#oh and I’m finally making Sans short? for the first time?

[bubbleteasing]

I drew a quick sketch for a new story I have in the works 😩

Mc is a radio host and Sans is a physiotherapist. They meet after she has a car accident on her way to work 👉👈

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Demon x Gloomy! Reader

As much as you'd like to spend the rest of your life secluded away from the world, you need money. Conveniently enough, a new detective agency in town is hiring, and the salary is ridiculously good. The catch? Oh, you'll see once you sign the contract right...here. Congratulations! You've sealed a lifetime bond with their one and only employee, a demon from the depths of Hell!

Content: female reader, monster romance, dark humor, perverted goat demon yandere, based on ‘Yondemasuyo, Azazel-San’

[Part 2] [Monster masterlist]

There’s still enough time to go back, you think. It’s loud and crowded and you’d rather be home. The temptation is beginning to creep its tendrils over your mind, so you quickly pull out your phone and check your bank account. The numbers remind you why you’re here in the first place: if you don’t get a job soon, you’ll run out of savings.

Come on, it can’t be that bad. In fact, it’s the best offer you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Minimal interaction with humans, short hours, and absurdly good pay. A new detective agency opened in your town and they’re looking for an assistant. A regular person would most likely be put off by such shady circumstances. There must be a catch, but you couldn’t care less either way. What are they going to do, kill you? Sell your organs on the black market? They’d spare you the time to plan your own demise.

You climb the stairs and knock on the door. A deep voice tells you to enter, and you sheepishly make your entrance. The office is rather small and somewhat cramped, with stacks of papers scattered over the floor. Behind the desk sits a man – maybe in his thirties? – with messy black hair, sunken eyes, and an irked expression. Is this the detective? He looks like an angry thug. Not that you’re one to judge, given your overall gloomy aura that deters passersby with ease.

“Yes?” he asks curtly, not even looking up from his book.

“I’m here for the job offer. The assistant role?”

“Ah, yeah. Completely forgot about that.” He rummages through his drawer and pulls out a sheet of paper, slapping it on the desk. “Here’s the details. Same as in the ad. Here’s where you sign. Do you have questions?”

“Hmm, I guess not.” You hum, indifferent, and scribble your name.

The man finally glances at you, faint intrigue on his face.

“This went unexpectedly smoothly. What if it was a scam?”

“Then what?” You stare him in the eye with a flaccid smile. “There’s nothing to take from me. If it is a scam indeed, you’ll be the one disappointed in the end.”

His eyes narrow in an eerie grin, and he stands up.

“Perfect match.”

“Excuse me?”

He walks towards a secondary room and waits for you to follow him. Once you’ve joined, he turns on the lights, and you immediately notice a strange seal painted on the floor: Geometric symbols resembling a pentagram, surrounded by words in a language you don’t understand. You’re carefully observing the strange sight, so entranced that you don’t sense the detective lifting your hand and casually piercing your finger with a small scalpel.

Before you can react to the sudden attack, he presses your hand onto the contract you’d signed earlier. You wince in pain and swiftly pull your hand away, glaring at the man.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you demand angrily.

“I thought I’d already introduce you to the main tool we use to solve our cases.”

The sigil on the ground begins to glow and the edges move in a circular motion. A black ooze erupts from the center, rapidly expanding outwards. You glue yourself to the wall for safety, unsure of what is happening.

A clawed hand emerges from the cursed muck, grabbing onto the edges for support. Within seconds, a creature crawls its way out. A humanoid figure with curled horns and long locks, its body ending with goat hooves instead of legs, stands up and stretches before your terrified self. You tighten your jaw in anticipation.

“You always summon me during my best naps, damn it!” the demon barks.

The detective approaches the monster, completely unconcerned, and slaps its horns nonchalantly, earning a groan from the demon.

“Skip the unnecessary whining. This is our new assistant and your owner as of now.” He explains, dangling the contract before the horned creature and pointing a finger in your direction.

“The fuck? You said you’d end the deal if I completed that mission. You lied to me, you-!” the beast finally notices your presence and abruptly stops. “Well then, what do we have here?”

A wide, perverted smile replaces his frown, sharp fangs glistening with malice.

“Aren’t you a miserable one! You reek of apathy”, the demon exclaims, clacking his hooves in your direction. “Boy oh boy, I could just eat you up! Tell me your name.”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You wonder if this is some bizarre dream after all. The demon clamps your lips back shut.

“Tempting offer, but I don’t need head right now. Save the gesture for later, alright? Let’s try again: Name!”

Your brows furrow in disbelief at his crass insolence.

“I-it’s (Y/N).” you finally manage to blurt out.

He strokes your head lovingly, as if he’s praising some house pet.

“Good girl. You can call me Zzy.”

For a moment, you completely forgot about the detective being in the same room. He places the demon under a firm hold and shoves him away from you, then hands you a thick, leathered book.

“This is his grimoire. Read it once you’re home. First day is tomorrow unless you need more time.”

“Tomorrow is fine”, you answer in a daze, fumbling to find the exit and ignoring the horned monster waving at you enthusiastically.

You’re lying in bed, still a little shaken from the events you witnessed earlier today. A detective agency that uses a demon to solve matters, and you’ve just been coerced into selling your soul for a lifetime bond with him. You sigh in exhaustion. At least the pay is good, you tell yourself as you trace your fingers over the old text of the grimoire:

“Great President of Hell, ruling three legions of demons. Brings insanity or great sorrow to any person the conjurer wishes. Feeds on sadness and fear. Causes people to end their life.”

Hard to believe that depraved buffoon holds such power. Although it does explain, at least, why the detective was eager to use you as a replacement. Or why the demon showed such intense interest.

“Who’s a buffoon?”

The voice is so close that you feel its hot breath on your ear. You scream and jump back in panic, tumbling out of the bed and scrambling onto the floor. You rub your eyes just to make sure: the half-goat creature is lounging under your sheets, gazing at you with a bored expression.

“Christ! I thought you’re not allowed to leave the office?” you inquire, baffled.

“That’s why I snuck this in your pocket!” he says as he procures a small coin. “I can track down cursed items. Hehe~”

As if remembering a vital detail, he throws himself up and joins you on the ground:

“Oh, but don’t tell Mr. Detective about it, or he’ll feed me to the dogs. It’s our secret.” he pleads, hands put together in a praying gesture.

“What are you even doing here?”

“I figured it’d be useful if we got to know each other as soon as possible, seeing as we’ll be working together from now on.”

“And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Well…I also got really horny thinking of you and decided to just visit instead. How about a quick fuck?”

“Absolutely not. Eat a raw potato or something.”

“Don’t be like that! At least let me touch your boobs. Help a partner out, eh?”

Perhaps being scammed was not the worst-case scenario. You slap the demon’s groping fingers away and return to your previous spot in bed. It will be a long night.

[synthetickitsune]

may i please request florist!san who secretly likes a regular at his flower shop, then he learns that she finally recently broke up with her ex so he does all kinds of things to cheer her up like slipping in cute notes or chocolates in the flowers she buys and to also maybe shoot his shot 🥹💕

thank youuu and no need to rush! please do take all the time you need 🫶

San (ATZ) | Flower Shop AU + hidden notes fluff | 0.9k | gn!reader

The change wasn’t immediately recognizable for what it truly was. 

You might’ve missed a few weeks, which was concerning, but San understood that life happens and sometimes there’s just not enough time, money, or even energy to come to the flower shop, to keep the house looking pretty. 

And of course he spent the better part of those weeks worried if you’ll ever show up again.

Some little part of him hoped that you won’t - the unselfish one, the one that only cared about your happiness as he tends to care about all strangers that come to his shop. If you never come again, then perhaps your manchild of a boyfriend has finally grown into a full fledged man and started buying you flowers like you deserve instead of leaving you to do it yourself.

It was just one of the few pieces of information he got from the limited amount of small conversations you had. Your boyfriend would give you a couple bucks and tell you to go buy yourself some red roses. An exact amount that would in no universe be covered by the money he gave you. Truly, San wonders why you bothered with that guy. 

You deserve better. You deserve someone like him - but that’s only what the selfish part of his heart keeps telling him.

Things are different now, though. Something changed. You’re back to getting flowers, but they’re not roses anymore, and the bouquets are smaller. They also suit you more. You seem genuinely happy getting them.

San feels torn about it, although he’s mostly curious.

Until one day he sees your phone light up just as you’re about to pay, a name briefly flashing on the screen. You decline the call with lips pressed into a thin line. It’s not the time to be nosy, it’s not his place to ask-

“Is everything alright?” he asks carefully, then upon meeting your eyes he panics, “It’s just you seemed upset and you’ve been missing before…”

He’s just making it worse, he knows, but he hopes you can just take it as him being concerned about his business and not creepy. You study his face for a moment before sighing.

“We broke up,” you say simply, “And he keeps calling so that’s a little annoying.”

“Oh,” is all he can say.

And oh is all he can think for the rest of the day. Week, actually. And then he gets it together.

‘Together’ in a way that is perhaps concerning in its own way.

It might be too much - it is too much and wholly inappropriate. But San feels like a madman on a mission, hyping himself before the final stretch as he looks at the handful of notes and another small pile of envelopes.

The notes should be fine - they’re just generic words of encouragement, some may be a little too sweet for strangers, but not too much. The envelopes, well, they hold his heart. He must be in his right mind still if he thought to start with the notes and see how you accept them.

…And that doesn’t apply anymore weeks later when he’s stealthily slipping the first envelope into the bouquet before wrapping it for you. His heart is about to burst and you’re looking at him with concern. His hands are shaking, but at least you only noticed now. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, of course,” he smiles. It’s easy to make it genuine. 

“I…” you hesitate and he leans closer, nodding at you to continue, “I know I never said anything, but I wanted to thank you for the notes. I mean, you probably noticed I started coming in more. They just really helped me get through the hard times.”

He did notice. He also noticed you slowly opening up, lingering, gracing him with short conversation each time.

“I’m glad,” he says and he means it. Even if nothing comes out of this, making you happy is enough.

“So I was wondering, would you like to go on a date with me?” you bite your lip, “If you’re okay with going slow-”

“Yes,” he interrupts before you can change your mind. He already saw you spiral into overthinking many times, he’s not gonna do it today. “Absolutely. Just, uh, could you give that back to me?”

He points to the wrapped flowers in your hands. You look at him with a suspicion. “Why?”

“I don’t want to embarrass myself and make you change your mind, please?” he begs. Suddenly he can’t remember what’s written in the short letter. He only knows it’s sappy and pathetic.

“Is your number there?” you chuckle.

“Among other things,” he admits. For once he doesn’t like the way your smile grows bigger.

“Then if I like the other things I will text you,” you seem so satisfied with yourself, San is in love - and shambles, “If not, I’ll come here again and pretend I didn’t see anything. You can ask me on the date again if the note doesn’t work.”

That’s not the issue, the note isn’t asking you out, he wants to say, but you’re already turned away from him and walking out. He can’t speak, his tongue feels too heavy and his mind is blank. Slowly, he feels a smile stretching his lips against his will.

Maybe you like losers, he hopes.

[nattheother]

over the counter and back ✧ jww

tags fluff, meet cute, izakaya!au / midnight diner!au, slight misunderstanding, few swear words, self indulgence (surprising), love me a sopping wet pathetic yn

wc 2.7k words

note that men’s nonno izakaya shoot with dk… yeah... *faints* the hirotaka allegations aint helping either [pic cr. jwwfile on twt]

note i was gonna put an alcohol on the tags but its an izakaya au, u know what ur getting into so :3

crossposted to AO3

—

It wasn’t the weekdays or the rush hour, it’s just the izakaya usually is not that packed. Only two couples on the tables and a woman tonight, who seemed to get off work quite late, sitting at the bar area, seemingly laid back on her phone over her unfinished beer. Old jazzy songs from your boss’ playlist softly filled the bar, warming up the mood.

Your head chef, well, your boss, Kouji, just bid you a farewell. The izakaya just opened about two hours ago this evening, but he had to clock early for his daughter in labour. She usually works part-time here alongside you until about a month ago, which is why you tried to fill her shift until she comes back. Not that you mind.

You wished him good luck before he tackled you into a light hug, resulting in a small “oof!” out of you.

Honestly, handling the diner on a slow day alone doesn’t really worry you. It’s always just the three or two of you. Kouji said the neighborhood was particularly safe, “also it’s a small bar afterall,” he adds.

As you came back from the kitchen after finishing the woman’s check, a new customer came in behind the bar island this time. Young man probably what describes him more. Looks about around his mid 20s, pretty thick rimmed glasses. You’re not sure if it’s his shoulder who’s wide or his button-ups were just oversized, but does he look lean. 

“Welcome! Anything for your order tonight?”

He sits on the barstool at the centre by himself. He adjusts his glasses as he glances around unsure, “yeah, um… just gyudon and draft beer, please,”

You walked around getting the tall glass to pour one from the beer machine. “Sorry, can I ask something?” he promptly starts.

”Yeah?”

”Where is Kouji-san?”

Looking up from the filled glass, you serve the beer on the counter, “Sensei? His daughter’s in labour tonight. I’m in charge for tonight,”

“Only you?” you smiled at his question and nodded, “‘Seems you know Sensei. You’re a regular?”

He took off his watch and chuckled, “Sort of? I do stop by pretty frequently but I’ve kinda never seen you,” he reasoned as he folded up his sleeves.

You laughed softly in the middle of wiping off the beer faucet, pointing to the back with your thumb, “I’m usually in the kitchen.” You put the rag into your apron, “So ring the bell or call up if you need anything.”

You felt the banter was enough as you turned your heels back to the kitchen because you had to make his gyudon, “Wait,” but his calling stopped you in your step. You turned around to him taking a sip of his beer.

“I haven’t gotten your name.”

“If it isn’t Wonwoo!”

Who?

Kouji’s whoop was muffled behind the kitchen curtain. You tried to calmly finish plating up the dish for a current customer so you can quickly move on to this acquaintance of Kouji. Putting his order is for later, so you swiftly deliver the tray full of bowls to the also full table at the back first.

You came back with another tray of empty dishes as you can finally see your next customer.

Oh, right… I forgot to ask his name.

He smiled at you as you confidently welcomed him, mirroring his smile.

In the middle of putting away the dirty dishes, Kouji came into the kitchen with a question, “Wonwoo said he knows you? You’ve never told me!”

You looked back at him in a slight surprise and a chuckle, “Not really, actually, we met around last week I think? You clocked off early.”

What you remembered from that day was after Wonwoo asked your name, customers piling up in a short time right after you served his food. That resulted in you spending most of your time in the kitchen and finished his check a little quickly because the other was also queuing behind him.

“Go take his order. A group just came in just now and I’m taking theirs,” Kouji ordered.

“What?? Why not you earlier, Sensei?” you whined.

After your half-playful complaint of not taking his order, you wipe off your hand dry and sighed on your way out.

“Another draft beer?”

You guessed as you walked up to him. He nodded, “And a mapo tofu, do you have that?” You took out your notes to write down his orders, “I’ll make sure and prepare that for you.

Anything else?”

Days after that, Wonwoo stopped by around eight to nine, assumingly whenever he had overtime. It’s always the same order. One (or more) glass of draft beer and any bowl dishes, that mapo tofu most of the time.

There was also the time where he came in at almost eleven. He usually never shows any signs of fatigue or weariness on his face but you can see the dim in his eyes. You tried to not approach him that much, spending more of your time checking up the kitchen before touching the baton to Kouji for the night.

You rang up his check right before you clock out. He looked a bit more refreshed after his meal, cheeks slightly flushed after a few refills of beer.

“Please walk safe home,” you gave back his card to the small tray alongside the bill.

Not expecting your non-customer service-way farewell, he stared at you for a few seconds before nodding his head, “you too.”

You swear in every language you can think of. Your heart squeezed. Wonwoo was starting to grow in your heart. It’s really nice to see him in the izakaya for a few days a week after that. You never sort of believed in any of those “at first sight” moments, if it works, good for them. While it did feel slightly heavy on your feet anytime you had to walk back to the kitchen instead of seeing him and talk to him, you had to put your mind in place. Focus. 

It could be because he’s one of your first regulars and, cough, is good looking, but you don’t know his background. Who are his friends and family and why does he always come in alone? You’re not even sure if it’s a crush or that you just found comfort with a customer. Either way, workplace is still a workplace and he is your client. This izakaya is your only rendezvous to him.

That is when Wonwoo ordered two glasses of beer. You tried your best not to halt when you stepped out of the kitchen and saw a young woman around his age beside him. You didn’t, and served him his usual bowl of rice. Gyudon this time, and mapo tofu for her.

You need to stop looking like a stalker, hiding behind the kitchen curtain. This is the second time he had brought her to this izakaya. You need to stop before someone accuses you as a total creep as you compare their interaction a few days ago with today. Almost the same. From outside it looked like they were having a quite serious and private discussion, noting down stuff on paper and their phone alternatively. As if someone’s life was actually on the line. You are also lucky Kouji will come later at night, because he might also accuse you as a total creepy stalker.

You try only focusing on attending customers. It’s almost the weekend and customers start piling up before you realize Wonwoo was already sitting alone. You try to not overthink why he didn’t take her home himself and let her go home by herself.

You walk up to the bar to check the beer dispenser. You can feel his eyes boring at you, slightly dim again like it was a couple weeks ago, and two empty glasses of beer.

“Need a refill?” you carefully ask, walking up to him.

“I’m good.” he slightly smiles before asking for his check.

You kept your sweet encouragement to yourself as you don’t want to force and assume anything towards him. He left the change and gave you a tip.

“Wonwoo?”

It was nearing autumn. Though the sun was already setting at five, the bar still opens at the same time. The rain pours hard, covering any sign of the sun setting with gloom. But nothing could’ve prepared you other than the six feet tall man crouching under the roof in front of the closed bar you’re working at, shading himself from the rain. You grip your umbrella tighter when he looks up to your call.

He calls your name in recognition as he stands up.

The rain poured harder above the roof of the izakaya when you hand Wonwoo the warm coffee on the bar. He’s in the middle of taking off his damp jacket when he looks up to you at the sight of the cup.

“On the house,”

“Thank you.”

You busy yourself behind the bar, checking and tidying stuff up under the bar as Wonwoo sips on his coffee. You peek glances over him. He doesn’t look as tired as the last time you saw him. But if your over-analysis and timeline matched, his reasoning behind crouching like a pathetic man in front of your workplace must have something to do with it.

“Is it okay if I ask you what’s wrong?”

Your sudden approach jolts him a little. He chuckles, “it’s fine,” you wait for his pause.

“I can say it’s family matters. Something came up and we had to figure it out somehow, a little stressful I might say,” you hum understanding.

