#collecting a gaggle of children

[master-missysversion]

Self indulgent fantasy where all the child versions of the character get pulled from time and get to play in a park together

[killjoygem]

I think Owen would adopt all his patients kids if he could 😭

[4unnyr0se]

hhii 🫶🏼💕 I know you're probably busy and I visible kick my feet n twirl my hair when you post, your writing is so amazing 💕💕 I would love any sort of p!tskp sugawara content 🥹 he doesn't get enough love

❥ elysian | koshi sugawara

warnings: timeskip! sugawara, fem! reader, coworkers to lovers, mentions of alcohol, reader went to shiratorizawa, making out, sugawara is a flirt bc i said so, hickeys, cunnilingus, fingering, sugawara is a gentleman, protected sex, rough(?) sex, fluff at the end, not proofread

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 5.3k (lol)

a/n: hiiii omg im sorry this took so long to make but i hope u like it!! koshi is my fave <3

Art has a funny way of bringing together people they would never meet. “It’s a catalyst of romance,” your professor used to say when you were in art school. But that was a year ago, and so far, there was nothing: no romance, no dates, nothing. However, you didn’t mind one bit. Your art degree landed you a job teaching children at the local elementary school, and they brought you constant laughter. Sure, it was pure chaos the second a gaggle of second graders entered your classroom. But it was innocent chaos formed by nothing but the innocent minds of children longing to create something out of nothing. Getting paint on their hands or glue in their hair was chaotic, but it was free. Besides, it wouldn’t be your problem if they returned to the homeroom covered in glitter. That was for their homeroom teacher to take care of. You were the fun teacher, the one who had all the neat stuffed animals and who put on cartoons in the background. Honestly, your job was perfect.

It became even more perfect when the homeroom teacher for your most recent class actually came to collect the children instead of you having to escort them back to their classroom. The children were happily giggling in line as you clapped your hands together. “Okay, guys, who’s ready to return to Mr. Sugawara’s room?” the children raised their hands in the air, various versions of yes filling the room. 

“Miss!” one child pointed out. “Mr. Sugawara is outside the door,” he said, his little voice slurring his words slightly. You turned around to see a green sweater in the window frame.

“Oh, he must be coming to collect you today,” you smiled, patting the child on the head. You opened the door without looking, waving goodbye to your students.

“Thanks for watching my kids for today, Miss,” his soft yet deep voice filled your ears. It sounded like warm honey rolling off of his tongue. “I know they can be a real handful.”

“It’s no probl-” your words stopped in your throat once you turned around. Holy fuck, Sugawara was handsome as all hell. He had such a kind face, and his silver hair matched him perfectly. And that beauty mark on his cheek? Fucking ethereal. He looked like one of the great masters painted him, jumping to life off of their canvas.  “O-oh, hi, Mr. Sugawara! Yeah, your kids are no problem at all. In fact, they’re a delight to teach.” you stammered, placing your hands in front of your belly. 

Sugawara chuckled. “Maybe they just behave because you put on cartoons,” he playfully winked, instructing the child at the line's font to follow him. “Well, I’ll see you next week.” 

And with that, he left, the children obediently following him like a line of baby ducklings. You sighed happily, leaning against the doorframe until they were out of your sight. The door closed, and your hand lingered on the knob, mind being filled with thoughts of him.

“Oh no,” you mumbled, running your other hand through your hair. “I have a crush on my coworker.”

You began to long for the days when you taught Sugawara’s class because it meant you could see his handsome face outside of the window. He would even come in occasionally, greeting you with a friendly smile as he ushered his students out of the door. He was so caring, so kind and attentive. The way his students looked at him with such admiration in their eyes, there was no word for it other than adorable. Koshi Sugawara made you swoon every single time, and he had absolutely no idea that he had that power over you.

Today was a messy day in particular because the children got to make macaroni crafts with glue and noodles on construction paper. It was a reasonably elementary project (it’s an elementary school, after all…), but it was so chaotic. Macaroni noodles were found in places that macaroni noodles should not be, and glue was somehow covering every surface it possibly could, including the ceiling. You will never know or hope to understand how a gaggle of giggling children managed to get glue atop a roof. 

“Alright, kiddos, line up for Mr. Sugawara to come collect you for pick-up time.” you breathed out, wiping your forehead while the students shrieked in delight, fighting for the spot first in line. Your hands rested on your desk as you took a deep breath, glaring at the mess across your otherwise elegant classroom. “I’m gonna be here a while,” you mumbled, waiting for the doorknob to turn. 

The children’s conversation stopped as their eyes turned to the now-open door, Sugawara smiling happily. “Did you all have fun today in class? You’re so messy!” he chuckled, bending down to be at eye level with his students. “The librarian is gonna bring you guys to your parents, okay? Be good for them now.” 

Various shouts of “Okay!” and “I can do it!” faded into the distance as the children left the classroom, holding their sticky hands together to follow the librarian’s lead. Sugawara sighed and ran his hands through his perfect wavy gray strands, winking at you. “Were they a handful today? It looks like it.”

You pushed off your desk and stepped towards him, secretly doing backflips in your mind. “Well, kind of. But they’re delightful and-”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I know they can be monsters sometimes.” he chuckled.

“Yeah, they were monsters,” you sigh, shoving your hands in the pockets of your floor-length cardigan. “They’ve been so good thus far. I don’t understand why they went insane today. It’s just glue and pasta noodles.” you groaned, looking at the mess across the rainbow-colored table that the children painted themselves. “I’m probably gonna have to stay after-hours to clean this up,” you rolled your head to the side in exhaustion. “Which blows because I had dinner plans. And by that, I mean I was gonna order Chinese food and watch soap operas in my pajamas. It’s Friday, after all.” the exhaustion from the students overrode your anxiety around your crush, making you much more candid. 

“Look,” Sugawara took a step forward. “I know my kids were a pain in the ass today. I love them, but they were a pain. Let me help you clean up the classroom. It’s the least I can do for causing you to miss Chinese food and pajamas night.” he shrugged off his green sweater vest, rolling up his white sleeves. You suppressed a groan at the sight before you. Did he know how tantalizing he was being?

“Are you sure? I can do it by myself,” you snapped the hair tie around your wrist, pulling your disarray of strands into a messy bun. “I’ve cleaned up after them before.”

Sugawara shook his head, smiling. “Don’t be silly, I don’t mind at all. It’s equally my fault, too. Now,” he stretched, exposing the tiniest bit of his midriff. “Where are the cleaning supplies?”

You pointed to the cabinet under the sink, blushing softly. “Uh, there’s sponges in the sink. They’re ancient, though.”

“Old things still have use. That’s why we keep them around for so long.” he chuckled, holding a bottle of cleaner and a sponge. “I’ll start on the tables. Maybe you can get the counters? The tables are the messiest.”

You shrugged off your cardigan, letting it fall onto the swiveling chair that the children loved playing on. You wore a simple black tank top, which was permitted by the school’s dress code as long as it had a cover-up that was buttoned. Sugawara’s soft brown eyes lingered on you briefly, returning to scrubbing the tables. The minutes you were passed by with tasteful conversation between the two of you, ranging from various subjects such as what high school you attended to what made you want to become a teacher.

“No way, you went to Karasuno?” you laughed, throwing away the third empty box of macaroni you had found. “I went to Shiratorizawa!”

“You did not!” Sugawara laughed, cracking his back as he scrubbed the second table to a sparkling shine. “I can’t believe you went there. You don’t seem like the type.” he flashed you a smile; it was so pretty. All of his smiles were pretty.

“What, you don’t think I could be prude and stuck-up?” you pretended to clutch your pearls. “I’ll have you know that I was bullied constantly. Thank you very much.”

“Crap, I’m sorry. I didn’t-” 

“Dude, relax. I didn’t care one bit. The volleyball team you destroyed before going to nationals was always kind to me. Especially Goshiki, for some reason.”

“The kid with the awful bowl cut?”

“Exactly!” you giggled, enjoying the moment the two of you were sharing. “They were always nice to me, even though I was the weird kid. I hung out in the art room most of the time, painting and sculpting,” you paused your scrubbing for a moment, nostalgia taking over your thoughts. “I kind of miss it.”

“Tell me about it,” Sugawara scrubbed off the final table, sitting beside you on the caterpillar rug. “You know I taught Hinata how to receive a ball and how he plays professionally? I feel proud but also sad. He’s doing so much with his life.”

Your hand hovered above Sugawara’s shoulder, landing on the soft fabric of his shirt to gently massage it. “Hey, we’re doing just fine with our lives. We teach little people things they didn’t know before, which has to count for something.” you offer him an assuring smile, your cheeks happily blushing.

Sugawara smiled in return, topping your hand with his own. “Yeah, I guess it does count for something,” his gaze focused on the classroom, which was about three-fourths of the way clean. “Hey, what time is it?”

“Maybe six o’clock?” you shrugged. “The clock in this room is broken. A kid from another class threw a pebble at it.”

“Do you still think you have time for your evening plans?” Sugawara got off of the caterpillar rug, dusting off his slacks. He offered his hand for you to take, pulling you off the floor. 

Nodding, you went to your desk to check the time on your phone. Yup, it was six o’clock. “I mean, probably. Why?”

“Would you mind if I joined you?” Sugawara blushed. “This is going to sound stupid, but I’ve meant to ask you out for a while. I just don’t exactly have the guts for that sort of thing, that’s all.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, giggling. “You wanna ask me out? That’s…wow. I mean,” you were at a loss for words, the prettiest shade of pink flooding your cheeks. “I’m more than happy to, Sugawara.”

He beamed at you, grabbing your wrist. “Well, would you wanna go to your place and order some Chinese food? I can pay. I’ll be a total gentleman.” he chuckled. His laugh was so gentle. 

“You’re cute,” you grab your purse, walk out of your classroom, and lock the door. Sugawara stood behind you, the grin not yet leaving his handsome features. “How the hell are you single?” you joke, the two of you making your way to your car.

“I haven’t the foggiest clue,” Sugawara giggled.

 You took your keys and unlocked the vehicle. “You didn’t drive here?” you tugged the handle of your car.

“Oh, I did. I just wanted to walk you to your car. Was that not okay?” he looked worried.

You shook your head and smiled once more. “You’re so sweet, Sugawara. Do you need my address?”

“Yeah,” he typed your address on your phone, double-checking to ensure everything was correctly spelled. “So, I’ll see you in thirty minutes?”

You nodded and got in your car, turning it on and driving away. Once you were out of the school’s faculty parking lot, you screamed joyfully as the radio played your favorite band. Your manicured fingers tapped on the steering wheel with the tune of the music, and the windows rolled down. You felt like you were in a romantic comedy, and it felt fucking incredible. 

You entered your apartment, checking out your reflection in the mirror. There wasn’t any use in changing into something more presentable; it was supposed to be a casual date. Your thoughts began to wander, focusing on Sugawara’a’s handsome features. The way his gray hair swayed when he walked, the beauty mark under his left eye. He was beautiful, and he wanted to date you. Your hand caressed your cheek, your face breaking into a smile that rivaled that of a lovestruck schoolgirl. Did the hands on the clock suddenly get slower, or was it just the anticipation that filled your stomach with dancing butterflies?

The thoughts that raced through your mind made you groan, sliding down onto the chair in your kitchen. “Hm, I should probably put out some wine…is wine casual? No, right? But we’re both adults…so maybe it’s okay?” you grew frustrated, staring at the bottle that had been gifted to you by a coworker for your birthday. “It’s a special occasion, after all…what’s wrong with a little wine and Chinese food?” 

Your eyes wandered back and forth, following the tail of your cat clock until it was around when Sugawara said he would arrive. You waited anxiously by the door, excited to hear a knocking. Were you being too weird about this? You shook your head. Absolutely not. This was perfectly normal. Just two coworkers on a date—what could go wrong?

Knock-knock. You jumped out of your thoughts and gulped, carefully turning the doorknob. Sugawara stood in front of you, still in his teaching outfit. Green sweater, white shirt, black tie. He held a small bouquet of roses in his hand, blushing softly. “I missed you,”

You leaned against the doorway, inviting him inside. “It’s only been thirty minutes,” you said, trying to keep it cool. Then, shutting the door, you walked away.

“It was still way too long. Where should I put these?” he kicked off his shoes.

“I’ll get a vase,” you said, taking the roses and bringing them to your nose. Their scent was extraordinary—smelling of romance and morning dew. It was no wonder they were such a romantic flower. “These are pretty, by the way. Thanks, Sugawara.” You grabbed a tall, empty glass and filled it with water, placing the roses into it. 

“Koshi,” he insisted, standing behind you. “You can call me Koshi. I insist,” his hand trailed up your arm. “Please, call me Koshi.”

You squeaked, goosebumps appearing on your arm. “W-wow, we're on a first-name basis already. You must really like me.” You tried to use humor to cope with the ever-growing tension.

“Maybe I do,” his husky breath whispered into your ear. Forgive me if I’m being too forward,” he snuck his arms around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. But I want you to be as close to me as possible.”

“Koshi!” you squealed, nearly dropping the vase. “I-I thought you were a gentleman!” your bottom lip trembled.

He hummed, resting his top atop your head. “I am, but I got the sense that you don’t want me to be a gentleman right now,” he purred, his fingers snaking to the hem of your top. “Ever since I saw you, I felt you wanted the same thing I did. We just never had the means to interact, at least not before today.”

“What are you saying…?” you turned your head to gaze into his eyes.

“I’m saying,” his hands slid under your top, his fingertips burning your skin. “Even though I want to sit on your couch and eat Chinese food with you,” his lips hovered above yours. “I’d like to kiss you first.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, the words you were about to say dying on your tongue. You could only nod, your face cartoonishly flushed as Sugawara held you closer to his form. 

He chuckled and pressed his lips against yours, kissing you gently and softly. His lips were plump and plush, faintly tasting of caramel and vanilla. Your lips rolled along with his, smiling into the kiss. He turned you around so you were pressed against the counter, your hands gripping the granite countertops. His hands rested snugly on your waist, rubbing the tiniest bit of exposed skin. 

Sugawara broke the kiss after several blissful moments, snickering. “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I saw you in that classroom with my students,” he said, pulling you further into his chest. Your hands gripped his sweater. “It took all my restraint not to pull you into a janitor’s closet and make out with you. All. Of. It.” he punctuated his sentence with pecks on your nose. “Did you…did you feel that way about me, too?”

You chuckled. “Of course I did. I was just too nervous to say anything,” you assured him, leaning upwards in the hopes that he would kiss you again. “Now, are we going to get back to what we started, or are you gonna keep teasing me?”

Sugawara smirked, slamming his lips against yours with newfound confidence. His hands roamed further down your torso, landing on the curve of your ass. He squeezed it, earning a cute little moan from your pretty lips. He slipped his tongue inside your mouth, pulling away after a second. He only took a moment's pause before forcefully tilting your head to the side, brushing your hair out of the way so his pillowy lips could better pepper your neck in kisses.

You gasped, your fingers finding purchase in his silvery locks. He groaned against your neck as you tugged, biting down gently onto the spot just above your collarbone. He relished in the noises that escaped your lips, sucking a perfectly circular bruise to mark you as his. “Y’can just cover it up with a turtleneck or something, right?” he mumbled, slapping your ass. “God, you look so fucking sexy right now. Do you know that?”

“Koshi, I wore this to teach today. How the hell is it sexy?” you breathed. 

“Because it’s on your body,” he growled, nipping at your bottom lip. “This kitchen isn’t the proper place for what I wanna do to you. Where’s your bedroom?”

His words made you weak at the knees. “A-around the corner,” you pointed.

“Fantastic,” he grabbed your wrist, dragging you out of the kitchen with a devious smirk. You giggled, both nervous and excited. He flung open the door to your bedroom, scooping you up in his arms and throwing you onto the neatly made bed. 

You landed on the plush pillows behind you, giggling as Sugawara climbed over you. His hands landed on either side of your head, another smirk decorating his lips. “You have an eye for decor,” he leaned down, hovering his lip against yours. His husky breath was like a drug. Who knew someone who seemed too gentle could be a completely different person in the sheets? 

He crashed his lips against yours once more, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist as his tongue explored your mouth yet again. He groaned, sending shockwaves through your body. He was gentle yet dominant, making you want him all the more. Sugawara pulled away with a harsh smack of his lips, breaking the saliva strand connecting your lips. 

The pads of his fingers danced on the hem of your top. His brown eyes bore into yours for permission to take it off. He thanked you with a peck on your now exposed abdomen, tossing your shirt aside. Sugawara’s voice rumbled in his throat at the gorgeous sight of your bra, black and lacy. “Fuck,” he cupped your breasts, the lace dancing with his fingers. “You look so fucking pretty. Did you wear this just for me?” he leaned down, pecking the exposed portion of your pillowy breasts. 

“Maybe,” you purr, gasping as his hand slid around your back, fidgeting with the clasp. “D’ya want me to take it off, Koshui?”

“Please,” Sugawara moaned, loosening his tie to unbutton his shirt better. “I love it when you say my name, fuck.”

Your bra was tossed aside, your nipples instantly perking up at the cold air in your bedroom. Sugawara’s hands practically flew to your breasts, his shirt being tossed aside as well. His mouth found your pert nipple, sucking on one breast while his hand toyed with the other. He relished in your moans, but his brow furrowed when he heard you choking back the louder ones.

“Don’t be quiet with me, princess,” he growled, his tongue flattening across your breast. “I wanna hear those moans of yours.” he bit down on the supple flesh, sucking another perfect purple bruise on the delicate flesh.

You gasped and tossed your head back into the pillows behind you, letting out the guttural moans that Sugawara craved. He smirked against your breast, stopping his sucking with a wet pop!

“Good fucking girl, did you hear how pretty you sounded?” he purred, his thumbs in the loops of your jeans. “M’gonna take this off you, okay cutie?”

You nodded and sighed, shimmying your legs so he could throw your jeans behind him. He took in the gorgeous view, prying your legs apart. “Those are some pretty panties you have on,” he chuckled, nudging your clothed core with his knee. “What do you want me to do to you, baby? I wanna make you feel so fucking good. You deserve it. My girl,”

His girl. Those words rang through your ears, your pussy getting wetter. “J-just make me feel good, Koshi. Wan’ you so badly.” you looked into his eyes, your own filled with lust and desire for him.

He snickered. “Whatever my girl wants, she’ll get,” he pulled your panties down to your ankles, your goddess-like body now on display for him to admire. He took a thousand mental pictures of it, silently hoping you would stay like that forever. 

