#my friend says that this trainer (who she works for) is looking to expand her client base and teachers

[glass-expanse]

Hm... gonna muse in the tags

[eoieopda]

FORCE QUIT // EPISODE I: SCRAPS

you didn't have "anti-capitalist revolution" on this year's bingo card, but you never turn down a good time.

pairing: lee felix x reader | series masterlist (1/4) | next episode series summary: it's 2077, and life's a fucking nightmare. corporate titans ate the state and shat it back out, leaving citizens of the new republic to fall in line, or fall to their knees. a reckoning is coming — where will you fall? au: series — dystopian, cyberpunk; episode — childhood friends to strangers to something ➢insp. by: cyberpunk 2077 + the true lives of the fabulous killjoys genre: smut + angst + some fluff word count: 15.4k rating: 18+— minors do not have my consent to interact. series warnings: violence (hand-to-hand, firearms, explosives), depictions of injuries (blood/bruising/burns), some characters have cybernetic modifications, class conflict + poverty, surprise - corporations are bad!, unethical medical/tech experimentation, self-indulgent references to non-skz idols, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns. episode warnings: above + trainer!felix, edgerunner!reader, pov switches, time skips, reference to food insecurity + reader living check to check, reader experiences temporary vision loss after being knocked out, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v penetration. reader notes: afab & uses she/her pronouns; has cybernetic retinal mods + one in her hand; grew up in (what is fka) korea and speaks korean — however, it’s not stated that she is asian and/or that her family is; does not speak fluent english; has tattoos; has long enough hair to put in a ponytail & use bobby pins (hair not otherwise described). ➢ notes added/expanded upon during 8/6/24 inclusivity review. a/n: each episode features a different member x reader pairing, but the plot is linear, so you'd need to read them (in order) to get the full picture! you can sign up for the taglist to be notified of the next uploads. thank you to my beloved @sailoryooons for beta'ing this and @jihopesjoint for being my emotional support internet wife even though she doesn't stan skz. ily both endlessly!

You don’t deal in absolutes, but you know two things for sure: vending-machine burritos are a crime against humanity; and Han Jisung is a dirty, rotten bastard.

The firm stance you’ve taken on the latter may or may not have something to do with the former, but you can’t draw that conclusion now — not with the abuse your taste buds are currently suffering, anyway.

“Who the fuck —” 

You cut yourself off to spit a mouthful at the ground. Notably, the remnants of that half-chewed abomination look just as awful on the way out as they did on the way in.

 “— Replaced this queso with battery acid?”

Chipmunk cheeks stuffed to bursting, Jisung blinks back at you. He says nothing — suddenly too polite to speak with his mouth full — and shrugs, unbothered. That’s when the realization hits you like a boot to the skull. Drenched in disbelief, your muttering comes out in slow-motion: 

“You spent the last of our cash on these.”

He swallows, though you don’t know how he could bring himself to do it. That act alone makes the rage you’re simmering in bubble over. 

You repeat yourself through gritted teeth, pausing emphatically between every word, “The — last — of — our — cash!”

“My bad?” He eventually offers. Tongue flicking out, he tries to gather the unidentified sauce that clings to the corner of his mouth. He fails. “Not sure what else I was supposed to find with that little money in this part of town, but go off, I guess.”

You bite your lips together to hold back the guttural yell you’re seconds from releasing. At your sides, your empty hands clench tightly. Instead of snapping — with your words or your fists — you close your eyes, inhaling slowly through your nose. Deep breaths won’t do you any fucking good in this smog, but your brain tends to work a little bit better without visual interference.

I can go another twenty-four hours, you think. Maybe.

It’s been a while since you’ve last eaten and even longer since your last job. This isn’t out of the ordinary; gaps are to be expected when you live on the fringe, jumping from thread to thread. Still, it isn’t like Changbin to leave you hanging the way he has been lately. It sure as shit isn’t like him to dodge your calls, either.

So, you figure, if you make an unsolicited visit to his office — the stock room of a bar you know better than to frequent — he won’t have a choice. He’ll have to look you in the eye and explain the dry spell, personally. He owes you at least that much.

With your plan finalized, you hold out your left hand to Jisung. In the few moments you’d taken your eyes off him, he’d apparently gone from sitting on the hood of your car to reclining fully with his own eyes closed. Basking like a little lizard in the sunlight, it’s a miracle the hot metal hasn’t burned a hole in his shirt.

“Come on.” You nudge his bent knee with your knuckles to no avail.

As Jisung is wont to do, he pouts. “But it’s so nice out — and your car still reeks, by the way.”

The absolute, rakish audacity.

If you didn’t love him, you’d probably kill him. 

Strike that. 

Love is irrelevant. You wouldn’t kill him unless and until there was a price on his head. After all, your mother taught you better than to do the things you’re good at for free.

“Do we want to talk about whose fault that is?” You ask with a roll of your eyes. The affection’s still there; you know he sees it. “If I recall correctly — and I think I do, having been the only sober person present — you were the one who got blasted and barfed on everything I love in this world.”

“I got blasted and barfed exclusively on the floor of your car.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “Exactly. End of list.”

Groaning, Jisung rolls his eyes as far back as they’ll go, but he still takes your hand. He always does, always has. With your help, he scoots his ass down the hood and lands with both boots — precisely where your ejected burrito bite did, not five minutes earlier. You can’t stop the satisfied grin from spreading when he whines again, this time louder and with twice as much despair.

After playfully shoving your passenger towards his door, you unlock your own. You don’t dump yourself into the seat, however; not yet. A wall of horrible heat is waiting for you the second the door opens, and you know better than to run into it, headlong.

Jisung is less patient. He’s also more regretful, face twisting in self-imposed anguish when he drops down onto the sun-scorched leather seat. And, to your delight, the hits keep coming. You watch with a smile when the consequences of last weekend’s actions hit his nostrils. The look he gives you falls somewhere between humbled, apologetic, and absolutely dead inside.

“Not one of my finer moments, I’ll admit it.” He acknowledges with a wave of his hand. Resigned, he sighs, “I’ll scrub the shit out of the floor mats the next time we can afford a wash.”

Satisfied, you finally climb behind the wheel. Pushing through the slightly-muted sting of the seat against the backs of your bare thighs, you put your foot on the brake and lift your right hand to press your thumb to the ignition port. The roar of the engine covers the way your breath hitches, but Jisung doesn’t have to hear it to notice the grimace that accompanies it.

“Still sore?” He asks. 

To his credit, he looks genuinely concerned as he reaches across the center console and takes your hand in his. It’s gentle, the way he tilts your palm up, but the movement burns in every single one of your tendons. This time, you know you have a captive audience, so you don’t flinch. 

Despite the trouble it’s giving you, you have to admit that the new enhancement looks beautiful in the sunlight. In the center of your palm, two rectangular, silver brackets refract iridescence. Their shine contrasts sharply with the matte, midnight black cybernetic plating that now covers the majority of your palm, spreading to the first knuckle of your fingers but coating the length of your thumb in its entirety. 

More than beautiful, it’s deadly — and it aches like a motherfucker.

“I read a study about these ballistic co-processors last night while you were knocked out,” he hums. 

Classic Jisung. 

He has no medical or academic background whatsoever but wastes his time reading crank doctors’ research for fun. And, of course, he makes sure to mention it — casually and apropos of mostly nothing — in order to impress.

Gingerly, he runs his finger along the edge of the cyberware, mumbling, “It usually takes five days from installation for the musculoskeletal inflammation to chill.”

Your fingers twitch of their own volition, which prompts him to look up at you curiously. 

“Yeah, well…” You grunt.

Less carefully than you should, you pull your hand from his, tap the gear shift, and throw the car into reverse. Peeling out of the lot, you scoff without even bothering to look his way:

“It’s been ten.”

When the War came and went, it took the old way of life with it on its way out. You might’ve been late to the party by fifty or so years, but you’ve got the gist now. It goes something like this:

Korea, as it was once known, crumpled like a beer can in the face of a corporate uprising and was quickly kicked curbside with the trash. In its place came the New Republic — in all its stolen, neon glory — promising technological revolution, profit in excess. Although the world’s eyes were trained on the peninsula then, not everyone stuck around to watch democracy die in real time. 

Not up close, anyway.

Some people had enough cash to run but not enough to make staying worthwhile. With their tails between their legs and their life savings in hand, they left before the capitalist rot could set in fully; chose willful blindness and headed for countries where corporations rule from the shadows rather than broad daylight.

Most people, however, didn’t leave. People like your grandparents, who hadn’t looked up long enough to notice things going to hell in a hurry. And if they did — well, maybe they saw things for what they were: shitty, same as anywhere else. 

Five decades later, that fact hasn’t changed much.

Regardless of why a person opts to stay in the New Republic, their options for survival are effectively limited to two. Simply put, a person can sell their soul to the very corporations that strangled the state, or they can starve.

Nobody ever chooses the latter.

You can safely assume everything you need to know about a person based on where their next steps take them.

For example, those who crave both chic, penthouse apartments and blood-soaked streets are most likely to fall in line with WraithCo.. The name suggests that it’s a criminal enterprise run by fucking ghouls because that’s essentially what it is. More than that, it’s the arms manufacturer monopoly that out-manned and out-gunned the national military without breaking a sweat. 

The high-powered, highly-paid WraithCo. executives find joy in three things and three things only: designer suits; missiles that explode into clouds of fiberglass upon impact; and testing said missiles out on non-violent nomad encampments outside city limits.

Fucking ghouls.

Despite being the most openly violent of the major players, you find WraithCo. to be the most boring. They lack nuance, don’t bother with a false front or a positive PR spin — it’s all a little too predictable. Thanotech, on the other hand, is subtle; the perfect  cover for those who like to convince themselves they’re doing more good than harm.

In furtherance of that delusion, Thanotech replaced all public hospitals with state-of-the-art, for-profit rejuvenation centers. Worse, their lobbyists ensured that medical licensure was limited to employees of those centers, outlawing the provision and receipt of medical care outside of authorized Thanotech facilities. 

In short, those who can’t afford Thanotech’s astronomical rates — specifically, poor fucks like you — are left to fend for themselves in back alley clinics; to pray that they don’t wind up worse-off than they started, that the police don’t sniff them out, and that their new modifications aren’t just garbage-tier knock-offs.

Of course, some people give more of a shit about these designer mods than the patients who may or may not wind up with them. In that case, the last of the three titans has them covered.

It’s no fucking surprise that the Ulsan Corporation is the crown-jewel of the New Republic — it’s primarily responsible for killing the old one. As the world’s premier technology and cybernetics conglomerate, Ulsan is also primarily responsible for the research, development, and distribution of cybernetic enhancements.

Like the one your body is currently acclimating to.

No such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism, right?

Ulsan may be less obvious with its bastardry than its counterparts, but as far as you can tell, it’s not good guy behavior to eat an established state and shit it back out. Even if you can’t tie any specific, ongoing atrocities back to them, you have no qualms about adding the desperate state of the union to their indictment.

You can blame them for the desperate measures they’ve necessitated, although you won’t give them an ounce of credit for the spark of resistance they so recklessly lit.

Despite it all, there are still people out there who refuse to accept things for what they are. They find an alternative to the comply or die ultimatum — run along the razor’s edge, taking what they can get, whenever they can get it.

Like Changbin, one of Seoul’s best-connected fixers.

Like you, a gun for hire. 

Like Jisung, sitting in your passenger seat as you drive across town, who’s just happy to be included.

Generally speaking, piss and vinegar don’t mix well with club security.

If you were anyone else, rolling up to The Crypt like you own the place would be ill-advised. More than that, it would be asking to get your teeth kicked in faster than you could say, “I’m on the list.”

Thankfully, as it often does, your reputation precedes you. Nobody in the block-long line bats an eye when you cut right to the front, a fact that has Jisung smirking in a way that might otherwise get him killed. Still, the bouncer shoots you a look that says you’re more trouble than you’re worth; and you agree.

Before your friend can change the muscle’s mind, you grab Jisung by the wrist and tug him through the front entrance. You don’t let go when the door shuts behind you, although it’s more for convenience than concern for his safety. He has a tendency to wander, and you don’t have the patience.

“Haven’t been here in a while,” he muses as you drag him towards the main bar, head turning to look in every direction except the one you’re moving in.

You don’t slow down.

Winding your way through the drunks at the counter, you inch closer to the large booths along the far wall. Inside, draped nonchalantly over the plush benches, sit the big guns — mercenaries with far more sway than you, far fatter wallets. They’re living the high life you’ve always dreamed of, and they don’t even notice you staring as you pass.

“Oh, shit!” Jisung waves overhead to one of them, reminding you without trying that he — unlike you — has other friends.“S.Coups, where have the fuck have you been, man?”

You still don’t slow down.

Not when you reach the stairwell at the far side of the main floor. Not when you shuffle down the steps to the employees only section. Not even when the security camera overhead silently demands that you do.

There’s only one locked door amongst the few; you fly to it like a homing pigeon and beat against the metal with your free hand. It isn’t until the burning ache sets in that you realize you chose your right.

“Goddamn it.” You growl down at it, as if your hand will apologize for hurting. Turning your vitriol towards the door, you kick it hard, steel-toed boot forcing out a thud. “Changbin, open this shit up!”

Jisung glares as he scolds you, “Manners, maybe?”

You roll your eyes, but his expectant expression doesn’t budge.

“Fucking — fine, okay? Fine.” Hands thrown up in defeat, you take a deep breath. Your next words come out saccharine, accompanied by fluttering lashes that can’t even be seen. “Changbin, darling, could you please open this shit up?”

The two of you wait in dead silence for several seconds before Jisung’s hands fly up to your hair, unprompted. Your surprised yelp doesn’t faze him. He grabs the bobby-pin from where you’ve stashed it under your ponytail, drops to his knees, and starts to work.

You snort, “Well, damn. Look at you!”

Truly, you’re impressed. Jisung normally leaves the dirty work to you, yet here he is — breaking and entering.

They grow up so fast.

He tries not to look proud of himself, but his cheeks blush a shade of sakura and rat him right out. Though you’re sure he’d love to, he can’t even lift a hand to wave you off before the lock clicks. With a quick twist of the knob, he pushes the door open.

Changbin’s office looks close to normal, with a few notable exceptions. For starters, he’s not in it. The man you’re dealing with never sees the light of day if he can help it.

Jisung pipes up first: “Okay, what the fuck?”

The office chair Changbin normally occupies is spun to the side, as if his ass left it in a hurry. Even odder than that is the small, green light which indicates that he didn’t shut off his computer before leaving it unattended. It’s not a decision someone like Changbin — neurotic and paranoid to a borderline clinical degree — makes on his own.

That, you know outright, is a problem.

Cautiously, you slip past Jisung and walk on eggshells towards Changbin’s desk. You know it’s stupid, that no one would bother rigging the floor tiles to blow under the weight of your boots, but you can’t ignore the way your gut twists with every step. That dread only gets worse, the closer you get.

To the right of his primary screen, there’s a half-eaten vending-machine burrito that’s so covered with ants, you almost mistake them for pepper flakes. That sight makes bile rise in your throat, in and of itself, but it’s the untouched cup of coffee that sends a tingle of panic down your spine. Around the base of the glass, hardly visible on the sheet of paper underneath, is a water ring. 

That coffee — at one point, however long ago — was iced.

Changbin would kill you for it if he were here, but he isn’t, so you drop down into his chair. You pause as soon as your ass settles onto the leather, still not convinced that one wrong move won’t set off some sort of trap. The breath you’ve been holding leaks out slowly when your actions go without consequences.

A quick glance up at Jisung confirms that he looks exactly as spooked as you feel. You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard. 

He knows the answer before he asks, but that doesn’t stop him. It comes out scratchy, riddled with hesitation that says he doesn’t really want to hear the response. “He hasn’t been here in days, has he?”

You shake your head, just barely, then turn to the desk. Bottom lip pinched between worried teeth, you scan the surface for anything you missed on your first pass.

Give me a hint, you motherfucker. All I need is a breadcrumb.

It’s the absence of something that grabs your attention. Eyes narrowing, you lean forward in your seat to get as close as possible to his monitors.

“Does that…?” You start to ask but your voice trails off before you finish; thoughts moving too quickly to inventory before the next one arrives.

Though black, the screens in front of you aren’t lifeless. If anything, they’re still backlit, glitching subtly in a way they shouldn’t — not if the system had been locked, powered off, or otherwise put to sleep. You don’t have to be a netrunner to know that someone is running an opp, fucking up the computer’s processing and leaving it brain dead.

It’s so small that you almost miss the minimized window at the bottom left-hand corner of his secondary monitor, screen otherwise barren. Hesitantly, you reach out your hand and press a trembling finger to it.

Jisung is hovering so closely over your shoulder that you can practically taste that burrito on his breath. You elbow him once in the chest, hard.

He coughs, pointing to the screen as he sputters, “What the hell are those?”

“Numbers, Jisung.” You deadpan. “They’re called numbers.”

Ignoring the way he grumbles in response, you grab your mobile from your pocket. It springs to life at your sudden touch and broadcasts a holographic home screen in the air just centimeters above the glass. Just as fast, it tracks the movement of your eyes flicking through the list of applications. With the faintest shudder, the GPS navigation consumes the screen.

You repeat what you hope are coordinates:

35.2029, 128.6001.

As the map loads, you and Jisung exchange glances that are underscored by tense swallows. He knows it, and so do you: 

No matter where that pin ends up dropping, you have no choice but to go.

It takes three hours to drive from Seoul to Changwon. Although it’s not a route you’ve taken in years, or one you ever expected to take again, you still know it like the back of your hand. You can still navigate every turn — every crater and curve — with your eyes closed, even now. 

Despite that fact, your decision to race to the southeast this time has nothing to do with sentimentality for the hometown you left five years ago. 

This is just for Changbin, you repeat like a mantra, pressing harder on the accelerator. 

With every stoplight and thought you race through, the background grows blurrier but the big picture gets clearer. Changbin himself has nothing to do with it; and you’re not as selfless as your inner monologue keeps claiming. You correct yourself:

This is for me and my empty bank account.

Really — who could blame you?

You need steady contracts in order to eat. Without Changbin, those get fewer and farther between. It’s the transitive property, or whatever; basic math. You might starve without him, and that is the one thing in this life that you’re unwilling to do.

In the passenger seat, Jisung stirs. When he speaks, his voice isn’t weighted down with exhaustion in the way it usually is, halfway through a car trip. For some reason, it makes your stomach turn to consider that — for what is probably the first time ever — he isn’t sleeping through a drive.

“He left in a hurry,” he quietly notes.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at him and confirm the presence of that worried crease between his eyebrows. It’s not accompanied by the usual, furiously-bouncing knee. That makes your stomach turn, too. Clearly, he’s vaulted over mere anxiety and landed somewhere close to shutting down.

You nod. “He did.”

It spooks him when you take your right hand off the steering wheel and give his elbow a brief squeeze. You’re not the affectionate type; you both know this. It always makes your rare touches more ominous than comforting.

“Do you think he was running to something, or running away from something?”

Leave it to Jisung to say the quiet part out loud. 

Normally, you have an answer for his constant questions; and if you don’t, you resort to lying or guessing. This time, however, you don’t bother with either of those tactics because it doesn’t matter. Whatever the correct answer is, it’ll still feel wrong because Changbin doesn’t run.

Period.

Full stop.

So, the conclusion your brain keeps trying to come to is that he didn’t — he wouldn’t — if it came down to choice. The only reason Changbin would’ve disappeared like this, suddenly and wordlessly, is if he was taken.

Pulse hammering loudly in your ears, you don’t hear Jisung announce that your destination is only a few hundred meters down the road. Without his emphatic pointing out the windshield ahead, you simply would’ve continued racing forward, taking the speed limit as a suggestion to be ignored. Thankfully, your lead foot switches to the brake with enough time to make your turn. Tires hit dirt; your car fishtails as it transitions from the road to the worn-out path to your right.

“The fuck is this place?” You mutter, more to yourself than to Jisung.

It’s obsolete, you know that much. 

Something akin to an industrial park, but one that clearly hasn’t been used since before the War. There are electrical towers dotting a perimeter around the space, none of which are operational; the grid system was replaced by wind power, then by solar energy no fewer than fifty years ago. The driveway below is so cracked that patches of weeds have overtaken most of what remained of the pavement. All the rest is weathered, reduced to broken bits of cement and dirt.

Your car slows to a stop halfway down the parkway, surrounded on both sides by empty storage units with doors either broken or missing entirely. Hair raising on the back of your neck, you park but don’t kill the engine. Slowly, you rest your right hand over top of the holster strapped to your thigh and open your car door with your left.

The sun set a few hours into your drive. Its absence hasn’t done a damn thing to break the thick heat waiting for you outside. Humid air settles on your skin and leaves a sheen of sweat behind like a handprint, sticky.

“These were the coordinates,” Jisung affirms with a sigh. He stays seated inside the vehicle, leaving you to wonder why. He’s either too panicked to move, or correct in assuming you’d tell him to sit his unarmed ass back down before you made him.

You don’t respond. 

Instead, your eyes continue to scan the property for signs of — well, anything. Movement, a heat signature, whatever might register on your optical mods. There’s nothing, save for the stray tumbleweed somersaulting across the empty lot. You narrow your eyes to zoom in, heart pounding with anticipation.

You almost scream when you see it, but you swallow the urge. Fear won’t do you any good, but the semi-automatic strapped to your thigh might. It’s in your palm before you can blink, cocked and aimed at the figure ahead. At the bottom of your field of vision, your ammo count glows in translucent, block letters.

So, the ballistic co-processor is worth the pain.

Their posture is casual, legs dangling from the metal catwalk they sit on. Their elbows rest against the railing in front of them, as if they’re leaning on a counter in a bar and not spying on you from a scaffold four meters overhead. The way they’re watching in silence is unsettling enough; the wooden tal obscuring their face is fucking nightmare fuel, if you’ve ever seen it.

Head tilted curiously to the side, the stranger stares down at you through small eye holes, wooden mouth frozen in a hand-carved smile. Whoever they are, they’re immersed in the bit. They exaggerate every slow movement for their audience of two.

Good for them, you scoff to yourself.

Gloved hands come up to pantomime “don’t shoot” mere seconds before they grab hold of the railing in front of them. Just as quickly, they swing themselves underneath with a kick of their legs until they’re falling, falling, falling towards the ground below. They land easily on their feet without so much as a grunt. All the while, dust swirls in pirouettes around their ankles, spot-lit by your car’s headlamps.

“What — what the fuck?” Jisung squeaks. 

You don’t answer, but that doesn’t stop him from repeating his question, over and over.

Hands still raised, the stranger slowly closes the distance between you. Their fingers wiggle slightly in some demented version of a wave; they’re taunting you. The unhealed part of you wants to shoot those fingers off, one by one. 

You’ve never been fond of clowns.

“If you like having kneecaps without bullets in them, I suggest you stay still, chingu,” you scoff, now more annoyed than alarmed.

To your surprise, they listen. Their feet still, side by side; and their hands stay where you can see them. That is, until they curl all of their fingers into their palm, except for their right index finger. With it, they point silently over your shoulder.

As soon as you can whip your neck around, a gloved fist collides with your temple. The last thing you see before your vision goes black is a second, wooden smile looming over you.

A hushed tone manages to nudge you awake.

“You really can’t keep doing this. Seriously, your people skills are awful.”

The whole world’s blurry, and you can’t make out the source of the sound, but you’re coherent enough to know it when a second voice chimes in. It’s much less gentle than the first, higher in pitch and twice as exasperated. It snaps, “She was armed.”

“I had it under control,” the first voice huffs. 

The two seem to be too lost in their argument to notice your eyelids fluttering or your fingers twitching. Your wrists aren’t bound, you realize, but that fact doesn’t help you much in your current state. Back resting heavily against the thin nylon cloth of a cot, it’d take more energy than you have to spare in order to get to your feet. Worse, your eyes don’t seem interested in cooperating.

They should be by now. 

They’re open, you’re conscious, and —

Motherfucker.

The more awake you become, the more the ache in your temple reverberates down your jaw. You know without looking that the right side of your face is bruised to hell and back. Scraped up, too, if you had to guess; you hit the gravel like a bag of bricks.

They must’ve done it on purpose, hitting you exactly where they needed to in order to scramble your visual input. The most you get is shapes, black and white static. It wasn’t the hardest knock you’d ever taken to the head — not by a long shot — but it was perfectly targeted and timed. 

Clearly, they’re no amateurs.

One such shadow kneels down next to you. Gentle fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear while their other hand tilts your drooping head to the side. 

They tut, “Just look at what you did to her face.”

“From what I’ve heard, she’s been through worse,” the second voice scoffs. You watch the shadow’s shoulders as they shrug, wishing you could focus on their face well enough to bash it in.

The retort comes quickly, but it doesn’t come in Korean. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t do better.”

The hands that gently cradle your face pull away, leaving you cold. The action itself isn’t as jarring as the sudden use of English, though — especially the accent it’s spoken with. You may not be fluent, but you can sense what’s missing: the consonant on the end of that last word.

You sense something else, too, but you’re still too disoriented to follow that thought from start to finish. It’s on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

Who — ?

The bastard that broke your brain must notice your face scrunching in confusion because their next words seem to be aimed at you. Clipped and unapologetic, they mutter, “Should be fine within the hour. Already been out for —” 

They suck in a breath through their teeth. You can’t tell if they’re stalling in order to toy with you, or if they’re genuinely doing the math. 

“— Seven hours or so, now.”

Fuck!

One of the two snorts out a laugh; it’s the only reason you piece it together that you spoke out loud. Emboldened by the confirmed functionality of your voice, you speak again without thinking it through first. 

You don’t care where you are or who you’re with. You only have one question:

“Is Changbin still alive? Because if he is, I’ll kill him myself.”

The man kneeling next to your cot chuckles, soft and low, but he doesn’t acknowledge your question beyond that. Instead, he addresses his hamfisted friend. “Can you please get her some water?”

“Am I a waiter now, Yongbok-ah?” The other snips, though his tone is devoid of any real heat. If his face wasn’t blurred out of existence, you’d likely find a sneer on it. “Should I roll some gimbap for her, too?”

“Actually, you should,” counters this Yongbok. His response is buried so deeply under his breath that his back talk may as well be a secret for your ears only. “Punched her clean into the next weekday — so, yeah. It’s the least you could do.”

It grows silent enough that you can hear every incredulous footstep as the waiter storms off.

The remainder says, “Sorry about him,” and for whatever little it’s worth, he sounds like he means it. You say nothing, simply marinating in your resentment. 

Meanwhile, he shifts from his knees in order to sit fully on the ground next to your cot. Elbows extended, he leans back onto his palms and sighs gently, “Minho’s not as bad as the first impressions he makes.”

You scoff so forcefully that you feel it in your sinuses. “This is the second. His first is the reason I can’t see who’s holding me hostage.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The shape beside you sits up suddenly. He sputters, “You’re not a hostage, and this isn’t a kidnapping —”

“Then what the fuck is it?” You snap, “Huh, Yongbok?”

Blindly, you throw out a half-balled fist in a half-baked attempt to even the score. It misses by a mile, nearly knocking you off balance in the process. Your wrist is encircled by the same warm fingers you felt before, doubling over but exerting no force.

“We were scouting you. You know, like, soccer?” He chuckles sheepishly. “Changbin mentioned that you were a free agent, so to speak, and we thought you might wanna join the team.”

What the fuck?

“And — it wasn’t supposed to wind up like this.” His shadow’s hands gesture vaguely at the room you can’t see. “I did try to warn you. You just didn’t turn around in time.”

There are too many questions swirling around in your skull to choose from. One of them must break free and nudge your retinal chip back into place because something turns the lights back on. Glitching wildly, your vision flickers from low contrast to high definition. It doesn’t hurt, but the surprised gasp you choke out could easily be interpreted that way.

The man next to you is back on his knees in a second, both hands finding your shoulders to either comfort you or immobilize you — and you aren’t sure which. Against your better judgment, you ignore the reflex that tells you to fight or flee. Instead, you reach out and touch his cheekbone to confirm that the faint spots you see are freckles and not lingering sensory damage on your part.

He doesn’t even blink, much less say a word. There’s no jerk to get away, and there’s not a single question asked about what the fuck you’re doing — just tolerance. Far more than you’d be extending if the roles were reversed.

Freckles.

You aren’t embarrassed, but you drop your hand quickly and scowl at him until he does the same. Once again, he raises them as he leans back. Notably, he doesn’t wiggle his fingers like the first time you crossed paths.

That reminds me —

Abruptly, you draw your arm back to deck him in earnest. 

Just like the last time, he catches you before you can strike him; however, instead of capturing your wrist, it’s the entirety of your fist. His palm absorbs the shock, fingers closing around your hand. It’s the gentlest trap you’ve ever been ensnared in, which you hate.

Smart of you to prevent another attempt.

“Can I finish explaining myself?” He asks, voice soft. 

Bright doe eyes scan over your face cautiously as he contemplates letting your hand go. It’s disarming, sure, but you’d rather die than admit it. 

You give him absolutely nothing to work with, so he adds, “You can hit me when I’m done, if you still want to.”

All you give him in return is a glare, which he somehow correctly interprets as permission to keep going. The grip on your fist loosens, although it wasn’t constricting to begin with. Like nothing happened, you pull it away and cross your arms.

As if nonchalance has ever been your strong suit.

He stares at you, deep in thought, for longer than you know what to do with. Eyes sweeping over your features like he’ll be quizzed later, taking in every detail. It’s unsettling — what about you is even worth gawking at?

When he frowns, that spark of light in his eyes stays put. “You don’t remember me.” 

It’s not a question because he isn’t asking; he’s telling. And you have no goddamn clue what he means, no matter how loudly the voice in your head screams that you should. The familiarity buzzing through your brain can’t place him — not the button of his nose, not even those fucking freckles.

“I don’t know anyone named Yongbok,” you counter, frustration evident.

You wouldn’t be this harsh if you know how not to be. Part of you feels guilty when you see the hurt flicker across his face, but both emotions — his and yours — are gone as quickly as they appear. Consequently, the walls stay up, refusing to give. Despite you, the corner of his mouth hitches up in a lopsided version of a smile. 

That’s familiar, too.

“Never really went by it,” he chuckles. As he does, he tilts his head quizzically. 

Another bell rings, yet you can’t name the note.

Shyly, he takes his half-smile with him and looks anywhere else. The anticipation is spinning cartwheels in your stomach, tingling down the back of your neck, and you’re seconds away from trying to smack the trapped words right out of him. 

Who are you to me?

After a deep breath in and out, he glances back at you from the corner of his eye. His hesitation does nothing to prepare you for his response, which isn’t his name at all. It’s yours — a nickname, more specifically. One no one has used in damn near a decade.

“Been a while, Scraps. Hasn’t it?”

Felix has never seen anyone freeze the way you do when the realization finally hits. For a minute, he worries that Minho did more damage to your poor brain than either of them initially diagnosed; it wouldn’t be the first time. Minho’s never been known to be careful or tactful.

Your silence — and your total lack of physical response — doesn’t last, though. He nudges your kneecap with his knuckles just to make sure you can feel it. You blink rapidly, as if you’re just now remembering how.

He starts to ask, “Are you ok—?”, but your fist flies out, pops him right in the jaw, and he chokes on the rest of that question. Hands flying up to cover his face, he collapses back onto the floor with a groan. When the initial shock wears off, it dissolves into laughter that shakes his shoulders.

Honestly, what did he expect?

In a flash, you shove yourself off your cot. You’re on top of him before he can blink, pinning him down. You grip his shirt in one fist and raise the other. He braces himself for impact but doesn’t flinch, too taken aback by the fury you’re capable of communicating without a single word.

“You’re fucking with me,” you spit, breaking the silence.

Your glare is borderline feral — burning — and that makes him laugh even harder. 

“You haven’t changed a bit, you know that?”

To both of your surprise, you don’t hit him again; you don’t even try. You freeze, but unlike the last time, your eyes are shaking. Your raised arm is, too, like it’s taking all you have to keep whatever you’re feeling to yourself.

Classic Scraps.

You mutter, “You’re dead,” and it’s not a threat. 

Not even close, really. It’s a declaration, one accompanied by an expression that’s as close to vulnerable as he’s ever seen from you. All at once, you lower your arm; the rest of you slumps, too. Whispering, you repeat, “You’re dead.”

Something about your tone hurts worse than the burgeoning bruise near his mouth. It aches, even more so when he frowns. You deserve an explanation — an apology, too — but Felix doesn’t know where the fuck to start.

Maybe he should cash that reality check first.

“Is that what people are saying?” He asks.