“Did you not have work today? You usually come later. It’s not even six yet,”

He shakes his head, “No, I just finished super early. My seniors are having dinner, too, so,”

“Not going?”

“Not really my thing. Only works when I was new,”

He takes a sip of his coffee again. You space out for a moment not knowing what to respond. You were never the best at comforting someone. For as long as you’ve been friends with your best friends, you’ve always listened. Maybe give them some hugs and pats on the head, words of “I’m here” and “You’re not on your own” repeatedly said, affirming.

You felt sort of bad and truly embarrassed at how you acted behind him the past weeks, sort of suspecting his love life, getting (you admit) jealous at some random woman you don’t know and didn’t even try to know. Maybe what you thought a few weeks ago was right. Maybe you do have a huge cru–

“Yes, Wonwoo?” your ribbons of thoughts were snipped by Wonwoo calling your name.

“You’re usually bright, is something wrong?”

Confused by his question, you look around unsure. Guests usually come around an hour after opening, and you never wished someone to come in right now so bad through your whole career.

“M-maybe? I don’t know, sorry,”

Wonwoo was in the middle of wiping his glasses with the paw of his sleeves. He puts them back on.

“It’s usually me who’s quiet between us,” he adjusts them to the bridge of his nose, looking up at you from his seat, smiling.

Between us? He’s not making this any better. You scratch the back of your neck, not planning to come up with any reply or answer. You avert your gaze to the window, trying to avoid his eyes. Your wish of customers barging in is washed away by the rain—not slowing down any minute apparently.

“I just thought something came up and you had to like,” you chuckle at your assumption, “get off early or, run away or some sort,”

Wonwoo was still sipping his coffee. Not sensing his answer in any minute, you finish your prior thought with your remaining breath, “sort of heartbroken-looking.”

You organize the shot bottle on the under bar, again trying to distract yourself from the fact that he's now facing you, eyes boring. You didn’t budge and he stared at his coffee.

“I wanna get to know you, Wonwoo,” you finally look at him. Emphasizing on your tone, you don’t want him to feel like you’re just messing around.

“Can I?” you ponder at him, preparing yourself for the worst.

“I don’t know if it's possible. For all the time you came here, the past few weeks, I always get all... gung-ho when cooking, or preparing side dishes and bowls in the back. It’s like I want you to see me doing great like there’s nothing wrong in my mind. You know, "bright" like you said. It’s honestly stupid, fuck…” you breath out the last word.

“And then you came in super late that night, with that… heavy shoulders and countless refills of this damned beer, and then came in with that lady not once but twice, and this… serious tension between the two of you. You know, I just didn’t want to assume but it’s just… I don’t know, it was kinda confu–”

“With who now?”

You instantly pause, knowing full well he has probably catched on. So you sigh, “That… friend around your age. Pretty, slight tan, long hair,” you scratch your forehead in defeat. It’s like your pride just splurts out like a balloon being squished its air out.

You excuse yourself by collecting his empty cup on the top counter to refill it, but a hand halts your steps grabbing onto your arm.

“Don’t give me more, I don’t handle caffeine that well.”

“Just… let me put this back to the kitchen,”

“Later. Sit here.” he orders.

Your heart flinched at the slight octave drop of his already soft voice. Another sigh of loss, you put back the cup. Wonwoo slowly let go of your arm to let you walk around the bar counter.

It’s now a whole new view. Wonwoo is sitting right next to you and you can definitely smell his cologne. Even just one second of eye contact, you couldn’t handle it. How does one’s gaze be so soft and comforting? You dart your eyes and cover them with your hands with elbows on the table.

“Just… let's just finish this. I already feel ridiculous.”

All you can catch with your ears was his soft chuckle and fabric rustling, “you wanna get to know me right?”

You feel his fingers snake around your wrist, gently pulling your hands away from your face. Seeing his face up close does not help even one bit, you feel even more like shit of how messy and pathetic you must’ve looked.

“That… “friend”, is my future sister-in-law,” he starts,

Your eyeballs could probably see the back of your head as you whip your head away in another embarrassment, “Ugh, Wonwoo, enough of that,”

“Which is why we were so stressed we had to talk about it on our own. My brother’s marriage is on the line.”

You hear his tone indicating him smiling whilst explaining. To be frank, you kind of already gave up the moment his voice dropped an octave lower. All you can do now is just to sit next to Wonwoo with his thumb drawing circles on your palm. 

“It’s not stupid,” he softly assures, fingertips a little cold from sheltering the rain earlier. But it does feel so to you. Stupid crush at the ripe age of your 20s. Great. 

“So can I get to know you then?”

You look up at him, desperate for his answer and decision.

“Only if I get to know you, too. Here,”

He taps his finger to the table, hand still not letting go of yours. You make sure once more, “like right here?”

He nods, “until today’s first customer.”

You’re not sure if the smile on your lips is for him or just out of embarrassment, “Well technically you are one,” you chuckle, “at least let me put this back to the kitchen.”

Well, now that your stupid crush issue is all clear, you can finally find the courage to look at his face one more time, no meddling. All you can focus on was the soft and playful beam on his eyes behind that thick specs.

“Tell Kouji-san you got a date tonight.”

[18:06] sensei [18:06] i might have to clock off early

[18:12] Oh sure, something’s up?

[18:13] yeah umm [18:13] i just booked myself a date

[18:14] Oooh [18:14] Hahaha [18:14] About time that wonwoo

[18:14] ??? [18:14] sensei???

—

[m.list]

im bout to make a “try not writing scenario about another meet cute at 3 am” challenge (already failed)

[missmaniac25]

Ateez Scenarios - Realising you're in love with your best friend

OK these are super short but I just... yeah anyways! Each member's piece is between 300 and 400 words (basically just drabbles)

The tl:dr: (they make more sense in context) Hongjoong: hearing your favourite song Seonghwa: laughing so hard it hurts Yunho: having his missing hoodie Yeosang: he remembers things about you San: makes you a personal gift Mingi: driving home late at night Wooyoung: you associate him with an adrenaline rush Jongho: sleeping in for 5 more minutes

~

Hongjoong:

Late night snack runs were your favourite menial thing to do with Hongjoong. It was partly the fact that you both could be extremely chaotic the longer you were without sleep but it was also one of the few times when it was just the two of you.

You ducked behind the chips just as Hongjoong’s head popped up on the other side of the aisle. You stifled your giggles behind your hand before sneaking down the row, making your way around to him.

“Yah!” He yelled when you appeared next to him, his hands raised like he was ready to fight. “Where did you even come from!?”

“I’m everywhere… like a ghost.”

The pair of you break out into giggles before moving on to find more food. While on your trek, something catches your attention: a song has started to crackle through the speaker of the shop. The second you know what song it is, your gaze shoots to Hongjoong, only to find him already looking at you with a wide grin on his face.

“This is our song,” he happily tells you.

“Hell yeah it is!”

The song that made you two become friends. The song that you both know all the words too. The song that every time you hear it, you think of him.

The next three minutes are spent taking turns singing as wildly and as purposefully over the top as you can, while the poor cashier looks on in dismay. It doesn’t matter if anyone else sees – life is too short to worry about it anyways.

As the song ends and you catch your breath, you look to your friend again.

If every night could be like this, seeing the sparkle in his eye from happiness, you’d sell everything you have to make it so. These nights, nights with Hongjoong, were the moments you lived for.

~

Seonghwa:

“I can’t breathe!”

Who even knows what you were laughing at in the first place. It doesn’t matter; the more Seonghwa laughs, the further into hysterics you fall.

The other patrons of the restaurant are eyeing the pair of you as you continue to cause a ruckus.

Seonghwa has his head on his arms, lying on the table, looking somewhat like an ostrich with its head in the sand. That realisation causes you to laugh more. And as you laugh, you see Seonghwa’s shoulder shake; he’s trying so hard to contain himself and failing so spectacularly.

Finally, he looks up at you, tears in his eyes but a smile on his face.

“You’re impossible,” he manages to say in between catching his breath.

It takes a few more minutes before you’ve calmed down enough to resume a normal conversation.

“Ow,” you sigh. “My abs hurt.”

“Do you even have abs?” Seonghwa wipes his cheeks dry one last time.

“Rude much. I might have abs. After that I probably do.”

Your best friend smiles at you – he’s so pretty, always has been. Even his laughter is pretty, and even though you’ve heard it for the past five minutes, you’d do anything to hear it again. It’s like a song you’d have on repeat for the rest of your life if you could.

“You alright?” Seonghwa asks.

“Yeah.” You shuffle a little in your seat. “Just… thinking how lucky I am to have you in my life.”

“Oh.” His cheeks turn a light shade of pink at your words. “Thank you.”

His eyes are wide but full of affection for you. They almost shine.

“You aren’t going to say it back?” you joke, making him groan. “I pour my heart out to you and you can’t even return the favour!”

The smile returns to Seonghwa’s face and you feel the laughter bubbling inside of you again. Try as you might to hold it in, a giggle escapes you.

It doesn’t take long for you both to end up back the way you started – who even cares why you started laughing in the first place?

~

Yunho:

“You really have too many clothes.”

A soft ‘oof’ is heard as you throw another jersey at Yunho, more specifically his face.

“That’s why I’m trying to get rid of some of them, you nugget!”

Yunho just smiles as he sits on your bed, the lighthouse in the sea of garments that surround him.

“You didn’t have to come over today,” you chastise him. “But you chose to.”

He just laughs as more items are thrown his way.

Your cupboard is eventually empty and the sorting process can finally begin. It’s a relatively painless ordeal, tossing what you don’t want on the floor and what you do want back at your best friend, who gives his two cents when you aren’t sure if something is worth holding onto anymore or not.

“I don’t even remember buying this.” You hold up an extremely oversized hoodie. “Weird but I’m still keeping it.”

As it lands in Yunho’s lap, he’s quick to pick it up and give it a once over.

“This is mine!” He says, drawing your attention to him. “Why do you have it?”

“It’s yours?” The confusion is clear in your voice.

“Yes! Did you steal this?” Yunho laughs. “I thought I’d lost it ages ago.”

There’s a pause as you stare at each other, neither having the answer.

‘Well, if you really want it back, you can take it.” You shrug.

Yunho fiddles with the hoodie, feeling the material under his fingers before he shakes his head.

“You can keep it.”

It starts a back and forth of ‘are you sure’, ‘yes I’m sure’, ‘are you super sure?’ until your best friend can’t take it anymore, getting up and pulling the hoodie over your head.

You stand, looking at each other. Yunho smiles triumphantly and for some reason you feel butterflies in your stomach.

‘That’s never happened before,’ you muse to yourself.

“Will you just take the damned hoodie?” It’s less of a question from Yunho and more of a command.

With a sigh of defeat, you put it on properly and get back to organising while Yunho finds his place on your bed again.

“Besides, it looks cute on you.” He says nonchalant and your stomach feels weird again.

‘Oh no, I’m falling for my best friend.’

~

Yeosang:

“Do we have to do this every time?”

“Yes, now hurry up!”

Somewhat reluctantly, Yeosang lets you take his hand and pull him through the shop until you reach your goal.

The shelves of scented candles call to you and you happily oblige, picking up the first one in front of you and giving it a sniff.

“Hmmm,” you hum in happiness, putting it back and picking up the next one.

Yeosang can only stand and watch in amusement. Every time the two of you go out, you end up here, and because he’s such a good friend, Yeosang will let you smell all the candles to your hearts content, even though he has no interest in it whatsoever.

“This one is so nice!” You hold it out to him.

He doesn’t sniff it but his eyes scan the label in record speed.

“Well, vanilla is one of your favourites and that one has vanilla in it.”

You turn the candle around only to see that he’s correct. But there’s something else you want to find out.

“You know my favourite scents?” you query, still cradling the item in your hands.

“At least when it comes to scented candles, yeah,” Yeosang says. “I do pay attention to you, you know, even when you’re rambling about… I don’t know, what smells nice and what doesn’t.”

Theres a second where your brain short-circuits: that’s so kind that he remembers the little things about you.

But then you remember that that’s his job as your best friend. Right?

“Well, now I feel bad cause I don’t know what you like!”

Yeosang just shrugs and starts telling you that it’s not important but stops as he finds a candle thrust under his nose.

The following fifteen minutes are spent figuring out Yeosang’s preferences. And you’re making damned sure you remember them because that’s what best friends do.

Right?

~

San:

San proudly places the shoe box on your kitchen counter. He’s tried to make it look pretty by sticking pictures of the two of you to the outside, along with random cut-outs of pictures from a magazine.

“Happy birthday!” He sing-songs, a smile taking over his whole face.

“A box?” You tease. “San, you shouldn’t have.”

His expression immediately changes to one of annoyance.

“I’ll take your present back if you’re going to be mean about it,” he says, reaching for it.

You manage to react faster and grab it closer to you.

“Nah uh!” You give San a pointed look. “My birthday present. Mine!”

You don’t miss how he smirks before settling on the barstool next to you. You also don’t miss how his demeanour shifts when you open the box. He seems nervous all of a sudden, wringing his hands as he leans forward.

With the shoebox now open, you find a plethora of white envelopes. Pulling the top one out, you see the outside has a nearly written ‘1’ on it.

“Um, let me explain it,” San buts in, opting to look at the box rather than you. “So, there’s fifty-two letters. One for every week of the year. Cause we don’t always get to see each other I thought it would be nice to still be with you somehow.”

The piles of envelopes start to look blurry as your eyes get teary. It must’ve taken a lot of effort. So much time spent on you.

“I know it’s not very grand or anything,” San tries to justify, still wringing his hands.

“It’s perfect,” you manage to say without your voice cracking. “Thank you.”

You fling your arms around his neck, pulling him close. He wastes no time hugging you back, his relief felt in his hold on you.

“You didn’t have to do all this for me,” you mumble into his shoulder.

San takes a deep breath.

“For you, I’d do so much more.”

His words bury themselves deep in your heart and you know they’ll stay there forever.

~

Mingi:

It’s an unofficial rule that the passenger side of Mingi’s car is reserved for you. Even tonight, when he offered to drop some of the others off before taking you home, the three other boys all squished into the backseat, leaving you to be comfortable up front.

The car pulls out of the last driveway and the journey to your home begins. Mingi passes you his phone and without even telling you, you open the music app and turn the volume down slightly.

“What you in the mood for?”

Mingi shrugs, eyes focused on the road ahead.

“Maybe something soft.”

You quickly find a playlist you like and let the music play.

There's nothing the two of you need to say. You could, and have, spoken nonsense for hours on end but tonight, you know it’s not the time.

Instead, you turn your head to look at your best friend, the lights outside cast shadows over his face, shifting as you pass under each street light. It draws your attention to his nose, then his hair, his cheeks, his chin, his eyes, his lips…

‘Has Mingi always been this attractive?’

It’s a random thought but one that doesn’t go away easily.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Mingi softly laughs when he catches your staring. “This feels kind of like an interrogation.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you Mingi.” You don’t take your eyes off of him. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

The atmosphere in the car feels thick enough to cut with a knife. Pulling up to a red light, Mingi turns to look at you.

“I’m not perfect,” he says, and before you can argue he speaks again. “But you are.”

An eternity passes before the light changes to green and he’s forced to look away.

There's too much weight in his words for you to process right now. You just hope you can keep your sanity until Mingi gets you home.

~

Wooyoung:

Two taps. Two quick taps on your leg to let you know what’s about to happen. You hold on a little tighter to Wooyoung’s torso as he hits the gas and pulls off, speeding down the empty road.

Its not often that you ride with Wooyoung on his bike. He nags and nags for weeks on end until you relent and let him take you for a joyride. Its not that you don’t enjoy it – if anything you enjoy it a little too much. The adrenaline is addicting and experiencing it with your best friend… well, maybe the adrenaline also makes those lines a bit blurred.

Wooyoung steers his bike into a mostly car-less parking lot and switches off the engine before helping you climb down.

“That was a fun stretch.” Wooyoung pulls his helmet off and shakes his head, trying to make his hair look good again.

“At least we weren’t pulled over this time,” you tease after following his lead, tucking your helmet under your arm.

“That was once!” Wooyoung is fast to defend himself. “And it wasn’t cause I was speeding!”

You give him your best ‘if you say so’ face before dodging as he tries to playfully hit you on the arm.

“I won’t take you out riding anymore.”

It’s an empty threat – both of you know it – but for some reason the idea of Wooyoung doing that makes you feel hurt.

You shift a little bit on your feet and look away but Wooyoung notices the change immediately.

“Hey,” he calls as he gently taps your legs to get your attention.

Your heart thumps in your chest, the rush of emotion coming back to you.

“I’ll never leave you behind, ok?”

He smiles and blood rushes to your head.

“Ok.” You smile back and it eases Wooyoung’s worry.

He pushes his hair back before putting his helmet on; you do the same.

Two quick taps is all it takes to get your heart pumping, even when Wooyoung doesn’t take you out on the bike. Even when it’s just him.

~

Jongho:

The wind howled outside of the window, causing you to shudder where you lay. Despite being buried under about a hundred blankets, just the sound of the wind made you feel cold. Winter mornings were not fun.

There was a shuffling in the bed next to you as your best friend rolled over as he slept. Jongho could sleep through just about anything. He’d once slumbered through a raging thunder storm, only waking up because you’d essentially screamed in his ear when the power had suddenly gone off.

The room was still dark as you reached for your phone, the light from the screen momentarily blinding you.

08:34

With a hum you decide it’s better to get up and get the day going than to rot in bed. Slowly, you sit up straight, regretting it instantly as the cold air surrounds you.

“Where are you going?”

The sleepy voice causes you to jump in your own skin.

“Go back to dreamland,” you tell Jongho, bracing yourself to finally get out from under the covers.

You nearly succeed but a heavy arm drops over your legs and you quickly find yourself being pulled back into the warmth of the bed. It’s not worth fighting; Jongho has always been stronger than you.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbles, settling down once again, you now firmly in his grasp.

The heat from his body warms you up much faster than you thought it would. It could also be because you realise that despite sharing a bed with Jongho on many an occasion, you’ve ever been this close before.

The longer you lie with him, the calmer your heart becomes.

Five minutes turns into ten. Ten into twenty.

You don’t know how long you stay there, wrapped up in Jongho’s arms. But what you do know is that if given the choice, you’d stay there forever.