“You have such a pretty pussy. Look at her,” his fingers gathered some of your slick, bringing it to his lips. “She tastes so fucking good.” he shoved his face in between your legs, licking a fat stripe up your folds. You gasped at the sensation, your legs instantly squeezing his face upon reflex. 

“Fuck!” his tongue was somehow both cold and hot, eagerly lapping at your soaked folds. You clenched the bedsheets, your thighs securing his head between your thighs. He didn’t mind one bit, groaning into your core at every squeeze of your luscious thighs. He adored your taste; it was sweet and addictive. Sugawara couldn’t get enough of you. He needed more. He craved more. 

He ate your pussy like a starved man, acting like he hadn’t drunk in weeks, and you were an oasis in the desert. His nose brushed against your clit, the added stimulation ripping whimpers off your lips. His index and middle fingers slipped inside your soaked entrance, curling inside of you, searching for your sweet spot. You cried, bucking your hips into his face.

“That’s it, squirm around f’me, princess,” he demanded, his deep voice sending vibrations through your core. “Show me how good I can make you feel without even fucking you.” 

You hissed in pleasure, continuing to buck your hips into his face. Finally, his fingers curled inside you just right, acting as a catalyst. “M’gonna fucking cum, Koshi!” you sobbed, your release coating his fingers and lips. He pulled his fingers out of your pulsating core, replacing them with his tongue as he lapped at your release, the filthiest of sounds leaving his lips while his tongue fucked you through your high. Your thighs squeezed around his head, so tight and firm.

He reluctantly pulled away from your core, smiling while covered in your shimmering slick. Sugawara climbed atop you once more, slipping his covered fingers past your lips. “Can you taste yourself, princess? See how addictive you are?”

Your tongue rolled over his fingers with purpose. You knew what you were doing. “Mhm,” you let go of his fingers, licking your lips. Your chest moved up and down, still attempting to recover from that mind-blowing orgasm. “S’good, Koshi. You make me feel so good.”

“I’m about to make you feel even better, princess,” he got off the bed, unbuckling his belt to place on the vanity chair and his pants. There was a stain on his boxers, no doubt caused by his tip-gushing precum. The briefs were forgotten about as well. He stood before you just as naked as you were before him. 

Sugawara was toned, that’s for sure. All those years of playing volleyball had reaped their rewards, and he was fucking proud of it. He didn’t quite have the most defined six-pack, but his abs were prominent, accompanied by a silver happy trail. His biceps rippled along with his shoulder muscles; he was beautiful, and you both were. 

His cock slapped against his abdomen, glistening with precum. “Do you see what you do to me, princess? D’ya see how fucking hard I am?” he crawled above you, his hands caging your head in place. 

His cock wasn’t girthy, but it was long. Not so long that it would be painful, but long enough to make you see stars. It teased at your entrance, begging to push past your soaked folds. “Princess,” Sugawara kissed your cheek. “Do you want me to use a condom? I brought one just in case.” his voice was reassuring. Even though he wanted nothing more than to demolish your insides, he would do whatever made you happiest. Whatever brought you the most pleasure, whatever could turn your vision white.

“Condoms are in the dresser drawer,” you pointed to the table next to your bed. He lunged over you and rummaged through it, eventually rolling the foil packet between his fingers. He ripped open the packaging with his teeth, moving the latex over his cock with ease. He made sure it was secure, tugging at the base of the condom. 

“For what it’s worth, you would look so pretty covered in my cum,” Sugawara purred against your lips, teasing your entrance with his tip. “Are you ready, princess? How do you want me to fuck you?” he clenched the sheets beneath him with knuckle-whitening strength.

“H-however, you wanna fuck me s’fine, Koshi,” you assured him, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I just want you to fuck me, please.” 

Shit, you sounded so pretty when you begged for his cock. Sugawara mumbled something incoherent and pushed past your entrance, slowly filling you up until the head of his aching cock touched your cervix. He hissed at the sensation of your tight walls fluttering around him, trying to pull him impossibly deep.

“However I want, yeah?” Sugawara leaned down, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “Then I’m gonna fuck you like you’re mine.”

He snapped his hips against yours, each thrust more brutal than the last. He bottomed out each time, the head pressing against your cervix so deliciously. “All fucking mine,” he groaned into your neck, sending electrical pulses throughout your core. Your legs locked around his waist, not letting him escape. Not like he wanted to, he could fuck you forever. 

“Koshi! Oh, fuck, Koshi!” you sobbed, your hands clawing at his lean back. Your long, rainbow-colored nails left wild, catlike scratches that would likely be sore tomorrow. Sugawara fucking loved it. He loved how you reacted when he bullied his cock into your cunt, how it squeezed around it shamelessly. He fucking loved your pussy. Why did it take him so long to get the balls to ask you out? “Love y’dick Koshi, fucking love it!”

“I love you do, princess. You’re being such a good girl and fucking taking it.” his hands moved your pelvis, hovering it over the bed so he could better pound into you. This new angle somehow made you take him even deeper, his balls slapping against the cleft of your ass. “Your pussy feels even better than I could have imagined, fuck.” he moaned as your cunt fluttered around his cock, driving him closer to the edge. 

Suagwara’s punched forward over and over again, getting drunk off your sickly, sweet heat. He left an open-mouthed kiss on your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin until you were covered with his teeth marks. He pistoned in and out of your weeping cunt with reckless abandon, whispering filth into your ear as he approached his release.

“Fuck, is my cock stretching you out, baby? You’ve been, oh my God, you’ve been whimpering all this time. Am I too much for you?” he teased, squeezing harshly on your breast. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m gonna give you what you need, I promise. Just lemme keep fucking this cunt, yeah?” he rasped against your neck, desperately chasing his high. His hips lost all sense of rhyme or reason, throwing sloppy and uncoordinated as his cock twitch deep inside of your core. 

“Fuck, I’m close. Y’feel so fucking good, baby, fuck. Got me addicted to this pretty pussy, shit.” he whimpered, setting a relentless pace. The sound of your sweat-covered bodies slapping against each other in unison filled your apartment, the atmosphere thick with the scent of sex. 

“Koshi! Feels so fucking good, need more,” you choked back tears, cupping his face to bring his lips to yours. Sugawara rasped against your lips, his kiss bruisingly passionate as he fucked you both through your lustful tremors. 

“Shit, I’m gonna fucking cum, fuck. That pussy’s milking me for all I’m worth, princess,” he tore himself away from your lips, his hips snapping once, then twice, then stopping their motions completely as he came. He moaned, his seed spilling into the condom. 

He pulled out of you, tying off the condom and tossing it onto the floor. “I’ll get that later,” Sugawara whispered before slumping onto your chest, burying his flushed face in your tits. You giggled and lazily kissed his forehead, treasuring this moment.

“I can confidently say that this has been the best first date I’ve ever been on,” you giggled, your thumb rubbing across Sugawara’s beauty mark. “I mean, I’ve only ever been on a couple of first dates, but this has been the best one by a long shot.”

“I’m so glad, princess,” he groaned, pulling his face from in between your breasts. “I’m so lucky you’re all mine. T-That is if you still want to be.” his brows furrowed.

You chuckled and brushed his hair to the side. “Of course I do, Koshi. I’ve had a crush on you for a while now, dummy.”

“I’m not a dummy. I’m a teacher!” he joked, a bright smile gracing his features. Sugawara’s expression then softened. “I’m so glad you’re mine. This feels like the best dream ever.” he lazily pecked your lips, pulling up your comforter to warmly envelop you. 

“Do you wanna just order food and lay here for a bit?” you mumbled, giggling as Sugawara repositioned your body so he was holding you.

“I would love that, princess,” his voice was soft and warm. “I can’t wait to go on more dates with you,” he pecked your cheek. “And I especially can’t wait to see my sexy new girlfriend at work wearing those cute little outfits.” his hands squeezed your breasts, causing you to yelp.

“Koshi!” you pretended to scold him.

“Sorry, princess, I couldn’t help it. You’re way too pretty.” he giggled, pulling you closer to his chest. You heard his heartbeat; its smooth rhythm instantly made you calm. The two of you lay there, cuddled under your covers as you talked the night away.

Art did have a way of bringing people together, after all.

[shibaraki]

THE KIDS ARE GONNA BE ALRIGHT ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: teachers are like bridges, there to facilitate students on their ungainly journey through life. add a war, a new subject, a gaggle of traumatised children and a handsome coworker with an apparent sleeping disorder—see where the bridge leads.

tags: GN reader (referred to as 'Sensei'), coworkers to lovers, reader is a teacher at UA (quirk science), single parent aizawa (adopted eri), some workplace shenanigans, meddling kids (class 2A + B), mutual pining, fluff + angst, learning difficulties, references to PTSD, getting together, first kisses + making out, suggestive content + heavy themes, post war arc (heavily implied spoilers ahead), HAPPY + HOPEFUL END

wc: 19K

From: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: Welcome to UA! Message:  Good morning!  It is my pleasure to welcome you to UA — we are very excited to have you aboard! The files attached to this email are as follows:  

A map of the campus

The UA handbook and Emergency guideline

The Teachers Code of Conduct 

Please refer back to these regularly to familiarise yourself with everything. As we discussed in our prior phone call a place has been prepared in the teachers dormitory in preparation for your move. Your key and security badge are at the reception desk. Please bring identification to collect them. Do let me know if you require a reserved spot in the parking area. 

One last thing to note: 

The staff lounge and kitchen is located in the west wing of the first floor heroics building. It is regularly restocked with snacks and beverages. The coffee machine is also available to you at any time. Feel free to help yourself!

If you have any further questions you can email me or call me. I will get back to you as soon as possible. 

Kind regards,

Nedzu Principal of UA High School  〒123-4567 Ōikuyō, Shizuoka, Musutafu.  Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!

Your new world is bordered by a large imposing wall. 

It towers above your head, reinforced concrete and steel reaching for the heavens, housing weapons you could only imagine. Gone is the classic archway that once welcomed students with open arms. The public walkway leading uphill to the school is cordoned off. 

Even alongside global assistance progress was slow. A large chunk of Musutafu had remained levelled— debris and dust, unrecognisable. After the battle ended, rebuilding the country came first. Hospitals and emergency services were given priority; more shelters followed close behind, and once given the go ahead, individuals confined to UA were able to slowly integrate back into their own communities. 

One step at a time. Life stops for nothing, that is clearer than ever. 

You qualified as a quirk specialist, mainly working with college students, teaching science, history and philosophy of quirks. Principal Nedzu was an old acquaintance. You crossed paths at a conference or two, and you saw his name in citations of papers you read from time to time, but it never grew beyond professional respect. Thus, having him reach out to you through your private number had come as a big surprise. 

After the war a number of the current student’s quirks had evolved at an unprecedented rate, largely due to the trauma and strain they endured. He expressed his wish to include quirk study in the new curriculum and reasoned that having someone with your credentials on staff would not only ease the anxiety of the teenagers, but also that of the remaining teachers, who were inexperienced in dealing with stress manifestation. 

The call ended an hour later with a sixty three page contract in your inbox and a new job. You covered a broad range of subjects but your field of study was an elective, therefore smaller than you are used to. Even so it was your territory now. You tried to own it. The desks have been rearranged into a U shape, charts with interactive pieces affixed to the surface, and you decorated the space with Nedzu’s express permission in hopes of making it inviting. 

Over a month into the term and you can’t yet say you regret taking up his offer.

“Phyletic gradualism and punctuated equilibrium are the two extremes in a continuous model of evolution. The first kind is a far more uniform and gradual accumulation of changes that subsequently generate new species…”

Your mouth keeps moving as you scan the classroom for the fifth time, words muffled by the brief loss of focus. The students don’t notice the lapse; most eyes are still on you, some clouded and others intent on listening. It’s a true miracle that nobody has fallen asleep—though Kaminari is always a close call. Beneath it all is the soft, frantic scratch of Midoriya’s pen to paper and his low mutter, holding the attention of a bone weary Bakugo. 

“…Comparatively, punctuated equilibrium proposes that once a species appears, it becomes stable, showing little evolutionary change until an event triggers a rapid speciation process”.

Yaoyorozu’s hand flies up and startles Shinsou to attention. Her enthusiasm brings a slight smile to your lips. You point to her, “Yes, Yaoyorozu?”

“In that case, Sensei, would that mean that quirks are an example of punctuated equilibrium?” she asks. 

“That is the most agreed upon theory amongst the quirk science community,” you reply, directing the answer toward the entire class. There’s a scarce mix of Class A, B, and support students. Monoma straightens under your gaze. He’s flanked by Kouda, who returns a mousy smile, fingers idly petting Yuwai-chan, his pet rabbit. 

“Quirks are our reality—that much is undeniable. But with that comes a myriad of unknowns. How, why, and when did this happen to us?” Striding toward the board you uncap a blue marker with your teeth and write the phrase ‘theories’ down in large, neat penmanship. You cast a passing glance to the clock. Any minute now. 

“There is still no definitive answer. So for your next assignment I’m going to ask that you research and write an essay on a specific theory about the dawn of quirks,” you are helpless to the wicked grin that pulls across your mouth at their collective groan. “It’s due next Friday. That’s ten whole days to complete it! So generous, aren't I?” 

Overhead, a bell blares out an incessant ring to indicate the lessons end, and in a moment of synchronicity each student rouses from their chair. Bakugo shoves his hands into his pockets and makes a beeline for the door and ignores Midoriya’s aborted squawk as he shoves his notes into his backpack. 

“Thank you Sensei,” he stammers, rushing after the boy. “Wait for me, Kacchan!” 

Nobody calls attention to the seemingly tumultuous relationship. The 2A kids in particular watch their interactions with a trepid fondness. They’re always like that—or so Shinsou told you, once, barely audible over Bakugo’s incendiary growls as he hauled his childhood friend into a headlock. You understood it a little when you heard Midoriya’s bubbly laughter for the first time. And you let them be. 

The others file out slowly, lost in conversation or waiting on a friend. Iida stops at your desk and bows before leaving, bidding you an effusive goodbye, a habit he has steadfastly maintained no matter how much you assure him otherwise. In stark contrast the two subdued support students, Toma and Nakao, throw a simple salute with startling synchrony.

Just when you think you have some peace, a shadow crosses your peripheral vision. “Yo, Sensei,” Kaminari chirped. There’s an edge to his voice that draws your attention. Shinsou lingers nearby feigning disinterest as Kaminari fidgets with his blazer button. “About the—uh. About the essay…”

Blinking away your initial confusion you sit up in realisation. “Oh! That’s right,” Kaminari tenses as you lean across the desk, flicking through your copious bits of stationery. You peel off a cloud shaped sticky note and write down a date and time before handing it to the boy. 

“I scheduled a one to one so we can go over everything you’ve done before the deadline,” you explain gently. Kaminari takes the note between his fingers, grip delicate either end as though afraid it might tear. “Don’t worry if you lose that. I’m going to send the details to your student email, and I’ll remind you again on the day. That sound good?”

Had you been any younger your eyes might’ve stung at the clear wonder unfolding on his face; surprised and happy to be accommodated without interrogation. Now there is only a dull ache beneath your skull and resentment in your heart. His reaction spoke to the copious rejection he faced before UA. 

You’ve come to learn that children are only ever as brilliant as you allow them to be. 

“Y—yeah. That’s amazing, thanks Sensei,” Kaminari steadily brightens. His fist hits his chest with a quiet thump, “I won’t let’cha down!” 

“I’m sure you won’t. And please don’t forget to bring your overlays,” you call to them as they amble out into the hallway. Shinsou holds the door, nodding shortly in acknowledgement. The savoury smell of curry has already distracted Kaminari enough to have him forget your discussion. 

You sigh, hearing their laughter grow quiet in the distance. Another muted pang echoes through your skull. Expression contorted, you wince and gather your things, thoughts latched onto the lacquered bento box that awaits in the teachers lounge to distract from the pain. 

The once stream of bustling students becomes a mere trickle, stragglers hanging by the bathrooms, others cross legged in front of their lockers, grouped tightly together without causing obstruction. They appear wilted. An overarching air of despondency; grey against the brightly painted corridor. 

The muscles in your face twinge. You resolve to greet them all, offering a smile as sincere as you can muster despite the heaviness in your heart. For many of these kids, if not all, life would never be the same. So young, grappling with such unprecedented loss. 

You come to a halt. Lofty double doors loom. Your fingers curl into the recessed handle and you slide them open. Though the walls are bare, the windows are large, and into the staff lounge beams intrepid light. 

You’re met with a chorus of sluggish murmurs, few heads lifting to see who has entered. Of the faces present there are two you’re most familiar with—class 2A’s heroics mentor and their homeroom teacher. 

Yagi is hunched at his computer desk. A cardigan too large for his frame is draped across his shoulders and pools around his wrists. Cradled in one hand is a thermos covered in stickers. Steam pours from the open top, wispy tendrils curling into the air. You inhale and recognise the weak scent of bone broth. 

Those sunken eyes flicker as you approach, striking blue roving over your form. Whatever he sees must be cause for concern. “Are you feeling unwell?”

You had felt an immediate fondness for Toshinori Yagi when you first met him. The presence of All Might hung tangibly in the air, a stifling ode to his service that still unnerved those who did not know him, but you were different. Like his colleagues, you looked back and saw a well meaning, sweet but bumbling older man. 

“No, no,” you demurred. “It’s just a headache”. 

Yagi grimaces sympathetically, furrow etched into his brow. Hips slumped low on the staff sofa, garish yellow sleeping bag at his feet, Aizawa hums a low amused sound that draws your attention. You’re surprised he’s awake. “My kids will do that to you,” he murmurs. 

The Erasure hero’s head is tipped to bare his throat, jawline shadowed by stubble. Dark curtains of hair fall across his shoulders. Aizawa is handsome. This you cannot deny. Before you met you’d heard him described as quite the opposite. Yet here you are, magnetised to him; to his callous humour, and the rough, rare instances of laughter; to the sturdy body hidden beneath baggy clothing and the deep, blasé manner in which he speaks. 

You swallow the sight thickly and pinch the bridge of your nose with a self deprecating laugh. It’s just a silly crush. “Nothing like that,” you assure him. The chair creaks slightly beneath your thighs as you recline. “I don’t think I slept well last night”. 

Admitting it invites a sudden wave of fatigue. Aizawa is no stranger to exhaustion. You think he could probably sleep anywhere—hell, you’ve seen him sleep standing up. He regards you thoughtfully, and the longer he stares the warmer your collar becomes. You feel his scrutiny even as you avert your eyes. 