He’s not sure what about that trips him up. It makes perfect sense that this is the conclusion people wound up jumping to. After all, he left without a word and never came back — didn’t leave a trace, either. 

Felix wasn’t the first teenager to slip through the cracks, so he’d figured that his would be another run-of-the-mill disappearance. Sure, people tend to notice when kids go missing; but that doesn’t stop the world from turning. Sooner or later, people stop looking, either too busy or too hopeless to keep holding a torch.

Eventually, they forget.

At least, that was the reality Felix had subscribed to — that, after a while, he’d slipped through the cracks of collective consciousness. It was easier to tell himself that he wasn’t missed. His guilt couldn’t keep him up at night if nobody remembered that he existed in the first place; especially when a decade slipped past in his absence.

But you did remember. 

You missed him.

You lift your knee so that you’re no longer straddling him and drop onto your back at his side.

It’s funny, he thinks as he stares up at the ceiling. The two of you spent years just like this, albeit on the hood of some junkyard sedan. Two pairs of wide eyes were always fixed on constellations, dreaming of something bigger than both of you. Of some future where you weren’t still stuck in the gutter.

“There was no trace of you anywhere.” You speak so softly that Felix is left to wonder whether you’re talking to him or yourself. “No records that you fled, no word from you, no hits on CCTV — nothing. The cops said there’d be a trail if…”

Your voice fades out before you can finish that thought, so Felix picks up where you left off: “If I was alive to leave one.”

There’s a long pause before you speak again. 

“This is where you disappeared to?”

He feels a shift beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way you’ve tilted your head to gaze at him. By the time he does the same, the moment is gone, and you’re taking in the room around you. 

It’s not much, but it’s all he has: A small room in a decommissioned factory, smelling faintly of sawdust despite not containing any. The cot you just sprang from is where he’s spent most nights since he was fifteen. 

The floor underneath it — underneath you — is more dirt than concrete now, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed it; and the few iron shelves that hang along each wall are just as gross. So are the knickknacks he’s set on them, but he doesn’t mind.

The site itself is long forgotten. It’d be an eyesore if anyone ever looked, but no one bothers.

Even satellites have stopped paying it any attention, leaving it to fade into dirt and obscurity, not even a shadow of what it used to be. Once plush and inviting, the surrounding forest was leveled in a firefight that ended with ninety-percent of the nearby buildings getting blown to shit. 

The New Republic could’ve easily organized a relief team to dig through the shattered city. At any point in the last fifty years, they could’ve rebuilt what burned in that failed uprising, but they didn’t; and Felix knows they never will because that rubble has a function. Apart from burying one of the country’s most impoverished districts, it serves as a cautionary tale. A threat left behind to the masses: this is what happens when people pose risk to profits.

Still, flowers can grow within cracks in concrete. After all, his life with you started just a few kilometers away.

“Are we still in Changwon, or did you and that asshole drag me out of the province?” 

That edge of yours is ever present, and Felix is glad. It’s one of the million things he’s missed about you; a feature on the long list of reasons he wishes he could’ve called — messaged, sent a smoke signal, anything — to keep you around in whatever capacity he could.

But he didn’t. 

He couldn’t.

Felix feels the weight of a lost decade sitting heavy on his chest, so he does what he always does: he chooses light. Smiling brightly, he asks, “D’you remember that junkyard we used to run away to after curfew?”

You roll your eyes. You don’t have to say it out loud; he knows you do. The two of you spent more time there than you did in your own homes, lining glass bottles along the wooden fence posts and firing stones at them with a homemade slingshot.

“We’re a few kilometers up the road, actually.”

At this, you sit up so that no part of your body stays pressed against his. Dead silence settles in the space between you like a brick wall. You bristle, then you snap, “All that time you were dead, you were still within spitting distance?”

Felix opens his mouth to respond, but your rigid posture makes it clear that you have no desire to listen. He closes it again without saying a word. It’s what he deserves, isn’t it?

“Traded in your family, your home, your — Me.” You clear your throat to hide the fact that your voice breaks. It’s too late. “And for what, Felix? To haunt some abandoned building like a ghost?”

You clench your fists, like a grip tight enough might keep you together. That part of you hasn’t changed either, it seems. Neither has the extremely unsettling way you get quieter, the more upset you are. Just like that, he’s reminded of what you used to say: the more it hurts, the less it shows.

“I couldn’t pick you out of a fucking lineup despite all of that history,” you whisper, deflated. “And you were here the whole time.”

Talking won’t do him much good, so Felix opts to show you. Palms pressed to the ground, he pushes himself to his feet, and he doesn’t bother dusting off the back of his pants once he stands. It won’t make a difference, anyway, when the whole damn city is covered in it.

Once he steadies himself, he extends his hand to you, half-expecting you to slap it away. You don’t budge. You never do, he recalls fondly.

“One chance?” His eyes are pleading, even though you don’t look up to meet them. “It’s hard to explain, but it’ll make more sense if you see it.”

Without looking, you lift your arm and slap your hand into his. A small concession, but it’s enough to make his smile reappear. He’s practically beaming when he hauls you to your feet, and you grip his forearms to keep steady.

“Fine,” you concede with a huff. 

Then, you round on him with one pointed finger, jabbing him in the center of his chest with force. It’ll bruise, but he supposes that’s the whole point. 

“This better be worth all the fucking theatrics, or I swear to god —”

“You’ll make me swallow my own teeth?” He rolls his eyes with a low chuckle and tugs you along after him on his way to the door. “Yeah, yeah, yeah — Heard that threat a thousand times, Scraps, and you’ve never once made good on it.”

Just to emphasize his point, he looks over his shoulder at you and grins with all thirty-two of them.

All things considered, you take everything in stride. You don’t react much at all when you discover that the abandoned building is anything but; refuse to bat an eye when the two people you woke up to are revealed to be a tiny fraction of the whole.

You even keep your hand in his as he ushers you from room to room — through the clinic, the makeshift and woefully under-equipped armory, the Hub — and introduces you to whoever you come across. He might even go so far as to call you friendly, which is a first. Receiving any kind of warmth from you typically requires high-level security clearance. 

Or, at least, it used to. Felix has to remind himself more than once that, small echoes aside, there are parts of you he doesn’t know anymore. This could very well be one of them.

Halfway through the tour, you finally offer up more than a lukewarm greeting and your name. It’s just the two of you now; you don’t have to make yourself palatable anymore. Blunt as ever, you throw out, “This is a cult, right? You ran away from home to join a cult?”

There she is, he thinks.

Felix pulls a face in disapproval, which you either don’t catch or don’t care about. Instead, you turn your head in the opposite direction and let your gaze sweep over the loading dock you currently stand upon.

It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a sitting room, filled with the only comfortable furniture they could get their hands on — half-busted arm chairs, ratty old couches, tables held together with duct tape and a prayer. You drop suddenly onto one such couch, jerking him back until his ass winds up next to yours on a tattered cushion. 

Felix can’t tell if you pulled him down on purpose, or if you simply forgot that you were holding onto him. Either way, he doesn’t mind, but part of him hopes it was the former.

“It’s a collective,” he corrects you, lips flattening into a firm, straight line.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it. If it’s a sex cult, just say so.”

He tries not to laugh — really, he does — because the last thing you need is an enabler, but your deadpan delivery has always hit him where he’s weakest. He tries again while swallowing a chuckle: “It’s the Black Screen, home to the most talented and ungovernable motherfuckers on the peninsula.”

You don’t look impressed. Felix doesn’t take it to heart.

“We’ve got a reconnaissance team, netrunners —” 

As if he’s doing a roll call, he points to nearby stragglers with every position he names. 

“— corporate defectors, combat vets, medics, ex-fixers —”

He nudges you with his elbow, wiggles his eyebrows and murmurs, “— Edge runners —” 

If that look in your eye is any indication, you still hate it when he does that.

“And a couple of wayward drunks who — well…” Felix pauses for a moment to think. It doesn’t help, so he shrugs, snickering, “I dunno how they got here, and they don’t contribute much, but they’re fun to have around!”

The corner of your mouth twitches, ever so slightly. He grins down at you, as if to say gotcha. 

“So, it is a sex cult,” you repeat flatly after a beat.

Felix can’t beat your bit, so he may as well join you in it. Bested, he sighs, “Yeah, pretty much.”

You hum in acceptance of his defeat, clearly amused by how easily he still gives in to you. 

With pursed lips, you continue to take in your surroundings. Your brow furrows while you process the information you’ve been bombarded with so far, but you don’t offer up any further questions or snide comments. Thankfully, the silence that falls over you both feels a lot less like lead than the previous one.

Felix’s gaze stays fixed on you, though you’re too busy looking elsewhere to notice. Maybe you couldn’t recognize him, but shit — he’d know you anywhere, anytime. You’ve gotten older, of course, finally grew into those features of yours. Still, there are hints of the kid he used to know hidden all over your face.

Original traits aside, the new additions — the tattoos, for starters — all read like you. In fact, Felix is fairly confident that he’d know who they belonged to, even if the other context was removed. After all, the cyberware installed into your hand can’t undermine the familiarity of it resting against his palm. 

And it sure as shit still hits like it used to.

He considers it a blessing, really, that so much of you survived the years that flew by without him. That the scrawny girl next door — ready and willing to fight God over a single slight — still rolls her eyes the same way, still speaks in that satoori his non-native tongue could never mimic.

“Maybe I’m missing something,” you announce suddenly. The unexpected sound of your voice startles Felix so much that he jumps, knocking his shoulder into yours in the process. You ignore his reaction and continue, “This just looks like someone is collecting people as a hobby. What are you all doing here?”

Oh.

Yeah, that’s a fair question.

“We’re… starting a fire,” Felix muses. 

You arch an eyebrow expectantly, although the rest of your face remains impassive. It’s less of a demand for him to continue than it is permission for him not to stop.

“And we’re going to burn it all down.” He hits you with a devilish grin, drops his voice low in a way that makes you shiver involuntarily. “The corpo-rats, the lies they sell — all of it.”

“Sounds like anarchy,” you say, tilting your head to the side. There’s a beat, then you grin to match his. “Sign me up.”

Felix stands at the far side of the dining area with his arms crossed and his head leaning back against the cinder blocks behind him. His legs are crossed at the ankles, knees aching from the sheer amount of time he’s been holding the wall up. 

As much as his body wants to sit, the rest of him is out of options. The only table that isn’t full is the one you’re occupying with Changbin and Jisung. After the day you’ve had, you deserve time alone with something familiar. He recognizes that he isn’t that. 

Not anymore — and not yet, either. 

He finds it hard to stray too far, though. You’ve always been able to fend for yourself — that black-and-blue jaw of his is proof enough — but it’s a role he can’t help falling into, looking out for you. Muscle memory.

Although Felix can’t quite make out anything that the three of you are saying, it’s clear as a damn bell when you slam your palms down on the table. Just as obvious is the split second in which your anger gives way — when the pain in your right hand finally registers in your brain.

“That one going to be a problem?”

Hyunjin, as usual, seems to appear out of thin air. He sidles up to Felix and takes up the spot next to him along the wall. All it takes is one quick glance to confirm it — he’s exhausted. Dark half-moons sit in the wells beneath his eyes like ink, silently informing Felix of yet another all-nighter; still keeping secrets as to where he goes at night when everyone else is sleeping.

But Hyunjin isn’t a mystery Felix will ever be able to solve, so he looks back in your direction and asks, “Who, Scraps?” Then, with a shake of his head, he sighs, “No. She’s a cherry bomb, but she’s reliable. Far more than most, actually.”

It’s odd, Felix thinks, that Hyunjin didn’t already know the answer to that question. As the reconnaissance leader of the Black Screen, there isn’t much Hyunjin isn’t aware of. Felix doesn’t comment on that piece, however. Instead, he does his best to interpret your reaction.

“If I had to guess, Changbin just told her about the fake kidnapping.”

And Hyunjin doesn’t do a damn thing to conceal his smirk. That was his plan, after all. 

Two weeks ago, Seo Changbin stumbled upon a lead by accident. While Felix isn’t privy to the details of what Changbin dug up, he knows it must’ve been significant. That’s the only explanation Felix can come up with as to how Changbin wound up at the rendezvous point. Nobody — not the corporate ghouls, their war dogs, or any other sorry soul  — finds the Black Screen unless they want to be found. 

Felix is privy to what happened next because it’s the only reason he wound up involved in this at all:

Whatever intel Changbin had was groundbreaking enough to score an invitation to the revolution, but he had more to offer the higher-ups than that. He dropped the name of someone who could be an asset, under the right circumstances. Someone who wouldn’t follow a breadcrumb trail for free but would tear the peninsula apart to find whoever owed them.

For what it’s worth, Felix disagreed with that characterization the second he heard it. Despite the mask you like to wear, you’re incapable of being self-centered. You’ve never been profit-driven, heartless, or attachment-avoidant. Just hellbent on survival for you and the people you feel responsible for, even as a kid. 

The only reason Felix hasn’t asked you about your motive outright is because he knows you’d lie. The truth is simple: Unless it was for someone you care deeply about, you wouldn’t waste gasoline on speeding back to a place you hate.

Hyunjin clears his throat, pulling Felix out of the daze he’d fallen into. Given the pointed look on his face, Hyunjin must be repeating himself when he says, “She got you bad, huh?”

Confusion forces Felix’s brow to furrow. 

“This?” He takes a wild guess and gestures to the bruise on his jaw before waving dismissively. “Nah, her form is terrible. Truly garbage-tier follow-through. I can teach her, though.”

Hyunjin pushes himself off the wall and moves to exit the dining area. As he passes by, he gives Felix a patronizing pat on his shoulder. “Not what I meant, Yongbokie.”

Felix frowns, unsure how to take what he’s being given. 

The fuck?

“Not even close,” Hyunjin calls over his shoulder. 

He shoots Felix a wink, and then he’s gone, disappearing out the door the same way he entered it — like a goddamn apparition.

“Wow. Recruited? That’s — wow.”

Jisung is doing a terrible job of pretending he isn’t blushing. He clears his throat to keep his voice even, but it’s useless. He’s not fooling anyone. 

“I didn’t realize we were so sought after.”

“You’re not,” Changbin responds bluntly. He gestures across the table to you but maintains his eyes on Jisung. “She is. You just happened to be present, and they couldn’t leave a witness behind.”

Jisung doesn’t bother to hide the way his face falls. When he opens his mouth to whine, you raise your hand and silently demand that he spare you the earache. It seems to work; he slumps dejectedly and leans with his elbows against the tabletop. You proceed to ignore him.

Affect flat, you stare straight ahead at the source of all your fucking problems. The half of you that wants to hug Changbin for being alive and well is significantly quieter than the half of you that wants to grab him by the nape of his neck and shove his face into his yukgaejang.

Bastard.

“I no longer give a shit how I ended up here,” you state coolly. Liar. “That ship has sailed, and to keep it a buck with you, Binnie —” 

He cringes at the nickname, which is exactly the reaction you sought. 

“— I’m not interested in stroking your ego for getting one over on me. It won’t happen again. What I’m still waiting on —” 

The only reason you leave that clause hanging in mid-air is to see the anticipation stir in his eyes. From where you’re sitting, it’s what he deserves: a little bit of unnecessary suspense. Really, it’s a form of reparations for the giant fucking inconvenience he’s been lately. His balance is way past due. 

Jisung, perpetually along for the ride, shovels shrimp chips into his mouth while his eyes dart back and forth between your face and Changbin’s.

You shoot Changbin a sly smile and grab his beer, tilting the can his way in lieu of a bow. His eyes narrow, visibly annoyed with your stalling, but he doesn’t audibly complain when you down the rest of his drink. Resigned, he accepts the empty can that you hand it back to him

At long last, you clear your throat.

“— is an explanation for why you’re here,” you finally sigh.

Changbin rolls his eyes so hard that they go all-white for a moment. Then, to your surprise, he glares across the table at Jisung. 

“You know, my life was way more pleasant before you dragged this one,” he huffs, gesturing to you with his chopsticks, “Into my bar.”

Just for a moment, Changbin sits with his annoyance. He’s entitled to some of it, you’ll concede. You’re not easy to love — you never have been — and you’re occasionally even harder to like. Despite that, he’s been known to look out for you in his own, mostly useless way; even in moments like this, when you’re being a fucking gash simply because you can. 

But the fact remains that you dragged your ass across a peninsula for him. He knows damn well that you accept payment in the form of secrets when cash is too hard to come by, so…. 

“Spill,” you demand.

That tough exterior of his collapses like wet cardboard, just like you knew it would. He glances around the room quickly to confirm that no one is listening in, then he pushes his empty bowl out of the way. With the threat of staining his white t-shirt neutralized, Changbin leans in and asks, “Do either of you know Jung Wooyoung?” 

Simultaneously, you and Jisung respond:

“The boxer?”

“The biter.”

Just the same, your friends turn to you with identical looks of bewilderment. You shrug, declining to elaborate because Changbin asked if you knew him, not how or how intimately. Truth be told, you’re not sure that he’s prepared for that answer.

“Anyways,” Changbin segues after clearing his throat. “He’s not up to either of those tasks these days.”

Genuinely curious, Jisung asks with a frown, “Did someone finally kill him?”

Fair question, you think.

With the way Wooyoung runs his mouth, it’s a wonder he’s lived as long as he has — assuming, of course, that he’s still alive. Beyond picking fights with people three times’ his size, his specialties include fixing matches and swiping other fighters’ significant others. If he’s not dead yet, you figure, it’s only a matter of time until the consequences of his antics come calling.

Changbin shakes his head, and the look on his face seems weirdly solemn, like the answer is even worse than that. It’s sobering; it knocks the smirk right off your face.

“He was short on cash, so he signed up for some clinical trial promising a million won for participants.”

Jisung, the resident non-doctor, sits up at this development. “Thanotech?”

You’re in the middle of rolling your eyes when Changbin intercepts, grimacing: “No, that’s the fucked up part. Well, one of the fucked up parts.”

Two pairs of expectant eyes lock on him.

“It’s Ulsan running the trial.”

You don’t pretend to be well-versed in any of the biomedical, cybernetic shit going on around you, but you do know that this particular corporation never leaks details of its research and development — not ever. Doing so would run the risk of a lesser titan swooping in to try and to dupe it. 

But that’s not the only revelation that smacks you upside the head.

“Ulsan pays for lab rats now?” You scoff, surprised by your own interest. “Here I was, thinking they used ex-employees for that shit.”

It sounds callous when you say it out loud, but it’s a universal assumption. Part of the New Republic’s mythology, so to speak.

In your lifetime, you’ve never come across a single person who used to work for the Ulsan Corporation — not one. Just the same, you’ve never heard about anyone leaving; no one you’ve ever met has. It’s beyond the realm of possibility that a corporation like that has no turnover, so where do people go when their turn is over?

The dumpster out back, some say. According to others, they wind up in a secret mass grave in the oil fields.

“When he came back, I didn’t know where he’d been or why; I just saw him wandering around like a fucking zombie.” Changbin shivers. “He’s empty now, all sucked dry.”

Jisung looks pointedly at you, shit-eatin grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that what happened when you —?”

An elbow to the center of his chest stops his question before he can finish asking it. He yelps instead, scooting his chair further down the table to get away from you, your sharp edges, and your even sharper glare.

“It freaked me the fuck out, and I didn’t have any answers, so I started poking around for something — anything — that might make sense of it.”

“So, that’s how you got pulled into the web.”

The voice from nowhere makes all three of you jump. You whip around to find yet another stranger. 

How many fucking people do I have to meet today? 

This particular wild card sits on top of the table directly behind yours with arms gently crossed over her chest; not closed off but cold, judging by the goosebumps making themselves known across her bare arms. Her boots rest on the chair in front of her, one chrome leg shining next to flesh-and-blood.

Whoever she is, she’s beaming. That fact confuses the shit out of you because you’re not often met with friendliness, especially from unknowns. Or maybe, you think, it’s a well-concealed effort to disarm you. Whatever it is, it’s working; the urge to snap at her for intruding is dead on arrival. 

You open your mouth to ask what she means, but you can’t get the words out before someone else interjects. 

Minho, that bastard, shouts from across the room, “Spider! Got a minute?”

Her eyes light up in a way that says she has several, so long as he’s the one asking. Without another word, she hops to her feet and pushes the chair that held them back under the table. As she heads his way, she sends you an apologetic smile, like she somehow owes you anything.

“I don’t know what they unraveled by pulling that thread,” Changbin sighs, nodding towards the pair exiting the room. “But this place has been buzzing since I got here.”

You need something to chew on that isn’t this, so you reach over and grab the bag of shrimp chips from Jisung’s unsuspecting hands. The frown he gives you is cartoonish, but as usual, he doesn’t put up a fight. Your version of an apology is holding a spare chip out to him, which he happily accepts.

After shoveling a handful into your mouth, you mumble, “So now what?”

“I don’t know about you, but if these guys —” Changbin gestures vaguely around the room with his index finger pointed. “— Give me a target to point at, I’ll pull the trigger.”

You snort, “That’s a lot of trust.” 

It doesn’t mean much, coming from you. Your metric is beyond fucked, and you know it. That word is foreign, though; so far out of your grasp that you can’t wrap your brain around it.

“Maybe it is,” Changbin mutters while he looks down at the empty can in his grip. 

For a moment, that’s all he says. All he does is stare into the black hole of its opening, as if there’s some answer lurking in the emptiness below it. He must not find it, though, because he crumples the aluminum like a piece of scrap paper. 

When he glances back up at you, you see the uncertainty in his eyes. It reads like fear, which manages to unsettle you.

“I just — I can’t see what I saw and do nothing.”

Your second month in the compound starts with a bang — no, a thud. 

With your body being forcibly ejected from your cot, crashing onto the ground, and your jaw clenching shut quickly with a click of gritted teeth.

“How many fucking times are we doing this?” You growl, less than half-awake. 

Already past today’s quota for rage, you form a fist and swing your arm back violently against the capsized cot; it scrapes along the cement floor and skitters further away from you. The sudden burst of movement doesn’t do anything to make you feel better, but it was worth a shot, you suppose.

Felix, whose sunshine smile is too goddamn bright for this hour, crouches down in front of you. He at least has the decency to look apologetic when he lilts, “Until you learn to wake up to an alarm, I fear.”

He pauses, eyes scanning for any genuine distress beyond your shitty mood.

“Does that hurt?” He frowns.

Bleary eyes follow his pointed finger to your elbow, now prickling with blood where you skinned it against the floor. It doesn’t; and you’re not even remotely concerned about it, so you swat his hand away without answering his question and shove yourself to your feet. Once standing, you wander over to your steamer trunk to grab something clean enough to wear. 

The shadowy one, Hyunjin, brought your shit to you a week ago —  thank god. He provided no explanation whatsoever for how he knew where you lived or how he managed to get inside your building, but you’re a beggar, not a chooser. You’d rather enable his burglary than keep wearing the same, re-washed clothes you came here with or borrowing from people you still don’t know well.

As you peel yesterday’s tank-top up and over your head, your gravelly voice flies out to Felix, who stands and moves to lean against the wall. “You at least going to feed me breakfast before you bore me with more target practice?”

That’s most of what your time together has been so far, anyway. The chain of command is sorting out details above your pay grade; and you condition yourself to jump as high as they may eventually ask you to.

Felix doesn’t answer you, which isn’t like him. You look at him out of the corner of your eye and find him staring up at the ceiling, like his life depends on it.

“What are you —?” 

Oh.

You glance down, cutting your question off midway through. He’s giving you and your semi-exposed body privacy, that’s what. 

Sensing blood in the water, you swim in to scoff, “You have no problem flipping my bed when I’m in it, but bras are where you draw the line? What kind of gentleman are you?”

Still averting his eyes, he rolls them. You do him the favor of tugging on a different, slightly wrinkled tank-top; but you don’t give him the courtesy of letting up.

“Where do you stand on ass, Felix?”

“Are you always this annoying, first thing in the morning?” 

Amusement slips through the cracks despite his efforts to conceal it. You slip out of the cotton shorts you slept in, dip your toes under the fabric pooled around your ankles, and flick them at him. He concedes his staring contest to the panels overhead in order to catch them.

Impressive reflexes.

“I’m this annoying at all hours of the day.” You grin impishly for just a second, then shrug. “You’re just less able to handle it, first thing in the morning.”

Bending back over your trunk, you dig through for something denim. You land on black, high-waisted shorts with a triumphant, “Aha!”, and make a big show of raising your trophy overhead. Once again, you glance at Felix to see if your attempt to get a rise out of him was successful. In a way, yes, it was — just not in the way you expected.

Based on the way his gaze lingers on your thighs and the curve of your ass, you don’t think Felix even noticed your theatrics. You don’t think he means to stare, either. As far as you can see, it’s the perfect opportunity to fuck with him further.

“Admiring the tattoos?” You arch an eyebrow and wait for him to blush out of panic at being caught. “I can recommend the artist, if you want to hit them up.”

To your surprise, you don’t rattle him. Dark eyes flick up from your body to your face, and they don’t seem ashamed of where they’ve been. Your plan backfires. More than that, it blows up right in your face, which is starting to heat up.

“The cantine closes in five minutes. Training starts in ten,” he states matter-of-factly, holding your gaze. “So, you can either eat, or you can keep pretending you’re not trying to flirt with me.”

Your mouth drops open, but you can’t even snap back at him before he chirps, “The choice is yours, Scraps,” with a playful smile.

With nothing more to say, Felix leans away from the wall. On his way out the door, he gives you a lazy, two-finger salute. Dumbstruck, you stand there, watching him leave; wondering where the hell your bumbling, sweetly shy friend from back home managed to disappear to. 

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Felix waggles his finger at you. A smug smile toys at his lips when you let out a frustrated grunt. “That’s the problem.”

He takes a step away from you, raises his fists to mimic your posture, and throws a right jab out into the air ahead of him. When he draws it back, he pauses with his shoulders even.

“D’you see the issue with this?” He asks, loosening one fist so that he can gesture from shoulder to shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Is it that nobody’s currently hitting you?”

Felix, to his credit, is completely unbothered by the attitude you keep giving him. He’s far more patient than he should be with you. You, however, do not take criticism well.

“You square yourself off instead of retriggering an attack,” he gently corrects you. “By not turning and leading with your shoulder —” He twists slightly backwards, so that his body is angled similarly to the way it was when he struck in the first place. “— you leave all this surface area open.”

Okay, fine. 

You’ll concede that this makes sense, but you will not admit to poor blocking. In fact, deflecting is what you’re best at, so that’s precisely what you do. 

“And how exactly am I supposed to block hits that aren’t coming?”

Felix relaxes his stance with confusion scribbled all over his face. You don’t wait for him to ask what you mean, plunging right into your notes for him:

“This sparring shit doesn’t feel real because you refuse to hit me. It’s been weeks, and there still aren’t any stakes. If you’re going to insist that I learn this — which, by the way, feels pointless when I’m already armed —”

You gesture down to your thigh, where your pistol is normally strapped. 

“— then you have to make me care.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, opting instead to quietly chew on the challenge you’ve raised. For a split second, you think you’ve finally grasped the straw that’ll break his back. He turns towards the door and walks away, seemingly giving up on trying to teach a rabid dog new tricks.

But Felix defies your expectations yet again, grabs your gear off the counter at the far side of the room, and heads back to you. As he walks, he pulls back the slide to fish out the round that waits in its chamber. Bullet still in hand, his focus shifts to the magazine, which he easily removes from the base of your pistol’s grip. After tucking your ammunition into the back pocket of his jeans for safekeeping, he holds your now-empty firearm and thigh strap out to you. 

“Gear up.”

Now, it’s your turn to be confused. You accept the items he pushes into your hands with both eyebrows raised.

“Are we giving up on hand-to-hand, then?”

“Absolutely not,” Felix snorts with a shake of his head. “I’m just going to prove the necessity.” When you don’t budge, he waves his hand to hurry you along. “C’mon, Scraps. Strap in.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, you slip the vertical strap over your belt loop and fasten it before doing the same to the horizontal piece around your thigh. Once it’s nestled snugly against your skin, you slide your weapon into its resting place. 

Holding your hands up, you fire off a saccharine smile like the brat you are. “All done,” you chirp.

The smirk that appears on his face makes your stomach flip for two reasons, the least of which is the anticipation of his next move.

“You want it to feel real, right?” His voice drops so low that you feel it deep in your abdomen. “Fine by me.”

Like before, Felix steps slightly backwards. With a nod of his head towards your firearm, he challenges you, “Draw.”

It’s unfamiliar, seeing him counter you like this. Growing up, he was content to go in whichever direction you nudged him in. The version of Felix you knew back then was passive, agreeable to fault. You may not know what the fuck he’s planning now, but he radiates newfound authority that you almost want to respect, so you listen.

“Fine,” you demur while your fingertips trail over the cool, metal grip. “Make your point and move onto something useful.”

The next sequence of events flashes by so quickly that your brain can hardly keep up. 

Just as soon as you pull the gun from its holster, Felix turns in his spot, channeling the momentum into a strong push off the ground. He’s in the air before you can even level the barrel; and in the blink of an eye, the side of his boot collides with your hand, forcefully ejecting the gun from your grip. The power behind his kick sends the weapon flying several meters away, where it clatters to the floor with a smack amidst the quiet.

Gasping more so out of surprise than pain, you recoil your stinging fist and clutch it to your chest. He reads your expression incorrectly, if his widened eyes are any indication. Immediately, Felix breaks his stance to step across the distance in between you.

Worried hands come to rest on your biceps, squeezing gently. He urgently asks, “You alright?”

You blink back at him, throughly stunned by how fucking fast his reflexes are, and he misinterprets that, too. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he sputters. His next words come out so frantically that they bleed together over the course of one breath. “I really didn’t want to hurt you; I just needed you to understand that your gun can’t always save you. Sometimes, you have to —”

“That was insane,” you blurt out.

Felix’s eyes widen, caught completely off-guard by your interruption. It’s understandable, you think. After all, it’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve given him over the past few weeks. 

He peeps, “Oh?”

You nod vigorously — and there’s that sweetly shy boy from down the block, blushing slightly under the weight of your attention. 

Somehow, seeing him this way feels like home; the one you knew before he disappeared, that you might actually admit to missing. Acting solely on instinct, you unfurl your right hand and seek out the warmth of his cheek, like it’ll flip a switch and turn the clock back.

It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t — but you can’t help feeling like this is fine, too.

Until you realize what the fuck you’re doing, and you see the starry-eyed look he’s giving you. Then, you do what you always do.

You dodge.

Patting his cheek patronizingly, you breeze, “I guess I’ll let you train me, then,” before turning to retrieve your gun.

“Oh, really now?” He laughs, like he’s already forgotten the way your mask just cracked. You can’t tell if you’re grateful for this, or disappointed. “Is violence all it takes to win you over?”

Disappointed. 

You wish he’d called your bluff again, like he did so long ago in that closet you’re currently calling a bedroom. Once wasn’t enough; you want to be caught out, to have someone refuse to let you get away with the bullshit you’re always trying to pull. For some proof that you’re not the bulldozer you pretend to be.

Felix raises an eyebrow as he tilts his head teasingly to the side. “Are you actually going to shut up and take instruction this time?”

Like that.

“Maybe.” You crouch down to grab your discarded pistol off the ground, lips pursed to keep the satisfied smile off your face. “Are you going to stop pulling punches?”

Three weeks of sparring tick by before you manage to clean his fucking clock.

It came as a surprise to both of you; not just that Felix slipped up in the first place, but that you were fast enough to capitalize on an opening he’s otherwise never created. You might’ve gasped even louder than he did when you managed to seize the opportunity — but that memory is fuzzy already. It doesn’t matter, anyway, not to him. Either way, the point stands: 

You actually learned from the shit he’s been trying to instill in you.

Having hobbled from the training room to his bedroom, Felix now sits on top of the old, metal counter that once served as a workbench. It’s not comfortable by any means, but he’d rather die than move from his current position. Between his knees, you stand close to him, holding a frozen sponge to his left eye with your right hand. 

Funnily enough, that particular hand is the reason he needs an ice pack in the first place.

For a while, the pair of you exist in comfortable quiet. It’s nice, he thinks, just being present. He would’ve been happy to carry on that way for as long as possible, but the shitty voice in the back of his brain keeps yelling that he’s letting more moments slip by than he has to spare. Wasting time that he should be making up.

He clears his throat to shake off the rust, prompting you to glance down from his forehead to his eyes. Your expression is hard to read, but there’s anxiety in there, somewhere. Felix worries that you’re worried; you’re searching for a sign that you’ve somehow injured him further.

