gummifrogs

[gummifrogs]

﹒♡ CONFESSION ft. katsuki bakugo

cw: lots of fluff, flustered bakugo. he’s such a cutie

The ramen shop was packed, the air filled with laughter, chatter, and the rich aroma of broth and grilled meat. The entire Class 1-A had squeezed into the cozy little restaurant to celebrate Todoroki’s recent jump in the hero rankings.

Bowls clinked, chopsticks clashed, and the energy was electric as the group indulged in warm food and lively conversation.

And at the center of it all—Katsuki Bakugo sat stiffly, arms crossed, scowling into his half-finished bowl of ramen like it had personally offended him.

Not because he wasn’t happy for Todoroki.

Not because the food was bad.

But because of you.

You, sitting just a few seats down, laughing at something uraraka had said, your eyes crinkling, shoulders shaking.

And it was driving him insane.

For weeks—no, months—Bakugo had been dealing with this… feeling. This stupid, irritating, suffocating feeling every time you were near him. It was different from the rivalry-fueled adrenaline he felt in battle, different from the pride he carried when he improved as a hero.

It was something he didn’t understand, something he couldn’t control.

And he hated that.

But tonight… tonight was the night he was going to do something about it.

Or at least, that’s what Kirishima and Sero had forced into his thick skull before they even walked into the restaurant.

“Dude, you’ve been acting weird around them for weeks.”

“Just tell them! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh, I don’t know, idiots, maybe they laugh in my face and never talk to me again?!”

“Oh please, she would never—”

“Shut up. I’ll do it when I damn well feel like it.”

But now that he was here, surrounded by people, nerves bubbling in his gut like an active volcano, feeling like it was a lot harder than he expected.

“Bakugo,” Kirishima’s voice cut through his thoughts, low enough that only he could hear. “You good, bro?”

“I’m fine,” Bakugo growled, barely glancing up as he stabbed at his noodles with his chopsticks.

Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? ‘Cause you haven’t insulted Kaminari in like ten minutes. I’m starting to get worried.”

Sero snickered. “Pretty sure that’s a new record.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Kirishima and Sero exchanged glances before the redhead leaned in again. “Are you actually gonna do it?”

Bakugo exhaled sharply, gripping his chopsticks so tight they nearly snapped.

“After this.” His voice was firm. Final.

Kirishima grinned, nudging Sero. “Told ya he’d do it.”

“Hey, I had faith,” Sero said, shrugging. “Just not a lot of faith.”

Bakugo shot them both a murderous glare, but before he could verbally rip them apart, Iida clapped his hands together, signaling for attention.

“If I may have everyone’s focus for a moment!” Iida said, standing up. “I’d like to propose a final toast to Todoroki!”

Todoroki, who had been quietly enjoying his meal, blinked as everyone raised their glasses. “Oh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Thank you.”

“To Todoroki climbing the ranks!” Iida declared.

“To Todoroki!” the class cheered, clinking their glasses together.

You turned, smiling at the dual-haired hero. “You really deserve it, Todoroki. We all knew you’d make it far.”

Todoroki’s lips curled into a small smile. “I appreciate that, Y/N.”

Bakugo scowled.

It wasn’t Todoroki’s fault, but hearing you say his name like that, so softly, so encouragingly—yeah, it bothered him.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

As the night wound down, people started finishing up their food, settling their bills, and stretching lazily before making their way out.

“Damn, that was good,” Kaminari sighed, rubbing his stomach. “I think I ate too much.”

Mina laughed. “You definitely ate too much.”

One by one, people began saying their goodbyes, heading off in different directions toward the dorms or home.

And that’s when Bakugo knew—this was his moment.

You were slipping on your jacket, adjusting your scarf when he finally forced himself to move.

Kirishima shot him a thumbs-up from across the room, and Sero winked.

Bakugo rolled his eyes before stomping over to you, heart hammering wildly in his chest.

“Oi.”

You looked up at him, blinking. “Oh, hey, Bakugo! What’s up?”

He inhaled sharply through his nose. Okay. Just say it. Say it, dumbass.

But the words wouldn’t come out.

Instead, he found himself standing there like an idiot, fists clenched at his sides, staring at you.

You tilted your head, confused. “Uh… you okay?”

His jaw tensed. This was already going horribly.

And then—because frustration was the only thing that ever helped him push past his nerves—he blurted out:

“Are you really so oblivious?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair before pointing at you aggressively. “You! You’re oblivious! Have you seriously not noticed?!”

Your confusion deepened. “Noticed what?”

He exhaled sharply, cheeks burning. His whole body felt like it was about to explode.

He had two options: Keep making a fool of himself or just say it and get it over with.

He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled, and then—

“I like you, dumbass!”

Silence.

Bakugo cracked one eye open, stomach twisting into knots.

You were staring at him.

Not laughing. Not recoiling. Just… staring.

Then—

“You… like me?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s what I just said, idiot.”

A slow smile crept onto your lips. “You like me?”

His face turned an even darker shade of red. “Yes! Stop making me say it, damn it!”

You let out a laugh—light, airy, and filled with something he couldn’t quite place. “Wow,” you said, grinning. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy.” His voice was gruff, but his hands were twitching at his sides, resisting the urge to do something—anything—with them.

You stepped closer, peering up at him. “You know… I like you too.”

Bakugo’s brain short-circuited.

“…What?”

You laughed again, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I like you, Bakugo. Have for a while now.”

His heart stopped.

Then jump-started at triple speed.

“What?”

You shrugged, smirking. “What? Are you oblivious?”

His eye twitched. “You—you little—”

You poked his cheek and laughed. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed kat’ I’m just messin with ya.”

He exploded.

Not literally. But his entire soul combusted.

“Shut the hell up!” he barked, face practically glowing red.

But you just laughed again, softer this time. Fond. “So… now what?”

He swallowed, heart still racing. “Now… now you let me walk you home, dumbass.”

You beamed. “That sounds nice.”

And as you started walking together, Bakugo felt something strange settle in his chest.

Warm. Light.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

SAKURASZN © 2025 !

[gummifrogs]

HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN AND ARIANA GREENBLATT Behind the scenes of 'Ahsoka - Part Five: Shadow Warrior' (2023) Path of the Apprentice featurette

[gummifrogs]

pro!hero dynamight is known for his explosive nature, fans second guessing if they should really approach the hothead. is it really surprising when you aren’t scared of him?

𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 ᥫ᭡ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩 ᥫ᭡ 𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧

“bakugou it’s 12 in the morning, why are you calling me this late?” kirishima rubbed his half closed eyes as he held his phone up to his ear, the other side of the line was awfully quiet, just the sound of katsuki’s uneven breathing that kirishima could barely hear. 

“i think….i miss her.” 

“it’s a bit too late to say that now, you already fucked up dude” 

katsuki sighed as he fiddled with the necklace you left in his car before the announcement, before the interview. 

before he fucked up. 

kirishima sat up as he waited for katsuki to speak, he valued his best friend, although he was harsh and a tough lover, katsuki was like an easter egg. the hardness of the chocolate coat reflected his rough nature, the gooey texture inside reflecting his sensitivity that he guards. in this case, the gooey texture could also reflect your state, you were devastated. katsuki couldn’t imagine the pain you went through over the past week, he couldn’t imagine how much you hated him. he regretted his actions, but he couldn’t turn back time, could he? in fright you were getting too close, and the media’s suspicion, katsuki killed two birds with one stone and pushed you away, but not just you. kenji too. 

“i don’t think she’d ever take me back”

“bakugou” kirishima’s voice seethed with seriousness 

“what?” 

“you two never dated.” 

