—MHA men reactions to you getting jealous over a fan flirting with them!
｡.｡:∞Summary: The Pro-heroes are at a fan event and you get jealous because a fan likes them a bit too much!
ˏˋ°•*⁀Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader ; Kirishima Eijiro x f!reader ; Denki Kaminari x f!reader ; Sero Hanta x f!reader
∾･⁙Tags: Cute ; Jealousy ; Aged!up ; Dating ; Loving ; funny ; Love
*✧･ﾟ:Wordcount: About 8-9k?
⑅୨୧⑅*A/N: Okay guys soon there will be a Christmas post and a new years post! Ne patient and enjoy this one! Maybe I’ll even make a part two of this with some other characters!
Bakugou Katsuki — “I’m Not Letting Anyone Take Me From My Girl."
You weren’t supposed to feel like this.
Not today, not during something as normal as accompanying your boyfriend to a simple hero signing event — something he did a dozen times a year.
A burning twist in your stomach.
The fan leaning way too close across the signing table.
The fan giggling at every single thing Bakugou said, even though he hadn’t actually said anything funny.
The fan twirling her hair while pushing her chest up against the table like she was auditioning for a villain role.
And Bakugou — your Katsuki — was reacting exactly the way you feared he would:
He was being professional.
Which, annoyingly, made him look even hotter and made her try even harder.
You stood near the corner of his booth, tucked behind a cardboard cutout of his hero merch. You told yourself you were here to “get a better angle,” but that was a lie.
Because your jealousy was showing on your face like a bright neon sign, and you didn’t trust yourself not to rip her autograph book in half.
Katsuki took the fan’s poster, signed it quickly, and handed it back with his usual sharp nod.
She stayed leaning forward.
Her smile dripped sweetness like artificial sugar.
“So… Katsuki…” she purred, completely ignoring the pro-hero handler waving at her to move along, “do you have a girlfriend?”
Katsuki didn’t look fazed. Not even a twitch.
He was used to that question.
He answered it the same way every time — blunt and boring:
“That’s none of your damn business.”
Except this time, he lifted his eyes.
And he didn’t look at her.
Just one second. One glance.
The fan giggled again, undeterred.
“Well… if you ever become single, call m—”
“Heard ya,” Katsuki interrupted sharply, waving her away as he turned to the next person. “Move it.”
His voice was clipped, annoyed — more annoyed than he usually got at events.
Okay. Maybe you were overreacting.
The line moved. The moment was over.
And you tried — really tried — to let it go.
But the bitter little flame inside your stomach didn’t go out.
_________________________________
Katsuki finally stepped away from the booth, stretching his shoulders with a groan.
“Fucking hate sittin’ that long.”
You smiled softly, lifting a water bottle to him.
“You did great, Katsuki.”
But as he lowered the bottle, he frowned.
“You okay? You look like you’re thinking too damn hard.”
Here it was. The perfect opportunity to say something.
But suddenly you couldn’t.
Because it sounded stupid in your head.
“Oh yeah, I’m just… tired.”
His eyes narrowed immediately.
Katsuki Bakugou didn’t tolerate lies.
And he especially didn’t tolerate your lies.
“Cut the shit,” he said lowly. “What’s actually goin’ on?”
You opened your mouth — but movement down the hall caught your eye.
Walking away with her poster clutched in her hand, smiling like she’d just won the lottery.
Katsuki followed your gaze.
And when he saw where you were looking, something inside him clicked.
A low, dangerous sound rumbled in his chest.
He stepped closer — so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
His voice dropped, rough and low. “You’ve been off since she walked up to the booth.”
You turned your eyes away, cheeks burning.
“She was annoying, that’s all.”
“The fuck she was,” Katsuki muttered. “She was flirtin’.”
He stepped in front of you completely, blocking your view of the hallway — like he didn’t want you looking at her again.
You let out a tiny breath.
“No,” you whispered. “I didn’t.”
Katsuki’s eyes softened in a way he’d never admit.