“You’re a quick study — if and when you want to be.” His teasing sounds pathetic because his voice is barely more than a groan. Still, he smirks, “Those corporate mercenaries won’t stand a chance.”

With his good eye, Felix watches as your mask cracks a little further in the shape of a smile. 

For once, you simply nod in acknowledgement and let the compliment slip through your defenses without trying to deflect it. He wants to compliment you for that progress, too, but he’s hesitant to push his luck when he’s already flying half-blind by the seat of his pants. 

Then again, it might be worth the risk to push the envelope — even if you succeed in punching his goddamn lights out for good. He doubts that he’d complain, if that were the case. You’d be an incredible last sight to ever see, wouldn’t you?

His internal monologue pipes up again, demanding that he gamble.

Every single muscle he has aches after spending hours sparring with you, but that’s not at all what he’s talking about when he says, “You’re a knockout, Scraps.”

It’s a cop out, but it’s something. 

Just for a second, Felix wonders if you heard what he meant, and not just what he said. All his doubt disappears when that shy smile tugs even harder at the corners of your mouth.

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, chuckling quietly. “If you want to get technical, you didn’t even lose consciousness —” 

Carefully, you bring your free hand up to his forehead and brush flyaway strands of hair out of the way of the makeshift ice pack. By contrast, your fingertips are warm enough to simmer on his skin.

“— so you’ll have to try that joke again when you actually do.”

Although you could, you don’t take your hand back after unsticking his hair from the condensation on his skin. You lower it gently, let it rest on his shoulder, and leave Felix to wonder if it’s a choice, a convenience, or a reflex. 

This eats at him.

A long time ago, this little gesture wouldn’t be something he’d have to guess at. He used to just understand, never once needed to be told. So far out of practice, he’s no longer fluent in your body language — and he hates it.

Unwilling to leave anything else up to interpretation, Felix looks up at you with one, unobstructed eye. “Wasn’t joking,” he murmurs.

You freeze without meeting his eyes. 

If he didn’t know better, he might think your retinal mods had been knocked loose again. You don’t seem to see him, and that’s all he wants. All he gets is quiet, so he tries again: “And I’m not bullshitting you, either.”

It’s his low voice speaking your real name that finally draws you out of hiding. Surprised for just a moment, your expression softens when you notice the way he’s studying your reactions. You don’t speak at first, but your bottom lip is pinched between your teeth; a telltale sign that you’re trying to.

“Since this is apparently honesty hour,” you start with an exhale.

Felix braces himself for whatever evasive maneuver you’re going to throw next. 

Shockingly, you don’t throw out a joke to change the subject. You take the ice pack off his eye so he can see you properly, set it down next to his thigh on the counter, and scrub your hands sheepishly over your face.

“You freak me the fuck out.”

You laugh despite yourself, and then you pause just like that; like you’re waiting on him to laugh at you, too. When he doesn’t, you take it as your cue to keep going: “Am I insane, or does this feel easy?

“I think both things can be true.” You shoot him a look that could — and might — kill him. He holds his hands up in surrender, but he keeps his eyes locked on you. “And I know you’re not used to easy.”

Felix doesn’t know what he expects you to do next, but your next move isn’t one he would’ve guessed. In the end, it’s your still-chilled palms reaching up to meet him, and your fingers filling the empty spaces between his. Brow furrowed, you study the way you fit together, like the words you’re searching for are hidden somewhere in the gaps of your chain-linked knuckles.

“I’m not used to it because I avoid it,” you correct him, frowning. “Easy scares the shit out of me. It just feels like a trap, you know? Like, the second you stop looking out for it, the other shoe will drop and knock your unsuspecting ass to the dirt.”

Keeping his fingers interlaced with yours, he lowers your joined hands until they rest against the tops of his thighs. You watch them go; he watches you, and he can’t help thinking that he’s the reason you armored up in the first place. That him leaving was the blow to the head that taught you to wear a helmet.

“I’ve got good reflexes,” Felix whispers, squeezing your hand.

At this, your eyes flick upwards. A microscopic crease forms between your eyebrows, and he knows exactly what’s coming next, so he says it first: “Excluding today, obviously.”

When you smile, it hits him even harder than your right hook did.

“What are you saying, exactly?” You ask, head tilting to the side as you narrow your eyes.

“Fuck the shoe.”

The look on your face suggests that he can’t possibly be serious, but he’s never been more so. Maybe he can’t promise you easy in a world like this one; and he can’t keep that fucking shoe from dropping, but he swears he’ll catch it when it does.

Felix has to let go of your hands to hold you properly. You lean into his touch when he snakes his arms around your waist; and you rest your forehead against his, careful not to press into the bruise that borders his eyebrow.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispers. You hum in reply, confirming your willingness to trade. “Kiss me now, and we’ll batten down the hatches later.”

Felix may have called you a quick learner, but you have to wonder what his basis for comparison is. From your vantage point, it’s him that catches on in a heartbeat, like nothing unexperienced is truly new to him. 

Coincidentally, it’s also him that’s kneeling between your thighs, bearing the weight of your hinged knees over his shoulders and making you shake with his tongue alone.

“Fuck, fuck — nngh — fuck!” 

It’s all you can say because it’s the best you can do. 

Over and over, too drunk on the sensation of his mouth, you let profanity spill out of yours. He has you dripping in more ways than one, pooling on that godforsaken counter, and you can’t spare a single thought about the mess you’re making.

Every neuron fixates on him, the cotton-candy blue strands gripped tight between your fingers, and the way he devours you, like he’s making up for skipped meals.

“F-Felix,” you beg, breathless.

Looking up at you from under his lashes, he feigns innocence. It’s bullshit — he knows you’re on the brink of death, knows your whole damn body is buzzing — and his sweet smile doesn’t match his actions. You jolt, wailing, when another kitten lick trails over your clit.

“Hmm?” That low timbre of his vibrates through you when he pulls back, panting.

God, you’re spent already, but you can’t collapse until you know what he feels like, buried to the hilt in you. Something about that need makes you shiver; has your bottom lip quivering when you manage to squeak, “Please.”

Absolutely boneless, you slump against the wall behind you. With far more grace than you, Felix maneuvers his way out from under the tangle of your legs. He ensures that they fall gently back into place on the countertop.

“Gotta work on that stamina if you’re gonna help wage a war,” he teases.

The half-powered glare you shoot at him doesn’t stop him from leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. It doesn’t keep his fingertips from tracing languid lines down the lengths of your bare thighs, either.

Your voice is fucked out and weightless, far softer than you’ve ever heard yourself sound. “Is that what this is? Conditioning?”

The hand not caressing your thigh comes up to cradle your jaw, like it’s something fragile. It’s the first time anyone’s touched you as if you’re breakable, worth protecting — and motherfucker, you’re one soft smile away from crying.

“No.” 

He states it much more firmly than he kisses you. So gentle that you can’t believe it’s real until you taste yourself on him, so warm that you dissolve like a sugar cube on his tongue. 

Fuck any other person that’s ever pressed their lips to yours and called it a kiss. They’re liars, all of them. One by one, their names disappear with every passing second in which you know better.

“Need you,” you moan into his mouth. 

Fistfuls of his shirt can’t bring him close enough. Even when his head dips down and his lips are at your throat, the ache wins out. You crave him anywhere — everywhere — all over you. 

“Going crazy —” You gasp when his teeth nip at your collarbone. “— waiting on you.”

Greedy hands drop to the button of his jeans, fumbling to no avail. Apparently, your dexterity flew out the window two orgasms ago. A frustrated whine jumps out after it, pushing your head back as it goes.

Felix’s low chuckle soothes you, but it’s nothing compared to the relief you feel when his hands nudge yours out of the way. That, too, is a drop in the bucket; bliss crashes in waves when there’s no denim left to separate you. His hands land on your hips, fingertips pressing into your flesh as he guides you further down his length. 

Never — not fucking ever — have you made a sound quite as pathetic as the one you bury into the crook of his neck. You can’t classify it, not as a moan or a whimper. It’s desperate — loud. It’s an air raid siren; every fucking barricade you’ve built over the years being blown to smithereens.

This is it, you think.

Fuck your bank account. 

Fuck staring at the sky and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Fuck your contracts, your shithole apartment, and the million different ways you were set up to lose in this life.

This isn’t about you at all. It’s about you and him; all the space and time you’re dead set on reclaiming.

This is for us.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i’ve been working on this since JUNE, and it’s a much bigger undertaking (creatively and….. mentally) than anything else i’ve done before, so i’m scared and also excited to start sharing it with y’all.

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

tagging: @saintriots, @mal-lunar-28, @dabiscrustyfeet

wanna be tagged for future uploads? sign up here.

[rhetorical-ink]

Haikyuu!! SPOILERS: Chapter 401, How We Connect the Dots.

**PENULTIMATE SPOILERS BELOW**

I just posted a video with my live reactions to the chapter, but here are my highlights, because FURUDATE YOU MADMAN GENIUS. This chapter connected so much together. So, let’s do:

My Top 10 Thoughts on Haikyuu!! Chapter 401:

10. Of course. In true Furudate fashion, he has Kageyama block the spike from Hinata, BUT, what Kageyama doesn’t realize is all the training on the beach Shoyo has done to prepare for such a moment. And that heel kick! *swoons* Also, someone reacting to Season 4, Episode 9 of the anime, where Hinata kicks the ball back to himself called this happening all those months ago...Furudate is next level at foreshadowing. Not that we didn’t already know that.

9. Hey, remember how in the VERY FIRST chapter of Haikyuu!! Shoyo did this crazy run across the court to score? Yeah, Furudate knows we remember. And he pulls this -- and Kageyama’s beautiful reaction, only for --

-- Only for it to all be a DECOY. Kageyama, you made this monster, you know. I love that Shoyo has come all this way from wanting to score all the points to accepting that the decoy DOES have a vital role to play, and in this instance, it’s allowing Bokuto to score the winning point for the MSBY Black Jackals. Just look at that smile! And of course, Tanaka and Asahi KNOW the power of Hinata as a Decoy...because they’ve been in Bokuto’s shoes before. 

8. UGH, the aftermath of that moment is glorious, which will detail down below -- but I love Shoyo and Kageyama’s interaction, though. How they’re still keeping track of each other’s wins and losses, exhausting Miya, hilariously, and showing that they’re on equal footing now, after all these years. This chapter is just cementing the last several chapters’ worth of character development. 

7. ARE YOU SHIPPERS READY FOR YOUR FOOD?!

Because these next few pages were healing my shipper heart. I mean, yes, the Kagehina fanbase is raving right now, but let’s talk about THESE ships below, starting with:

Tsukishima x Yamaguchi:

So, Tsukishima, of course, is not sappy about any of this and just points out how the season’s just getting started (ready the fanfics, y’all). 

And of course, Yamaguchi wants to watch Tsuki play! Yachi says she’ll come too! I LOVE how just like he was with Akiteru, he doesn’t want them to come watch (even though we all know he’ll love it when they’re there). Now, some people have commented that Yamaguchi could be with Yachi, but y’all...Yachi is in Tokyo. Yamaguchi and Tsuki both live in Miyagi. I can’t wait for all the Sendai Frog/TsukiYama fanfics!

If you’re looking for an extra Kagehina crumble, just look at the end of this adorable exchange between Romero, smol adorable Rubens, and Shoyo (who perfectly crouches down to talk to him MY HEART I CAN’T), to see Kageyama notice that Shoyo can speak multiple languages...oh, honey! If only you know about Hinata and Pedro’s marathons of DBZ in Portugese and English! ^^

Also, Furudate WE SEE YOU. We see you being meta and implying that now Haikyuu!! is over, he’s moving on...Akaashi’s line about going forward hit me hard...it’s like he’s telling us, the fandom, that going on to start something new isn’t so bad. SO YOU SAY. 

BOKUAKA NATION -- WE CANON NOW, RIGHT?!

I love that Akaashi gets to interview Bokuto (IS HE GOING TO BE THE STAR of the Volleyball manga Tenma Udai is writing?! He would be PERFECT for it!) and how happy Akaashi looks, even if he and Bokuto realize how differently they view the term “normal.” 

ALSO, it’s implied above that Akaashi, Bokuto, and Tenma were going out for drinks...which now....we know that it’s just Bokuto and Akaashi, since Tenma was going home. Uhm, FAN FIC WRITERS ASSEMBLE!

I also love that Udai joins the club, along with Fukurodani’s coach and manager, of people who realize that Bokuto and Akaashi are weirdos but they are weirdos together, so it’s fine. 

Keeping the “Ship Train” going, we get little bits of Shimizu x Yachi from the bathhouse before the Inarizaki Match, where Kiyoko finally acknowledges she is okay showing her legs...thanks to Yachi’s words. I also find Suga wanting to know “the tea” on the situation to be adorable. 

AND FINALLY, YES, Y’ALL:

I was spoiled with Kuroo’s return, but seriously, Furudate, you saved him for the end here so INTENTIONALLY. 

Because OF COURSE Kuroo would work for the JVA. As a promoter. CONNECTING people...with Volleyball...because that’s the Nekoma way.

And FURUDATE ARE YOU SUGGESTING TO US THAT KUROO AND KENMA ARE BUSINESS PARTNERS AND COLLABORATORS BECAUSE MY KUROKEN HEART IS SOARING -- 

-- and let it be known Atsumu Miya rightfully doesn’t trust Kuroo, and neither does Sakusa. A nice SakuAtsu crumb where we actually see Sakusa agree with Miya without sacrasm or question! Poor Shoyo is a salesman’s dream, though. I mean, Kuroo does look a little sketchy in some of those shots...BUT....

6. Kuroo’s speech about sports was SO fitting. Seriously, everything he says here is BASICALLY what makes Haikyuu!! such a great series. I DID laugh out loud at the line about “hardly anybody dies.” 

*Flashbacks to “Dead Daichi” meme*

5. It’s taken us the ENTIRE series, but Kageyama finally talks to Kindaichi and Kunimi. This was so heartwarming, seeing Kageyama wanting to play WITH THEM. AS A TEAM. This made my heart expand three sizes. The character development on Kageyama, and Kindaichi, is through the roof.

I also LOVE Kunimi the most in these panels. Kunimi is a MOOD. 

Y’ALL. I’VE WAITED 400 CHAPTERS FOR THIS PANEL OF THESE THREE HAPPY AND BECOMING FRIENDS AGAIN.

4. I love that Hoshiumi doesn’t see Hinata as a Rival, but as someone that is going to help him show the rest of the world the strength of someone who doesn’t have height. I also find it interesting that we see the Japanese Olympic Coach walking out just as Hoshiumi gives us that beautiful gaze. So...does Hoshiumi know he’s going to be on the Olympic team, with Hinata, maybe? Foreshadowing, perhaps?

3. Okay, okay, I held it together until this page. 

It wasn’t Ushijima’s panel with Washijo that got me.

It wasn’t Saeko and Akane reuniting, though that was sweet. 

It wasn’t the three “Pure Captains” reuniting, though it made my heart happy.

It honestly wasn’t the five first years together, either. They’re all so happy and having a laugh at Kageyama’s expense, and as beautiful as that panel is.

SUGAWARA IN LINE TO GET KAGEYAMA’S AUTOGRAPH.

That is what got me. 

Him in line, so meekly, to get the autograph of his kouhai, the man Suga joked would have to tell about how much he learned from HIM when he was giving out interviews and autographs...I just...Sugawara made me cry. That is all. 

2. Then there’s this last page. 2021. 

"We overcame difficulties and stand here.”

Furudate really said “screw you” to Covid messing up the timeline.

Yes, seeing Kageyama and Hinata in their original jersey numbers was amazing, but I think we all saw that coming if these two happened to get on the Olympic team. 

What I want to focus on are the two countries we see included in the bottom corner here. We see: 

Brazil -- and some fluffy haired man carrying the flag for the team.

And we see the United States -- there’s several American Flags and stars and stripes on the shirts of the crowd, there.

SO, HEADCANON TIME: 

* Oikawa was on the Argentinean League, so could he play for Brazil? It’s not likely, but not impossible....BUT, I don’t think that’s it.

I don’t think Oikawa is on Japan’s National Team for the Olympics.

If he is on the Olympic Team, I think he’ll be on America’s. 

Why? Because, and this could be because I’m the biggest IwaOi shipper, but Iwaizumi was still in the United States with Ushijima’s father at the end of Chapter 395. And if he’s still there, there is no reason why Iwaizumi couldn’t be a physical trainer alongside Ushijima’s father for the U.S. Olympic team. And why wouldn’t Oikawa trek over to the States to be on the same team as Iwa-Chan’s working with? I’m probably wrong, BUT -- 

We also still need to see Seijoh’s banner, and as others have theorized, how fitting would it be to see Hinata, Kageyama, and (probably) Ushijima on the team facing Oikawa? I just....I’m betting money that Oikawa shows up in 402. I hope we at least see him on the Olympic Stage. OIKAWA DESERVES IT. 

1. So, who are we missing that hasn’t been shown yet?

We still need to see the rest of Nekoma (Lev, Yaku, Yamamoto, Kai....could they be in the stands or on the Japan team? I guess we’ll find out!)

We haven’t seen Daishou and Mika -- I would love to see them watching or narrating in the audience during the Olympic game.

And finally, yes, we’ve seen Tendo in the Chapter 395 flashback, but we’ve never seen what he’s DOING. Furudate has shown us with every character what they’ve been doing since the timeskip....EXCEPT TENDO. I’m calling it that he’ll appear one more time next chapter, too.

So....guys....I’m staying off of Social Media from Wednesday to Sunday next week, to prep for the last chapter and not be spoiled. I’m going to do a live reaction for YouTube, and I’ll post it here. You can see the one I did for 401 now. 

Furudate, this series has been immaculate. Time for one more round.

Let’s all cry together next week.

[thusspoketrish]

Words Are Very Unnecessary

TW: Dark fic; Angst; mental illness; mention of past suicide attempt; implied self-harm; scarring; psychiatric ward; unethical medical practices/harm; inappropriate patient/doctor/staff interactions; shifting tenses

Created for the prompt Pretend for @drarrymicrofic

Title taken from Depeche Mode’s Enjoy the Silence

3.3K words. This is something that I may consider coming back to expand on in the future. READ ON AO3.

A heartwarming thank you to @starlitsilvereyes for the thorough beta!

When Healer Robins announces that Harry will not be carrying out his final rotation at St Mungo’s, he’s shocked. He’s done everything he can within the last few months to prove himself capable: he’s completed his clinical rotations with commendations, he’s saved lives, he’s brought coffee and donuts in from his favourite bakery in Diagon every Friday, and he’s even played nice with the first-year Trainee Healers. But as Healer Robins announces his fate, Harry not only feels the bottom of his stomach fall—he can practically feel the smug smile burning a hole into the back of his head from his colleague, competitor, and overall pain in his arse, Blaise Zabini.

“I’m sorry Harry, but Blaise has already proven quite successful with some of the patients in Janus Thickey. I’m afraid that if we remove him, many of the patients will respond negatively to the change,” Healer Robins says, aiming a warm smile at Zabini.

“And you have a muggle vehicle, that James Bond-looking thing, am I right, Harry?” Zabini asks.

Harry turns to face him. He hates to admit it, but Zabini looks attractive in the lime green robes—but everything about him is stylish, with his broad shoulders, his fancy clothing under his robes, his stylish haircut. Too stylish for a Healer, Harry thinks glumly, staring down at his beat-up trainers he’s had for three years now. Harry grimaces as the other man smiles widely at him. He’d wager his entire Gringotts vault that Zabini has charmed a tooth to twinkle when he smiles like that.

“Yeah, why?” Harry grunts. He doesn’t want to show just how disappointed he is over missing out on the Thickey Ward, but he’s never been that great at compartmentalising his feelings.

“You’ll need one where you’re going,” Healer Robins says.

--------

As soon as Harry pulled his sleek black ’52 Jaguar XK-120 (a result of his quarter-life crisis earlier in the year) into the driveway of St Peter’s Asylum, the 16th century estate sends a chill up his spine. He exits his car and ambles around the property for a while, wanting to gain a better sense of his new work environment. There’s a 25-mile-long anti-Apparition ward surrounding the property and no Floo Network connection. Everything about the property felt duplicitous. The beautiful large bay windows were covered excessively with sharp, pointy metal bars, stained-glass depicting religious iconography were covered in grime and spiderwebs. The columned archway framing the front entrance has cracks in them and are covered in rotting foliage. Behind the estate is a crematorium where ominous black smoke currently poured from the vents, spilling upward into the grey sky. He should have known then that something was amiss.

After a confusing meeting with Head Healer Madison, a quick introduction to the nurses and orderlies, Harry is shown to his small, gloomy office. Settled in, when he finally glanced through the files of his new patients, he nearly spilled his coffee on the pile.

He did not expect to see Draco Malfoy on his rota.

He can recall the last time he saw Malfoy, right after the trials, when Harry’s testimony wasn’t enough to save him completely from time in Azkaban, but anything after? He can’t. He does not recall exactly how much time Malfoy served—had it been three years or four? Did he receive early release or was that his father? How had Harry simply put Malfoy out of his mind after everything they had both been through? How had Zabini not warned him Malfoy would be in a psychiatric ward? Did he even know?

All these questions left a sour taste in Harry’s mouth. He had asked Healer Madison to give Malfoy’s file to a different Healer due to the conflict of interest, but there were no other Healers that would take Malfoy, and so Harry was left with a quandary: either help Malfoy or they’ll send him back to Azkaban, untreated, to serve out the rest of his sentence.

Malfoy’s file was as depressing as Harry imagined it to be.

Malfoy was considered a permanent resident on the ward, but the history is muddled as to why he’s been labelled permanent if his psychiatric care was part of his early release requirements from Azkaban. The threadbare treatment plan had no end goals or date to reintegrate Malfoy into Magical society. The file simply read of an attempted suicide in Azkaban, manic depression, and tendencies towards excessive violence to not just himself but those around him when angered—this was one of the reasons Healers refused him care. He had apparently injured the last three, one almost fatally. He’s been kept heavily medicated, but lately has been refusing treatment. The nurses have been providing the necessary potions intravenously.

Malfoy also hasn’t uttered a single word to anyone—not staff or other patients—for over two years.

From the gossip that the nurses regularly indulged in, Harry was able to learn that Malfoy befriended a young Scottish man named Ziggy and an elderly woman named Lottie that was also considered mute and antisocial. Ziggy had died exactly over two years ago under mysterious conditions and his body was sent to the crematorium instead of autopsied by the local Medical Examiner. When Harry had brought this oversight to Healer Madison, he had been scolded and suspended for three days for viewing files not assigned to him. She threatened to send him back to St. Mungos if he continued to work on the files that have been sealed by the Chief Healer, which would result in him failing his final rotation.

This, of course, further fuelled Harry’s interests.

-------

Harry began to watch Draco’s condition much more closely.

The other man still wouldn’t utter a word to Harry, and sometimes he wondered if Draco even recognised who he was sitting in front of, his eyes unfocused, body slumped in his chair with his bandaged arms wrapped around his body, his long blond hair falling to his shoulders in messy clumps.

Harry began to discover bruises around Draco’s wrists when they’d meet for sessions. When they began to appear around Draco’s neck, and finally, his left eye, Harry calmly enquired about it, and this sent Draco into a silent, violent frenzy. Draco had shoved most of the contents on Harry’s desk to the floor, thrown books at the walls, and ripped one of his bandages free to viciously dig his nails up and down his arm. Harry had to call a CODE RED as he scrambled to unlock his wand from the warded drawer of his desk to Stupefy Draco before he reopened all his wounds. It was the first time Harry had seen any kind of real reaction from the other man and quite frankly, it scared the hell out of him. He had watched helplessly as the orderlies rushed in to gather Draco’s limp body from the floor.

Later that day, he approached Healer Madison.

“I’d like the evaluation forms for any other medical treatments Mr Malfoy is having here,” Harry had demanded. She had popped her gum in Harry’s face before rolling her eyes at his request.

“Those records are private, Potter. For the Chief Healer’s eyes only,” she had said.

“Well, I need the evaluation forms as well. I should be aware of any changes in treatment methods, considering Malfoy is one of my patients.”

Healer Madison patted Harry on the shoulder. “Relax, Potter. No need to be such a bloody worry-wort. Code reds happen all the time here. You’ll soon come to realise how we do things at St Peter’s.”

-------

Harry left the hospital at 5pm every day. Like clockwork, when he’s just about to get into his car, he’ll look up to the third-floor window of the recreation room where he’ll catch Draco staring down at him through the slats of the bars. Each time, the monster in Harry’s chest that’s begun to grow with Harry’s concern and affection for Draco, roared to life. He knew it would be just a matter of time before Draco ended up dead if Harry did not figure out what’s going on in this hospital.

--------

On a particularly cold, grey day in October, one month into Harry’s rotation at St Peter’s, Harry enters the third-floor recreation room. All of Harry’s patients have been improving greatly, Draco in particular. Intravenous treatment ended a week ago as he’s now more cooperative in taking his medication by mouth. His self-harming had eased somewhat, but there were still bad days that Harry monitored closely. Draco interacts with staff and his friend Lottie again, sitting next to her to watch the Muggle telly or just holding her wrinkled hand as they both stare out the window. His grey gaze seemed stronger, more focused, determined, even. It made Harry happy to see a sliver of the person he once knew shining through, and he hoped it would just be a matter of time before Draco speaks, so Harry can help him.

Harry glances around the room. Soft music is playing from off the telly. There's plenty of places to sit, but he opts to walk over to the window where Draco is sitting and playing chess by himself. The man’s wrists are bandaged again, no doubt from picking at his scars. Harry can see a patch of blood through the gauze and wonders why none of the nurses have been around to replace them. He wishes he had his wand (which is locked in his office for safety reasons) so he can replace the bandage himself.

“Draco,” Harry starts warmly. “How are you doing today?”

Draco looks up from the board and Harry gasps. There’s another brutal black eye around his left eye, and the top of his lip is split. Harry reaches out, his fingers lightly touching Draco’s lips before grazing along his jaw. Draco remains very, very still under Harry’s touch, his lips parting slightly as his chest heaves. When Harry remembers himself, he snatches his hand back as if he’s been burned.

“Who did this to you?” Harry hisses.

For a moment, Draco’s eyes turn incredibly bright as he exhales a phlegmy breath before his gaze shutters. Harry sits on the opposite side of the board, staring down at it as Draco takes one trembling hand to move his black bishop to E5. Harry sighs.

“You can tell me, Draco. I…I want to help you. I know there’s something terrible happening in this hospital, and I know someone is hurting you. Please, Draco—”

Draco abruptly stands from his seat, startling Harry. Draco doesn’t pay him any notice as he stretches his long, rail-thin body before strolling up to the nurse’s station. He taps on the glass divider several times before Nurse Mathilde slides the panel open.

“What is it, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco mimes smoking a cigarette.

Nurse Mathilde purses her lips. “The Chief Healer has given you permission to smoke again, but not until 5pm and especially not without an orderly present. You’ll have to wait until then. No exceptions!” she snaps before slamming the panel shut.

Draco doesn’t come back to his board game, nor does he glance over at Harry.

Harry watches as he instead sits next to his friend Lottie who is staring at the only plant in the recreational room. He lifts her wrinkled hand and entwines it with his own before settling in to watch the plant with her.

---------

At approximately 5pm Harry exits the asylum, briefcase in one hand and car keys in the other. When he passes by one of the gnarled oak trees, he notices Draco leaning against it, blowing tendrils of smoke from his cigarette. Harry slows down to watch him.

Draco’s hip is cocked out, his hospital shirt bunched up slightly, exposing a sliver of pale flesh and a titillating v-line that disappears in his thin cotton hospital pyjamas. He’s properly beautiful—all long lines and sharp edges carved in delicate, alabaster marble. Harry has noticed just how clearer Draco’s eyes are now, how the grey is piercing, brimming with cleverness and an intelligence that reminds Harry of the boy he knew in Hogwarts.

Harry’s suddenly startled out of his reverence when he glances around and notices that Draco is currently unattended.

Harry decides to approach him.

“Draco. Are you out here by yourself? Where is your attending orderly?”

“He was recovering from the blowjob I gave him before I did this—” Draco says, his voice thick and raspy. Harry is so shocked to hear the familiar drawl that he stumbles forward, his eyes widening, realises too late that Draco has lunged towards him, left hand raised high to strike Harry on the side of his head with a large, jagged rock.

When Harry comes to, it’s with a sharp groan and with the sound of a string of complex Latin filling his ears. He grits his teeth as a burning sensation wraps around his wrist. He realises that he’s frozen on the ground by a particularly thorough Petrificus Totalus. Despite his throbbing head, he focuses enough to catch Draco at his side, hissing as a thin, red bracelet appears on his left wrist, the bandages now gone. Harry hasn’t seen his left arm exposed before, and he cries out as he takes in the horrific scarring over the Dark Mark, as if someone had tried to peel the Mark off with a scalpel and failed to dig deep enough. There were healed and freshly scabbed cuts from his wrist to his elbow on both arms.

Draco appears above Harry then. “Oh, good. You’re awake.”

There are streaks of dirt across Draco’s face, his hands, and under his nails.

“Please, Draco, whatever it is…don’t…don’t…”

Draco snorts. “What, don’t hurt you? Don’t kill you? Why would I harm the person I’m currently Bonded to?” Draco asks, lifting Harry’s wrist to his face. The red bracelet there matches Draco’s.

Panic seizes Harry immediately. Had he not been completely immobile, he sure he’d be shuddering. “What the hell is going on?” Harry asks, his voice shaking.

Draco drops his wrist and instead lifts a thick, taped together manila folder covered in dirt. “You’re helping me get the fuck out of here, Potter.” A smile breaks across Draco’s face then, making him look both incredibly beautiful and deranged. “It was as if you breathed life back into me, the day you walked through the doors of St Peter’s. I knew then that I had to hold on just a bit longer because surely it was a sign that my initial hard work wasn’t done in vain. You see this file here? I used to sneak out documents I’d gather from Madison, the Chief Healer, and the nurses proving the abuse. Some of the orderlies will let you do whatever you want if you can…provide the right services…and they would often leave me alone long enough for a smoke. I would hide the files here, Potter. But after Z-Z-iggy—” Draco’s excitable tone falters, a veil of sadness falling so quickly over his face Harry experiences a sense of whiplash. “They killed my friend, Potter. They treated Ziggy well before, even let him play Bowie when things weren’t so bad. They killed him during the experiments…”

“What experiments?” Harry asks, shocked.

Draco’s expression shifts once again to happiness. “I knew you wouldn’t be involved in something so gruesome.” He holds up his scarred arm. “On the Dark Mark and Purebloods who have come from Dark families. They’re trying to figure out how Dark Magic is entwined in a person’s DNA and…I don’t know…undo it.”

Harry’s eyes widens, mind beginning to race. “What?”

If the Healers here were literally using human flesh and blood to somehow recreate or understand the links between DNA and inherent Dark Magic, who knows what kind of torture and body modification they’re causing their subjects.

Draco eyes become manic. “You have to help me. You have to get me out of here in the next five minutes. My outdoor time is only half an hour and the orderly is currently passed out—”

“—Draco,” Harry whispers, interrupting Draco’s spiral. “How many others are there…how many other victims?”

“I don’t know, I swear. I just knew Ziggy personally but there would always be screams, so much screaming, so many voices…” Draco says, closing his eyes and swaying on the spot. He mutters softly, incoherently, to himself for a few moments before he opens his eyes, so grey, intense and bright. Harry is overwhelmed with shock, horror, and above all, disgust. Disgusted that the people he’s been working alongside for a month now, the people who have vowed first to do no harm, have been torturing their patients, vulnerable patients.

“Draco, I want to help you, okay? I will help you. You just have to undo the Petrificus Totalus. We’ll get in the car and just drive. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

Draco holds up Harry’s wand, points it at Harry’s face. “If you betray me, Potter, you’ll regret it. We’ll get in that fancy car of yours and you’ll drive until I say stop. If you do anything to prevent me from getting these files to the right people…if you try to get help from the Aurors or let your friends know what’s going on, I’ll off myself. And this bond here, this bond will take you with me. I’m the only one that knows the counter, and once we get to my final destination, I’ll release you. So, don’t you dare fucking try me.”

Harry bites back a gasp.

Despite his very real fear, Harry’s desire to help Draco outweighs it. He nods.

“Okay, whatever you want. I’ll do it.”

Draco’s face, dark with suspicion, slowly starts to slide towards something lighter. He bares his teeth. “I hold onto the wand. You’re not allowed to touch me, period, or else I might get the wrong idea that you’re trying to get your wand back, and I don’t want to have to hurt you, or worse, hurt myself.”