“oh….right” 

“you still hurt her, and you need to fix that before you decide to make any more moves, you’re lucky she’s open minded. she’s the balance you need” 

katsuki sighed as he walked towards the same window he looked out of during his last call with you 

“i need to re-earn her trust first” 

truth be told, you had nobody. 

you figured that’s exactly why you got attached to katsuki within days. all you had was kenji, and when the man whom you’d looked up to half of your life, finally paid attention to you, you were smitten. 

“i guess…it’s his first time living too” 

izuku sat infront of you, removing his blazer as he placed his students assignments on the far end of his dining table. 

izuku sighed, “your pitiful thinking will get you nowhere but at the bottom of the barrel….

alone”. 

you barely connected with izuku, just once in awhile whenever one of you hit rock bottom. you two gave each other solid honest and quick advice, feeding the other what they lacked. 

“but-“ just before you could answer, the sudden buzz of your phone interrupted your conversation with izuku. 

his head perked up as he watched you pick your phone up and bite on the flesh of your lower lip. 

taking the phone in his hands, the contact card glared back at him, “kacchan…” 

@rinkomei @qyuin @kalulakunundrum @amayaaaxx @lotusstarr @mona345 @aryuunachigiri @emmaafinchh @haruesme  @nottherealslimshady @taxavoider @gomu-gomu-gojo @your-mum3000 @slutlight2ndver @citruki @d4rlinxs @bangersplusmash @adherethecomingofage @ipoopedmypants47 @kenmacantakemeaway @ilovemushroomss @african-american-tacos @waterfal-ling @elmosfandomworld @beabamboo @peachesvault  @skibidirizzzlerrr @lullibeee @emmaiscool22 @f0rgetm3not @kodzubaby @neptuneevee @clearkidhideout 

[gummifrogs]

hello ! i was wondering if you could possibly write a fic with scott barringer x goth reader please 💜

Hihii! One short tiny little fic coming right out 🧸. If you want to see a specific scenario you can let me know! 🖤

At first he was amused, talking about how another freak joined the Cliffhangers. “Great, as if we didn't have enough of Morticia over there”, he pointed at Daisy, someone you clicked with almost immediately. You're a goth, the type that would search in your mother's closet for pieces you could take and make your own. If you can DIY it, why buy it? Dark makeup, clothes with layers, piercings, and your spikey buns that were basically a 2000s staple: one that unfortunately had to be toned down after entering camp. Not that it mattered, none of these things changed who you were, your taste in music or your sharp tongue, and you still found creative ways to stay true to your style which is pretty cool.

On top of that, it seemed like you were constantly in a battle with Scott Barringer, whose aesthetic was totally different from yours. A typical, popular jock with mommy issues, at least that's what you saw him as. But even if his blue flannel with a white undershirt combo didn't stand out on their own, Scott managed to pull off the basic attire and still look... really good. If only his personality was as pretty as his face.

Meanwhile, he was frustrated with himself. After he realized how his gaze always seemed to find you, Scott understood that maybe his taste in women was not as one dimensional as he thought. Cheerleaders, pretty and preppy little blondes at school, that's usually what he went after. But one good look at you after you finished chewing him out, putting him in his place for something he said, and suddenly he was in love- well, maybe not in love, in love. But his infatuation with you was at an all-time peak.

It almost rewired his brain in a different way, usually he would think of girls when he saw something cliché like a pink teddy bear, but now it wasn't like that. Dried up flowers? A literal bat flying at night? Even the damn rain reminded him of you! Ever since he saw you enjoying a rainy day outside once, Scott couldn't help but associate it with you. Suddenly, storms didn't automatically make him think of those horrible memories back home.

Aesthetics aside, you were actually pretty down to earth and quite normal, except for a few interests here and there but that's the beauty of it. Humans don't have to be identical to connect with others, which is why the quarterback found himself wanting to connect with you, in more ways than one...

The Cliffhangers were sitting around a bonfire, eating roasted marshmallows, a treat from Peter after such a successful hike this morning. A reward, but he made sure to discretely keep working with the students, after all, that's what Mount Horizon is for, a place to promote personal growth and healing.

“What do you guys want to do after graduating? Any careers of interest?”

That was the question he made, casual enough to make it seem like it's just a regular conversation. In reality, he was trying to get all of you thinking. And it worked.

Some knew what they wanted, others not so much, which is perfectly fine.

“Funeral director,” was your answer. Some of the Cliffhangers frowned, others giggled. It sounds oddly fitting, so it's not like they're surprised.

“Now, now,” Peter made them quiet down, looking at you, giving you space to continue. “Why?”

Scott leaned over a bit, trying to hear your answer, too. No mocking comments on his part, surprisingly.

“It's one of the worst days for the family of the deceased, it's also a delicate time... Just because somebody dies it doesn't mean that suddenly they stop mattering. They deserve to be treated with the utmost respect, and I'd like to make sure that's exactly what they get.”

The Cliffhangers stayed silent, contemplating your words. Peter nods, a proud smile adorning his face.

“That sounds quite selfless of you.”

You looked at him with a deadpan expression.

“Chances are I won't go out of business, either. People die everyday.” This time everybody chuckles, even Scott who was trying to decide if he was in awe or disturbed.

Later that night you're sitting by the lake, throwing small pebbles to try and make them skip over the water. You hear movement behind you, only to see Scott approaching with both hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” he greets, hesitating a bit while looking at the empty spot beside you. “Can I...?”

“Yeah, go ahead. Just don't piss me off or you're going for a swim, find out how deep is the lake.”

It's a comment that would normally make his temper flare up, but this time he just sat down, a small smirk on his face. Of course you'd say something like that, it's so... you.

“I believe it, and trust me I don't wanna find out.” He cleared up his throat. “So, uh... Funeral director, huh? That's... well I'm not gonna lie, it's a lil creepy but it's not the weirdest thing I've heard you say.”

You shrugged. “Eh, honestly I was kinda messing with you guys. I mean I've thought about it, but I don't know if it's what I want to do with my life. Nah, I think I want to be an orthopedic surgeon.”

“Wait for real, why?” his brows rose, intrigued. “That's kinda badass.”

“Pay is good and I can see people's insides, I mean how cool is that? You can open them up, fix a bone- or cut it off, a whole limb actually, that's fascinating.”

He scoffed, a playful frown on his face. “Yeah, no, I digress, you're weird as fuck.”

“Thanks,” you grin, throwing another pebble that sunk.

“Well that sucked,“ he taunts. Before you can challenge him, he's already throwing a small stone. You watch how it skipped four times on the water, and it made you huff. Of course, Scott looks quite proud of himself. “Now that's how it's done.”

“Show off.”

Scott looked at you, about to say something cheeky when he suddenly goes quiet. Something about the way moonlight reflected on you...You really are pretty.

“I can teach ya'... If you want.” He mumbles, staring at the water. Thank God it's late, that way you can't see the blush on his face. “It's pretty simple, you just need to know what stone to grab.”

You made a sound of acknowledgment but didn't say anything else. No, you're too busy trying to figure out the motive of his presence.

“Is there a reason you're here?” You asked, straight to the point. It's not like the two of you are close friends or anything, on the contrary, you're always bickering. But something about interacting this late, it feels vulnerable and nice. You're not even supposed to be outside, but you're both breaking the curfew and sharing a rare moment of serenity together.

“I wanted some air-”

“No, not outside. Here. Next to me... Did you want to tell me something?”

Scott hesitated at your question, scratching the back of his neck, like you caught him. “Actually yeah, I did.” He admits with a sigh. “ I guess... I dunno, I wanted to apologize and stuff, I've been a dick, you don't deserve that.” He cleared out his throat, looking away again.

You stay put, quietly admiring him and thinking about his words. You can't say you expected this change of heart, but it's not unwelcomed.

“You have.”