He pulled you toward the nearest empty hallway, away from the noise and crowds. His hand stayed firm around yours — protective, grounding, very him.
Once alone, he turned to you.
Your heart jumped at his tone.
“I don’t give a shit about fans like that. They’re just people I sign crap for. That’s all.”
“No.” His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could look you dead in the eyes.
“I don’t want them. I want you.”
His thumb brushed your cheekbone.
“You think I didn’t feel you starin’ daggers into my back?”
“And you know what?” His voice dropped. “I liked it.”
“Means you care. Means I matter to you. Means you want me.”
His forehead met yours, breath warm against your lips.
“I like when you get a little possessive.”
Your knees nearly gave out.
He slid his hands to your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“But listen close,” he murmured, “’cause I’m only sayin’ this once.”
You swallowed hard, waiting.
“No one — no fan, no extra, no one — gets me the way you do. No one touches me the way you do. No one gets this version of me except you.”
Your chest squeezed tight.
“And if anyone thinks they’re gonna steal me away?”
He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear.
“I’ll laugh in their damn face.”
Your jealousy melted instantly like sugar in hot caramel.
Katsuki pulled back just enough to look at you, gauging your expression.
You nodded — but your eyes were shiny.
“Katsuki… I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be the jealous girlfriend.”
“And I’m yours,” he added quietly. “If the roles were reversed, I’d’ve blown a fuse the second someone looked at you wrong.”
You laughed — watery and warm.
“That sounds about right.”
He cupped your face with both hands now, rough palms gentle against your skin.
“Don’t hide shit from me, okay?”
He kissed your forehead — slow and steady — before pulling you into his chest.
You melted instantly, arms around him, face pressed against the familiar scent of smoke and caramel.
“Feeling better?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Thanks for… not making fun of me.”
“Tch. I’d never make fun of you for wantin’ me.”
You elbowed him lightly, and he huffed a small laugh — the kind he only let you hear.
Then he tilted your chin up again.
Your lips met his, soft at first — but then he deepened it, hand on the back of your neck, kissing you like he was erasing every doubt you’d ever had.
When you finally pulled away, dizzy and warm, Katsuki’s smirk had softened.
“Next time some fan tries shit like that,” he said, brushing a thumb across your lips, “just remember this.”
“That I picked you, idiot.”
Your heart swelled so hard it hurt.
He intertwined his fingers with yours and tugged you back toward the exit.
“Now let’s get food. I’m starving.”
You laughed — the jealousy completely gone.
And as you walked side-by-side, his fingers squeezing yours every so often just to remind you he was there, you knew one thing for certain:
No fan in the world could ever compare.
Not when Bakugou Katsuki looked at you like that.
Kirishima Eijirou — "You Don't Have to Be Strong About This, Babe."
You’d always known Kirishima was loved by fans.
You weren’t naïve — he was charming, kind, handsome, approachable. He treated everyone with warmth that never felt fake, never forced. It’s one of the reasons you fell for him.
But knowing it and seeing it were two very different things.
His hero meet-and-greet was packed — crowded, loud, full of screaming fans waving posters and homemade bracelets. Kirishima sat behind a long booth covered in red and black merch, smiling with that infectious warmth like he was greeting old friends rather than strangers.
A girl — maybe in her twenties — leaned over Kirishima’s booth, so close it made your stomach tighten. She twirled her hair, cheeks flushed, voice pitchy with forced sweetness.
“Oh my god, Red Riot, I’ve been waiting hours just to see you!”
“Thanks for comin’!” Kirishima said with that big genuine grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “I appreciate you waiting so long.”
“And I brought you something,” she cooed.
Your eyebrows shot up as she pulled a small red gift bag from behind her back.
Kirishima blinked, surprised.
She pushed it toward him with shy, flirty eyes.
“And I really hope you like it.”
Kirish opened the bag — pulling out a knitted, scarlet scarf.
“If you ever get cold… you can think of me when you wear it,” she said, biting her lip.
You felt your chest tighten.