“Yes, okay.”

With a wave of Harry’s wand, Draco undoes the spell. Harry sits up slowly, so as not to alarm Draco, who has quickly scrambled to his feet, the dirty file hugged to his chest, wand still trained on Harry. Harry follows after him, head throbbing and legs unsteady.

Draco casts a healing charm his way before strengthening a Disillusionment Charm around them.

Feeling much steadier, Harry exhales. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I hit you in the first place. I had no other means to incapacitate you.”

“You could have just told me what was going on.”

Draco shrugs. “I had to make sure you were trustworthy. And honestly, I’ve wanted to knock you out for years, so this very much fulfilled a boyhood dream of mine,” Draco says, his lips tugging upward. Harry pauses to look at him. The monster in his chest is awake, thrashing about as affection and desire feeds it.

Harry knows he’s fucked.

They make their way towards Harry’s car after checking on the unconscious orderly. Once settled in, Harry starts the car and drives, past the gates of the asylum and onto the stretch of empty country road. He glances at Draco, not at all shocked to see the tears that are streaming down his battered face.

“Where to?” Harry asks softly.

Draco continues to stare out ahead of him as he answers, “the only safehouse I know. A house on Spinner’s End, Cokeworth.”

Harry draws in a sharp breath.

[whatisthiswritingthing]

Observation Skills - Part Four- Lindsey Horan x Reader

Alright team, what are you wanting going forward? Super slow burn? Angst? I have a pretty good idea where I am going, but open to suggestions. 

Lindsey really is a teenage girl with a crush again. 

Lindsey: So I’ve decided we can’t be friends.

           Hot Trainer: But I come with dog?

Lindsey texted Sara later that day, receiving a selfie of the blonde and her dog in response.

           Lindsey: As adorable as Blaze is, he does not take away the suffering that I endured at the hands of your workouts.

With only an eye roll emoji sent in return, Lindsey began to panic. What if she thinks I’m serious?

Beginning to spiral, thinking she ruined their easy dynamic when it had just begun, Lindsey started to type out an apology.

           Hot Trainer: Don’t be so dramatic!

                                Those were in season workouts, should be nothing for a professional athlete like yourself ;)

                                I’ll talk to Sean to make sure he prepares you better for this season.

Lindsey was instantly filled with relief, a smile on her face. Their easy banter remaining.

           Lindsey: I’m pretty sure that’s not what I said at all! There is no need to make threats like that.

The two blondes continued to banter back and forth the remainder of the day, a smile never leaving her face. The blonde trainer putting the midfielder at ease with such a casualness it should alarm her, but somehow reassured her. Sara made fun of herself as much as she made fun of Lindsey, while also asking questions and making an effort to get to know her. Letting her expand when she wanted and casually changing the topic when she didn’t, with a smattering of pictures of Blaze throughout as well.

Their banter easily carrying over to the next morning, conversation never stopping except when Lindsey finally fell asleep early into the morning.

           Hot Trainer: I’ve thought about it, and I wouldn’t be a good trainer if I didn’t adequately prepare you for your season workouts.

A smile immediately on Lindsey’s face at waking up to a text from the trainer.

           Lindsey: It is far too early for you to be so mean already.

Lindsey continued to get ready for training, rushing slightly to make it there sooner, wanting to get as much time with the trainer as she could. Today was her last workout with Sara, after today Lindsey didn’t know what their dynamic would look like. Was Sara just being this way with her because she was training her? Would they continue to talk? Text? A smile and wave in passing?

As her anxiety continued to climb and her thoughts spiraling, she realized she was parked next to the red Range Rover again. With a deep sigh, Lindsey made her way into the gym.

All thoughts and over analyzing immediately stopped when she walked in.

Walking in, Lindsey immediately found the blonde working out. The loud music not even registering to the midfielder as she watched the trainer do pull ups at a rapid pace, only for her to drop down to the ground and begin doing pushups at the same speed. She’s shirtless, of course she is shirtless. And has a rib piece. Of course she has a rib piece.

With Sara’s back to the entrance, it gave Lindsey the chance to fully appreciate the blonde trainer’s physique. The soccer player obviously knew the firefighter was strong, but watching the muscles flex and work froze Lindsey in place.

Lindsey slowly made her way further into the gym, wanting a closer look. Wanting to feel the muscles for herself.

She was brought out her thoughts when a wet nose nuzzled into her palm. Wrenching her hand up and taking a hard step the opposite direction, she looked down to see two brought blue eyes of Blaze who simply sat and cocked his head in confusion.

“Told you he would be his best friend,” Lindsey startled again at the voice. Sara nodding to the ball now at her feet, obviously dropped from the large brown and white husky.

“Well, you clearly aren’t giving him enough attention,” she sassed back, impressed at herself for even being able to form words.

Deliberately keeping her eyes on the ball, Lindsey leaned down to pick it up and throw it the opposite direction. Braving a glance back, she found that Sara had since put a shirt on. Now she couldn’t decide if she was pleased about this or not. Wanting to see more of the skin, but not knowing what she would do if she did see more of it.

“Yeah, he’s pretty neglected, treated terribly,” Sara said sarcastically. At the same time the mentioned dog dropped the ball back at Lindsey’s feet.

“Clearly,” She snorted with an eye roll, throwing the ball again.

“You’re early again,” Sara observed, “let me go change, you keep giving him the attention I don’t give him.”

Lindsey’s eyes followed as she jogged up the stairs, transfixed on the flex of her legs as she bounded up them.

A few minutes later, Sara made her way down the stairs, now fully clothed, a bowl and large bone in either hand, with a spoon hanging from her mouth.

As Sara got closer, Lindsey could smell the cinnamon and brown sugar from the oatmeal in her bowl.

“Breakfast?” Lindsey joked, motioning to the bone with a grin.

Pulling the spoon out of her mouth, she replied, “needed to make sure I get my protein in today.”

Blaze rushed forward, patiently waiting in front of Sara for the bone in her hand. Effectively ending their joke as she handed the bone to the husky.

“What are you eating?” Lindsey asked, confused when she saw a flash of colour as the trainer took a bite.

“Dinosaurs!” Sara exclaimed, excited, quickly tilting her bowl towards Lindsey.

“Dinosaurs?” Lindsey questioned, peaking into the bowl, seeing the small candy dinosaurs mixed in with the oatmeal.

“Are you telling me you have never had dinosaur oatmeal?” the blonde questioned surprised, “they start as eggs then hatch when you heat it up!”

“How are old are you?”

“Don’t be hating on the dinosaurs!”

“Aren’t you a nutritionist? There is no way that is healthy.”

“A, I never said I was a good one,” the trainer states, pointing her spoon toward Lindsey before taking another bite, “b, dinosaurs are essentially protein.”

Lindsey just stood staring at the trainer, trying not to smile, enjoying the childlike behavior as she ate.  

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” shaking her head and looking down, Lindsey hid her blush at seeing the joy on Saras face as she smiled at her.

“Perfect! If you are done making fun of my dinosaurs, I remember a few of the hardest workouts I made for you last season,” Sara replied flippantly as she focused on scrapping the last bit of oatmeal from her bowl.

“Making fun of? No, that was definitely all out of jealously.”

Sara just rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Go warm up!”

The rest of the morning went the same for the two women, the whole work out filled with smiles and laughter. Sara keeping to a normal workout, not pushing Lindsey past her limit. Lindsey pushing herself hard to impress Sara.

After the workout finished, Lindsey grabbed her stuff and walked to the door. Sara and Blaze walking with her. Lindsey began to feel the anxiety from earlier return, overthinking their new dynamic.

“I might have to convince Sean to take more time off so we can train together more,” Sara mentioned casually as she made her way around the front counter, lazily reclining in the desk chair.

“I hate to break it to you, but I only stuck around for this guy,” Lindsey replied, leaning to ruffle Blaze’s ears, working to keep her nerves hidden.

“Fair, he is quite the catch,” Sara said in return. Lindsey missing the flash of disappointment on Sara’s face when Lindsey didn’t return the interest in training together.

“Yea, he definitely is. Talk to you later.”

With that, Lindsey made her way out the door and into her car and rested her head on her steering wheel, letting out a big sigh. How could she possibly feel this attached to someone she has only spoken to for less than a week?

Beginning her drive home, Lindsey let her thoughts travel. The gorgeous firefighter the focus. Drifting between the many different attributes she noticed in the three days with her. How effortlessly Sara could make her laugh and smile; her quick wit and charm never making Lindsey uncomfortable as she was just as quick to mock herself as she was Lindsey. The confidence she carried with her, but never seeming arrogant as she explained things. The effort she put to always ensure Lindsey was alright and comfortable with the physical contact before touching her. How at ease Lindsey felt with Sara, a level of comfort she hadn’t felt with anyone outside her family. Her personality left Lindsey wanting more, more of what, she didn’t fully understand.

Then without trying, Lindsey’s thoughts drifted to her physical attributes. The other woman was gorgeous. Shorter than Lindsey, by only a couple inches. An athletic build that only could be developed from years of sports and training, obvious strength through out. Muscle definition that could rival any fitness model, and easily put them all to shame. Bright blue eyes that seemed to see everything, and never held judgment. With a smile that bordered a smirk but was too damn charming for its own good. Accentuated by one small dimple on her right cheek. Sometime both when she smiled big enough.

How is she even real!?

I am absolutely fucked.

The next few days Lindsey felt a little unsettled. Her and Sara had texted all day Friday, then minimally Saturday and Sunday. Lindsey had gone to the gym both days, staying consistent with her program, only to find it missing the blonde and her dog.

By Monday, her anxiety had returned fully as she made her way to train with Sean again. The two talked and caught up, but Lindsey felt unfocused the whole time, always waiting for Sara or Blaze to appear.

           Lindsey: Worried to see how much happier I am with Sean back than I am with you? :p

           Hot Trainer: Is this your way of saying you miss me? ;)

           Lindsey: If you mean miss Blaze, then definitely.

Lindsey quickly received a picture of the mentioned husky stretched the length of a body on a couch, a pair of boots on the floor in background.

           Hot Trainer: He is clearly struggling, but he’s putting on a brave face.  

Despite her anxiety, Lindsey felt herself smile at the picture and the easy banter again. Then she literally face palmed, of course Sara wasn’t at the gym or texting quickly, she was working!

She needed to reign this crush in.

After realizing how much she was overthinking the last couple days, she just enjoyed talking to Sara like normal. The two continuing to message through the day, sometimes with long pauses that Lindsey assumed were due to Sara being on a call. Lindsey felt herself relaxing again.

“Alright, what has you smiling like a dork at your phone every ten seconds?” Tobin whispered in the locker room later that afternoon after practice.

Blushing, Lindsey quickly locked her phone, tossing it into her bag on the floor, “nothing.”

Glancing up, she looked around to make sure no one else was paying attention, before putting more focus than needed on untying her boots. Deliberately ignoring Tobin, feeling her watching her.

At hearing the phone vibrate in her bag, Lindsey started to reach down to check it before stopping herself, aware of Tobin’s gaze.

“So, does nothing have a name?” Tobin teased, causing Lindsey’s blush to deepen.

With another quick glance around, Lindsey dropped her chin to her chest.

“Sara,” she mumbled quietly.

Sensing the struggle her friend was experiencing, Tobin just rubbed Lindsey’s back, silently encouraging her to continue. At her continued silence, Tobin moved to wrap her arm around Lindsey.

“Come on, let’s go to your place, you can offer me your gross Kombucha, I’ll refuse, you’ll feel guilty, then feel obligated to tell me all about Sara.”

With a small smile, Lindsey nodded and the two began making their way to their respective cars.

AS soon as the duo entered the apartment Lindsey headed to the kitchen while Tobin moved to the living room and sprawled out on the couch.

“Kombucha?”

“No. So Sara?”

“Yupp, Sara,” Lindsey replied, lifting Tobin’s legs to sit on the couch with her, “she’s a trainer at my gym and I somehow went from ‘who is this crazy person also working out at 5am’ to ‘grin at my phone like a fool’ in hardly a week.”

Lindsey dropped her head to the back of the couch, lazily letting it roll to see Tobin’s reaction.

“So? There is obviously something there then, nothing wrong with that.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Just go with the flow Lindsey, it’s been a week you said. Talk, hang out, get to know each other. If there is something more than friendship, act on it, if not, you made a new friend.”

“You make it sound so easy!” Lindsey lets out a frustrated sigh, aggressively flopping her head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Start from the beginning, this doesn’t sound complicated.”

Lindsey told Tobin about her intersections the blonde trainer over the past week. She described how she looked, how she made Lindsey feel, about her personality. Everything.

“I’m sticking with just go with the flow Linds, like you said its only been a week. Don’t worry before there is something to worry about.”

“Don’t worry?! I don’t even know if she is single or likes girls. I don’t even know if I like girls! But I know I like her! Fuck!”

Dragging a hand down her face, letting out a frustrated groan.

“Alright, slow down there tiger. No way someone in a relationship is texting someone new as much she is texting you or flirting with you. And if she is flirting with you, that either means she likes girls or likes you too. But most importantly Linds, you don’t need to label anything. You can like her without liking all girls or any other girls. Just do what makes you happy and comfortable.”  

“It’s that easy?” Lindsey asks timidly, turning her head to see Tobin.

“It is that easy,” Tobin repeats.

“I’ve never had feelings like this before, I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just talk to her, add some serious stuff in there in the middle of your banter. If she is anyone worth being with, she is going to be patient with you and go at your pace.”

Lindsey just nodded along, staring at the ceiling again.

“Now, show me all the pictures of the dog and lets watch a movie,” Tobin says with a smile, shoving Lindsey shoulder to help settle her.

Lindsey quickly pulls out her phone, pulling up all the photos Sara had sent of Blaze.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Sound Proof

okay so this fic was from Wattpad and I found it in my google docs so I’m just gonna upload it here for ya’ll lol. I didn’t tag, I wrote this a while ago let me know what ya’ll think!!!

Warnings: Smut.

With dancing, came immense concentration and a lot of cardio.

That was all okay for Damara. She wore her silk pressed hair back into a pony, simple Polo Ralph Lauren hat on to keep her edges slicked back, high waist thin grey leggings, all white cropped tank, and matching white Vans. Damara held onto the aluminum double bar Ballet barre, studying her glistening reflection within the wall mirrors that covered every single area from floor to ceiling. 

Her chest rose and fell, right hand coming up to rub sweat off the tip of her nose. She had thirty minutes down, only twenty more to go. Being a pro dancer was fun when you posted tutorials on Instagram and YouTube, but when it came down to touring internationally and getting a chance to perform at Coachella, dance became a full time job.

Damara stares down at her version three iWatch, allowing herself to become consumed with the breathing app. She watched it expand with every breath, then declined whenever she exhaled. After her breathing returned to normal, Damara pulled up her iTunes playlist again, choosing to go sensual with a little bit of flash dance routine.

The instrumental to Kendrick Lamar- Love.

This song was always a warm up for her because it got her ‘in the mood’. She could feel the want and need behind the beat and his words. Damara snakes her hands up her frame, sliding slowly from the cuff of her ass, to her lower back, and lightly up and over her shoulders, forearms pressing into her large D cup breasts. 

One thing is for sure, Damara could move her torso like Shakira, body rolling and ticking to the beat with perfect harmony. Doing a sudden spin on her tiptoes, Damara Lowers herself to the polished flooring, arching her back off of the surface with her legs spread into a V, before lifting her lower half off the ground to do a series of air kicks like she was back in an 80s workout video or like she was in Kanye West’s video for Fade instead of Teyana Taylor.

She turned over onto her hands, hitting a side to side split perfectly before lifting from the ground to walk seductive and tantalizing towards the middle of the dance studio.

That’s where it began, the sweatiest most bewitching dance yet. Her hands cascade everywhere, eyes closed to take in the beat with heightened hearing. Her hands rubbed along the outline of her pussy in a teasing manner. Damara was so shameless when it came to dancing provocatively. She twirled and made an S with her body like a snake, body in sync to the beat. The sultry look in her eyes could trap you like Medusa. You would think she danced to one of Prince's songs from the outside looking in. 

The song came to an end, Damara lifting her shirt over her head and tossing it in the corner, picking up her gallon water bottle to take a huge sip. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling the burn in her curvy waistline from all the crunching and belly rolling that came with dancing. Her gluteal muscles were on fire as well, causing Damara to admire her ass in the mirror, sweat staining the crack of her ass over the fabric. 

—

Finishing up, Damara grabs all her things before leaving the dance studio at the gym she finally snagged a membership for. The gym had two sections: one for premium guests who had VIP access to the soundproof workout rooms or standard. Sadly, Damara was standard. She always wanted to workout in the soundproof tinted glass rooms like all the extremely fit individuals did, but one look through those glasses at the equipment housed within would make you withdraw with fear. Her personal trainer had stressed for her to go VIP, bribing her with access to the ice bath room and luxury pool where you can watch the LA skyline like you’re in a hotel.

She made a left at the end of the hall, walking with her shirt and towel over her shoulder to the main gymnasium area full of musky people and terrible workout music. Even though Damara did a one hour session of dancing, she couldn’t help but to gravitate towards the stair master for a good fifteen minute burn. Once there, Damara climbs the stairs, beginning her workout on nine speed, instantly feeling the ache. Her eyes scanned the area, finally landing on a group of women huddled around one of the sound proof workout rooms for VIP gold card members. 

She let out a tired chuckle, shaking her ponytail clad head before pausing to drink some water. Of COURSE they would all salivate over some random ass man instead of working out, because that’s what gyms are for these days. On queue every day Damara comes to the gym, once the clock strikes 8 pm, a hoard of women suffocate the glass, fogging it with their heavy breathing and wetting it with saliva from their wiggling tongues. Damara would have been one of them if she listened to her group of girlfriends who didn’t come in tonight. Supposedly, there is this fine ass man that comes to the gym every day, around 8 pm. Damara never seems to catch him, and even if she did, no man was that fine to act like a hyena over. He couldn’t be that sexy.

“Ooo, girl, let me get off this got damn treadmill he back again!” Damara turned to find a short, slim, mocha skinned girl with a track runners body ogling the group of women, her friend who looked like she could be her sister, biting her lip.

“I wonder if he’s doing the pull ups right now, fuckk. You know his dick stay hard when he working out.” 

The other girl laughs, “I just want to suck it. Just give me one good time!” 

Both women laughed while Damara tries her best to work out and ignore them. But to her surprise, she couldn’t focus. Not because of the talking, but because she wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Maybe after this she could rub it in her friends faces that whoever this guy was, wasn’t about the hype after all.

Defeated, Damara stopped her workout, quickly lowering herself off the machine and towards some spray and paper towels to wipe away her sweat. Tossing everything, Damara makes her way towards the sound proof workout room straight across from the men’s locker room. 

Here she was, and yet just a few minutes ago she was laughing to herself at how ridiculous it was to come to a gym and stare at a man for two hours. Wasn’t no man fine enough for that.

The glass window straight ahead had about seven ladies standing in front of it, whispering and admiring at what looked like absolutely nothing to Damara. It was so dark she couldn’t see a thing. As she got closer, at first, all she could see through that glass was the usual workout machines of all types and weight racks. Just before she could walk away, he started lifting those weights. Suddenly, as if pulled by some type of force field, Damara turned into a fan girl with glossy eyes and a watery mouth. He had to be the one her friends were talking up. There is no way he couldn’t be the one with how fine he is. 

“This must be your first time noticing Erik.” 

Damara turned to the lady who looked to be twice her age standing next to her.

Damara didn’t respond, she simply looked back at him through that tinted glass. He was so fucking sexy that her jaw dropped; literally. Erik was definitely the one her friends were juiced up over. Not the juice you drink, but the drip from that pussy when she hungry for a nigga as damn fine as he is. 

Erik had been bench pressing weights and she couldn’t get a good enough look at him until he lowered the weights. Yeah, when he was laid out on his back, sweaty muscles moving as he lifted 280 pounds over his head he looked good, but GOD once he stood up was she slapped with his looks.

Erik was wearing sweat shorts that dropped low around his waist, a damp sweat top and a pair of Nike Air Max Trainer 1s on his feet.

His braided back dreads were damp from the perspiration; it really set off his caramel complexion.

Erik returned his weights to their respective places and stood facing that mirror with a bottle of gatorade. Damara could really see how perfect he was. Fine wasn’t even the word, it was so much she could say about him. The look in his eyes, the way his muscles moved in conjunction with him, the smoothness of his skin, the hairstyle that compliments him very well, and let’s not forget those lips. She figured he got many compliments on his lips, as beautiful and suckable as they were. That thick erection he was sporting was an added bonus. All she could see was herself lowering onto it and rocking like crazy, like she was riding a horse. When she returned to reality from her lustful daze, she noticed her hands were flat against the glass, jaw STILL dropped, and her nipples tender and hard practically clawing at him. They were so hard that they were hurting, and the feeling of his lips pulling and sucking and licking on them would have been exactly what she needed, just pull her shirt down and suck em.

All of that talk and fantasizing in her head, ironically made his eyes meet hers. Damara swore she thought those big, dark eyes could see her and only her. The lady she ignored next to her smiled, like she knew what Damara was going through. She did, that’s why her and the others were still there.

——

Feeling a little foolish and embarrassed by her behavior, Damara asked the lady next to her if Erik could see them or was it one of those half way windows.

“Girl, he can see us alright. That’s why his dick is so big and hard poking through those shorts. He sees something he likes.” 

Damara looked back at him, and right then like a spark had been ignited, he smiled a little at her with dimples, then winked before downing the rest of his gatorade. Damara could feel her knees buckle, body so nervous. She decided it was most definitely time to bounce. That night, Damara never told her girls about seeing the living legend, but she did go back the following day, a Wednesday, to stare him down at that window again. She purposely went there alone to have him to herself. It was crazy how obsessed he became.

——

After about a week or so of admiring Erik through that glass, Damara decided to take it up a notch and use the adjoining women’s workroom; yeah, like she could actually bench press any of the equipment in there. Getting into that women’s workroom meant that she had to become a gold member. The upgrade was about 20 dollars more, which landed her to about 80 dollars a month; great.

She felt like she’d been walking the yellow brick road to the emerald city. Opening those double glass doors to her new sanctuary,  she could smell musk no longer, only fresh air and a cool breeze. The music was even better in there, sicko mode playing low through the speakers. It was approximately 7:50 pm, so she knew Erik would be arriving soon. 

At about 8:15, a little later than usual, Erik pulled open the doors and walked into the men’s workroom. He had his dreads crinkled and messy, a pair of Beats solo 3 in black with gold trim over his ears, black Nike pro training top that clung to his body like it was two sizes too small, matching black shorts that hung low on his hips with the waistband of his compression pants peeking through. He hadn’t immediately seen Damara on the other side since she was in the corner tugging on the pull ropes that she couldn’t make budge. She didn’t really know what to do. If she popped out of nowhere near that window, she could scare him to death, and he’d be mad. He looked like the no nonsense type too. 

Damara decided that hiding wouldn’t fix anything so she came out into the open to do some yin yoga poses that helped stretch her body. Sitting Indian style, she started with the butterfly, bending forward while gripping her shoes. The stretch made her moan, all the tension in her back disappearing. Next, she decided on the dragon, bringing one foot forward in a low lunge, stretching out her glutes and back again. Admiring herself, she liked the way her ass looked in the tinted mirror, and apparently so did Erik. Her heart dropped to her stomach like she’d been on the tallest roller coaster, her eyes reverting towards the ground. Damara could feel his eyes on her still as she lifted from the ground, rolling her neck. With one hand on the back of her neck to stretch the muscles, her eyes met his again. That same slight smile graced his face again, almost innocent, but those eyes were dark and sultry, like hot coal.

The heat turned down just a little, Erik walking away leaving Damara a flustered mess.

——

He started out with a little cross training. Damara watched from her workout mat in between doing crunches. Next, he pumped a little iron. She noticed how he enjoyed admiring himself when he lifted weights. The veins in his arms would bulge so much it looked like they wanted to break the surface of his skin. She could see his mouth slightly opened, concentration set in his features, and she just knew he was making those grunting, straining noises that guys make when they workout. Watching those muscles flex and bulge like that made her weak in the knees again. She liked the feeling. When he lay on his back to do the leg lifts, that’s when she lost it in a major way. The weight Damara had in her hand to do Russian twists fell down on her shoulder. She screamed out without even knowing it. All she could feel was pain beginning to throb in her left shoulder, and she laid back on the floor massaging it with a whimper. Unfortunately, at that time Erik was the last thing on her mind. When Damara got enough nerve to look at the window, Erik was pressed against it looking at her. He mouthed to her since it was sound proof, “You aight, Lil Mama?”

After Damara figured out his words, she nodded and gave him the okay symbol with a tired smile. Erik stares at her for a few seconds, scanning her frame in that PUMA workout suit she decided to wear, then moved on to the leg machine again. Damara liked the way he scouted her, and that made the pain in her shoulder go unnoticed.

——

Throughout their workouts, they would peep each other, and he liked the attention she was showering him with. There he was again with those pull-ups, directly facing her with intimidation in his eyes. Somehow, he had lost his shirt along the way, sweat pouring off his body like he’d been doing push-ups in the rain. 

Damara’s workout suit was almost see-through and hugging all her curves, and he definitely paid attention because his erection was good and hard, tenting the front of those black workout shorts like wild. Damara wanted to think it was solely her making those pants tent like that, but working the hell out of those machines may have played a role in it. She’s good, but not that good.

The more she looked at Erik, the more she wanted to taste him, feel him pressing into her throat. 

Damara looked down at her iWatch and realized it was minutes to closing time, but she couldn’t leave that room, let alone that window. She hated to leave because he was worth staying and getting caught with. Knowing the kind of man Erik was, he probably got a kick out of the chicks staring his fine ass down, then going home to his equally fine ass girl. That was the kind of luck Damara had: finding the juiciest man on the planet, but not able to land him because he was taken.

Damara suddenly had a lightbulb moment. Erik was a gold member, with a passkey to leave the gym if he ever got locked in. Damara could lie and say she lost her passkey, having to go to him to get out...or to get off! Shit, lord knows she needs that, it’s been way too long. Suddenly, Erik made a move she hadn’t been prepared for. He stepped away from the weight trainer and approached the window again. Damara couldn’t move, couldn’t muster a speech, all she could do was watch him approach her with that sweaty, perfect body. Maybe not so perfect to some because it was littered with tiny raised scars, but to her it was absolutely perfect. Man, the closer he got to her, the hotter she got. In all her orgasmic nonsense with a pussy so wet and probably creaming her panties, it soon dawned on her that he probably approached her to ask her why she’s still there; that maybe he was tired of being stared at as if he were a zoo animal. Damara got scared and backed up.

Erik backed up a bit, confusion on his face before chuckling, giving her a head to toe view of him, then he got busy. His eyes stared into hers as he massaged that massive erection up and down through his pants. Damara could feel her nectar elevating within her core. Then it hit her, he was about to give her a private sex show. Was she about to bounce? Fuck no, she stayed and watched everything that pretty nigga did.

When his erection got hard and thick within his pants, he let out a fucking dazzling smile that could make her cum right there. No man had ever smiled so wickedly at her that her panties got wet; then again, she’d never met Erik. His pecs were mouthwatering to the point of drool, contours and ripples were everywhere. All her nasty little tongue wanted to do was lick, lick from his collarbone to his abs and continue south. Her hands shook as they clutched her chest, feeling her nipples brush against her fingers. All the while, her eyes never left his.

——-

Bending to remove his shoes and socks was a chore because that delicious dick was in the way, but he managed. His fingers beckoned Damara to get closer. Damara knew he was going to slide his pants down next, the nigga was clever with his seduction. She moved back to that window, and watched him slide his shorts to his hips. His dick bounced out, sprang to life, and she dropped to her knees, wondering how all that would feel stroking her insides. He was real heavy, the type of dick where the tip and about two inches could only fit in the pussy. The type of dick where you would push him away while he blew your back out from getting too deep. The type of dick where you had to use two hands to jerk while you sucked; you really gotta be a pro to suck a dick like that with no hands, not to mention ride a dick like that.

Erik bit at his plump bottom lip, massaging it with his tongue while his hand massaged that long pole; that damn snake. The more he stroked, the bigger and bigger it became within his hand. He strokes that beautiful dick until he was about ready to nut. He mouthed at her through that sound proof glass, 

“I want that throat.”

His muscles tensed, he squeezed it harder, and playfully rubbed it against the glass directly where her mouth was. She swore she could taste him, feel him sliding it between her lips and forcing his inches into her. Erik stroked it so hard that she could see the moisture forming on his tip. Damara couldn’t help herself, she had to reach between her thighs and stroke her pussy to match his tempo. Damara pulled her suit down, revealing her drenched sports bra and panties to him. She didn’t want to waste any time the way her fingers made its way to her panties, pulling the fabric to the side to reveal her wet sticky treat. The more he stroked himself, the deeper her fingers slide into her valley; all three of them. When Erik dropped to the floor, she scrambled to see what he was going to do next. It was fucking outrageous! That pretty ass nigga got on his back and moved his hips up and down like a bitch was on top of him. Damara screamed in ecstasy over the sight of it. Her fingers went deeper and deeper like she was trying to scoop her cum out the pussy. She turned around and arched her back, rubbing at her clit with one hand while fingering herself with the other. He pumped hard and long, perspiration dripping from him, muscles tensing. Damara just knew he was going to explode on the floor instead of her which was a damn shame. No. No fucking way. He turned over on his stomach, and did push-ups, pumping those hips and dick into oblivion. He still hadn’t cum for her yet. His arm shook when he did his one-handed push-ups, dick throbbing in his other hand. She felt her orgasm building deep in her belly, her legs shaking from muscle strain and intense pleasure. That was the grand finale, watching him cream into his own hands while staring her down. 

Damara screamed out, Cumming on her fingers with a shake of her body.

——

He returned to his back and pressed out so much cum that she almost fainted from the orgasm he gave her. When her breathing returned to normal, Damara looked into her hand, now covered with so much of her own thick moisture that her fingers were sticking together. Then she glanced up at him watching her with a sweet smile on those wonderful lips—his erection was still in his hand and still harder than boulders. 

The windows were nice and steamed by the time he and Damara finished. She watched him grab the rest of his belongings and headed for the showers. Damara took off as well, figuring that was all she’d get from him. 

Damara made her way to the showers herself, letting her plan go. At least she got a good show from him so she was thankful. 

While in the shower, Damara couldn’t help but smile as she wet her body under the steamy water. She struggled to fight the urge that this was it and probably her last sex show a man would ever give her and he didn’t even touch her. Damara allowed the warm water to trickle down her aching joints and relaxed. Her body mitt delicately encircled her breasts, pretending the sultry touch was Erik’s fingers, sucking on them gently before making a tongue track down to her core. She shuddered in waves of heat. Her body trembled, spasms, taking her mind off the pain from her injured shoulder. She completely gave in to pleasure and let the most tremendous orgasm hit her like no other one had ever before...well, until Erik happened on the scene. 

Then.

“Damn, girl.”

The words came from nowhere. Damara assumed they had been in her mind. Nonetheless, her eyes opened and she twirled around to see if anyone had come in. There Erik was, standing directly in front of her. Damara tried reaching for her towel but Erik snatched it from the railing before she could get it.

His cool, seductive voice melted into her horny spirit. 

“Imagine how big this dick would be if I would have been standing right above that ass, watching you finger that pussy from the front. All I could see was that phat ass shaking and quivering to some sexual fantasy. Was it about me?” 

Damara couldn’t speak. All she could do was look down at the towel around his midsection, sporting a killer of an erection. Her mouth opened, her voice cracked. 

“I...I, uh…”

“It’s okay, babygirl. I already know that ass was thinking about me. How could you not after the show I gave you.” 

Erik moves toward her, one step away from entering the stall with her. 

“You liked that show I already know that shit. I already know I got you”— he slapped her pussy, then reached around to palm her ass roughly, smacking each ass cheek causing it to sting—“hot enough to want more, right? You should anyway since I gave you a little taste of what the fuck I got,” he pulled his towel off and entered the stall.

It was different from having that window in between them both, Damara covering her nakedness with her arms. Erik pulled them down.

“Don’t you dare cover up a fucking thing.”

The grip on her wrists were so tight her hands shook.

“So, you just walk in women’s locker rooms? What if I wasn’t the only one here?” 

He chuckles, letting her wrists go, “And? I don’t give a fuck about that. It’s okay for me to do whatever I fucking please in here.” He kisses her cheek. “I’m Erik—“

“I know who you are, Erik. Every woman within a five-city radius knows who you are.” 

“Yeah? And who might you be?”