Scott groaned a bit, blushing again. He's rather happy that he chose nighttime to speak with you. “You don't have to agree with me so quickly, you know? Damn, a guy is trying.” He jested. “Heartless.”

“Hm.” You smiled ever so slightly, looking away. You're not quick to forgive people, but the reality was that both of you have said some nasty stuff, you know you bite back. “I suppose you and I have a few things to work on, and I judged you just as hard... I'm still trying to figure you out.”

“So uh... Does this mean that we can start over?” He asked, hopeful. “No bullshit this time.”

You waited for a moment, feeling like this small decision would be a key point in your... whatever this was.

“Yeah, okay... We can try,” you whispered, almost sheepishly.

Scott perks up but tries to look cool. “Okay,” he repeats softly, feeling himself smiling a bit while stretching his hand towards you. “I'm Scott Barringer, and I kinda dig your style.”

[gummifrogs]

BMF- H. Sero

Part One // Part Two

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

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

see playlist here

God, he wishes things went differently.

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

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

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

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

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

He meant what he said last night. Every word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That stings more than he’s willing to admit.

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

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

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

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

Enough to figure out when you work.

Enough to know that you know he keeps coming in.

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

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

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

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

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

Turns out, your gut was right.

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

Seriously, Mina?

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

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

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

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

And your only ride here?

Mina.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You won’t see him.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

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

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

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

He just watches.

And fuck, you feel it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you refuse to give him what he wants.

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

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

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

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

But of course, it doesn’t last.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

He’s just trying to play you.

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s not here.”

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

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

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

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

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

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

And there it is. The location tag.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips.

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

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

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

Now comes the tricky part.

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

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

“…Sero?”

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

His stomach tightens. Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the worst part?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sero.

And he’s not alone.

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

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

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

Fine. Two can play that game.

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

Bakugo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all in good, drunken fun

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

Except you do care.

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

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

But you see it.

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

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

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

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

You don’t answer.

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

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

And for some reason, that makes your stomach twist.

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

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

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

What is he trying to do?

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

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

And for a moment, it feels… empowering

But that’s when he moves.

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell, Sero?”

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

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

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

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

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

Because he’s right. And that scares you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s not. Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for a long moment, neither does he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate the way it makes your stomach flip.

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

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

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

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

Your heart pounds. Because neither do you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You watch him carefully, waiting. And then—

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

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

Your breath catches.

Acting like I don’t what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because I what?

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

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

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

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

Because it’s not enough. Not for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just need time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey, it’s Sero. Can we talk?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a start.

When and where?

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

Now? The park near campus?

I’ll be there in 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At first, nothing really changes.

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

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

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

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

Before you know it, it’s a thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But still, neither of you bring it up.

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

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

So you let it be.

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

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

Then one night, it almost slips out.

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah.”

Your breath catches.

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

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

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

“You know what.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elena- two new messages

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tags:

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

[gummifrogs]

New Colors 

Synopsis || A grumpy 5 yr old wanting his classmates' attention!

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, short oneshot, bkg pov, kid bkg & reader, jealous bkg, deku mentioned, both in preschool, open ending, he’s just a lil guy, 488 word count

He couldn't believe what he was hearing! 

An extra actually managed to take her attention away from him?! Ridiculous!

And out of all people... of course it had to be the nerd.

The blonde frowns from across the classroom – practically burning holes through poor izuku's skull – his displeasure evident in the way he furiously fills his page with crayon.

For a five year old, the teachers noted that the boy had quite a temper, so they didn't think much of it when he stomped out of his seat a few minutes later.

Assuming he's simply having one of his infamous tantrums.

Instead, he marches towards her direction – right after izuku retreated to his seat – feeling like a small fireball, destined to explode but holding back his fury for her sake.

The exchange between y/n and izuku bothered him more than he liked to admit.

Her innocent gaze meets his and before she could get a word out, his hand reaches down to grab her coloring book, the other pulling her hand to follow.

Hmph, as if he'll let Izuku snag her away.

She's beyond speechless. Stumbling a bit but soon pauses as he drops her hand, watching as he places her book at the table next to his.

"Sit."

He doesn't wait for a response as he plops down in his own chair, going back to filling his All Might coloring sheet like nothing.

Though his pink cheeks are clearly noticeable to anyone who'd look his way.

"o-oh but my crayons-"

He nudges his own box of crayolas towards her, not making eye contact as he focuses on coloring inside the lines.

The boy can hear her sit down beside him, a small sound of awe escaping her lips as she takes a crayon for herself.

"thank you kacchan! you always got the best colors!"

A cheerful smile immediately forms on her face, her mood brightening up instantly – legs happily kicking back and forth under the table – another testimony to her increasing joy.

"hmph of course i do! the best for the best!"

The feeling of triumph fills his veins but the cocky smirk wavers from his face as he looks at you. A fluttering feeling in his chest as she giggles to his words.

He averts his gaze as his blush deepens.

"...you can borrow them too but only if you sit next to me from now on."

"ah- really?! okay i promise!"

"just don't give them to anyone else...... especially him."

He mumbles the last part to himself, waving off her oblivious expression as she asks him what he said.

Bakugo Katsuki does not share – whether it's his lunch, school supplies or toys – steal one of his valuables and it's absolute mayhem.

But to the stunned teachers who saw it all, and the shocked kids when he actually offered stuff to someone, it seemed he added another treasure to his list... you.

Poor innocent you.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| idk where this idea came from but here u goooo! it's rlly short bc ngl i got superrrr lazy today so enjoy this little drabble! bring back innocent fluff i say... lowkey wanna make a story of them as babies bc thats so funny to me for some reason lololol. OMG ALSO DOES ANYONE REMEMBER THE 64 PACK OF CRAYONS THAT HAD A SHARPENER INCLUDED IN THE BOX?! BRING THAT BACK!!! tags ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[gummifrogs]

you’re going to cry. you swear, you’re going to lose your mind right here in the middle of class because this stupid problem refuses to make sense no matter how hard you try.

your pencil is shaking in your grip, and you can feel your breathing getting uneven. you’re on the verge of either breaking down or blacking out, maybe both.

so, against your better judgment, you turn to katsuki bakugo.

“bakugo,” you whisper, tapping his arm. he scowls, glancing at you with that usual irritation in his eyes, but when he sees the desperation on your face, he sighs. “what?”

“help. please.”

he rolls his eyes but takes your paper anyway, muttering something about how he’s “not a damn tutor.” you watch as his sharp eyes scan over your work, and then his gaze pauses, his expression freezing for just a split second.

you don’t notice, too busy fidgeting with your pencil and trying not to let your stress consume you.

but katsuki sees it. the faintest pencil indent next to your name at the top of the page, the remnants of an erased word. his last name.

his crimson eyes flicker to you for a moment. you’re oblivious, chewing on your lip as you wait for his help, completely unaware that he’s just discovered your little daydream scribbles.

his face doesn’t change. not one bit.

calmly, like nothing happened, he picks up his own pencil and rewrites his last name next to yours. then, beneath it, he adds an arrow pointing to the words with a single note.

“soon.”

he hands the paper back to you like nothing happened.

“you were messing up here,” he says, pointing at the mistake, explaining the problem in his usual blunt but effective way. you nod, relieved to finally understand.

it’s only when he turns back to his own work that you notice the little addition to your paper.

your heart stops.

your brain short-circuits.

you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the squeak that escapes, your face burning so hot you’re surprised you haven’t spontaneously combusted.

you steal a glance at katsuki, but he’s acting normal, like he didn’t just casually flip your world upside down.

but you don’t miss the tiny, satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

[gummifrogs]

018. CARNATIONS

Touya used to avoid mirrors. 

Naturally, his gaze would avert if he ever noticed one nearby. It was a habit. A quick, subconscious movement he’d make that felt as natural as breathing. 

