t back off makes something stir in your chest, a complicated mess of frustration and… maybe something else. But you won’t let yourself admit it. You can’t.

His persistence is both annoying and oddly… endearing. You can’t remember the last time anyone pushed like this. You can’t tell if it’s his arrogance, his confidence, or the way his eyes never leave yours, but something makes your stomach twist in a way you’re not ready to face.

“Why don’t you just leave it alone?” you say, your voice tighter than you intended. It’s a question that makes you sound more tired than angry.

He shakes his head. “You think I’m just gonna walk away?” His voice is low, almost amused. “You’re the only one who’s been avoiding this.”

“Maybe I want to avoid it,” you snap, but even you can tell it lacks the sting it should.

Sero’s smile fades, replaced by something a little less playful, something more serious that you can’t quite place. He steps a little closer, and for a moment, you wonder if you might actually let him. But you don’t, you can’t.

“You’re scared, Y/N.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Scared of what?”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “Scared of what this means. Scared of what I mean to you.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, settling in your chest like a stone. Your pulse picks up, but you refuse to let him see it. “I don’t owe you anything,” you say, but it sounds more like a question than a statement.

Sero tilts his head, studying you with that unreadable gaze. “Fine,” he says quietly. “But don’t lie to yourself, Y/N. You’re not walking away from this because you don’t care. You’re walking away because you’re afraid of what might happen if you do care.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Not with the way your breath catches in your throat, not with the way he makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.

So you do what you do best: you turn away and walk up the stairs without looking back. But his eyes stay with you, heavy and unyielding, and you can’t shake the feeling that he’s right. Actually.. you know he is.

God, you wanted him to be wrong. You wanted to believe that all of this—whatever this was—was nothing. Just drunken curiosity, a one-time mistake, something you could shake off and forget. But the truth is, you can’t.

Deep down, you know he wasn’t wrong. And that makes it worse. Because now, all the walls you’ve built up are crumbling and you don’t know how to stop them.

You don’t regret it—not really. But you don’t want to admit what it meant, what he meant. You’ve seen the way he plays with people, how easily he moves on, and you’ve never been that person.

Sero? He doesn’t give a shit about your heart. And that’s what scares you. You can’t afford to get hurt again. But somehow, despite every warning, despite all the reasons you know you should stay away, a part of you wants to believe that he’s different.

But you’re not stupid. You’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way his confidence comes with a price. He doesn’t play fair. And the last thing you want is to let yourself fall for someone who only knows how to break hearts.

You close your eyes, squeezing your fists into the sheets as if that’ll stop your thoughts from racing. You didn’t want any of this. But now that it’s here, you’re not sure how to get out of it.

A while later there’s a knock at the door with a sense of urgency followed by the sounds of a key fumbling in the lock. You know it’s either Mina or Jirou, knowing they’re the only two who know where you keep the spare.

They both enter, concerned etched on their faces when they find you sunken into the comforter in your bedroom.

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you called out of work because you’re sick. You’re gonna miss my birthday this weekend!” You groan, dragging yourself to sit up in the bed to face them

Mina and Jirou are standing there, Mina looking dramatically appalled while Jirou eyes you with suspicion.

“You did skip work,” Jirou states flatly. You sigh, stepping aside to let them in. “It’s not a big deal.”

Mina flops onto your bed, kicking her feet up. “Uh, it is a big deal. You never miss work! And more importantly, are you really gonna bail on my birthday?”

“Mi, I literally never said that” you say back, deadpanned but there’s a hint of laughter in your voice. You take a deep breath before speaking again

She narrows her eyes but lets it go as you rub your temples, exhaling slowly. “I just—yesterday was… a lot.”

Jirou raises a brow. “This have anything to do with a certain soccer player?” You shoot her a glare, and Mina gasps, sitting up. “Wait. Did something happen with Sero?”

You hesitate, then shake your head. “Nothing worth talking about.”

Jirou hums giving you a knowing look, but Mina is already moving on. “Well, whatever it is, you’re still coming out this weekend. We’re going clubbing for my 21st, and you have to be there. I need all my bad bitches with me, no excuses”

You hesitate for a second. There’s a 50/50 chance Sero might be there. But it’s Mina’s birthday, and you refuse to let him dictate where you go. “Of course, I’m in.”

Mina cheers, and Jirou smirks. “Good. Because you need a night out!”

The pregame is already in full swing. You’re packed into Mina’s apartment with the other girls, music blasting as you all do your makeup, sip on drinks, and hype each other up.

Honestly? It’s the most fun you’ve had in a while. Your mind is completely clear, surrounded by girls you love—who love you back even harder.

The night is young, and the shots are flowing. You’re all playing some ridiculous drinking game involving a spinning wheel, desperately trying not to get too messed up before you even make it to the club.

Even Momo—who’s always the designated driver—has been convinced to let loose for the night, opting to split an Uber there and back.

Mina throws her arm around you, grinning as she holds up another shot. “To being young and hot!”

You clink glasses, throwing the drink back as the night truly begins.

The club is already alive with flashing lights and pulsing bass by the time you arrive. The moment you step inside, you spot them—Denki, Eijirou, and Katsuki posted up in a booth near the bar, drinks in hand. They’re not alone either; there are plenty of familiar faces from campus scattered around, and it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Mina knows everyone. She’s practically a campus celebrity.

You and the girls are already buzzing from the pregame, giggling as you rush toward the boys in a flurry of excited hugs and playful touches that are definitely more handsy than usual. The alcohol is working its magic, making everything feel lighter, brighter, easier.

But the booth isn’t where you’re staying. Not tonight.

Mina grabs your wrist, eyes sparkling with mischief. “C’mon, babe. We didn’t come here to sit.”

You laugh as she drags you away, the others following close behind. The dance floor is packed, bodies moving in sync with the heavy beat, the air thick with heat and the scent of liquor.

There’s nothing PG about the way your body moves against Mina’s, against Ochaco’s—even Momo’s caught up in it, her usual poise slipping away under the influence of alcohol and flashing lights. The bass thrums through your veins, your body buzzing with warmth, laughter spilling from your lips as you let yourself get lost in the moment.

A little alcohol turns you into the life of the party, and right now, everyone looks good. The air is thick with energy, heat, and the scent of sweat and expensive perfume. Hands grasp your waist, your fingers trail over familiar arms, hips press together in time with the music. It’s effortless, intoxicating.

But You’re not a kiss-your-friends kind of drunk—not yet, anyway.

It’s almost like the universe doesn’t want you to have fun, because when you and Jirou wander to the bar for refills you see him

Sero.

And he’s not alone.

Some ridiculously pretty girl is all over him, leaning close, whispering in his ear, hands trailing over his arms. And worst of all? He’s letting her.

Your stomach twists. It’s stupid. You don’t care. You shouldn’t care. But something about the sight of him smirking at her, hands resting lazily on her waist, makes your blood boil.

Whatever. You sip your drink but your eyes keep flickering over to him.

Fine. Two can play that game.

You scan the room, eyes landing on someone tall, broad-shouldered, and familiar—

Bakugo.

It’s petty, but right now? You don’t care. You’d felt his eyes on you for most the night and it’s just dancing

He turns, looking surprised for a split second before his gaze flicks over you. “What?”

You smile, leaning in just enough to make it look intentional. “Dance with me.”

He raises a brow, following your eyes toward the bar where Sero’s standing. Then he smirks, shaking his head but setting his drink down. “Whatever.”

There’s nothing more to it for him—just curiosity, mild amusement. Maybe he just likes the way you move, the confidence in your stance, the way you don’t hesitate when you reach for him.

And you? You like the way he looks. That’s it. You’re not interested, not curious, and certainly not trying to make anyone jealous. It’s just dancing, harmless and fleeting, nothing but the pulse of the music and the heat of too much alcohol making you reckless.

It’s all in good, drunken fun

Katsuki doesn’t hesitate when you pull him in, his hands finding your waist with the same sharp confidence he carries everywhere. The bass thrums beneath your feet, the energy in the club electric, and you let yourself sink into the moment—swaying, moving, pressing against him like you don’t have a single care in the world.

Except you do care.

Because when you risk another glance toward the bar, Sero is watching.