A hot, lightheaded feeling prickled behind your eyes.
Kirishima set the scarf down gently.
“Thank you,” he said, still polite. “That’s really thoughtful.”
She leaned even closer, hands on the table.
“So… are you single? I mean, someone as amazing as you must have a girlfriend, but… I still wanted to ask…”
And that was when Kirishima glanced up — quick, instinctive — and his crimson eyes found yours across the room.
Enough to make your breath hitch.
He straightened a little, his smile changing — softening, turning warmer, deeper, more real — the kind he only used with you.
“Oh,” he said firmly, “I’m taken.”
The girl’s smile cracked.
“Oh… o-oh,” she stammered. “By who?”
Again, Kirishima’s eyes slid to you.
“Someone really special,” he answered, tone final. “Someone I love a lot.”
Your heart jumped painfully in your chest.
The fan looked like she’d been punched.
She forced a small smile, grabbed her poster, and shuffled away.
Kirishima continued signing like nothing had happened.
But you didn’t feel better.
The jealousy sat thick inside you — heavy, ugly, confusing.
You’d never felt jealous with him before.
You slipped away to the back hallway, leaning against the wall, trying to regulate your breathing.
And it wasn’t fair to him.
But damn… seeing someone offer him a handmade gift, flirting like she had a chance, asking if he was single — it hit you somewhere you didn’t expect.
You didn’t realize you were spacing out until a warm hand touched your back.
Kirishima stood there, concern written all over his face. His red hair was a little messy from fans hugging him, and he’d removed his hero gauntlets, making him look softer, more human.
“You okay?” he asked quietly. “You disappeared.”
“I just needed some air.”
He frowned — soft but deeply worried.
“Y/N,” he murmured, “that’s not the whole truth.”
He reached out slowly — giving you time to pull away if you wanted — and placed his hands on your upper arms.
“You know you never have to pretend with me, right?”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Kiri, it’s stupid,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t feel this way. I don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend.”
Kirishima’s brows lifted slightly.
There it was. The missing piece.
Heat exploded in your face.
“I mean… just a little,” you mumbled. “She gave you a hand-knitted scarf! And she was basically leaning into your lap. And—”
“Hey, hey,” he cut in gently, “look at me.”
His eyes softened instantly.
“Oh babe,” he exhaled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “you don’t ever have to be embarrassed about feeling that way.”
You tried to look away, but he tipped your chin up with two fingers — so soft, so careful.
“I get it,” he said. “If I saw someone flirting with you like that, I’d… well…”
“…I wouldn’t handle it nearly as calmly as you did.”
“You’d probably break a wall,” you muttered.
The small laugh between you loosened your chest, but the ache didn’t vanish.
“Y/N,” he said gently, “did it… hurt?”
Your eyes burned instantly.
“I know it’s dumb,” you whispered. “I know you love me. I trust you completely. I just—seeing her give you something she made, and hearing her ask if you were single—”
Kirishima wrapped you in his arms instantly — pulling you tight against his chest like he could shield you from the feeling itself.
“It’s not dumb,” he murmured into your hair. “Not even close.”
His hand rubbed slow circles on your back.
“You love me,” he whispered. “And that means you feel things deeply. That’s one of the things I adore about you.”
“But I don’t want to feel insecure.”
He pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks.
“Then let me help,” he said softly. “Let me take some of that weight off you.”
He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours — warm, grounding, tender.
“You’re the one I wake up thinking about. You’re the one I want to grow old with. You’re the one I picture when I imagine my future. No fan, no gift, no flirty stranger is ever gonna change that.”
“And you know that scarf she made?”
“I’m giving it to charity. I’m not wearing something from someone who looks at me like that.”
“I only wear stuff from you.”
Your heart broke in the best way possible.
He slid his hands down to hold your waist.
“You being jealous doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t push me away. It doesn’t annoy me.”
“It makes me want to hold you tighter.”
A small, helpless sound escaped your throat.