He used to wince at his appearance every time he had the unfortunate coincidence of catching sight of it. Whether it was in murky puddles on the side of the street, or within the glass bottles back in the League’s bar late at night—the subtle frown tugging his lips downwards whenever he saw his face would always appear. He found himself to be revolting, disgustingly so.

Found; past tense. He’s still not quite sure what to think of himself now.

Right now, he stares at his reflection quietly in thought. His scars have faded, sure. But they wouldn’t ever leave. He supposes the pain inflicted from them is the same. While it may subside, it can’t just disappear. And he certainly won’t forget it. It would always be lingering, a reminder pressed into his skin and hot as molten metal.

Touya’s hands move to gently trace his scars. They’re not so bad, he supposes. They had been far worse at so many other points in his life. The scarred skin is easy to recognize just by a touch, and while he should be thankful he can feel anything at all—he almost wishes he couldn’t. The scars become so much more prominent when he touches them, because there's no way he can ignore the textured flesh then. His skin is sensitive, tender in a way it shouldn’t be. But after months of surgery after surgery, the final product is better than he could've ever dreamt of after the war.

It’s surreal. All of it was.

His milky skin being revived made him look younger, and a lot more like his mother. Doctors are miracle workers, truly. Touya’s not sure who the person staring back at him in the bathroom mirror was, but he wanted to learn more about him. You’d mentioned something about self love (or maybe it was self respect, Touya can’t remember which). He knows he’s not a mistake, you helped him see that—but he still struggled. Internally, there were some wounds too deep to be healed—damage irreversible in a way that scarred ugly.

Baby steps. He’d taken the big ones with you in terms of healing, but he needed to make some changes on his own, too. Not just for himself, but for his family, and you.

So, he’ll start with familiarizing himself with his face. Treating his body with more care and gentleness, just like you did. Touya pushes the pale strands hanging on his forehead backwards, giving him the most optimal view of his face. 

He swallows the lump building in his throat, and the pressure behind his eyes was beginning to build up until he heard Akari’s knock on the door. Blinking away the haziness, Touya stands—giving himself a once over. He was wearing all black—just a simple sweatshirt and pants, and the clothing was casual and comfortable enough for him to relax in. He grabs the duffel bag laying on his bed, heart hammering as he grips the handle tightly.

He had your letters tucked into the bottom of his bag, but he’ll get rid of them later. He doesn’t want you reading them—even though they were all addressed to you, they were all written when he was at his lowest. If anything, they were nothing but physical proof of how much he’d grown.

So no, you wouldn’t get to read the letters. But Touya intended to make up for his time apart from you—and he’ll reiterate every word with his own approach in person. Akari had done Touya the liberty of mailing his cactus to the Todoroki household, so there were no partings due there.

He stands in front of his doorway, turning to look at his room one last time. The blinds are pulled back and welcome in the rising sun—it felt like the furniture and walls were glowing, thanks to the sun rays. And all though furniture and walls were stationary and unfeeling—he imagined it was their way of saying goodbye to him.

Touya had made a lot of memories in this room with you. The only thing that encouraged him to finally leave was the prospect of making more of them with you.

Akari smiles warmly at Touya when he opens the door, greeting and ushering him towards the elevator. He gives his room one last glance over his shoulder, a soft sigh slipping past his lips before he clicks the door behind him close for the last time.

“I hope you understand that only family is allowed to come pick you up, dear.” She comments, pressing the down button as Touya hums in reply. He wanted to meet his family first, anyway. He still needs to calm himself down a bit more before he sees you—and he can do that on the two hour drive back home. If Touya sees you now, he’s genuinely afraid his heart will go into cardiac arrest or something.

“Thank you, Akari.” Touya finally says, giving the older woman a small nod of acknowledgement as the elevator begins to move.

“You and one other person showed me kindness, and I’m grateful. Really. I didn’t deserve shi-anything, I mean. You helped my mother too, so thank you.”

Akari offers Touya a wrinkly smile in response, and his gaze softens fondly at the sight.

There’s a soft ding! sounding through the elevator. The doors open slowly, and it’s like all the air is punched out of his lungs when Touya finally sees his family standing in the waiting area. It was near comical the way everyone's eyes widened at the same time when Touya came into view—all before they came racing his way.

Shoto was surprisingly the first to reach Touya, quickly wrapping his arms around him before he felt Natsuo’s arms doing the same. Then Fuyumi’s, then his mothers—the tears well in Touya’s eyes embarrassingly quick, but he’s not ashamed in the slightest bit.

Relief. It’s all he can feel—every fiber of his being is alight with pure content at the way he’s pulled into their warm embrace. 

When Touya was sixteen, he had a dream remarkably similar to the reunion playing out in front of him. A certain half red, half white head wasn’t in the picture back then. But right now, Touya can’t stop his head from dipping forward, and he allows it to fall onto Shoto’s shoulder with a shuddering breath before he finally smiles.

Sitting on Touya’s old bed, your fingers card through the bouquet of Carnations laying in front of you diligently. There’s about two dozen of them, and they were all hand picked by yours truly.

The Todoroki household was empty, you were the only one home. They’d gotten the highly anticipated call this morning. Touya had passed his physical and mental evaluation test, giving him the green light to finally come home after eighteen months in rehabilitation.

You pad across the house, pacing in circles and trying to keep yourself occupied. The weather outside was finally warming up. Spring was the perfect time for Touya to come home, you decide. The world outside is blossoming and anew—just like the life Touya was about to begin.

Only family members were allowed in the hospital to pick Touya up. It’s the only reason you’re waiting here at the Todoroki household alone for him. Natsuo had tried to bring you along, but the rules were quite strict. You keep the bouquet flush against your chest, breathing in the fresh flora’s scent—but, it does nothing to tame your excitement.

Touya would be walking through the front door any moment now. You tap your pointer finger against the stems of his flowers, gaze flitting towards the open window you lean against as you keep a close eye out for any approaching vehicles. Impatient as ever, you open the front door and decide to sit yourself outside. The wind muses your hair, and the windchimes hanging outside the entrance sing a magical tune, almost like they can sense your hope hanging in the air.

You see it—Natsuo’s car is about a dozen meters away. Your breath hitches and you rise on shaky legs immediately, clutching Touya’s bouquet for support. The car is still in motion as it prepares to slow to a stop, but Touya swings his door open regardless and jumps out. He grins sharply, teeth and all—and he looks just as beautiful as the day you’d left him.

Touya’s strides are long and confident—proud as his feet hit the pavement. You leave the bouquet on the stairs, stumbling forward to meet his embrace as his body collides with yours. You’re swept off your feet in an instant, and he spins you around so fast that you can’t see anything besides the blur of ivory tufts in front of you and his heart stopping smile.

He repeats your name over and over again—pressing a chaste kiss onto the crown of your head. The tears welling in your eyes don’t sting, they feel more sweet than salty as they dampen your cheeks. Touya’s palm easily maneuvers to the nape of your neck, and his thumb runs over the crystal trail your crying leaves as he tilts your head upwards and towards him.

“You kept your promise.” 

The words are barely louder than a whisper as they fall from his lips, but Touya doesn’t think anyone will ever understand how grateful he is that you gave a broken man like him a chance to feel like this. He breathes you in—your familiar scent filling his senses, and he’s about a second away from bursting into tears because you smell like home.

“Touya,” You choke out, irises shaking as you press a tender kiss onto his lips, one which he reciprocates immediately with the desperation of a man starved of the one thing that gives him life. He pulls away after another moment, his hands quickly moving to your face. Your laughter sounds through the air as he cradles your cheeks in his strong palms, and he presses kisses filled with nothing but his utmost love and devotion onto your skin. No spot on your face was left untouched by his lips—you’re a squirming, giggling mess underneath him—and Touya can already picture waking up every morning for the rest of his life to the sight of your smile.

