Rating How Good Of A Boyfriend They Would Be

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ba dingg !

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

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

You want me to find a quiet place to study? The thing that put Haruhi Fujioka in debt?

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 !!

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

i want what bokuaka have

older brother’s best friend suna is so annoying !!!

like you come home to find him lounging in the kitchen with a bag of chips and he shoots you a look, asking “what are you doing here?” and you’re stuck there flabbergasted because the last time you checked, YOU lived here!

or how he has absolutely no regard for your personal space. he’ll plop down next to you on the couch and spend exactly .23 seconds being normal before he’s laying his long ass body down across the length of the couch and shoving his feet all over your face.

somehow the even more infuriating breach of personal space than feet in the face is when he crowds up behind you in the kitchen during another one of your parents family dinners, leaning down — his head almost resting on your shoulder — to reach into the fridge that you’d been scouring. not so much as apologizing as he grabs a bottle of beer and leaves.

or when you’re both hanging out in your brother’s apartment one night in college — YOU’RE house sitting for him as he visits his girlfriend, you don’t know what suna’s excuse is — and you’re on the couch just flipping through tinder. suna pokes his head over your shoulder, encouraging you to swipe left on every guy that you see for various reasons. “too scrubby” “he’s lying about his height” “is that a fish”. until you stumble across his profile — it’s barely even that, just a picture of himself and a short bio + some details. and the two of you sit there silently for a second until you cough and laugh breathily, breaking the ice by telling him what a shitty photo he chose. (you close the app as you tease him, though he doesn’t miss how you don’t swipe.)

or when he gives you tickets to his game against MSBY, explaining them away like “i had some extra ones” “your brother said he couldn’t make it” “i know you’re busy with school, just wanted to get them off my hands”. but has the dumbest grin on his face when he sees you in the stands. and after EJP wins the match, he heads straight over to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders emphatically and preening about how “you came just to see me ?? you like me or something??”

(“that his girl?” washio asks, nodding to where you and suna stand by the edge of the gym. suna’s face is lit up like a christmas tree, and although you’re rolling your eyes at whatever he’s saying, your smile is no less wider.

komori opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again “i-“. closes it. and then he settles for a shrug. “don’t know, honestly.”)

will bug you at 2am over text with offers of gamepigeon and trips to the nearby 24hr ramen place because he knows you’re awake and whether it’s through text or in person, though you win at 8ball every time, he relishes every second of the time he can get with you.

who stands on the balcony of his apartment with you at 11:58pm, a new year’s eve party in full blast on the other side of the sliding glass doors. his suit jacket is tossed over your shoulders and there’s snow in his hair and yours. you clink your champagne glasses at 11:59 and as the clock reaches midnight you lean up on the tiptoes of your heels and kiss his cheek. “happy new year, rin.” who wraps an arm around your shoulder and tugs you to his side, kissing your temple. “happy new year, scrub.”

who avoids your brother’s knowing gaze when they’re out with their friends and someone asks who’s texting him — his phone having most of his attention that night as you give him your live reaction to the show you’re watching. he replies “no one, it’s nothing” and your brother’s eyes narrow a bit — teasingly, appraisingly, knowingly— and the weight of it hangs between them for the rest of the night, though neither of them breach the subject again.

brother’s best friend suna who goes abroad for the olympics. who visits you before he goes — your apartment a quick stop on the way to the airport. you make him a cup of coffee and talk about everything and nothing, and he can’t tear his eyes off of you. you ask him if you can drive him to the airport but he shrugs and sets his cup down, claiming he doesn’t want to be a bother.

whose hugs are usually so obnoxious — big, bone crushing things where he practically lifts you off your feet, his arms enveloping your entire body — but today he hugs you softly at your front door, his head resting on top of yours for a few moments before he pulls back and smiles down at you, his usual snark returning with a goodbye of “don’t burn the place down while i’m gone”.

who knew that you had long since exited the realm of just being his best friend’s little sister but doesn’t realize what exactly you are to him — what he wants to be to you — until he’s home again and the adrenaline has worn off. your brother drags him into the house for a welcome-back dinner and although he’s over the moon to see your father and mother again, as they are him, his eyes dart around, looking for you.

and when he hears your voice (calling out “who’s at the door?”) and sees you at the top of the staircase, his heart feels like it stops. it only jumpstarts when you’re in his arms suddenly, barreling down the stairs and throwing your own around his neck as you laugh.

and he knows.