Incognisant to the tension, Yagi continues to fret. “Ah, that’s no good. Let me make you some coffee,” he insists, brushing off his pants as he stands. Yagi sheds the feeble slope from his shoulders and you blink at the burst of energy. 

“Alright. Thank you, Yagi-san,” you reply, voice dwindling as he ducks into the modest kitchen connected to the lounge. Aizawa clicks his tongue. 

“You’ll regret that,” he breathes, ensuring the other man would not hear. “Unless you’re a fan of drinking tar”. 

“Don’t be mean. I’m sure it’s not that bad,” your trembling lips press firmly together, not wanting to to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh. He exhales and shrugs as if to say ‘it’s your funeral’. 

Yagi soon returns holding a cup of coffee and your bento box. “Here. I thought you might want to eat,” he gives a signature toothy grin. You say nothing of the shake in his hands as he sets them down on your desk and bring the hot drink to your mouth. 

The coffee is awful. You hold your breath and smother the urge to cough, swallowing it down with feigned enthusiasm. The astringent taste lingers. A shudder runs throughout your body and you inhale sharply. “That—will definitely wake me up. Thank you, Yagi-san,” you rasp, trying to smile. Yagi looks rather pleased and gives a thumbs up. 

Next you look, Aizawa has shucked the sleeping bag up to his midsection and burrowed into his capture weapon, leaving only bloodshot eyes visible above the fabric. They’re crinkled at the edges and full of mirth—you interlock and he lifts his chin to mouth, “Told you”. 

That shouldn’t be so attractive, you think.

On the next mouthful of your rice you subtly uncurl your middle finger from beneath your chopsticks and pointedly flip it at Aizawa. He snorts, amused. 

“Gesundheit,” Yagi chimed between sips, enjoying the warm broth in his thermos flask. From what you understood he had to follow a strict liquid only diet. He could hardly stomach solids anymore. “Are you getting sick too, Aizawa-kun?” 

Aizawa sighs at the obliviousness, though you think he’s a little glad for it. 

The conversation tapers and the lunch hour crawls on. Your mind drifts to the students as you idly chew, grains ground to mush, vision blurring out of focus. Thankfully it appeared to be one of their better days. Shinsou remained awake for the entire period. Yaoyarozu participated confidently. The shadows under Bakugo’s eyes hadn’t been as severe. Iida’s legs had not restlessly bounced under the table. Midoriya kept his hands to himself and felt no need to feel for his friend's heartbeat. 

However one of your more boisterous spirits, Monoma, had been noticeably withdrawn. Kouda’s rabbit—trained to detect and assist with anxiety—scrambled into his arms on numerous occasions. 

Your skin prickles, alerted to the weight of someone’s gaze on your back. Not a second later you hear the low call of your name. Aizawa slips into the chair opposite, disconcertingly silent in his approach, and leans his chin against his fist. 

“If you keep thinking so hard, All Might really is going to give himself a hernia,” he mutters. 

Yagi’s lighthearted chuckle devolves into a harsh spluttering cough. “Blunt as always, Aizawa-kun,” he jokes, voice muffled by his hand. 

“I’m not sure he could even get a hernia…” you muse, offering him a tissue. Yagi nods in thanks as he wipes the blood from his mouth. “I was thinking about the kids, that's all”. 

Aizawa tilts his head. The sun settles at her highest point and golden pleats stretch across his face. These are the rare instances that his artificial eye becomes observable. Light refracts in the iris, glittering crimson through graphene layers. 

“They’ve really taken a shine to you,” he says, and it comes like an accusation, softened by the slight jut to his lips. You smirk, shutting your bento box and setting it aside. How wonderfully petty. 

“Curious?” 

“Midoriya burst into class last week and asked Tokoyami if he had a twin that he ate in the womb,” he drawls, brow twitching. Yagi splutters. “So yes, I’m curious what it is you’re teaching my students”. 

A fleeting sense of exasperation comes over you. Trust Midoriya to abandon delicacy in his eagerness. “I assume it’s because we covered the genetics of chimerism and how it relates to quirk inheritance,” you say, bemused. Hopefully Tokoyami was not offended. It’s a wonder he didn’t ask Todoroki.

“And how does it?” Yagi blink owlishly as you turn to him in surprise. “I’m curious!” he defends. 

“Oh. Well, genetic chimerism is when an organism has multiple sets of DNA often originating from the fusion of different zygotes,” you recite. Instinctively, your posture straightens as though you were back in the classroom. “This can happen with twin embryos. One absorbs the other and as a result, they have two sets of DNA”. 

“O—oh…?”

“So,” you continue, fingers wrung together in your lap, turning to give him your full attention. Colour drains from the retired hero’s cheeks. “The question I presented was this: would it then be possible for the surviving twin to inherit an additional quirk?”

“I see,” Yagi swallows and his grin strains at the edges as he realises you are waiting for a genuine answer. “Ah, I’m not—”

The lunch bell abruptly begins to ring. You both startle in your seats. Unperturbed, Aizawa pushes to his feet. His hair falls forward as he sways in place and meets your gaze. “As interesting as this is, we need to get to gym gamma for basic heroics,” he says, tone laced with monotony. 

Yagi jumps at the chance to escape. You try not to laugh. He continues to nervously glance over his shoulder, worried that you might be disheartened, but you wave them off happily. 

Coworkers come and go throughout the afternoon. Kurose keeps you company during their free period, later joined by Yamada, who insisted on quizzing you about western rock music. With no classes left to teach you spend the remainder of your day planning quirk counselling sessions, printing worksheets and sending routine emails, headache persisting. 

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From: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  To: Kaminari.Denki@UAedu.jp  Subject: Reminder [High importance] Message: 

Good afternoon,

Please see the two files I have attached to this email. One has a highlighted version of the essay brief, and another detailing how to structure an essay. 

As I mentioned, I have booked a one to one session for us to go over your draft and any concerns next week on [x] September 13:00 — 14:00. However do not hesitate to email me with any questions you have before this date. 

Take care!

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After the final bell rings you linger a while, not wanting to be swept away in throngs of students making their way to the dorms. There are no stragglers as you leave and your footsteps reverberate unsettlingly throughout the main building. 

The sky bleeds into early dusk with disquieting rays of light. Gentle enough that you can look directly into the sun and see the canvas it paints. Standing in the middle of the walkway, balefully watching the far off horizon, the early autumn air makes you shiver. 

Living on campus was a big change. Even so you had little to complain about. The staff dormitories are larger and much more private. You’d been given a studio on the second floor, neighbour to Ishiyama, the rather withdrawn cement hero. While there is a bathroom and kitchenette in each apartment you usually preferred to cook in the shared kitchen, conjoined to an open plan common room. 

Another familiar face greets you as you enter. Powerloader is seated at the dining table, mulling over a mess of blueprints. Quirk science and quirk support often went hand in hand thus you had collaborated before, albeit very rarely. 

He lifts his head at your entrance, face obscured by long, spiked copper hair. Seeing him free of his big excavator helmet—much like with Kurose without their space suit—is still quite strange. “Hey, Maijima-san,” you skim over what looks to be a box buckle belt. “Working on anything interesting?”

“I’m designing an MMF induction system for Tetsutetsu in 2B,” he explained, sifting through the papers to show another preliminary sketch. You notice the ink stain on the heel of his hand. “I’m hoping with the belt and armbands acting as coils we could turn him into an electromagnet of sorts”. 

“Wow. That’s actually pretty cool. There are so many things he could do with that,” you mumbled. Flash bangs. Emergency power. Assisting in triage. The possibilities were endless. Awed, you lean forward to scrutinise the chicken scrawl dotted around the drawings, some characters smudged beyond your comprehension. “How do you plan to measure his tolerance to—?”

“Mochi?!” a small, giddy voice interrupts. 

“…Mochi?” you repeat, bewildered. You look toward the source, gaze falling upon two silvery pigtails. Eri rocks on her heels and excitedly holds out a curved plate full of rice cakes. The height draws her sweater sleeves down her thin, scarred forearms. She makes a droning noise to stress that you take one. 

Aizawa strolls out from the kitchen behind her. A dull clink accompanies his footsteps, slanted to one side. You immediately note the various colourful clips pinning his hair away from his face, tied into a similar pigtail style, though tousled and loose.

“Eri,” he rumbles. “It’s impolite to interrupt private conversations”. 

The little girl wilts a fraction as her expression pinches in worry. She lowers the plate, but before it is out of reach, Maijima stretches across the table to snatch one up. Eri brightens at the exaggerated happy sound he makes as he chews, “This is some good mochi, Eri-chan. I’ll forgive you this once”. 

“Thank you, Maijiji,” she chimes. At that Maijima’s jaw unhinges mid-chew, the corners of his mouth twitching in quiet shock. Aizawa’s nostrils flare. He turns his head from the scene. Similarly, you tuck your chin to conceal your smirk and pluck up a mochi for yourself. 

“These look delicious,” you tell her, diverting the topic from Maijima—who, in your periphery, is mouthing ‘old man?!’ toward Aizawa with some incredulity. Eri’s focus remains on your face. She watches intently as the sticky dough yields under your thumbs. 

You tear a piece away to eat. Softer, smoother on the inside. It begins to melt on your tongue. The red bean paste is sweet with earthy undertones. “Wow!” the exclamation comes warbled, muffled. Eri tugs at the hem of her pink knit sweater, her smile stretching wider. “You’re very kind for sharing these, Eri”. 

“Mhm. S’because Yama-san teached me a quote in English today,” she effuses proudly, “He said sharing is caring”. The foreign enunciation doesn’t quite fit, like the words are choppy in her mouth, but they fall easily from her lips as if she has practised them a hundred times.

“Taught,” Aizawa corrected, bending into view to take the plate from her hands and set it on the table. She blinks at him curiously, and he explains, “You should say ‘Yama-san taught me’, not teached”. 

“Oh,” she says. You watch fondly as he licks his thumb to wipe away a smear of bean paste on her chin. Her face scrunches up, lips pursed and air in her cheeks. 

“And now you’ve been taught a new word,” you add, pulling off a bigger piece of mochi. Eri bounces in place as you offer it to her and she shoves it into her mouth. “Thank you for the treat, Eri. I think I’ll enjoy this in my room”. 

“Ywor lea’win’?” 

Aizawa sighs and concedes defeat to her poor manners. He cradles the crown of her head with his palm, stroking her hair. “I’m a little tired so I really want to take a shower and get in my pyjamas,” you say, hoping to placate her with a smile. “But I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime tomorrow, okay?”

Eri concedes rather reluctantly. Her fondness for you, once a stranger from the yawning unknown, is warming. Though her dejection is short-lived, soon distracted by the late arrival of Yagi and Yamada. 

The soft hair on your neck prickles. Sensing his stare you meet Aizawa’s gaze, heavy enough to feel like touch. It stirs a fleeting sort of hope in your chest. He looks gentle, frame wrapped up in the gauzy evening lustre. You clear your throat, “Did heroics go well in the end?” 

His brow twitches and you get the distinct feeling that you’re being laughed at. “No broken bones. So I would say so,” he deadpanned. 

“If it were anyone else saying that I’d be concerned,” you smiled, knowing class 2A in particular was well renowned for incurring injuries in training. “It was their first one since… everything, right? I’m glad they’re doing okay”. 

He hums, eyes sliding toward his daughter when her laughter breaks the delicate quiet. You shift awkwardly where you stand, overly conscious of Maijima seated nearby, now engrossed in his work. Aizawa levelled his voice, “How’s the headache?” 

“Persistent,” you murmur. Acknowledging it invites another dull pang inside your skull. “Honestly I can’t wait to get in bed”. 

“Hear hear,” he breathes. The corner of his mouth curls as he looks at you and gravity vaults around your stomach, rendering you momentarily weightless. Just a crush, you think, half hysterical. “Get some rest. If you plan on missing dinner then take a jelly pouch or an energy bar with you”. 

Touched by his concern you sway toward the kitchen. Your teeth sink into your cheek, biting down a grin where he cannot see it. “Yeah, okay,” you laugh under your breath. Louder then, “But I’m going to take your favourite flavour”. 

“Don’t push your luck,” he dared. 

You retire to your apartment with a green jelly packet in hand and a clunky wave. Energy seeps out of you like water through a sieve as soon as your door shuts. Fatigue creeps in; the body needing rest yet the mind restless. 

The shower does little to shake you awake. Dragging your feet to your bedroom, pouch uncapped and held between your lips. Tepid air sticks to still damp skin. Your bed yields, thoughts slowing. You crawl across the mattress, cheeks hollow as you lazily suck the jelly until the foil wrinkles. 

Cocooned in plush fleece and linen, you tilt your head and let it loll against the pillow; exhaustion sweeps through you, consciousness waning. The ache behind your eyes lessens as they close. You sleep. 

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From: Kaminari.Denki@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: RE: Reminder [High importance] Message: 

Hi hi

The worksheets really helped!!! You’re the best, Sensei!

I was talking to Mido and he said some ppl think quirks are a genetic mutation from a disease spread by rats?? ? (◎-◎;) super freaky. Can I make that my essay topic? 

Thnx!

Kaminari Denki AKA ⚡️ CHARGEBOLT

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From: Midoriya.Izuku@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: An analysis of the Q-gene theory Message:

Sorry to email so late! Or early haha… I found some articles while I was researching that I think will be helpful to my essay but the journal is not open access. Is there any way that I cannnnnnnnvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvccccccccccccccvvvvvvccccccccccccccccvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Sent from my ePhone 

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Morning comes abruptly. The sound of your alarm cuts out as you stretch across the bed to hit snooze, limbless and heavy handed. You rise with a crick in your neck. Barely cognisant, the floor rises to meet you, cool against the soles of your feet. 

A mottle of pale blue and white blended into a grey low lit morning, flooding the common area. It’s no surprise to you that people are already awake. Snipe is seated on the couch meticulously cleaning his pistol while Kurose is clad in their gym wear, jogging in place where they wait for Yagi to zip up his jacket. 

Upright, he beams at the sight of you, “Good morning! You look much better today”. 

You do not feel much better. 

“Morning,” you return lightly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Snipe tips his hat in your direction with a quiet grunt. “Are the others still asleep?” 

The drooping blonde hair that frame’s Yagi’s face sway as he shakes his head. “Not everyone. I believe Yamada-kun is at his radio station. Ectoplasm is out walking the perimeter with Hound Dog. Though Aizawa-kun may be sleeping…”

“He got back from night patrol a few hours ago,” Kurose adds. They wave both hands at you, spacetime wielding fingers wiggling as though to entice you, “That aside, would you like to join us on our morning run?” 

Your expression immediately shifts, exhibiting strong disinclination. “I appreciate the invite, but I’d rather return to a horizontal position until my work hours start”. 

Kurose laughs warmly. Yagi, however, insists on reciting the benefits to early exercise while he ties and reties his shoes. You send them off, holding the door open to breathe in the morning dew, and spend a minute feeling the cool air prickle your cheeks. 

The day crawls on. You get to your classroom before the first period and review the lesson plans. The third years stagger to their seats. You can sympathise with their dead eyed stares—two hours of quirk regulation law is not exactly the most riveting topic—and take no offense to their spiritless attitudes. 

Third period is spent fostering discussion about politics with the business students. By the time lunch hour comes and goes you have barely left your classroom. Your next set is composed of first year hero students. This academic year both class 1A and B had been mixed into the same group. Hardly six months after a war steeped in blood and sacrifice, Japan’s citizens were not so eager to hand their children over to a hero school. Thus there were few applicants. Nevertheless, Principal Nedzu remained optimistic about their potential. 

Straight away you understood his judgement. In covering the quirk history module you saw first hand their iron willed determination to learn from the past and change the system. Hands are thrown high in the air—eager despite your intention to wind down—as you inquire their thoughts about the quirk classification system. 

“The whole thing is bull—brainless!” one of your more headstrong students, Higuchi, calls out. You can picture the lurid glare behind his blacked out glasses. His classmates murmur in agreement. 

“He’s right, Sensei,” Kaneko, 1B class president, adds quietly. The air distorts around her when she speaks and your jaw clenches, withholding a flinch as your ear pops. “Why are there only three categories? It makes no sense”. 

“I agree. The classification system is simplistic and outdated. Which is what leads me into my final question…” you hold out your hands in mock surrender, brows pointedly arched, and they settle down. In that instant, the door slides open and disrupts the peace. Every head turns to watch Eraserhead slip brazenly into the classroom, and after a pregnant pause, gesture for you to continue. 

Heat rises to the high point of your cheeks. His expression is soft in the artificial light, fixed on you with intent and sincere intrigue. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.  “Ah—What was I saying?” you joked nervously. Sensing your embarrassment the kids begin to laugh under their breath. “That’s right. My question is, if possible, what are some of the categories you would introduce to improve the quirk database? Brainstorm for me. There are no wrong answers!” 

Those eyes nag at you for the remainder of the hour. With another teacher present, heralded as a war hero no less, the motivation to impress increases tenfold. You bullet point their answers on the class board, prompting further explanation or examples and suggesting your own. It’s a welcome distraction—

And the outcome is far more comprehensive than you expected:

Generation describes quirks that allow the individual to create something from their body. Example: Creati. 

Manipulation refers to quirks that control what is pre existing. Example: Poltergeist. 

Users with a Transmutation quirk can change or alter the function of things around them. Example: Mudman.

Augmentation quirks allow the individual to improve their own body in some way. Example: Mount Lady. 

Information quirks classify those that can detect, understand and apply information. Example: Nighteye.

You watch them rush to scribble the list down. Murmurings carry through the classroom as they turn to one another, listing more examples, giving thought to how each quirk should be designated. Pride swells in your chest. 

“I have a question”.

Aizawa remained hunched in the corner, one hand deep in his pocket. The other is raised lazily above his head. This elicits some anticipation from your students. You motion for him to continue, “Yes, Aizawa-sensei?”

“Erasure is listed as ‘Emitter’ in the quirk database. This means I share a category with quirks which are fundamentally different, such as Hellflame,” he speaks with a calm, assertive cadence that holds the kids' attention. His gaze sweeps across the class and they squirm. “Tell me, what would you categorise my quirk as to draw that distinction?”

The long silence is contemplative rather than daunting. Higuchi fakes a cough. He lifts his fist, fingers unfurling as his wrist then falls limp, feigning indifference. It was made no secret that he admired Eraserhead, given their shared ocular abilities. Allure was a powerful quirk. Persuaded with a single glance, inhibited only by the specialised lenses in his glasses. 