His jaw is set, drink forgotten in his hand, his attention no longer on the girl beside him, and she’s desperately trying to get it back. His dark eyes flicker between you and Katsuki, his lips pressing into a thin line before he lets out a dry laugh and turns back to his conversation.

But you see it.

The tightness in his grip around his glass, the way his shoulders roll like he’s trying to shake something off. The way he’s pretending like he doesn’t care.

Katsuki catches the exchange, his grip tightening slightly at your waist as he leans in, voice low against your ear “This supposed to mean something?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Relax, Bakugo. It’s just dancing.”

He huffs out a laugh, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. “Yeah? Then why’s he looking at you like he wants to rip my head off?”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know. Or maybe you do, but you’re not ready to face it. Not yet.

So you double down, sliding your hands up Katsuki’s arms, tilting your head back with a smirk like you don’t notice Sero’s stare burning into your skin. You don’t miss the way he downs the rest of his drink in one go, slamming the glass onto the bar before disappearing into the crowd.

And for some reason, that makes your stomach twist.

You try to shake it off, pushing the unease deep into the back of your mind, focusing on the beat of the music, the rush of adrenaline, and the way Katsuki moves with you. The alcohol buzzes in your veins, loosening you, making you bold. It’s easier to laugh, easier to sway against him, but it’s harder to ignore the part of you that’s suddenly aware of everything—of Sero’s absence in the room, of the weight of his stare when it was there, of how much more complicated everything has become.

For a while, you lose yourself in the dance, in the laughter, in the flashing lights. The night stretches on, but your mind keeps returning to him. To Sero.

It isn’t until much later, that you finally spot him again. Sero’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching you from across the room. He’s with the same girl from earlier, but there’s something different now. He’s not laughing, not joking with her. He’s just… standing there, his jaw tight, eyes locked on you.

What is he trying to do?

You walk over to the bar, find someone—anyone—to flirt with. A guy you had class with last semester, tall and broad with a lazy grin. It’s harmless. You’re just trying to get under his skin, prove to yourself that you’re not the one chasing.

Sero’s eyes follow you the entire time. You can feel the weight of it, feel the way he watches you, his posture stiffening when you laugh at something the guy says. You don’t miss the flash of frustration in his eyes.

And for a moment, it feels… empowering

But that’s when he moves.

You don’t even see him coming until his hand is on your wrist, pulling you away from the crowd.

“Sero,” you hiss, but his grip is firm, determined, and before you know it, you’re being dragged through the sea of bodies to a quieter hallway near the back of the club.

His breathing is heavier now, but his voice is low and sharp. “You think this is a game?”

You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go. His grip only tightens, dragging you into the bathroom.

The door slams shut behind you, and suddenly, the space is too small. Too close. Too charged.

“What the hell, Sero?”

He doesn’t answer, just steps forward, his hands on your arms, pushing you back against the sink. His body is just inches from yours, his presence suffocating in the best—and worst—ways.

“You think you can just mess around like this, huh?” His voice is hoarse, the frustration bleeding into every word. “You want me to play the game? Fine. But don’t you dare act like you don’t know what’s going on here.”

You swallow, the tension thick between you both. Your heart pounds, the rush of alcohol and adrenaline clouding your thoughts.

His breath fans across your face, his eyes dark with something you can’t quite place. “You think I don’t know you’re jealous?” he mutters, stepping closer. “You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me when I’m with someone else?”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die in your throat.

Because he’s right. And that scares you.

He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, the closeness. His thumb brushes against your cheek, eyes locked with yours.

“I’m done playing,” he breathes, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m done pretending I don’t feel this—this—for you.”

Before you can respond, his lips crash against yours, his kiss urgent, desperate. You freeze for a split second, but the moment you give in, you’re lost.

It’s messy. It’s raw. It’s everything you’ve been trying to avoid—and everything you’ve been craving.

His hands are all over you, his touch rough and possessive and everything in your mind is telling you you might regret it, but you know it’s everything you wanted, it’s why you played the game. “Tell me to stop and I will” he says, just above a whisper as his lips ghost over your neck. You’re silent.

when you finally pull away, gasping for air, there’s nothing left to say.

You just stare at each other, the words unsaid hanging heavy in the space between you. The chemistry, the pull, it’s undeniable. And now, it’s out in the open.

You force yourself to stand still for a moment, trying to steady your breath, the pulse of adrenaline still rushing through you. His touch lingers on your skin, almost burning, as if he’s marked you. His gaze stays on you, intense, unreadable—but he doesn’t say a word. Neither do you.

You glance into the bathroom mirror, trying to adjust yourself. Your clothes are a little out of place, hair messy, and you quickly smooth it out, hoping to cover up the heat of what just happened. The spray of perfume is the final touch, masking the smell of sex, the smell of him.

You step out, not sparing a glance back. You can’t. The tension in that room was too much, too overwhelming. It doesn’t feel real yet, like you’re still processing what happened.

The noise of the club greets you again. The familiar lights flash, the music booms, and the laughter of your friends blends with the thumping beats. You slip back into the crowd, moving with ease as if nothing at all has changed. As if everything’s normal.

But it’s not. Not anymore.

You dance again, trying to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the camaraderie of your friends who are still laughing and celebrating. You pretend you haven’t just crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed. You pretend you’re not thinking about Sero, about what just happened, about what it means.

But the feeling of his lips on yours, the weight of his touch—it doesn’t fade. Not even a little.

Minutes pass, hours maybe, but you’re too caught up in the motion, too caught up in pretending. You try to forget the heat between you two, the way he kissed you.. the way he touched you like it meant something—like it had always meant something.

And then you notice he’s gone. Sero left.

You can’t explain why, but a part of you feels this pang of regret, mixed with a strange relief. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s easier if he just disappears for the night, for now.

The crowd around you blurs again, and you keep dancing, but now, your movements feel heavier. You can’t shake the weight of what you did.

You don’t know how much time passes before you finally step off the dance floor, breathless and buzzing with the aftermath of the night. Your body is tired, your mind exhausted, and yet, despite everything, you don’t feel any closer to figuring out what the hell just happened between you and Sero.

You make your way back over to the booth, plopping your body down onto the plush leather when you feel Mina throw her arms around your neck. “There you are! Thought you got lost or something,” she teases, her words slightly slurred from the drinks.

You laugh, though it feels a little forced. “Just needed some air.” Jirou raises a brow at you, something knowing in her gaze. “Uh-huh. Air.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing one of the leftover drinks on the table. You don’t bother asking who it belonged to—you just need something, anything, to push away the lingering heat under your skin.

But it doesn’t work, as much as you try to throw yourself back into the celebration, the drinks, the laughter your mind is elsewhere, drifting back to him. To the way his hands felt on you. To the way he looked at you in that moment, like he was finally breaking, finally letting himself feel something he’d been fighting this whole time.

And then he left.

You force yourself to focus back on Mina, who’s dramatically recounting some story about how she almost wiped out in her heels but “recovered like a bad bitch.” You laugh along with the others, but Jirou still eyes you, skeptical.

“You sure you’re good?” she asks quietly, leaning in so only you can hear. You hesitate. “Yeah,” you lie. She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push.

Mina drags you back for your final dances of the night muttering something about “not catching any ass tonight” and apparently that simply would not do.

The night goes on, the music shifts, people come and go, and eventually, the exhaustion starts creeping in. One by one, your friends start gathering their things, calling for Ubers, and making plans to crash at someone’s place. You could go with them. You should go with them.

But instead, you find yourself stepping outside, breathing in the crisp night air. And that’s when you see him.

Sero, leaning against the wall just outside the club, joint between his lips, his expression unreadable.

Your heart stutters, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you walk over.

He notices you immediately, exhaling a slow stream of smoke before speaking. “Took you long enough,” he mutters, like he was waiting for you.

You cross your arms. “What are you still doing here?”

He shrugs, flicking the cigarette away. “Dunno.” His eyes meet yours, dark and searching. “Maybe I was hoping you’d come find me.”

Your stomach flips, and you hate the way he gets to you. The way he’s always gotten to you. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say to that. So you don’t say anything at all.

And for a long moment, neither does he.

The tension stretches between you, thick and heavy, and you know—you know—that whatever this thing is between you two, it’s only getting harder to ignore.

You shift on your feet, arms still crossed like they can shield you from the weight of his gaze. “And if I didn’t?” you ask, voice quieter than you intended.