When Touya was a kid, he thought marriage was gross, and that having kids was a total waste of time, seeing how his childhood turned out. But when you hand him his bouquet of Carnations, when you take his hand and lead him inside the house, when you call out his name with the gentleness akin to an angel—he wants it all. 

He wants to marry you, make you completely his and be completely yours. He wants you to carry his children—no doubt they’ll have your charm and diamond smile—he just wants to be with you forever. To grow old with you and live the rest of his life away from the rest of the world. Away from the cruelty, the violence—it was all he wanted. To finally let his heart rest with you, he can trust you won’t break it like life often seemed to. 

The world tore him open rib by rib, and in the state where his heart was most vulnerable and exposed—you were the one to steal it away.

Touya wouldn’t have it any other way.

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

carnations notice :)

tags!

@kawaiidemoneart @porusuniverse @starrmage @lilbeatlebear @bokukenmakuroo

@summercreolefanfictioner @dija200 @phtmmsqrde @sunaraii

@c-lunette @gh0stgirl333 @skullkittens @gurl-pls-evn-the-sharks-fear-me

@hawkwithsocks @suresnips @sugurusmoon @matchablossomsss @moonlitmorganite

@redr0sewrites @muimuiwisteria @sukunaspillow @starsryi

@eidolonwriter @dabislittlemouse @rueclfer @kelin-is-writing

@shugs1801 @imaginationmess

@lasa27 @sophiathefrog @etaerealboy @kooromin @sourbbyxo

@hvnares @ephmeraloblivion @lost-seraphiim @quokka-ina @jesuschrist2006

@stoned-anime-babe @qatiee @shadowsingers-redhood @alycat171

@21-princess

@xileonaaaa @rylerboi @blurryperrtymoonlight @mrcleans4headwrinkle @accidentpronedork

@exquisitenesss @miniatureempathknightpony @afterlife11

[gummifrogs]

full-course meal

Pairing: [trans, ftm] Anakin Skywalker x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: Anakin finally comes out to you as trans, and he's never had an orgasm before... Tags: oral / use of pussy/cunt / modern au / anakin's prosthetic arm / pussy eating / kissing his top surgery scars / whimpering / squirting / dysphoria / ftm character by an ftm author

Requested by @mistress-skywalker and @hayden-christensen-verse

MASTER LIST

          Anakin had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes on the TV, but it was clear his mind was somewhere else. Usually, he’d notice your gaze, ask what was on your mind, or give you a kiss, but he kept his gaze on the screen, eyebrows furrowed, way too tense for someone who was supposed to be relaxing on the bed with you on a slow weekend. His fingers played lightly with the hem of his sleeves, poking out a little, and you knew well the signs of your anxious boyfriend.

“Ani?” You pressed your nose to his temple, inhaling deeply, and his shampoo had such a nice scent, matching his cologne’s. A faint hum came from Anakin. Your arm around his shoulders tightened, and he pressed a little closer to lean his head against your shoulder briefly. “You okay? Are you feeling hot?” The day wasn’t particularly warm, but cuddling was warm, so it often dismissed the use of such a thick hoodie. Still, he didn’t seem to want to let go of it. “Baby…” You kissed his cheek a few times.

“You’re insufferable.” Anakin tried to suppress a grin, biting his lower lip.

You chuckled, rubbing his upper arm. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. You know you can always talk to me about anything at all.” It was obvious, clear ever since the beginning of the relationship. Nevertheless, the reminders were comforting. Reassuring.

“I know.” Anakin kissed your jaw softly, but he didn’t move much aside from that.

Something hung in the air as the relative silence took over, interrupted by the murmur of the TV, but even Anakin’s reassurance couldn’t effectively brush the sense of unease away. Still, you shouldn’t stare.

In a matter of minutes, Anakin exhaled, squirming around a little. He leaned his head back against your shoulder, and you could see him looking at you from the corner of your eyes. Anakin would inhale as if he’d say something every once in a while, but nothing ever came. Instead, he shifted continuously. He needed time.

“I wanna tell you something,” Anakin blurted out, breathless despite having no apparent reason. His eyes averted away from yours the moment they met, and he pressed his lips together. “I really love you, okay? Please, I just…” His shoulders tensed up, and it was almost automatic as both of you adjusted your position and sat up on the bed. Anakin held both his hands on his lap, the flesh one playing with the prosthetic fingers absentmindedly.

“I love you too,” you said carefully, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’m a guy,” Anakin continued. “I’m a male, okay? A dude.”

It sounded stupid, to a degree, but Anakin wouldn’t just say and do all of that for a trivial reason, so you trod carefully, nodding slowly. “Yeah, man.”

Anakin’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and nothing ever came. His face clearly demonstrated the battle of emotions inside him, something akin to nervousness and fear against confidence and something else. “I’m trans.” He stated, nodding to himself. “Yeah, I’m trans. ‘Been on T for a few years already. Got top surgery, and all that jazz. Self-made.”

You raised your eyebrows, taking a good look at Anakin under new lighting; or at least trying to, because your feelings for him and your perception remained the same despite the revelation. It felt like just another detail in the complexity that Anakin held. “Oh, really? That’s so badass, dude, I’m very happy for you!” You tried to mirror his feelings, the mix of casualty and conformity. You didn’t want to overreact nor to dismiss it too casually.

Either way, maybe that wasn’t what Anakin expected. He raised his eyebrows, observing you in silence for a moment. “I’m…”

“Very handsome, but I think I tell you that every day already,” you tried to fill in the silence, even if something awkward and unknown still hung in the air.

“Do you love me?” Anakin asked quietly, voice small.

“I love you.”

“…Am I manly enough today?”

“You’re always manly enough,” you added, and things started getting clearer. All that discomfort and tension probably had to do with dysphoria. Baggy clothes, trying to make himself less perceptible, unquietness, and self-doubt. You wanted to kiss all the bad feelings away from him, hold him until that uncertain glint faded away from his gaze.

“Do you still want to be mine?” Anakin’s voice sounded more like a faint keen, and you couldn’t resist, pulling him closer to hug him.

“Something like that wouldn’t be enough to free you from me.” You grinned and kissed Anakin’s cheek softly, and he almost instantly melted into your arms, wrapping his own around your neck. Despite not saying anything, the relief was noticeable in his demeanor.

A small smile finally tugged on Anakin’s lips before he could turn his head to meet yours in a soft kiss, warm lips pressing to yours lovingly, accepting all the love you were willing to give. He hummed, needy and clingy as he found a way to melt into you until you were lying down again, with him on top of you.

Anakin let out a little sound when your teeth grazed his bottom lip, his fingers grasping tighter onto your shoulder, and he deepened the kiss, tongue pressing to yours, body pressing to yours. That was far from easy to resist. He knew just how to run his tongue along the back of your teeth and suck on your bottom lip to have a groan escape your throat.

“Fuck,” Anakin inhaled deeply once the kiss finally broke, but his breath only fell more out of pace as you started mouthing down the side of his neck, nipping and kissing on the skin until you found a spot that made him squirm on top of you. “Mmph, love!”

“Ugh, it’s your fault,” you mumbled between kisses, about to slip your hands under his hoodie when you opted to just hold onto his waist instead.

He didn’t stop you, no, Anakin even tilted his head to the side and adjusted his position so that you’d kiss and nip on a spot that made his back arch. “Nngh, you’re so good at this,” he complained without real bite to his words.

“Not my fault you’re so irresistible, duh?” You scoffed, grinning once he did so himself. “Can I ask you a question? A personal one?”

Anakin raised an eyebrow. “Shoot.”

“Ever came before? After you started taking T, I mean.”