Thus you recognise the attitude change for what it is—a preemptive measure in the case that he slips in front of the man he admires. “Higuchi,” you warmly addressed. Aizawa centres his attention on the boy. “Do you have a suggestion for Aizawa-sensei?”

“Y—yeah,” he says. “I thought we could add something like ‘Condition’ to the list…?”

“Can you elaborate on that?” you try to encourage. Aizawa’s posture shifts, his interest piqued. 

“I was just thinking, Erasure doesn’t fit any of the shi—stuff we thought up,” Higuchi continues, his fingers knotted tight on the desk, knuckles white. “Condition would cover people whose quirks enforce a condition on others. Like an infatuation quirk or—or my own quirk”.

Everybody is seemingly waiting with bated breath. You glance back at Aizawa, now carefully regarding Higuchi. You know that look. “Not bad, kid,” he nods, quietly pleased. Higuchi grins. 

Smiling, you move to add ‘Condition’ to the list. 

You’re on edge after the bell rings. Aizawa’s presence brushes you like a breath of balmy air, biding his time while you send off your class, grunting in response to those who bow in his direction. When you finally turn his half lidded gaze is mellowed. 

“So,” you begin clumsily. “Is there any particular reason why you interrupted my lesson?” 

Aizawa hums. A sound so deep, so supple you want to lean into it. “I have a favour to ask. Is the rest of your afternoon free?” 

“The Eraserhead asking me a favour?” you tease, needlessly lining up your stationary before collecting your things. “I’ve got no more classes to teach, if that’s what you mean. Why?”

“All Might can’t assist supervising heroics training this afternoon,” he mutters, examining your display boards with absentminded curiosity. 

“You need to give me more than that, Aizawa”. 

He exhales, mouth pressed thin, ducking into his capture weapon. You see a shift in expression, the skin of his cheeks drawing up to crinkle around his eyes. The petulance brings a smirk to your lips. Aizawa had been mildly avoidant and emotionally reserved from the moment you met him, but for someone so motivated by logic he seemed to expect you to read his mind lately. 

“Two people are required to oversee the class”

“And you want that second person to be me?”

“If you’re going to be difficult I can ask Thirteen,” he replies dryly. The tip of his tongue wets his bottom lip, tempting your gaze. You feel yourself consciously resisting. 

The empty threat hangs lightly in the room. Your smirk gentles into a smile. He tracks your movement, standing aside while you tuck in the desk chair. “No, no. I’ll come,” you demurred. “I want to help. Let’s go”. 

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From: Shinsou.Hitoshi@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: — Message: 

Hisorrywoulditbepossibletogetanextensiononmyessay?Myspacebarisbroken. 

Shinsou Hitoshi

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From blue rafters to monochrome stone, the arched structure of Gym Gamma comes into view. Towers over you as you approach. Aizawa’s footsteps are purposeful and his legs carry him forward with a lumbering gait. You’ve changed into shoes befitting the outdoors—a pair of boots that hug your calves tight and keep your ankles warm as the afternoon wanes toward an inevitable cold evening. 

“The students participating today have been previously cleared for training in a controlled environment by their psychiatrist,” Aizawa says, breathing slightly visible in the autumn chill. His hands are buried deep in his capture weapon. “First they’ll start by sparring without quirks to warm up. If I see no risk they can then move on to using quirks”.

Allowing the kids to train again had been a sensitive matter. Not a single hero student came out the war unscathed; the first years especially, given the proximity to AFO, were dealt extensive physical and psychological trauma—a handful even undergoing  forced quirk awakening. Throwing them back into a battle environment, controlled or otherwise, needed to be handled with care. 

Aizawa did just that, and to your knowledge he always had. He exercised caution with his students. Even if it came across as harsh. Even if the chances of danger were nil. He was staunchly protective of his brood. You understood that to be the reason why their parents trusted him to lead them forward—

And you hoped it meant he would be open to your advice throughout the training. 

Your head bobs, nodding in acknowledgment. “During the latter half of the session, if I see signs of a student in distress—?”

“Inform me,” he cuts in firmly. A flash of crimson pools into his irises, gone between blinks, and you’re left to wonder if it was just a trick of the light. “I’ll erase their quirks and stop the spar before it escalates”. 

You ponder that as Aizawa shields his eyes and scans the beyond when a chorus of voices reaches your ears. An amalgamation of 2A and 2B are waiting by the gym doors, with the few that recognise you excitedly waving their arms and calling your name. 

“Understood,” a small smile pulls at your lips. You wave toward the group, donned in their UA tracksuits. “You’re the boss”. 

Iida graciously bids you both welcome, his hand chopping through the air as he speaks over the others and attempts to assuage them. Questions of All Might’s whereabouts are few and far, instead entirely focused on your unexpected presence—all the more surprising that Midoriya visibly brightens, unaffected by his mentor’s absence. 

You allow Aizawa to take the wheel while he makes introductions, rocking idly on your feet, nodding along when prompted. “I’m sure some of you are well acquainted, whether it be through individual quirk consultations or taking quirk science as your chosen elective…”

Yaoyorozu is poised beside a fellow student, Jirou, arms crossed over her midriff. Fingers wiggle by the crook of her elbow in another subtle wave, smile gracing her lips. Bakugo catches the movement and his eyes flicker in your direction. He acknowledges you with a short nod.

“Today is not about analysing the progression of your quirks. We will be observing how you apply them,” he continues. There’s a fleeting emphasis to his voice. It carries an underlying warning, the same way a parent might quietly reprimand a child. The class visibly stands straighter and Midoriya raises his hand. 

Aizawa exhales, a fond sort of exasperation shining through, “…Midoriya”.

“Will we receive individual feedback?” Midoriya eagerly questioned. “And can we get Sensei’s opinion on our own ideas? Because—!”

“Kid,” Aizawa drawls. Colour paints Midoriya’s face pink but he seems bashful rather than ashamed. “Once we move onto sparring with quirks, yes, you will be notified of anything we deem significant. After class”. 

Bakugo, Monoma, Shinsou, Tetsutetsu and Midoriya appear particularly motivated by this. You clear your throat, gaze sliding to Aizawa as you add, “And anyone seeking my opinion or reassurance is free to email me. We can set up a meeting. That’s what I’m here for, after all”.  

The hour wore on. Aizawa was happy to watch in comfortable silence, offering up any thoughts and observations as they passed. There’s a clear sense of pride about him. A softness. Comfortable showing it now he’s a distance from the prying eyes of his students.

Hand-to-hand warm ups progress to quirk use. Some have formed small battle royale type groups while the others chose to pair up. You scan the gym with a keen eye. The quick streak of Midoriya’s red sneakers as his left foot pivots on the mats catches your attention. His opponent, Todoroki, falls into a balanced stance. 

You watch their fight unfold. The intensity swells. Dread prickles down your spine. “Aizawa…” you cautioned. 

Green lightning pulses. One For All activates. A metallic taste sticks to the roof of your mouth. Midoriya’s body twists, and with it his right foot swings up in a singular, upward path. It cleaves through the air, a slice more than it is a swing, and the force lands squarely on the side of Todoroki’s skull—or it would have, if he hadn’t blocked it with his arm, encased in ice. 

There’s a split second in which everything stops. An immense, charged force bore down on your lungs. Your vision blurred. As quick as it came the lightning died out and a deluge of shattered ice fell to the ground. 

“Ouch,” Todoroki says, cradling his wrist. You think that probably doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Aizawa sprinted across the room without ceremony, his hair hung high in suspension and ready to step in. Todoroki interjects first. Presumably to defend his friend and assure them both that he’s fine. While Aizawa scans his forearm for any sign of major injury you watch Midoriya return to himself. Colour drains from his face. Chest heaving. There’s a violent tremor in his legs.  Between rapid blinks you hear the crack in his mumbled apologies. 

Aizawa settles a gentle hand on his shoulder. The rest of the students return to their matches, save for a select few who spare Midoriya a concerned glance—nevertheless, nobody is truly surprised. You can only wonder how often this happens. 

Midoriya broke himself for the sake of others more times than you could stomach, and you’ve been witness to how uniquely adept he is at hiding those splintered parts first hand. With the wound still so fresh, people needed the courageous, forthright, spirited version of him, the one with the beaming smile and the promise of safety. At only sixteen years old that is already his delegated role in life. 

There are not enough words to depict just how catastrophic the war had been. You suffered heart-wounds of your own but in facing the sacrifice these children gave you felt a contrite, shameful hole in your consciousness. This is victory; the only one on the table, and it is painful.

While Aizawa calms Midoriya, your focus returns to the rest of the class. Tetsutetsu is holding his own against Iida. Kuroiro is half steeped in shadow, reflexively sinking into his quirk as he wards off Bakugo’s punches. You note that Kaminari is unsteady on his feet, having already discharged too much electricity. 

Something about Monoma’s hesitance also holds your attention. Of the abilities he’s used there has only been four. Odd, given his ability to hold five at a time, and the plethora of quirks surrounding him. 

You chew your lip and it occurs to you that he must be keeping one on reserve from prior to the lesson. The next thought comes unbidden, inhaling sharply as a sudden, cold sort of clarity slides through you. 

The only quirk you imagine Monoma could still be intentionally holding onto is the one he took during the fight against AFO. Erasure. 

“What’re you thinking?”

You shake out of your stupor and find Aizawa closer than expected. Somewhere in between he had tied his hair up. He tucks a wayward strand behind his ear, eyes squinted and wrinkling the scar tissue high on his cheek. “What?” you ask dumbly. 

“You went somewhere,” he clarifies. You feel his knuckles lightly knock your temple. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Ah,” you smile, abashed, and rub the spot of skin he touched. “Just making mental notes. I wish I had brought something to write with”.

“Well?” Aizawa says, as though his silence was enough of an invitation. “Tell me about them”. 

“It’s obvious the student’s have made incredible progress when compared to their first year quirk assessments. But there are some minor adjustments that I think will help considerably…”

You go on to list ideas for development and support tech. Things like regularly involving parkour into all their training routines. Or having Iida request smaller engines along the front legs of his costume for faster braking, or sharper turns. Or experimenting with Mina’s quirk, testing how precise her control is over her acid’s viscosity and if she could potentially create gaseous forms.

Your awareness wanes periodically, pausing open mouthed to discern the skill of each group, weighing your thoughts. To his credit Aizawa does listen to you ramble, mellowing the longer you speak. Tension seeps from his shoulders as though pulled down by gravity and that look of contentment returns. 

“In terms of wielding their quirk the one I’m most concerned about is probably Kaminari,” you hesitate, chewing your lip as your voice lowers. “I believe he still views his quirk as a final move”.

Aizawa leans forward, attentive to your opinion, and hums. The dulcet melody is warm by your ear—

You become conscious of his proximity. The air retains his heat, the indistinct woodsy notes that always clung to his clothes. 

—and your throat constricts as you swallow.

“Because of that he immediately jumps from zero to one hundred. I’ve seen his files. It results in mild cranial nerve lesions which then induces temporary impairment mid battle,” you continue soberly, staring ahead with lips stretched into strained assurance as some of the students begin to notice your proximity. 

Monoma strikes the back of Tetsutetsu’s leg as he makes a suggestive gesture, making him collapse on one knee. You close your eyes as embarrassment floods your body, “I have to wonder if he ever worked with a quirk counsellor in the first place”. 

Aizawa signals his agreement and moves back a fraction. His expression remained unchanged. He is by no means an unfeeling man, but you can’t help being jealous about how unshaken he is. All the while you probably look like a spring bouquet. 

“So, how do you suggest we help him?” 

His genuine countenance tempered your short lived frustration, and the word ‘we’ echoed in your mind. You knew what he meant, but it still brought a pleasant flutter to your chest. “I think we should start by having support give him a multimeter,” you reply. “Atleast that way we can discern the point that he begins to lose cognition and work upwards from there”. 

“Alright. I’ll ask Maijima-san once we’re done here,” he nods. There is a tentative pause. “Anything else you think needs to be addressed?” 

“There is…Monoma,” you add. His head turns in your peripheral vision, visibly taken aback. 

“Monoma?” he repeated. 

“This is just speculation on my part,” you grimace, sparing a glance toward the students. As the session winds down they’ve gathered in the centre of the mats, talking to one another. “But I have a hunch that he might still be holding onto your quirk”.

Aizawa’s face becomes pinched. The apparent frustration grows as his expression shifts. Mouth twisting, jaw moving with gritted teeth. “I should’ve noticed,” he mutters. 

“Monoma is primarily in Kan-san’s care, not yours. If anything he should be the one to notice,” you say, subtly detailing his side profile as he continues to observe his class. “Between the media circus, your physiotherapy, teaching and being a father—you can hardly blame yourself”. 

The bridge of his nose wrinkles at that. “Shit, sorry. Did I overstep?” you fret. 

Aizawa’s expression smooths out, reluctantly. He exhales. “No. I’m just not used to the idea of being a parent, I suppose”. 

“Guardian, then,” you amended with a flippant wave, hoping to lighten the sullen atmosphere. “Though I guess teaching is like a sub-branch of parenting in itself”. 

“How so?”

“Good or bad, a teacher plays a big part in shaping a child, right?” For a strange, short moment, you’re hyper aware of how closely he watches you as you speak, and you deal with it by finding great interest in the gym floor. “Y’know. Their self confidence, beliefs and ambitions… didn’t you have anyone like that?” 

That gives him pause, and while he thinks you drink in the line of his jaw, angular and shadowed by stubble, the wispy strands framing his face as his haphazard ponytail slowly loosens, and the faint crease formed across the bridge of his nose after grimacing so frequently. 

Aizawa’s brow arches. Caught, you quickly cast your gaze to the gym floor. “Well. There is the man that made me realise I wanted to go underground,” he says, graciously ignoring your ogling. “His purple highness”.

“His purple highness?!” you echo, voice clamouring through the now quieted din, diverting the students attention from their post training stretches. “Fuck, sorry. Of all the heroes I wasn’t expecting you to say him”. 

Nakaoji Tenma, now retired hero ‘His purple highness’, was the polar opposite of Aizawa. Widely renowned for flamboyance and theatrics, his notorious vibrant two piece suit and frilly open chested jacket sporting vibrant epaulettes on each shoulder was particularly unforgettable. 

“You wouldn’t be the first. I thought Nemuri was absurd for recommending Oboro and I during her work study,” he reminisced. 

“Surely it wasn’t that bad”.

Aizawa cracks a rueful grin. “His highness quickly recognised that I would have poor media presence and tried to teach me ‘how to smile’ properly. As you can see, it didn’t work out”.

You weren’t so sure. Aizawa’s amusement always started behind his eyes, a mirth that flashed across a grey midwinter and trickled into his chest to create a brief, reserved huff of laughter; though you sense underlying melancholy as he recounts his internship and lost loved ones, his smile still curled sincerely at the edges. 

“I don’t know. I like your smile. Even if it can be a little…”

“Disturbing?” 

“Disarming,” you return, nudging his side. Without intention your fingers brushed against the rough skin of his knuckles, fine hairs prickling—and then a sudden, shrill whistle cuts suggestively through the mood, shattering it. 

Kaminari stands proud a few feet ahead of his snickering classmates, lips closed around his middle fingers. Aizawa rolls his neck with an indignant sigh. The joint clicks. He raises his voice and impassively announces, “For that you can all do ten laps”.

A chorus of objections fills the gym. One by one, the students drag their feet toward the outer edge and break into a jog. You bite back a smile, “You’re awful”. 

“Never claimed not to be,” he tells you. “All Might has another hospital appointment at the end of next week, if you want to join us again”. 

A nascent fondness unfurls in your chest. “Sure,” you murmur. “I’d like that”. 

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From: Aizawa.Shouta@UAedu.jp To: Maijima.Higari@UAedu.jp Cc: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: Request [High importance] Message:

Our resident quirk scientist has advised us to provide Kaminari Denki [ID: 16XXXX] with a multimeter to assist in his training. Do we have one on campus or am I going to have to do more paperwork?

Aizawa Shouta 2A Homeroom Teacher, UA High School Private number: +81 (03) 1234-5678 Do not call unless you are dying. 

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From: Yagi.Toshinori@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: An email is here! Message: 

My friend,

Young Midoriya informed me that you took my place alongside Eraserhead in training this afternoon. He found your input very impressive, and even expressed the desire to have you look over his notebooks. That is quite the privilege! Ah, but please don’t tell him I told you that…!!!

Thank you for your hard work today. I will see you at dinner.

Yagi Toshinori Heroics Department, UA High School └（★ｏ★）┐ 𝓹𝐥𝔲ｓ Ǘ𝐋ⓣ𝔯𝓐 ┌（★ｏ★）┘

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Something indiscernible has since shifted. 

The work week is long, and when you crawl your way out of the mire of trepidation that decidedly hung over you, the source becomes clearer. 

The kids are being weird. 

Heroes in training, absolutely, but masters in subtlety they are not. Less than innocent, mischievous whispers would reach your ears, and silhouettes duck behind the nearest corner whenever you look back. Above all else they’ve taken to closely observing your interactions with Aizawa—sometimes going as far as forcing them. Kaminari even deems it appropriate to be nosey about your love life—or rather, your lack thereof—during your supplementary one-to-one. 

“That is not your business nor is it relevant to your essay,” you told him, tapping the end of your marker against the desk. The gentle reprimand did nothing to placate him. Scratching his cheek, Kaminari simply laughed and returned to reading the annotations you’d left on his work. 

Aizawa doesn’t bat an eye to any of it. While he presented himself as an extremely private man with clear boundaries drawn between home and work, it was obvious to you that that line had been trampled. He was accustomed to their harmless meddling. 

“Believe me. It’s worse if you tell them to stop,” he said, as if they were toddlers and would eventually tire themselves out.  

You have the pleasure of teaching their final class that Friday. If you’re lucky, come Monday they’ll have forgotten whatever it is they’re hatching.

Their focus wanes with the hour, your lesson structure a little looser to lead them into the weekend. Eri had joined unexpectedly, hidden behind Midoriya’s legs and teetering on her tiptoes to peek around the room. Kouda let’s Yuwai-chan rest in her arms as she sits on her very own chair beside Shinsou, mumbling small delights. 

“Focus, guys. We all have something called a Plus Alpha Mechanism in our DNA…”

Your pen glides along the board. The quiet repetitive sound of Bakugo’s tangle fidget matches your meridian rhythm, and you could almost forget the nonsense that has shadowed you since the training session. 