“And it reminds me,” he whispered, “how lucky I am that someone as amazing as you wants me enough to be scared of losing me.”
Your tears finally overflowed.
Kirishima caught them with his thumbs, kissing your forehead as you trembled in his hands.
“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you to his chest again.
You melted into him, breathing in his scent — warm, familiar, safe.
After a long moment, he spoke again.
“You know what I was thinking the whole time she was talking?”
“That I hoped you’d come over so I could hold your hand under the table.”
You laughed wetly, shoulders shaking.
“And when she asked if I was single?”
“I wished I could say your name out loud.”
Warmth bloomed painfully in your chest.
He leaned back just enough to look at you properly.
“Y/N… you’re the only woman I see.”
“I’m sorry,” you breathed.
“Don’t be,” he said immediately. “Jealousy means you care. And I care too.”
“Come on. Let me take you home.”
“Don’t you still have a line?”
“I told my handler I needed a break. And honestly?”
He brushed his thumb across your knuckles.
He tugged you gently down the hallway, his fingers intertwined with yours, thumb stroking the back of your hand in small soothing circle.
As you walked, he spoke softly beside you.
“Next time someone flirts with me…”
He glanced at you with a warm, boyish smile.
“Just come stand next to me.
“Because I want them to see who I belong to.”
“And if you’re still jealous,” he added with a playful grin, “I’ll just kiss you in front of everyone.”
He laughed, that deep, warm sound that melted you every time.
Then he lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles softly.
“You’re my favorite girl,” he whispered. “Always.”
And with those words, the last bits of jealousy dissolved completely — replaced with something stronger, deeper, and infinitely more beautiful.
Denki Kaminari — "I'm Not Shock-Proof When It Comes to You."
You always knew dating Denki Kaminari meant dating someone loved.
Not just admired — loved.
Adored. Worshipped. The “everybody’s crush but he only wants you” type of loved.
He was charming, funny, sweet, attractive, and — annoyingly — completely unaware of how flirty he sometimes came across without trying.
But today… today tested your patience in ways you weren’t prepared for.
His agency held a public hero showcase in the city plaza, where he did a short demonstration and then signed autographs. You attended most of his events, but this one was huge — music, lights, cameras, fans everywhere.
You stood backstage, sipping a water bottle, watching him hype up the crowd with his signature grin.
“Alright, alright! Who’s ready to see some lightning?!”
The cheers were deafening.
You smiled despite yourself.
A fan decked out in yellow from head to toe, glitter lightning bolts painted on her cheeks. Pretty. Energetic. Way too bold.
The moment Denki stepped down from the stage for meet-and-greets, she nearly body-slammed her way to the front of the line.
“DENKI!!!” she squealed, bouncing on her toes. “NOTICE MEEE!”
You watched with raised brows as she shoved a signed poster practically into his chest.
“Oh—hey there! Uh—woah, cool face paint!”
“You like it?” she giggled. “I did it just for you!”
You felt something spark low in your stomach, but you stayed where you were. It was fine. Fans loved him. He loved fans.
But then she leaned forward.
“Can I take a selfie up close?” she purred.
“Sure thing!” Denki said brightly, grabbing her phone.
She scooted beside him, pressing herself against his arm — very intentionally — and lifted her phone.
“Wait,” she giggled, “I want to be closer…”
Then she looped her arm fully around his waist.
Denki stiffened slightly — just a fraction — but he didn’t pull away immediately because he was trying to be professional.
Then she whispered something in his ear you couldn’t hear.
But whatever it was made your stomach twist.
Your chest felt tight, hot, uncomfortable.
You weren’t angry at him.
But the sight burned all the same.
And you didn’t miss how her eyes flicked toward you backstage, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.
Denki finally stepped back, gently removing her arm.
“Haha—okay! Thanks for the pic,” he said lightly. “Who’s next?”
“Wait… Denki? Can I ask you something?”
He smiled politely. “Shoot.”
She sucked in a breath dramatically.
“A-are you… single? Because if you’re not… I still think I could change your mind.