Sero huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Then I probably would’ve left. Probably should’ve left, anyway.”

But he wouldn’t, you both know that because here he still stands.

The streetlights cast shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow. He looks tired. Frustrated. Maybe even a little conflicted. And it hits you all at once—he’s just as lost in this as you are.

That should make it easier. It should make it simpler. But it doesn’t.

“You’re so fucking frustrating,” you mutter, shaking your head. That makes him grin, that same cocky, easygoing smirk you’ve seen a million times before. Except now, it feels different. Like a defense. Like he’s holding something back.

“Right back at you, babe.” Your breath catches. He doesn’t usually call you that—not like this, not when it feels real.

You hate the way it makes your stomach flip.

He pushes off the wall, stepping closer, and suddenly, it’s like the air between you crackles. Like the pull you’ve both been trying to fight is getting harder to ignore. You could walk away. You should walk away.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, meeting his gaze head-on. “What do you want from me, Hanta?”

His expression shifts—just slightly, but enough. Enough for you to see the crack in his facade, the flicker of something real.

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice low. “But I know I don’t wanna keep pretending like this is nothing.”

Your heart pounds. Because neither do you.

But saying it out loud makes it real. And real means messy. Real means getting hurt.

And yet, standing here, staring at him, feeling the heat of his body so close to yours, you wonder if maybe it’s already too late to stop it. It definitely is..

Your pulse is in your ears, drowning out the sounds of the city around you. You’re standing too close, and you know if you don’t step back now, you won’t.

Sero’s eyes search yours, his usual smirk long gone, replaced by something else—something almost hesitant.

You swallow hard. “Then what are we doing?”

He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Hell if I know.”

And you hate that. You hate how uncertain he sounds because if he doesn’t have an answer, then what the hell are you supposed to do?

Your fingers tighten around your arms, nails pressing into your skin. “You’re the one who pulled me into that bathroom, Hanta,” you remind him, trying to sound sharp, but it comes out softer than you want. “You’re the one who—”

He steps closer, close enough that you can smell the lingering scent of his cologne, the faint traces of weed and alcohol on his breath.

“I know,” he cuts in, voice firm. His jaw tenses, and then he shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. “I know,” he says again, quieter this time.

You watch him carefully, waiting. And then—

“I can’t do this shit anymore.” Your stomach drops. “What?”

Sero runs a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you. “This back and forth, the bullshit games, acting like I don’t—” He stops short, biting down on whatever words almost slipped.

Your breath catches.

Acting like I don’t what?

He doesn’t finish. He just looks at you, waiting. Like it’s your move now. Like he’s finally putting the ball in your court. And you hate that, too. Because you don’t know what to do with it.

You lick your lips, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “So what, you’re just done?” His brows furrow slightly, and for a second, you swear he looks almost pained. “If that’s what you want.”

Your throat tightens. Because that’s not what you want. That’s never been what you wanted.

But this is a game you started, and now, you don’t know how to end it. No matter what happens it doesn’t feel like you’re winning

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “That’s not—” You pause, exhaling sharply. “That’s not fair.”

Sero lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Not fair?” He scoffs, eyes flicking to yours, dark and unreadable. “You think this has been fair?”

You blink, taken aback by the sharpness in his voice.

“I’ve been chasing after you for weeks,” he continues, and his tone isn’t angry, but it’s frustrated, like he’s finally letting himself say all the things he’s been holding back. “I’ve let you shut me down, push me away, play this game like it doesn’t mean shit to you, like I don’t mean shit to you and I took it, because I—”

He stops himself again, jaw clenching, hands flexing at his sides. Your heart is hammering.

Because I what?

You don’t realize you’ve stepped closer until you’re right in front of him, close enough that the warmth of his body nearly touches yours. “Then why didn’t you stop?” you ask quietly, searching his face.

His expression flickers—something breaking through the frustration, something more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen from him before.

“I tried,” he admits, voice rough, tired. “I swear I tried.”

Maybe this is the part where you walk away, where you let him go and finally put an end to whatever this has been. But you can’t.

Because it’s not enough. Not for you.

Not when your body still feels the ghost of his hands on your skin. Not when his words linger in your chest, curling around something you’re not ready to name.

You swallow hard, pulse racing. “So… what now?”

Sero watches you for a long moment, eyes flicking between yours, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. When you don’t, he exhales, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice softer now, almost resigned. “But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t—”

Again, he stops himself. Again, you feel it—something unspoken, something heavy, pressing between you. This time, you don’t let it go.

“Hanta.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He meets your gaze, something wary in his eyes.You take a breath, forcing yourself to be brave. Your eyes meet his in an unwavering gaze. “Say it”

His jaw clenches, and for a second, you think he won’t. That he’ll brush it off, make some flippant joke, or worse—walk away entirely. But then, with a sharp exhale, he mutters, “I like you.”

It’s quiet, almost lost beneath the thrum of music from the club outside, but you hear it. Feel it. The weight of those words settling into your chest like a punch and a relief all at once.

You swallow, your throat dry. “You like me?” you repeat, your voice testing the words, as if trying to see if they hold any truth.

Sero huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, genius. I like you.” His eyes flicker between yours, searching, pleading. “Probably way more than I should.”

Your breath catches. Because you know what he means. Because this—whatever it is—was never supposed to be more than a mistake, a game, a push and pull that never led anywhere real. And yet, here you are.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him, but suddenly the space between you disappears, and his lips are on yours, desperate, certain. It’s not like before—it’s not fueled by frustration or jealousy or reckless abandon. It’s raw, it’s real, and it terrifies you.

You pull away just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his. “This is a bad idea,” you whisper.

Sero’s lips curve into a smirk, but his eyes are serious when he says, “Yeah. But when have we ever been good at walking away?”

You don’t have an answer for that. Because he’s right. You never walk away—not really. You tell yourself you will, you pretend it’s just for fun, but somehow you always end up right back here.

Your fingers tighten in his shirt, forehead still pressed against his, something intimate about the way his hands hold your waist. “So what now?”

Sero exhales through his nose, like he’s been asking himself the same question. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But I know I don’t wanna keep playing this game if it means losing you completely.” You bite your lip, heart hammering. “You were never gonna lose me.”

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you. “Then stop running.”

You swallow hard, your body screaming at you to give in, to let go of whatever’s been keeping you from fully leaning into this, into him. But it’s terrifying—because what if you fall? What if it ends in disaster?

Sero seems to sense your hesitation. He sighs, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling away. “You don’t have to have an answer right now,” he says, softer than you expected. “Just… think about it.”

And with that, he steps back, hands slipping from your body, his warmth leaving you cold.

You should say something—should stop him, should tell him you already know the answer. But the words get caught in your throat, and before you can make sense of it, he’s gone.

Jirou finds you outside, sitting on the filthy sidewalk with your knees to your chest, looking out on the city lights. She has half a mind to scold you for being out here so late alone until she sees your expression.

“There you are,” she says, stepping up beside you. “We’re heading out. Mina’s been looking for you.” You exhale slowly, keeping your gaze forward. “Needed some air.”

Jirou doesn’t buy it, but she doesn’t push—at least not right away. She just stands there, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, waiting. After a moment, she sighs. “Sero left.”

Your stomach tightens. Jirou studies you for a beat, then speaks again, voice quieter now. “You good?”

You swallow, nodding once. “Yeah.” It’s not a lie, not really. You just don’t know what else to say.

Jirou doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, she jerks her head toward the street, where the others are waiting for your ride. “Come on. Let’s go before Mina starts a manhunt.”

You manage a small smirk, shaking off whatever lingers in your chest as you push off the wall. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The uber ride home is full of drunken laughter and requests for Taco Bell, you find yourself packed into the small fast food chain, the only one nearby open past two. You haven’t eaten for hours but have no interest in the food in front of you.

The other girls laugh and chat around you but you sit there in silence, thoughts scattered about. It seems like nobody notices but Jirou, who clamps her hand around yours

Her grip is steady, grounding you in the midst of the chaos. You glance over at her, and she gives you a small, understanding smile. There’s a quiet strength in the way she holds your hand, as if she doesn’t need to ask what happened but just wants to remind you that you’re not alone in this.

“Hey,” she murmurs, leaning closer so the others won’t overhear, “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I’m here if you need to.”