“…Here. The simplest way to think of it is like this,” following along with a finger, you read the written equation. “For example, if somebody has a tail—”

“Like Ojiro-kun!” Midoriya chirps. Bakugo gives him a sidelong glare, and his cheeks fill with air. 

“Correct, Midoriya,” you smile at his sheepishness. Your finger moves along to the latter half of the equation, “But the mechanism to move and wield his tail comes from the Plus Alpha. Added together, this forms the Quirk Factor”. 

“Sensei, is it then possible that quirklessness can occur when the Plus Alpha gene expression is not activated?” Iida inquires. Midoriya’s pencil stutters. 

“That’s right,” you flash him an encouraging smile, wider as he preens. Bakugo’s hands, too, have notably faltered, the tangle fidget balled up into a knot. “It’s a popular explanation amongst fourth gen members of the medical community. Older generations tend to prefer the whole archaic toe joint theory—but I don’t have time to cover that today”. 

Midoriya and Bakugo exhale in tandem. Monoma observes their behaviour closely, chin cupped in his palm. He seems well rested which alleviates the heaviness in your chest a fraction. You hope Aizawa has had the chance to speak with him. 

“Any other questions before I start to wrap up?”

Shinsou goes to raise his hand, stopping midway. Your brow arches and he indicates to wait. You watch on as he leans down to whisper something to Eri. Her doe-eyed gaze snaps from Yuwai-chan to his face, meeting an expression apologetically soft. And whatever it is he says, she pats his cheek in response. 

Sufficiently reassured, Shinsou once again raises his hand above his head. And as he relays his question a sober atmosphere befalls the class. 

In a roundabout manner—and refusing to name him—Shinsou asks about the Quirk erasing bullets used in the Shie Hassaikai case. You, like him, immediately seek Eri’s permission to speak on it. She gathers Yuwai-chan closer and nods. 

“Despite the name, the quirk erasing bullets did not technically erase any individuals quirk genes. They were engineered to directly attack the Plus Alpha,” the tip of your pen squeaks as you write out the words below the previous equation, underlining them twice. “Therefore the quirk could no longer be activated, making them functionally quirkless”. 

Shinsou accepts this, cheek sunken where he chews the flesh. Between blinks the pensive downturn to his mouth begins to curl into a faint smirk. “What about Aizawa-sensei’s quirk?” he asks, feigning innocence.

Your benevolence tapers as the class titters. Eri giggles, muffled by Yuwai-chan’s fur, and her shoulders hunch to hide in the little neck she has. 

“While I understand why you might conflate the two, Aizawa-sensei’s ocular quirk, Erasure, deactivates the Plus Alpha temporarily,” you answer at the end of a short sigh, taking a step back to lean against the wall. You skim the room with a pointed look, “As I’m sure you have all experienced first hand”. 

A few shudder at that. The whiplash of having the connection to your quirk severed must be alarming. You imagine it’s not something one can ever get used to. 

“Oc-u-lar?” Eri repeats. You feel your expression gentle as you meet her curious gaze. 

“Ocular means it’s connected to his eyes,” you explain simply, pointing to your own. “That is why his left eye glows red when he uses his quirk. Cool, right?” 

Accepting this, Eri’s cheeks swell with her smile and she chirps in agreement, “I like his eyes. They’re pretty”. 

“She likes his eyes,” Kaminari repeats with a faux-solemn nod. “Do you think so too, Sensei?” 

Iida sits ramrod straight in his seat. The abrupt jolt knocks his glasses halfway down his nose, “That is hardly appropriate for the classroom!” 

The electric blonde waves in surrender, “It’s just an innocent question, Prez! Not like I asked if he was United States of sma—”

“Kaminari-kun!”

Something snaps. Yuwai-chan yips. A litany of orange curved pieces spray across the table. Bakugo slumps, wearing a scowl dark enough to silence the chaos, debris from the broken fidget between his fingers. “Who gives a fu—” he spares Eri a quick glance and releases a long, deliberate exhale. “Who cares. Bunch’a nosey losers”  

Worry paints Momo’s features. Somewhat uncharacteristic of her, she readily rolls up her sleeve to offer the creation of another tangle. “Bakugo-kun, do you need me to…?”

“Don’t worry, Yaoyorozu-san!” Midoriya interrupts with a sunny complexion. He lumbers his backpack into his lap, zips it open and pulls out an identical fidget. “Kacchan breaks them a lot”.

You stifle the urge to groan into your hands, or gather them all into an uncomfortably strong hug, or both. For as much as you could tease Aizawa for allowing the students to bulldoze through his work-life boundaries it is becoming clear you're just as guilty. 

Bakugo lingers after the bell rings. The others file out, some with apologetic smiles, and neither of you speak until the classroom is empty. “Is everything okay, Bakugo?” you ask lightly. 

He itches his neck. Shoulder jerking as he shrugs, giving a stiff nod. Looking a little frayed around the edges, Bakugo mutters, “Sorry about the mess. M’staying to pick it up”. 

“That’s not necessary,” you objected. A slight pout works its way onto his lips. You know well enough that for all his posturing, Bakugo respects the word of his teachers. “I assure you it’s fine, Bakugo. But I really appreciate the sentiment”.

“Whatever,” he says, barely above a mumble. He shoves his hands into his pants pockets and motions to leave. “See ya Monday, Sensei”.

“Take care, Bakugo,” you call after him. Your ears latch onto the leaden echoing of footsteps until they disappear down the hallway. Silence creeps in while you pick up the small curved pieces.  The little moment of peace you had sought all week does not arrive. There are still emails to attend to, assignments to mark and future lessons to structure—

Your stomach rumbles and interrupts that thought. Again, evermore persistent while you attempt to ignore it. Eventually you dump the collected orange pieces into your desk drawer and make for the staff lounge, switching off the lights as you go. 

All Might and Present Mic are the only two in the room. Yamada spots you first. He’s yet to remove his costume, and the leather sleeves cream as he lifts his arms, waving loosely. Yagi spins on his axis for the source of the fuss. There’s a spoon in his mouth, and his lips stretch into a smile around it. 

A smile that dims as soon as you land in your chair with a heavy sigh. “I feel that,” Yamada says. His comically tall hair reaches high over your computer monitor, green eyes peering over the frame. “Kiddos run you ragged today?” 

“I don’t know how they do it. It’s not like we’re sparring,” you snort lightly and rest your chin against your hand. The muted scent of Yagi’s greek yoghurt lingers in the air. You wrinkle your nose, “Have either of you noticed them behaving…oddly? I feel like they’ve been scheming”. 

Yagi pauses mid scoop, bewildered. He looks from you to Yamada, who appears infuriatingly in the know. “Odd?” he asks. The shadows around his eyes darken in concern. “Is there anything we should be looking out for?” 

“I wonder,” Yamada titters, tapping a finger against his nose. Green eyes smile at you over the top of his tinted lenses. “Could it have anything to do with Mina asking me about your blood type?”

“Blood type? Whatever for?” 

Covering his mouth, Yamada bends and covers his mouth, amplifying his cryptic whisper, “Romantic compatibility”.

Chewing your inner cheek, you shake your head and insist, “It’s just a popular theory about personality types from the pre quirk era”. Yagi’s expression clears. He accepts the explanation easily. You wished it were that simple. “I’m sure it’s nothing…” your attention wavers as you notice movement out the window. 

A distant black figure grows larger the closer it gets. Eraserhead is coming back from his afternoon patrol. He sweeps up onto the roof of a nearby building and dashes along the eaves before leaping off again. His capture weapon lassos the adjacent dormitory building and he swings in a perfect arc that vaults him upwards. The movements flow into one another naturally, without thought, nimble as he twists through the air. You can’t take your eyes off him. 

“No, you’re right. It’s definitely nothing,” Yamada quips lightly, his voice drawing you to the present. The implication behind his tone rings loud and clear and it shakes you from your reverie. 

Embarrassment sours your expression; it feels like you’ve swallowed the sun. “It’s not like that,” you insist, laughing nervously. Your gaze settles on a heart sticker Eri pasted on the desk. An old coffee stain has blurred the colour, cheap ink smeared into the wood. Your fingers come away stained pink. 

“Young love is exciting! There’s no shame in it. You can be honest with us. With me,” Yagi’s large hand comes down on your shoulder to give a reassuring pat. “I may be old but I’m not that dense. I think”. 

“You’re hardly old, Yagi-san. You’re only fifty”.

Yagi chuckles in that signature All Might fashion, a blush glowing bright on his cheekbones. “Thank you. But that is beside the point,” he says. The laughter mellows into a contemplative hum and you fidget while he watches you closely, warmly, “…It’s just, Aizawa seems a bit more alive when you’re around”. 

Yamada leans forward to rest his chin in his palms, held open like a flower in bloom, and murmurs his agreement. 

“What…do you mean exactly?” you ask. 

Yagi exhales, wringing battle worn hands in his lap. “He has been through a lot,” he begins. “Of course we all have but as I’m sure young Yamada here can attest, Aizawa shoulders more responsibility than he needs to”. 

“Lotta unnecessary blame, too,” Yamada nods. A bittersweet tone pervades the air. “Always has, ever since we were kids. Reckon that’s why he doesn’t sleep”.

“See, there’s the kind of exhaustion that usually just requires a good night’s sleep,” Yagi’s face is sallow, and his gaze flickers to Aizawa’s empty desk. “But there is also another kind that asks much more—and I see that in Aizawa. Like he’s wearing a heavy coat that became heavy bones”.

Despite the clumsy metaphor you feel his words weighing on your heart; notably shared in a way that makes you think that he, too, wore a similar heavy coat of blame. And you thought: such is grief. 

“But!” Yagi suddenly blurts, restoring his former enthusiasm. “Since you started here it’s like…” he gesticulates with his hands then, searching for the right thing to say, stalling as seemingly he does not find it. “All that is to say Aizawa has a fondness for you and I think you should go for it!”

Self conscious, you pick at the skin around your thumb. Yagi’s encouragement was appreciated. With the quintessential All Might optimism unintentionally bleeding through it almost felt like you could do anything. But your head shakes and you laugh breathlessly at the thought, “You’re actually quite a gossip, aren’t you, Yagi-san?”

Yamada’s cackle reverberates around the lounge as Yagi splutters his shock into a tissue. You pat his shoulder. Pressing your lips thin you try not to smirk. 

“What are you doing?” 

Simultaneously, the three of you freeze, voices converging the instant you three blurt, “Nothing!” 

Aizawa frowns, displeasure framed by windswept hair tousled in all directions. He loiters in the open doorway a moment longer and his scrutiny pervades the air. You tightly cross your ankles under the legs of your chair and maintain an innocent look. 

Feigning obliviousness Yagi attempts to redirect the subject, “Did anything interesting happen on patrol, Aizawa-kun?”

Ultimately, Aizawa let it go. He shut the door behind him and the tension slipped from his shoulders as he shrugged and accepted the deflection. “Nothing significant. A bit busier than usual,” he replies.  “Seems like the commercial district has finished being rebuilt”.

Your heart beats and blood rushes to the tips of your fingers—dark eyes do not leave you as Aizawa slinks past to the kitchenette, taking with him a brush of cool fresh air. Yamada ducks between the computer monitors. Mouth puckered, he begins making an exaggerated kissing face at you. Oscillating between flustered and irritated, you reach for the nearest thing and throw it. A pencil bounces off his forehead, clattering to the floor, and he yelps. 

Aizawa returns holding two nutritional jelly pouches. “I don’t doubt you deserved that,” he comments, blasé as he passes you one of the colourful packets unprompted. It takes great effort not to gawk at his fingerless gloves, the once buttery leather now weathered. 

“Wow. Where’d my best friend go?” Yamada laments. He makes a dramatic show of the betrayal, long limbs sagging across his desk. “And no jelly for me, either. For shame! What happened to brothers before lovers?” 

Twisting off the cap to the pouch with his teeth, Aizawa sucks out the gelatinous innards until the plastic flattens. A smile plays on his lips as you stifle your amusement. “Hizashi, you know I flunked English,” he deadpans. 

The voice hero deflates. He turns to wave the previously thrown pencil at you, “Here. You left this knife in my back”. 

“You’re ridiculous”. 

“Et tu, Brute?”

The interaction does nothing to ruffle Aizawa. Like water to a duck's back. He merely saunters over to his desk, discards the empty pouch in the small bin beside his chair, and scoops up a thick binder of papers.  

“And now he flees,” Yamada pouts, holding the pencil between his top lip and his nose. 

“No, I need to wash up,” he dismisses Yamada and indicates toward his prosthesis, then dryly adding, “And I’m not sticking around to listen to you recite Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar simply because I didn’t bring you a jelly pouch”.

“Aw. That’s cold, Sho”. 

You bask in their back and forth. A friendship built on open hearts and feet that bleed. They share jabs, opinions and hardships without worry because there’s unequivocal trust there. Watching them together unearths a fraction of envy; stuck between wanting someone like that at your side, to wanting it to be him. 

Aizawa leaves not long after. He casts you a sidelong glance that you can’t read. One job to another, the work is patently endless, though you can’t help but to notice that it is self imposed—being stagnant is never in the cards. 

You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Yagi clears his throat in the prolonged pause. “So. What is your blood type?” he asks with little tact, avoiding your look of betrayal. “If I had to guess, Aizawa-kun must be type B. He is quite honest and unconventional…”

Yamada cackles again. 

You put your head in your hands. This is hell. And it is largely populated by the UA heroics department.

The three day weekend couldn't come any quicker.

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From: Yamada.Hizashi@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: Check this out! Message: 

HEEEEEY 😎

[HYPERLINK: myquirkyintrovert.jp//11-introvert-friendly-activities-perfect-for-a-first-date/] Figured you might need this. ROTFL !

(Rooting for you)

Yamada Hizashi English Department, UA High School Put Your Hands Up Radio 81.3FM QOTD: If music be the food of love, play on 🎵 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The morning spills over your senses like a heady fog. It obscures your vision, sleep-sand still tucked into the corners of your eyes. Dust fairies dance in the spotlight cast through the room and you turn into your pillow, away from the performance. 

You’re caught in a web—linens tangled around your ankles, anchored to the bed, suffering through cottonmouth and haze. According to the time you slept plenty. According to your body, however. 

The floor is cold against your feet. You yawn, joints clicking as your limbs stretch. Meander through the typical morning routine without a second thought, or a third. Only when your face is washed and you’re significantly more awake do you wander out of your apartment.

Cushioned by a set of fluffy, foam soled slippers, you stumble into the common area, welcomed to a languid, warm atmosphere. Surprisingly, a few people are already there. Yamada is dressed in his civilian clothing, waist length hair pulled back into a braided ponytail that mimics a mohawk. Eri is seated on one of the kitchen stools, squirming as his fingers work through her hair in gentle twists, styling it to match his own.  

She’s wearing a denim overall dress dotted with embroidered cats over a long sleeved shirt, matching the subtle pattern on her white tights. Her legs kick happily under the island. A smile pulled at your mouth as you watched the homely scene. 

A familiar sleep-worn voice murmurs your name and you try to look more alert than you feel.

The smell of percolating coffee reaches your senses. You retreat from the stinging heat that brushes your knuckles as Aizawa nudges a freshly poured mug toward you. “Oh, shit. Thanks,” you mumble. The surroundings are still gossamer soft and blurred at the edges; you’re impassive when your fingers slip through the curved handle and overlap his. 

Faint, coarse hair on his knuckles. Dull nails. Rough skin. You take the mug and bring it to your face. Steam kisses each cheek, billowing as you blow across the tawny surface. Aizawa’s throat bobs. Your stare lingers over the rim longer than appropriate, dragging down his body to take in the rare casual appearance. 

“You look nice”. 

His jaw ticks, eyes fixed on the button of his loose knit cardigan as he rolls it between his thumb and finger. Black, like most of the articles in his wardrobe, but stylish. The hem falls below the hip, hung over a pair of dark slacks. It’s flattering on his frame despite being oversized.

“Contrary to popular belief I can actually dress myself,” he says. 

“Colour me surprised,” you sip the hot coffee in a poor effort to conceal your grin. Even as the remaining dregs of sleep subside you can’t find it within yourself to be embarrassed. “Are you guys going somewhere?”

Before he can respond Eri is bounding over. She crashes into your legs, chin above your knees as she looks up and chimes, “Good morning!”

“Good morning sweetheart,” you say, holding your hot coffee out to the side. Eri’s eyes squint with the force of her smile and sunlight pools through tall standing windows, highlighting the glittery clips in her faux mohawk braid. “Your hair looks beautiful”.

“Thank you,” she delicately pats the top of her head. “I wanted it to look pretty today. We’re going to the com-mer-cial dis…”

“District?”

“District,” she nods excitedly. “Have you ever been to a district? Deku said there are lots of fun things for us to do. Will you come with us?” Then looking to her father for permission, she clutches her dress and asks, “Please?”

You blink. The coffee mug begins to sting the skin of your palms. “We can always use an extra chaperone,” Aizawa offers slowly, eyes sliding over you from head to toe, making you all too aware of the ratty old pyjamas you’re still wearing. “You can accompany us if you want to”.

The next words leave you in an instant.  “Do you want me to?” you asked. They’re clumsy and your voice fractures, bringing with it a flood of warm embarrassment. “Sorry. I think—I’m still half asleep”. 

Shouta suddenly appears to have swallowed a lemon. 

“Of course he wants you to,” Yamada strides over. The absentminded tapping of his phone’s keyboard echoes amidst the awkwardness. A smarmy grin plays on his lips and he tucks his chin to peer at Eri over the rim of his yellow tinted glasses, “Ain’t that right, Eri-chan?”

Eri nods insistently. Aizawa settles his hand atop her crown, careful not to disturb the braid, and stops the bobble head movement. “I don’t need you to speak for me,” He sighs, and the sound is fond more than anything else. “We’re meeting the students by the bus in thirty minutes,” He meets your gaze. A red-gold hue catches the light against the dark limbal ring around his iris. “You should come”.

Your chest flutters and you put his tone down to imagination. “I’d love to,” you reply, patting down your pyjama shirt. “Let me just get ready”. 

Quiet bickering follows you upstairs. You rummage through your wardrobe at a frenetic pace. There’s really no time to spare to worry about what you should wear. Once dressed you cram a water bottle, a lightweight fleece, sun protection, recovery gummies—

You pause, eyeing the unnecessary bulk in your rucksack. No doubt the kids were old enough to bring their own bags. Your tongue smooths over the teeth marks inside your cheek and you set the thought aside. No harm in being prepared. 