CONGRATS ON 100!!! :DDD

AHHH TY LOVLEY !! :))

no i totally agree. i feel like, especially if he still has some feelings for you, your title in his mind changes but not in his heart. he definitely texts or tells you good morning everyday, offers to make you some tea or coffee when he sees you come down to the kitchen area. he doesn’t understand the hurt and tired glances you give him as a response but he knows it hurts him.

he goes to midoryia and ochako about it and they kinda just stare, almost astonished and try to explain to him that you guys don’t have a relationship anymore. at all.

i feel like. shouto doesn't understand why you can't still do things together once you've broken up. like he's texting you, calling you, inviting you to eat lunch with him and you're not answering ?? and then he's talking to deku about it, probably wondering if he should be concerned because you always send him like three texts in a row, and midoriya is like shouto...shouto....you're not together anymore...but he's just like 🤔 so ? 🤔 we're still friends, right ? 🤔 friends do stuff together 🥺

I FOUND ONE OMFG

more than me

pairing: spider-man!midoriya izuku x reaader

synopsis: izuku is a terrible friend. he’s been lying to his best friend, y/n for over two years now. they’ve been friends since they started high school, but izuku can’t bring himself to burden y/n with a secret that could be dangerous for them. and he also hasn’t fully realized his feelings for them, so he’s just full of struggles at this point.

content: superhero stuff, makeout sesh at the end, clueless izuku

word count: 4.1k

3/5 of my 500 follower celebration

“Oh shi—”

“Language, Midoriya!” Izuku contained a scream when he realized this was a livestream and not a pre-recorded video of his mentor talking to him. 

“Sorry!” he squeaked. He adjusted his seat on the rooftop, his legs dangling over the edge. He’d gotten a message from an unknown number to leave his apartment for a while to answer a call, so he’d swung up to one of his favorite rooftops (while wearing his suit to avoid extra attention as some random kid using web shooters to travel from rooftop to rooftop). He was glad he’d kept his suit’s mask on, if only to conceal the way his jaw dropped when he realized it was the one and only All Might who’d called him.

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𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑

hanamaki x reader.

a/n: prepare to be in anguish… or not.

if time travel was a thing, takahiro would go to the precise moment in his time line to prevent himself from ever meeting you. damn the day your entered his orbit.

at first glance you seemed like some sort of angelic deity that descended from the heavens. too good to be true. if only he knew what he knows now, would he have ignored your alluring presence. he would have spared himself the heartbreak and misery.

the signs were there but he was too blinded by love to see it. he would have picked up on it sooner, but he put so much trust in you. he thought he knew you. that you would have never been capable of such a betrayal, and with him out of all people. guess what they say is true. that no one really knows a person. they just failed to understand them. takahiro thought he understood you.

he would have done anything for you. you knew that. there were many times when he gave you everything he had. it wasn’t much, but the thought behind it is what matter the most. he believed that his love for you would always be enough. you weren’t a materialistic person. no, far from that. that’s one of the reasons why he loved you. takahiro wasn’t sure why some where down the line you chose him.

was it because he had a stable job and looked like someone who had their shit together? sure, hiro at times struggled to make ends meet, but you never once complained. his status of unemployment was always on and off and that never became a topic when fights would occur. so what was the catalyst for you leaving him and being with another?

you never gave him some sort of closure. that day you left happened out of no where. he had just gotten off his first day of a new job that he acquired. he came home to an empty apartment aside from a few belongings that were his, most of them were yours. you had only left a note on the kitchen island giving the bullshit excuse of “it’s not you, it’s me.” you never gave a clear reason why you left but looking at you — at him now. he sees it all.

he’s not sure how, or when it started, but you would go see him without hiro being there, despite him knowing them better. the times when you did hang out together, he would notice your touch lingering on him for a second longer. he would text you often, and when takahiro questioned you. you would tell him he was being paranoid. manipulating ways into making him forget the whole ordeal.

although, takahiro cannot pin the blame all on you. you weren’t the only one who broke his heart and trust that day. the day he figured out he was apart of the misery he was living in. he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that his own best friend would do this. a man who he consider as his brother, as if they shared the same blood. they had only met in high school, but he felt as if he had met his other half. a different kind of bond that no one would truly understand.

he would been fine if it was just his heart that you shattered. time heals everything, but you had to be selfish. you had to take not only his heart, but also his brotherhood. meeting matsukawa issei was one of the best things to ever happen to him. issei is the one person takahiro never regretted meeting, then you came along.

a midst the heartbreak, he feels some sort of comfort in you stepping into his life. you helped issei show his true colors.

Hi<33

can i please have a comfy moodboard with bakugou?

thank you<33

— choose a moodboard + a character! <3