You nod, not trusting your voice just yet. The confusion and frustration from earlier still linger in your chest, but Jirou’s presence, calm and steady, helps. She doesn’t push, just sits there with you, allowing you space to breathe.

You know this is a decision you have to make alone, but there’s too much weight on your chest to say nothing. You tilt your head, a silent gesture toward the door, and Jirou mutters an excuse about needing to go out to smoke. She gets up, and you follow her outside, the cool night air hitting your skin as the door shuts behind you.

You sit together on the dimly lit sidewalk next to Taco Bell, the soft hum of traffic in the distance and the occasional laugh or shout from inside the restaurant drifting through the air. It’s 2 a.m., and everything feels a little surreal, like the world outside is still spinning while you’re stuck in a quiet moment of clarity.

Jirou leans back against the wall, her eyes flicking over to you every so often. She doesn’t rush to ask anything, doesn’t push for details. Instead, she just lets the silence settle between you both, giving you space to gather your thoughts.

That’s what you love about Jirou. The space she gives you, her words always calculated. She thinks before she speaks, and there’s a calmness to her that helps you think more clearly. As much as you love Mina, this conversation wouldn’t be the same with her—not tonight, at least. It’s her birthday, and you don’t want to burden her with this… situationship? Can you even call it that?

You take a deep breath, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, fingers trembling slightly. “I don’t know what to do, Jirou,” you admit, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t pretend like it was a mistake anymore… I—”

Your voice falters for a moment, the words catching in your throat. You let out a dry chuckle, though it doesn’t feel lighthearted at all. “Oh my god, I’m such a mess,” you say, rubbing your face in frustration. Then, without warning, the laughter escapes you, but it’s not real—just a hollow sound escaping from your chest.

“I fucked him, Jirou. I fucked him again!”

Jirou doesn’t react at first, her expression unreadable, but then she places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay to feel lost right now. You’re not the first person to get caught up in something messy,” she says, her voice soft but steady.

You laugh again, this time with less force, your shoulders sagging as you let out a shaky breath. “But it’s not just messy, Jirou. It’s… complicated. He’s not just some guy I can brush off. I thought I could handle it, but I… I don’t even know what this is”

“You don’t have to have it all figured out right now, okay? You don’t have to make any decisions tonight. But you need to be honest with yourself about what you really want, not just what you think you should want or what feels good in the moment. You deserve clarity.”

You nod, the weight of her words sinking in, but your mind still feels like a tangled mess. “It’s just so hard. I keep saying I’ll walk away, but then—then he does something, and I just… fall right back in.”

“I get it,” Jirou says, her voice soft but firm. “But you’ve gotta ask yourself—what does he want? Is he just messing with you, or is he feeling the same thing?”

You hesitate, then force the words out, the lump in your throat thick. “He said he likes me, Jirou. Not in some casual way, not just in the heat of the moment… He said it.”

Jirou blinks in surprise, her expression softening as she processes the words. “He said that?”

You nod, your chest tightening as you speak. “Yeah. After everything—after we… well, after we hooked up again, he said it. But I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if he really means it, or if it’s just… something he said in the moment, you know? I can’t keep doing this back-and-forth if I don’t know where he stands. It’s like..” you hesitate and take another breath “it’s like, I can’t let myself believe him. Like why me? I can’t wrap my head around it.”

Jirou falls quiet for a moment, looking at you with an unreadable expression, before her lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “Sounds like he’s in his own head, just like you are.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“He might not even know how to process his own feelings. But if he said he likes you… that means something. It’s not just a casual comment. But you can’t control him, and you can’t keep dancing around this. You need to decide if you’re ready to take that leap.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the confusion and uncertainty swirling inside you. “I don’t know if I’m ready, though. I don’t know if I can trust it. It just feels like… like everything is too messy. And I don’t know if I can handle being that close to someone who’s afraid to fully commit.”

Jirou nods, wrapping her arms around you in a soft hug. “It’s a lot to think about. You don’t need to decide right now, but you do need to decide”

You lean into the embrace, letting the warmth of Jirou’s hug ground you. The steady pressure of her arms around you feels like the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely.

“I know,” you whisper, the weight of it all sinking in. “I just… I don’t know how to trust him after everything. I don’t know if I can keep putting myself out there when I don’t know if he’ll really be there, you know? It’s like I’m always waiting for him to back out.”

Jirou pulls back slightly, her hands resting on your shoulders as she looks you in the eye. “You can’t keep waiting for him to decide what he wants. You need to figure out if you want to take that chance with him. It’s about you, not just about what he might do. You have to ask yourself—are you okay with the uncertainty? Because, at the end of the day, you have to be okay with the decision, no matter what.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words settle in your chest. You knew she was right. You couldn’t keep letting Sero’s mixed signals control your emotions. It wasn’t just about him; it was about your own happiness, your own choices.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you admit softly, a small, bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I don’t know if I can keep going back and forth like this. I need to know if it’s worth it.”

Jirou gives a small nod, her eyes understanding. “Then you’ll have to figure that out. And you can’t keep avoiding the conversation with him. If you’re gonna move forward—whether it’s with him or without him—you need to hear it from him, straight up. You deserve that clarity.”

You swallow hard, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten at the thought of confronting Sero. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Jirou smiles softly, giving you a light squeeze. “Whatever happens, just know you’re not in this alone. You’ve got me, and you’ve got your girls. You’ll figure it out, one step at a time.”

You nod, the weight in your chest feeling a little lighter now. It wasn’t going to be easy, but maybe it was time to stop running from the mess, and start figuring out how to clean it up.

The days stretch on, each one heavier than the last. You can’t seem to stop replaying that night in your head, the way Sero had looked at you in the club, the way his words had hung in the air between you. But as much as you try to sort through your feelings, you can’t bring yourself to reach out to him. Not yet.

You check your phone more than you’d like to admit, half-expecting a message, but the only thing that shows up is the usual stream of notifications from group chats, memes, and random updates from your friends. No Sero. Not even a “hey” to check in. And that, in itself, stings more than you’d like to acknowledge but you understand.

It’s now been over a week since that night, and it’s clear that you’ve had plenty of time to think. To consider what Jirou said and to weigh your options. You’re no closer to a decision, though. If anything, you feel more lost.

You sit with yourself in your room, the soft hum of your phone filling the silence, but there’s still nothing from him. You wonder if he’s waiting for you to make the first move or if maybe he’s moved on completely. Part of you wants to reach out, to test the waters, but you know deep down that you’re not ready for that yet.

Instead, you find yourself thinking back to that moment when Jirou asked if you were okay with the uncertainty. And, honestly, you don’t know if you are. You’re not sure if you want to keep waiting around for him to make a decision that may never come, but you can’t stop wondering if that’s what love feels like—messy and uncertain, all wrapped up in feelings you can’t quite make sense of.

That night, you make your way to your favorite coffee shop, just happening to be the one you work at, hoping the change of scenery will help you clear your head. It’s quieter than usual, just a few people here and there, sipping their drinks and lost in their own thoughts. You find a seat by the window and pull out your journal , but you can’t seem to focus on anything but the nagging thoughts of Sero.

“Hey,” a voice interrupts your thoughts. You glance up, and there stands Mina, her usual bright smile on her face. She’s oblivious, chatting about something random, but her presence feels like a relief—thank god she doesn’t know about the situation with Sero. She would probably just brush it off and keep pushing you toward him, not really understanding what this is all about. After all, she’s the one who dragged you into that party in the first place, and you’re not sure you trust her judgment when it comes to anything involving Sero.

You let her talk, nodding along but not fully processing what she’s saying. You’ve got too much on your mind.

“So, uh… how are you holding up?” she asks, her tone a little quieter this time, eyes searching your face for any sign of distress.

You hesitate. Mina doesn’t know. She doesn’t know about that night, or about the confusion that’s been eating at you ever since. She doesn’t need to know.

“I’m fine,” you reply quickly, perhaps too quickly, but you hope she doesn’t catch it. “Just, you know, busy.”

She seems to accept that, moving on to the next topic, but you can feel the weight of your own uncertainty. It’s been a week since you last saw or heard from Sero, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ve made a mistake by not reaching out to him.

But, then again, maybe it’s for the best. You’re not ready to deal with this yet, and Mina can’t give you the clarity you need. Only Jirou seems to get it—understands the messiness of everything, the fear of being vulnerable, the weight of everything hanging between you and Sero.