“Oh.” Anakin furrowed his eyebrows, propping up on his elbow as he looked down at you. “Um, I…” His cheeks flushed. “No.”

“Oh?” You repeated. Fuck, if you could be the one to provide him that first orgasm… “Really?”

Anakin nodded slowly as his eyes averted away. Fighting against embarrassment at this point would be useless. “I mean… Wanna do the honors?” He looked down at you again, a playful smirk masking his nervousness as he bit his lip.

“Baby boy, love of my life,” you groaned, shifting your positions so that you’d be the one on top instead. “You’re fucking perfect.” You started kissing his neck, but Anakin stopped you so that he could remove his hoodie, then his pants, only leaving his boxers on, and it got harder to pay attention the more skin he exposed.

The scars lined along the underside of his pecs, clearly well cared for, and you couldn’t resist leaning in to give him a kiss on the chest. The sudden motion made Anakin flinch before he finally noticed what was going on, so he relaxed and rubbed the back of your neck with his flesh hand, the prosthetic one resting on your shoulder. Anakin’s skin rose in shivers as your tongue traced his top surgery scars between kisses, and when you caught his gaze, there was a hint of disbelief and happiness in his eyes. You offered him a smile in return before pecking his lips.

A trail of hair disappeared beneath the hem of his boxers, and the wet spot by the middle already had you salivating. Your fingers hooked in the hem of his boxers when you paused. “How do I… Y’know, call… refer— Y’know…”

Anakin hummed faintly when he finally got what you meant. “Oh, um…” He looked at the ceiling to consider it. “My… My pussy, my cunt, um, it’s all okay.”

You nodded slowly. “My meal?”

A chuckled came from Anakin. “I suppose so.” He let out a shuddering breath as you kissed just below his navel, propped up on his elbows to watch you. He lifted his hips to help you remove his boxers, and his cheeks burned red again when your gaze finally fell to his pussy, as if you’d eat him up.

“Damn,” you groaned, spreading Anakin’s legs apart to settle down between them.

“I—It’s okay if you don’t want to do it anymore,” Anakin mumbled.

Your thoughts were already hazy. The sight of his pussy, puffy clit peeking out shyly between the trimmed pubes, shining with arousal already, all of it sent pleasure running down your spine, arousal pooling in your lower stomach. “You’re so hot, Ani, y’know that?” You rubbed circles into his inner thigh, and he immediately squirmed, still blushing, flustered. “I want it even more, if possible.”

Anakin’s skin was warm under your kisses as you finally started lowering down, taking your time to appreciate each inch of skin until your lips met his crotch. You nuzzled into it to inhale his scent deeply before you finally did it, pressing your open mouth to his slit. A breathy moan came from Anakin at the first contact, his back arching, so you limited yourself to pressing long kisses to his labia at first. He relaxed, decided to let his head rest back against the pillows and close his eyes while you mouthed at his cunt, focusing on the sensation of your warm lips and wet tongue gently exploring him.

“Fuuuck,” Anakin breathed when your tongue ran from his entrance to his clit, making his thighs quiver slightly. It felt better than anything he could have ever imagined.

Your tongue traced Anakin’s clit, taking your time around it, testing it under your tongue until it throbbed, so you pressed your tongue more confidently to the nub. One of his thighs pressed to your shoulder, and it tensed up whenever you ran your tongue down to his entrance and up to his clit again, so you made sure to repeat it a few times until he whimpered. Anakin did usually whimper during kisses, but having it happen while you ate him out was a whole different experience.

“I— Yeah,” Anakin whimpered when your tongue ran flat against his clit, and it was a matter of seconds before he squealed once your lips sealed around his clit. “A-Ah, babe, I— Fuck!” He fought a lost battle against himself, not able to keep himself together as you sucked on his clit and licked it at the same time, unwavered by his fingers tugging on your hair. “Hah, like that,” he moaned. Anakin arched his back, grinding his cunt against your face, and there was little you could help to do aside from feasting on it.

Anakin’s musky, tangy taste took over your senses along with his scent, intoxicating, making you want more and more from him, so all you could do was give him everything he wanted. He whimpered, squirming, and you imagined he must’ve been sensitive, being touched for the first time in a long while. But would you hold back? No. Anakin would tell you to stop if he wanted to, and since you wanted to give him a good first experience, you’d do it very well.

It wasn’t a lot, but Anakin was coming already. He arched his back with a loud, whiny moan as he pressed his pussy more to your face, and you kept sucking on his clit through his orgasm, only stopping it so that you could lick the cum that trickled down his entrance, drinking up every drop.

“Ugh, babe, you’re so g— Nngh!” Anakin cut himself off when your tongue traced his sensitive clit, moaning instead. His fingers relaxed around your hair, only to tug on it again. “G’nna kill me,” he mumbled, but what would all that babbling do?

You shifted your weight so that you could bring one hand up to Anakin’s pussy, holding one of his lips apart as you took a good look at your meal. “You taste so good, Ani, y’know that? And it’s all mine. Fuck, all mine,” you mumbled before mouthing at his pussy again, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his clit.

The chains of wanton moans spilled from Anakin’s lips continuously, whimpering and needy, punctuated by your name and gasps. You teased his clit with your tongue while pressing a fingertip to his entrance, feeling his pussy clench around nothing in anticipation, before you finally started pushing your finger inside him.

Anakin’s cunt clenched tightly around your finger, hungrily trying to push it deeper as he arched his back with a louder moan, thighs quivering, but it barely compared to how he reacted when you curled two of your fingers inside him. He was practically melted onto the mattress, not even able to tug onto your hair anymore, only squirming under you.

“Mmph, don’t stop,” Anakin almost sobbed, his cunt soaking wet to the point it made a squelching noise whenever your fingers sank inside him.

“Oh, baby,” you mumbled against his clit with a smile, “I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

You ate Anakin out as if he were your favorite meal presented to you after years of starvation, sucking and mouthing at his clit as your fingers curled up inside him, continuously pressing to that spot that made him see stars, the edges of his vision darkening as you kept mouthing at him so deliciously.

“Uuh– There, I– Nngh!” Anakin could barely say anything properly, lost in that crescendo of pleasure that certainly would hit him harder than the first wave did, and he could do nothing but lay there and wait for it to come. And when it did, Anakin let out a louder cry, thighs almost closing around your head as he pressed his eyes shut, feeling that tingle running down his thighs and toes curling, mind going blank, and the only thing that grounded him was your touch. He shuddered, hissing.

Anakin knew something happened, but he didn’t quite know what. He seemed disoriented as he lifted his head, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“I… what happened?”

“You squirted,” you said simply, only pausing to suck your fingers clean. He didn’t only cum, but also squirted, giving you a full-course meal to feast on while working him through his orgasm. “I think I’ll need to make you do it again so that you can understand it this time.”

ᯓ★

[gummifrogs]

lover boy (k. bakugou x reader)

cw: fluff :)

shiggy mention for my shiggy pals teehee

katsuki bakugou never thought that in his lifetime he would experience the kind of love he saw in the cheesy 80s rom-coms that he would sometimes watch with his mom. but then you blew into his life like a tornado, and suddenly he was diving headfirst into a love rivaling anything he’d ever seen on screen.

at first, he tried to shove all his feelings down deep, but it was so hard. you’d laugh and your nose would scrunch up, or you would rest your head on his shoulder, and all thoughts of putting up a wall between you would disappear. he’d smile back at you or tilt his head to rest atop your own, his cheeks warming and heart pounding.

so yeah, he was a goner.

and then you started dating, and katsuki could honestly keel over at any minute and be pleased he was ever in your presence to begin with. however, he was hesitant to let you know how deep his feeling ran, in fear of it freaking you out. And maybe it was silly, but—he barely understood his feelings himself, so how would you be able to look at him the same way if you really knew how deeply in love with you he was?

he's walking into your apartment when he notices your door is slightly cracked, your hushed voice traveling through the opening.