The clock on your phone screen blinks. Five minutes to go. You slip it into your pocket and hurry out the door, bag strap drawn over your shoulder. Kurose looks up from the couch as you stumble through the common area, navy hair flattened to one side, a few stray golden strands upright and reminding you of an antenna. 

“Hi Kurose-san,” you huff, jogging past and giving a quick wave. “Bye Kurose-san”. 

“Have fun out there,” they cheered. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That really doesn’t narrow it down by much,” you call back from the genkan, slipping into your shoes. Laughter bleeds through at the faux wounded look Kurose sends your way before you leave. 

The crisp morning air bloats your lungs on a deep inhale. Not a cloud to be seen, the sky a pleasant blue canvas. You descend the steps and follow the path toward the staff car park. Ushered into a single file line, a modest flock of hero students wait beside the minibus. You can’t help noticing how much younger they seem without their uniforms. 

Eri locks onto you instantaneously. Her lips move, and you think she must’ve called for you, but her voice was too small. Still it beckons the attention of the teenagers around her. One by one they shout your name, their clamouring coming together in an ill practised chorus.

Yamada ducks out from the minibus. “Yeaaah!” he beams, leaning against the folded door. “Right on time, my friend. We were just discussing the buddy system”. 

That reminder elicits a quiet groan from the class. Yamada laughs good naturedly, “I know, I know. But safety comes first, kiddos. Have you picked who you’re stuck with today?”

There are various nods and shrugs. Numerous heads turn to Bakugo, including both Midoriya and Todoroki, and he appears indubitably unimpressed that he’s spoiled for choice. Yamada’s focus lands on Eri. “What about you, mini me?” he pokes at the swell of her cheek. “Gonna be my buddy today?” 

Her anxious eyes flicker between you and him. You’re admittedly flattered that she’s torn. But the doubt is short lived, decided by an inconspicuous wink from Yamada. A toothy grin brightens her face. “Okay,” Eri chirps, holding out her hand for him to take. 

“We get to be passenger princesses today,” the voice hero whispers excitedly. You do well to restrain the coo building in your throat as his palm dwarfs her fist and her lips form an ‘o’. 

Suitably organised, the kids begin to climb onto the bus in their pairs. Iida and Todoroki sit in the spaces in front of Shinsou and Bakugo. There’s a soft pout to Midoriya’s lip but he happily joins Kouda, fingers moving in graceless strokes as they sign to one another. Yaoyorozu joins Jirou, taking the window seat. Tokoyami listens along to Kaminari’s aimless rambling; Sero, Mina and Kirishima behind them at the very back. 

Aizawa is already aboard the bus discussing safety policy, capture weapon draped around his shoulders. He pauses conversation with the driver and smiles as Yamada ushers Eri into seats positioned at the very front. Languid, his focus slides to you, the very last to enter. Heartbeat quickening. There’s something there, you feel it existing on the fringes. 

“Enough. Settle down,” he says, voice rough and commanding authority. The commotion dwindles. You nod before shuffling through the aisle to the remaining spaces. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this trip is a privilege. I am trusting you to behave, follow instructions and stick together. Understood?”

“Yes, Sensei”. 

“Do you all have your phone notifications on?”

Yamada throws up a peace sign and jumps in, “Yes, Sensei”. 

Aizawa rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment. With the polite incline of his head to the driver the bus doors whirred on their hinges and began to shut. He tucks a curtain of hair behind his ear, adding, “Any questions before we leave?” 

Shinsou clears his throat. His elbows rest on the back of Midoriya’s chair. He lazily points towards Aizawa and drawls, “Does Aizawa-sensei have a buddy?” 

You immediately become conscious of a tangible weight. Their stares fall to you, his included. Dark eyes like flint to your very core. You grin and bear it—grimace through the tension and hope his sharp intellect does not extend to 

Aizawa pressed his lips thin, “Any actual questions?” 

The figures in your periphery all shake their heads, biting back amusement in the face of their teachers' chagrin. The pressure does not dissipate when Aizawa takes the spot next to you, nor when the engine sputters to life and the looming barrier bordering the school entrance lifts to allow passage. 

The destination isn’t far. A fifteen minute drive at best. Still, as the journey progresses the air grows notably sombre. While much of the city has been restored, ghosts will remain. Skeletons of buildings sit on the landscape. Once a sprawling metropolis now made a uneven scar tissue terrain. 

That twinge of concern has you looking over your shoulder and scanning the bus in a less than subtle way. Everyone seems fine. Kaminari waves when you catch his eye. The only student that gives you pause is Bakugo, who has taken to staring hard out the window, discomfort etched into his features.

Or perhaps it’s your overactive imagination. The frown smooths into contentment and you realise he’s sharing a split earphone jack with Shinsou—maybe it was a song he didn’t like. 

You try to shake off the trepidation hanging over your mood. Aizawa notices but doesn’t pry and you find yourself grateful. 

Your concerns become minor the moment the minibus pulls into the commercial district. Standing prominent against the skyline, the building is sun drenched and unsettlingly clean. Inside, light pours through the high domed ceiling and reflects on the shiny tiled floor. There are three upper levels visible on spiralled balconies, each dedicated to different departments. 

Ground level is rather miscellaneous. Record stores, hobby crafts, tech booths and things of the like. Soothing music plays in the background, gentle melodic notes. Being somewhere that brought a sense of normalcy boosted the students morale. You’re warmed by contagious excitement—Aizawa too, lacking his usual force and a smile in his tone as he tells them. “Remember, you’re not to leave this building. If something happens you contact one of us”. 

They split off in opposite directions with the promise to meet at the food court in two hours. Eri and Yamada linger a few minutes longer. She tugs at her fathers sleeve and when crouched to her height she plants a short kiss on his stubbled cheek. 

You are then gifted a sparkly clip for keepsake, as though she were giving part of herself to take with you. “Thank you sweetheart,” touched, you attach it to your bag strap. “I’ll keep it safe”.

Satisfied, Eri thrusts her hand up for Yamada to take, and she comically leads him to march in the direction of a children’s store. The crowds are unexpectedly thin. Though you supposed a majority of the general public did not yet have the confidence nor the funds to make leisure trips to the mall. You’re only thankful they are respectfully giving your class a wide berth. 

Aizawa puffs an indignant breath, “…I think we’ve finally been set up”. 

Fondness surges deep in your chest and you bite back a grin. There’s urgency to it that you can’t satisfy. “Glad I’m not imagining things,” you wet your lips, moving to match his stride. “Does it not bother you?” 

“Which part?” he asks. He’s looking anywhere but you. There’s a playful lilt in his tone that equally settles and ignites your nerves. You would search his face for answers if the lower half were not obscured by his scarf. 

“The ‘clearly trying to get us to date’ part”. 

“There are worse people to be lumped with”. 

Aizawa’s profession rarely left time for indulgence. You’ve heard him discuss it before. He never thought it sensible to involve another person in what he had presupposed would be a tumultuous relationship. For that reason, you wonder if he has much experience in romance at all.

“Ever the charmer, Aizawa”. 

“Shouta,” he says. You blink, narrowly caught in a stupor. The erasure hero sinks to burrow deeper into his capture weapon. Warmth rises to the tips of his ears in spite of his efforts. “Just call me Shouta”. 

Very eloquently, your response is, “Oh”. 

“Or don’t,” he grunted. 

There’s a wealth of unspoken confessions behind a single name. Your heart feels full, stuttering in a way it hasn’t in a long while. “So. What should I tell my friends?” you pick up speed, giddiness spurring your pace and taking you a few steps ahead. “‘This is Shouta. We work together. He has twenty-something kids and our first date was spent patrolling the Musutafu mall’?”

“I have one kid—” Shouta falters, though fleeting, as if he hadn’t realised he’d begun to walk the perimeter. He arches an unimpressed brow, any scorn decidedly betrayed by the mirth in his eyes. “Did you have somewhere in mind?”

An hour rolls into another. You meander various stores together, occasionally bumping into the students and ignoring their suggestive looks. He buys some things for Eri—or so he claims, now in possession of three different cat gel pens—and you pick out new books to keep in your classroom. 

And in the grand scheme of things it’s a paltry affair. You’re looking around a newly built mall with a man you’ve known for close to two months. Simple, comfortable, as most things are with Shouta; yet it feels like a path you’ve walked more times than you can count. Fastened by mattress stitch seams, shoulder to shoulder, you share conversation written in passing glances, so many possibilities etched into a handsome crooked smirk—

Three message alerts come loud and in quick succession. That alone is enough to shatter the atmosphere. They feel frantic, and Shouta’s expression is explanatory enough. 

“It’s Shinsou. Something happened with Bakugo,” he mutters. In one fell swoop he is dashing ahead and you are not long behind. He turns a corner. Your kids are bunched together, seemingly bickering and distraught. Midoriya’s frantic voice can be heard above them all. Civilians have parted, tucking themselves against walls and waiting at security’s instruction. You’re comforted by the fact that they are not rushing out in droves. 

Bakugo is absent. The air smells like smoke but there’s no notable damage. Shouta flashes his hero license and steps into the shoes of a guardian so naturally you wonder if he ever takes them off. The officers standing nearby offer sympathetic smiles, allowing you through, too, after seeing your UA badge. 

While Shinsou is relaying what happened to Shouta you approach the others. A chill spikes the air, colder as the distance lessens, and you realise it must be Todoroki’s quirk. He’s standing at Midoriya’s side, exhaling visible breaths, laying a cold hand on his friend's neck to allay the panic. 

“Hey guys,” you greet gently. “Aizawa-Sensei is just clearing things with Shinsou. Do you know what happened?”

Midoriya snaps to attention, “Sensei—Kacchan, he’s—!”

Kaminari closes in, careful as he drapes his arm across Midoriya’s back. “It’s alright, man,” he murmurs. Todoroki nods. There’s a helplessness in his expression. “Kacchan’s okay. He just needed to blow off some steam. Or smoke, I guess”. 

A repetitive sound loops above your heads. You realise then that there’s a jumbo multi screen hovering in the centre of the ceiling. Clips depicting Gigatomanchia's rampage fade one into a title card, the words ‘twenty city rampage’ highlighted across a sepia backdrop. Your stomach churns at the sight, inhaling sharp between your teeth. 

“It’s that new bullshit documentary,” Jirou interjects. She fiddles anxiously with the jack hung from her earlobe. “They—uh. There were pictures of…”

“I understand. Thank you, Jirou,” you say. They needn’t relive it again—but they had. They will. Bakugo simply raised his head and saw his worst experiences pilfered for television. 

You exhale, taking with it the abrupt anger and frustration. They’re looking to you for reassurance. “I promise we’re going to find Bakugo,” you tell them. “I’m sorry that any of you had to see those images again. Like Kaminari said, I imagine he got overwhelmed and needed some space”. 

Midoriya swallows thickly and he nods. The motion is unsettlingly lifeless. His blank stare passes over your shoulder, and a silhouette of bodyheat settles behind you. 

“Shinsou explained everything,” Aizawa says. His presence visibly untangles the knots in their posture. “Security informed me Bakugo is still in the building. I need you all to wait here for Yamada-sensei—” he holds his hands out in a placating gesture as Todoroki begins to interrupt “—you will wait here while we look for him”. 

“I’ll start heading that way,” you point where the wide walkway narrows towards the southern exit and hard turns left, not wanting to remain still for longer than necessary. Aizawa regards you with a meaningful look and nods. 

You take off. The air retains a faint smokey smell. It grows thicker, more prominent as you pass the various hero merch stores, meeting the eyes of a Edgeshot cardboard cutout. Acrid nausea rises unforgiving in your stomach. 

It guides you to a fire door slightly ajar. Through the door is a dreary stairwell, presumably to be used by customers on the upper floors during an emergency. Bakugo’s hunched figure can be seen through the crack. He’s sitting on one of the steps, head cradled in crossed arms. 

You quickly text Shouta to let him know, and ask that he give you two a little space. You’re hardly expecting him to talk. But where Aizawa-sensei goes his ducklings will follow, and you have a feeling Bakugo is not yet in the mindset for company. 

The door creaks on its hinges as you enter. “Leave me alone,” the Bakugo shaped lump growled. An emotional hurricane in the body of a boy. Your throat swells. It threatens to drag you in. You can feel the sharp winds clipping at your resolve as you lower to sit on the step beside him and he bristles, furiously spitting, “I said fuck off!” 

Another, someone more volatile and disciplinarian, could be tempted to jump in. A person such as yourself, lenient and with less experience, might find it easier to flee; to let the gale propograte northward and weaken on its own. Before being employed at UA your students had always been older, plausibly wiser—but, you suppose, children still. You are honest enough to inwardly admit that you don’t know how to make this better. But you are determined to try. 

So you see your body relax and let your voice flow out calmly, “I’m not going anywhere”. 

Bakugo laughs humorlessly and snaps, “What, you gonna lecture me now?” His hands are wrung tight to stop the tremors. Blood surfaces beneath the pressure and seeps into his nail beds. “Gonna tell me some bullshit about how heroism isn’t defined by success and things will get better if I stick it out?” 

“No. I didn’t come here to lecture you,” you say. He eyes you with suspicion. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. We can sit here as long as you need”. 

What follows is a long, thick silence. The lives of people can be heard muffled through the stairwell walls. Unawares, and in a way, unintentionally mocking. Bakugo’s laboured gasps toll louder in your ears. You don’t speak. You monitor the rise and fall of his chest, gradually slowing until the defensive vitriol clears away. 

“I hate losing control like—” Bakugo’s expression twisted uncomfortably then, as though the confession tasted bitter, and you patiently held your breath. "Fuck. How can I call myself a hero when…" his voice loses strength, reminiscent of an echo. 

He rubs harshly at the spot where his heart rests. You take the young hero by the wrist. You envelop his split knuckles wearing a thin smile, admittedly strained, and squeeze around those shaking fingers while the moment simmers, a gentility not in the absence of violence, but despite it all. 

Bakugo blinks up at you. The movement knocks a tear free, careening down the side of a flushed cheek. The sight lodges something in your throat, thick and hard to swallow; all the words you don’t know how to say. You would never understand what it means to reside in his body—to think of yourself as the scene of a crime. 

Family members, strangers, had visited his hospital room to mournfully listen to that pulse one last time, and Bakugo told them to come by whenever as though he were a living effigy of their lost son. You saw the disconnect he felt from himself. That lifelong debate of what makes a person a person. 

He’s just a kid. 

“Bet you’ve heard hundreds of ‘I’m sorry’s’ at this point, huh?” you murmur. Bakugo snorts. 

“Try thousands,” he rasps. Clicks his tongue to his teeth to save face. “Never know what they’re really apologising for. Rubs me the wrong way”. 

And after being witness to how Bakugo’s mind works you understand what that means. Atleast, you think you might. Teenagers hold enough shame without the weight of another person's life in their arms. You only imagine he hears their regret, guilt, disappointment—hears ‘sorry it was you, kid’ and ‘sorry it wasn’t him’. 

“It’s okay to be angry, you know,” you vowed solemnly. “There’s so much pressure to channel what happened to you into something positive. To make it your strength. And maybe you will, eventually. But you’re allowed to step back and say ‘I went through something scary and traumatic and that changed me forever’”. 

Bakugo grunts. He scrubs under his nose with the back of his hand. “Don’t need you to tell me that,” he says, tone lighter than before. It sounds a lot like ‘thank you’. 

“I’m glad,” you nudge his side and return your hands to your lap. “In that case we should talk about something else”. 

“Like what?” 

“Your assignment,” Bakugo snorts, rolling his eyes. “Hey. I’m serious. Most of the others have come to me with their topics but yours is still a mystery”. 

“‘Cause those losers need help and I don’t,” he says. There’s no malice in it. His cadence is lighter, the burden he carries now far more loose fitting. You watch him pick at the rips in his jeans. “…Mine’s about mythological figures. Some cult wackos out there believe the old Gods had quirks. Hence the animal heads and shit”. 

“That’s a brilliant choice, Bakugo,” his answer brings a sincere smile to your lips. “Gives you a lot more to explore in your discussion. I can’t wait to read it”.

The muscles in Bakugo’s face twitch. Mouth deliberately downturned. A flustered yet pleased blush paints the tips of his ears and the simple praise breathes him to life like a technicolour Oz. It eases the anxiety simmering under your skin. You prompt him to talk further, pleasantly surprised to find that his curiosity extends further than Japan’s own mythology. 

Eventually you need to update Shouta again. Leaving it too long would only worry him further. Bakugo’s eyes track your thumbs movement across the keyboard as you type. “Are you texting Eyebags?” 

“I’m texting Aizawa-sensei,” you correct blithely as a text bubble appears on the bottom left of the screen. “I thought Shinsou was ‘Eyebags’”. 

“They’re interchangeable,” he rebuts. You huff a laugh, screen going dark with a quiet click. Bakugo’s reflection looks back at you where he’s peeking over your shoulder. 

“You two a thing or somethin’?” he asks, not even attempting to hide his interest. 

“We aren’t ‘a thing’,” your fingers form quotation marks around the words. And it’s true. You aren’t. Yet. “I don’t know why you all came to that conclusion”. 

“Probably ‘cause you look at him all googly eyed. And he always shares that shitty jelly with you. Basically his alternative to a proposal,” he smirked. Shouta is still typing—

Your phone vibrates. The message comes through.

—A thumbs up emoji. 

Bakugo laughs. His eyes crinkle. A crease deepens on the bridge of his nose. The brief flash of a toothy grin. No longer a hero-too-soon on two tired feet but instead a teenage boy, poking light fun at his teacher. 

“The hell. He texts like my old man”.

You hum in amusement. “Some people do better face to face,” the ‘like you’ remains unspoken. Shadows pleat across the stairwell as clouds shift, disturbing the dim stream of light. You become conscious of the hour. And it seems so does he. 

“How do you feel about heading back?” 

Bakugo’s stare fixed itself onto his hands. You notice the crescent shaped marks, the skin around his nails fraying, picking at his body like a seam. “I can go back,” he grunts. 

“You can, but do you want to?” you ask, blindly feeling up the strap drawn over your shoulder. The small, glittery claw clip is still there. “Humour me for a sec,” you unclip it and Bakugo frowns as you proffer it to him, rolling in the centre of your palm. “Let it bite you”. 

“Let it bite me?” he repeats dryly. 

“Clip it around your fingers or pinch your hand with it—yeah, like that,” you grin as he blindly follows the instruction. The little claw clip bites into a swathe of the skin from the back of his hand. “Better, right?” 