~

@eazycel dearest, here you go 😘

[whalesforhands]

love LOVE loveyour latest stsg x reader fics.. something about them brings me so much comfort bc i just Knowww those two are constantly up to no good. and when it involves a certain oblivious, unsure, not so confident reader? they are sooo evil and i think so much teasing comes up between them so theyre always coming up with ways to tease her and get her all flustered for them. it probably starts with satoru who she caught his eyes first.. ever since then he probably makes it his mission to torment her and follow her like a puppy. and suguru notices that every time she appeara its like he doesn’t exist to satoru! hes not jealous no… if anything he becomes even More obsessed than satoru! and probably a more quiet eviler person to her!!! cant argue w me that suguru is probably the more cunning of the two!! anyways satoru teases her and she runs to suguru for help but hes evil and indulges in satoru’s playfulness so he doesnt give in!! sometimes he does!!

but oh my shoko… my beautiful shoko my lovely lady i love her. and reader is probably infuriated with her but having two overgrown lizards constantly bothering her.. i bet its hard for shoko to have reader all to herself …but!! reader has the biggest soft spot for her obviously she makes time for shoko and shoko 100% uses that to her advantage to bully the two bullies themselves that she has reader wrapped around her finger hah! reader can wear something really cute and maybe more revealing than most days and shoko will just rub herself over reader and the two boys will frown like kids getting their candy stolen :))) thru all of this, reader is clueless and just believes that shoko loves her!

anyways i love your writing so much!

anon, ur so sexy for being my first ever ask and it’s so detailed and long too. u deserve this fic.

eat up

laundry mishap (gojo x reader x geto, shoko x reader)

warnings: you let shoko grope you (willingly), 17+ rating, gojo and geto are hopeless, shoko is so attractive i’m going to scream, aftermath of my AO3 withdrawals

You steps were unsteady, hand desperately pressed onto the hem of your much shorter skirt, it’s length just hitting your mid-thigh as your unsteady gait made you stumble.

Your thigh-highs did little to cover your more exposed legs, unknowingly showing the zettai ryoiki to the world as the socks clung to your flesh, subtly highlighting the sexiness and shapeliness of your legs.

Your school blazer clung ever so tight to your figure, showing each curve and wind of your body. Much too different from your usual loose, ill-fitting uniform. Usually so baggy, your figure was so… Boxy looking.

“Do you ever get tired of looking like a sloth?”

Gojo inquired, staring you down through his sunglasses as he looked over your form. Your long skirt hung to your knees, blazer hanging off your form. The sleeves were so long they nearly swallowed your hands, stopping just shy of your palm as you crossed your arms protectively over yourself, as if embarrassed of your uniform choice.

“I’m just… More comfortable like this, Gojo-san…” You murmur, eyes casting downwards towards the floor. Did you really look… Bad? Was that why Gojo commented on your clothes? Did they really look as horrible as you thoug-

“Don’t tease her Satoru, I think she looks cute.” Suguru smiled, watching with glee as he watched you flinch, eyes growing wide and your face stance turning shy as your eyes finally left the ground, turning to face his own.

A cute, upwards quirk of your lips, polite and unsure, as if you didn’t believe him.

“Thank you, Suguru.”

Foolish, you were so foolish to trust Shoko with your laundry for the week.

“It only shrunk just a little!”

Your skirt is too short. That’s fine. You have stockings, they’ll cover them.

“Ah. Your… Stockings, you say?” Shoko tapped a thoughtful finger on her chin in mock thought. A hand tucked behind her back as she tapped her foot. She lets out a nervous huff, pulling out ripped, torn, absolutely devastated remains of your poor stockings.

…

…

…

“You can forgive me because I’m cute, right?”

(You did, in fact, forgive her because she was cute. And because she bought you your favourite chocolate milk from that specific vending machine at that very specific timing you claim has the best tasting milk.)

You huffed a little from running through the halls, the clock just about to hit 8:30 as you slid open the backdoor, attempting to make a sneaky entrance and slide into your seat next to Ieiri a quick and easy feat.

If counting how 4 pairs of eyes were solely trained on you for a summer draft accidentally slamming the door closed behind you counted as ‘sneaky’ anyway.

(Two pairs were absolutely shocked at your way of dress, whilst one was gloating with pride as she took in the sight of you before her. The last pair was apathetic and was more interested in trying to finish the class.)

“(last name), how quaint of you to finally join us. Take your seat.” Yaga-sensei drawled out, turning back around to the blackboard.

“Ahem, where was I?” He looks towards his notebook. “Ah, right. So Imperial Japan existed from 1868, the beginning of the Mei-“

You shyly hurried to Shoko’s side, watching her smirk as you blushed desperately, holding down your skirt and not noticing the two gazes basically pinning their eyes to you. Stuck gazes, watching the way your ‘new’ uniform highlighted your now more exposed frame. The way it clung tight to your chest, the fat of your thighs exposed from your skirt, the way your thigh-highs tightened around-

“Ieiri,” You whispered. “I feel naked…” You let out a quiet whine, adding to the two boys’ building frustration and wild imaginations.

“I think you look great.” The girl began. “So pretty.” She placed her hand on you, her fingers traced your sock-clad leg. “I didn’t know you had these.” Her fingers gently traced the outline of the sock.

You giggled. A quiet, cute melody. “Right?” Your voice barely above a whisper as you grabbed her hand to place it directly on your exposed thigh skin. “I got them a while ago, their quality is absolutely unmatched!”

Surprising all three at once as you let Shoko touch and explore to her heart’s content. Gojo audibly gulped as he watched Shoko’s fingers squeeze and play with the fat of your thigh, the zettai ryoiki absolutely driving him mad. He couldn’t possibly look away now.

Oh, how he would die to have his face buried in between the plushness of your legs as your hand tangled in his hair, begging, pleading him to stop because you just couldn’t handle it any-

Why were you looking at him so anxiously?

“Gojo.” The imposing figure of Yaga-sensei stood before his desk. “Since you can’t listen, you can stand outside for the rest of the lesson.”

Dammit.

Whilst Suguru was laughing at Satoru’s plight, he was fading no better at the sight of Shoko groping your legs. Especially not when you so adorably turned to face him, your eyes lighting up with a smile and shyly waving at him in greeting.

How he would love to turn that smile of yours into desperate whines as those legs of yours wrapped around his hips, bouncing and whining for him to let you co-

“Ah, Yaga-sensei. I can answer this one.” He raised his hand, regrettably turning his head away from you to participate in class.

Suguru has a gentleman’s role to play in front of you, afterall.

——

The bell rung, signalling the start of the lunch hour as Gojo finally strolled back into the classroom after getting a lecture from Yaga-sensei.

You caused him to get in trouble with how hot you looked today! (Not that he’s going to use that as an excuse in front of Yaga, of course.)

Compounded by his irritation and his lack of getting to ogle at you, Gojo was pissed. Especially when he saw you giggling at Shoko as Suguru stood by your desk, his arm brushing against your shoulder as you idly chatted with the both of them with the prettiest smile on your face.

Your glittery eyes caught sight of him walking towards you, an even prettier smile making its way onto your face. (Gojo was about to implode from cuteness. He cannot think right. His mind was on autopilot.)

“Ah, Gojo-san, good mor-“

“What, you gonna go to a strip club or something afterwards? What’s with the get-up?”

Ouch. Your smile slowly dropped as the weight of his words stung you. Subconsciously, your hands came around to wrap yourself in a self-hug.

Suguru stepped in. “Satoru, what the fuck? That was rude.” He stood in front of you almost protectively, shielding you from Gojo’s sight.

“What? Is she dressing like that to impress someon-“ Geto shoved the imposing boy.

Shoko’s turn. “Wow, way to impress girls, jerk.” Her stare was narrowed, eyes piercing and cutting into the white-haired sorcerer.

Suguru sighed. “Listen, man, that wasn’t cool. Cut th-“

“Suguru! It’s okay!” You didn’t want them to fight. Not because of you. You let out a little nervous laugh, arms tightening around yourself. “I- I probably look- Bad. I know. It’s a bit too new t-to me as well…”

The three looked at you, two with worry, and the last with regretful dejection. He shouldn’t just kept his mouth shut.

You stood up, still hugging yourself. “L-let’s get lunch, shall we?” Shoko’s arm came to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close to her side as she began to lift your mood, chatting with you as the other 2 followed quietly behind.

Your skirt swished and swayed attractively as you walked, Shoko’s hand now around your waist as you began to laugh again, your voice a little bit more free, less constrained from your creeping insecurities and want to escape.

Did you really look that ugly…? You hope your new uniform order comes soon, you don’t want to be in this getup anymore if it-

You felt Shoko’s hand smack against your ass, yelping as you jumped slightly from the shock. Your eyes widened comically, you definitely weren’t expecting that whilst mid-conversation about clothes of all things.

(The audience behind you was seething in jealously.)

“Ieiri…! That’s in-inappropriate !” Your shy stuttering was so cute to her.

“And you,” Shoko began, her hand curling tighter around your waist. “Are the hottest thing I’ve seen today.” She grinned lazily. “Don’t sell yourself short, pretty.”

Ieiri is so attractive. Your blush encompassed your entire face as you looked away shyly, unable to hold her intense gaze.

“Y-you’re prettier…” You shyly began.

“Hmm? Can’t hear you.”

“Ieiri is the prettiest!”

——

Behind you, Geto was unabashedly tearing into Gojo.

“Real charming move today.”

“She- I- I tried to be funny.” Gojo paused, hands tucked into his pockets. “Saw how you were makin’ her laugh so much.”

“So funny, that nobody even laughed.” Geto let out a sigh. “We’re both gonna lose her favour if you keep that shit up.”

Gojo kept his silence, thinking back to the way you shrunk back into yourself. The way you lost your happy glow almost instantaneously. The way your eyes lost their shine, the shakiness of your hands.

He felt bad. He definitely feels bad. He doesn’t want to be the cause of your sadness.

“Shit. What do I do in these situations, Suguru?”

——

“Hey.” You stopped in your tracks, whirling around only to face the Gojo Satoru.

Holding… A bouquet of roses and a carton of milk.

He cleared his throat, pumping his chest up as he pushed the flowers up towards you.

“You’re… Not a stripper.”

(Hidden behind the corridor’s walls, Geto was facepalming and screaming internally.)

You stare at the flowers, at the carton of your favourite chocolate milk that Gojo had opened and drank from.

“Take them.” He shoved the bouquet in your face. “It’s for you.”

You confusedly accept them, holding them in both your arms as you looked up at the tall boy.

“Thank you… But… Why?” Are you being pranked right now?

“Apology. Duh.” Gojo paused, taking a sip for courage from the milk that was meant for you. “For, ya know… Saying you were trying to impress someone.”

You stay silent, eyes casting to the pretty bouquet.

“You look pretty today, by the way. Prettier than the flowers.”

Your eyes widened. The Gojo Satoru… Giving you a compliment? Your eyes shot towards him, only to find him scratching his head, glasses having fallen down slightly, revealing crystal blue eyes that were avoiding your gaze.

He’s cute.

You laugh. Out loud, free, and without restraint.

“Thank you, Gojo-san!”

Gojo thinks he’s never going to forget this sight.

masterlist

Notes:

You do not have any romantic feelings for Gojo or Geto at this moment, but you greatly, greatly admire them for their strength.

Shoko erupts the closest feeling to ‘being in love’ for you. You think you have a crush on her here.

Geto spent 2 hours teaching Gojo about all the things he knew about you, in order for him to form a proper apology to you on his own.

As Gojo approached you from afar with your favourite drink in hand and flowers, he got too nervous. He drank your milk himself to build courage, completely forgetting it was meant for you.

Shoko thinks of you as a cute existence. Lively, interesting and amusing to her daily life.

Gojo fell for you first, and Geto second, but Geto was more proactive and got closer to you first.

Gojo is insufferable. He thinks he’s cool but he’s just being an ass.

comment more pls, i really like feedback on my writings instead of just likes :(

[seonghwaddict]

★ NEVER SAY NEVER. [ 005 ] coca cola mashita.

synopsis. something about the eight most well-known boys of your campus just didn't sit right with you, so you never gave any effort to interact with them. but after a series of... interesting incidents, they can't seem to leave you alone. pairing. college students! vampires! ot8! ateez x fem! reader. genre. fluff, angst, eventual smut, college au, vampire au. chapter warnings. swearing. word count. 1.7k

　　　　　　　　chapter iv // chapter v // chapter vi

It had been a week since Wooyoung invited you to their party, with only a few hours left until the occasion. You met him nearly every day in the past week, sometimes at his house and sometimes at yours. You also met another one of his very interesting friends.

You and Wooyoung had been walking from the art department to the library, where he temporarily left his bag because he was too lazy to carry it all the way to the art department. Everything was fine and peaceful until someone came barreling into Wooyoung. They both fell to the ground and for a split second, all you could make out from this mystery person is his head of dark hair.

But as he stood up and helped his best friend up, you had to stop yourself from staring at how broad his shoulders were compared to his tiny waist as he towered over both you and Wooyoung—not to mention his gorgeous face. The two had a short conversation until he noticed you standing by Wooyoung, awkwardly rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Oh, hey,” he smiled, a stark contrast to his chic hair and sharp features. “You must be Y/N. I’m San!”

You smiled back, offering a handshake, “Hello, San.”

“Great to finally meet you.” He chuckled and accepted your hand, shaking it enthusiastically. San stepped between you and Wooyoung, slinging his arms on either of your shoulders. “So, where to?”

You had also seen Seonghwa a few more times. Since the two of you met in that kitchen and you sympathised over linguistics, he opted to sit next to you instead of his usual place on the bench at the very back row. At first, you were confused but didn’t question it, and eventually, you came to accept it, placing your bag at your feet instead of your side like you used to.

Currently, you sat in your room at home, staring at your closet opposite of you trying to figure out what to wear. You weren’t really one to go to parties, so you never really bothered buying clothes that would be suitable for one. As you sighed, your phone started ringing from where you had tossed it on your desk. As you stood up and glanced at it, Wooyoung’s name lit up on the top of the screen.

“Hello?” You held it to your ear, collapsing back into bed.

“Hey, is it possible to buy some Coke and bring it over here? San and Mingi just came from shopping and these dumbasses bought anything but that and now they’re complaining because they don’t wanna go out again because they need to help set up and- just… could you please do me this favour?”

The desperation in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by you as he groaned in frustration and suddenly you found yourself nodding along to his request, at least until you realised he can’t see you. “Yeah, sure. Just send me the address, okay?”

“Oka- actually never mind, I’ll just come get you. You don’t even have a car anyway.” You heard him laugh on the other line, any hint of stress melted away from his voice.

The grocery store was close enough to where you lived, so it took less than 10 minutes to walk there. As requested, you grabbed a cart and went straight to the drinks aisle, getting enough packages of canned Coke to supply what you assumed would be around a hundred people. The cashier looked at you as if you were a mad woman as he scanned each 8-pack.

As promised, Wooyoung was already outside of the store when you left, dragging multiple bags of coke so heavy you felt as if your arm would fall off. Seeing you struggle, he got out of the car and rushed over to take some bags. In fact, he took all the bags and you watched with mild fascination as he carried them without even a hint of struggle. His muscles tensed as you watched, you were surprised as you realised he wasn’t as scrawny as he looked.

“So, you rented a house just for a party?” You asked, leaning against the car as you watched him load the bags into the trunk.

He laughed, “Yeah, can’t have another thing breaking. Seonghwa was positively murderous when we found the remains of the chandelier.” You got into the car, strapping your seatbelt across you as you listened. “It was absolutely terrifying.” Wooyoung visibly shivered as he recalled the memory.

“Well, then I’ll make sure not to piss him off.” You let out a short, amused huff of air as you got comfortable in the all-too-familiar seat.

“Can we go back now–” You jumped in your seat, a small scream escaping you as you whipped your head to the backseats where San just made his presence known.

“San! Can you not?” You whined, collapsing your body into your seat before turning to glare at him. It was then that you noticed an unfamiliar person on his right.

Much like San, his features were also sharp. His nose seemed slightly sharper and pointed and his lips so very plump and pillow-like. He dressed himself in an oversized off-white sweater with a black turtleneck underneath and black straight jeans. You could tell he was taller than the other two men in the car, judging by how his knees were much more bent so he could fit into the seat.

“Mingi,” he introduced himself, a prideful smile lingering on his face as he noticed that both Wooyoung and San caught the way you scanned him with so much interest. None of them missed the way your eyes widened ever so slightly as he spoke, slightly taken aback by his voice.

You gave him your name and shook his hand, which felt so much bigger than yours. “Pleasure to meet you, Mingi.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” He winked and your cheeks burned as you turned to face the road again.

You faced Wooyoung and narrowed your eyes at him. “I thought you said they refused to get out to get Coke.”

“When I told them I was gonna be picking you up they practically begged me to take them with me.” He rolled his eyes, ignoring their protests against his words.

The drive to their rental house was a lot shorter than the one to their actual house, a little over ten minutes versus nearly half an hour. The entire time the four of you sang your hearts out to whatever song was playing on the radio.

The house they picked was pretty much a regular house, nothing fancy like their mansion. The walls were white with two floors and a dark grey roof. Instead of having a grand driveway with a gate, the house was situated right on the side of the road.

Wooyoung pulled over on the side of the street and you all got out, the boys taking the bags of coke from the trunk and firmly rejecting your offers to help them carry them inside.

You followed them inside and the interior looked just as mundane as the exterior. Wooden floors covered with grey carpets, a single grey couch pushed to the wall to make more space, wooden stairs leading to the second floor, and the kitchen cupboards and cabinets made of even more wood.

You continued to follow them into the kitchen where they loaded all the cans into the already-packed fridge. Again, you offered to help but they told you to just sit and relax, and that they would take care of everything.

“Ah,” you turned and saw Seonghwa coming from down the stairs, “I thought it was you that I was hearing.”

He went over to you and engulfed you in a short hug, thanking you for getting the beverages that San and Mingi were too lazy to get (the two men in question nearly knocked him upside the head). You chuckled and stepped back from him, spotting three more men you didn’t recognise descending the stairs.

One of them was tall, you assumed as tall as Mingi or even taller and had dark and light brown dyed hair and wore an oversized dark grey hoodie with some lettering and a pair of grey sweatpants.

The one behind him was definitely a lot short, maybe around Wooyoung’s height, with dyed bright blue hair and a blue t-shirt over a long-sleeved white shirt, both tucked into his baby blue jeans. This one had an array of jewellery on him, from multiple earrings hanging from his ears and rings adorning his fingers.

The last one to come down wore black jeans, a black hoodie and a grey trenchcoat. You recognised him and his distinct red hair, he was a regular at the bookshop you worked at. 

They introduced themselves with kind smiles before excusing themselves again, saying they had to go buy some speakers and pick up some of Hongjoong’s equipment. Whatever that meant. The one with the blue hair—Hongjoong you’d come to learn—offered you to join them, but you had other plans.

“Oh, I’d love to but I need to go buy something to wear for tonight and–”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Yunho poked his head back in from the front door. “We’re going to the mall for the speakers, so you can go buy your stuff while we get the speakers and then we’ll meet and stop by the house so Hongjoong-hyung can get his stuff.”