You just need time.

After a while, Mina gets distracted by her phone and starts scrolling through Instagram, and you take a deep breath. The decision to talk to Sero still feels far away. Maybe it’ll come, but not yet. For now, you’re taking a step back and letting things breathe.

You just hope that when the time comes, you’ll be ready to make a choice.

The days pass slowly, but they do pass. Life, as it tends to, keeps moving forward even when you feel stuck. You focus on work, and spending time with the people around you, but there’s this constant pull, a tugging reminder that the unresolved mess with Sero still lingers in the background.

You haven’t heard from him, and in a way, that silence feels louder than any words could. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to make a move, but you’re not sure you’re ready. The last thing you want is to make another mistake, to let yourself fall for something you’re not sure is real.

One night, about a week after the coffee shop, you’re sitting on the couch with Jirou, your head in her lap as her fingers rake through your hair, scrolling through your phone, the sound of music playing softly in the background. Denki’s working and Mina’s out again, partying with some other friends, and it’s just you two, talking about everything and nothing at all.

“You okay?” Jirou’s voice breaks through the quiet, and you glance up, meeting her concerned gaze.

You don’t answer right away, your mind still running through everything, every possible outcome. After a few moments, you sigh and put your phone down. “I don’t know,” you admit, the weight of your emotions catching up with you. “I don’t know if I should reach out to him.”

Jirou studies you, her lips pressed together in thought. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” she says slowly. “But it’s clear you’ve been thinking about it a lot. Maybe it’s time to decide if you want to keep waiting or move on.”

You nod, not sure what to say. Deep down, you know she’s right. You’ve been holding on to something undefined, waiting for clarity that hasn’t come. But is it really fair to keep waiting, to keep putting yourself through this uncertainty?

“Do you think it’s worth it?” you ask, the question barely leaving your lips before you regret it. But you need to hear her thoughts, even if they’re not what you want to hear.

Jirou doesn’t rush to answer. Instead, she looks at you for a long moment, her eyes gentle and understanding. “I think you have to trust yourself, trust what feels right,” she says quietly. “But you also need to be honest with yourself about what you want and what you’re willing to settle for.”

You sit back, letting her words sink in. It’s true, you can’t keep waiting forever, and maybe it’s time to figure out if Sero is worth the uncertainty, or if you need to move on and find something—or someone—else that feels right.

“Take all the time you need. You’ll know when you’re ready.” You appreciate her understanding. There’s no pressure from her, just support. And right now, that’s all you need.

The next few days pass in a blur. But your mind keeps coming back to Sero, to that night and the strange, complicated feelings that still linger. Every time your phone buzzes, you hope it’s him, but it never is. And each time, you feel a little more defeated, a little more unsure of what to do.

Then, one afternoon, while you’re sitting on campus, your phone buzzes. It’s a message, a notification from an unknown number. Your heart skips a beat.

You stare at the screen for a long moment before you open it. The message is short, simple:

Hey, it’s Sero. Can we talk?

You freeze, your mind racing. It’s been over a week since you last heard from him, and now, here he is, asking to talk. Part of you wants to ignore it, to let the silence continue, but the other part of you is desperate for some kind of closure, some kind of answer.

You take a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. What do you say?

You want to be careful. You want to protect yourself. But you also want to know what he’s been thinking. Why now? Why after all this time?

Finally, after what feels like forever, you type back:

We can talk. But I need to know where your head’s at. No games, no more waiting.

You hit send before you can second-guess yourself, then sit back, waiting for his response. This is it. Whatever happens next, you’re ready to face it. And just as you finish your coffee, your phone buzzes again.

I’m ready to be honest with you. Let’s meet up.

It’s a start.

When and where?

You ask bluntly, your fingers moving quickly across your phone screen and his reply is almost instant.

Now? The park near campus?

I’ll be there in 10

You feel your heartbreak quickening as you make the walk to the park, taking quick strides, hands fidgeting with the charms on your phone case to try to ignore the mix of emotions swirling from your chest to your stomach, god you could puke right now.

Every step feels heavier than the last. Your mind is running through every possible outcome, every word he might say, but you keep pushing it back. No use overthinking it now.

When you arrive, the park is mostly quiet,theres the familiar summer chirp of bugs, the evening air warm. You spot Sero almost immediately, standing by a bench near the trees. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his shoulders tense, as if he’s been waiting for a while. When he sees you, his expression softens, though there’s still that guarded look in his eyes. It’s almost like he’s waiting for you to say something first.

You stop a few feet away, the distance feeling strange now that the silence has stretched so long between you.

“Hey,” you say, your voice a little quieter than you intended. You clear your throat. “So…”

Sero exhales slowly. He looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, neither of you speak, the weight of the past week lingering between you. He looks like he’s trying to find the right words, something to say that won’t mess it up.

“So…” He scratched the back of his neck, his usual confidence faltering. “It’s been a minute.” You nodded, shifting awkwardly. “Yeah, a little over a week.”

He leans against the back of the bench, studying you. His gaze was intense but there was an undercurrent of something softer now, something you hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t seem like he was in control of the situation, not like usual. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to reach out first or if you wanted space.”

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, but you couldn’t help feeling like something was off. “I don’t know,” you murmured. “I just— I’ve been thinking a lot. About what you said.”

Sero’s brow furrowed slightly, and he sat down across from you, folding his arms. “Yeah? And what did you think about?”

“I thought about it, but…” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain. “I’m just gonna be honest. I just don’t know if I can trust it. You know? I mean… I’ve been hurt before, and I know that’s not your fault but.. can you blame me for having my guard up?”

He gives a light chuckle, with a soft smile but he doesn’t think anything’s funny. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “You don’t have to take my word for it, but I’m not playing games here. I know how it looks, but I’m not pretending like I don’t feel something for you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart beating faster at his words. “I just… I don’t know if I’m ready for this, for whatever it is we’re doing.”

Sero leaned forward, locking eyes with you. “I get it. I’m not exactly the type for commitment, you know that. But… I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never wanted to be with someone like this.”

You were quiet for a long moment, taking in his words. You wanted to believe him, you really did. But fear gnawed at you, fear of getting too close, of getting hurt.

“I just don’t want to get hurt,” you finally whispered.

Sero reaches out, his fingers idly playing with yours in a soft and delicate touch. “I know. And I’m not asking you to jump into anything. I just… I want to try, if you do.”

“how about this..you don’t have to decide right now,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing small circles on your hand. “But I don’t want to pretend like this isn’t real. I want you to know that. Let’s just.. see?”

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. You didn’t have all the answers. You didn’t know what would happen, or if you were even ready to take the leap. But for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you had to do it all alone. For now, that was enough.

Sero gave you a small, genuine smile. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” And in that moment, you finally allowed yourself to believe it.

At first, nothing really changes.

You don’t talk about that night. You don’t talk about what Sero said outside the club, and you definitely don’t bring up what happened between you in the bathroom. But slowly, in the quiet in-between moments, something shifts.

It starts with coincidence. Or maybe it’s not. You’re not sure.

You start running into him more—at the coffee shop near campus, at parties, at the gas station when you’re both grabbing snacks at ungodly hours of the night. And each time, he doesn’t push, doesn’t corner you into a conversation you’re not ready to have. He just treats you the same as he always has. And maybe that’s why, when he casually invites you to come chill one night after class, you don’t hesitate before saying yes.

The first time, it’s easy. Low stakes. Just you, Sero, and some dumb movie playing in the background while you share a joint and talk shit about the characters. You feel relaxed in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. There’s no pressure, no expectations, just easy conversation and the familiar warmth of his presence. So when he texts you again a few days later—Movie night? No pressure, but Eijirou picked something awful and I need backup—you say yes again. And again after that.

Before you know it, it’s a thing.

It’s not dating. It’s not casual sex. It’s just… spending time together. A lot of it.

Some nights, you smoke and get lost in deep conversations about nothing and everything—childhood stories, stupid fears, the weirdest dreams you’ve ever had. Other nights, you just sit in comfortable silence, watching whatever trash reality show Eijirou put on before he passed out in the other room.

And then, at some point, he starts touching you.