“Damara; nothing exotic, nothing romantic, just regular old Damara.”

“Not from where I’m standing, girl. You are so fucking sexy. I bet you taste good too, I know that pussy enjoyed me pleasing you.”

“It did, I can still feel it.” She lets out a moan.

“Well then that pussy won’t mind if I please you again?”

Damara relaxed, his hands covering her breasts, much the same way they did in her daydream. He stroked the tight tips with his thumbs, then replaced them with his lips. She was right, that mouth was made to suck on some titties. Erik sucked them ferociously, licking them like they were candy. Her head reared back as he sucked like he was trying to milk her. Her back arched off that wall, his arm circling her waist and pulling her close.

“So, you want everything, huh?”

“Every single drop.”

Erik’s muscles tightened around Damara; their bodies pressed against the wall. As the water continues to drench them, he lifted her into his arms; her legs hugged his hips. She felt the tip of that delicious dick play with her opening, tease it, rub up and down on it. She faces him, staring into those delicious brown eyes of his. 

“It’s almost closing time, I couldn’t leave yet without a little taste.” 

It definitely wouldn’t be a little with how big he was. Damara prepares herself for the surprise, her pussy clenching and quivering on its own. Erik takes his fingers to caress her clit, taking a single finger to tease it with a flickering motion. Damara kept a firm grip on his neck, pressed against the shower wall. 

“I’m playing wit that clit good, huh?”

She responds with a bite to his shoulder, her pussy jerking in his hand. Erik brings his fingers to his mouth, spits on them, then brings them back to her clit. He was very generous with his spit, making her pussy extra sloppy. Clearly with him still going at it on her clit he aimed to make her cum this time with his own fingers. 

“Ok, you working my clit,” she felt him take his dick to finish it off, rubbing her clit in circles. The smoothness of the tip of his dick hit every sensitive spot on her clit. 

“Make that pussy cum,” she edged him on.

His hand came down to grip her ass while he worked, her body shuddering, legs securing around him even harder, moans echoing off of the shower walls. 

“Shit, fuck, damn…”

She could feel the sensitivity in her pussy too.

“Open up for me.”

Damara opened wider, Erik bringing his dick to her pussy. He pushed his way in slow, only by a few inches before she clamped up. Her guess was correct, he was too much to take. Damara was scared now, she didn’t know if she could go through with it.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking big,” her eyes grew wide.

“Ha, You knew that already when you saw me jerking it.” 

“I’m too tight.”

“So?” He moves his hips, teasing her walls to let him in further. Her body crunched, hand to his chest. Was she fucking a monster dick or what? His shit was too damn much.

“Chill,” her eyelids fluttered. She wouldn’t be able to stand.

“You’ve been eyeing me all fucking week, teasing me and shit and now you wanna cry about how big my dick is?” 

He kissed at her neck, causing her to moan and rub her wet face against his. She brought her hands to his biceps, squeezing them tightly. 

“Be gentle, okay? It’s too damn big.”

Erik takes that invitation, gripping her hips firm before pressing himself in inch by inch, pausing in between. Each time he entered her it felt like he was ripping her a new hole, but it felt so full in a good way. Along with the pain came a shock of pleasure. The vein on the underside of his shaft rubbed smoothly at the floor of her pussy, a new sensation she had never felt. It curves at the tip to hit her g spot, swiping it each time he moves his hips.

“I don’t think I ever had a dick this good,” she hissed the moment he fully entered her. 

“I already know you didn’t with all that crying you was doing.” He pulled out to the tip, purposely, to make her feel every inch again. Erik pushes back in, watching the way her face went through a series of confused and unprepared emotions. It was time to pick up the pace now. Erik started off slow, his strokes growing and her moans. Damara held onto the rails along the walls of the shower, watching with astonishment how Erik’s dick fucked her.

“Oh, oh, omg,” she shook tremendously, a single hand clawing at Erik’s chest. He simply fucks her with deeper strokes, reminding her what came with every inch. Clearly he had a fetish for making women cry from how big he was. That rock hard body came with a huge package. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!!!!!” She felt a rush of pressure forming in her lower belly, so big it pushes Erik’s dick out, a fountain of liquid pouring. The more she clenched, the more it flowed. Damara couldn’t control it and it shocked her. No way, this nigga made her squirt and for the first time ever. She’d always tried to make that happen for herself but it never worked so she would give up. 

That seemed to fuel Erik even more, he brought one of her legs up into a split, entering her body again. This time, he flexed his abs, bringing his dick into even more of a curve, really hitting her spot. Erik knew what he was doing, he wanted to see the reaction again.

“Come on, take this big dick,” he held her leg up even if it shook.

“Ah, fuck yes, shit it’s happening again!!” Before she could relax, here she was, squirting again but Erik stayed in. He smiled, slamming her so hard with his dick that she could feel it in her stomach. At this point, Damara might as well lose count of how many orgasms she’ll have. 

———

It was true.

Damara has missed two days of the gym for a reason. 

She couldn’t get out of the damn bed the morning after her and Erik had sex. Her pussy was sore and sensitive, inner thighs shaking when she stood from the bed. Damara didn’t bother exchanging numbers with him, unsure if she would even be able to take him up on a second chance. Deciding to be a big girl, Damara went to the gym for a dance session. 

She stood in the mirrored dance studio wearing a leotard colored bronze, a pair of sweats on and her hair in a messy bun with her vans. She skimmed through her playlist on iTunes, adjusting her AirPods to her liking.

Damara had to squat ballerina style to stretch her thigh muscles, bringing her leg up to extend the muscles of her inner thigh. Rolling her neck, she turns from the mirror, deciding to dance to a Nicki song. Once she got in the groove with the tempo, she started her routine. Her body moved like magic. The mirror wasn’t her own audience anymore, Erik was standing at the door watching her closely. He didn’t make a move, his eyes following her skillful moves along with her dangerous body, I mean, Damara was thick. Even through her loose fitted sweats he could tell. Now that Erik got a good look at her, he recognized her from Instagram.

DeetheeDancer.

She was pretty popular on social media for her dancing. Erik watched a few of her videos from time to time, loving the way she moved. She had this way of letting you know she was sexy from the look she gave in the camera when it followed her body. It was as if she was daring you to touch her, let her throw it back on you and see if you can catch it.

——-

Damara finished off to her first song, bending over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. She paused her music, picking up her water to take a long sip. After recapping it, Damara’s eyes sweep the area, landing on the door and seeing a familiar face waving at her. 

It was him, the big dick nigga that had her on a two day hiatus. He looked to be arriving at the gym because he didn’t look worn out just fresh with a bomber jacket over top of his workout gear, beats over his ears and shades on. 

“Mind if I come in?” He mouthed.

Damara caught her breath before smiling, motioning for him to enter. He finally stepped through, dropping the duffel bag that was on his shoulder.

“Why ain’t you tell me you were a dancer? You ain’t so average.” 

“It’s kind of hard to do that when you were balls deep in me.” She mouthed tiredly.

“You talk hella bold but when I’m in there I have you running though.” He removed his shades, blessing her with his brown eyes.

“Mind if I watch? I got all day.” Erik removed his jacket.

“Fine with me,” Damara was okay with it, she had eyes on her with dancing almost all the time.

“She plugged her phone into the wall Bluetooth, settling on dancing to some pussy popping music from her freaky playlist. Yes, this was absolutely purposeful.

Right off the back, Megan Thee Stallion Freak Nasty began playing. She started off with a routine she already had to this song. She poses, hands rubbing down her frame before squatting down with a grip on her knees while swaying her hips. She did a turn, one hand in her hair with the other on her ass. Once the beat dropped, she got into the groove with a sexy hip hop routine that involved a lot of footwork and ass shaking. Her ass shook alright, like a goddamn tidal wave straight from the sea. She bounced in a circle, spreading her legs wide before landing into a perfect split that deserved tens across the board like she was a gymnast. 

Erik was impressed, and so was the huge dick that jumped happily in his compression briefs. She was clearly giving it her all, impressing him. He could fuck her ass royally with his dick, congratulate her for the little talent show. She was on the floor again, doing a perfect side split, her eyes moving from the mirror and zeroing in on his erection. She must have known that he was turned on because her eyes didn’t move from his crotch the entire time she grind, bent her body over, and twerked her ass. 

“You think that pussy can handle this dick today?”

She stops moving, hyperventilating before pausing her music.

“Nah, keep that playlist rolling, I want you to dance on this dick.”

She looked at him. He looked at her. She whispered, “okay, I admit it. You’ve got too much dick for me.” 

“Girl,” He wasn’t trying to hear that.

“I’m serious, I need to be able to move not walk like a cripple.” 

“It’s a gift,” he smiles wide.

Damara walks over to the mirrored wall, holding onto the bar before stretching her leg all the way up to her head. 

“See, you preparing yourself already.”

Erik began to approach her, Damara bent over with her head between her legs, looking from behind. She could see Erik making his way to her, the feeling in her stomach making her nervous. Damara lifts back up, grabbing a towel to wipe her neck off. Here he was now, fully enveloped in her personal space with his hands on either side of the bar, chin resting on her shoulder.

“I mean, you really got that shit up there, huh?” He was referring to her leg.

She chuckles, “Chill out, monster.”

“Monster? Hm,” Erik turns Damara around, his eyes scanning her heaving chest, “Well, it is October.” 

She smiles, licking her lips before looking at his, “You plan on scaring me again?”

Erik takes his thumb to stroke her chin, “I thought you were afraid of big, bad things?”

Damara swallows spit, eyes fluttering. She grabbed the bar on either side to brace herself.

“You ain’t know? This is my favorite time of the year.”

Damara places her hands on the back of Erik’s head, pulling him down to meet her lips. They kissed, Erik’s hand on her hips now, pulling her off and against him. The next song that played was dvsn- With me.

“C’ mon,” Erik kisses her again, their full lips in French kiss mode, “dance on me.”

Damara takes her time to work her hips into the slow beat, Erik easily matching her movements. She was impressed, turning now, dipping forward with her ass against his crotch, twirling her hips in a hypnotizing circle. Erik places one arm across her chest, his face buried in her hair, Damara turning to face him slightly while she moved her hips tantalizingly slow against him. 

“Mm,” Erik looked her frame up and down.

Damara turns, on her knees, arching back before rolling her body forward, grabbing Erik’s legs as she began to rise while her hips moved from side to side. She went to her tip toes then, one leg cleanly rising to rest on his shoulder before she arched her back, jumping up for Erik to catch her. He does, twirling her around before slowing down as the song slowed, their eyes meeting. 

“Wow,” she spoke breathlessly.

Before she could stop herself, Damara places her lips against his, Erik bringing her to the floor. Between frantic kisses, Erik undressed her, her naked sweaty body warm against his. She moans, arms around his neck. Erik takes his fingers, slipping inside to get a feel and taste.

“You taste just right,” He sucks slowly on his fingers before taking those same fingers to rub her nipples. 

“Fuck,” Damara pushes Erik down to the floor, her hands moving quickly to undress him. She needed him no matter how big he was. The sight of him again almost knocked her out. Damara grabs his dick, licking her lips before sinking her mouth over him. Erik instantly palmed the back of her head, biting his lip and saying how much of a good girl she was.

Damara sucked like her life was at stake, spit covering her hands and chest. She couldn’t fit him all in her mouth but she did her absolute best. Erik pulls her mouth off, watching the string of spit connect with her lower lip.

“Climb up, Baby girl.” Erik motions for Damara to come to him, Her legs straddling him on either side before her arms grabbed his shoulders tightly. She tried to prepare herself but the moment Erik slipped inside again she squeezed his biceps with her nails. Erik hisses, taking his hands to grab at her waist to keep her still. He started fucking up into her at an even pace, the pressure within her too much. She could feel the shit in her spine. Damara looked back at it, eyes closing in sweet pleasure before looking down at Erik’s smiling face.

“God, please keep fucking me.”

Erik grabs her ass, anchoring his hips before picking up the pace. The scream from her was so loud it bounced off the walls. 

“These walls ain’t sound proof, Baby girl.” 

She couldn’t move or control her cries. Erik was deep within her guts. Damara begged for Erik to keep going over and over, a series of please and I need more escaping her mouth.

“You gonna squirt on me like that again?” He bit his lip, raising his brows in a rude manner to initiate a response from her, “I said is that what you’re gonna do?!” 

“Yes!!!!!”

Damara snapped, squirting like he asked. Erik slaps both her ass cheeks for that.

“Good girl, I know you got more for me.”

“Yes, Erik.” 

She froze, mouth suspended open before cumming again. Within seconds?

“FUCKkkkkk.” 

“Mhm,” he fucked up into her at the same killer pace, “mhm...mhm.”

“STOP!” She cries out, the urge to cum right there.

“Stop it, I’m gonna cum again!”

“Girl, shut up and cum.” 

Erik was close himself.

“Shut that crying up and cum on this dick.”

She went silent, body trembling before cumming for a third time.

“Oh my God,” she cries.

“You gonna let me cum in that mouth, Baby girl?”

Erik bounced Damara a few more times before slipping her off, standing to his feet quickly while she stayed on her knees. Damara opened wide, waiting for his treat. He jerked his big dick, grunts deep and eyes low and dangerous. After three pumps the cream spilled, Damara’s tongue ready. He tasted so damn good. 

“All of it, I’m not playing with you.”

She grabs his dick, licking and sucking all of it off.

“Good girl,” he puckered his lips down at her, mouthing a kiss. She almost fainted.

“You gonna have them thirsty bitches mad”

Damara didn’t care.

[thepinkseat-askthemoonbunny]

Okay, so here's my version of Maglor's mystery spouse FINALLY come out from hiding. His name is Ringwë Ilyannon, or Ringo for short. He's one of Valinor's most prolific actors and playwrights, and has five well-known plays he's written and several more known roles he's starred in. More facts under the cut (will be expanded):

His father-name, Ringwë means "rime, frost" in Quenya because he was born on a snowy afternoon. Because the Noldor don't have a creative bone in their body when it comes to naming their kids. His mother name, Ilyannon means "all-gifted" because his mom just KNEW that her kid was going to be this amazingly all-talented being (or at least she hoped).

He's an only child and as such, his parents dote on him. He's especially close to his father, who can be kind of overprotective (think Turgon levels of overprotective)

His parents were supporters of the House of Fingolfin, and as such they were NOT Feanor's number one fans (the feeling was mutual). They thought he was a little off his rocker and they were absolutely completely correct. His mother worked as a lady-in-waiting to Anaire and Aredhel and his father was a horse trainer who also had a reputation for breeding fine horses.

Ringo's a pretty nice guy, he's outgoing and loves being around people but he's vain as fuck. He's a snack and he knows it, and he makes especial sure to take care of his looks because "that's my money maker. That and my talent."

Unlike most of his peers, he didn't find his calling right away. He had to try on a ton of different hats before realizing he had a knack for acting. It all started when little Ringo and some other kids put on one of those cutesy little school plays and he was cast as a footman.

Ringo took to acting like a fish to water, he got a lot more roles in drama club after that and then began work on writing one of his first plays. This is actually how he meets the husband.

Over the years as Ringo's acting and writing career took off and he grew up, he had several well-known roles and three published plays under his belt, but he wanted to try something a little more ambitious...a musical. And to do that, he needed a musician.

Ringo and Maglor had heard of each other before, of course. They'd see each other when their two houses were forced to be in the same place for gatherings and when Maedhros would swing by the main house to hang out with Fingon. Of course they were wary, remembering the stories told by their fathers but after seeing Maedhros around the house for a while, Ringo determined that not all the Feanorians could be that bad. He and Maglor weren't friends, they'd probably say hi in passing but that was about it. However when he approached Mags with the offer of helping him write his musical, they weren't going to turn down the chance of working with a well-known artist.

So their relationship starts out as strictly professional, pretty distant, but they realize that they work quite well together. Ringo has a thing for Maglor's unique brand of music and you know Mags loves anything to do with drama. They went from being awkward not-friends to theater kids nerding it out together, and as they worked on this project together they became friends. They started to spend time together secretly because they knew their dads would flip the fuck out if they were caught.

The attraction built up over time, but neither of these idiots realized it until it beat them over the head with a club. During dress rehearsal, Ringo was saying his lines and caught Maglor staring at him while playing the intro music. Like, staring like he was enraptured. And so Ringo started staring back, they were both thinking "how did I not realize how hot he was" and poor Ringo was so distracted that he totally butchered his lines in front of everybody.

Their flirting consisted of theatre debates, banter battles that could be described as Shakespeare if he smoked too much weed, and trying to one-up each other with increasingly weird poetry. "Damn, I didn't know there were that many creative euphemisms for butts." They're trying to get this project done and dancing around each other until one day they have a bit too much wine during break and push comes to shove. In other words, somebody pushed somebody against a wall and a make out session happened. After it was over, Mags was like: "so...coffee?" And Ringo said. "Sure. Sounds great."

[sjw-publishings]

Stay Straight Babe

“Im so glad I still have my lovely boyfriend with me during Quarantine, Amirite Cherry?”

“Yeah...hehe, so glad to have Sammie with me too...”

Anton, the Drama Queen laughed with his lesbian shy bookworm bestie as they discussed about theatre and all about. Of course, they would’ve invited their lovers along, but they were too busy being techno geeks and talking computer games in their gaming rooms.

“Did you have lunch yet?”

“Yeah, tried takeout from that famous Chinese restaurant downtown! Was super good!”

“Oh my god! Me too sistah!!!”

“OooooooAHHHH!”

A large groan came from their study, where his boyfriend’s currently at. Anton naturally looked concerned for his boyfriend.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know! But something came from Sammie’s room too...”

“Yeah! I gotta check Kenny, Brb!”

Ending the call, Anton left the bedroom, and headed his way outside the study, about to open the door, but then a loud masculine voice rumbled from behind the door.

“Samantha? You’re just such a great fri... girlfriend... eungh so hot...”

Samantha? Who is that....But more importantly, why would his friend...boyfriend be moaning to a lady? Is he...cheating on him? But that can’t be, his geeky nerd cutie is as queer as a three dollar bill! But still, he had to check it out....that deep voice certainly did not sound like a nerd’s...

“SO HOT!”

As Anton walked into the room, his eyes widened at the pile of clothes and tossed garments on the ground. Large XL sandblasted jeans, track pants, sneakers. Tons of sports posters and trophies decorating the shelves, and a large television screen playing the latest soccer match...though for some reason, he vaguely recalled seeing football and baseball at intervals.

But it definitely did not look like a study room...despite him initially thinking that it was. Alongside a couple of dart boards, some sports equipment, and a pool table, seemed like a recreation room...but since when could they afford...

“oooooOOOOAAAAAAHHH!”

A large moan came from the couch, as Anton came to the front of it, all his eyes focused on was an incredibly muscular asian hunk man-spreading in bliss, dressed in a white tee with an iconic sporting good logo in the front, left hand gripping his cellphone while his right hand dug deep into his clean white boxers. The man panted out of relief, and relaxation, like a weight lifted off his shoulders. Whispering into branded phone with his deep husky, asian tone.

“Stay Straight Babe~”

CLICK!

So hot...NO! Anton get a hold of yourself! Who was this Asian man? Where was his roommate? He had to get questions, even if this...extremely hunky cutie, looked so sexy dazed and looking up.

“What?...Who are you!”

The Asian man snapped out of his trace, eyes opened...but ever so slightly. He was asian after all, but he was chill...in control. Still leaning back on the couch, he looked at Anton, puzzled, before looking down at his exposed boxers and then back at the stranger. His mind cleared up in an instant, forcing out a-

“Kevin Lang, Fag!”

The man said it, and gave that signature sarcastic response from only a jock bully like him. Smirking condescendingly, he was in charge, and that theatre gay started to tremble.

“Listen Queer, I know you’re thirsty and all for men during this. But some of us got girlfriends who we can’t visit. So stop being a WUSS and deal with it.”

“I...wasn’t...I...”

Now this really pissed him, not even caring about the stickiness on his right hand, or that he had a pitched tent. All he knows now is to deal with this gay of a roommate who spied on him and his girlfriend. The tall 6ft 2 jock cornered Anton to the door.

“Go jerk to your boyfriend or something...oh that’s right! Even a FAG like you doesn’t have one!”

Anton was in tears, he remembered the countless dates that he had, alongside the taunts made by this douchebag Kevin who somehow managed to wolf his way into his life throughout college. He had to get out of there..., quickly opening the door and running back to the bedroom, locking it.

“I...I have to call Cherry...”

As he typed for her number, a sudden ringing notification popped up for the name Chelsea. Must be a typo when he was saving Cherry’s contact right? Cause that number definitely was Cherry’s.

“Anton....”

“What happened?”

Almost suddenly, his mind shrugged off of whatever his homophobic roommate had said. His best friend was weak right now, he had to help her.

Gripping ahold of the phone, he didn’t notice the warm tanned spot spreading on his palms, down his wrists every second as he held the cellphone.

“Samantha...called me a dyke.”

“Samantha?”

“You know! My roommate, the one that’s dating yours!”

It made sense now, the two of them bonded over how much they despised their roommates bullying...and the strangeness of how the douchebag jock and queen bee couple somehow always interfered in their respective love lives...

Clutching the phone tighter, his wrists tightened as definition thickened his forearms. Curling his biceps subconsciously, toning strongly till they were the size of baseballs.

“Yeah Kevin was such a douche, had to defend myself from him tryin’ to whoop me...”

“Yeah, had to backflip and dodge Samantha’s attacks. Didn’t feel good knowing she still holds a grudge about me being a dyke.”

Heh, he knew his best friend could handle herself. She was still a cheerleader in training, but could whoop Samantha’s arrogant butt anytime. Must also be her half asian genetics like his.

Sitting up straighter, Aiton’s broad shoulders filled out his sweater, which almost ripped if it was not for that white stain sealing up the cracks. That white stain...which came from Kevin...right? Was there a stain?

The white coloration spread all across the attire, shrinking up the sleeves to simply resting just below his shoulders, accentuating his large biceps which he proudly admired. Alongside his large back which occupied his entire bed...wait, didn’t he?

Taking a closer look at his bedroom...wait, looking DOWN at his bedroom. He was on the upper bed of a double decker, with training equipment at the side and a couple of sports memorabilia which looked reminiscent of the recreational room.

Yeah of course that douchebag Kevin had to have most of the room with his crap...though it was not all bad. He worked out quite often during his spare time...outside of that artsy degree he had no idea why he took...did he take an artsy degree? He shrugged, doesn’t matter, he worked out.

Anyways it showed, leaning back and taking full charge of the entire bed. At least he was the alpha HERE! Listening to what his best friend spoke...though she was mostly talking about drama with her roommate, not the kind of thing he was interested in.

But he always liked her voice...

“At least...I think I like girls? But that was an accident! I don’t like Samantha!”

Aiton nodded, unsure of what to say, but felt...pretty cool about it. Crossing his legs, as he saw those large trunks that trained...almost like for years. They which reached the end of the bedside, as those khakis lengthened and stretched into XL sweatpants...gotta snatch that back his junk from Kevin later, but not now. He was cool, now. Kicking off his large trainers which went-

CLUNK CLUNK!

As they hit the floor, wiggling his size 12 feet beneath those white socks. Kevin could insult him all he wants later, it was his room too. The fledgeling Jock can say whatever he wants to anybody, and he says-

“You were like ‘I think I like girls’, sounded pretty dyke to me.”

Aiton smirked, teasing the cheerleader from across the phone. He always liked doing that, he was in charge after all.

He knew how icky the two cheerleaders felt towards homosexuals...but then again, wasn’t he a bit rude towards them as well? Not as bad as Kevin but an occasional joke here and there meant nothing right?

“Who you callin’ dyke, Fag?”

“Who you callin’ Fag, Dyke?”

Okay...maybe he didn’t like being called Fag either. But it was just insults between him, Cherlse, and Kevin and Samantha. Anyone else and they answer TO HIS FISTS....except maybe ladies...especially hot babes.

He began to palm himself, and as he kneaded his hard rocket, he sneered in disgust over a rainbow wristband on his wrist. He blinked, in its faggy place was a white sports watch. His rocket doubled up in size, while darkening in tan, its always time to be a Jerk, just like his Bro Kevin.

“You know i get weak when you use my own words~”

Cherlsea opened up her phone webcam, and Aidon did the same. Both smirking at the other. The Jock knew it was always ladies first, but he was a Jerk so-

“Oh damn...she’s hot!”

“Of course I am, do I still look pretty dyke to you~?”

Watching her seductively pose on her bed, it felt like ages since he had seen a woman like that! In that revealing tank and double Ds he could just!

SQUEEZE!

“Oooaahhh!”

Squeezing his own chest, feeling rock solid muscle layering his nipples, pectorals filling his sports shirt massively like the man he was. Feeling those abdominals as a well deserved 6 pack emerged from years of crunches.

“I....I NEED RELEASE!”

“So hawt~”

“I...I AINT A FAG!”

“Course you aren’t hunky~you are so hawt, ooooooaaaaah!”

The Queen Bee’s second in command had let out her mating’s call, the asian babe was too much for the Douchebag Jock’s right hand man, and vice versa. As their desires linked up, with the help of a fortune cookie they ate prior, they were about to finally be set into motion.

Each of them felt a tight stinging to their holes simultaneously. As the Asian Jock’s butt hole tightened, the Cheerleader’s lady hole expanded. Like a trade of preferences, but that is not all.

As testosterone pumped in the man, churning larger sacks, as he watched his babe’s hair lengthen, his shrunk, and BUZZED off the sides and back, leaving a stylish gelled top, maintained with a pair of shavers, scissors, and his Bro. Not actually brothers, but they were asian , jocks, and total jerks. Wouldn’t be surprised if they were related.

Speaking of Asian, his tan had bathed his facial features alongside the rest of his body. Cleansing the GAY away from him as his jaw hardened into a fierce square. His lips snarled in momentary disgust, before his raising his cheeks, as that scowl shifted to an arrogant smirk as he watched his girlfriend do the same.

“Ooooaaaaaah~”

His brows complimented his prominent features, as they frowned, closing his eyes as his girlfriend’s moan was too much to bear...he needed RELEASE! RELEASE!

“OAAAAAAAH!”

Aidan Long expelled a thick goo from below, as his eyes gave way to a thin fierce asian dark brown. Staring into the ceiling in a haze...before the sounds of his lover’s panting sent him back to reality.

“Man...that feels good, but still miss our hot damn ‘Dragon and Empress’ sessions before all this happened.”

“Yeah totally...stuck with bestie the whole day is fun and all but...she and your douche roommate keep doing it all day.”

“Caught him jerkin’ off too jus now...”

“Whaaaaaat! Omg same, saw Samantha doing that too!”

“Course...nothin’ beats my empress...”

“Same for you too...my long muscular dragon.”

Almost instantly, the doors slammed open. Of course, Kevin had the spare keys to the bedroom too, and he was sneering right at the door.

“AND YOU SAY IM A FAGGOT!”

“SHADDUP KEV! YOU GAY!”

“NO YOU GAY!”

“NO YOU GAY!”

“HAHAHA!”

The two jocks laughed arrogantly, before sneering at each other. The two of them were thirsty, and they understood and respected that.

“Ohhh almost forgot, mwah mwah mwah!”

“Mwah mwah mwah back to you GAY!”

Kevin left the room, most likely going to order more of that Chinese take out or something. Doesn’t matter to Aidan though...he was friends with the man, but he wasn’t INTO INTO him.

“I swear this stay at home thing is turning me gay...”

“Oh there’s nothing wrong with some bonding sessions. Me and Samantha are pointing each other’s nails later on, and that isn’t DYKE!”

“Yeah, should probably binge watch soccer with that douche. Felt like We haven’t did a sports marathon in ages!...No homo of course.”

The two of them chatted for a while more, loving the company of the other intimately as they teased one another like the lovers they are.

But they eventually have to go to other stuff. And by stuff he wants to do, is CHILL.

“Love you hunky, talk to you l8r!”

The Jock simply posed to the camera,and spoke.

“Stay Straight Babe”

[punz4lyfe]

Pokemon Journeys Character Partnerships

No guys, this is not about shipping. The word “partnerships” doesn’t always equate to shipping, ya crazies.

Putting the Pokemon and Team Rocket aside, let’s look at Pokemon Journeys’ primary human cast. We got six characters (with good intentions), with Ash, Goh, and Chloe being the main characters and Professor Cerise, Chrysa, and Ren being major side characters. I mean, it makes sense as per usual anime tradition; the first three are young trainers and the last three are apparently what keeps the Cerise Lab functional, which is pretty much the main hub for this series.

And yet, even with all these characters, many of their interactions are severely limited.

As of now when I’m writing, over half of the episodes have only featured Ash and Goh working together, with only about three episodes of all three main trainers traveling together and Chloe barely getting any alone time with any of the boys at all. You can easily see this issue by looking back at my review for Episode 67 where I criticized how almost every filler episode focuses on just Ash and Goh getting involved with the episode’s plot, and yeah, it’s also a problem for non-filler as well. Like remember when Goh released his White Flower Floette? As shoehorned the emotion of that scene was, wouldn’t it make things a bit more heartwarming if Chloe was there with Ash to support Goh on this decision? Ignoring Raboot who came to Goh, Floette was the first Pokemon Goh ever had to release, so wouldn’t having his childhood friend be there with him make more sense?

Speaking of the fact that Goh and Chloe are childhood friends, what really bugs me is that they barely have any alone time together. The only few moments I can think of them interacting alone would be the first few episodes before Goh got completely accustomed to Ash and Episode 49 where they went to school together, but even that was pretty limited since Goh was mostly used to distract the scientists away from Chloe so that she could keep Eevee safe. And then Episode 57 kind of implied that she doesn’t like to spend too much time with her own childhood friend because she’s afraid he’ll just condescend her for her lack of knowledge of Pokemon compared to his. That’s honestly pretty shallow. Goh and Chloe are both new to being trainers, at the very least compared to someone like Ash or Cerise, so it would make a lot more sense if they developed their experiences together.

And why can’t Ash and Chloe have an episode together? Something like that could finally make a friendship between the two seem passable and hopefully drop out Chloe’s own shallow view of him.

At the very least Chloe is helping Chrysa get some development with the two hanging out and talking about Pokemon on a few occasions, but that also makes Cerise and Ren even more dull and lifeless by comparison. Honestly, interactions with other characters could actually give those two characters some actual, distinguishable personality traits and, yeah, I think we all know Ren could use some of that.

Maybe since Chrysa is having so much “girl time” with Chloe, maybe that should motivate Ren to have some “guy time” with Goh, perhaps helping Goh find more electric types or help him with some homework. (seriously, even though Goh can apparently have all the excuse notes / makeup work in the world to skip school, I’m pretty sure he can be easily classified as ‘truant’ since we’ve only seen him at school for one episode and even then he pretty much skipped the entire day due to Eevee) Perhaps he should’ve been the one who got caught in the big Gulpin ball with Goh instead of Ash considering the two already spend too much time with each other as it is.

Yes, Ash and Goh are friends and friends spend time with each other, but not 100% all the time, people. By that note, Goh and Chloe are also friends, so what’s your argument for the two barely having any episodes together while Ash gets all the time in the world with him?

And going back to Cerise, maybe we could get more character out of him instead of him being just a bland direction-giver most of the time. I’ve said this before, but Cerise’s only real gimmick can be summed up as this: “Hey, u 3 idiots, go to dis place cuz im too lazy on my ass to go to it myself”. Yeah, real interesting character, people.

I mean it when I say that I often forget Cerise is even Chloe’s father. Since Chloe is now becoming a trainer, instead of having Ash, Goh, or Chrysa do all the work in helping her develop, shouldn’t Cerise have some say in this as well? Maybe, as a parallel to Kukui letting Ash catch Rockruff, he could permanently put Yamper under her care, knowing it would help the doggo grow more to the point of even evolving. Or perhaps we could get an episode solely focusing on Cerise and what he does at the lab, finally putting out an excuse on why he doesn’t just go to the places he sends Ash, Goh, and Chloe to himself. Maybe he’s working on expanding the lab and finding new additions to it in order to make it more beneficial to the ever-growing number of Pokemon Goh keeps adding to it.

And let’s be honest, since Professor Cerise already sucks enough as a character, so not giving him any focus could easily lead him to be one of the most bland, boring, and annoying character the anime could ever have to offer.