You contemplated the options for a moment, though you didn’t have to think too long before you nodded. The boys in the kitchen bade you goodbye as you exited the house. Wooyoung flung himself on you and clinged to you as he begged to be taken with you, but Seonghwa quickly shut down his whines and reminded them they still had a lot to do before the party.

With a pout, he gave you his best puppy eyes but you only laughed and pinched his cheeks, assuring him that you’ll spend time with him later. You got into what you assumed was Yunho’s car as he sat in the driver’s seat. It was a sleek black Mercedes-AMG with tinted window you wouldn’t be able to see through even if you tried. Jongho got into the passenger’s seat which left you and Hongjoong to the backseats. Nodding, you appreciated the clean interior with an approving hum.

　　[ lilo's notes ... ] i think i'm gonna change my upload schedule to saturdays at 2-3 pm instead. i live in europe, so if you live somehwere else please go ahead and convert the time if you wish. i envision san as inception era san, because inception san has a massive chokehold on me and mingi's visuals is based on guerilla era. i was originally going to do halazia era mingi because that's my favourite hair on him, but for some reason i decided to go with guerilla gi. as for hongjoong, blue is the only right answer (oreo joong is an honorable mention).

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　　NEVER SAY NEVER　©　seonghwaddict, 2023

[katsu28]

i don't know if you've done this, but a 🍭 “You told me not to worry about them.” with bradley bradshaw maybe??

thank you sm for requesting, my dear ari!! much love for u <3

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x aviator!reader, callsign Casper (like the ghost hehe), some swearing, 1.3k

They were just some harmless pranks; you could handle them. That was what you told Rooster over and over when he found out you were getting hazed by some other pilots in your squadron. It wasn't uncommon for stuff like this to happen to newer pilots, but damnit if he didn't hate seeing it happen to you. 

It was what he had to keep reminding himself when you called him at three in the morning one night and asked him to come pick you up from one of the shadiest districts in San Diego. His mind was reeling the whole car ride to you, because you’d sounded so quiet on the phone. Whether it was because you were embarrassed, upset, or even scared, he didn’t know. 

“Are you okay?” was his first question as soon as he’d put his car into park and rushed over to you, eyes squinting in the dingy, flickering streetlight to scan your whole body for any sign of injury. You just nodded, and when he seemed certain that there was nothing wrong with you, he frowned. “What the hell is going on? Why are you even out here this time of night?” 

“It was nothing, just another stupid prank,” You muttered, drawing your jacket tighter around yourself. Rooster’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?” 

“Pranks are funny. This? Ditching you alone here of all places, that’s not a prank. That’s risking your life.” 

“You say it like I don’t do that for a living everyday.” You were joking, even though right now definitely wasn’t the time to be cracking one. 

Rooster’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Casper, okay? I know you wanna fit in and prove that you belong here, which you do, I know you do, but this hazing shit with your squad isn’t okay!” 

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” You set off to the Bronco after that, effectively cutting the conversation short. Rooster was worried, you understood that, but every pilot went through this kind of thing. Making it through the pranks meant that you’d finally be accepted as a real part of your squadron, so you were fine with it. But Rooster had a problem with it, and he wasn’t afraid to tell you. Case in point. 

Rooster slid into the driver’s seat a few seconds later, turning to you and opening his mouth like he was going to say something, but decided against it, instead opting to just start driving. 

The atmosphere in the car was tense, to say the least. Neither of you wanted to break the charged silence, too headstrong to give in. 

Rooster was the first one to break a good while into the drive, voice defeated. “You told me not to worry about them, Y/N.” 

Y/N. Not your callsign. That was how you knew he meant business. 

“And you still don’t have to, Bradley. I have it under control.” And that was your stubbornness talking. It was one of the qualities you possessed that gave you the grit and determination you needed to make it this far in the game, and you’d be damned if you let a bunch of chauvinistic asses take it away from you. 

“If you had it under control, it wouldn’t’ve got this far. I can talk to those assholes, let ‘em know not to mess with you.” 

“Oh, and then what? I get let off the hook because my big scary Lieutenant boyfriend said so?” You scoffed, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “They’re never gonna take me seriously after that. So thank you for picking me up, but just leave it alone, okay?” 

“I’m just trying to help you!” 

“Help me?” You let out a humorless chuckle. “You don’t get it, do you? However hard it was for you to earn the respect of other pilots, it’s fifty times harder for me. Nobody takes me seriously because of who I am. What I look like. I need to prove that I’m just as tough as they are, and if they think I’m pulling favors from you, I’m right back where I started.” 

Rooster hesitated again, taking a second to digest your words. He’d never actually thought of it that way. He was so focused on what he could do to get them to stop that he never considered how that would bode for you. Rooster knew the type of guys your squad members were. Hell, he’d even been that type of guy at one point in his life. 

But you were right. If he stepped in, that would only make things even harder than they already were for you. And if they suspected you’d gone running to him to get him to pull his rank, maybe even escalate it further. 

“I’m sorry,” Rooster said softly, settling his free hand over your knee. You continued to stare out the window, jaw clenched tight so he wouldn’t see you falter.

He tried again, a different approach this time. “I get it. Finding a good groove with a new team is hard. You just wanna take it, muscle through whatever they throw at you. Show them that you can play with the big boys. But sweetheart, this is getting out of hand. Stupid pranks are fine; I’ve pulled a shit ton back in my day. But when it comes to compromising your safety, that doesn’t fly with me.” 

Your breath trembled as you exhaled, and Rooster noticed. He flicked on his blinker, maneuvering off to the side of the street and killing the engine in one smooth motion before swiveling to face you in his seat, one big hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

“I was really scared, Bradley,” You admitted, your words nearly a whisper. You leaned into his touch instinctively, fingers curling around his wrist. “I—I didn’t know if I should call you, or just find my way back on my own. I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do.” 

“Oh, my sweet girl,” He cooed, stripping off his seatbelt. You thought he would try to hug you from here, but instead he held up a finger, hopped out of the car and rounded the hood, pulling your door open to gather you in a much better hug than you were expecting. His arms folded around you just right, lips pressing into the top of your head, heart a comforting thud against your ear. “Thank you for calling me. Always call me, no matter what time it is. If I can be there, I’ll be there. And if I can’t, I’ll find a way.” 

“Thank you,” You mumbled, voice muffled against the softness of his hoodie. 

“Of course.” Rooster sighed, giving you one last good squeeze before holding you at arms length for what he was going to say next. “You’re a good pilot, Casper. I’ve seen you fly, you’re one of the best I’ve ever seen.” 

“Yeah well, you’re biased,” You said lightly, nudging his ribs with your elbow gently. 

“I’m not! Professionally speaking, as someone who’s seen dozens of pilots come in with the potential to become something great and fizzle out, I can honestly, truly say that you’re not one of them. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, because you’re just that good.” 

“Are you trying to woo me and get me into your bed right now?”

Rooster’s cheeks flushed pink. “No! Well yes, eventually, but—stop distracting me! I mean it, okay? You’re going places. So tell those dickbags to knock it off, because chances are, if you’re as scary as I know you can be,” He earned another jab to the gut for that comment, “they’ll take the hint. Show them you’re not playing their stupid games anymore.” 

“I will.” Your fingers loosened their grip around his torso, lips quirking into a soft smile. 

“Good. I’m glad. And if they keep being jerks, I’ll gladly be of service.” He shrugged. “As your boyfriend, not Lieutenant Bradshaw. No pulling rank of any kind, I promise.” When you laughed, he straightened proudly, always pleased to be the reason you were happy. Some would even say it was his greatest mission in life. “Stay at my place tonight?” 

“Okay.” 

“See, now I’m trying to get you into my bed. I think it’s working too. Is it?” 

“Definitely.” 

[discount-shades]

Sleepy Baby Part 4

a/n: Part 4 got split into 2 because it was too long. 

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin / Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 900 ish

Summary: Jake gets many things to think about.

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You groan in confusion. Something is ringing and it takes time for your half asleep brain to recognize that it is your phone. You reach for it blindly and open your eyes enough to make sure you are hitting the green accept button before answering with a mumbled hello.

“Good morning, Beautiful,” Jake's voice is altogether too chipper for you. “Did I wake you?”

You just groan back. “What time is it?” 

“It is just after 9:00.” You could hear the smile in his voice. It figures that he was a morning person. “The morning is almost over, how did you sleep?”

“Not long enough,” you tell him. “It’s a bold move to call someone in the morning on a Saturday,  I need my beauty sleep.” You can hear him laughing through the phone and it makes you smile even though you haven't had your morning coffee. 

“You’re already beautiful.” He sounds positively giddy.  “And we have to plan our date tonight.” 

“I’m seriously reconsidering it,” you say, groaning as you stretch. “I didn't know you were a morning person, it might be a deal breaker for me.”

“Nonsense, you are just saying that because you can’t hit me with a pillow for waking you up.” His voice lowered. “If I was there I would have a much better way to wake you.”

“I’m not awake enough for that kind of talk.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “I was thinking you would pick the dress code and I would plan the activities.”

You frown, your brain still feels sluggish, “What if I pick a ball gown and you plan a day hiking? I can’t hike in heels.”

“What?” You can hear the confusion in his voice. “No, you tell me what you are going to wear and I will match you and plan an activity based on what we will be wearing.”

“Oh,” you can hear him laughing. “Shut up, I'm still half asleep. So if I said evening gown what kind of night would I be in for.”

“Me in my dress whites at the fanciest restaurant I can get a reservation at.” You can hear the sound of him shifting through the phone. “Honestly that will be the toughest one to swing.”

“What about a bathing suite,” you ask.

“San Diego has lots of beaches.”

“If I dress like a cowboy?” 

“Have you ever rode a horse?” He asks.

“No, but it could be fun.” You tell him, “I have cowboy boots.”

“Let's save that one for a later date.”

“What about if it was business casual?” You are trying to think about other modes of dress.

There is a brief pause, “I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”

“An Indiana Jones costume?”

“Museum, or a historical site.”

“A Miss Frizzle costume?”

“The science center.”

“What about—.” 

Jake cuts you off abruptly. “You are just listing Halloween costumes you have in your closet aren't you?” 

“Yeah, and you are right it's probably best we save the role play for another day,” you agree. “What if I wear lingerie?”

Jake inhales sharply and you grin. “I will not know if you wear lingerie,” he sighs, “because I am a gentleman and you are a lady and it is our first date, but thank you for the visual.”

“Ok, just wanted to make sure you have something to think about.” Teasing Jake has woken you up and you are looking forward to later today. “How about I wear the standard jean shorts and a t-shirt to keep our options open for the date.”

“Ok, I will plan for that, do you want to meet me there? I can pick you up so where we are going will be a surprise, but I don’t know if you are comfortable giving me your address yet.” He sounds hesitant and unsure, not wanting to overstep and you roll your eyes. Five minutes ago the man was suggesting he would wake you up with sex if he was here. 

“Jake, we spoke for a half hour over two months ago and you stalked every library in San Diego until you found me, and I still gave you my number, I'll text you my address, surprise me.”

After finalizing your plans for the afternoon you stop Jake before he hangs up the phone. “You know, Jake, I’m impressed.”

“Why?” He already knows you well enough to have a slightly suspicious tone in his voice at your cheeky statement.

“We have been on the phone for well over ten minutes now.” You can't stop the grin on your face. “You know I am still in bed and you haven't once asked what I’m wearing.”

His voice sounds strained when he responds. “Kisses, I’m a gentleman.”

“Sure you are,” you agree blithely. “Just so you know it's an oversized university t-shirt with bleach marks and a big chocolate ice cream stain from when I fell asleep watching Bridgerton.” You quickly add, “don’t worry I didn’t get any ice cream on the couch.”

“I am relieved to hear that,” he deadpans. “Your upholstery was my greatest concern.”

“I knew it would be, I am also wearing rainbow unicorn shorts that are way too big and fall off when I’m walking if I don’t tie them tight enough, they also have pizza stains from when I dropped pizza on my lap.” You can hear him laughing. “I just wanted to give you a visual,” you say. “You know, give you something to think about.” 

“Goodbye Kisses,” he laughs, “I’ll see you later.” You smile to yourself after saying your own goodbyes. Talking to Jake was worth the early morning wake up call.

[flyingwargle]

futons are spread across the classroom floor for a final time before the spring tournament qualifiers. in the fading summer’s heat, autumn comes with a vengeance, and with the school’s heating system out of order for the weekend, akaashi finds himself huddled beneath a blanket, dressed in long-sleeves and his team jacket. he can barely keep his hands from trembling as he watches a volleyball match on his tablet, notebook open on his lap. across the room, the third-years are huddled for a card game, although bokuto is absent, likely with kuroo in the next room, where nekoma is.

akaashi pulls his blanket closer around his shoulders, suppressing a shiver. he always fall sick during this time, and he can't afford letting his guard down, not with the third-years' final shot at victory looming. the blanket falls when he sneezes, sniffling and pulling it back in place. he pauses his video to scrawl a note, observations for one of their potential opponents. itachiyama never uses the same tactics twice, and the more he can learn about them, the better their chances will be.

a shiver racks through his body. is he getting sick? he put his jacket on immediately after the matches wrapped up for the day, although he walked around in shorts, and he waited until he cooled down completely before his bath. damnit, he should’ve brought cold medicine, just in case…

“akaashi!”

bokuto wraps an arm around him, knocks the blanket off his shoulders. akaashi flinches, head jerking to the side as his captain lowers himself beside him. “whatcha doing? oh, is this itachiyama?”

“yes. i’m taking notes on the players.” the video is paused on sakusa, midair, ready to spike. a two-man block looms over him on the other side of the net. “we’ll need to know who else to look out for when we face against them.”

“oh, this match was during the inter-high!” bokuto leans over to tap the play button. “sakusa goes for the spike, but get this…it goes right to the other team, and then bam!” he emphasizes this as the ball bounces off the receiver’s arms. “can you imagine how it feels being in the right spot but you still can’t get it?”

“yes, that’s happened to both of us often, bokuto-san.”

“i know! it sucks,” bokuto grumbles. “the spin he can get is insane. i can never do something like that.”

akaashi glances at him, ready to refute, but then he sneezes, and another tremor shakes him. bokuto frowns. “are you getting sick?”

“no…at least, i hope not. the heat isn’t working very well, and i get cold easily.”

“i can keep you warm!”

“bokuto-san, you–“ akaashi cuts himself off as he feels bokuto remove his arm around him, and in the same motion, sits with his legs spread so akaashi is between them, leaning against the ace’s broad chest, arms wrapped around his waist. he radiates warmth, a human furnace. he has always run warmer than most, unperturbed by the cold.

“comfy?” bokuto asks.

akaashi nods, head lowered to hide the blush in his cheeks. fortunately, the third-years continue their card game, or pretend not to notice them. “yes, thank you. i take it that you want to watch the match with me?”

“yeah! i’m gonna pay real close attention to sakusa’s spikes.” he narrows his eyes in feign seriousness. “you should watch their setter. he’s really good, too.”

they stay like that until one of the coaches come and announce that it’s lights out. the boys scramble to put their entertainment away, stepping in between futons to find their own. akaashi turns his tablet off, stacking it with his notebook and pen to slip into his bag. bokuto doesn’t move, keeps his arms wrapped around akaashi’s waist, drowsy eyes watching him. “if you want,” he murmurs, “we can share the futon, so you won’t be cold at night.”

“bokuto-san, we’re in public.”

“hey, during our first year training camp, i had to cuddle with konoha ‘cause he got homesick.”

konoha yells from across the room, “don’t tell him that!”

bokuto laughs. “plus, you make feel relaxed, akaashi. i always get a good night’s sleep whenever we sleep over.” that’s indulging too much information about their relationship, but the door is closed, and everyone on the team knows there’s something going on between them.

“you should let him,” sarukui tells akaashi. “if you do get sick, it’ll be disastrous.”

“now i’m worried that i’ll catch a cold,” komi mutters. “washio, lend me one of your sweaters.”

washio tosses one over. “it’ll look like a dress on you.”

“shut up, you absolute bean pole.”

akaashi smiles to himself. “all right, if you’d like.”

“just keep it pg under the covers,” konoha says. “we have a first-year in the room. sorry, onaga.”

“i-it’s okay! i-i have earplugs!”

akaashi tunes out the rest of his teammates’ teasing to take his jacket off and climb into the futon beside bokuto, who has grabbed the pillow and blanket off his own. they tuck themselves in, facing each other. bokuto gives him a smile, and akaashi reciprocates. konoha loudly announces that he’s turning the lights off. in the darkness, there are two whispers.

“good night, akaashi.”

“good night, bokuto-san.”

[aclowntiny]

Down the Drain- Barista!San x Female!Reader (College AU)

San has literally said he likes the idea of being a barista so here you go Sannie boy 😘😂 first time getting one of the boys as a barista hehe. Also, we’ve all had that professor 💀

Word Count: 2571 | College AU | Warnings: very slight language, me throwing in a blackpink reference cuz we love the bangers 😌

All your money was going to go down the drain. You couldn’t believe your campus had found yet another way to scam you. Yet you couldn’t really find it in yourself to complain this time. You knew they had to know exactly what they were doing, though. Whether it worker or not, your eyes were on them.

That day, you’d decided to make a rare stop at the campus café for a cold drink; it was just one of those days, a long one that could use a little refreshing pick-me-up, and you really didn’t take advantage of there being student baristas right around the corner of a big study floor enough. As per usual, the line was sort of long, but not out to the door, and you had a few hours of classes, so in went the airpods as you stood, trying not to stare at the girl in front of you’s bright pink backpack with its dangly Kuromi keychain the whole time. You did wonder where she got it from, though.

Two songs later, you were next, pulling your airpods out and popping them into your case as you glanced up toward the barista counter. And that was where you saw your campus’s latest scam.

Cafés hiring hot people was the biggest money pit ever and they knew it. The guy working the left register had your heart pounding the moment you laid eyes on him. He was average height with short dark hair, sharp eyes and even sharper cheekbones. The way his arms flexed from their rolled-up sleeves made you suspect he was quite fit beneath the oversized black button-up beneath his apron. As he waved to Kuromi girl, he gave a dazzlingly bright smile. Oh, no, he had dimples. Come on.

“I can help you right here.”

Snapping out of your reverie, you stepped forward to his register. San, his name was, according to the handwritten chalk name tag pinned onto his green apron fabric. Suddenly, you could hardly remember how to speak. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi.” There went that smile again. Sir, your mother must be proud. “What can I get started for you?”

“Oh, well, I…” Internally you cursed yourself for stuttering so much, but finally you remembered the name of your favorite iced drink.

“That’s a good one! Have you ever tried it with flavoring in it?”