Not in a way that crosses any lines, but in ways that make your heart stutter before you can remind yourself not to read into it. A hand on your thigh when he’s laughing at something you said. Fingers brushing against yours when he hands you the lighter. His arm slung casually over the couch behind you, fingertips tracing absent-minded patterns on your shoulder.

And then one night, after weeks of this new rhythm, he kisses you.

It’s soft, almost uncertain, like he’s testing the waters, giving you space to pull away if you want to. But you don’t. Instead, you lean in.

And just like that, the line between what you were and what you are starts to blur.

You still haven’t talked about it. About what this means. But for now, that feels okay. For now, you just let it happen.

Things shift and to say there’s not more sex would be a lie. It’s the way his eyes linger on you, hung from the weed, how his kisses become slow and deliberate and for his fingertips dance on your skin. The way he whispers in your ear, in Spanish—not that you understand, but you can feel the tenderness in his words. He takes his time with you now, almost reverent, and it’s nothing like before. It’s deeper, unrushed, laced with an intimacy you’ve never felt before.

You don’t talk about it—both too afraid to ruin whatever this is. Instead, you spend countless nights in his bed, bodies bare and tangled in his sheets, skin pressed together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You sleep on his chest, and he sleeps on yours, fingers absentmindedly threading through each other’s hair, lost in the quiet comfort of it all.

The days blur together, each one pulling you deeper into him. You don’t label it, don’t define it, but it’s there—in the way he texts you first thing in the morning, in the way he always saves you a seat when you and your friends meet up, in the way his hands find your waist even when you’re just standing next to him.

Nights are even worse, or maybe better, depending on how you look at it. He rolls joints with practiced ease, passing them to you with a lazy smirk, eyes half-lidded as he watches you take a hit. You watch movies, neither of you really paying attention, too caught up in the way his arm drapes over your shoulders, the way his lips press to your temple when he thinks you’re too high to notice.

And then there’s the sex—slow, unhurried, nothing like before. He touches you like he’s memorizing you, kissing you like he means it. He murmurs in Spanish against your skin, words you don’t understand but feel down to your bones. It’s different now, laced with something you’re both too scared to name.

But still, neither of you bring it up.

You don’t ask what this is, don’t ask if he’s still seeing other people—if he even wants to. You tell yourself you don’t care. That it doesn’t matter. But late at night, when he’s asleep next to you, his fingers still loosely curled around yours, you wonder how long you can pretend.

The uncertainty lingers, creeping in during quiet moments—when his hand finds yours absentmindedly, when he pulls you into his chest after sex, when he looks at you like you’re something he’s afraid to lose. But neither of you say anything, and maybe that’s why it works. Maybe acknowledging it would break whatever delicate balance you’ve found.

So you let it be.

Days turn into weeks, and Sero becomes a constant in your life. It’s not just about being tangled in his sheets anymore—it’s grocery runs, late-night drives, music playing softly in the background as you paint and he watches from the couch, joints lazily burning between his fingers. It’s comfortable. Easy.

And yet, there’s still an edge to it, a question neither of you are brave enough to ask.

Then one night, it almost slips out.

You’re lying on his bed, exhausted, your head resting on his chest. His fingers trace slow circles on your back, his other hand scrolling mindlessly on his phone. You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there in silence, but it’s the kind that feels full rather than empty.

“You staying over?” he asks, voice low, lazy. You hum in response, nuzzling closer, and he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your cheek. And then, before you can stop yourself—

“You’re not seeing anyone else, right?”

The question falls into the space between you, and immediately, you regret it. You can’t take it back now. You tense against him, bracing yourself for whatever comes next.

Sero stills beneath you. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you think you’ve ruined it. Then—

“Nah.”

Your breath catches.

“I was,” he admits, his fingers resuming their slow patterns on your skin. “Before. But not since… this.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Since what?”

His hand moves, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him. His expression is unreadable, but his thumb brushes over your cheek, slow and deliberate.

“You know what.”

And just like that, the balance shifts again. Sero doesn’t push, just watches you, his dark eyes calm, unreadable. It’s not like before—when everything felt like a game, when he’d flirt just to see if he could get a reaction, when you’d pretend it didn’t mean anything.

This is different. He’s different. And so are you.

Sero must see the hesitation in your eyes because his smirk fades slightly. “I’m not asking for anything, you know that, I’m not pushing you” he says, voice gentle. “I just… I don’t want you thinking I’m out here playing you.”

You shake your head. “I don’t.” And you don’t. Not anymore. At least that’s what you thought.

The evening is casual, comfortable, yet there’s a noticeable distance between the two of you. You’re quiet, picking at your food, not really focusing on the conversation. Sero notices immediately, his gaze flickering to you, but he doesn’t say anything at first. The feeling in the air is thick with unspoken thoughts, the weight of them resting on your shoulders.

You’ve been hanging out more than ever lately, but there’s been something off. Every time he pulls his phone out, you can’t help but catch glimpses of a name you somewhat recognize. Elena. It’s her—his ex, or whatever she was. You’d seen her name come up too many times over the past week. You tell yourself it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just a friend. Maybe it’s old news or something stupid. But with each new notification, your heart tightens just a little more.

Tonight, you can’t ignore it anymore. You don’t even want to look at your food anymore, let alone pretend everything is fine.

Sero’s phone buzzes again on the table between you two. It’s her again. Her name lights up on the screen

Elena- two new messages

You sigh, maybe too loudly. He glances at you, his brow furrowing.

“You good, hermosa?” he asks, his voice soft but tinged with concern.

“You know,” you begin, your voice casual but with an edge that even you can feel, “you’ve been getting a lot of messages from Elena lately.”

Hanta doesn’t look at you right away. He shifts in his seat, clearly not prepared for the conversation, but then meets your gaze with a small frown. He swipes at his phone and pockets it. “She’s just— she’s a friend.”

You tilt your head, not buying it. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but something about the way he says it doesn’t sit right. It sounds like a defense mechanism.

“You’re telling me she’s just a friend?” you ask softly, trying to keep your voice steady. You lean in a little, arms crossed as you watch him. “Because from what I’m seeing, it doesn’t really look like that. Every time I look, it’s her name, and it’s not like it’s one or two messages. It’s… a lot.”

He blinks, a flash of uncertainty passing over his face before his brow furrows in confusion. “Wait—what are you trying to say?” His voice has that edge now, defensive, but his eyes are a little softer. He’s trying to figure out where you’re coming from.

Your gaze doesn’t waver. “I don’t know. I just feel like… I don’t know, I guess I’m getting the vibe that maybe she’s still trying to get something from you. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that, Hanta.”

A friend. But that doesn’t explain the constant messages. The persistent name that’s been a fixture on his screen. It stirs something deep inside you—something protective, something unsure.

“I get that she’s your friend, but…” you trail off, looking at your hands in your lap before looking up at him. “I’m not really comfortable with you talking to someone who actively wants you, Hanta. I mean… you told me about her, and how she’s tried to hook up with you before…”

His expression softens, but there’s still a flicker of tension in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but you rush to continue, your voice slightly firmer now, trying to make your feelings known.

“I’m sorry if that’s not fair, but I can be a little crazy when it comes to things like this, okay?” you say, your voice softer now, almost apologetic. “I just… I don’t want to be the type of person who’s constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if I’m just another girl to you. Or if she’s still trying to be a thing.”

You stop, your breath a little shaky. You look away, letting out a sigh. “I don’t want to cause drama or make things worse between us, but I don’t think I want that kind of uncertainty. I don’t think we want that.”

Sero doesn’t say anything for a moment, watching you quietly. You can feel the weight of his gaze, but it doesn’t feel judgmental. It feels… understanding.

He pulls his phone out slowly, unlocking it and scrolling through the messages. You feel your heart race as he hands it to you. You hesitate for a moment, before reading the texts. Elena’s messages are flirtatious, almost desperate at times, while Sero’s responses remain clear and firm. He tells her, over and over again, that he’s with someone else now, that he’s not interested in anything with her.

One message stands out. “I’ve got a girl now, Elena. I’m not doing that anymore.”

You read it and then look up at him, your chest tight and your words catching in your throat. “You really told her that?” you ask softly, unsure whether to feel relieved or even more uncertain.

Hanta nods, his expression serious, his eyes searching yours for some kind of understanding. “I did. And I meant it, hermosa,” he says, his voice low, steady. “I’m not interested in anything with her. Not anymore.”