“but I love him, and I know he loves me, I just—I wish he would show me. sometimes I just feel like I love him more than he loves me, and it makes me feel sad.”

and that’s all he needs to hear before he’s turning and quietly walking back out of the door of your apartment. but he’s not running—not really. he’s determined, a destination already in his mind as he jogs around the corner, the chocolate shop in his direct line of sight. he takes a few more steps forward, then stops, his attention snagging on a neon sign hanging above the tiny shop. he makes a split decision, one he feels is right in his heart, and pulls the door to the shop open.

he’s immediately hit with the flowery scent of a candle mixed with antiseptic, and a muted buzzing coming from the back of the shop. a guy with dusty blue hair, gauges, and deep sunken eyes notices him from where he’s lounging behind the front desk, his feet up on the desk. the guy pushes his feet down and leans towards katsuki.

“do you guys take walk-ins?”

the guy smiles and nods before beckoning katsuki to follow him.

+

an hour later, katsuki exits the shop, tomura’s instructions playing on a loop in his mind. he walks back towards your apartment, the adrenaline wearing off a little and the nerves sneaking back in. what if you think it’s too much? what if you hate it? what if—

“oof! kats!” his body slams into another body, but the voice is familiar. he reaches out his hands, placing them on your waist to steady you. he peers down at you, then at the iced coffee now splattered all over his shirt.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I wasn’t watching where I was goin’.” he says, lips curling up into a half amused smile.

you smile back. “It’s all over your shirt! Let’s go back up and you can change.”

and he’s not thinking as he lets you lead him back up the stairs and into your bedroom, thoughts solely focused on you and how adorable you look in your outfit. he certainly isn’t thinking when he strips off his shirt while your back is to him, rifling through your drawers for the t-shirt you stole a few weeks ago.

“found it!” you announce proudly, spinning to face him.

and it only takes you a few seconds before your eyes settle in on a small black outline nestled in the top part of his ribs under his left pec. you’re dropping the shirt and crowding him back against the door, peering closer at the mark.

“kats?” your eyes drift up to his face, startled to see a blush flooding his entire face. you look back at the mark, the tattoo, trying to place what it exactly it was. and it takes a second of staring before tears gather in your eyes.

“d’ya remember that polaroid I have of us? the one where you left a lipstick kiss on the back? tomura, the artist, he did a great job copying the lipstick stain. so now I uh, now I have you with me always.”  

 “katsuki, this is—I don’t even know what to say.”

“do you hate it?”

“no! I just, I’m surprised is all.”

“if I’m bein’ honest…I heard you on the phone earlier, and I know I suck at telling you how I feel most of the time, but maybe this helps?”

“I’m sorry, I should have just talked to you about it first.” you whisper, tears blurring your gaze in shame.

he cups your jaw in his warm palm, steady gaze locked on your own.

“aw peach, don’t cry. you know I can’t stand to see those pretty eyes cry.” he mumbles softly, thumb swiping at the salty liquid trailing down your cheek. leaning in, he presses a few soft kisses to your face, rubbing his thumb across a few stray tears.

"I love you Katsuki, so much."

"I love you too, my beautiful girl."

"sooo...when it's all healed can I get one for you?" you ask, a smile lighting your face.

he peers sideways at you, alarm bells ringing. "…as long as it's not my name."

"what about 'great explosion murder god dynamight'?" you ask, trying to hold back a giggle.

"not a fat chance in hell am I letting you get that."

[gummifrogs]

while bakugo and kirishima are extremely muscular, sero and todoroki have sleeper builds and i will die on that hill

[gummifrogs]

Words Pierced with Love, S.Hanta

@ gn!reader, late valentines special ¡ not proofread

masterlist

it was a week before valentines day, the class had agreed to plan on an activity that they could do together as a whole. mina was mostly the one who took the initiative, knowingly she's worked up for this kind of stuff. long story short, the majority collectively voted for your idea, which is to give handwritten letters for your friends and loved ones.

it would be your 3rd year by now, everyone had become close with one another. you've seen each and one of their strengths and weaknesses, their best and worst days. they've become an extended branch of your family, and it's nature shows itself as well, making sure no one gets left behind.

surprisingly, no one has gotten together with anyone. most are likely yet to confess, trying to wait for the right time. you, on the other hand, there was a special someone who had caught your attention since the start. one who you considered to be your best friend and life time, partner in crime. sero was your rock, the one who had been there for you these past years. something about him had just lured you in even further down the rabbit hole, not that you're complaining. you wouldn't have it any other way.

you were in your room, a blank sheet of paper staring right back at you. the other letters written were already folded into their individual envelopes. finally writing for your best friend, you're now stuck brainstorming on what to say.

"do i confess right here, right now or do I keep it casual?" are the questions that keep running through your mind. god knows on what would even happen if it would ruin your friendship, but a part of you was telling you to fuck everything and spill your guts out onto that sheet of paper that was likely getting impatient if it had a life of its own.

it ended up being longer than you'd expect it to, now tucking it safely into its envelope. signing it off by adding the name of the person it was dedicated to.

you can only hope it doesn't become awkward after that, but right now, you feel as if you can't bottle up the feelings you've had for him anymore.

you wonder if it was because the thought of finally having a valentine after all these years was the reason for finally confessing. that is if the feelings were mutual of course. you can’t think anymore, 'let's deal with this tomorrow' you think.

-

on the other line, sero had plans of making a move on you. he couldn't imagine himself being with someone else, someone that isn't you. sure, he had written letters for his best bros, but he wanted to make yours more personal and intimate. from all his insecurties, you had made him feel like he was his own person by the time being spent with you.

thoughts were running through his mind, about how much he would love and cherish you if he were yours. god he was down bad.

by the time he had finished writing his letter, he started preparing the other gifts he had wanted to deliver to you. which was a box contained with your favourite snacks, products, and personalized items. he planned to give them after the event, hoping you would accept his confession.

-

hearts day arrived, the school was decorated in hearts and pink streamers. everyone was gathered in the classroom, the lights were all off, and the only light source that bounces off were from the windows. you were sat beside sero, and the rest of the group. all of the letters were given to mina, so she could arrange all and distribute them.

the time you receive your bunch had your chest burning in warmth, happy that these amount of people thought of writing you a letter. reading through each and one of them, sweet words after another. getting sentimental as each were written in their handwriting was the genuine thoughts they would want to speak through the piece of paper.

you can hear the commotion from the other groups, some had started crying from these heart-felt messages. earning you a small laugh as you get back to reading. reaching out to an envelope that had a nice shade of your favourite colour; to what you can only assume was perfume sprayed onto it, a scent that you like. you scan the name it was written from, eyes widening that it was from sero. can't be more obvious by a familiar tape keeping the envelope together. carefully opening it, unfolding the letter it contains.

-

"to my partner in crime,

hopefully, this letter doesn’t catch you off guard. i've been wanting to put my thoughts into words for a while now, and i'm honestly glad that the others had organized this, especially you since this activity was your own idea.

i've been thinking about how much you mean to me. looking back, i realize just how lucky i am to have met you. from all the laughs we’ve shared, hardships through training and from the battlefield, to the quiet moments when just being together was enough, I cherish every memory. you’ve been my constant, my comfort, and my favourite person.

i don’t think i’ve ever properly thanked you for all the times you were there for me. when things got rough, your support kept me going. when i was at my happiest, you were the first person i wanted to share it with. creating our own inside jokes, relaxing in each others dorms, and spending time outside of school. all of those, and you make it even better, just by being you.

and honestly? somewhere along the way, my feelings grew into something more. i tried to ignore it at first, the question "what if it's just infatuation" held me back. also worried about ruining what we have. but the more time I spend with you, the harder it becomes to keep this to myself. shit, even denki and kirishima know how down bad i got. called me out before i even realized my own feelings.

i’ve fallen for you. not just because of how amazing you are but because of how you make me feel seen, understood, and cared for. you make my days brighter, and I can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you might feel the same.

no matter what your answer is, I want you to know that our friendship means everything to me. I value it more than anything, and nothing could ever change that. I just couldn’t keep this to myself any longer. i have something else to give you after this, so let's stop by my dorm once it's over.

regardless, thank you for being such an important part of my life. With all my heart, hanta"

-

you can feel the heat rush through your heart upon finding out that your feelings were returned. you turned your head around to look at sero; seeing that he was already staring at you, holding your letter in hand. a sweet grin crosses his face, who could ever say no to that?