“No,” you shook your head, “I haven’t.” You were a creature of habit, pretty much reciting the same thing every time you approached the register.

“You should! It’s so good!”

You asked him which one he recommended, and after he told you you inquired how much extra it was.

“Since you’ve never tried it and it’s my fault you are,” he chuckled, “I’ll just throw it in for free!”

And he wasn’t even a dickish frat boy. Great. “Wow, thank you!”

“Hey, it’s my pleasure, er…what’s your name?”

“It’s (y/n).”

“(y/n),” he repeats as he scribbles it on your cup and sets it down, and you hate that he even makes that sound good, “well, I hope you like your drink like this, (y/n)!”

“I’m sure I will,” you reply with a smile as you return San’s wave, heart leaping as he follows the gesture with running a hand through his shiny black locks.

Curse that café for making you spend money.

~

Two days later, you had the same class schedule, that same long break, and what the heck, why not see if San was working? It was kind of stupid how much you looked forward to the possibility of seeing him, you mused as you passed beneath the green rows of trees planted along the walkway, but that didn’t really change the feeling, so along you went with your stupid hopes of coinciding schedules.

The line was, once again, not quite to the door. Pretty good. This time, the girl in front of you had a blink hammer keychain, so you chatted with her for a bit. Apparently her name was Rina and she was an engineering major. Good for her. San called you up by the time you guys finished exchanging socials, mouth falling into an o shape the moment you stepped up.

Your heartbeat went erratic again, momentary friendship and engineering talk distracting you from preparing intelligent conversation like you told yourself you were going to.

“(y/n), right?”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh, uh, yeah. I can’t believe you remembered with all the people you see in a day!”

“I try to remember people. Plus, you tried my concoction, so that was extra memorable!”

Well, whatever made you memorable. “I’m good with names, too. I remember yours.”

He clapped a hand over his name tag. “What is it?”

“San!” You giggled.

“Be honest, was it the free add-in?”

You shook your head, grip tightening on your backpack straps. “I would have remembered anyway.”

Luckily, he smiled at that. “I’m glad. Well, what am I getting started today?”

~

There you were again. All your income going down the drain.

“Hey, (y/n)!”

“Hey, San!” You waved; your heart still had a few things to say about that dimpled smile and- as you saw on the day he wore a t-shirt, your suspicions confirmed- those arms, but by now you’ve become enough of a regular at the campus café that talking to the incredibly cute barista was practically part of your weekly assignments.

“Is it hot outside?”

“Not too bad,” you replied, “I think the weather people over-exaggerated. It’s, like, short sleeves and jeans weather.”

“Not long sleeves and shorts weather?” San teased.

“Short sleeves and jeans weather and long sleeves and shorts weather are different and you know it!”

San’s dark, shiny eyes drifted upward in thought. “You know what? They really are. Jeans one is more on the warm side, sleeves is more on the chilly.”

“See? Thank you. You appreciate me.”

“I always do, (y/n),” San agreed with a nod, setting your cup on the counter, “my favorite regular!”

“Oh, you have to say that to everyone,” you waved him off with a blush.

“I don’t have to say anything except ‘What can I get started for you?’”

“Well, thanks,” you giggled, pulling off to sit on the café couch and fake-scroll instagram while you snuck surreptitious glances at San.

Soon the harsh fluorescent institutional lights of your college’s building complex didn’t seem so bright, your focus having been centralized for a little too long. You’d ordered a drink with whipped cream on top, and the way the baristas deftly handled the compressed canisters, loading them into an actual whipped cream gun, made you almost want to become one.

Maybe you’d apply once that huge project for history was done. The next day, you planned on shopping for materials in order to build it at a table in the library on the following Monday. It was an insanely elaborate diorama that probably would have been more fun if the entire unit wasn’t crammed into two weeks’ time. You didn’t generally have any problems with your professor, but couldn’t help wondering if he’d lost his mind with that one.

Oh, well. If he wanted all those countries to have a ‘history tower’ as he called them, then you’d give him a history tower. The toweriest darn history tower he could ask for…or whatever would earn you praise and an A.

“(y/n)?” San’s voice cut through your historic reverie.

Shaking your head, you grabbed your backpack and rose from the couch once more, crossing the forest green tile floor to the drink drop-off. “Sorry, I was just thinking about assignments and stuff.”

“Oh, yeah, I totally get it, my dance class is getting intense with the choreographies we have to make. I almost gave someone who ordered a hot cocoa someone else’s strawberry smoothie earlier I was so distracted.”

Dance class? Choreography? At this point, it was practically a drinking game for ever time your brain dropped a wow. “Oh, that’s really cool. Mine’s just a history diorama,” you chuckle.

“On what?”

“The Netherlands of all places.”

“That’s so cool! I don’t know much about them, so maybe you can teach me.”

“I’ll do my best. It’ll be a crash course for sure- not exactly my specialty.”

“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll do great,” he told you warmly before his coworker handed him another drink; he gave you an apologetic glance. “I have a large cafe latte for Omar!”

You waved.

“See you next week,” he loudly whispered with a wink.

~

Next week was a bit different than your usual café run. This time, you’d been long situated at a library table, an intensely focused mess of glue, toothpicks, printed photos, paragraphs, drawings, plastic, and far, far too much more. You were going to build that tower until it broke you, then get some sugar, caffeine, and whatever adrenaline boost the glow in your heart from San gave you, then build some more. So far, it was murder to get the thing to stand despite its plastic supports. It was far later in the afternoon than you usually even got a drink, but such was a three-dimensional cultural history of the Netherlands.

“Aw, come on,” you muttered as a paragraph about Dutch paintings- Vanitas still lives, ironically- slid off its toothpick, “you were just fine a minute ago.”

It was sliding off the plastic dowels you were using to hold up the miniature spire. Sighing, you affixed it to a papier-mâché flower instead. This was ridiculous; you were busting your ass over basically a high school assignment all because your teacher wanted to send you off on your own for two weeks. Maybe, you thought venomously, he should have gotten caught up on grading papers so he could treat us like adults in return. Yeah, the fun had definitely leaked out of the project along with the last milliliter of glue, probably because it was individual. If you had a partner, you reflected as you crumpled more paper and cut another dowel.

Little did you know the effect that dowel would have on your day. As soon as you lifted your tower to insert it, a flower drifted ominously down. Your gaze softened. You blinked as a paragraph fell.

“No,” you whispered, but it was too late. The entire top decoration slid out along with the main support dowel, flopping miserably onto the table. Face crumpling, you joined it.

Bringing yourself to lift your head up was going to be hard. This was a whole day’s work down the drain. You just needed a good grade, wanted to do well and have something cute and fun, but all your energy had gone to-

“(y/n)?”

You peeled your face from between your crossed, horizontally-lain arms, despondent eyes falling upon San. You perked up slightly, getting your hair in place even if you could only muster a small smile. It didn’t escape your notice that he had a drink in each hand, but wasn’t wearing his apron. Maybe he had a date or a study session or something. If you weren’t already sad, you might’ve been at that.

“I saw how hard you were working on that,” he pouted, “I made you a drink to celebrate and everything.”

“You- you made that for me?” You asked, nodding toward what appeared to be your usual in his left hand.

“Of course. You’ve earned it. Working hard and all that.”

“Yeah,” you waved an arm over the carnage on the table, “but look at where that got me. I can’t believe I thought I had it.”

“Well,” San pushed back the chair next to yours, “I always say these things are more fun with a partner.”

“Right?” You started up your mental rant on your professor, this time verbally. “Like, what is he going to do with all these? Has he got space for them? Make these a two-person thing at least.”

“Well, he doesn’t have to know that yours is,” San winks at you, picking up a bottle of glue.

“You’re going to build this with me?”

“Sure,” he shrugs happily, “it looks fun, I’m off, and I said I wanted to learn about the Netherlands, right?”

“The skull paintings are probably the coolest part.”

“Ooh,” San stares down at the images, “emo.”

“Yet also spiritual.”

“And here I thought it was all tulips and windmills over there.”

You giggled softly at that, giving a little sigh before you picked up the center dowel. “Would you mind handing me the base, then?”

“Sure. Here, I’ll hold it down, you really jam that in there and I’ll reinforce it with the glue.”

“Ugh, that’s such a good idea,” you smacked your forehead, “why did I think the foam was enough?”

“Hey,” San put his hand on your shoulder, peering into your eyes, “it’s ok. It’s just a silly craft project.”

“Y- you’re right,” you replied, forcing yourself to stare as deeply back, even if you did blush.

“Well, I mean, your work isn’t silly, just the concept of-”

“You’re good. I know what you mean.”

~

An hour later, it was finished. The tower sat on the end of your table, keeping watch over you and San, you had his hands folded on the table as you told him your favorite embarrassing story of your eccentric great-grandfather.

“The mustard got in her glasses and everything!”

San doubled over, one hand slapping the table and the other falling onto your shoulder. You smiled in satisfaction, pausing to take a proud sip of your drink.

“And she stayed for the game?”

“Are you kidding? The office was paying for the tickets!”

“Oh, that’s great!” He laughed.

“I know.”

“We should go to a game,” San said, his eyes suddenly falling to the table as he played with his hands, “you know, at the campus stadium. Our baseball team has a game on friday. U-unless you're not comfortable with that, then my friend Jongho can come with us and-"

Your, surely baggy by now, eyes widened slightly, a smile rising back to your lips through your intent listening. "Not comfortable? Like, go as in a date?"

"We don't have to, though, we can totally just get a group to-"

"Tell Jongho I said he can stay home," you cut him off with a grin, joking to play off the backflips your ribcage was doing, especially when San smiled at you like that, I mean come on it's like you told him you were handing him his dreams and sheesh those dimples, "I mean, I don't even know him."

"Are you sure? Because he's one of my roommates, and he was building a Japan tower on our kitchen counter this morning."

"Oh. Well in that case, just tell him you found a girl who likes cute baristas."

This time, it was San's turn to blush, though he covered it by reaching for your hands, seemingly not caring about the glue splotches sullying your skin. "I- I will."

~

If you weren't already sure you made the right choice by San helping you secure an A on your project or the way he looked at you, you knew you did when he insisted on buying you a school mascot plushie and including it in your fieldside selfie together and when he practically tackled you into his arms upon hearing you confess that you only went to the café to see him.

[theleft0ver]

Hello lovely people, I’ve been working on a little cleagan project for a while and I wanted to share the first chapter, hope y’all enjoy!!! ^•^

It’s also on ao3:

•Longing for my sweetheart•

John was dying, he was shot and now he’s dying on his horse who’s independently prowls up a path on a mountain he’s not familiar with. He’s slumped over his mare’s neck mumbling to himself in and out of consciousness.

You see it was supposed to be an easy job, get the information from his trusty inside man (Rosie) at the stagecoach station, stake out the carriage with the rich folks in it, ambush the carriage take everything they got and ride into the sunset, see easy!

Maybe that’s why everything went haywire. He’d done this so many times without complications that he threw every caution in the wind. But sooner than later he realized his mistake in a form of a personal guard at the driver’s box.

He stopped the carriage without a hiccup that’s the easiest part anyways. He pulled his bandanna up his nose and his hat real low. He rode out from the trees to the dirt road, pistol in his right, double barrel shotgun in the left hand firing them once-twice raising hell.

Oh the screams, the frightened shrieks were music to his ears. They meant the passengers will give anything for their lives.

But his happiness was short lived as a bullet pierced through the air and flew past his ear. The armed guard started to fire at him like hell, earning the money the rich bastards were paying him and after today John was sure he got a fat bonus too!

He quickly got off his horse and dodged behind a boulder frowning in surprise, listening where the guard might be and the gunslinging began.

****

The driver was dead, John shot him dead in the left eye. He tried to intervene but he was just in the way and got in the field of bullets. John killed too many people to count. That’s just the way he lives. He never claimed to be a good man alright? But that doesn’t mean he enjoys killing, there was a time when he did, a long-long time ago. He left those days in the back of his mind, now he only kills when he has to, but most of his robberies claim lives, someone always ends up dead.

He’s an outlaw goddamnit, that’s what he’s good at. What he likes and what he has to do to survive are two different things.

He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on moral issues though he’s still being shot at. John thought, finally his luck is turning and he’ll win this duel as well when he started to hear shouting and hoof beating the ground in the distance.

Lawman.

Even in a location so remote someone somehow alerted the sheriff. John only had a moment to process the news before bullets started to fly around him. The situation is dire he knows that, he whistles for his horse who comes crashing out of the woods and he makes a break for it.

He’s running like the wind when he feels it. Cold metal piercing his skin needling a way through muscles and tendons in his right shoulder. The second one comes from ahead hitting him on the left side of his abdomen, but it doesn’t feel like it went all the way through, although it’s not like John can feel much with the adrenaline running through his veins.

He can’t spare too much attention to his wounds as he still has to get away if he wants to stay alive. He runs to his horse grabs the horn of his saddle, hoist himself up with the stirrup and gallops away as fast and as far as he can.

He’d never been shot, John was always clever with his moves, always had Fortuna on his side. It’s not like how he imagined, it’s not immediate red-hot pain flaming his body ablaze flooding into his mind making room saying ‘I’m here and you’ll be suffering’. It’s creeping up on him, slowly making his way into his consciousness like sand in an hourglass.

For a good ten minutes as he tries to lose the lawman glued to his heels he can only feel a dull ache. Another ten minutes pass on and he successfully shakes off the blood thirsty man and slows his horse down to a trot. And as his heartbeat stabilizes the pain starts to increase, so much so that he had to halt his horse to catch his breath.

He took a moment to get himself under wraps and inspected the wounds.

His shoulder was relatively in a good shape as much as a gunshot wound can be. But his abdomen was another tale. He unbuttoned his vest then lifted his shirt and ripped his long-johns apart, he gagged at the sight.

Already bruised in angry shades of purple and blue, blood flowing everywhere from such a tiny hole. John tried to apply pressure on it but the pain was too great, he got lightheaded and threw up that small amount of food he had in his stomach. He had to get help fast or he’s a goner.

He tried to remember if there was a town nearby but the blood loss was making him dazed and confused. Soon after that he passed out and woke up in the woods on his horse’s back then passed out again.

And that’s how he ended up in the middle of the mountain he was not familiar with in and out of consciousness.

****

John was slowly coming to himself as he feels his horse piking up speed. He tilts his head up to see a little homestead built with logs nested between tall trees and evergreens, a sight he would sure marvel if he were in a better shape. John tries to stay awake until his horse makes the distance to the porch of the home but his brain is too foggy.

He hears a gasp coming from afar and legs hitting the ground in a rapid pattern. John wants to sit up to see who his savior might be but he’s too weak and slips off his saddle onto the ground. He gets startled awake again by someone dropping to their knees next to him and brushing the hair out of his face. Cold fingers turn his head toward the sun and he opens his eyes.

The person in front of John is a woman, a woman whose face is so blurry. Blurry because John can’t keep his eyes open. But as he forces himself to focus he becomes aware that the person is in fact not a woman but a young man with such soft edges and features that he has to be unreal.

John is so delirious from the blood loss that he thinks he’s seeing one of God’s angels. Although he doesn’t understand why would he go to heaven after all the things he has done. He wants to, no scratch that ,he needs to touch this angel of death with the soft looking golden hair and smooth sun tanned skin. He knows if he could just only caress the pad of his finger down this angel’s face he could take away all of his sins and he can die in peace.

He reaches out to hold his personal angel’s cheek, but before he can touch him everything goes back to black.

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 16: Crossing Paths - Episode 12: The Four's Starting Line

[Door opening]

Towa: Hello!

Ibuki: Heyaa.

Keiku: Sup.

Kureha: Excuse us.

Izumi: Welcome.

Guy: You’re all here.

Yuki: Why?

Homare: As Kureha-kun did not have Towa-kun’s contact details, we arranged for the four of them to meet up here.

Tenma: That’s fine and all, but why at MANKAI dorm?

Yuki: Couldn’t you have just have them meet at a café?

Homare: It is much more convenient here! Now, Kureha-kun, was there not something you wanted to tell Towa-kun?

Towa: What, what?

Ibuki: Uh, I think it’s obvious.

Kureha: I’ll join your troupe.

Towa: What!? Really!?

Towa: I’M SO HAPPY!! WE’RE FINALLY FOUR!! I look forward to working with you from now on!

Ibuki: And now we’re finally four.

Keiku: Nice.

Izumi: Congratulations on gathering four members.

Towa: We gotta report this to Tsuzuru-san, and also submit our entry!

Tenma: Ah, so that’s why you had them gather here.

Homare: That is precisely it.

Banri: That’s a convenient way to finish your event missions.

Towa: That being said, Tsuzuru-san, we’re four members now!

Tsuzuru: Good for you. Alright then, we should have a short meeting about the script after this.

Towa: Okay!

Keiku: Uh, what’s that entry thing about?

Ibuki: ^ This. Ibuki’s curious too.

Towa: Huh… Did I never mention it? There’s a rookie bracket in the Fleur Cup.

Towa: Rookies won’t get nominated for the Fleur Cup, but if they’re selected, they’ll be specially trained by Yukio Tachibana!

Izumi: Huh!? Since when is that a thing…?

Ibuki: Who’s Yukio Tachibana?

Keiku: Dunno.

Kureha: Hmmm, I feel like I’ve heard of him, but maybe not…

Towa: He was the general director for the original MANKAI Company! And he’s also a member of the New Fleur Award’s board of directors!

Keiku: Huuuh?

Ibuki: Oh, it’s fr. It’s right there on the official site.

Kureha: There’s also prize money? I didn’t know that.

Banri: So it’ll be kinda like Yukio-san’s development group.

Izumi: I was so focused on the Fleur Cup that I completely missed it.

Tasuku: Well, getting guidance from an experienced director will definitely work to your advantage in the future.

Tsumugi: Putting on a play also costs money, so the prize money will probably be of help, too.

Izumi: Good luck.

Towa: Thank you!! The entry deadline is today, so I’ll hurry and get us registered…

Ibuki: Talk about cutting it close.

Towa: My heart was going crazy thinking we wouldn’t make it in time~

Kureha: Does that mean you wouldn’t have been able to participate if I had been even a day slower?

Yuki: You could’ve just lied about the number and entered.

Towa: I had faith he’d make it in time!

Ibuki: That’s what you call wishful thinking.

Kureha: I also felt like this was pretty much the fate set out for us. 

Keiku: Here’s the weirdo-off.

Towa: Oh, yeah! We need to decide on a name…!

Izumi: You thought of that now!?

Tenma: You really should’ve done that sooner…

Towa: I wanted all four of us to decide together! What should I do!? What do I make it!?

Ibuki: This is way too sudden.

Keiku: Slap a (TBD) in there.

Kureha: That seems a bit too on the nose.