You swallow thickly, a little unsure of how to feel. You wish you could just let go of the nagging feeling in your chest, the one that still doubts that maybe there’s more going on here than he’s letting on. But the last thing you want is to make him feel guilty for having a past.

“I… I don’t know,” you admit, your voice wavering slightly. “It’s just hard for me. To see you still talking to her. And I don’t want to be crazy, I don’t.”

Hanta’s eyes soften, and he leans across the table, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. His voice is tender now, almost apologetic. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like that,” he says quietly. “But you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re the one I’m with now. Always have been.”

You nod, but the unease doesn’t quite disappear. There’s still a flicker of uncertainty in your chest, and part of you feels ridiculous for even questioning him, but you can’t help it.

“I guess I just need to know you’re serious about this. About.. us,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to feel like you’re not still hanging on to something that could pull you away.”

Sero’s eyes narrow slightly, his jaw clenched, but not in anger—more like determination. He leans closer to you, the weight of his gaze on you again. “I’m serious, it makes you uncomfortable? She’s gone. I don’t care about her” he says, his voice quiet but intense. “You’re mine, hermosa. I was just waiting for you to see that.”

His words hit you like a wave. The finality in his voice reassures you more than anything else could, and for the first time, you feel like maybe this is something real.

“Okay,” you breathe out, a small, relieved smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, I think I get it now.”

Sero smiles, a hint of something soft in his eyes. He reaches out, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand gently. “I’ve always been serious about you, baby,” he murmurs. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

The tension between you both begins to melt away as you sit in the quiet, you let your hand interlock with his, the unspoken understanding lingering between you. There’s no need for more words. You’re his, and he’s yours. And maybe that’s all that matters.

A/N- finally done omggg! Ik it’s been anticipated (and it’s super long cause I made yall wait so long for the next part) but I hope everyone enjoys :P and big love to @cxvii666 !!

Tags:

@beabamboo @poemeater @kingfrogz @beebunsx @mimzyu @superlegend216 @augustraine

drop seroroki hcs rn

angelic behavior of you sending this ask during my brainrot

sero is not as slick as he thinks he is. he is very obvious and all his friends know he likes todoroki despite him denying it. in fact the whole class knows, including aizawa. he’s just lucky bc todoroki is autistic and can’t tell

listen listen listen todoroki doesn’t smile like at all. but listen sero could like fucking look at him and he’d be all “omg hi sero :D” like tbh how has sero not picked up either

sero views todoroki as out of his league so he settles himself on just having a crush and looking from afar but then they become friends and he’s starstruck but also starts wondering if he has a chance meanwhile todoroki is just patiently waiting for sero to make a move bc god knows he can’t flirt for the life of him

eventually they grow closer, to the point where everybody else thinks they’re dating. they start dating bc they were going to their dorms one night and todoroki unconsciously kissed sero on the cheek and said gn and 3 seconds later sero realized that todoroki kissed him and passed out

i saw this somewhere but the biggest seroroki shipper is actually bakugo. mans has negative zero love life but still gets on sero for not making a move, or tries to set up situations for the two of them to get closer (mainly by forcing todoroki to eat w sero at lunch or something)

sero fucking LOVES lovey dovey couple stuff. holding todorokis hand in public, gm/gn texts, mistletoe on christmas, etc. he’s a sucker for it and todoroki goes along with it bc he likes seeing sero happy and also likes it. they should make out

todoroki is the first to start calling hanta. in response to this sero like. has a technical breakdown and glitches. he immediately starts calling him shoto and they’re nauseatingly adorable. bakugo is the one who wanted them to get together most but he’s the one who’s most “get a room nerds”

Just found this and u better believe im all 11 parts of this.

HERE IT IS, THE FINAL PART, I really can’t believe it’s been more than a year since I started drawing this, makes me so happy that so many people liked this AU that for so long Rose and I kept for ourselves, I’m so glad we decided to share it and turn it into this comic, IT’S BEEN SO AMAZING, Thank you all SO SO MUCH from the bottom of my heart for being here and for following this story, you’ve been so amazing and so patient, I’m so grateful I got to make this until the end.

I Part 11.2 I Part 11.1 I Part 10 I Part 9 I Part 8 I Part 7.2 I Part 7.1 I Part 6 I Part 5 I Part 4 I Part 3 I Part 2 I Part 1 I

hanta sero - boyfriend headcanons:

- i think that out of all his friends, hanta definitely gets a girlfriend first and your relationship lasts the longest

- friends to lovers, will they won't they, everyone knows but them, because he's an idiot, he definitely fell first and fell harder,

- but once you're actually together, once you're his girlfriend, hanta never shuts up about you. "if my girl was here, she could-" "well my girl knows how to-" "my girl is so cool, she-"

- big fan of laying between your thighs after a smoke for a nap!!! you stopped getting high with hanta before watching movies because every time you guys smoke together he dozes off for hours and snores like a fucking tractor

- brings you EVERYWHERE. he's that one homeboy that's always like "can my girl come with us? 🥺"

like that one time when their friend group was going out for jirou's birthday. it was 'emo night' or something equally ridiculous at one of the clubs downtown. denki had suggested they all go for a laugh, free entry before 11pm, and if it was shit they could bounce. so hanta had been at mina's place pre-gaming when he'd gotten a very emoji filled text from his girlfriend. your two friends who are the worst with cancelling plans, had cancelled on you, again. hanta rolls his eyes at your dramatics but a soft smile tugs at his lips and he stops mid way through typing 'i told you so', when he sees the "idc bout that tho 😵🙄 i jus misss youuuu☹️🥹" from you. he doesn't even think twice before calling out to his friends.

"yo guys, can my girl come with?"

- likes when you yell at him. obviously he doesn't seriously piss you off on purpose, but you're easy to tease, and he knows all the right buttons to push. so why wouldn't he, 'forget' to pick up the shit you needed, and when you get all up in his face, fire burning in your eyes, as you cuss him out, yeah, it makes his dick twitch, just a little.

- you take him shopping with you all the time because he gives you his honest opinion on everything, regardless of whether you like it or not. he gets super up in your personal space and says the most ridiculously accurate bullshit right in your ear, " don't get the purple, you're gonna look like a grape", "you like this one? kinda smells like caca- ouch."

- always calling your phone!!!!! like this man does not let you breathe. and its always to talk about nothing.

"hanta, i'm at work?"

"are you not on break...? you just sent me a tiktok."

"that's not the point-"

"- well, i saw the cutest little cat earlier, reminded me of that cat we saw at...."

- he lets you bite him.

the first time you did it, you had no idea what came over you. you were both curled up on your couch, legs entwined, him little spooning, the side of your face resting on his left shoulder blade, both enraptured in whatever episode of rick and morty. and its like pure animal instinct when you lean down and gently bite the exposed area of his bicep. its less of a bite, more you just lightly sinking your teeth into your boyfriend's soft skin. but its enough to make him sit up slightly and angle his head towards you with narrow eyes. "freaky 'lil shit."

- ceo and founding father of the broke boyfriend pose. notice how i put pose, cos he does spoil you and most times you buy something, it's on his card, but the pose! yknow that one when the guy stands with his arms wrapped around his girl when she's paying for something.... yeah

- that's as far as blatant pda goes for him tho, i think he's more into handholding ORRR,,,, when you're out walking on the busy streets and you grab onto his bicep >>

- huge user of "nah missus says no" "wife's not letting me out, yknow how it is" and "my girl said i cant go" this is a hundred percent false btw!!! he's just too lazy to find a better excuse, and he'd rather spend his time with you

- hanta's a big fan of ordering for you, more because you hate it, unless you're getting boba, then he just stands awkwardly in the shop one hand resting on the small of your back, the other tapping away at some dumb mobile game, while you order for two

- also a big fan of "whatever you need baby." as in whatever,,,, not just material things or physically, maybe it's because he comes from a big family but he has this desire to provide for you, time, love, effort, emotional support, "y'know you can call me whenever." and he always picks up, drops everything.

like that one time, still a fresh month into your relationship, you had cancelled on your brunch date because your period had started and you felt ugly and in pain. and hanta dropped by later in the afternoon with your favourite takeout and some sweet treats and a blunt, when you almost bursted into tears, he had just opened his arms out and you both laid down on the couch to watch whatever shit reality tv you had been watching.