Lip jutted into a pout, Bakugo eyes the clip dubiously; no longer focused on the anxiety, and you take it as a big win. “I guess. Thanks Sensei,” you tense in surprise as he gets to his feet, dusting off his jeans. “I want to go back,” he says, nothing short of a demand. 

There’s certainly no love lost between you and the cold step under your thighs. You stretch as you stand, shucking the backpack higher up your shoulder. “Alright. Then let’s get you back”. 

Bakugo doesn’t protest when you remain at his side, keeping pace. His finger and thumb work at the clips hinge while he walks, absentmindedly opening, closing, running the teeth over his knuckles. You’re sure Eri would gladly let him keep it. 

Tears are all dried up which Bakugo appears grateful for. The class doesn't immediately rush him, though you can see that they want to. Rather they wait for him to come to them, parting like arms and coaxing him into the centre. 

You branch off to where Shouta is standing watch with Yamada. Eri stands behind his leg, clutching at his pant leg. Her eyes are glassy and wide as she looks up at you. “Bakugo is alright now,” you tell them. “But you know what?”

Eri instinctively pushes up onto the balls of her feet, as though climbing higher to hear a big secret. Lowered into a conspiratorial hush, you say, “I bet he would feel even better if you gave him a hug”.

Shouta’s hand crowns her head. He carefully pats the side of her braid, giving silent permission. Expression tight in a determined pinch Eri ducks between his legs and toddles toward the group. 

“He really doin’ okay?” Yamada quietly asked. 

You murmur an affirmative, shifting in place as you turn to watch the scene unfold. Eri pats Bakugo’s hip. He seems vaguely nervous as he rests on his haunches and allows her to tangle herself around him. 

Shouta’s knuckles knock your own. His fingers twitch, unfurling as though to reach out and then thinking better of it. “Do you think I should talk to him?” 

When you look at him he’s already looking right back. Eyes soft like the sun had made them warm. You mind the small gap and stretch your pinky, brushing the outer curve of his palm and retracting again. “Bakugo respects you. He feels safe with you,” you assure him. “I think it’d be good if you talked”.

“Maybe some extra sessions with Hound Dog, too,” Yamada adds. Your heart staggers, having near forgotten he was there. “For all of them”. 

“I’ll see if he can do another class session during their independent study period,” Shouta says, attention returning to Eri’s antics—she’s now walking Bakugo over, hand in hand, subsequently bringing the other students with her. 

Shouta exhales, clicking his neck. There’s a finality to it. You see the internal headcount he does in their approach, and how the preparation to jump back into action recedes at the confirmation that all his kids are present. 

“We’ve got two options now,” he announces. “I’m sure none of us want to stick around longer than we need to. So either we go up to the food court and eat, or we can head back to campus”. 

Mutterings break out amongst the group. Iida diligently attempts to organise a sensible vote and asks for a show of hands, but his effort is squashed the instant that Kaminari suggests WcDonalds. 

Eri keeps hold of Bakugo's hand the entire way back, and insists on sitting with him. Yamada switches buddy’s without complaint, wiggling himself into the window seat beside Shinsou, happy to pull out his headphones and collect music suggestions from his beloved students. 

Shouta remains at your side. You hear unfettered laughter and think you might be close to tears—the tender kind. Softly, you mumble, “I’m glad I took this job”.  

He exhales slowly, and the loss of tension has him leaning into you ever so slightly. Your shoulders touch. “Me too,” he says. 

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From: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp   To: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  Cc: Inui.Ryo@UAedu.jp; Aizawa.Shouta@UAedu.jp Subject: Incident report [High importance] Message: 

Good evening,

Attached is my account of the incident that occurred at Musutafu Shopping District on Saturday, [x] September 11:34am. 

Hound Dog and I have also brainstormed a few suggested classroom additions for students coping with anxiety. 

Take care!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sleeplessness is an open invitation to overthinking. 

Everyone has since retired to their apartments and it is long past the hour for Eri to be in bed. Time slips through your fingers. You count the dust bunnies behind your eyes but nothing works. 

Clarity shrikes through you with small cuts. The day wears on your body like a bruise that you cannot ignore now the adrenaline has subsided. You’re processing the fleeting touches, the purposeful looks, the whiplash of panic, the heartache that comes with being helpless—

Your mind is a spinning top with no hands to stop it, not even the clocks. Though it falters at a single thought passing overhead.

There is one man you can trust to be awake at this hour. 

You kick off the sheets, unsteady as you nudge each foot into the wrong slipper. The dormitory is cast in shadow. Your eyes are slow to adjust, shapes and lines sharpening around you. 

Shouta is seated at the kitchen island, dark space doused in the low lighting from the stovetop hood, warm across the contours of his face. Papers are laid out before him in organised piles. 

“Burning the midnight oil?” 

A pen spins around his thumb. He peeks through dark hair curtaining his vision and hums. Your gait is heavy, like wading through waist high water. The quiet clink of melting ice draws your attention to his glass. “I didn’t take you for a gin and tonic kinda guy,” you murmur, leaning your elbows onto the counter. “Regular old sake, maybe”.

The corner of his mouth twitches and he takes a pointed swig of his drink. He smacks his lips. “Gin and tonic keeps me awake,” he explains dryly, nudging the glass in your direction. You fold to his soft suggestion and bring it to your nose. The smell alone is enough to make you shiver. 

Shouta laughs at your grimace. At that point you sense in your gut that maybe, maybe you should have stayed in bed. You’re warm, pleasantly sleepy, and your tongue feels dangerously loose. 

Seeking distraction, your gaze drops to the papers stacked before him. You set down the gin, beaded condensation wet around your fingers, and lean in for a closer look. The grade written at the top is worryingly low. “That’s… not looking so good,” you prompted. 

“This is Todoroki’s,” Shouta clarifies, brow pinched. He gives an empathetic nod to your wide eyed stare. From reading their files you knew Todoroki consistently ranked top five in class A.  “It’s not just him. They’re all struggling in different areas. And I was never expecting things to go back to normal but it’s…” 

“You’re doing what you can,” you say. 

Shouta clicks his tongue, “But is that enough?” 

You cover his hand without thought, thumb outlining the rough dips and peaks of his knuckles as you insist, “Yes. I believe it’s enough”. Somewhere in the spaces between seconds Shouta overturns his wrist, and your fingers are intertwined, and you’re squeezing until your palms kiss. 

You think of that heavy coat Yagi referenced. Of a man wearing his failures as self imposed repentance. “You aren’t the only one here helping them. We’re going to get them across this bridge, and then the next, and the next—” Shouta turns a cheek to hide his amusement as your rambling becomes more exaggerated. 

“You’ll never be rid of them. Not even after they graduate”. You smile softly, “The kids are gonna be alright, Aizawa”. 

Dark eyes smile back, “…You did good today, you know”.

Hundreds of butterflies hatch inside your stomach. “I—I did?”

He huffs at that, wetting his lips. “You’re impossible”.

Something unspoken weaves into the atmosphere—the attraction between you becomes a tangible thread before either of you speak another word. He’s much closer. Every movement he has made you’ve mirrored without meaning to. 

“Impossible?” you repeat, hushed.

He pitches his voice low and says, “I thought I told you to call me Shouta”. 

At what point had you settled into the cradle of his thighs? Your breath catches. Two hands are on your hips, soft flesh yielding under his thumbs as they massage shapes from memory. You clutch at broad shoulders and exhale, settling into the hold and surrendering yourself.

“Shouta,” you echo, charmingly dumbfounded. 

Gentle, Shouta takes your chin and turns you toward him. A large, rough palm cups your cheek. He brings your forehead against his, close enough to hear his breath falter. The air is clammy. Taut, primed to break with another tilt of your head, and he must sense it. There’s trepidation—hesitance to handle something as tender as this when the things he knows best are animosity and bloodshed.

You offer mercy in taking the lead. Your hands slip from his shoulders to his jaw. Shouta lets himself be guided into your magnetism, a contented hum rippling in his throat like the water of a wellspring. 

He kisses you deeply and it feels four weeks too late. It feels like muscle memory. It feels like something you’ve done a thousand times over. Those hands circle around your waist, splayed at the lower back, heat radiating through your shirt. Lips part at the light swipe of his tongue. You taste the faint notes of citrus and juniper, coaxing him into your mouth, swallowing a soft groan. 

Heat flashes through you. Familiar want is coiling low in your belly, so stark that you shake with it. Hands wander. Lips too. Shouta kisses across your cheeks, nipping the delicate line of your jaw. Stubble tickles your throat. He mouths at your pulse and pulls you impossibly close, a desperate edge to it as though he were making up for all the times he wanted to but couldn’t. He outlines a topographical map of your figure, fingers walking the bumps, curves and dimples, tentatively slipping up your shirt to reach your soft stomach. 

The hair along your arms stands on end. Fingertips climb higher toward your chest, and a heart that threatens to leap right out through your ribs. “Aizawa, we can’t—”

“Shouta,” he mutters, continuing his path down your collar. You shudder and his fingers flex, sensing the aftershocks of his touch. 

“Shouta,” you amend breathlessly. “We can’t have sex in the common area”. 

A rare clemency follows. Shouta stops, and your hands come to thread through his hair. Dull stubble tickles the dip of your collarbone. You feel his lips stretch thin into a smirk. 

He leans back to look up and doesn’t take his eyes off you. Half lidded and soft, wrapping you in a gauzy roseate veil that hems the whole world pink. Something about the surety of his desire stunned you. To be wanted by a man who always seemed above such things—it makes your chest pound and your face warm, exhilaration spreading to the very tips of your fingers, restless with the urge to touch him. 

“Who said anything about sex?” he asks, tenor low and deeply amused. It seems any mercy from him ended there. 

“So now you can play dumb?” you mumble, an indignant exhale puffing through your nose. You feel him twitch, heat seeping through the thin fabric. “As if you were going to stop there”.

Shouta merely gives you a crooked grin. The scar tissue around his eye wrinkles. You find him unfairly, preternaturally handsome. You like him so much you’re dizzy with it. 

All at once you are torn apart. Shouta has pushed you into the adjacent seat and turned back to his papers. An ephemeral dread rushes through you—immediately washed away by the sound of a door opening. Two familiar voices follow. 

“I bet he’s somewhere down here,” Yagi whispers. He turns the corner into the kitchen, awkwardly bent to hold a small hand. Swimming in her sleep shirt, Eri shuffled in beside him barefoot and rubbing the sleep from her eye. 

“Look, see. And even…” Yagi’s eyes widened as he spoke your name. They flickered over your dishevelled state and then to Shouta, who is equally unkempt. Luckily for him that is nothing suspicious. You, however—

“I’m here Eri-bug,” Shouta says. His clothes have been smoothed out, hair tucked back over his ears, expression soft and unruffled as he crouched to her height. She stops short of him, laying her palm over his outstretched hand. 

“Did you have a bad dream?” he quietly asks. Eri shifts in place and nods. You look away from their vulnerable moment with instantaneous regret. Yagi meets your gaze, freezing mid step as he backs out, brows arched high on his forehead. There’s a slight blush around his ears. You grimace. He absolutely knows. 

Something small clutches at your shirt sleeve and tugs. The yellow ochre of light dances in Eri’s big red eyes as she studies you from the security of her father’s arms. “Hi there Eri,” you murmur gently. “Are you okay?” 

Her grip doesn’t loosen. She blinks long and slow, “Did you have a bad dream too?” 

Shouta adjusts her on his hip but says nothing. Behind the nonchalant veil lies fond amusement and warmth. “…Not a bad dream,” you tell her. “I couldn’t sleep because I was worrying a lot. But I’m feeling better now”.

A sleepy smile stretches across her lips. Eri is seemingly satisfied by your answer but not by the distance. Without ceremony she leans away from her father’s embrace into your own. You make a short noise of surprise as she wraps her legs around your middle. 

The weight is oddly comforting. You run a hand down her back, “Eri…?” 

“Bed now,” she slurs, rubbing the swell of her cheek against your shoulder. “Sleep safe”.

Shouta moves closer. There’s something in his gaze that makes your throat dry. You’re not sure what he’s seeing. What it is he has been seeing in you all this time—

“You heard her,” he pressed a kiss to Eri’s hair, then turned to kiss your temple. He lingers, and each word leaves another. “Let’s go to bed. We’re alright now”. 

—You can only assume, like for you, it is everything. 

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From: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: [High importance] Message:  Good morning!

I heard the news and thought it important that you’re reminded of UA’s relationship policies:

There are none! Ha ha! Did you panic?

Much happiness to you both. It is always a pleasure to see love blossom.

Kind regards,

Nedzu Principal of UA High School  〒123-4567 Ōikuyō, Shizuoka, Musutafu.  Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!

[one-idea]

Here's an idea: time travel fix it, but the time traveller is Zeff.

Casually fixing what he can for his Eggplant's future Nakama, like bribing Mihawk with a nice wine to mention what Arlong is up to to Jimbe.

I love a time travel fix it with an unlikely hero. Because the Strawhats have a lot of information about what needs to be fixed. Their time travel fix it’s make sense. But the fun ones are their allies who know major events but don’t know everything.

(I saw someone try this with Mihawk and like the man only knows major events that the strawhats get into. Also he’s way more likely just to show up and watch the chaos while drinking wine.)

Zeff being sent back is so fun. 1) he’s a great character who obviously loves Sanji and would want to do what’s best for him. But also 2) he has no idea what half the inciting incidents are! How will he ever know what to stop?

He does have some information though. So let’s say he gets dropped 21 years in the past. He’s still a pirate. Ohara was just burnt last year and Rodger died 3 years ago (fact check me)

Most importantly Sanji is about to be born. His little eggplant is about to be born into one of the worst family on the sea. Well not if he has anything to say about it. He’s still Red-Leg Zeff, the pirate captain.

He knows they can’t do a full frontal assault but some sneaking around gets him to Sora. And a quick “how do you feel about taking all the kids and running?” She’s in. Anything to get them away from Judge.

And it’s stupid easy because they are babies who are only a few days old. Judge only cares about their test results he isn’t watching them. So Zeff and a few of his crew just nab Judges wife and kids, and quite a bit of loot.

Zeff is booking it out of there. But not without kick judge through at least one wall durning the escape.

He makes the decision to quiet the pirate life early. He’s got Sora and the kids to worry about. They open the Baratie early. He knows exactly which cooking staff he’s hiring.

As he separated from the crew he tells them that if they run into a girl named Nico Robin to bring her to him.

He starts establishing the Baratie as a location for all to dine in. But this time he’s focused on making connections. Keeping his thumb on the pulse of both pirate and government movement.

Raising the five kids he’s acquired along side Sora, the genetic programming takes but without it being supported as they grow eventually gets out of their systems. Sanji being the most in touch with his emotions followed by Reiju. Their brothers struggle with emotions but are a lot better and more adjusted than they are in cannon.

About two years into this restaurant one 11 year old Nico Robin is delivered by his old crew. The girl is super freaked out but he sits her down and tells her that’s she’s safe, he’s got ears everywhere and will know if the governmental coming after them, and he won’t let them take her. Plus who’s going to be looking for her at a high class restaurant. It also helps that he’s got a gaggle of children already so she can stay off the floor hanging out with the kids. Sora also dyes Robin’s hair purple and that with age is enough to make people not immediately recognize her from her bounty poster.

5 years later the red hair pirates a bouncing around the East blue and Zeff waits. Waits until one day Shanks comes in one arm short and bragging about his son. (It helps that Sanji and his siblings are helping out so Shanks and Zeff are just casually talking about their kids.) He grabs the captain and pulls him to the side and tells him that Luffy is in danger and that there is another little boy on that island, a boy who is the son of his old captain. Shanks thinks he’s crazy at first but he knows things about Luffy. The scar under his eye, and other things.

Enough to make shanks curious enough to turn around and find Luffy and his TWO new brothers. He quickly collects three children and returns to the Baratie. (Kicks door open while holding three children “you were right!” Zeff surprised by the third child but not mad) (I don’t think he knows about Sabo)

Luffy and Sanji get on like a house fire with Luffy loudly declaring that Sanji will one day join his crew as his chef. And Zeff is standing there watching them with a proud smile, because somethings are just meant to happen.

Meanwhile Shanks as turned to look at Zeff

“anything else I should know about?”

Zeff just snorts “a lot. You still friends with Hawkeyes or have you to made it official yet?”

(With the Baratie around earlier he had to witness young Shanks and Mihawk flirting, it was painful)

Shanks gets sad “he’s mad about well you know…” the missing arm. And Zeff feels bad about that but he had no clue how the man lost it in the first place so there was no way he could stop it.

“If you run into him tell him there’s a crazy kid in the east blue gunning for his title. If he wants to keep things interesting he might want to train him.” (The Baratie is Mihawk’s favorite establishment Zeff could also tell him but he has a feeling the swords master would listen to Shanks over him.)

This is how Mihawk shows up at a dojo where a 10year old Kuina and 9 year old Zoro are training. (A year before Kuina’s death) he sees their skill and hears Kuina’s father’s opinion about females and training. He knows it’s an opinion that is also popular in Wano where this man is obviously from, but it’s not the way the rest of the world works. He approaches and offers to take over the training of the girl “who won’t make anything of herself” and the “feral gremlin using sword handles for teething.” Kuina’s father isn’t to sure about all this but he can’t really refuse the greatest swordsman in the world nor will Kuina or Zoro stay once they hear about the offer.

Mihawk has now obtained one verbally polite girl who will break every rule the moment his back is turn and one backpack leash gremlin.

He and Shanks are regulars at the Baratie for parenting advice. Luffy meets Zoro’s and again claims him as part of the crew. Years later Zoro and Sanji argue over who will be the first official member (Sanji: Luffy asked me first! Zoro: but I was the first one to physically join the crew!)

But currently the three run a muck on the Baratie pulling pranks on their older siblings (Ace, Sabo, Kuina, and Reiju are all the same age) or just Sanji brothers (they are still learning emotions and will sometimes join in on the chaos, other times they are a rival faction but if they ever get to mean Luffy and Zoro put them in their place)

but eventually Luffy runs into Robin (she tries to stay out of the way as much as possible to not get the Baratie in trouble. Zeff tells her she doesn’t have to but Trauma is a thing) Luffy loves her instantly. She quitely reading a book and Luffy joins her for story time and she never gets mad at his interruption and is so patient with him. He looks at her with a grin of a small sun and tells her “when I’m captain you’re going to be on my crew!” Robin is a little freaked out because she doesn’t want to bring the world government down on this little boy. But Zeff talks to her later and tells her that Luffy isn’t a force that can be stopped. It takes time but in the next ten years Robin comes around to the idea of being on Luffy’s crew with Zoro and her little brother Sanji. As soon as Luffy claimed her he told the others. Sanji was pumped! Zoro just accept it but he comes around to really love Robin.