Towa: Ummm, uhhh… Um, does anyone have any ideas!?

Tasuku: A troupe name, huh…

Azuma: MANKAI Company was called that from the start.

Homare: If you’d like something simple, how does taking the first character from each of your names sound?

Ibuki: That’s more idol than theater troupe.

Homare: Hum…

Tsumugi: Then, how about switching it up a little… Maybe use your favorite food instead of your names?

Towa: Our favorite food… Mine’s rice!

Ibuki: Potatoes FTW.

Keiku: Cake.

Kureha: I like all sweets in general, but maybe Western ones best?

Hisoka: Marshmallows…

Tasuku: Don’t just butt in.

Towa: Then, if we were to put all these in English… RPCSM?

Keiku: Don’t need the M.

Izumi: The M is for MANKAI Company!

Kureha: RPCS…

Ibuki: Not even rearranging them can save this.

Keiku: How ‘bout throwing some Japanese in there.

Kureha: Putting the Japanese for rice and potatoes there instead would give us… KICS?

Towa: It’s easy to read! And cool!

Ibuki: It’s Kome-Imo-Cake-Sweets, though.

Keiku: Bit lame.

Kureha: But I think it suits us.

Towa: It’s decided, then! Yay! Now to finish our application…

Kureha: (… Talking like this with them, I can see it. Not only Towa-kun, but the other two as well…)

Kureha: (I actually wasn’t planning on ever meeting them in person. I guess I won’t talk about it for now.)

Towa: I’ve finished the application!

Izumi: Congratulations.

Tsuzuru: Now that you’ve got a name, you’re as real a theater troupe as any.

Homare: Do your best.

Towa: Thank you very much! We will!

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[mint-yooxgi]

{11} - Morning Mist - Yandere!Dragon!Ateez X Chubby!Reader

Yandere AU & Dragon AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on Yeosang, Jongho, and slight Mingi)

Words: 5,345

Warnings: Past death and trauma alluded to, This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: After quite some time, I finally present the next chapter of this series!!! Yay!! I really hope you all enjoy it! What I originally planned for this chapter is actually going to occur next chapter, but I think what happens, especially at the end is really important for the story. Can anyone guess what it is? Hehehe as always, feedback is greatly appreciate! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I do not do tag lists.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Mini Masterlist

The next few days pass by with Jisung still following his own grieving process. He stops by either your place, or the Neo’s nest for food and to rest, before taking off into the peaks of the mountains again. A few times, he’s allowed Chenle, or Sungchan to join him, but he mainly flies solo for the time being.

You’re just glad he already seems to be beginning to heal. It’s a slow process, but steady, nonetheless.

The training with both San and Wooyoung has come to a slight pause for the moment, seeing as you’re now dealing with a grieving cub. Luckily, the two males are quite understanding, taking the time to perfect what you’ve already taught them. Quite eagerly at that, too.

You’ve even noticed a slight change already in all five of the Hala’s demeanours since you’ve began training those two rambunctious dragons of theirs. There seems to be a sharpness to their eyes that had never been their before, as if they are more in-tuned to their surroundings. A fact of which makes you incredibly content, for they are all learning more than you could have ever hoped for in such a short period of time.

Though, one thing that has been on your mind recently, is the fact that for the past few nights, you’ve sensed a very specific Hala flying closer and closer to your cottage. He seems to stop himself before he reaches the edge of the little clearing your house resides near, but he has started circling the area a few times before turning back each night.

Today is no different, but instead of just sensing one presence, you sense two. The exact two that had been on the edge of your radar that night with Jisung. Only this time, they seem to want to imitate how both San and Wooyoung were that first week with Jongho.

Stepping outside of your home, you rest a basket against your hip. Time to go harvest some herbs. Whether those two decide to follow you or not is up to them, but you’re not going to let them off the hook so easily.

Reaching the small natural garden just beneath the base of the one mountain, you get to work. You manage to pick herbs for about ten minutes before you hear some rustling coming from behind you. Long since have you sensed their presences, and at least they’re more stealthy than both Wooyoung and San were, but you do not fail to miss the harsh smack that sounds followed by a short hiss in response.

“You know, if you two were trying to track me, or even so much as observe my daily routine, you need to learn a few things first about cooperation.” You say casually, not even bothering to spare a glance behind you.

The bushes go deadly silent.

“Oh? What’s this?” You quirk a brow, turning to glance over your shoulder. “You think I don’t know when I’m being stalked? Especially by two dragons who have made it somewhat clear that they cannot stand me?”

A moment’s pause.

“We’re not stalking you.” Yeosang appears from within the bushes, stepping into the little open space you’re in between the trees.

“Then, what else would you call spying from the bushes?” Your lips quirk, turning back around to continue gathering herbs. “Observing?”

“See, I told you this was a bad idea.” Mingi grumbles, shoving himself out of the underbrush in the next second.

“You dragged me out.” Yeosang shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Again, you turn to look at both males with a quirked brow. At the way you see Canary Man begin to sputter, ears turning bright red, you know the shorter of the two speaks the truth.

“Is there a reason you keep circling my territory every night, Canary Man?” You ask, shifting your position slightly to begin gathering a different herb. “Are you planning to burn my house to the ground while I sleep?”

“No!” Comes his immediate response, and you’re surprised by how panicked his answer sounds. He clears his throat. “I wouldn’t do that to someone who has saved my brothers' lives more than once.”

You hum, a slight quirk to your brow. “Wise answer.”

Yeosang shifts slightly on his feet. “We’re just curious about you.”

“Oh?” This piques your interest. “Are the stories your brothers tell about me that awful that you have to come see for yourselves?”

“How do you know they tell us stories?” The flame headed male crosses his arms over his chest.

One knowing glance from you says it all.

“They’ve said they’ve learned a lot,” Yeosang comments. “Not just from you, but from the Neos as well.”

“My boys are smarter than they lead people to believe,” you acknowledge. “If they wanted to, they could have claimed the crown a long time ago.”

You can just feel the way the taller male tenses behind you. “So, you do know more about this supposed jewel, then.”

“My father will never let me forget it,” you sigh, tossing the herbs in your hands rather pointedly into your basket. In the next moment, you’re standing back to your feet. “Is there a proper reason you’re here, or am I supposed to play assumptions until you leave?”

“Like we said,” Yeosang eyes the basket that you pick up and hold against your hip. “We’re just curious about you.”

“If you’re curious, you can come and ask me questions. Do not stalk me from my bush.” Your eyes narrow. “I thought I already made that clear to your youngest.”

“You did,” Canary Man huffs, amusedly. “Not that he’ll shut up about you, regardless.”

“All of them seem to enjoy discussing the topic that is you recently.” Yeosang observes, watching as you begin to walk towards one end of the mountain with that basket still in hand.

“I have also been told that someone enjoys my cooking,” you spare a knowing look towards the taller male, lips quirking teasingly. “You know, you’re both more than welcome to join our cookouts.”

Canary Man’s cheeks flare, halfhearted splutters of denial falling from his lips.

A soft chuckle escapes you, yet you fail to see the way Yeosang’s demeanour falters ever so slightly behind you.

At the way you notice the two of them still standing like statues in their spots, you spare them another glance over your shoulder. “Well, are you going to join me? I’m nowhere near done picking herbs, and I’d rather not continue being stalked from the bushes.”

That seems to get them moving, the two falling into step just behind you. Though, you notice Yeosang keeping quite a respectful amount of distance between himself and your back. Something the other male doesn’t seem to pick up on.

The moment you reach the edge of the small stream, you kneel once more. A small patch of herbs rests along the banks, and you begin picking through them, pulling the best ones and placing them into your basket.

Awkwardly, the two males shift on their feet behind you.

“If you’re as curious as you claim, you may ask me questions.” You say, not even bothering to spare them another glance. “I might not answer everything, and I have the right to refuse a question, but I am not unreasonable.”

Softly, Yeosang kneels beside you. “Would you like some help?”

You cannot hide the shock on your features as you blink at him in response. Then, you smile. “Sure.”

You don’t even have to say another word, for the male immediately gets to work. He’s a little cautious at first, moving slowly as he picks some of the herbs from the bank of the stream. Though, once he sees you nodding, somewhat subconsciously in approval, his confidence grows, and he begins to pick a little faster.

“You seem to know what you’re doing.” The taller male comments, moving to stand over his brother while feigning disinterest.

“Unlike you, Min, I listen to what my brothers have to say,” Yeosang retorts, somewhat knowingly, as he places another handful of herbs into your basket.

“I listen!” Said male protests, crossing his arms over his chest as a slight pout tugs at his features.

Again, you chuckle, and you fail to see the way Yeosang’s gaze darts briefly towards you out of the corner of his eyes.

“So, have Sannie and Woo been giving you private lessons after finishing my own?” You inquire, sitting back onto your ankles as you observe the bank carefully.

“They’ve tried,” the male still on his feet grumbles.

“Not necessarily.” Yeosang shakes his head at the same time.

“Yeo is just observant like that.” Canary Man finishes.

“Ah,” your brows raise in understanding. “Impressive. Are you the informant, then?”

“You could say that,” he smiles, somewhat faintly, his bangs hiding his eyes as he leans forward.

“You’re observant. A good skill to have, especially when gathering information.” You comment, pushing yourself back to your feet and dusting off your hands.

Instantly, Yeosang is back on his feet with you, your basket resting gently in his hands. Just as you go to reach for it, he turns away, already walking along the side of the stream.

You chuckle, “the next spot is this way.”

The way you quirk a brow at him has his cheeks dusting with a very faint pink as he walks back over to you. You pretend not to notice.

“Where did you learn all of this?” The taller of the two asks, nothing but curiosity in his tone despite him attempting to hide it. “How to harvest herbs and make remedies?”

“I believe I have mentioned that I am much older than I appear,” you smile faintly in response. “My father trained me for quite a long time. The rest I learned through trial and error.”

“You’ve made mistakes?” Yeosang’s brow furrows.

“I know, it’s quite difficult to believe,” you chuckle, leading them into a tiny clearing with a few bushes scattered around. “I still do. Not everything is perfect, nor is it meant to be. The important thing is to learn and grow from your past failings. Though, try not to fail when it really counts.”

At the way you suddenly grimace, the two dragons share a look.

“Is this about-“

Mingi’s inquiry gets caught in his throat as Yeosang harshly elbows him in his side.

You let out a sigh. “You do not know me well enough to be asking questions on such a personal topic you've eavesdropped upon.”

“Our apologies.” Yeosang bows slightly, that basket of yours tucked against his front.

Your eyebrows raise, slight amusement dancing within your orbs.

“What? Does him apologizing to you surprise you that much?” The taller male tilts his head slightly in curiosity.

“It does.” You blink, beginning to pick through some bushes to gather their fruit. “I am simply surprised by today’s turn of events.”

“We’re not as terrible as we seem.” Yeosang mumbles, averting his gaze to the side.

“No,” you hum. “I don’t believe you are.”

Your admission clearly catches them both off guard, for they blink at you in shock. Still, Mingi cannot prevent the corner of his lips from twitching upwards slightly. A fact which has him clearing his throat and steeling his resolve in the next moment.

“You both really don’t know how to stalk something without being extremely obvious you’re there, do you?” You tease, lightheartedly.

“We did what we always do.” Yeosang shrugs, moving over to observe the berries you’re currently picking while holding the basket out to you.

“Considering you have the power to harness wind, I’m surprised you don’t know how to cover your scents completely yet.” You reply, tossing the handful of fruit you hold into your basket.

“Cover our scents?” The taller frowns. “We do that already.”

You shoot him a look. “To basic creatures, maybe. But not to me or my Neos.”

“What do you mean?” Yeosang asks, brow slightly furrowed in confusion.

“You hide your nature to humans, hunters, and the like, but to trained creatures, they’d still be able to pick you out of a crowd.” You reply, turning your full attention to Yeosang beside you. “Which is surprising, given everything you can do with wind.”

“What can I do with wind?”

“Hide in plain sight.” Comes your immediate response, and you watch as he blinks in shock at you. “You can hide scents, sounds, cover your tracks, and everything. You just have to know how to harness your powers properly.”

“Yunho did say I could potentially tear the air out of someone’s lungs.” Yeosang nods, recalling the words his brother spoke to him a little while ago.

“You boys are still young, and you have much to learn.” You nod.

“We’re not that young.” Canary Man crosses his arms over his chest.

“Compared to me, you are.” You reply bluntly.

“I doubt you know everything.” He huffs.

“I don’t,” you agree, and you watch shock paint his features. “But I know a far greater deal than you.”

A low growl escapes his lips. “Are you challenging me?”

You snort out a laugh. “Believe me, Canary Man. If I were to challenge you, one of us would already be dead, and it wouldn’t be me.”

Even though Yeosang attempts to hide it, he cannot prevent the grin from taking over his lips.

“Stop smiling, she just threatened me!” He snaps, a hint of a whine to his tone as a frown pulls at his features. “And stop calling me Canary Man! That’s not my name.”

You nod slightly in acknowledgement. “Then what is your name.”

He blinks, clearly caught off guard.

“Mingi.” He swallows. “My name is Mingi.”

“Well, Mingi,” you meet his gaze, “has anyone ever explained to you how similar your personality can be to your power?”

His eyes flash in annoyance. “Plenty."

“No, I’m not just talking about someone saying you have a fiery personality,” you add, noticing how his jaw twitches once more in irritation. “I mean it in the way that fire is both equally consuming and rejuvenating.”

You can tell he’s caught off guard by your choice of words, and even Yeosang looks a little taken aback.

“It’s clear to me that many of you Halas are still attempting to find who you are.” You continue. “You simply cannot let your powers consume you.”

“What do you mean by that?” Yeosang questions, head tilted curiously in inquiry.

“I mean,” you turn to meet his gaze. “Do not let your power become what defines you. Yes, fire types can be hotheaded-“

“Hey!” Mingi doesn’t even get a chance to continue protesting before you’re continuing.

“But they can also be strong, unwavering, and warm like the very flames they can create.” You purposely meet Mingi’s gaze, and you notice how he swallows somewhat thickly. “Our powers can influence our moods, and decisions, but ultimately it is up to us whether we let them consume our every action. Fire is both destructive and healing. You just need to find the balance.”

“How would you know?” Mingi spits, taking a threatening step forward.

Your eyes flash in warning, and he backs off. For now.

“We are a lot more alike that you think. All of us.” You meet his gaze, a hint of amber shining within your own. “I have dealt with flame wielders more often that you think. You are more than just complete destruction. No one knows that better than me.”

Mingi scowls, spine straightening beneath your somewhat sympathetic gaze. He doesn’t understand why you’re looking at him like that, nor why your words seem to resonate so much with his very soul. What he does know, though, is that he’s had enough of this conversation.

“I’m done here,” without another word, he takes off, shifting into the air and flying away.

You let out a long sigh. “Perhaps that was too soon.”

“You certainly know a lot about our species.” Yeosang comments casually, peeking at you from out of the corner of his eyes. “As much as the ancients do.”

You purse your lips, wiping the excess berry juice onto your pants before going to reach for the basket in his grip. 

Again, he pulls away.

“I have enough sense to know there’s more to you than you’re letting on,” he comments, following right beside you as you begin to make your way back to your cabin. “I can only imagine what makes you so guarded, given the state of your back-“

“What have you seen?” The brief flash of fear he sees light behind your eyes as you shove him against the closest tree has him dropping the basket in shock.

“Just what happened when San accidentally grazed your upper spine,” Yeosang blinks, rather warily.

You seem to breathe a sigh of relief, detecting no false intonation of his voice from his answer. In the next moment, you’re pushing yourself off of him. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” he replies, leaning down to grab the basket once more after wiping off the front of his shirt. “Whatever happened must have been quite traumatic. You don’t let anyone touch your back.”

You spare him a cautious look. “Again, your observations are quite keen.”

“I am curious, but it’s not my place.” He answers, quite honestly at that, too.

“You’re right. It is not your place.” Your blunt response fills the air with a tense silence.

A silence which stretches on for quite a period of time. That is, until he’s breaking it once more.

“We haven’t told Mingi or Seonghwa about it.” He says, voice a mere whisper on the wind. He clears his throat lightly. “About your back, that is.”

His admission completely catches you off guard. “You haven’t?”

“I wouldn’t feel right if I did.” Comes his immediate reply. “I don’t know you very well, and you don’t know me. We’re not enemies; you’ve helped my clan more than we deserve. It would not be proper for me to-“ he catches himself, “for us to repay your kindness in such a traitorous way.”

Again, his words manage to shock you, and all you can do is blink at him.

“Jongho told us that your trust does not come easy,” he continues, “but you’ve already extended an understanding towards us that I know most of us do not deserve. We misjudged you, and I want to apologize for how standoffish I was at the start.”

Your lips tug upwards faintly in the corners, expression softening. “I think we truly are beginning to understand one another, Yeosang.”

The dragon before you cannot deny the way his heart simply races at hearing you address him so openly by his proper name.

“I think so, too.” He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as you both pause momentarily on the path.

You take the time now to search his gaze, just as he searches your own. Soft smiles rest on both of your features as you nod once. The way a weight seemingly lifts itself off of your shoulders has you relaxing, for it was something you hadn’t realized that you’d been carrying.

As much as you don’t want to admit, you’re starting to care for these Hala dragons. Though, from the looks of things, they’re also starting to care for you, too.

“I do have one more thing to ask you,” he says as the two of you continue back down the path once more.

“Oh?” You quirk a brow in inquiry.

“That salve you gave Hwa,” he begins. “He’s run out, and both San and Wooyoung refuse to make him more.”

You huff out an amused laugh. “They’re right to. We won’t start learning those types of mixtures for another week.”

“Seonghwa’s too proud to ask you himself,” Yeosang grimaces. “Would you- uh, might it be possible if-“

You can tell he’s struggling to get the words out, given how his cheers flare with a deep red.

“Are you asking me to prepare another salve for him?” You hum, knowingly.

“If you don’t mind.” He breathes, grateful you seemed to understand where he had been going with all of this.

“If he wants something, he should get used to asking for it himself.” You say, looking straight head.

Yeosang sighs. “That’s what I keep telling him.”

“Keep in mind, I’m not saying ‘no’.” A light hum escapes you.

The male cannot prevent the way his head whips towards you, hope shining in his eyes.

“I’ll let him know.” Yeosang echoes your hum, a small smile tugging at his features.

For the rest of the walk back to your home, a comfortable silence stretches on around you. There is an air of ease that settles between the two of you, perfectly content to simply enjoy the other’s presence. You’ve noticed that Yeosang isn’t much of a heavy talker, and you rather appreciate the way he can communicate with you only using either a few words, or simple glances. It’s quite a change from your typical exchanges with most of his brothers.

When you finally make it back to your place, you notice another dragon lingering around your back door.