@iiapplemouse : do not copy/repost my work on other platforms !

[gummifrogs]

best friend katsuki who starts finding himself getting a bit too flustered around you.

it starts with a hug.

you're so fucking dramatic, he thinks.

every time you see each other, you might as well be standing in the middle of an airport with the crowd split down the middle and fireworks going off in the background.

he'd never admit it, but he loves the theatrics. he loves the click between you when you lock eyes in a crowded room. he loves your "half-run" towards him and the hop you do right before you wrap your arms around his neck.

of course you two always get odd looks, because despite being best friends since childhood, and everyone knowing it, they still can't seem to understand how a person like you can get along with a person like him.

"you're choking me," he breathlessly chuckles, "ya missed me or something?"

"something like that." you murmur, the smile apparent in your voice.

katsuki stops breathing for a moment when his fingers sink into the soft skin of your waist and his palm goes flush against your bare lower back.

why the fuck is your shirt so short?

i should move my hand.

you're so warm.

i shouldn't be thinking about this.

he doesn't say anything, and he sure as hell isn't letting go first. instead, he buries his nose deeper into the crook of your neck, hoping that he could blame the blush blooming over his cheeks on the hot summer day.

"what's wrong?" you finally pull away, one hand locked on his shoulder and the other sliding down his bicep.

"what?"

his eyes lock onto your own. he's fighting the urge to trail his eyes down your body- see how that crop top looks from the front now that he knows how it feels.

"you seem weird."

"says the weirdo." he scoffs. "m'fine."

you roll your eyes, letting your hands drop to your side.

"come get a soda with me." you almost demand, starting to walk off knowing he'd follow close behind.

no one else in the world would dare speak to katsuki the way you do. he’d never allow it, but that attitude coming from you only had his heart racing even faster.

"you paying?"

"i have you to do that for me, don't i?"

you turn your head over your shoulder, flashing him that toothy grin of yours, and that's when katsuki knew for certain.

he was fucked.

[gummifrogs]

denial is bakugou’s favorite pastime.

for weeks now, his friends have bothered him about spilling the details about what you were to him. they wanna know why he’d been walking you to every one of your classes, or why you wore his hoodies around the dorms. and what was up with bakugou leaving your dorm so late last night?

and of course, in natural bakugou fashion, he pivots. “we’re just friends, dumbasses.” now they knew something was definitely up because when has katsuki bakugou, mister calls everyone “extras”, ever referred to someone as a friend? the thing is, when he says you guys are just friends, it’s whatever. but when you say it, suddenly it’s the end of the world.

“dunno why you even care. we’re just-“ 

“finish that sentence. i dare you.” his jaw flexes as his piercing ruby eyes bore into your surprised ones.

best believe he stopped playing around and asked you out officially.

[gummifrogs]

meeting katsuki’s parents was… an experience.

you had prepared yourself for a lot—maybe his mom would be strict, maybe his dad would be intimidating, maybe they’d question your intentions. what you didn’t expect was for mitsuki bakugo to take one look at you, blink, then turn to her son with the most incredulous expression you’d ever seen.

“you’re messing with me.”

katsuki clicked his tongue. “what the hell are you talking about?”

she gestured at you. “this is your girlfriend?”

you smiled nervously and gave a little wave. “um, hi?”

she looked back at katsuki. “be serious.”

katsuki groaned, running a hand down his face. “yes, old hag, this is my girlfriend. what, you think i’m lying?”

mitsuki stared at you again, then back at katsuki, then back at you. “sweetheart,” she said, addressing you this time, “blink twice if you need help.”

masaru sighed from the kitchen table. “mitsuki…”

“no, seriously! you’re so cute, so polite—what do you even see in this angry little goblin?” she continued, gesturing wildly at her son.

you giggled. “he’s not that bad.”

katsuki scoffed. “damn right i’m not.”

mitsuki ignored him. “so, what? you just… like him? like, willingly?”

you nodded. “mhm! he’s actually really sweet when you get to know him.”

mitsuki looked so unconvinced. “are we talking about the same kid? blond, loud, temper worse than mine?”

masaru chuckled. “it does seem surprising, dear.”

“i don’t get what’s so shocking about this!” katsuki snapped, crossing his arms. “i’m a catch, damn it!”

mitsuki smirked. “you’re something, alright.”

you just squeezed katsuki’s hand, beaming up at him. “i think he’s perfect.”

he huffed, ears tinged pink. “damn right i am.”

mitsuki clapped you on the back—hard enough to almost knock you over. “you’ve got patience, i’ll give you that. welcome to the family, sweetheart. you’re gonna need all the luck you can get.”

[gummifrogs]

Author's note: it's inspired by this art I saw on Pinterest

𝓕𝓛𝓤𝓕𝓕 ❦

Ahsoka knew ANAKIN SKYWALKER had became even more soft the moment he became a dad. To twins.. Sleepless nights, being peed on, all the vomits, cries didn't make him lose his boyish, proud-dad grin on his face.

“Check this out!” Anakin announced, voice way too smug for a man who was currently being drooled on. He pointed to the tiny girl tucked snugly against his chest in the baby carrier “This is Leia, my daughter.”

Leia, bless her tiny little soul, kicked her chubby legs and made the angriest pout Ahsoka had ever seen.

“She looks like she wants to punch you.”

“Nah, she’s just passionate,” Anakin waved it off, of course, then did a dramatic spin—nearly knocking into a poor padawan—so his former padawan could see another baby strapped to his back.

“That’s not all! This,” he pointed proudly, twisting his neck at an almost unnatural angle, “is Luke. My son.”

Luke, the absolute opposite of his fuming sister, was resting peacefully against Anakin’s back, tiny fist curled in his father’s tunic, sleeping without a care in the world.

Ahsoka crossed her arms, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Anakin just grinned wider, eyes practically sparkling with pride. “They’re amazing.” He put so much emphasis on the word, like he was talking about the most legendary person ever instead of two drooly, tiny humans.

“You’ve really lost it, Skyguy.”

Anakin just sighed dreamily, adjusting the straps of the baby carriers as Leia finally gave in, resting her tiny head against his chest with a grumpy huff.

“Yeah,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to Leia’s forehead before turning to leave, walking with a pep in his steps like he’d just the most valued thing in the world "I don't mind tho..they're my cuties.."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @nikiloveshayden @cloverina

[gummifrogs]

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

REHAB!TOUYA X READER

The former villain known as 'Dabi' is now your patient. On the road to recovery, you're charged with nursing him and his broken heart back to health.

carnations symbolize new beginnings, grief, and love. ❦

ᥴһᥲ⍴𝗍ᥱr ᥆ᥒᥱ ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ωⱺ ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ɦ𝗋𝖾𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿ⱺυ𝗋 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗏𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗑 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗂𝗀ɦ𝗍 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𐓣𝗂𐓣𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾ᥣ𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ω𝖾ᥣ𝗏𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ɦ𝗂𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿ⱺυ𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗑𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