[anastyartist]

Cilan x Reader Chapter 1 A Fight For Love

This is honestly a spur-of-the-moment type of thing but imma keep doing it cuz I need something to do while I'm not in class or work. This starts in season 14 episode 22 of pokemon black and white because it felt easier to start partway through rather than starting from the very beginning. The reader is kept gender neutral so everyone can enjoy it, the reader is written kinda brash and loud as I felt it would be a good contrast to cilan and his more calm demeanor. Do keep in mind the book will still keep its kid-friendly language, sorry to those who want ash to say ‘fuck’, and no explicit scenes of any kind except maybe a few dirty jokes from time to time. If there are any spelling mistakes don't be shy to tell me so I can improve.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pokemon have fascinated you as a child the way they grow and how many types and battles can happen.

The biggest dream you have is to be a gym leader one day. You could meet hundreds of people from around the world and get to see just as many pokemon. Your parents supported your dream when you came home from 3rd grade after a trip to a pokemon gym and raved about how cool it was.

So that was the plan from age 7 was to own a pokemon gym. Already getting a start on the pokemon your parents got you a deerling, they figured it would be a nice start to your dream. So every day you and deerling trained and battled the wildlife and got stronger together, the great part about being in Castilia city was that it was not too far from the forest so you two could train even harder. When you hit middle school age you expanded your team, catching a venipede and a joltik. You loved them with every fiber in your being, growing a strong bond with them as you trained. Physically you changed as well, running with your now evolved sawsbuck and racing through the forest finding pokemon to battle. For a time everything was perfect. Until your 16th birthday.

Everything was completely normal when you woke up, starting your normal routine of getting clean and heading downstairs, your mom made your cinnamon rolls for breakfast. The plan for the day was to have a birthday party that afternoon but when noon rolled around your beloved city was overrun by venipedes everywhere. While you specifically didn't have a problem with the bugs many citizens did. It was chaos with people running and dodging attacks, even a little old lady was getting picked up and moved by the venipede. Deciding the smart thing to do is to find Burgh, the bug gym leader of Castilia city, and see if he would need help. If anybody would have a clue what was happening it would probably be him right?

Thankfully it was easy to find him, being one of the only people out with all these venipedes. Though he had others with him. It was other kids that looked around your age, or at least the green-haired one.

"Burgh, what is going on?" Hoping he would know what is going on.

"I'm sorry (y/n) I don't know, we just saw hundreds of the venipedes in the sewers" not nearly as useful information as you had hoped.

"Burgh if you don't mind me asking, who are these guys?" Gesturing to the three teens standing across from you.

"Oh, this is ash, and his friends Iris and Cilan! Ash came to battle me for a gym badge until this venipede outbreak started" ash looked like the kid to do that, his friends looked calmer than him. His green-haired friend looked a few more years older than both ash and Iris, and cuter too. But before you could say anything else Officer Jenny rolled up in front of your group telling you to evacuate.

"But officer do you know what's going on?" Burgh tried to ask.

" Only that a venipede colony is swarming the city" the officer replied

You were not the only one to question why the venipede came to the city as Ash's friend Cilan asked the officer why they were here.

"We've got professor juniper working on that" before more conversation could go on there was a large explosion off in the distance

"That was near the pokemon center," Burgh said with concern

"Let's check it out" Ash exclaimed as he started to run that way.

When you all got there, you saw other pokemon trainers attacking the venipede with their fire types, and Ash seemed to know one of them too calling him 'trip'. The four trainers used flamethrower but it proved ineffective when the venipede shook off the attack and gathered closer together as one BIG angry clump of bugs.

One of the trainers, Trip, tried getting the others to use flamethrower again but ash jumped in before they could.

"Stop it!!, you can't do that" Ash yelled holding his arms out to block.

Trip didn't seem happy with it at all "out of my way, I don't have time to deal with you now" clearly agitated by Ash.

"Why are you attacking the venipede Trip?" Ash said, still blocking the venipede.

"Because they're attacking us for no reason at all, the only thing we can do is stop them" trip tried convincing ash but it was fruitless

But you were not happy about how Trip was trying to solve the issue "Well you don't seem to be doing a good job at it, all your doing is making the venipede mad!" Stepping forward to look at Trip.

Though Trip seemed to brush you off, not even acknowledging what you said. Instead of trying to solve the problem quicker, Trip took to insulting ash about how naive he was and where he lived which then made ash mad. You're sure it would have led to a fight, that you would gladly finish if the mayor of the city hadn't shown up.

The mayor went on about how his top priority is his citizens' safety and that the venipede poison is deadly and can harm others if not careful. To which burgh jumped in

"But sir if you try to remove them the fight will just escalate, the battling will grow even fiercer than before and both sides will surely end up getting hurt!" Burgh made a point venipede were strong-headed and wouldn't go down without a fight, you should know capturing your venipede was a huge challenge, but now you were all left with few options to take care of the stampede.

But Burgh, ever the bug-lover that he was, had an idea. "Mayor if we can gather the venipede into central plaza and keep them there while we figure out the cause of their migration" It was the only plan so far, officer Jenny informed the mayor that professor Juniper is already looking into the cause, the four of you teens spoke up as well begging for the mayor to agree and to help.

With little choice he allowed you and the other trainers to contain and lead the venipede to the plaza while Burgh asked Cilan and you to get nurse joy and audino so they could help which you both happily agreed to. Lucky for you two the pokemon center was right next to you so you could quickly run in to find nurse Joy.

"NURSE JOY ARE YOU BACK THERE?" You shouted leaning forward on the counter to try and see her "We need you Nurse Joy and audino right away!" Cilan added though his call for the nurse was calmer than you, said nurse came out from the back looking confused "what do you need? Is one of you pokemon injured?" She asked in that sweet soft voice.

"No but there is a colony of venipedes outside swarming the city and we need your help to gather them up" you responded to her quickly, it was an emergency surely she could come quickly. But as fate would have it she was in the middle of treating somebody's pokemon and couldn't leave until it was done.

Having no choice you and Cilan sat in the waiting area. You were bouncing your leg getting anxious by the second. You didn't want the people to attack the venipede, they were nice pokemon but many people didn't like them. Cilan saw this, the way your eyebrows frowned and how you didn't move staring straight at the wall across you, so he tried to help calm your nerves.

"(y/n) it'll be okay we'll get the venipede gathered safely" gently putting a hand on your shoulder. It pulled you out of your thoughts as you looked over at him. You smiled at him "thanks Cilan, I'm just worried I know venipedes don't act like this normally and they can be such nice pokemon, and I don't like that kid, what was his name? Trip? He seemed so angry with the venipede then to attack them like it would do anything was so rude!" Angry about Trip's attitude

"I understand, though I don't know Trip as well as ash might, I think he just wants to protect the city even if it was a little rude" he had a point, though you still didn't like Trip you could understand that frustration.

"I guess you're right, and it was a stressful situation. I don't know how I would have acted being surrounded by hundreds of venipedes!" Chuckling a bit at the thought

"That happened in the sewers!" He said excitedly though you looked at him in confusion "what?"

"Earlier Ash, Iris, Burgh, and I went into the sewers to investigate, there were hundreds of the venipedes going down one of the pipes" Cilan explained

"Really? That must have been freaky, did they follow you?" The idea of going into the city sewers was gross but then being chased down was straight out of a horror movie.

"They did indeed, I think that's the fastest I've run in a while!" You both started to laugh, it was nice especially right now. "Thank you Cilan, I needed that laugh!" Giving him a quick hug "My pleasure, I was happy to help!" Just then nurse joy came out with audino being ready to go.

The four of you sprinted towards the plaza to meet and find the others. It wasn’t hard to find them especially since the sound of an explosion off in the distance caught all of your attention.

“Burgh I found audino and nurse joy and brought them with me!” Cilan yelled while running towards the others. Trip was with them and they did not look happy again. Walking away while saying something about ‘I know how this will end' if there weren’t other issues going on you would surely get into an argument with him.

Burgh walked over to Nurse Joy and asked for audino to use a healing pulse to help calm the venipedes. This made you happy as it was a way to safely move them without hurting them. The Nurse agreed and let the audino do its thing. Calming the venipedes down Burgh pulled out a weird-looking flute and started to play it, Cilan pointed it out saying it was a bug flute, soon most of the venipede around you started to follow him. Burgh asked the rest of you to help gather up any venipedes left, which you all happily agreed to.

You brought out your Sawsbuck and have him use tackle and gently push the venipedes out of the ally and into Cilans' pansage, Cilan used bullet seed to help trip the bugs into the group, and the two of you continued to do this until reaching the central plaza. Ash and Iris had their pokemon gathering up the bugs, with Iris and Axsew using dragon rage that exploded on them rather than the venipedes. Ash using Pedove and blowing them away and his Pedove evolved into tranquil which is good. When all was said and done it was already sunset and the plaza now FILLED with venipedes, the city was safe. The mayor thanked you and the others for all the help you did. Officer Jenny led you all to the top of the building with a helipad, which is where you meet up with Professor Juniper. She congratulated everyone for their hard work, Burgh spoke up first and asked if she had found out why the venipede colony had rushed the city.

"Yes, we discovered a weird energy flow in the baron lands that surround Castilia City'' She explained that since the energy was coming from underground it would disturb those around it. Burgh and Professor Juniper talked a bit going back and forth about how the energy flow would scare the venipedes and that being the cause of the sudden stampede. The mayor wanting more details asked what could cause the energy.

Professor Juniper looked at him concerned, " That's what we're trying to figure out right now" Officer Jenny offered to tag along with Professor Juniper while everyone else would stay behind and help with the venipedes.

You were happy it was over, it was late and you were tired. Ash however wanted to celebrate with everyone and go eat at a nice restaurant. You agreed to go celebrate until your phone buzzed. It was your mom, you excused yourself to talk with her.

your mom’s voice was washed with concern “ (y/n) where are you? are you okay? I haven’t seen you all day. I was so worried!” You forgot to tell her where you were, you felt guilty about it.

You apologized for scaring her “ I’m so sorry mom, I was helping group up the venipedes in the city”

You could hear her sigh, you normally ran off doing your own thing so this wasn’t that far off to believe “I should have known, I’m so sorry this all happened on your birthday sweetheart, you were so excited about the party tonight but it looks like we have to reschedule it for another day”

“ It's fine mom, I made some friends today who want to go to dinner with me, if that’s alright” You were more excited to talk with Cilan and his friends than have a big family party. Your mom said it was fine as long as you were safe, and to be back home at a decent hour. You said your goodbyes and ‘I love you' before hanging up and walking back over to your new friends.

“ Hey Ash, I’m down to have that dinner!” putting away your phone in your bag.

“(y/n) I couldn’t help to overhear that it’s your birthday, Oui?” Now Cilan to start talking french surprised you, though it shouldn't actually be that big of a shock that he spoke french what with being a connoisseur and all.

“Yeah, I was going to have a family party tonight but since the venipede stampede it’ll have to be rescheduled” Again this didn’t bother you, “ But I would rather have dinner with you all, this has been the most exciting birthday ever!” Throwing your hands up in the excitement

Ash got excited “Then come join us it’ll be so much fun!” Iris grabbed your hand and started to pull you towards the street to find a place to eat. Cilan and Ash joining behind. You lead them to your favorite restaurant, a very nice pasta restaurant, while waiting for your food you asked the three about why they are in Castilia city.

"So Ash, Burgh said you came to challenge him, right?" You vaguely remember Burgh mentioning it.

Ash lit up excited to explain how he wanted to get all eight badges, and it's how he met both Iris and Cilan. How Iris wanted to help Ash get around the Unova and be a guide of sorts and that they met Cilan at his gym with his brothers. This surprised you, you had heard of the Striaton Gym but you didn't know it was run by a set of triplets, but that's how the conversation flipped to Cilan and his time as a gym leader for which you had a million questions. Cilan didn't mind and was rather happy to have someone interested in being a gym leader who wasn't his brothers. That's how it was for the rest of dinner was telling stories and making jokes, specifically when you threw a noodle on Ash's face which freaked him out. When everyone had finished food and paid everyone to say goodbye you agreed to meet up with the rest of them tomorrow for Ash's Gym battle. You went back home and talked with your mother about what had happened, who you met, and where you were going tomorrow which she was okay with. This felt like the start of a new adventure.

----------------------------

Alright, the first chapter is done! I have a few chapters already in the works, keep in mind these take me a bit to write especially with college-going on I write these during my free time, and that I have a couple other personal projects I'm working on as well, but I hope people enjoy this!

[youareshauni]

Some favorite bits and pieces of the SWSH media that I combine into my headcanons of Galar and events. Headcanons in plural, for I have many, and some of them contradict each other. Not in any order, so a warning that it’s rambling under the Read More. I’ll probably expand on this in reblogs.

And a warning for spoilers for the games plus both of the DLCs, the Twilight Wings animated mini-series, and the Galar arcs of the Pokemon anime.

Games and DLC expansion are the base because they set up the world.

Twilight Wings is amazing in both characterization and worldbuilding. It made the world of Galar feel alive because of how it expanded on the material. Plus, the panorama shots!

The Pokemon Anime / Galar has some good bits and pieces of characterization and events.

Games and DLCs:

According to Raihan teasing Leon and his response, he has seemingly rarely been serious. (Only in public or also in private settings? Is Raihan talking about Leon’s over-the-top Champion persona?)

Leon’s speech at the Galarian Star Tournament / Crown Tundra DLC is weird. He says he had no ‘proper rival’, when he says in the base games that Raihan is his rival. See the next point why I like this.

Headcanon: Rivals mean that you and your rival help each other grow and can train together. With how competitive the Galarian Pokemon League is, the term has lost some of its meaning in favor of PR. And this League focuses much more on the glory of winning and the status of the Champion than other regions. That is part of why Leon started the Star Tournament. It allows two trainers to work together and win together.

The fact that the Star Tournament’s format is tag battles! Two trainers in one team each, working together.

I love Mustard.

Honey is among those people who throws a Dynamax Ball one-handed.

The idea with the Tower of Darkness and the Tower of Water is really neat.

------

Twilight Wings:

Postwick, with only two houses in the games, is a bustling village / country town. I got the feeling that Hop and Leon’s house and MC’s house are a bit outside of Postwick.

The shadow of Leon’s reputation and his power hang heavily over Bea after Charizard defeats Machoke. A great episode characterizing her, as well as showing how it might feel for some of the Gym leaders to be overshadowed by him.

The insight into Nessa. Just, the whole episode that focused on her was amazing! Juggling two different careers, her annoyance at Rose implying she should give up one for the other, Sonia encouraging her to take what she wants, the photoshoot, meeting the Milotic!! How it dispels her doubts and renews Nessa’s energy, because it’s good to take what she wants! She can be an amazing model AND an amazing gym leader. And Baby Nessa was so cute.

The same episode gave also an impression of Nessa and Sonia’s friendship.

Bea is still going to school!! I love that she has a mundane life outside of her gym leader duties and training, doing normal things a teenager does like going to a cafe with her friends to eat sweets.

Twilight Wings makes me in awe just how big the Wild Area is. The same goes for the mountain range in Galar’s North.

A different interpretation of Sonia and Leon’s bond - less tense and fraught than in the game. Or maybe it means that they went through a rough patch that started some time after that scene in the elevator where he and she are talking via telefon?

Gordie receives fanmail.

The pokemon band who plays in the animated cutscene belongs to Piers.

Some glimpses into how EVERYWHERE the media and advertisements are and how a commercialized Pokemon League would look like.

The series confirms that Leon is not happy. He doesn’t smile genuinely, but for the camera. His actions and words strongly imply that part of his getting lost is avoidance of dealing with the official parts of his job as the Champion, to the point he delayed an important match with Raihan, when battling and especially with Raihan are among the things he most likely still enjoys the most.

Raihan calls him out on this by saying he thought Leon ran away scared.

Also, the media and reporters? Obsessed with Leon and bothering the gym leaders with questions about him. It adds another aspect to Bea’s feelings (including resentment) about him.

Wyndon! You really get the feeling that it’s Galar’s largest city. The atmosphere of it in Oleana’s episode: <3

Oleana holds Macro Cosmos together. She’s incredibly smart and skilled, leading so many different projects and aspects of jobs - mining, finances, going to construction sites, etc. Which also means she was complicit in what was going on with Eternatus. With how involved and how important she is to everything running smoothly at Macro Cosmos, she must have known about it being in Hammerlocke and supported Rose. This includes his plans for Bede and his plan for Leon to catch Eternatus.

Hop and Wooloo’s friendship. <3

And the Legendary wolves get a nod with the logo of a wolf on Hop‘s shirt.

-----

Pokemon Anime:

Sonia drives recklessly in her little car. XDD

And according to the preview of the next episode, so does Leon. XDD

Leon uses an ULTRA BALL on Eternatus. (This change in the anime highlights for me that even with an ultra ball, Leon capturing Eternatus was doomed to fail, whether that be in the anime or the games.)

Leon shields the kids from Eternatus; Charizard shields the Pokemon.

The details on Sonia and Leon’s backstory when they started out as children. She taught him the basics and she misses him. When Leon showed his skill, he got swept up by the fame, made worse by the adults / officials fawning over him. This isolated them from each other.

Word of God according to an interview. One of Leon’s dreams / nightmares even when he’s adult is one of being alone / lonely.

Headcanon: Next to being a strong trainer, he seems to be motivated by a sense of loneliness. I’m pointing back to the section of the Games and DLCs and Leon’s speech at the Galarian Star Tournament.

[tommybaholland]

Burn With Me (Todoroki x OC)

Chapter 0 (Prologue) — Chizu Ryuzaki: Origin 

Pairing || Shoto Todoroki x fem!OC 

Summary || it’s the first day at UA and chizu hopes to make many new friends. however, not everyone seems to be as eager as she..

WC || 6.6K

warning: this series will involve mature themes such as mild language, mentions of abuse/trauma, anxiety/panic attacks and violence. also this is NOT a spoiler free zone...read at your own risk!

-

UA High School.

One of Japan’s national high schools with a renowned hero course that produced some of today’s top heroes, like All Might and Endeavor. Anyone who aspires to be a great hero, one of the very best, aims to attend UA. 

Chizu was no different. But it was surreal to be standing at the entrance of that oh so familiar ‘U’ shaped building, ready to begin her first day of training to become a hero. 

Of course, it wasn’t easy. The last few years of her life in general haven’t been the greatest. But it was only more motivation for her to work hard to achieve her goal. Her mother, who was known as the Dark Magic Hero: Mysteria, had always supported her and had faith in her, even during her lowest moments with training her quirk. Now Chizu could only hope that her father would do the same, despite that she hadn’t been the most promising aspiring hero in training. 

“Do you know what high schools you want to apply to?”

“I….wanna do a hero course...and I think UA is the best choice.”

“Chizu...we talked about this—”

“I’m never going to get any better if I don’t go to UA!”

“Chizu, why would you want to go to UA when you’ve chased out every trainer I’ve hired? You clearly aren’t that serious about it. I think you should expand your options beyond becoming a hero,” her father replied bluntly. 

She didn’t know how to respond, too focused on trying to choke back the feeling of crying. It frustrated her that she felt this way, having had this conversation too many times before. 

“Why do you want to be a hero, Chizu? What’re you gaining from being a hero?”

Chizu couldn’t look at him, her voice quiet in an attempt to have the words come out more smoothly. 

“I-I just...wanna be like her. She overcame a lot to get where she was!”

“And you saw how that turned out for her. What makes you think you can avoid that kind of fate?” 

“I mean, I think it’s possible—”

“Do you WANT to disappear and never be seen AGAIN CHIZU?”

Her lip started to tremble as she winced at his stern voice. Her voice was small, trying to be heard. 

“Of course not but…”

“Then I need you to think logically about this and decide what you want to do. Don’t get upset about it.”

“I have,” Chizu reinforced, gritting her teeth. “And if being her isn’t enough for you, then I’ll be better than her!”

 “Well,” her father only began to laugh. “You better get serious then, because I am not going to pay all that tuition for you to get kicked out like you did in middle school.”

She seethed at his words, knowing they were true but that he didn’t have to say it out loud. Take a deep breath, take a deep breath, take a deep breath...

“You’ll see! I’ll train every day and work hard to pass the entrance exams,” she promised. 

“You better get a special recommendation if you wanna get in, then.”

“No, I want to work hard and earn the right to be there—”

“Hey, I’m letting you do what you want but you’re gonna do it how I tell you to...now go get a letter from your tutor...”

Sure enough, ten grueling months passed and Chizu took the entrance exams for students with special recommendations. Overall, she felt proud of herself for what she was to be able to do with her quirk, given her disadvantaged training circumstances. But getting to the practical exam, she wasn’t sure what she could show off was going to be enough. There were so many people with amazing and powerful quirks which they could control with ease as well as demonstrate a range of different abilities with them. She didn’t know if she could compete to stand out against these other kids her age.

But Chizu kept her promise that she made to her father and did her best. 

Turns out, she was one of four students admitted to UA under special recommendations. She was placed in class 1-A with 20 total students in the class. She was hopeful to see a familiar face from the special entrance exam but she figured the odds would be slim. 

She was currently speed walking down the hall, trying to locate her classroom. It was still early, approximately 15 minutes until homeroom would start. She couldn’t tell if she was just really really anxious or really really excited to start a hero course at her top choice school with 19 other hero hopefuls. She was nervous that she’d have trouble making friends, given that she hadn’t attended real school in about three years, but she wanted to try to make a good impression on her classmates and hoped the rest would follow easily. 

She finally saw a sign that read ‘1-A’ with a rather tall entryway open next to it. She peeked around inside, seeing that almost half the class was there already. She was about to walk further into the classroom to choose her seat when she heard a frantic voice behind her.

“Uh….excuse me?? Is this….. class 1-A?” 

Chizu turned to find a boy, who looked very out of breath, standing behind her. 

“I think so,” she replied while getting a better look at her new classmate. He had messy green hair with green eyes to match, and freckles dotted on his cheeks.

He sighed in relief. “Oh, thanks. I thought I was going to be late—”

“Oh heyyyyy, it’s you!” 

A girl with short brown hair and rosy cheeks appeared in the entryway this time. Chizu thought she seemed very friendly with her bubbly demeanor.

“OH! Hello, it’s….you,” the green haired boy replied. “Also, I just wanted to say thanks for offering to give me some of your points…”

“Oh, it’s no big deal! You rescued me, after all!” She beamed, leaving Chizu confused as to what they were talking about. She guessed it might’ve been the other entrance exam, which probably  almost everyone in this room could relate to, except for Chizu. But it’s possible she was wrong.

“DEKU WHAT’RE YOU DOING HERE!?!?!?!” 

An angry blond haired kid yelled from his seat over on the far right of the classroom, catching everyone else’s attention. 

“OH HI KaCcHAN!” The green haired kid answered, nervously waving. 

Everyone seemed to know this guy. Also, ‘Deku?’ That’s a strange name. And why was the blond guy yelling? It’s too early in the morning for that. 

Chizu awkwardly stepped away from the situation without another word. She didn’t want to be rude but she felt out of place and she figured she’d learn their names later. 

These were her classmates for the next year, anyway.

She took her exit down the far left row of the classroom, away from the angry blond kid, who was still screaming at that poor green haired boy. It was hard to drown him out, but Chizu tried to focus on finding where to sit. Most of the seats in the front were taken already so she decided to head all the way to the back where there were more empty seats. 

As she got to the back row, she spotted a boy sitting in the second seat from the far right. She recognized the half white, half crimson red hair as one of the other applicants from the special entrance exam. She hesitated on the thought of walking over and talking to him. She remembered him having a rather intense aura about him during the exam and it seemed to encourage an unwanted rivalry between him and another applicant, whose animosity stemmed from some other time that was seemingly beyond Chizu.

But she figured that maybe he was just nervous or was feeling the pressure from getting into UA, just like everyone else there. He was the only person so far that she would maybe have an easier time to befriend.

She let her feet guide her the rest of the way over until she was about an arms length away from his desk. Chizu stepped back a bit as she was met with a stoic, unreadable expression, heterochromatic eyes meeting her with unwavering eye contact. The scar painted over his left eye was mostly covered by the red side of his hair, but only made the teal of his eye even brighter.

“Sorry, um,” she struggled to find her words for a moment. “Is that seat taken?”

She pointed to the seemingly empty desk to his left. He didn’t even look to where she was pointing, simply shifting his gaze back to its original position straight ahead. 

“No,” he replied in a deep, low voice that matched his aloof affect. 

“Okay, thanks,” she grinned before walking to the other side of him to take her seat. 

She placed her bag on the hook on the side of her desk, before the commotion up front caught her attention once again. More students had joined the classroom, with the green haired kid continuing to be the center of everyone’s attention.

“Whoa, you’re the guy that broke both of your legs while taking out one of those zero pointers with one hit! That was so manly!” remarked another boy with spiky, vibrant red hair. 

“Yeah, haha, that was me,” the green hair replied nervously. 

“BIG DEAL I GOT MORE COMBAT POINTS THAN THAT DAMN NERD!” the angry blond spoke up. Everyone ignored him except for a tall kid with glasses who only scolded him. 

“You there! Get your feet off the desk!” 

“HUH?” 

“It’s only the first day and you’re disrespecting the property of this fine establishment,” he continued while chopping the air with his hand. “We should all be model students as the future heroes produced from the country’s finest hero course!”

“You’re kidding me, right? And WHO ARE YOU, YOU DAMN EXTRA!?”

“I’m Tenya Iida and YOU should get your feet off the desk!” 

“Name’s Katsuki Bakugo, and I’m already going to be the number one hero, better than All Might, SO GET OUT OF MY WAY!” 

Jeez, if everyone in this class was going to be like that guy, then Chizu had half a mind to just leave now. She turned her attention back to the small crowd forming at the front. It seemed like everyone was just introducing themselves, wanting to be friends with the timid but supposedly ‘manly’ green haired kid. 

“Hey! I’m Eijiro Kirishima!” 

“I’m Hanta Sero.”

“Mina Ashido!”

“I’m Denki Kaminari!”

“I’M...MINETA!” 

Chizu couldn’t keep up with all the names being tossed around and it seems neither could the green haired kid. 

“Hey guys...I’m Izuku Midoriya! It’s great to meet you all!”

So I guess ‘Deku’ must be a nickname? Or quite possibly an insult, given by the way the blond, or Bakugo, had screamed it at him. 

Chizu sunk in her seat a bit, wishing that she could be as affable as this Midoriya kid seemed to be. And it wasn’t like he was trying that hard. But she still had the chance to get to know the peppermint haired boy sitting next to her. She turned to face him, who looked like he was watching the scene in front just like she was.

“I’m Chizu Ryuzaki, by the way.” 

She thought he didn’t hear her when he didn’t respond for a moment and opened her mouth to continue talking. 

“The name’s Shoto Todoroki,” he replied, refusing to look at her as he introduced himself. 

“It’s nice to officially meet you! I saw you at the special entrance exam, and just thought I would say hello,” she explained, hoping she wasn’t coming off as too forward or awkward.

The air was silent between them for a few moments again before his eyes shifted over to her, hooded heterochromia catching her own. 

“You’re wasting your time,” he warned. “I’m not here to make friends.” 

He returns to his assumed position without another word, effectively shutting Chizu out. She couldn’t help but feel like she did something wrong, staring down at her hands on her desk. But at least she knows his name now. 

“Hi!” a voice catches her attention to the desk in front of her, where a pretty girl with dark hair was now seated. She looked slightly familiar. 

“I’m Momo Yaoyorozu,” she introduces herself in a sweet voice. 

Chizu didn’t know if she was talking to her or the cold boy, who she now knew as Todoroki. 

“I’m...Chizu Ryuzaki,” she responded hesitantly. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you! You were great at the entrance exam,” she complimented with a bright smile. 

That’s right, she was there too. Chizu seemed to greatly underestimate the odds that she would end up in the same class with two of the other three special recommendations admitted to UA. Would the fourth one turn up though?

“Oh, thank you! Likewise, it’s great to meet you too!” Chizu replied genuinely. 

“I’m glad the other applicants admitted through special recommendations are in this class, too. When I heard there were only four I didn’t think the odds would be in my favor to meet the others!” She admitted, as if she had read Chizu’s mind. 

“Yeah...kinda crazy, right?” 

The girl smiled again before looking over at the group at the front. “Do you want to go meet the other girls with me?” 

“Okay, sure,” Chizu agreed, finally feeling at ease. 

She went with her new friend, Yaoyorozu, over to meet the other women in the class. They were a minority compared to the number of boys in the class, but to Chizu that just meant a few more future female pro heroes. 

All the girls seemed really nice and cool. Ashido and Uraraka were really sweet and bubbly. Yaoyorozu was also very nice, but extremely intelligent as well. Chizu didn’t remember her much from the exam but she guessed that her quirk had something to do with knowledge. Tsuyu or ‘Tsu’ as she liked to be called, seemed very level-headed and calm and Jiro seemed like she had a cool sense of style or music taste, given that her earlobes extended into headphone jacks. 

Chizu was already in awe of her female classmates and had forgotten about her less than desirable, first impression with Todoroki. 

“I think this year’s going to be great! I’m honored to be in a class with such talented others,” Yaoyorozu declared. 

“Yeah, I think so too! I haven’t met everyone yet, but I’m so excited!” Uraraka beamed. 

“If you’re looking to make friends, you might as well leave now.”

A brooding, unfamiliar voice emerged, coming from outside the classroom. The group closer to the entryway peeked outside, one of them being Midoriya, who screeched at what he saw. 

A man in a yellow sleeping bag suddenly appeared at the entryway. He shed the sleeping bag to reveal the rest of himself. Was this guy...supposed to be their teacher? 

“Welcome to the UA Hero Course.” 

Everyone automatically took their seats as he approached the podium at the front of the classroom. 

“My name is Shota Aizawa, and I’m going to be your homeroom teacher.” 

His long dark hair covered most of his face and if it wasn’t covered by his hair, his large scarf would make up the rest. Chizu was sitting all the way at the back of the classroom but she could tell by his monotonous voice and half-lidded, unamused expression that he wasn’t going to be giving out good marks left and right. 

“Starting today, you are all heroes in training. And instead of going through a normal orientation, I’m going to evaluate all your quirks with an apprehension test,” He explained, handing out packages of clothing, which Chizu recognized as a gym uniform.

“Everyone put these on and meet out in the PE fields.” 

-

Chizu stood with the rest of her classmates out on the fields by the school, all matching in their blue, red, and white uniforms, the top and bottom forming a ‘UA’ design on the front. She chose a spot behind Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida as Mr. Aizawa stood before them, explaining the process of the test. 

“Today you will go through the quirk apprehension test. This test will allow you to show off your abilities so I can gauge your potential as future heroes. Since you weren’t allowed to use your quirks in middle school, your performance should be even better than if you completed this test normally.” 

“Bakugo,” he singles out the blond. “What was your furthest throwing distance in middle school?” 

“Heh. My best was 64 meters,” he replies in a cocky voice. 

Mr. Aizawa holds out a ball to him. “Throw it using your quirk.” 

“Easy enough,” Bakugo snickers, taking the ball from him and stepping into a boundary circle. He winds up his arm a few times to warm up before pulling it back. 

“DIE!” 

He yelled as he launched the ball with a huge explosion coming from the palm of his hand. Everyone watched in awe as the ball soared into the sky, disappearing into the clouds. Chizu didn’t really like the attitude of this Bakugo guy so far, but she had to admit that his explosion quirk was pretty impressive. 

Mr. Aizawa checked a device which measured Bakugo’s throw. 

“That’s 705.2 meters.”

“Your quirk improves your performance, but that performance can only be maintained by how much control you have of your quirk,” Mr. Aizawa explained as Bakugo retreated back to the group, basking in his classmates’ reactions. 

Everyone began chattering, distracted with being excited over participating in these tests.

“We get to use our quirks?! This is going to be so fun!” Uraraka beamed. 

“Yes, this will be a great opportunity to show what we can do,” Iida commented. 

Chizu mentally agreed with Iida but also was interested to see the others’ quirks. Not to size herself up against anyone, but just because she was genuinely curious. 

“Don’t get excited,” Mr. Aizawa continued, effectively shutting everyone down. “I will be keeping track of each of your scores at each test. At the end, you will be ranked from best to worst. The person who comes in last...will be expelled.” 

The mood of the group shifted drastically, many people gasping in shock. Midoriya let out a screech of terror while Uraraka spoke her mind against Mr. Aizawa’s casual caveat. 

“But that’s not fair!” 

“Life isn’t fair,” Mr. Aizawa retorted, malice in his bloodshot eyes. “And as heroes, it’s your job to combat that unfairness. Now let’s get started.”

Chizu wasn’t especially nervous about her performance, as her training for the entrance exam mostly focused on agility, flexibility, and strength, like her mother would do with her when Chizu would train with her. Most of the tests had something to do with physical fitness, so she was pretty confident. She also had good basic control of her quirk for it to be versatile enough for each test. 