“There you are, I was getting worried.” Jongho meets you halfway, reaching out to you only to halt himself before his hand can so much as graze your arm. He locks eyes with his brother. “What are you doing here?”

You notice how quiet Yeosang goes, demeanour shifting slightly from the comfortable silence you had just been experiencing, to a sort of tense guard. You frown slightly, but say nothing.

“I simply wanted to learn more about the woman that has the five of you so captivated.” Yeosang replies, somewhat bluntly.

Jongho pulls the basket out of his brother’s arms, somewhat firmly. All the while, he shoots the elder a look.

“We had a rather nice conversation, didn’t we, Yeosang?” You hum, turning to the aforementioned male.

“I’d say so,” he breathes, eyes softening ever so slightly as he shifts his gaze to you.

Jongho’s eyes narrow slightly, attempting to get a read on his brother. He doesn’t appreciate how close you and Yeosang appear to be all of a sudden.

“Thanks for your help,” you nod to Yeosang once more.

“Anytime,” he smiles, before turning to give his brother a firm nod. “See you at home.”

Without another word, Yeosang is shifting and flying away into the light of the now setting sun.

“You two seemed close,” Jongho grumbles, walking with you the rest of the way to your backdoor.

“He was simply curious,” you reply, stepping through the threshold only for Jongho to follow right behind. “He wasn’t alone, but Mingi decided to storm off earlier.”

“Mingi was with you?” The disbelief is clear in his voice as he places the basket of herbs onto your counter. “And he didn’t attempt to bite your head off.”

“Oh, believe me,” you chuckle. “I think he wanted to.”

“He hasn’t mentioned anything to us yet.” Jongho frowns.

“Ah, your clan connection,” you nod in understanding. “Perhaps he’s actually mulling over what I said.”

“What did you say?” Jongho quirks a brow curiously.

“Just some observations about his powers and personality,” you shrug, beginning to sort through the herbs in your basket.

“And he didn’t spontaneously combust?” If Jongho’s brows raise any higher, you’d swear they’d disappear into his hairline.

“I think he wanted to,” you chuckle. “But no. He did not.”

“You seriously are incredible,” he sighs, somewhat dreamily, sitting on your one stool and resting his cheek in the palm of his one hand.

“Is that a regular occurrence?” You grin, gathering a separate bowl to put all of the berries you collected into.

“I can’t count the number of times he’s singed one of us in anger,” Jongho chuckles. “I will never forget the impromptu haircuts we usually have to give ourselves thanks to him.”

“Oh, I believe you,” you nod, laughing along with him.

“Still, I’m surprised he even sought you out.” Jongho hums, wordlessly beginning to help you sort the herbs into separate piles on the counter.

“I was told they were curious,” you briefly glance up at him. “Seems someone is overbearing with their stories.”

Jongho’s mouth parts, greatly scandalized by your words. 

“I would never!” A blush begins to creep up his neck. Then, a mumble, “San and Wooyoung hardly ever shut up about you. Even Joong and Yunho can’t keep their mouths shut.”

You smile, a knowing gleam in your eyes as you step up beside him to affectionately ruffle his hair. “Aw, is my little man jealous?”

“Little?” He huffs, and in the blink of an eye, he’s stood back to his feet, trapping you between his arms against the counter. Slowly, he leans in, and you can feel his breath ghosting the skin of your neck. “I’ll show you there’s nothing little about me.”

You wish you could deny the way your breath hitches. Yet, at the pleased growl you feel reverberate against your chest from him, you know he’s heard it, too.

Gently, his hand is placed onto the side of you hip, squeezing the flesh appreciatively. What truly makes your head spin, though, is how tender his hold is. Not only that, but despite the sudden darkness that you can see swirling in his eyes, there’s still that undertone of affection dripping through.

A moment later, and you manage to gain control of your thoughts once more.

Slowly, you raise a hand to his chest, gently pushing him off of you. Only, he doesn’t budge.

“Jongho,” you sigh his name, and you immediately hear how his own breath hitches in his throat.

“Please, My Fated,” his voice is low, uneven as he speaks into the skin of your neck. “You must know what hearing my name falling from your lips in that tone does to me.”

This time, when you push him away, you use slightly more force.

“You don’t get to refer to me as that, yet.” Despite attempting to keep your tone sharp, you cannot help the waver in your voice.

You can see how his expression falls before you, shoulders drooping slightly as he steps away. Then, it’s as if he’s fully registering your words, for a spark of hope begins shining within his eyes.

Yet. You said he doesn’t get to refer to you as that yet.

“Only a mutual imprint designates the use of those name.” You say, carefully stepping away from him for the moment.

“Not to me,” he replies, honesty dripping from his tone as he meets your eyes. “Not when it’s always felt this right.”

“Then, I’m asking you to wait.” Your tone is softer than it was a moment ago. “I cannot promise the commitment you want from me right now, Jongho. I’m not promising you anything. The last person I gave my heart to-“ your breath catches in your throat, and you find yourself averting your gaze. You take a deep breath to steady your nerves, curling in on yourself for the first time while standing in front of the male before you. “The last person I gave my heart to shredded every last bit of me to pieces.”

A silence so deadly settles over the room, and you spare a glance upwards to see Jongho barely controlling his breathing.

Anger radiates off of him in waves, a hint of electricity spiking within the air. The tips of his fingers begin to spark as his eyes flash, steam escaping his nostrils with every exhale.

“It was Kun, wasn’t it?” He’s furious, whole body visibly trembling as he looses the grip on his anger. “I fucking knew it-“

“Jongho!” Your sharp tone manages to draw his attention to you for the moment. “Kun is not who I am referring to. He is none of your concern. Stop making one of my oldest friends into a villain.”

“Then, why-“

“I have already told you that he simply did what was best for him at the time.” You sigh, leaning back onto your counter once more. “He didn’t want to wait, and neither should you.”

“And I thought I already told you that I would wait however long it takes, even if it meant I only got to spend one day with you.” His voice softens, taking a cautious step towards you. “All I want is the chance to call you mine, and for you to call me yours.”

Slowly, you spare a glance up into his eyes. Just as they shone that night in the clearing, they shine now, the sincerity managing to take your breath away yet again.

“I need you to understand-“ you swallow, emotions suddenly heavy in your tone and threatening to choke you out at any given moment. “I need you to understand that I may never be able to give you what you seek.”

“Just being with you like this is enough for me,” he replies, voice a mere whisper on the wind. The earnest way he meets your gaze has a single tear spilling onto your cheek, and he’s quick to cup the side of your face tenderly in his palm. “I won’t lie to you. I desire you. I have desired you since the very first moment I laid my eyes upon you. Whether those desires of mine are met or not, I do not care. All I care about is the fact that you allow me to share in your presence with you, even if I do not deserve it.”

“Jongho,” you find you cannot form the words you want to say, feeling your heart leap into your throat as his confession.

He wipes away your tear.

“I understand you’ve been hurt in the past,” he breathes, and you can feel the way he still trembles the slightest bit against you. “Know that I will never hurt you. I will never make you feel unwanted, undesired, unloved. I cannot. I will not. It is not in my nature to deceive you like that.”

Both of his hands come up to cup your face, meeting your gaze tenderly. His eyes shine with a sincerity, with a passion you’re starting to understand. You can feel it in his touch. You can see it in his gaze. More than all of that, you can hear it in his words.

“This is my promise to you.” He stares deeply into your eyes, his own flashing as a sacred magic begins to flow between the both of you at his words. “I swear I will never betray you. I will never deceive you, nor will I ever use you. I will protect you until my dying breath, because with everything that I am, I am in love with you. Everything that I do, I do it for you.”

Your lips part, and you cannot help but raise your own hands to grasp lightly at his wrists.

“And if-“ he closes his eyes, as if the words he is about to utter pain him far more than any physical wound ever could, “if you truly ever want nothing to do with me, or you decide that you do not want me, I will respect your wishes, and honour your decision.”

Your hands tighten their grip subconsciously around his wrists, the tips of your fingers tingling as the magic flows through you both.

“Until the end of time, this is my promise to you. One which I have every intention to keep.” His grip becomes the slightest bit firmer over your skin as his eyes flash the deepest gold you’ve ever seen from him. 

“I swear upon my life, and the life of all of my forefathers before me, that all I care about,” he swallows thickly, “all I will ever care about,” Jongho meets your gaze one final time, and you swear you can feel his pulse beating right alongside your own.

You hold your breath.

“Is you.”

[alrightberries]

seasons change

PAIRING: dabi x reader

SUMMARY: in which you and dabi are childhood best friends who are bad with feelings.

alternatively, all the words unspoken between you and dabi are summarized with just one short word: goodbye.

TAGS & WARNINGS: implied sex, smoking, kinda unhealthy relationship, implied body horror (it's dabi)

a/n: this has been rotting in my drafts for so long; i wrote this before dabi's backstory was officially revealed no one come for me for the wonky timeline

—

six.

you didn't like cleaning houses. or, a better way of putting it was, you didn't like cleaning someone else's house six days a week, four weeks a month, twelve months a year.

days always ended with back pain and scraped knees from the intense floor scrubbing, and you didn't like the way the wet rags would leave your fingers wrinkled and cramping.

your mom insisted that cleaning was fun because it built character and discipline. you insisted that it wasn't fun, and that cleaning your house was much easier than cleaning a mansion (but, really now, anything was a mansion to you compared to your one bedroom house).

"okay, how about we play another game?" your mom asks with a teasing smile. "whoever cleans the mops the fastest, wins!"

it was five o'clock in the evening and you were tired— your shoulders and elbows hurt and at this point you were ready to pass out in your futon back at home. but work is from seven to seven, and you still had to polish the gym's... red mill? treck mill? you can't remember what they were called.

"but momma, i'm tired." you whined. "can we go home now? i wanna go to school tomorrow."

the wide smile on your mom's face gets smaller, and you don't know how to describe it. she was smiling but why did she seem sad? smiles weren't meant to be sad.

"maybe you should skip school tomorrow too. don't you want to spend more time with momma?"

you do want to spend more time with momma, but you've been skipping school for two months now. you miss your friends. you miss when work was play, and play was play, and play was fun.

when you don't reply, your mom sighs and kneels on the floor, fingers lifting your chin to meet her eyes. "tell you what. how about you rest for now, okay? i'll clean up the mops and polish the treadmills, you stay here. if anyone comes in, just pretend to be cleaning, okay?"

"okay!"

her foot steps pad away when she slides the big door close, and you sigh when you finally sit down for the first time in what felt like hours. but just as soon as the doors slid close, they opened again, and you tense. you knew it wasn't your mom, mom always knocks.

"oh— uh, sorry." a boy, probably the son of your mom's client, murmurs in surprise. his white hair is the first thing you notice, his blue eyes (were they blue? maybe green?) the second. "i saw L/N-san leave the gym and thought you were finished."

"we're almost done," was the only thing you managed to say softly, before— "oh!" you dipped into a deep bow. "good evening, todorki-sama."

"ugh, sama?" you don't see but the boy grimaces. "don't call me that, you make me sound so old."

"i'm sorry, todoroki—"

"—san."

"okay, todoroki-san."

"...you can stop bowing now," he laughs awkwardly, and you straighten up. "my dad says i'm not supposed to talk to you."

"mom says I’m not supposed to talk to you either."

"oh."

a moment passes, and neither of you know what to say. you were still staring at the floor and fiddling with your hands while waiting for him to talk or leave or... something.

suddenly, todoroki clears his throat, awkwardly shifting around. "why don't the adults want us to talk?"

"i don't—"

"todoroki touya!" a firm voice booms from the doorway, and you grab a rag and start polishing the reck mill. you don't turn around when you hear todorki approach his father, footsteps fading away and the door sliding shut again.

no more than a minute later, your mom came back. she lifted your chin again and gave you a kiss on the forehead, small smile on her face when she grabbed a rag to help you clean.

she looked paler than she did when she left, and you don't mention it when you notice her fingers start shaking. you don't mention the red stuff on the white handkerchief peeking out of her pocket, either.

eight.

"i'm bored."

"okay."

"i'm bored."

"i heard you."

"y/n, i'm bored."

"what am i supposed to do about it?"

"...entertain me."

you smile. "entertain you how?"

"tell me about your quirk," todoroki said one day, mindlessly tapping his pencil on the table. there was some kind of math written on the papers in front of him, but it was gibberish in your eyes— you could, just barely, read and count, but you don't know what business a triangle has being surrounded by numbers and the ABCs.

"i don’t have one, todorki-san."

"touya-kun, i told you to call me touya-kun." he grumbles, and you giggle.

"okay, touya-kun." you don't know why touya kept talking to you— he was probably bored, like he said, and maybe lonely— but you liked his company.

"did the counselor say you were quirkless?"

"no," you adjust your grip on the broom. "mom says we can't afford quirk counseling, but she's quirkless so i probably am too."

"don't schools have free quirk counseling?"

school. huh, you haven't thought of that in a while. so you shrug. "i wouldn't know, i don't go to school anymore."

"really?!" he screeches, and you nod. a long, bored groan escapes his lips, and you laugh when be dramatically flops down on the floor. "you're so lucky!"

not really, you wanted to say. i'm just lucky you're homeschooled so i'm not alone. speaking of which—

"are those from training again?" you eye the bruises that litter his arms. you don't think you've ever seen him without a bruise in the years you've known each other.

"yeah, dad's been really strict lately," he says, and you don't get the chance to ask him more about it because there's a knock on the door. you step away from him, going back to sweeping the room just as his mom comes in with a tray of food in her hands, and touya lets out a yell of happiness.

she teases him about his unfinished math homework before she leaves, and you try to ignore the smell of miso and fish his mom made for him. when was the last time you ate? was it yesterday or the other day? you couldn't remember.

"d'you want some?" touya asks when he hears your tummy grumble embarrassingly loud. but you decline. "no, it's okay. your mom made those for you."

"she made too much though, and i don't want it to go to waste."

liar. you've seen him eat, he could eat two servings of what he had now and still ask for dessert. but you keep quiet this time, putting down the broom and accepting todoroki's invitation when he pats the spot next to him.

"haven't you eaten lunch yet?" he asks, and you quietly shake your head as he lends you his chopsticks.

"well, why not?"

"i don't know how to cook."

"doesn't your mom cook for you?"

"she does, but she's in the hospital."

touya tries to think of the past week and realizes he hasn't seen her around, not even heard her voice to call you from another room. so he asks, "is she going to be okay?"

"maybe? the nice doctor said she'll be fine." you reply. touya only nods.

he slips two rice balls in your bag just before you leave that day, telling you to give one to your mom when she gets back from the hospital.

"oh! and tell her i said hi."

he keeps slipping you rice balls after that because you never got to tell her he said hi, and you never got to tell her goodbye, either.

eleven.

there are sniffles coming from touya's room.

the sniffles make you pause mid-polish of a large and empty vase in the hallway, and you've been awkwardly standing in front of his door for a good six minutes now, unsure what to do. should you go get his parents? no, that would make it seem like you were eavesdropping on their son. should you knock? yeah, knocking seemed like a good choice.

so you do; three soft knocks on his door, and suddenly the sniffles stop.

"touya?" you call out, knocking again. "it's me."

there's a moment of silence before the door hesitantly cracks open. he doesn't open it all the way at first, one eye peeking out to make sure it really was you. the door opens fully this time, and you're confused when he peers around the empty hallway, eyes lingering to make sure no one was there, before yanking you inside, arms wrapping around your waist and his head tucking into the crook of your neck.

"touya, what are you—"

"please stay with me," came his little squeak, followed by more sniffles and his body wracking from his ragged breaths. an arm wraps around his torso, the other one cradling the back of his head as you shushed him and reassured him, slowly rocking both your bodies back and forth.

"do you want to talk about it?" you ask quietly, and touya shakes his head, burrowing deeper into you.

you nod. "it's okay, you don't have to."

your words were calm and reassuring but internally you were panicking. all the hairs on your body stood on its end because there was this... smell, one that you could only compare to a mixture of butane and a burning dumpster.

burning skin, your brain horrifically corrected, and every fibre of your being was screaming at you to get the hell out of there.

but then you realize where the smell is coming from, and its only when you lean back do you realize touya's arms were red and raw. how the hell did you not see that before?

"your arms—"

"i know," he cuts you off, voice nasally and choked up. "i don't want to talk about it. you said we didn't have to talk about it."

you sigh, gently coaxing him from where he was still buried in the crook of your neck, and his grip on you only tightens. "i'm not leaving, i promise." your hand begins to rub reassuring circles on his back. "i just want you to look at me."

when you coax him out again, he obliges, but still doesn't look at you. so you do the first thing that came to mind— a habit learned from a hazy memory of your mother.

fingers gently grasped the bottom of his chin, gently lifting up his gaze before soft lips place a small kiss on his forehead. he freezes at first, but he gradually melts into your gentle touch, once again burrowing his face into the crook of your neck as you whispered small reassurances into his ear.

the following day, touya's eyes were a little dimmer and he wore nothing but long sleeved shirts.

fourteen.

When you first came to work on a random Tuesday afternoon, the entire Todoroki estate was quiet. This was normal. They were a family who spoke to each other quietly, never raising their voice or making a ruckus (except for Endeavor). What wasn’t normal, however, was the somber mood that seemed to loom the entire house as a woman with white hair and red streaks— the eldest Todoroki sister, you remember— wordlessly gave you your list of chores for the day before locking herself in her room.

The atmosphere made you uncomfortable. It didn’t help that Touya didn’t even attempt to bother you the entire day either, but you didn’t think much of it. He was probably doing his homework in the study or training somewhere else.

So it came as a surprise to you when, just as you were walking through the park on your way back home, the smell of burnt flesh reached your nose once again and all the hair in your body stood up. Your instincts screamed at you to run, something you undoubtedly would’ve done had a hand not shot out from underneath the bushes and tripped you, forcing you to fall on the ground and meet two familiar turquoise eyes— hidden in the shrubbery— staring into your own.

After getting over your initial shock you took Touya back to the house your mother had left behind. Normally you wouldn’t be allowed to keep a house if you were underage, but lucky for you things the government mixed up your files and you were allowed to inherit it with no next of kin or legal guardians. The house fell to your name, and it was all you had left.

“I- Touya, I don’t know what to do.” You panicked, staring at the angry red flesh on his arms and upper torso. He was lying down on your tiny kitchen table, shirtless and pants charred. Your cleaning gloves did little to hide the shake of your hands, the visual of him in pain and surrounded by bloodied rags. “I can’t treat you. We need to call the hospital—”

“Don’t.” He rasped weakly, breathing heavy. You noticed that the underside of his eyes were burnt as well. Didn’t it hurt him to blink? “You can’t.”

“Why not?!”