Denki’s eyes widened too — shocked, embarrassed, panicked in the cute Denki way.
“Oh! Uh—um—I’m—no, no, I’m not single!” he sputtered. “Definitely taken! Super taken!”
The girl blinked. “By who?”
Denki’s eyes shot straight to you.
In an instant, his whole expression changed — softened, brightened, warmed.
“My girlfriend,” he said proudly. “She’s right over there.”
Every head in the line turned.
You lifted a tiny awkward wave.
She huffed — actually huffed — and stalked off.
Denki exhaled so hard his shoulders dropped.
But you didn’t feel better.
The ache lingered — like something raw and vulnerable had been poked too hard.
You slipped backstage and sat on an equipment crate, hands clasped, willing the weird heat in your chest to dissolve.
A few minutes later, footsteps approached — fast, familiar.
Denki slid beside you, dropping onto the crate with dramatic flair.
He bumped your shoulder with his.
“You disappeared,” he said softly. “Thought you might’ve ditched me for a cooler hero.”
“I just needed a second.”
His expression shifted immediately — serious, cautious, concerned.
“What’s going on? Talk to me.”
You opened your mouth — nothing came out.
You could lie. Play it off. Pretend it didn’t bother you.
But Denki knew you too well.
“That girl,” you whispered finally. “She was really… into you.”
Denki blinked. “Uh… yeah. She was.”
You stared at your hands.
“Wait—” he gasped playfully, eyes widening. “Hold up. Are you saying—could it be— is my girlfriend… jealous?”
The grin dropped, replaced by soft sincerity.
“…Hey,” he murmured, sliding his hand over yours. “Hey. Y/N. Look at me?”
You hesitated but lifted your eyes.
Denki’s expression completely melted.
“Oh babe…” he breathed, cupping your cheek. “You’re not seriously upset, are you?”
“I know it’s stupid,” you muttered. “She was just a fan. You were just being nice. I trust you, I just—”
“Whoa, whoa, stop,” he said gently. “Don’t beat yourself up.”
You tried to pull your hand away, but Denki held it tighter.
“Jealousy isn’t stupid,” he said softly. “It means you care.”
“It feels human,” he corrected. “And honestly? I… kinda—”
“NOT like—haha—the toxic kind! But like… the adorable ‘I love my boyfriend and don’t want random sparkly lightning cosplay girls squeezing him like a plushie’ kind.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped you.
“You didn’t look mad,” he added softly. “You looked… hurt.”
He always noticed too much.
He rested his forehead against yours.
“I don’t ever want you to feel that way,” he whispered. “Not because of me.”
“She touched you a lot. And she whispered something in your ear. And—and she asked if you were single—”
At that, Denki groaned dramatically and threw his head back.
“Oh my god, babe, she asked me that and I wanted to literally power down and play dead.”
“I’m serious!” he whined. “I was like—ERROR. SYSTEM FAILURE. GIRLFRIEND LOCATED. ABORT MISSION.”
You laughed despite yourself, shoulders shaking.
“And the whisper?” he added with a grimace. “Babe… she asked me what type of girls I like.”
Your heart twinged again.
Denki clasped your cheeks gently between his hands, squishing them.
“And I said,” he continued proudly, “I like girls who are named Y/N and who steal my hoodies and who think I’m funny even when I’m actually not.”
“Word for word,” he said. “I nearly added your shoe size to be extra clear.”
Your heart squeezed painfully.
His thumb brushed your cheek.
“You’re the one I look for in every room,” he whispered. “You’re the one I brag about. You’re the one I want to go home with.”
Warmth spread through you, melting the jealousy at its core.
“And babe,” he added, lips tugging into a boyish smile, “you know how many fans flirt with me?”
“All of them,” he said brightly. “All. Of. Them.”
You punched his shoulder lightly.
“But do you know how many I flirt back with?”
“ZERO,” he emphasized loudly. “A big round heroic zero. My heart does this lil’—” he flopped in his seat dramatically— “bzzt-bzzt thing only for you.”