- speaking of tv, he's also big into watching shows together, so you've been going through your netflix list together. when you go to his on a thursday night and you watch the new ep of your anime together, and when he stays over at yours for the weekend you binge your other shows together

- calls you bro and dude sometimes gang

- randomly bursts into song

- randomly starts freestyling, "babe gimme a beat-"

ooh what about Online relationship + Yamaguchi? (if it's still open that is)

— choose a moodboard + a character! <3

beautiful

pairing: sero x gn reader

a/n: it's been a while, huh? hope this is enjoyable.

cw: self-deprecation, a bit of cursing.

sero applied to u.a. high with low expectations. he wasn’t even going to apply, but his mom drilled the “you never know until you try” motto into his head. she was his number one supporter throughout the grueling waiting period between his decision and the actual entrance exams. really, she went all schrödinger's cat on him: he’d been neither rejected nor accepted yet.

despite how ridiculous it sounded, it really helped. it calmed his nerves and helped him get past the entrance exams and into class 1-a. now, after three years, he still found the fact that he’d made it into the top class and come so far. he actually had to pinch himself from time to time to ensure it wasn’t some cruel dream.

he still struggled with his confidence sometimes, especially when he watched bakugo and midoriya and everyone else with their flashy quirks. it made him question if he truly belonged among the ranks of the elites–his quirk was tape. sure, that might be useful to swing around with like a natural-born spiderman, but it couldn’t help him incapacitate a rampaging villain. he had to leave that to everyone else.

he was so plain. he got reminded of that every time they went into battle or applied for internships. he was reminded of it just by looking in the mirror.

this plainess scared him out of pursuing potential romantic interests, which automatically labeled him the nth wheel when he went out with friends. seriously, it felt like everyone had found someone to love but him.

kirishima always nudged him when he complained about it, claiming that there were plenty of people that liked him; he was just blind and had his heart set on one specific person.

“seriously, sero, you stare at y/n, like, all day. they can’t read your mind, bro.”

he’d walked away from the conversation when everyone started collectively agreeing with him, opting to instead relish in his own presence up in his room. far away from you and your awfully enticing presence.

sero was completely oblivious to your reciprocated glances in his direction, especially when your gaze lingered just a second too long and you had to whip your head around in the opposite direction. you got the same talk from the rest of class 3-a, teasing you endlessly for your cowardice.

“sero’s too much of a wuss to confess to you, y/n. if you don’t do it, the two of you will never happen. guarantee it.”

kaminari really dissed sero when it came to his lack of ‘manliness’, especially to you. however, his claim really worried you. if kaminari was so sure that sero liked you, you should just go for it, right?

after sleeping on the decision, you finally decided you were gonna do it. you were giddy that morning, despite having hardly slept that night. your nerves were on fire, leaving a lingering tingle at the base of your spine as you walked out of your room that morning.

come lunchtime, you finally decided it was time to spill your guts to who you hoped would be your future partner.

too nervous to eat, you took a deep breath and made your way over to sero, who was seated between kirishima and kaminari. they were laughing and talking, which made up about 45% of the noise in the room.

“sero?” you noticed how the conversation came to a halt, cheeks warming as sero turned to face you, “can i, uh, talk to you?”

he looked over at kaminari, who was already all but shoving him out his chair and towards you, “oh, y/n! yeah, yeah. ‘course.”

you ignored the thumbs up once sero turned his back to the table, instead leading him out of the double doors and to a less crowded area in the hallway.

“woah, gonna murder me or somethin’?” he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

you laughed awkwardly, glancing to the side, “no, not planning on it. i wanted to,” you fidgeted with your hands, desperately trying to keep your eyes up instead of glued to the floor, “to tell you something.”

he looked equally nervous, arching a brow, “what’s up? did i do something?”

“no, no, nothing like that. i just wanted to let you know that i,” you paused, palms sweaty and clammy, “i really like you! and i’m—” you stammered, suddenly regretting your decision, “i’m sorry if that’s, uh, weird or something.”

he just stared at you for a moment, jaw quite literally dropped.

“sero?”

your voice seemed to snap him out of his trance, his eyes looking everywhere but at you, “y/n, i’m sorry. i just..” he bit his lip, a sadness washing over his face, “i gotta go.”

“sero,” you called after him, but he was already backing away and nearly running away from you, “sero, wait!”

but he was gone.

dejected, you found that you no longer had any sort of appetite and decided to go back to your dorm. so kaminari was wrong: sero harbored no feelings for you. not only that, but you were pretty sure you just ruined your friendship.

you deemed the rest of your day a miserable one and stayed in your room all day, wallowing in your own pity party.

that is, until kaminari knocked obnoxiously hard on your door and, once he realized it was unlocked, barged in unceremoniously, “y/n!” he panted, “what the hell happened?”

you frowned, sitting on the edge of your bed, “hello to you, too, kaminari.”

he rolled his eyes, strolling over to plop down next to you, “seriously. what went wrong?”

you pulled your knees up to your chest and rested your chin atop them, sniffling quietly, “dunno. he just kinda ran off. he doesn’t like me, kami. he doesn’t like me, and i just ruined our friendship.”

when he didn’t respond–which was already out of the ordinary for kaminari, considering he never stopped talking–you looked over to him, only to meet his dumbfounded expression.

“wow, you are, like, the dumbest person i’ve met.”

“um, rude?” you scowled, punching him in the arm.

“ow, ow! okay, maybe oblivious is the right word, i’m sorry.” he rubbed his arm, “what i mean is, the guy is insecure as hell, y/n. he doesn’t seem like it, but he really has, like, zero confidence in himself as both a hero and a regular person. he probably thinks he’s not good enough for you.”

“you can’t say that for sure. why would he not be good enough? he’s the badass hero.”

“yeah, but he doesn’t think that way about himself. he does like you though, y/n. honest. he talks about you all the time.” he chuckles, “it actually gets kinda annoying.”

you looked down, contemplating, “so.. what should i do?”

“go get him, duh! he’s holed up in his room, has been since lunch.”

you rubbed your stinging eyes and nodded determinedly, standing up and shaking off your nerves, “yeah. yeah, you’re right. i’m gonna go talk to him.” you walked to your door, giving kaminari a final glance, “thanks, kami.”

you almost ran to sero’s dorm, but thankfully you composed yourself enough to slow it down to a speed walk.

the moment you got to his door, you knocked. hard.

“sero, open up! it’s y/n.”

it was quiet for just a beat before sero’s nervous voice came floating to your side of the door, “i’m, uh, kinda busy y/n. maybe we can talk later.”

“you’re not pushing me away, sero. not again. now, let me in before i get bakugo to blow your door down.” you leaned your forehead against the door, hoping your urgency was soaking into the wood and flooding into sero’s room, infiltrating his senses.

“don’t!” he yelled quickly, knowing bakugo would gladly do it, “i’m coming, okay? don’t call bakugo.”

you smiled, satisfied as his nervous footsteps came padding towards the door. it swung open, revealing a cloudy-eyed sero.

“sero hanta, i can’t believe you ran away from me! what the hell was that?” you demanded, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“y/n, i–”

“i’m not finished!” you cut him off, “sero, you’re an amazing hero, okay? you’re an amazing crime-fighter, an amazing student, and..” you trailed off, looking up at him with a small smile, “an amazing you. so stop doubting yourself, and stop letting that doubt get in the way of what you want.”

your sudden burst of confidence suddenly drained from your body as sero just stood there, speechless. it made you feel small and like you’d had the completely wrong idea. how humiliating.

“no—not that i’m what you want or anything. i just meant that you really need to have more confidence in yourself and–”

apparently, sero had found the confidence you lost, because he shut up your rambling with his own way of communicating: a kiss.

it was chaste and a bit awkward but beautiful all the same.

when the two of you separated, you grinned up at the blushing boy, throwing your arms around him.

“thank you, y/n. i’m gonna try not to ruin this.”

“everything you touch becomes better, sero. i trust you.”

before either of you could get another word in, a loud whoop came from down the hallway, belonging to one denki kaminari.

“guys, it happened! it happened!”

hope you enjoyed. reblogs are appreciated.

kirishima was made for a bitchy gf......sorry.....the vision is so clear in my minds eye