“My family thinks I’m dead.”

sixteen.

Around spring, you finally had the guts to resign from your job at the Todoroki household and pursue another one. It wasn’t anything big— just a small waitressing job at a curry restaurant a couple blocks away from your neighborhood. Still, the pay was okay and you didn’t have to watch a family mourn the loss of a son you were secretly harboring.

You weren’t sure exactly what prompted you to let him stay. He told you a little bit of his life— why he did what he did, and though you sympathized with him fully was it really right for you to keep him around?

Maybe it was the feeling of being indebted to him every time you pretended not to see him slip an extra cup of rice or an extra bowl of soup into your take home meals. Maybe it was the feeling of being thankful when he secretly lent you books so you could improve your skills on reading and writing. Maybe it was the feeling of guilt from not making him tell you what was bothering him on the day you heard him crying, convinced that if you had then you wouldn’t be here now. You weren’t sure— but you were glad you let him stay.

“Hey, I’m home.” You called out tiredly, dumping your keys in your bag. A puff of white hair peaked out from behind the couch, and you couldn’t help the amusement in your eyes as you stared at Touya.

“Got another piercing, I see.” You mused as you set down the bag of curry on the diningroom table. Touya didn’t reply as he silently extinguished his cigarette and helped you set the table.

Ever since the day he faked his own death, he’s been... different, to say the least, and you weren’t surprised at all.

He’s been more closed off, more quiet. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t like being a “jobless deadbeat” (his words, not yours) while you worked your ass off to support the two of you; or if it was because he wasn’t used to living “the poor life” (again, his words not yours) compared to his previous life of luxury.

You didn’t have much to offer; just an old but well-kept house that's seen better days, a large futon you and your mother shared, and a life living paycheck to paycheck and buried in debt while he busied himself with chores and whatever he could do around the small house.

Three meals a day wasn’t guaranteed with your budget so you had to cut it down to two a day at most. And even then, there’d be times you’d only eat once. Meals were usually composed of either canned food, instant noodles, leftovers, or raw ingredients that were close to going bad. Touya had never had anything that wasn’t fresh or organic, and the first few weeks were a struggle for his stomach to adjust. But with how he first came to you, his delicate stomach was the least of his problems.

The burns on his skin weren’t treated properly thanks to your limited medical knowledge. You had to keep them bandaged the first couple months he’d stayed with you, and since you couldn’t afford both painkillers and clean bandages at the same time, there was nothing to numb Touya to the pain. Fortunately, he healed just fine. Yet he refused to take off the bandages and let you see the dark purple marks where his tan skin used to be.

You knew it still hurt him to move but you also knew that if you tried to stop him he’d only throw a fit. Doing chores around the house and keeping things clean was, according to him, the least he could do to help. He didn’t clean as well as someone who does it for a living, but his efforts to keep your shared home tidy didn’t go unappreciated. He was fairly okay at cooking simple things that only needed frying or boiling— nothing too complex since he’s never really had a need to cook for himself, much less for another person. Housework was his way of saying thank you, and you weren’t about to take it away from him.

“I don’t understand how you always come home with two curry bowls.” Touya finally speaks, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts. “Thought the restaurant only let you have one free take away per day. Do you buy me this shit every night?”

“Yeah, sure, I can definitely do that with my salary.” You replied. “Nah. Luckily one of the line cooks has a thing for me and doesn’t mind slipping me an extra meal. He thinks I have it for breakfast in the morning.”

He scoffs but doesn’t reply.

seventeen.

“Help me dye my hair black,” was the first thing he said when you asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday. You had a little bit of money set aside for a present. Nothing too expensive or grand, but just enough that you could actually afford something out of your tightly monitored expenses— monitored by none other than your roommate— that wasn’t cup noodles.

You didn’t hesitate to run to the nearest drugstore to buy cheap black dye and help him with his hair. Black water trickled down the drain as you held the shower head over his hair.

“What’s it look like, doll?” He asked.

“You look like a really ugly wet dog.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who grinded on me like a bitch in heat last night.”

You chuckled. Well, you couldn’t argue with that.

He stopped wearing his bandages months ago. It was a miracle that you found an under the table doctor who agreed to help patch him up for a reasonable price. You already computed everything— the operation that involved putting staples around his arms, face and torso was cheaper than buying fresh bandages every damn day. It’d take the better part of at least three years to pay off, but seeing him grow to embrace the silver studs on his burnt body the way he embraced his beloved ear piercings made you smile.

He’s been starting to go out of the house, too. He doesn’t tell you where he goes— not that he had to— but you were glad he stopped cooping himself up inside.

“You look good, Tou- sorry, Dabi.” You murmured.

His hands were gripping the sides of the tub as you continued to wash the excess dye from his hair, and you pretend not to notice the familiar smell of burnt flesh sticking to his jacket despite the fact that you knew his burns were already healed. You also pretend not to notice the new clothes he wore that definitely weren’t in his closet this morning.

“You look good.”

nineteen.

Dabi only got rougher from there.

He became more crude in the way he spoke, and sometimes he’d disappear for days on end without a single word. You got nervous the first few times he did it, scolding him and telling him to never make you worry like that ever again (he still did).

He’d roll his eyes and yell at you to back off, he wasn’t your boyfriend, stop being so damn clingy. You hated those fights the most. They usually ended with Dabi sleeping on the couch or storming out, and you angry crying yourself to sleep at night. The only thing that brought you comfort was that he always came back.

“I’m heading out, don’t wait up for me.” He spoke, putting on his coat.

“Are you going to come back within the week?”

“I don’t know.”

You sighed. “Okay. Take care.”

It’d be hypocriticial to say his secrets bothered you because he wasn’t the only one with secrets. Even with your promotion at the restaurant, even with you working overtime and taking extra shifts to the point that you barely got any sleep, money was still tight. Bills were getting steeper, banks were demanding money from your debts, and groceries were getting more expensive.

It was the line cook that kept flirting with you that introduced you to the scene of underground poker. He was a gambler and decided to take you to one of his games in an attempt to impress you (not knowing about your live in not-boyfriend). He won every game that night and started taking you to all his matches, saying he always played better when he was with you. Even called you his “lucky ace.” You only rolled your eyes but let him show you off so long as he kept slipping you extra dinner every night. That was, until, you learned the ropes and became a gambler yourself and quickly made a name in the underground scene.

Dabi wasn’t dumb. He knew that the money you magically found to pay off his operation from two years ago as well as your debt to the hospital that treated your mother wasn’t from your savings. He knew that the fresh meat and vegetables you started buying from the market weren’t there because the grocer had a sale. And he damn well knew that you secretly quit your job at the restaurant even though you acted like you were still employed, even going as far as putting on your old uniform whenever you left for “work.”

And yet, just like you never questioned where he suddenly got the money to contribute to the household, he never questioned where you got yours.

twenty-one.

It was around your second year of being a professional underground poker player did your secret get revealed to Dabi. You were too careless. The sudden transfer to a “restaurant branch” in the city. The expensive clothes and unexplained budget for much needed home renovations. The appearance of painkillers and anti-irritation ointment (that he definitely didn’t buy) in his bedside drawer. The stash of card decks— clearly only used once at most— that you hid in a duffel bag in your closet.

Dabi didn’t comment on these.

He did, however, comment on the elegenat white and gold invitation to a professional poker match set for this Friday evening, addressed to an infamous masked player who had a record of never losing a single match. How could he not comment on it when you so generously left it out in the open.

“I knew you were up to some gambling but I didn’t expect you to be the infamous Lucky Ace.” He mused one night, holding the prestigious cardboard between his fingertips. He was sure if he tried to sell the invitation he’d get some money for it— he knows what real gold feels like when he touches it. “Never thought it’d be you. They say Lucky Ace’s Quirk is luck. The manipulation of probabilities, both of others and your own.”

You merely chuckled in amusement. You weren’t blessed with the Quirk of luck— you just happened to be a skilled gambler.

“I’ve had a lot of offers for your head.”

“And I’ve had a lot competition who turned up dead and burnt to a crisp before my matches.” You replied. “Thanks for that, by the way. I haven’t received a single paycheck in weeks.”

Ah, that too. Dabi was also getting careless. You definitely knew he was a kill for hire, and you definitely knew he was employed under another professional poker player who wanted to get to the top the easy way. You had a feeling he’s been the cause for your competitors sudden disappearances, and the unexplained duffel bags full of cash that sat next to yours didn’t help.

“Looks like we’ve both been careless.” He lazily threw the invitation to you. “Do me a favor— lose your match with Black Jack tomorrow, will ya? Now that I know who Lucky Ace is, boss won’t be happy that I let you live.”

You scoff. “You want me to lose to a guy who’s initials spell out blowjob? The hell do you take me for?”

Normally he loved your sharp tongue and crude jokes, but right now it wasn’t helping. The bounty on Lucky Ace’s head was too big to pass up, and if you won against Black Jack— his boss— tomorrow then the prize would only double. He wouldn’t be the only one out for your head by then.

He sighed, raising up one hand to show you the spark of blue flames. Intimidate you. He was trying to intimidate you. Or warn you— you didn’t fucking know.

But you merely smirked. “Wanna fuck?”

His eye twitched, and he pondered it for a few seconds. Groaning, he extinguished the flame.

“You’re lucky you’re a good lay.”

twenty-two.

It was in the afterglow of sex that words unspoken revealed themselves.

Well, sort of.

Two sweaty bodies, panting next to each other. The smell of cigarettes and hormones thick in the air. The feeling of lips placing a kiss to your forehead as you wrapped the sheets around your torso, turning as you looked at the man beside you.

“What would you do if you found out I was secretly dating that line cook you hated so much?” You asked. His arm lazily wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you closer, your head resting on his chest. Dabi took a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling, thinking it through. You took the stick from his hand and took a drag of your own.

“Damn, that’s good.” You murmured. “Not even reds can beat seven stars.”

He took the cigarette back from you and flicked off the ashes on the tray next to the bed.

“If you were dating what’s-his-name but still ask me to fuck you at least twice a week then he’s gotta be a virgin or some shit.” He finally replies. “That, or the poor guy’s dick isn’t enough to satiate you.”

“So... you’d be okay with it?”

“Does it matter? I’m not your boyfriend.”

“You could be, y’know.” You murmured, tracing your finger against his collarbone. “My boyfriend— I mean.”

“Sorry, doll. M’not interested in being your mistress.”

You clicked your tongue. “I’m not dating him, you dumbass. It was a hypothetical question.”

That was the closest you and Dabi ever got to a confession. That was the closest you ever got to asking him out after years of sexual tension that turned out to be romantic.

And the little kisses you peppered across his callous knuckles was the closest you ever got to saying “I love you.”

Fortunately, Dabi didn’t reject you or push you away. Instead he stayed the night cuddled up to you, holding your hand and waiting for you to fall asleep before slipping out of your hold and disappearing in the middle of the night for a job, just like he always did.

That was the closest he ever got to saying “I love you too.”

twnety-three.

Dabi doesn’t like telling you shit.

At least, not when you’re awake. He did, however, have a lot of silent conversations with you when you’re asleep. His trips home became fewer and further in between, and every time he stayed he’d only stay the night or for three days at most. You tried to ask him about it once but he was always vague with his answers.

He tells you he doesn’t care, and you tell him you don’t either. He pretends not to notice when you buy the expensive brand of miso broth with your own money because you knew it was the one thing he missed from his old life. You pretend not to notice the fresh cup of tea and warm bento boxes that you wake up to whenever he leaves after his rare visits.

He doesn’t talk that much about his feelings— not out loud. But he does find himself pulling your sleeping form, clad in nothing but your underwear and one of his shirts, closer to him at night. He finds his arm tightening around your waist and his nose burying itself in the back of your neck to inhale the scent that was unmistakably you, trying to remember it always.

I have to leave you again. He thinks to himself, staring at your peaceful face. I’m not sure if I’m coming back this time.

An invite had been extended to him— from a group that called themselves the League of Villains. It sounded pretentious, he wasn’t even going to lie, but they were aligned enough in terms of ideals that he didn't immediately tell them to fuck off. Still, there was no denying that they were a dangerous bunch. Your not-so-secret lifestyles were separate and there was a mutual unspoken rule that you wouldn’t involve the other.

Unlike your secret job, though, that involved you getting dressed in branded clothes and adorning fancy rings and expensive watches; that involved luxurious invitations to secret upscale poker games; that involved a black sedan that seemed to change number plates every time he saw it pull up to the front of the house to pick you up and drop you off; his job was much more dangerous. He worked with dangerous people, doing dangerous things, playing with dangerous ideals.

He already knew— despite your denial— that your Quirk was definitely luck. Too many things that could be brushed off as coincidence had luckily fallen into your lap. Too many coincidences was no longer a coincidence.

It was your Quirk protecting you, not him, when he kisses your forehead and slips out of your hold for what would be the last time to keep you from harm. At least that’s what he tells himself as gathers his clothes and belongings from around the house, trying to make it look like he was never there. He was a dangerous criminal— a villain now, and he’d be damned if he dragged you into his mess.

He takes one last look at you asleep on your shared futon, trying to burn the image to his mind so he never forgets. He wasn’t going to bring anything that could be traced back to you. He already blocked your contact and deleted all the photos he had of you on his phone, all the messages and call logs too. He’s already done the same process to your phone since you never changed your passcode.

Not a trace of you in his life and not a trace of him in yours, he tells himself as he eyes the shirt you wore. It was his. You could keep it, he guesses. He could just strip you down and get on with life, but he couldn’t do it without waking you up and messing up his plans. At least, that’s what he tries to convince himself as he walks away.

He’s got his coat on now and he left you a little bit of cash just in case. Not that you needed it, of course. You were a professional gambler who made more bank than he did. A black duffel bag’s slung over his shoulder that had all his stuff, and he’s giving the small house he called home one last once over to make sure there was never any indication that he was in your life. Will you hate him for leaving? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care if you forgive him or not. This was to keep you safe. This was for the best.

He admires you for the last time as he slides the door open, sighing as he finally admits his feelings— for the first and last time— into the dark of the night.

“I love you, doll.”

And he pretends not to hear the faint whisper behind him when he closes the door.

“I love you too, Dabi.”

[clown-friend-gt]

Up, Up, and Away: Chapter 3

Seeking Answers

1k words

Link to Masterpost

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It was easy enough to hide the change for the first few days. If Trevor stayed slightly hunched over, it was hard to tell he’d gained a few inches. It wasn’t like people paid him much mind anyways.

By the second week, though, he could tell people were beginning to notice a difference. He kept getting weird looks from other students when he passed by. There was only so much he could do to make himself look smaller when he’d grown over a foot in such a short period of time.

Maybe he should’ve been more grateful. He’d been 4’9” before all of this, of course he wanted to be taller. If it had been slower, or even if it had happened over the summer, maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal. Why’d it have to happen like this?

Robbie’s attitude was by far the worst part. Any time he got the chance, he’d place a hand on the back of Trevor’s neck and shove him downwards. It was like he felt the need to physically remind Trevor that he was supposed to be the small one. Or maybe he was just reminding himself.

Then there was the time he’d pinned Trevor against a locker, his mouth open to start mocking him. He shut it quickly and scowled when he realized that they were on eye level with each other. Trevor barely caught the look of alarm in his eye as he walked away.

Should he talk to someone about this? Maybe he could talk to that counselor from the Lively Institute. But was this even a superpowers thing? He’d never heard of a superhero with anything like this going on. But what else could it be?

It’d been a few weeks since he started growing when he finally made up his mind to talk to the counselor. He’d had to go shopping for new clothes for the second time in a month. His mom insisted it was fine, but he knew it put a strain on their budget. That was when he had to face the fact that what was happening to him was not normal.

He'd heard that in addition to sponsoring the superheroes of San Solaris, the Lively institute also helped out normal people with superpowers. Maybe they could help him with his problem. So, one day before class started, he sought out the counselor in his office, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe.

The man looked up from his computer as he walked in, shooting him a smile that felt a little plastic. He stood up to greet him. He had a badge that said, “Lively Institute: Kyle Roberts.”

He dressed a little more like a resource officer than a counselor. He wore a gray button-up, black slacks, and polished black shoes to match. If Trevor hadn’t read what it said, he might’ve mistaken the badge for that of a police officer. He wore a utility belt that included things like the futuristic handcuffs they used on supers, as well as a gun in its holster.

“Trevor Castillo?” he asked, pronouncing his last name wrong, like Cuh-still-oh. Trevor didn’t bother to correct him, instead nodding his head to show he was the right person.

“Hey, I don’t think we’ve met,” Mr. Roberts continued, sticking his hand out for Trevor to shake. He took it, and the man shook his hand firmly

“I’m surprised I haven’t seen you around, you’re so tall!” he finished with a chuckle.

“…Yeah,” Trevor replied awkwardly, letting his hand go. Mr. Roberts motioned for him to sit, so he did. Then Mr. Roberts sat down in his own chair.

“So, what brings you in here today?” He asked him.

“Well, um,” Trevor struggled to find the right words. “The reason you probably haven’t noticed me before is because I wasn’t always this tall. It’s a, uh, recent change.”

Mr. Roberts frowned in thought. “Your powers?” he asked.

“I think so?”

“Well,” Mr. Roberts began, “Thanks for telling us first. We always like to hear it from the students themselves when their powers come in, instead of finding it out the hard way.

“You have a lot of opportunity ahead of you,” he swiveled in his chair to reach for a pamphlet behind him. “The Lively Institute is committed to guiding the heroes of the future as they come into their own.”

“Right,” Trevor spoke up, interrupting his spiel. “I just wanted to know if there was any way to stop it?”

Mr. Roberts seemed a little thrown at being interrupted, but soon continued.

“That’s up to you. Our Future Heroes Training Program has a variety of experts to assist you in terms of control, technique, and more.”

Trevor was beginning to get a little impatient. He leaned forward as he spoke, causing Mr. Roberts to lean away slightly.

“What if I don’t want to be a superhero? Isn’t there like a cure or something?”

Mr. Roberts was clearly struggling now that they were going off-script.

“W-well,” he stammered. “Taking powers away is usually something done as—as a last resort, and never to non-criminals. I’d advise you to look into the program if you’re looking for answers about your powers.”

He slowly slid the brochure towards Trevor.

Trevor slumped in his seat. “So you can’t help me?”

“Um. There is a help hotline for supers who aren’t affiliated with the institute, but there’s little assistance we can offer.” Mr. Roberts handed him a card with a number written on it.

Trevor took it in two fingers, trying not to roll his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said flatly, then stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Wait,” Mr. Roberts spoke up as he reached the door. Trevor looked over his shoulder.

“If you end up calling that number, could you let them know I referred you?” he asked.

Trevor turned and stormed off, letting the door slam behind him as he left.

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