And then he took your hands, suddenly gentle.
“If it ever bothers you again,” he said softly, “just come stand next to me.”
“So people know you’re with me,” he said simply. “So people see how proud I am to be yours. So I don’t have to fight the urge to yell ‘HEY SHE’S MINE’ in front of a hundred cameras.”
He leaned forward and kissed your forehead — slow, sweet, lingering.
“I love you,” he murmured. “And I don’t say that lightly. I love you more than the crowd, more than hero work, more than any stupid flashy attention I get.”
“And if someone flirts with me again?” he added.
You raised an eyebrow. “You’ll power down and play dead?”
He snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”
You laughed so hard you nearly fell off the crate.
Denki caught you around the waist, pulling you into his chest.
“You’re my girl, Y/N,” he whispered against your hair. “My only girl.”
Your jealousy dissolved completely.
He kissed your temple, then your cheek, then just under your jaw, trailing warmth everywhere.
Then he pulled back with a bright grin.
“…So, uh, wanna go home?”
“I promise I won’t let any sparkly lightning girls near me.”
You rolled your eyes — smiling.
“Yeah. Let’s go home, idiot.”
“Best decision you’ve made all day.”
And with your hand tightly intertwined in his, he led you out of the noisy plaza — away from the crowds, away from the flashing cameras — straight home, where he belonged.
Sero Hanta — "You Think l'd Look at Anyone But You?
You always thought dating Hanta Sero would be easy.
And most of the time, it was.
He was gentle, patient, funny, a little mischievous, and somehow always the most stable emotional presence in any room. A grown-up, confident version of the boy he used to be — still goofy, but more refined and dangerously handsome.
What you didn’t expect was how much the public adored him.
He wasn’t flashy like Bakugou.
Wasn’t glamorous like Hawks.
Wasn’t icy hot like Shoto.
And that made him… weirdly irresistible.
Today was another hero meet-and-greet at his agency. You tagged along like you always did, happy just watching him in his element. Sero was signing autographs, taking pictures, chatting with fans, laughing in that warm, casual way that made people feel like friends, not strangers.
You loved that about him.
A fan with perfect hair, perfect face-card, and an outfit so perfectly curated you knew she’d dressed specifically for this.
“Hi, Pro Hero Cellophane!” she giggled, voice too sweet to be natural.
Sero flashed his charming smile. “Hey! Thanks for coming out today.”
“You’re even hotter in person,” she said, biting her lip.
Sero blinked, polite but confused.
She leaned forward on the table, giving him an unnecessary view.
“I mean it,” she purred. “You look so good today. Really… good.”
He laughed awkwardly. “Haha—uh—thanks. Glad you think so.”
Then she slid a little closer. “Can I take a personal picture with you?”
“Oh—yeah, sure! Selfies are fine.”
“Not a selfie,” she corrected.
“A real picture. Like… with your arm around me.”
Before Sero could respond, she stepped right next to him, pressing up against his side and lifting her phone.
Sero’s smile faltered for a second.
While her phone clicked, she leaned into his ear — too close — and whispered,
“I could totally be your sidepiece, you know.”
Sero’s entire body froze.
He pulled back immediately.
“Whoa, whoa—that’s… no,” he said quickly. “I’m taken.”
Her face fell into a pout. “Seriously? By who?”
He looked straight across the room — straight at you.
“My girlfriend,” he said proudly. “She’s right there.”
She looked you up and down, unimpressed.
Sero’s eyes narrowed — barely, but enough.
But she still didn’t move.
“Are you sure?” she asked, stepping close again. “I mean, guys like you usually keep their options open…”
Sero’s polite smile disappeared completely.
“I don’t keep options open,” he said flatly. “I’m loyal.”
She walked away, annoyed and dramatic, tossing her hair.
You swallowed the heat rising in your cheeks — jealousy, embarrassment, insecurity all tangled together.
But you forced yourself to stay still.
Except Sero wasn’t having that.