But Chizu was more interested in each of her classmates’ performances. The range of the types of powers in the class was pretty diverse and it was impressive as to how everyone adapted their quirks to the test. But it seemed like there were one or two people who particularly shined in a specific test which was designed for their quirk, like Iida’s engine power, which had the fastest time in the 50-meter dash. 

Although, one person became a spectacle in terms of showing off his power. Midoriya completed every test normally, leaving Chizu and probably others to wonder why. She noticed that he was visibly anxious about taking the test once Mr. Aizawa said someone would be expelled. Maybe he was letting the pressure get to him, and his quirk would hurt his performance more than help. 

But didn’t that spiky red haired kid mention that Midoriya beat a huge obstacle at the entrance exam with one hit? 

Something just doesn’t add up. 

They arrived at the ball throwing station, in which they had to throw a ball as far as they could using their quirks, just like Bakugo had done at the beginning. Uraraka by far had made this her test, her throwing distance maxing out at infinity meters. Maybe one day someone will find that ball...in space. 

Midoriya was up next, still looking very anxious but also pensive about what he should do. Like if he should use his power or not. Meanwhile, Bakugo seemed to be keeping a very close eye on Midoriya and his performance. 

“You don’t really think he has a quirk, do you?” He questioned Iida. 

“What? Of course he does, he has to!” 

Bakugo bared his teeth while watching Midoriya, leaving Chizu to question what kind of past relationship these two had before UA. She turned her attention back to Midoriya, who was getting ready to throw his pitch. His throwing arm began to turn red and glow with yellow all through the muscles in his arm. He began to pull his arm back, building power to throw when Mr. Aizawa stepped in, his scarf and hair suddenly coming alive.

Midoriya’s arm stopped glowing, dropping the ball as he was now caught by Mr. Aizawa’s scarf. Midoriya looked terrified as he looked up to his captor. 

“I erased your quirk,” Mr. Aizawa explained. 

“Y-You’re….Eraser Head?!”

Everyone began murmuring again about the revelation. Chizu had heard of him before, yes. He was a Pro Hero whose quirk could erase quirks, but to be honest she didn’t understand how that would help him fight off villains. He seemed pretty well versed with his scarf, though. 

“I watched you during the entrance exam, Midoriya,” seethed Mr. Aizawa, pulling the trembling kid closer by his scarf. “You severely injure yourself after using your power...what good are you if you’re useless after one hit?! You don’t belong here.” 

What the hell was this kid’s quirk? So far, it sounds powerful but to physically injure yourself to use it? Chizu wouldn’t wish that on anyone. It also wasn’t fair that Mr. Aizawa was putting him on the spot in front of everyone like that. Everyone here was chosen to come to UA for a reason and clearly this guy was no different. But then again, Mr. Aizawa made sure to make his stance on ‘fairness’ very apparent on the first day. 

Everyone else froze with anticipation as Mr. Aizawa continued scolding Midoriya. However, Bakugo seemed to be getting a kick out of watching the scene in front of him, hearing him laugh under his breath. 

“Heh, heh. Dumb Deku.” 

Mr. Aizawa let him go, his hair returning to its original position. He forced Midoriya him back to the boundary circle, leaving the green haired kid dumbstruck at what just happened. 

“I restored your quirk. Go ahead.” 

Midoriya picked up the ball, looking at it for what felt like a while. Chizu couldn’t imagine what was going through his head right now. But surely if he could pass the entrance exam, he could get through this too. 

She and the rest of the class observed with anticipation as he held onto his right wrist with his left hand, as if to stabilize it as he pulled back his arm. His arm wasn’t glowing anymore, but it looked like one of his fingers began to glow. It seemed like he was focusing his power into only his finger as he swung his arm, that finger doing the rest of the work by propelling the ball into the air. Everyone watched as the ball soared, even Bakugo looked shocked.

“He….HAS A QUIRK?!!!?” 

Chizu glanced back at Midoriya as continued to hold onto his wrist, one of his fingers now swollen and colored a gruesome purple. That didn’t look good. 

Mr. Aizawa measured the distance. “705.3 meters.”

Bakugo snapped. “YOU DAMN NERD, I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”

The angry blond charged forward, his palms spitting out small explosions. This kid seemed to have more issues with Midoriya than Chizu would’ve guessed. 

Midoriya instantly cowered away but peeked up when the impact never came. Mr. Aizawa’s hair shot up again, his eyes glowing red as his scarf pulled Bakugo away from Midoriya. 

“What’s...your scarf... made of,” grunted Bakugo, struggling against the material, helpless with his quirk being erased. 

“It’s a capture weapon made out of alloy mixed with carbon nanoparticles,” he explained. “You’re wasting my time.”

He released Bakugo, who was still visibly enraged, from his binds. “And don’t make me use my quirk too much; it gives me dry eye.” 

Midoriya returned to the rest of the group, standing on the other side of Iida, who blocked him from Bakugo’s continued rage. However, that didn’t allow Midoriya to completely ignore the angry blond, trembling at just the sound of his vengeful yelling. 

“You’ve been lying all this time, Deku!! And I’m gonna make you PAY!”

Chizu could not take her eyes off their interactions, not noticing that it was her turn to throw. 

“Ryuzaki, let’s go.”

Chizu turned her attention back to Mr. Aizawa, who looked impatient by her distracted demeanor. She apologized before walking over and grabbing a new ball from him, moving to take her place in the circle.

Bakugo always managed to stand out the most with his rather ‘explosive’ aptitude at each test. But Chizu was able to match his ability in a more subtle way. She only wished that she could use the move that she had always thought about trying but never actually put into practice. It would certainly launch the ball far, but would take up too much of her energy. Not to mention that she had never actually done it before. Now was not the best time, especially after what Mr. Aizawa said to Midoriya. She would have to opt for something much simpler but would get the job done, like Midoriya had demonstrated. 

She took a few deep breaths while swinging her arms, loosening up the muscles, while blackish-purple, flame-like energy began to emanate from her hands. She let the ball be taken in by her quirk, pulling her arm back while inhaling deeply one last time before exhaling with a grunt, sending the ball off her hands with force of the flames, much like Bakugo did with his explosions. 

The ball flew far, disappearing into the sky like the rest, never to be seen again. 

“705.3 meters,” Mr. Aizawa announced. 

Chizu smiled, silently praising herself, while Bakugo did not seem too happy. Everything seemed to piss this guy off. 

“GET YOUR OWN MOVE, YOU DAMN EXTRA!” 

“Well...it’s not like I can just change my quirk,” Chizu replied earnestly. 

“WELL LEMME CHANGE IT FOR YA.”

“Kacchan calm down!” Midoriya shielded Bakugo from attacking her. “Sorry, sorry, he’s just not great when it comes to not being the best.” 

“GET OUT OF MY WAY DEKU!” 

“Bakugo! I won’t tell you again,” scolded Mr. Aizawa.

Chizu ignored him while her other classmates praised her. 

“Wow, that was so cool!” complimented Uraraka. 

“Thanks! Not as cool as what you did, though” Chizu remarked. “That ball’s probably still floating somewhere!” 

“Yeah...I didn’t think that would actually work,” she replied, her cheeks getting slightly rosier. 

“Your power is so impressive, Ryuzaki!” Yaoyorozu interjected. 

“Well, so is yours!” Chizu pointed out. “You have to know all those molecular structures and think quickly about what you’re going to make.”

“Oh, it just takes studying, that’s all!” she replied modestly, waving Chizu off. 

The moment of relief was hitting Chizu, giving her the chance to really breathe. She was going to be fine and her journey at UA was going to be nothing but rewarding for her. 

But at the moment, she felt someone’s eyes on her again. 

“Todoroki. Your turn.” 

Footsteps came up, and she looked up to see him passing by her, shooting an icy expression right at her eyes. She honestly forgot that he was even there, as he opted to stand at the back of the group. 

After she would complete a test in which she relied more on her quirk, she’d catch him staring at her. More like glaring, but in his own way. It wasn’t full of malice or rage, but it definitely wasn’t friendly. He did say that he wasn’t there to make friends, and he meant it.

He went last on every individual test or would complete one that called for partners by himself. During the sit-up test, they had to be paired up, with one person holding the other’s feet while they did their sit-ups. Todoroki simply used his ice quirk to freeze his feet to the ground. Chizu knew he had a second quirk, something to do with heat, but it seemed he only used it when he had to and never at full power, like when cleaning up his ice. The exact range of his abilities were still a mystery, but he seemed to know what he was doing. 

Overall, he mostly minded his own business. It was only the first day, he’s probably just slow to warm up. And if that was the case, Chizu didn’t blame him with people like Bakugo in the class. 

After the last test was done, Mr. Aizawa had no mercy in showing everyone where they ranked, pulling up the final results on a hologram screen. Fortunately, Chizu didn’t have to look far to find her name:

Momo Yaoyorozu

Shoto Todoroki

Chizu Ryuzaki

Katsuki Bakugo 

Tenya Iida

Fumikage Tokoyami

Mezo Shoji

Mashirao Ojiro 

Eijiro Kirishima 

Mina Ashido

Ochaco Uraraka

Koji Koda

Rikido Sato

Tsuyu Asui

Yuga Aoyama

Hanta Sero

Denki Kaminari

Kyoka Jiro 

Minoru Mineta

Izuku Midoriya 

Sighs of relief echoed throughout the group, some people more relieved than others. Bakugo, of course, was not too pleased. Not only with the fact that he wasn’t in the top three but also by way that Chizu was ahead of him. 

“LISTEN HERE SHIT FOR FLAMES,” he yelled, stomping over to her. “THE ONLY REASON WHY YOU’RE AHEAD OF ME IS BECAUSE YOU COPIED ME. IF WE FOUGHT FOR REAL I KNOW I’D WIN FOR SURE, YOU GOT THAT?”

Chizu could only humor him, smiling. “I’d love to see it, Bakugo.”

“DON’T SMILE AT ME, I WILL KILL YOU!”

“Give it a rest, man. Just be happy you’re in the top five,” the boy with the spiky red hair assured, patting Bakugo’s shoulder in praise. 

“Well at least you’re in the top 10, Kirishima! I barely made it!” another blond boy commented. 

Chizu turned her attention back to the results, not surprised by the two people above her. Yaoyorozu was seemingly unmatched so far with her ability to make anything she needed in that time and place. And Todoroki...that was pretty self explanatory. It was impressive that he was still very high up yet only used half his power to achieve that. Impressive to some but insulting to others, maybe. But this was only motivation for everyone to work hard and focus on improving their own skills. Everyone except for…

Poor Midoriya, who came in dead last, which meant today was not only his first but last day at UA. Chizu felt bad for him as he cowered behind everyone else in the group, seemingly letting the news sink in as discreetly as he could. It seemed like he tried his hardest to make do with what he could, even when people like Bakugo and even Mr. Aizawa were nothing but doubtful and discouraging. It was quite admirable...something that a real hero would do. 

“Don’t be too proud if you’re at the top,” Mr. Aizawa interjected. “You’ve got just as much training as the rest of the group. And as for the rest of you, you’ll need to work harder than ever if you want to be at the top of this list.”

He really didn’t spare much praise for anyone, huh?

“Also...no one is expelled.” 

The entire class gasped while Midoriya looked like he was about to pass out from stress. 

“Then why did you tell us that someone would be expelled?” Tsu questioned, asking what was on probably everyone’s mind. 

“That was just to get you to not hold back,” Mr. Aizawa replied with a sadistic smile. 

Dumbstruck didn’t even begin to describe the reactions throughout the group. Well, at least he chose not to expel anyone….today.

“Which is what you should be doing from here on out,” he continued. “You’re here to go plus ultra and nothing less.”

“YEAH!”

 “Class dismissed.”

-

Chizu returned back to the school with the rest of the class to change out of their gym clothes before heading back to the classroom to retrieve their belongings. It was only the first day for the first years, meaning that they only had orientation that day and their actual classes would start tomorrow. 

She felt pretty good about her performance during the quirk test. She was genuinely happy to rank third in the class but also would’ve been happy to be in any position. Maybe not last like Midoriya but only because Mr. Aizawa deceptively put the pressure on thick. 

But being at the top isn’t everything, at least to Chizu. Because when you’re the best, where do you go after that? What else is there to achieve? It only gets harder because at that point, you have to maintain your spot. People will only see you as a target to hit, a pawn to knock down, whether you want them to or not. She often wondered how a hero like All Might could handle that pressure, being the number one hero. Maybe she would get the chance to ask him since he’s teaching at UA now. Her mother always said there’s a reason he’s number one and why he’s maintained it for so long. 

And it’s not because he’s the strongest or the fastest, or because he saves the most civilians, and it’s not because his identity is held under lock and key. If you ask someone why All Might is their favorite hero, they might mention one of those three, or something similar. But those reasons all come together for something bigger: 

He’s more than a hero. He’s an inspiration, a keystore for the hero society. And that’s why no one will ever take his spot. 

Someone like Bakugo could probably only do that in their dreams. He’s got the passion though, Chizu could give him that. 

But he should watch out, otherwise someone like Shoto Todoroki might make him freeze up when the time comes. 

Chizu couldn’t help but let her mind drift to him. She just couldn’t tell what he was thinking behind his expressions towards her. He was trying to silently tell her something. Was he jealous or something? But how could he be? He literally placed above her in the quirk test results. If anything, Chizu should be jealous but she only feels confused and slightly paranoid. He was very quiet and very observant from the way he was looking at her. Whatever it was, she couldn’t let him get to her...

She couldn’t afford a repeat of middle school. More importantly, her father couldn’t afford it. She wanted to show him that she could attend a national high school where she would achieve her goals of becoming the best hero she could be. 

Chizu returned to the classroom to grab her bag, observing the empty desk next to her. Todoroki must’ve already left for the day. Alone, most likely. 

And it looks like she would be leaving alone too, most of the other desks empty as well. 

As she walked towards the entrance of the school, she contemplated talking to Todoroki. But what would she even say to him? ‘Hey why do you keep looking at me like that?’ 

No, she needed to remain calm and unbothered. She took a deep breath, exhaling as she exited through the front doors of the school.

“Oh, Ryuzaki!”

She turned to see Yaoyorozu coming over to her with Jiro, Tsu and Ashido in tow. 

“We thought we missed you! Would you like to walk with us?” she proposed, her voice as sweet as when she first spoke to Chizu earlier that day.  

Chizu grinned at her. Looks like she wasn’t going to be alone. Funny how things can turn around like that. 

“Sure, thanks.”

She joined the rest of the girls and they began walking down the long path that led to the school. 

“You guys can call me Chizu, by the way, I really don’t mind it,” she offered, never having been one for formalities. “Where’s Uraraka?”

“She’s waiting with Iida until Midoriya’s finger is healed,” Tsu replied. 

Chizu nodded, not needing to ask any further. Although Ashido had no problem carrying a conversation. 

“Ohmygosh, did you guys see how Mr. Aizawa was talking to him earlier? Super harsh!” 

The rest of the group agreed, including Chizu. Yaoyorozu agreed as well, but continued with a qualifying explanation. 

“Yes, it was indeed very unsettling and rather unnecessary to do in front of the whole class. However, one must accept their flaws before they can improve. We all have our shortcomings, and accepting them is only the first step to becoming the heroes we want to be.”

And that’s why she’s currently number one in the class. 

The girls continued to chat amongst themselves as they walked, mostly about how they felt about the first day and what they expected for the rest of the year. They neared the end of the road to the school, an intersection coming up ahead. There was another student sitting on a bench on the side who looked all too familiar to Chizu. 

“Ohhhhh guys, shhh,” Ashido spoke in a hushed tone. “He’s so cute, I love his hair!”

“His quirk’s pretty impressive as well,” Tsu commented.

“You should’ve seen him at the special entrance exam. He seems to have a very admirable drive,” Yaoyoruzu agreed. 

Chizu stood on the side for this topic as they continued to quietly talk about him. They quieted completely once they began to pass by him, but Chizu couldn’t be more aware of his presence, turning her full attention towards him.

Todoroki sat as silent as ever, looking down at the screen of his phone. Chizu couldn’t help but keep her eyes on him as they got as close as possible to him. She wasn’t very discreet about it, but then again, he hadn’t been very stealthy about looking at her either. 

So of course he looked up from his phone to find her eyes on him. 

She felt a pang to her heart upon catching his eyes, one gray and one teal, scar and all. But she couldn’t look away. There was something different about his expression. Compared to earlier today, his eyes were soft but... sad? She tried to spare him a small, apologetic grin before turning her attention back to walk with the other girls. 

Little did she know, his eyes followed the group as they walked away.

Ashido went nuts over what had transpired, shaking Chizu by the shoulder, with excited declarations of his liking to her. Chizu merely brushed it off in saying that she should’ve left him alone. But really, she was more confused about this guy than before. His emotions were all stored in his eyes, but why did he seem so sullen? She wasn’t about to pry into his personal affairs but she had to admit her intrigue. 

Who are you, Shoto Todoroki?

-

a/n: welcome everyone to my new series!! i know it’s different from my usual writing but i’m so excited bc this oc has been in my head for a min. if u haven’t noticed i’ve been into anime/manga series recently so i thought i’d try to expand on my blog a little bit, hope u don’t mind! but if you’re only here for tom and friends, that’s okay! dont worry i have other things planned that’ll i’ll be sharing VERY soon so stay tuned. 

but anyway how does everyone like this series so far?? it’s going to follow the anime/manga arcs but ofc i’ll be changing some stuff here and there bc this is a todoroki luv story and chizu has to get in there somewhere yeknow. also there will be less but longer parts than i normally write which is something i’d like to challenge myself to do as well as try to portray more complex characters as accurately as possible in a romance context. but anyway hope you enjoyed, add yourself to the taglist if you wanna see more!! 

for some reason i’m always super nervous when i post a new series, this one especially since it’s not my usual stuff so pls PLS interact/leave feedback if you’re able!! there’s a lot of questions that need to be answered but i’m particularly curious to know if anyone has ideas about chizus quirk or why shoto seems to not like her....lemme know..

ok i’m done thanks for reading~~

be a hero for chapter 0 (feedback much appreciated)

Permanent 

@spiderman-n-wrestlers​ // @embrace-themagic​ // @lucille-lovely-blog​ // @savethebabyseals​ // @tommyhollander2013​ // @justapotatonow​ // @llaali-blog​ // @dark-night-sky-99​ // @allofthebitters​ // @cassiopeia-barrow​ // @sunshinehollandd​ // @awkwardfangirl2014​ // @its-the-unknownspideywrites​ // @nedthegay​ // @definitely-not-black-cat​ // @spnobsessedmemes​ // @fanficscuziranout​ // @fuckeret​ // @captainbuckyy​ // @kimi1459​ // @hollandaytrips​ // @itstaskeen​ // @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange​ 

wanna be tagged in the next part? add yourself to the new tag list here!

[wilburmacaulay]

The shirt should be a French cut style and cufflinks can be worn.

Yes it only counts as one point and might not be the highest percentage shot in the book but it sure gets ones teammates, as well as the crowd, all fired up.. After the animals had been tended to, the riders shared a simple supper of salt pork nike jean jacket and cold white beans, washed down with ale. And Herman doubts the winner will be disappointed. "For example, something as simple as test results for cholesterol and lipid levels it's important to not only tell the patients the numbers, but also what that number means in the context of the patient's overall health, specific habits and lifestyle changes.". The shirt should be a French cut style and cufflinks can be worn. To give him more children you would first need to get him into your bed. "We turned on the sprinklers and neve e sale amazonthere was water everywhere. A full moon floated above the mast. We spent the majority of today going from private suite to private suite at the Grand Hyatt hotel in Taipei where several companies are showcasing their latest products. It is also important to note that while nearly 3,000

nike phantom vision academy

people died on Sept. Walker found guilty on all charges of sexual misconduct less. Nike solve the problem by enhancing the air volume and air capacity. Augusta County was formed in 1738 and

scaun rulant inchiriere

a courthouse built at Staunton, the county seat, in 1745. The countess listened to him attentively. The system isn broken. It is rather made of slate, tile, or stone as whether one 7 is in political statements and nike air max 102 essential white as warnings to others. It put her in select company she surpassed the 4:49.86 in 1991 by Boulder Melody Fairchild; the 4:47.54 in 2014 by Niwot baby nike trainers Elise Cranny and the 4:46.22 at last year state meet by Cherry Creek Jordan Coulter.. At last she really did fall asleep, and to my great delight she slept quietly without delirium or moaning. Robert Reed has had a distinct effect on my life, not because of my job I currently make my living imitating his portrayal of Mike Brady of "The Brady Bunch" in "The Real Live Brady Bunch" at the Westwood Playhouse but simply because j s authentic vans tibetan red true white I'm an Amnerican in my mid 20s. The resort purchased 1,200 sets of new skis and 200 new snowboards for the season and added an outdoor deck in the midst of the terrain park. Even that had not been so agonizing as the fire in his guts, crackling along his wings, devouring him. The main question you should ask is should I shell out thousands of dollar to buy a MacBook. The snowdrifts are waist deep in places. The scorching heat and the sand around him makes him dizzy. "Last year we got bumped early not that it matters, as this is a different team but the mind set is you've got to play."For me, it's the most exciting and fun time of the year because it's win or you're done. Even though she clearly could not devote the time necessary to be a day trader with her current work schedule and mentality, she realized that her polo raflorene routine and dedication must change completely no matter what the trading time frame. Obey. Viserion. The army covered twenty-two miles the first day, by the reckoning of the guides Lady Sybelle had given them, trackers and hunters sworn to Deepwood with clan names like Forrester and Woods, Branch adidas mariposas and Bole. Victarion’s head had begun to pound, though whether from the sun, his hand, or the doubts that troubled him, he could not say. Kellogg and Charles W. Seamans Gulch: For a sample of trail running, try the 2.2 mile outer loop from the Seamans Gulch trailhead on Seamans Gulch Road north of Hill Road. But he was making very good money. But what happened next? Life can exist without oxygen, but without plentiful nitrogen to build genes essential to viruses, bacteria and all other organisms life on the early Earth would have been scarce. The sporty style likes casual comfortable clothes and prefers natural fabrics. The brand's latest flagship wagon is the V90, which arrived only a few months ago and went on to take a maiden road test victory against the Audi A6 Avant. And I think for them. Anna Andreyevna stood with clasped hands looking at him imploringly. For the sake of our soldiers and their families we must eliminate 15 month tours. “More trouble than they’re worth, that lot. On the ride over to the 737 factory, I Tweeted out a photo of the AvGeeks on my bus and was told they looked sad. Take one step. Driver license and blue and green bifold wallet, all valued at $15; a fraudulent transaction of $5.81 was made on the PNC bank card; investigation ongoing. The other half of the vented area can be used to install a 120mm fan or small liquid cooling radiator.. That's down from 79.4 percent last May and 79.6 percent in April. I don know that they quite as big as they been in the past, size wise. Is it the issue of them taking jobs? That does seem logical at first, but does that mean that the US cannot support an expanding population? Or perhaps it can't sustain growth past a certain rate? Mexicans do take up jobs, but they also consume just like the rest of us. More followed, when they saw that no harm had come to those who went before. Let him wander off into a whorehouse alone while he lingered like a mooncalf in the square. Poor, child! She had never expected to find such friends, to win such love, and I saw with joy that her embittered little heart was softening and her soul was opening to us all. In the morning, when they ascertained that one of the slaves was dead, they were so shocked and indignant that they refused to eat in the house, and reproached Castleman with his cruelty. It's a fact: walking with dog is different than walking without. Charlie orders the emergency medical responders to set up a makeshift morgue. In this bikes btt usadas book, Adelaide Thom, who appears as Moth in The Virgin Cure, opens a tea shop with a partner, a former medical student, who describes herself as a witch. Dany looked for Ezzara and did not see her. McCardell was one of the first American designers to break away from the couture fashion culture of France. How full of joy and thanksgiving will you be, if you shall find yourself placed on the right hand! but how full of misery and despair, if the left shall be appointed as your portion! * * * *. In terms of dimensions, it is a sizeable fella, measuring 4.5 metres long, 1.8 metres wide and 1.7 metres tall. The ones the Others kill don’t stay dead … and they remember. You were looking through the eyes of the heart tree in your godswood. They lived on crushed acorns and raw fish. Additionally, free lunch will be offered on Saturdays during the grand opening event, March 26th and April 2nd, from 11am to 1pm. He shivered violently for hours, even when they cut him out of his sodden clothes, wrapped him in warm furs, and sat him by the fire. It was Passion Week, which fell that year very late; I went out in the morning; I was obliged to be at Natasha’s and I intended to return earlier in order to take Nellie out for a walk.

[uncommoncold]

Without You

Summary: Unable to forget Seonghwa, Yeosang throws himself into a hedonistic life with Choi San.

Word Count: 5.8k

Content Warning: Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa, Choi San/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Threesome - M/M/M, Dom Park Seonghwa, Sub Kang Yeosang, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Double Penetration, Part of Series Lessons Learned: See Master List for Story Parts 

Kang Yeosang graduated.

Seonghwa had half expected him to not actually show up for class after that day but he had. However, outside of interactions required in class, he refused to have anything to do with his professor. He wasn’t surprised, he should have told him sooner. He should have- should have… There was no way he could have possibly known that San would have showed up at that moment and say what he did. He wanted to at least have a chance to explain to Yeosang but he wouldn’t give him a chance.

He looked down at the glass in his hand and knocked back the clear liquid within. It had been years since he had soju, he had forgotten how bitter it could be. He made a slight face and reached for the bottle to refill his glass but left it untouched on the table in front of him.

“Oh!” A voice sounded behind him. “I didn’t think you were here.”

There weren’t a lot of people who had his door code but he didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Se-Ra. “I am.”

“Seonghwa?” She sounded alarmed. She had known Seonghwa most of her life, they had met in middle school when she had literally knocked out a bully who was picking on him. That had been the beginning of a fast friendship. They had even tried dating in high school, it had been an unmitigated failure but it served to show they made far better friends than lovers. She had been by his side ever since and he had been by hers. He was the brother she had always wanted and she was the sister he had always wanted. Woe to the person who tried to come between them.

“I’m alright Se-Ra.”

Se-Ra walked around from the back of his chair and peered at him closely. He was not alright, not even a little bit. She couldn’t even remember the last time she saw him drink. It was just another one of those things he had forsaken in the name of control. “Oppa…” After a moment she added. “Where’s your boy? I thought you saw him on the weekends?”

A flicker of something she could describe as nothing other than pain reflected momentarily in Seonghwa’s eyes and Se-Ra was even more worried. She knelt down beside him and stared up into his face. “Talk to me.”

Seonghwa looked at her and laid a hand on her now black hair. He was fairly sure the last time he had seen her it had been blonde. She tended to change her hair color more frequently than traffic lights changed. She was worried for him, he could see it. She wasn’t the type to take no for an answer either, she would keep digging until she found the root cause of his mood. If she couldn’t get it out of him, she would go through every single person he had ever known, down to the doctor who had delivered him, to find out. It was a trait he both adored and abhorred in her. He couldn’t really have secrets where she was concerned but maybe that was for the best. He sighed, “I-”

How should he even say it? “I upset Kang Yeosang so he will no longer see me.”

Se-Ra looked surprised. She had known that Yeosang was different the moment she had first seen him. Not because of how he looked but the fact that Seonghwa had brought him to his house. It wasn’t something he usually did. Seonghwa was a creature of habit and ritual and to bring someone to his house was outside of his usual routine. “How did you upset him?”

She watched him struggling with the words and she frowned, reaching to take his hand. He didn’t pull away nor did he return her firm grasp.

“I didn’t tell him about… my history. I guess he thought- I don’t know what he thought but Choi San came to see me while Yeosang was here and… he found out.” As Se-Ra continued to look at him expectantly, he found he had no choice but to tell her more precisely what happened. He left out that he was in love with Yeosang and that he had been within seconds of telling him that.

Se-Ra gave a low whistle, “So help me, I’ll kill him with my own two hands.”

“Who?” Seonghwa asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Choi San.” She stood up and began to pace back and forth in front of Seonghwa, her house slippers slapping against her heels as she walked.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm, he was just doing what he does. I was angry at first too but I realized, he didn’t have any way to know that… Well it’s done now and Yeosang seems to hate me. He won’t even speak to me.”

“I thought you were his professor, how could he not speak to you?”

“Well, he didn’t speak to me apart from what he had to say and I certainly couldn’t tell him everything in class and he hasn’t so much as answered a text from me since then.” He wasn’t even reading them. He might have poured out his heart if he at least knew he would read it but he wouldn’t. The more he chased the idea, the more miserable he made himself. “And now he’s graduated so I won’t see him in my class or even on campus anymore.”

“Oh…” Se-Ra chewed on the inside of her cheek as she thought. She loved Seonghwa, he had always been there for her when she needed him and had always done his best to give her what she needed. She wanted him to have what he wanted and if it was Kang Yeosang, she wanted him to have him. However, Yeosang was a person and it was much harder to give someone a person. Not that if she thought that trussing him up and kidnapping him would work, she would have been above it. Maybe… no, no, no. She didn’t know the man and had no idea how he would react, he might just be more angry.

She remembered something then, “Choi San called me and told me there was a party at Lee Jun’s place tomorrow. He told me he had a new boy he was bringing with him.” Though she hesitated to ask, she did anyway. “Do you think that could be your boy?”

Seonghwa leaned forward and picked up his glass of soju but before he could get it to his lips, Se-Ra took it from him and downed it before putting the empty glass back on the table. The last thing he needed was solace in a bottle. He looked at her, in mild annoyance before slumping back in his seat. “Probably.”

Then something occurred to him, “He’s taking him to a party? Shit.”

“What’s wrong, apart from the obvious?”

“I-” The look Seonghwa gave was somewhat guilty. “I didn’t train him for others.”

“What do you mean? You trained him, even if you didn’t train him for the full three months, you still trained him. He should be ready for anything.”

Seonghwa shook his head, “I trained him in what would please him, I trained him in … what would please me.”

If she didn’t know better she might have thought he harbored deeper feelings for Yeosang but she had known Seonghwa since she was thirteen and he had only loved someone once. It had been catastrophic and she was still itching to pay that woman back for how badly she hurt him. “You were planning on keeping him.”

He shifted uncomfortably and nodded, “Yes, I was.”

Se-Ra nudged his arm off of the chair and perched beside him, “If he’s not ready for one of Lee Jun’s parties then he’s going to get hurt.”

“Could you go? Keep an eye on him?” He looked up at her hopefully.

“I have to get back to the island. The new season is starting soon and the main building still needs repairs to the north wing and the pool complex has a crack. We also had to fire several members of the maintenance staff because of privacy concerns. We’re still hiring new ones and I’ve got to hire at least three more trainers.”

“Are things going that badly?” He had created the island but he had long since taken his hands from the wheel and left it to Se-Ra.

“They’re going that well. Did you even look at the quarterlies I gave you when I saw you last. Demand far exceeds availability. We either need to expand, which I did want to talk to you about, or just keep things as they are with even longer waiting lists than usual.” While she could probably even build a whole new island without asking, it wasn’t something she wanted to do without at least consulting him. There was still room to expand on the one he owned, but if they expanded, it would be harder to maintain privacy for their guests and that was something they valued above all.

“Do what you think is best.” He wasn’t even thinking about the island, Se-Ra handled it well. She didn’t really need him. At that moment, he didn’t even care if he saw the island again or if the sea swallowed it. His mind was on Yeosang. He couldn’t let him get hurt because he failed to train him properly out of selfishness. The thought of seeing him again… he swallowed, “I’ll go to the party.”

“I was thinking that- wait. You’re going to go to the party? You ?” It had been at least five years, if not longer, since he had set a pinky toe into one of those parties. “You’re serious?”

“I have to Se-Ra. I can’t let him get hurt because I failed him…” He closed his mouth. He had said too much. He could feel the weight of her gaze on him. If she didn’t know he was in love with Yeosang, she surely suspected.

It wasn’t exactly what he had said but how he had said it. Was he in love? It was obvious that he cared and that was enough. She put the question of love out of her head and nodded. “Okay, then go. Keep an eye on him and if you happen to accidentally shove Choi San out of a window, then it’s no skin off my nose.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“I do but his actions were careless and he had no business doing it.” He had no business hurting people whether he had intended to or not. When she saw him again, she was going to give a good piece of her mind.

Seonghwa nodded. “Are you staying?”

“I thought I’d stay tonight, if you don’t mind.” It was getting late and frankly she was exhausted but she wasn’t going to go to bed until she was sure that Seonghwa was in bed as well. She didn’t like the thought of him sitting up and wallowing because that was exactly what he had been doing when she found him.