The moment his line ended, he excused himself, cutting his break short. Long strides carried him straight to you.
“Mi amor?” he murmured gently, touching your arm. “You okay?”
You blinked, caught off guard.
“You look like you’re thinking really loud,” he said softly. “And not in a good way.”
You tried to smile. “I’m fine.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“You are. I know your ‘I’m fine’ voice. It’s your ‘I’m two seconds away from crying, punching something, or making a bad decision’ voice.”
Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escaped.
But your chest still felt tight.
Sero noticed. Of course he did.
“Walk with me?” he asked quietly.
He guided you into a quiet hallway behind the event booths, away from fans, lights, and cameras. Just the two of you.
The second the door closed, he turned toward you — gentle, attentive.
“Alright,” he said softly. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
You hesitated, then sighed.
“That girl,” you admitted. “She was really… forward.”
“That’s one word,” he muttered.
“And she was all over you.”
“And she whispered in your ear,” you blurted.
“…THAT’S what you’re upset about?”
“I’m not upset,” you said quickly. “I just—didn’t like it.”
Sero stepped closer, voice softening.
Heat crawled up your neck.
His eyes softened immediately.
He lifted your chin with his finger.
“Hey,” he murmured, “don’t look away.”
He stepped even closer, his warmth surrounding you, calm and grounding.
“You know you’re the only one I look at, right?” he said quietly. “You’re the only one I want.”
You scrunched your nose. “That girl was practically climbing into your lap.”
Sero snorted. “And I practically peeled her off.”
“She whispered she could be my ‘sidepiece,’” he said with a disgusted look. “Sidepiece? Really? I’m not even cool enough for that.”
You laughed. “You’re plenty cool.”
“Well, yeah, but in like… a wholesome ‘I make tea and watch movies with my girlfriend’ way, not in a ‘I secretly cheat behind her back’ way.”
Your chest loosened a little.
He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.
“You really think I’d entertain that?” he whispered.
“And you really think I’d ever let someone talk to me like that when I have you?”
“Then why does this hurt you?” he asked gently.
“I guess… I don’t like seeing other people want you like that. Or touch you like that. It makes me feel like—like I could lose you.”
His eyes softened with something deep, almost aching.
He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered into your hair. “Ever.”
Your fingers curled into his shirt.
“And you’re not losing me,” he said firmly. “Not to some random girl. Not to anyone.”
He pulled back just enough to see your face.
“You know what I thought when she touched me?” he asked.
“I thought, ‘Wow, if Y/N saw this, she’s gonna chew me out later.’”
You laughed into his chest.
“And then I thought, ‘I need a shower. Immediately.’”
You laughed harder, warmth bubbling through your chest.
Sero cupped your cheeks gently, his thumbs brushing your skin.
“Mi amor,” he murmured, “if someone flirts with me and you get jealous, all it does is confirm one thing.”
You raised a brow. “What?”
“And that,” he said, leaning closer, “makes me feel… incredibly lucky.”
He kissed your forehead — slow, tender.
Then both cheeks because he was dramatic like that.
Then finally, softly, your lips.
He pulled back with a soft breath against your mouth.
“I love you,” he whispered. “You hear me?”
“No, I want you to say it,” he said gently.
“I love you,” you murmured.
He smiled — that warm, radiant, boyish smile.
You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly devoted,” he corrected smugly.
You kissed him again to shut him up.
He kissed back with a small hum of satisfaction.
Then he pulled away, sliding his hand into yours.
“Now come on,” he said with a playful smirk. “Let’s go back out there so everyone knows exactly who I belong to.”
You arched a brow. “You want me to be glued to your side?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Hold my hand the whole time. Cling if you want. Make it obvious.”
You snorted. “You like it when I’m jealous?”
“I like it when you want me,” he corrected, leaning close. “And I love reminding the world that I’m yours.”
Warmth flooded your entire body.
“Come on, mi amor,” he murmured. “Let’s show them.”
And with your fingers intertwined, he led you back out — proudly, openly, and so, so yours.