“No, I don’t mind.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before she reached out and grabbed his hand, “Come on, bedtime.”

He didn’t complain. He just let her bundle him off to his room. He heard her door close down the hallway. He was going to see Yeosang again, if it was indeed him that Choi San was taking to the party. He felt sick and elated in equal measure. There wasn’t a day that had gone by that he hadn’t pictured his sweet smile or remembered his adorable laugh. This was so very different from the last time he thought himself to be in love. That hadn’t been his doing. It had been someone who hadn’t seen value in his love or in him. She had just cast him aside without a thought. This time it was his own transgression and he thought… he thought that Yeosang might have just been in love with him as well. That made it all the worse because there is no way that what he learned wouldn’t have cut him through to the bone. But he had said they were just having fun, those words still haunted him. Maybe he hadn’t felt anything at all…

He picked up his phone and fired off a text to Lee Jun and told him that he was going to be attending his party. Lee Jun replied almost immediately, excited that he was once again joining the scene. He suggested that he knew a couple of people who he might be interested in. Seonghwa answered noncommittally and got ready for bed.

***

Park Seonghwa was no longer his professor.

He had graduated and left him behind, or at least he liked to think he had. Everyday he had class, he had gone and had been the very picture of the dutiful student. Seonghwa had tried to talk to him on several occasions but he hadn’t given him the opportunity. He had also tried to call and send him texts but he ignored or deleted them. He should have blocked his number but for some reason he couldn’t quite explain, he didn’t.

Choi San had been shocked that he didn’t know about the fact that he was just one of many. He had been less than supportive of his friend in that he also hadn’t bothered to tell him that he only kept people for three months. Their three months had almost been up and Park Seonghwa hadn’t so much as breathed a word of it. To think he actually thought there might have been a chance that Seonghwa might have cared for him, that he might have loved him. How cold did you have to be to treat people like that? How twisted?

No, it was best to just make a clean breast of it and walk away. That was what he had done. At least, that was what he wished he could do. There was too much time in the day, too much time to think, too much time to remember the bliss he had felt in Seonghwa’s arms, the taste of his kiss, the way his eyes would follow him, he missed him so much and he hated it. He kept wondering what it was that Seonghwa had been planning on telling him that day. Had he been planning to tell him that their time was almost up? He had been so tender and his eyes so warm as he held him. How could he do that?

He had spent that night with San, eager to forget. It hadn’t been the same but he had still cum. A moment of ecstasy to forget the pain. He dove face first into all that San offered him. Tonight they were going to a party, it was a special party and he had to admit, he was interested. Even in his time with Seonghwa, he had no idea that people really had such parties. San said that Seonghwa used to go to them all the time but he had stopped going a while back with no explanation.

He didn’t tell San he was in love with Seonghwa. He didn’t even hint to the fact that he cared. He only did his best to drown himself in sensation. He did his best to seem as uninterested in Park Seonghwa as possible but he still asked about him.

Through his association with Choi San, he did find out one more little unrelated tidbit that he hadn’t known. There was an island, a whole island dedicated to BDSM. He told San he wanted to go.

“I might be able to get you in but it’s not as easy as that.” San said while he picked out his clothes for the party.

“Why not?” Yeosang was still naked on the bed.

“Believe it or not, they are really particular about who they let in. They only let in experienced people after doing interviews and a full psychological exam. There are also physicals and blood tests. They are the best there is though. It’s like a high end resort but with BDSM.”

“That sounds amazing.” Yeosang, despite his initial anger, liked San. He was funny, fun to hang out with and completely insatiable. “Do you go a lot?”

“I usually go a few times a year.” San peeked over his shoulder at Yeosang who looked thoughtful. “You really want to go don’t you?”

“Does it show?” Yeosang sat up and swung his legs off of the bed.

“I’ll help you apply, alright? The fact that you’ve been trained by Park Seonghwa will go a long way to getting you in. He’s notoriously picky in who he chooses and known to be one of the best trainers there is.”

Park Seonghwa. The man’s name even had the power to stir him. He pushed him out of his thoughts and got up. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Yeosang wasn’t entirely sure what he had been expecting at a sex party but this wasn’t it. It wasn’t just a wall to wall orgy. Well dressed people of obvious means drifted here and there with tiny plates of hors d'oeuvres and cocktails. They mixed and mingled, laughed and chatted. It looked like the sort of parties that the elite went to in dramas. He most certainly didn’t feel like he belonged there. However, when he turned his ear to the conversation, it was far more in keeping with what he would have expected. It was sexually charged and downright indecent. No matter how you dressed it all up, sex was still one of the most base instincts of humans.

San put his hand on the small of his back and guided him through the crowd. It was only when he got inside that he realized it was all just a façade. He heard a scream from somewhere close by, no one seemed to pay any attention. There was a wave of laughter from a small group of people talking nearby. As they passed by a closed door, he heard moaning and the sound of what sounded like a whip strike followed by a grunt.

“You look surprised.” San said at his elbow.

“This isn’t what I was expecting.” Yeosang’s eyes tried to take in everything at once.

“You’re staring.”

“I can’t help it. I’ve never been to a party like this before.”

“It doesn’t matter if you're rich or poor, everyone fucks. Rich people just like to put a bow on it. It doesn’t really make much difference, it’s the same sweaty fun. Come on, let me introduce you to some people.”

San guided Yeosang through the crowds and he got more than a little interest. People were particularly interested when they found out that he had been trained by Seonghwa. He wished that San wouldn’t include that in the introduction but it seemed to interest people as much as he did. Seonghwa was somewhat of a legend and viewed as an icon of the scene. No matter where he went or who he talked to, he couldn’t seem to escape the shadow of Park Seonghwa.

“This is my best friend, Jung Wooyoung.”

Yeosang tore his eyes away from a woman who seemed to be amusing a small group of three men. He heard her say something about wanting three cocks to fill her up. The men seemed to be quite interested in what she was offering, they headed off toward one of the other rooms as he looked toward the man he was being introduced to. The man had a bright smile and radiated affability but he also radiated an intense sexuality that seemed almost beyond him to control.

They shook hands but Wooyoung was eating him up with his eyes. He felt almost naked beneath his hungry gaze but he didn’t say or do anything overt. He almost wished he would. He felt distinctly uncomfortable and wanted to get back to something he understood. Fucking he understood. The three of them chatted for a while until Yeosang began to relax a bit. Wooyoung was an extremely touchy person, he touched him often, touching his arm, his back, his hand, wherever as he spoke and he talked a lot. It saved Yeosang from needing to do it.

Inevitably, the conversation turned sexual. “Have you ever had two cocks at the same time?”

Yeosang licked his lips, he felt himself twitch inside his jeans. “No, I haven’t.” he quickly added. “But I’d like to try it.” This was what he wanted, this was why he was here.

***

Seonghwa stepped into the opulent house of Lee Jun and looked around. There were perhaps twenty to thirty people that he could see. That probably meant there were another twenty to thirty people who had already found their way into the other rooms. There was really only one face he was looking for and he didn’t see him.

Almost immediately he was assailed by acquaintances that he hadn’t seen in years or hadn’t seen since the last time he had been to the island. Everyone wanted to know where he had been and why he had deprived them of his presence. He grabbed Lee Jun, “Have you seen Choi San?”

“Yeah, he went back to one of the rooms with Jung Wooyoung and some guy I haven’t seen before. Choi San brought him with him.”

“Do you know which one?” Seonghwa asked anxiously.

“Lemme ask.” Lee Jun stopped one of the many scantily clad servants and asked after San and Yeosang. The servant knew exactly where they were and told them.

“Thanks.” Seonghwa said, slapping Lee Jun’s shoulder as he walked off toward the stairs. It was the salon at the end of the hall. It was one of the places for voyeurs. If you were in a room with a closed door, then it was off limits for watchers. If you chose one of the curtained areas, then it was with the understanding that anyone could (and probably would) come and watch. Not everyone wanted to participate, some people just wanted to watch.

He heard them before he reached the deep red velvet curtain that partitioned off the area. With his heart in his throat, he reached for the curtain and flicked it aside. There he saw Yeosang on his knees between the two men, a cock in each hand, alternating between stroking and sucking. Seonghwa’s stomach clenched but his cock hardened. Christ. Was he really going to fuck both of them? He swallowed hard but kept watching through the slightly parted curtains. He didn’t want Yeosang to know he was there. He was just there to watch over him, to make sure he didn’t get hurt. But he couldn’t make himself look away.

The trio shifted position, San lay on his back as Yeosang crawled over him. Seonghwa watched Yeosang’s face closely as Wooyoung prepared him. San was saying something to him quietly and Yeosang nodded. He looked tense, anxious and Seonghwa didn’t like it but he held his tongue. Wooyoung moved in behind him and began to press his cock into him alongside San's.

Yeosang tensed. For a moment, it looked as if he were on the edge of panic but then their eyes met. Yeosang saw him and their eyes locked. He saw him visibly relax. He thought, I’m here baby. I’m here. He knew Yeosang couldn’t hear him and he wasn’t sure he even wanted his presence but neither of them looked away. Yeosang’s lips parted as he panted. Sweat formed and began to make his skin glow.

Seonghwa reached for his cock, massaging it through his trousers. Yeosang licked his lips and pushed back against the two cocks slamming into him. Unbidden, he imagined Seonghwa crossing the room and slipping his cock between his lips as he was fucked by these two men. He started to lose himself to the sensation, Seonghwa’s eyes on him. God, Seonghwa’s eyes on him, how he had missed it. How he needed it. He forgot everything and just let himself feel. The feeling of being filled and stretched was intense. It was more than he had ever taken before and he felt himself on a razor’s edge of pleasure and pain but he couldn’t help the feeling of safety that blanketed him at Seonghwa’s presence. He imagined the feeling of his lips too being stretched, his tongue flicking against the sensitive underside, the smell of him, the taste of Seonghwa. His cock swelled against San’s stomach.

He felt Wooyoung pull out of him. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw him pulling off the condom that had sheathed his cock and releasing his load all over Yeosang’s lower back and ass. San grinned up at him and moved to kiss him but Yeosang turned his head, letting him kiss his neck instead.

Seonghwa smiled as Yeosang turned away from San’s kiss. Your lips are only for me baby. Yeosang’s eyes came back to him as he began to fuck himself on San’s cock. He stroked his cock as he rode him. A trembling cry fell from his lips he started to cum, his head fell back. The first spurt of his cum hit San’s stomach followed by a second and a third. San grabbed his hips and slammed up into him, hissing between clenched teeth as he came.

Yeosang smiled as he looked back to where Seonghwa had been standing only to find him gone. He wasn’t sure what to feel. He hadn’t wanted to see him but when he had, all of his feelings for the man came rushing back. Why had he come to the party? Why had he watched?

San slapped his ass and he looked back from the now fully drawn curtain. He climbed off of him. He watched as he peeled off and tied his used condom and pitched it in the bin.

“Where is the bathroom? I’d like to clean up?” Yeosang asked.

Wooyoung took him to the bathroom and left him. As soon as he had the door closed he leaned against it and closed his eyes. Why was this all so hard? Seonghwa’s presence had just made it harder, then again he knew that he wouldn’t have been able to do what he had done if he hadn’t been there. Like it or not, he still somewhere deep down inherently believed that Seonghwa wouldn’t let him get hurt, that he would never make him do anything he didn’t want to do. He took a deep breath and pushed himself off of the door and set to cleaning up. The party’s host had made ready an array of disposable hygiene products for the guests, probably rightly so. He made use of them.

Once he was cleaned up and back in his clothes, he made his way back down to the party proper. Almost immediately, he saw him. Seonghwa was standing between a young man and a young woman, both obviously fawning over him. Yeosang had seen it far too many times to not recognize it instantly. An older woman stood opposite him and it was to her that he was speaking. He caught Yeosang’s eye over her shoulder.  

Yeosang froze on the stairs. A servant stopped beside him and offered him a drink, he took it, his eyes never leaving Seonghwa’s.

Seonghwa reached down and grabbed the hand of the young woman at his side without so much as looking at her and walked off. Yeosang found himself following behind at a less than discrete distance. The two stepped into an alcove behind a red curtain. San had told him what curtains meant when he had told him the rules for the event. Yeosang didn’t even know what he was doing. He didn’t want to see Seonghwa fuck someone else. He didn’t want to even know about it but he drifted forward nonetheless.

He could hear them, the curtain did little to muffle the sounds. He laid his hand on the curtain and just waited, trying to imagine what was going on, on the other side of the thin partition. He could hear sounds of movement but could no longer be sure what it was that was happening.

Yeosang bit his thumbnail and grasped the edge of the curtain. He should really just walk away. Just walk away Yeosang. He told himself again and again but his feet didn’t move. His hand did however, brushing the curtain aside. His heart lurched and his balls tightened, at the sight before him. The woman was on her knees in front of Seonghwa, his hand was on the back of her head as she sucked eagerly on his cock. Instantly, Seonghwa’s eyes found him and he gave a little smile, almost as if he had been waiting for him.

His eyes were dark and dangerous, the way that scared and thrilled him the most. He wanted to hurt someone, he wanted to hurt him . God he wanted him to. He liked San but San wasn’t as controlled, measured, nor did he seem to instinctively know what he wanted, what he needed. San was a great fuck but he was not a great master. He didn’t want to hurt for San. He wanted to hurt for Seonghwa.

Seonghwa’s lips moved and he swore he mouthed his name. “Touch yourself.” he said aloud. The girl whose lips were wrapped around his cock complied, sliding her hand between her legs.

Yeosang found his hand dropping to his cock, he rubbed his ready cock through his jeans, reaching to open them. Just this one time, he wanted to cum for him just this one time. His fingers closed around his cock, he remembered the feeling of Seonghwa’s long, hot, elegant fingers wrapped around him. The way he would watch him, gauging every little expression, every little breath, knowing how to play him, to make his body his own. He had no doubt that it was him whose face Seonghwa was currently fucking. He made absolutely no secret of it.

His legs shook as he stroked. He mouthed Seonghwa’s name.

“Cum for me.” Seonghwa breathed.

Yeosang couldn’t help it. He had been so well trained, even if he hadn’t wanted to, he would have cum. It took an extreme force of will to not cry out, as it was he bent almost double to do no more than make the smallest choked sound. What was he doing? This was the man who seemingly just used people, he had even used this girl to make him cum. He had to get out of here, he couldn’t face him. He didn’t have the strength to deny him. He didn’t want to deny him but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t.

Tossed in a tempest of emotion, Yeosang turned from the curtain and ran off. San looked up in surprise as he saw Yeosang all but run past him and out the front door.

Seonghwa had seen the look on Yeosang’s face as he had run out. He hadn’t been able to look away from him. There was no doubt that was what he had been doing, running away from him. He felt sick as he slumped back. The woman before him looked up curiously, “Are you alright?”

“I’m suddenly not feeling well. What was your name?” He asked her kindly.

“Han Jiyoung.”

He smiled and patted her head, “You were interested in working on the island right?”

She nodded eagerly, she had been trying to get a position there, any position there for the last two years. “I can’t hire you but I can see that you can get proper training if you want to become a permanent submissive there. Even then, I can’t promise you a position, but I can help you find someone who can help you.”

“Can you train me?” She asked hopefully.

“No, I’m sorry. I think I’m retired from training people.”

With a wisdom that belied her age she fixed him with a penetrating gaze, “You’re in love with that man who was watching us aren’t you?”

Seonghwa looked shocked, was it that obvious? “How-?”

She smiled, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. This wasn’t about me, this was about him.”

Seonghwa nodded and chuckled, there was a freedom in telling someone. He felt slightly lighter. “Unfortunately, I think he thinks something of me that might or might not be true.”

“Then you should make sure he knows the truth, even if you have to ultimately let him go. This is a hard place to find love, so you should take it when you find it.”

Seonghwa looked at her again, really looked at her. She was a little on the plain side but she had an intensely persuasive sensuality to her and she was very insightful, she would be a brilliant submissive for a less experienced dominant. “Here…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card holder. He plucked out Se-Ra’s card and handed it to her. “This is Kim Se-Ra, tell her that I sent you. She’ll be happy to help you and if you’re really lucky then maybe she’ll even train you. She’s even better at it than I am. Oh… Uh if you could maybe, not tell her what happened here?”

Han Jiyoung gave him an innocent look, “I don’t know what you mean. I only met you at the party and asked you for some help.”

Seonghwa laughed softly. “Thanks.”

“Sorry I didn’t make you cum, do you want…”

He held up a hand as he reached to tuck himself away, “No, no. It’s fine really. I find there’s really only one person I want these days.”

Jiyoung smiled and nodded, “I understand and…” she held up the card. “Thank you, I mean it. You would not believe how hard it is to get in there.”

“I can imagine. Han Jiyoung?”

She gave a slightly raised questioning lift of her eyebrows, “Hm?”

“Thank you too. You’ve made me feel a little bit better about things.” He breathed a lighter breath than he had breathed in months.

“If you catch your prince, you’ll have to let me know. Thanks again.” With that she made her exit with an excited bounce in her step.

His prince huh? Seonghwa crossed his arms over his chest and asked himself the hardest question of all, “How to catch a prince?”

Other Story Parts Can Be Found In Master List

[thegc4life]

*opens pandora's box again* Soooooo ,,, any new fic ideas since last time?

Wyv... -_-

@wyvernspirit Of COURSE I do! I’m just gonna do the BNHA ones again.

For Hawks (cause I apparently can never run out of ideas for this bird):

- Look, don’t judge me for this. My neighbor’s kiddos were watching Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends about a week or so ago as I was writing stuff for the next chapter and it just... stuck. So Foster’s but BNHA. I haven’t even fully thought about the specifics. The idea just slaps me in the brain sometimes and I go ‘awww’. Like, is Hawks the imaginary friend? Cause that would be cute. But for who? There are so many possibilities! Little Rumi wanting a BFF that understands and loves her for who she is and is always down for some kind of competition? Yes! Little Todoroki Touya who just wants to fly away from everything and is desperately lonely with the only people he can talk to being his younger siblings he has sworn to protect and thus can not comfortably open up to them? YES! Literally any of the Todoroki children? YES! Kamakiri?! Little Kamakiri who loves his Dad and just wants to help but he can’t because he’s not big enough yet so he creates someone that can do everything and loves them both and will keep them safe no matter what?? YES!! Aiko and Eri?! And thusly, Monoma?! YES! Look, whatever way I spin this it comes out punching my heart. I just- I really love the Foster’s/BNHA cross-over I feel we all rightfully deserve. (who knows. Maybe one day).

-I keep flip-flopping with different-aged!Hawks stuff. Cause there are so many ways to do that and they’re all just so dang good. The most recent one is Hawks as a student with the current UA group but he’s in class 1-B cause I am becoming ridiculously fond of writing them. And I crave the 1-B content. Plus there would be a lot more Vlad-King-you-mean-DAD-King! And really, who would say no to that?

-...Wyv. You know about the business conglomerate battle world. With UA keeping a steady stronghold on fast food (with AllMight the long retired mascot sign flipper that Endeavour could never hope to match thus pushing his children away from the sign flipping industry forever in his blindness), the LOV somehow competing with them even though they run and Office Depot, the horrifying IKEA run by Re-Destro where if you go in you never come back out and are now part of the ever growing employee selection, and the Health Inspection Commission that for some reason spans all of this even though it really is not their jurisdiction? And how Hawks works at all three locations? I still think about this AU sometimes. @precarious-lounging You gave me so much laughter and food for fun thoughts with this. I imagine it every time I need a pick-me-up XD

- This one’s got spoilers so skip to the next if you do not wish to read! Super sad but growing hopeful one of Hawks after the... the wing thing. Like, if they didn’t grow back. Basically just him travelling around and experiencing a thousand new things and slowly coming to terms with what happened to him, re-discovering who he is, finding things he loves, and learning what being alive means to him. If I ever fully write this one it’s gonna take a while because it’s the type of story I would want to get down just right because of the way I want to write it.

I have a few blurb thoughts for Shinso ( @prince-liest! This is totally your fault! I already really liked Shinso but now I completely adore him! You have pushed me down a rabbit hole!)

-Hawks and Shinso meeting up (cause when you have two obsessions why not just mix them together you know?). Shinso out on the town for who knows what reason, gets into a pickle, handles it great when Hawks swoops in to finish up. This happens a lot and Hawks starts to wonder if this purple kid’s quirk is ‘trouble magnet’. They start meeting up regularly since Hawks always takes him out for a meal and he is now becoming attached to this edgy teen. Found family for the win! I don’t know about what time in the plot this would be. Any time would make for great time, I think. 

-Dadzawa. Literally... literally all the Dad. For Shinso. Give him his caterpillar father. It could be as a student, such is the way of Canon. It could be earlier. It could be from the start. Like, little baby Shinso. Yes. Very much yes. Mic has to be there. I have been completely swayed to that side. If there is no Mic I riot.

-Just a fic exploring how the dynamics between him and all of his classmates unfolds. Could be 1-A, could be 1-B. Just friendship. Unlock all the friend paths! ALL OF THEM!

I already loved Bakugo as an extremely complex character (and all the brattiest kids always manage to find a special place in my heart, why would imaginary brats be any different really) and the latest chapters have only brought all that back like a jackhammer. 

-Exploring Bakugo’s thoughts on Midoriya for the millionth time? Of course. Especially with recent things.

-Exploring Bakugo’s relationships with all of his classmates? ALWAYS. Consider this the Shinso idea but with %80 more cursing.

-DADZAWA. EVERY TIME.

-Dad-Jeanist. They have a bond. I would like to expand the bond. EXPAND THE BOND HORI-!

-What if Bakugo really did end up joining the LOV? But not to become a villain. To become their chef and personal trainer because ‘damn, you really live like this’ Bakugo would take one look at their ratty clothes, poor diets, and Shigaraki’s entire face and do what needed to be done. 

-Bakugo and Hawks (because obsessions). I already have some planned dynamics coming up for them but you can never have enough! Bakugo can fly! And he would clearly ignore every laws of flight guideline known to man so of course he’d be up there the second he figured out the logistics. Enter Hawks, who just wants everyone to love the sky as much as he does. Also, loud cursing people that shout how much they care into your brain are some of his favorite people. Oh my god. He and Rumi would absolutely adopt Bakugo on the spot. I don’t even care if it be romantic or platonic adoption between them. Imagine the sports rallys. Rumi would be yelling at Bakugo to break someone’s leg. Hawks would bring an airhorn. I- I need this.

I feel pumped again! Heck yeah! All these ideas are making me crave writing! Thanks Wyv! I know you were using your sneaky sneak ways and I appreciate it even if I give you a hard time about it XD Hope you liked the brain burps!

[alolanrain]

Found Family!AU *Christmas Edition* Pt.2

Imagine Opal dealing with Madam Boss and bby Giovanni

Gio learns all his baking skills from his Aunt Opal

But his mother hated her sister with a passion

So he doesn’t see her often

When Madam Boss dies, it’s a bloody gory mess, he’s the first one to call her

“I have a son.” Is his hello, because I’m not making Giovanni and utter asshole in this AU he’s going to love Ash from a distance and actually steps down from Team Rocket the first time Ash stops him

And Opal is like, “P l e a s e let it be with that Female Kanto Trainer you brought to Galar that one Christmas, she’s such a sweet heart.”

And Opal finds out it is!!!

She puts her foot down on choosing the name bc Giovanni is fucking HORRIBLE with names and Delia was so tired and stressed a lot during the pregnancy to the point she couldn’t get a lot of shit down for the baby’s

Ash forces reluctant Grunkle Kabu to come to Alola for a week to meet up with extremely reluctant Grunkle Nanu

NANU AND KABU ARE EX-BOYFRIENDS

And Ash doesn’t even KNOW

Acerola kinda knows bc there’s this one picture her Uncle Nanu has at his desk at the police station next to a frame of her parents, him, and Acerola as a baby

She never commented on it and catches Nanu either looking at it with such a warm smile or either a really pained look in his eyes

it was a friendly split up

Both got to busy

And just had to let go

But it still hurt them a lot

ALLISTER AND ACEROLA ARE GHOST BESTIES

No but I’m expanding on the relationship of Bby! Ash and Gary with the older Head Chairman, who I’m naming Diego Thorn, and Younger!Rose, and finally Younger!Kabu

I’m hc that the Chairman BEFORE Chairman Thorn was named Theo Grass

So it’s kinda like earth, grass, thorn, then rose

Because it’s the pretty things in life that are truly poisonous

grumpy Grunkles are getting back together with the help of Ash, Gary, and the Ghost baby’s

the only reason why Kabu is considered a Grunkle is because both Ash and Gary seemed to have fucking LOVED him so much and he fathered Delia a lot since her own family was shit

So he’s the honorary Grunkle while Nanu IS Ash’s Grunkle bc yes tf Nanu is Giovanni’s Uncle but he’s really distant so he never actually found out Ash was his great Nephew until Ash at the age of 20-something came stumbling into his police station with wide whisky brown eyes and shocking black hair and a jaw line that seemed to familiar that Nanu could never forget

Chairman Thorn ALWAYS Came down from his work place, dragging Rose and his own assistant/secretary, Milly, to see bby Ash and Gary bc he’s a really big family man and the two boys absolutely adore him as much as Thorn adored them

And Delia was so afraid at first that Opal would nearly be/ or just plain be the same as Madam Boss and hurt the poor girl but it’s quite the opposite

Opal spoiled her SO HARD, she was the one to make sure that Delia and Gio had everything they could need for Bby Ash’s arrival and afterwards

And both women found out that they share a deep love for winter in general

So they start small traditions that they then pass down to Ash and Gary, because the Oaks get sucked into this bc Professor Oak can’t say no and Daisy loves Delia like the mom she barely remembers

And Opal is just like “Yes more great grand babies.”

And she was there for Delia when Giovanni left Ash and Delia, yes she was absolutely ROYALY pissed at her Nephew, but she also knew why Gio did what he did

Because he did the best thing to protect her, Ash, and by extent the Oaks as well

Because he fathered Gary and Daisy as much as Delia mothered them

But it because a tradition to bring the kids up to Galar to see Graunty Opal and Grunkle Kabu and spend the second week of December all the way to a week after New Years there

So like almost a whole month of family lovin’ time

BUT IMAGINE BBY ASH WADDLING INTO THE GYM FEILD AND CLINGING ONTO OPAL WHOS TALKING TO LEON/RAIHAN/OR BOTH BEFORE THEIR GYM BATTLE

AND SHE NEEDS TO GRAB SOMTHING BUT ASH IS CLINGING ONTO HER LEG SO OPAL JUST S C O O P S HIM UP AND HANDS HIM OVER TO THE TRAINER(S) AND IS LIKE “brb gotta go get some stuff before hand” AND JUST L E A V E S THEM THERE WITH BBY ASH WHO HAS JUST STARTED ASKING QUESTIONS AND HAS FALLEN SO HARD IN LOVE WITH POKÉMON

Raihan would just inwardly panic bc he’s never been good with baby’s before

But damn OH DAMN does Leon start bouncing Ash up and down while trying his best to answer Ash’s questions because he absolutely ADORES children at Ash’s age and wants to get better bc his mom and dad are thinking about having another kid and he wants to be the BEST big brother that he can be

Then Gary waddles over bc he couldn’t find Ash and Gary’s suppose to stick by Ash’s side to make sure the younger boy doesn’t get hurt

Raihan would start to panic even more bc there’s TWO babies now

But Leon would be ecstatic because there’s T W O BABIES NOW

HHH SO THEN COUSIN LEON BECOMES A THING

BUT ITS A SHORT THING BC ASH HAS TK GO BACK HOME AND HE DOESNT SEE LEON ANYMORE

but then he comes back with Gou in tow and the first part of the HC happens and then he sees Leon again

And everyone just watches Leon gush’s about how Ash and Gary were so cute as toddlers and then Ash recalls and just screams “COUSIN L!!!!” Because as a Bby he couldn’t pronounce Leon’s full name

And Hop is like “w h a t”

BUT ALSO IMAGINE NEWLY GRANTED GYM LEADER PIERS BEING BROUGHT OVER TO OPALS HOUSE FOR CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEARS BECAUSE HIS FAMILY IS S H I T AND HE MEETS ASH AND GARY

DELIA KINDA SUBCONSCIOUSLY BECOMES A MOM TO PEIRS DURING THAG MONTH AND ASH IS LIKE

“Y A S ANOTHER SIBLING!!!!!”

And then Piers gets abducted every year until Delia and Ash stop showing up bc their busy with work/traveling

Until, again, Ash comes back with Gou in tow and Gary gets guilted to come up to Galar

And he sees Piers and just gives the man a cheeky smile and then sees Marnie kinda hiding behind Piers and thinks “Ah yes, new sibling #5,437”

And Marnie latches on faster to Ash than Piers has seen her ever do to anyone else bc she’s been grown up on the wild things Ash would get Piers and another boy into before he stopped coming back to Galar every winter

Bede also gains Brotherly Love bc his family kicked him out for being trans and Ash was having NONE OF THAT bc he’s trans himself

I’m thinking about having Ash and Gary together since this AU is kinda like my AM!AU but not really

Still debating on that

But no My favorite part has to be the competition between all the League officials, except Rose bc he’s an asshole, to get the best seasonal themed picture/video with the trio bc OF COURSE Gou is immediately adopted into the family and becomes Ash’s little sibling

Even people like Allister and Bae get into it

Like there’s a picture Melony took for Allister that had Ash lofting the boy up so he could place the star on the small Christmas tree at their gym lobby with Gou and Gary helping to place other decorations on it

Or Bae’s selfie of the Trio with her together with a snowman that looks like a certain Galar Champion, stolen cape and all

Gou fears for a while that they were all just being awkwardly nice about it until Kabu find them out at night behind Opals mansion they were staying at and gently nudges the truth towards them that they actually LIKE having Gou with them and participating with their family shenanigans and other shit and that they ARE family now because do you honestly think Delia is going to let go of you know? Because she sure as hell hasn’t let go of Kahuna Nanu in Alola

God when Ash brings all his friends who don’t have Good Families over it becomes even more Chaotic

Opals like “WHAT DO YOU M E A N YOU NEVER BAKED COOKIES UNTIL THREE IN THE MORNING?????”

And Lillie and Melony talk about ice types over a cup of hot coco why Allister, Bae, and a shit ton of other people are loosing their mind over Silvally because it can change TYPING W T F GLADION

and Ash is like “oh it’s Silvally!” And Gary would be intrigued but Ash literally shares EVERYTHING with him so he can meet the Pokémon another time when Gladion isn’t so bombarded by people bc the blonde was so used to people in Alola who are used to seeing Silvally that he forgot Alola is definitely not like everywhere else

Hhh Serena, May, Dawn, Zoey, and a bunch of other girls talking with Opal, Oleana, and other female League members about fashion and the younger girls find out that the Women watch their performances religiously bc Ash flippantly said something and that got them interested now they can’t stop watch them

IRIS AND RAIHAN DUKING IT OUT ON THE BATTLE FEILD BC IRIS SAID HER DEAGONITE IS STRONGER AND BETTER THAN RAIHANS FLYGON AND HES LIKE “B E T YOU TINER FUCKER!!!!”

RAIHAN DUKING IT OUT WITH DRAYDEN, because he’s still cousins with Delia in this AU, AND W I N N I N G

So it’s canon, from the new Pokémon game app, that Iris is Leon and Hops cousin

So now Leon just rounds on Ash and is so confused bc Iris talked about this one boy name Ash with a Pikachu who acts like such a kid over face time but Leon didn’t make the connection it was THIS Ash she was traveling with

Hhh snuggle piles in the living room after a fun day outside building forts and what not

Like Ash is dead center in the kids pile bc he’s a kid at heart and Gary’s legs are thrown over his shoulder a bc Ash is in a blanket fort/nest with the other younger kids while Gary is pressed between Delia and Daisy

Opal is curled with Serena bc she’s currently getting deets in the fairy world in Kalos

PROFESSOR OAK TALKING TO MELONY ABOUT ICE TYPES BC HE USED TO BE AN ICE TYPE TRAINER BEFORE COMING KANTOS PROFESSOR

All the younger trainers are so focused on the movies as the adults just talk quietly in the background

And Gou is laying over Ash’s lap while on their phone and Ash doesn’t say anything even though his legs are falling asleep

Idk I’m gonna have Lance as Delia’s brother in this AU

But that doe NOT stop him from acting like Ash’s uncle because Ash ripped Lances two titles out from under him in three years

Leon has been Champion for 20-something years instead of the in game 10 Years

So that it could be plausible that Trainer!Leon and Bby!Ash/Gary could meet each other