At the same time that the boys are all being adopted Zeff is making some calls and contacts. The Baratie has been open for over 9 years he’s got some high connections. He eventually gets a hold of Jimbei and tells him that Arlong is in the East Blue and causing trouble. (Arlong has just started in the East blue, Zeff has no clue of the time clock) he points Jimbei in the direction of Cocoyashi.

Jimbei gets their right at the time of Arlong raid in the village. He walks in right as Arlong and Bell-mére are having their confrontation. I don’t know exactly what happens (I haven’t met Jimbei yet) but he’s able to stop it.

Bell-mére asks how he knew they were in trouble and he tells them about the Baratie. The village wants to thank the man who alerted Jimbei so Bell-mére goes (she is a retired Marine and probably the best sailor.) and takes Nojiko and Nami with her. Of course Shanks is visiting with the boys and Luffy and Nami instantly hit it off. “This is my Navigator!!!” Shanks is laughing because the kids going to have a whole crew before he has a boat.

Once Luffy is ready to set sail he meets up with Zoro and the two head to the Baratie to pick up Nami, Sanji, and Robin. Zeff points them in the direction of Suyrup village to “get a ship” where they pick up Usopp and save Kaya. (This absolutely does not make Usopp’s feeling of inferiority worse by the time they get to Water 7. No way. It’s not like everyone else on the crew until Vivi and Chopper have known each other for 10 years. He’s not the odd man out in any way.)

Zeff doesn’t have a lot of information about their adventures so he can’t truly stop anything but he does know some thing. (Nami leaving the crew. Luffy and Zoro being from the east blue and having connections with Shanks and Mihawk (Mihawk totally goes the the Baratie to drink during the time skip. Zeff knows Zoro is his kid) he knows Ace is Roger’s son and that he dies. But he doesn’t know anything that isn’t in Sanji’s letters or the news paper (which is full of lies)

He makes the best decisions he can for Sanji.

He saves Sanji from Zeff as soon as possible

Accidentally saving Sora, Reiju, Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji

After Sanji set sail Zeff decides to expand the Baratie. It’s a chain

Patty and Carne take over the East blue branch

Reiju runs the one in the grandline.

Ichiji runs one in the west blue

Niji runs one in the south blue

The north blue doesn’t get one until Judge is dead they all agree on that

Yonji bounces from place to place helping as he is needed

Zeff and Sora open one in the New World.

Zeff might not know everything the Strawhats went through but he knows the major events and by having a home base in almost every sea he’s got ears everywhere. His old crew is still out there acting as ears for him and bring him news.

Anything he can help the Strawhats avoid or remove from their path he sends word

He tells Shanks about Ace.

Accidentally getting Luffy, Ace, and Sabo adopted

Saving Sabo from the Celestial dragons

Giving all three boys the chance to train with the Red Hair Pirates and learn Haki early while also getting a feel for the Grandline and New World

Ace’s death is prevented because he knows about Blackbeards plans and tells Ace to watch out for the man and to not trust him. It helps that Ace grew up with Shanks who never liked Blackbeard at all.

He tells Mihawk about Zoro

Kuina is accidentally saved

Both get to train with Mihawk far before their adventure. Mihawk loves it because the two are “trying to kill him” but they are also competing with each other and it’s MESSY they are so dramatic in their own weird way and he’s living for watching this gremlins fight while he drinks wine. When Perona shows up he finally has a goth child who wants to dress presentable and drink wine while making his other children. The family is complete.

He puts out feelers for Robin having no real hope she will show up

Accidentally gave her a loving home and help her feel safe while also preparing her for the adventure ahead.

He points Jimbei in Arlong direction. He has no clue what Arlong is truly up to.

Accidentally saves village

Saves Bell-mére’s life and kick starts the Strawhats.

The Strawhats still have a lot going on but because of advance trading some received as children and the stronger bonds.

He can’t do anything to Chopper, Franky, Brook or Usopp because their trauma is already passed Franky/Brook or he doesn’t know their stories well enough to intervene, Usopp/Chopper.

But he does make the safest home possible for his little eggplant.

[strawberryspence]

Wayne’s trying his best to get the picture hung as straight as possible.

There are kids screaming at the yard, he can hear Hopper arguing with Jonathan from the backyard, something about the movers or something, Eddie’s in the kitchen trying to hang his mug collection in display, Dustin and Mike are trying to carry more boxes to the house and the others are scattered everywhere in the new house, trying to do their own thing to help him out.

There’s a box full of framed pictures just beside his legs. Wayne’s still trying to level the frames. He was never one for pictures, until Eddie came home to him.

The first framed picture, he remembers buying the frame from a dollar store. No glass, just a flimsy plastic and plastic frame. Eddie was 12 in the picture, teeth crooked, hair growing, with the acoustic guitar Wayne bought for him. It’s secondhand but, Wayne still had to work double time for it. Every minute of it was worth with how big Eddie’s smile on the picture was. He just finished learning his first song and just finished playing it for Wayne. It’s Stand By Me by Ben E. King.

There’s more in pictures taken, more pictures developed and slipped into an album he bought from Melvald’s. But the second picture to be framed was when he was 15. It’s a picture that would make any person stop and think, “Who would frame a picture like that?” Eddie’s 15 in the picture, curly hair long and frenzied, but the highlight is his beaten up face. He has a growing black eye, there’s is crusty blood on his nose and Eddie Munson is beaming. He got into a fight, his first fist fight, and Wayne shouldn’t have framed it. But it’s also the same day Eddie came out to Wayne and Wayne will forever keep it close to his heart.

The next picture framed is when he’s 18. It’s the day Eddie’s supposed to be graduating High School, but didn’t. Eddie thinks he hides it well, the stress and disappointment that he’s not graduating, hiding it in sarcasm and witty jokes but Wayne can see through him even blind. He takes him out for the day to Indiana, they walk around, going to stores Eddie would love and ending it in a diner. Wayne asks the waitress to take a picture of them. Eddie breaks down that night, telling Wayne he didn’t deserve this and that he should be more disappointed, more angry before shutting himself to his room. He wakes up the next morning with Wayne trying to hang another framed picture in the trailer, Wayne tells him, “School’s not everything. You’re a good person, Ed. That’ll always be the most important thing to me.”

The first three framed pictures and album full of pictures are gone, eaten by the four fault lines that swallowed Hawkins whole in 1986. Wayne doesn’t care, not really, not when his son was being chased down by the whole town. His kind, weird, loud Eddie, who doesn’t even want to hurt bugs or spiders, always opting with setting them free rather than squashing them.

Eddie comes out alive, and free at the end of it. Because beyond everything, beyond being kind, generous, loud, funny, Eddie has always been a fighter. Between fighting real life monsters, signing NDAs and recovering from literal feral bat bites, Eddie gains a family. It’s weirdly shape, contains an actual 15 year old with super powers, the Mayfield girl who rose from the dead, those two comes with a gaggle of children, Chief Hopper who also rose from the dead, Joyce Byers, the Buckley kid, the reporter, two potheads. It’s a weird family, and still the weirdest part is Steve Harrington. Harrington. Still it was a family, held together with tape, trauma and love.

Wayne’s not Steve’s biggest fan. Not until Wayne gets the full story of how Eddie survived, he doesn’t get it until three months later. Only because Eddie wasn’t ready to talk about it. Eddie tells him that it was all Steve. Steve who gave him CPR, wrapped his wounds properly and carried him out of the hell hole with his own injuries. Wayne was kinda mad at Eddie for not telling him immediately, especially because he’s been giving Harrington the stinky eye for three months now, when in truth Wayne is forever in debt with him.

Eddie’s also babble mouth who told Harrington that more than anything Wayne was devastated to learn that the “Upside Down” goo washed up all of the pictures. For his birthday, Wayne’s not even sure how he knows, Steve buys him a secondhand camera, an empty album and a stack of empty frames. That starts a tradition that spread all throughout the family. It somehow culminated to them taking pictures of Eddie, and when they think it’s special enough, they frame it and give it to Wayne. Eddie hates the tradition, because why do you guys keep framing my picture???

That’s how he ended up here, in his brand new house, the one Eddie bought for him just after his second successful tour, with a big box full of pictures.

Wayne backs up from the wall full of frames, it’s accumulated so many different pictures now, now it’s not just Eddie. Now, it’s a burst of different pictures. Somewhere in the left, you will find the framed picture of when Eddie finally graduated, Robin, Nancy and Jonathan beside him with the same graduation gown. Beside it is a picture of the Party in their own graduation, beside it is a big collage frame with a picture of each kid when they also finally graduate college, there’s a picture of all of them when Joyce and Hop finally got married, a picture of when Robin, Steve and Nancy all graduated college, all separately. Pictures of weddings, and birthdays, and kids from the kids who he watched grow up, who now call him Grandpa Wayne.

Eddie’s pictures are still there, Eddie will always be there. Eddie in his first apartment, Eddie and his band when they first open a concert, Eddie signing his first contract, Eddie on his first radio interview, Eddie and his band on their first magazine cover. Just Eddie, living his dream.

“I think that one’s a little crooked.” A voice tells him. He turns to see Steve, a little older now, hair shorter, glasses thicker, a hearing aid always on his ear.

“Which one?” Steve points at the large picture. It’s a little bigger than the other frames.

Wayne smiles, moving closer to adjust the picture. In the picture, it’s with Steve and Eddie, both in their tuxes, Wayne in the middle as Eddie’s arms is hooked around Wayne’s shoulders and as Steve is laughing at something Eddie has said. Wayne’s just smiling at the two of them, the sun bright, brand new rings sparkling in the sun.

When satisfied, he moves back just as Eddie enters the room, a box in his hand, “I got you some new pictures.” He gives Steve a knowing smile, as Wayne accepts the box.

“I don’t remember the pictures very well, but I tried my best to describe them to Will.” Wayne’s hand flies to his mouth as he sees the framed pictures. They’re drawings, and they’re not the exact same, but it looks so similar to the pictures he lost in the earthquake, the pictures he long accepted he’ll never see again. It’s Eddie as a kid again, and it’s enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“This isn’t fair, Ed. You can’t just make me cry.” Eddie laughs as he gives his uncle a hug, a whisper of thank you’s exchanged.

They watch as Wayne hammers a new nail on the wall, placing it just beside the picture of Wayne standing beside Eddie as he holds his first award.

He straightens the pictures.

Takes a step back to look at it all.

Some of the frames fraying from the age, some pictures fading on the edges, some of it are crooked.

All of it filled with pictures, radiating a life lived with joy and happiness.

It’s perfect.

[seoafin]

hi

wc: 3.7k

(cw: oc!children, rampant vile misogyny, stsg as dads!!!!!)

Nagi is ridiculously bored. She wishes Satoru and Suguru would hurry up already, and stifles the urge to look at her wrist and the watch that isn’t there. Riko on her left, looks similarly dissatisfied, ready to give the two a tongue lashing when they come to collect them. Hiroto is content to look out the window and stare at the leaves falling from a tree like the boring person he is, but she isn’t. The three of them sit in silence, unwilling to talk to each other where they could easily be overheard. 

Her first instinct upon being asked to accompany her fathers to some higher up’s house had been a resounding no, but you had overheard. Or maybe it had been intentional on Satoru's conniving part. You smiled and told them they should make friends. Satoru grinned, sensing weakness, and well, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your mother, would you now?

Useless, mundane chatter fills the room. Out of the corner of Nagi’s eye, she catches a boy looking at her. She slowly turns her head, lets her lips lift in a coy smile, and takes some satisfaction in how red he gets before he quickly looks away. Like a tomato.

Nobody talks to them. Nagi can see the girls huddled together in groups, their gazes periodically turning to Hiro every couple of minutes. Hushed whispers. Stare. Giggles. Like a clockwork. The boys are similarly huddled into groups talking about what she assumes to be politics. Nagi cannot recall any names. She does not know these people and she does not care about these people.

There’s a boy in the corner, surrounded by a gaggle of girls and boys. The haughty look plastered to his ugly face had Nagi immediately despising him on principle. The type to take excessive interest in the bloodlines of those he surrounds himself with. He’s been glancing at them, from Riko, to Hiro, to her.

Exhaling, she turns to her sister, about to ask her to accompany her to the garden. Nagi does not particularly feel bad leaving Hiro to the wolves. She feels more bad for the girls than Hiro.

“How many siblings do you have again?” The boy calls, just as Nagi is about to open her mouth.

Nothing gets Hiro’s attention quicker than the mention of Tsuki or Suzu. Except the boy does not look particularly inclined to talk about the dragon drawing Suzu had given Hiro the other day, to which Satoru had tearfully asked her, what about me!? Papa wants a drawing too!

Hiro’s cool gaze rakes over the group. The snickers die out immediately. Some nervously shuffle. Riko doesn’t even bother to give them her attention, staring at the wall.

When it’s clear nobody is going to answer him, momentum lost, anger cracks open his face.

“Tell me,” he says, louder, ignoring the nervous looks given to him. “Who are the men your whore mother opened her legs up for two more times?” Miraculously emboldened, a crass look crosses his face. “Does she take appointments?”

The room goes silent.

Riko freezes. The slow turn on her head forewarns a storm. Her gaze is chilly, blue eyes crystal clear in their divine judgment. “What did you just say?” 

Her fists are white with anger. The air sparks with the billowing cursed energy.

Nagi’s eyes catch on the glinting hair ornament in Riko’s tied hair (a present from Suguru), and idly wonders how easy it would be to stab the boy to death with it. Her own mounting anger is nearing a simmering boiling, despite the apathy of her face. Hiroto is ominously blank faced. 

The boy puffs up his chest, despite the danger gathering around Riko. He can’t yet fathom what Riko will do to him. “Haven’t you heard?” He mocks. “Your mother’s nothing but a cheap whore—”

Whore, whore, whore, whore. She thinks. Mama’s always the whore in these stories. 

Nagi hears the sick crunch of bones, eyes easily following the blinking movement of Hiroto’s body. Limitless. Because in the next second, blood is splattered across the floor and Hiroto’s fists are coming down heavily on the boy’s face. 

Girls scream. People scatter in a shuffle. Nagi stares.

Hiroto isn’t the violent type. Or the angry type. Hiroto is rarely moved in general—

But he loves his mother. They all do. 

In the end it’s Riko who pulls Hiroto back. Hiroto, who has never been one to be provoked so easily. That odd twin-sense-thing they’re prone to doing where they barely have to speak. He doesn’t put up much of a fight, but instead easily stands as if he had merely been picking something that dropped to the floor. Blood stains his fists, dripping onto the tatami flooring. Hiroto looks down at the boy, at the mess of his disfigured face. There are specks of blood on his face, his white hair, and nobody says a single thing.

Riko and Hiroto, the firstborn twins of Gojo Satoru. Nagi thinks that even though Riko inherited the most from their father, all of them only see Satoru in Hiroto. None of them were all that much welcome in the Gojo Clan, least of all her, the firstborn daughter of Geto Suguru, but for Hiroto they made allowances. The son that looked an exact replica of the boy-God they spoiled and coddled.

If only Hiroto cared about any of it.

The boy’s face is nearly disfigured, swollen with blood and bruises. Hiro isn’t even breathing heavily. A wheeze leaves the boy’s mouth. He got what he deserved, Nagi thinks, leaning down to examine him, careful not to get blood on the kimono her fathers had picked out for her. Satoru had been grinning so widely the other day, holding the kimono open and spinning around like a fool while Riko threw bird seeds at him.

Her long black hair brushes his face, the floor, but Nagi doesn’t mind the blood. 

“Don’t you ever call my mother a whore again,” she states calmly, staring down at the boy through the puffy slits of his eyes. Behind her, cracks fracture the air, like glass splintering. A long clawed hand creeps out of the tear. A single wide eye encompasses her back. “Next time, I’ll cut your tongue out, and leave the rest of you to my curses.”

Riko snorts. “Don’t think that matters. It’s not like he’ll be using his tongue any time soon,” she says cruelly.

Hiroto looks on dispassionately.

The door slides open with a slam. Men rush into the room, including their fathers. Her father is immediately at Hiroto’s side, hands grasping her brother’s fists. Her other father raises an eyebrow at the sight.

A man gasps, running to the bloodied boy. “Akito! Akito!” He cries. 

So that’s his name.

A man turns to them. “Just what is going on here!?”

“Oh dear,” Satoru sighs, intrinsically unbothered. “Your mother isn’t going to be happy.”

——

Her mother is a frightening vision when upset.

“What were the three of you thinking?”

The three of them stand across from her in the wide living room of their home. You stare them down, demanding them to speak. “You could’ve killed that poor boy!”

Nobody speaks. You look devastated, and Nagi’s stomach turns at the sight. Riko and Hiroto are also similarly looking green in the face. But Hiro is sweating, wetness gathering at his temples. He’ll be the first to crack, she knows it. Hiro’s never been good at being at the receiving end of your disappointment. A mama’s boy, through and through.

You’ve never been one to raise your voice. Growing up, discipline had mostly come in the form of a curt tone or a gut wrenching disappointed look. Or silence. Despite what people think, and Nagi knows that too many people think about her family, disciplinary measures in the family have always fallen on you. Riko often disregards Satoru’s ire, shrugging it off like second skin. Suguru doesn’t even try, either too doting or too amused. Your opinion has always mattered the most to Hiro, and everyone knows it. Nagi plays the dutiful daughter, but it’s you she’s always listened to above all else. Satoru and Suguru give good advice at times, sure, but that doesn’t always mean they always know best.

The silence is the worst, that, they can all collectively agree on. The instances when you can’t even formulate the words to your anger because you’re too busy internalizing their behavior. It’s your fault. Your inability to parent. All your vulnerabilities rising to the surface. 

The car ride had been silent. When Satoru cheerfully asked how your day was, you had given him such a cold, furious look that he had meekly closed his mouth and spent the rest of the ride meditating. Even Suguru couldn't help him out of that one. It was only their Aunt Shoko’s presence in the car that had given you some semblance of peace.

Upon reaching home, the two of them had immediately bounded for Suzu’s room, eager to see their youngest, and tuck her close to their sides.

Cowards.

“What do you three have to say for yourselves?” Your voice turns sharp. “Is this how I raised you?” You turn to Hiroto. “I thought you were better than this. All of you.”

Nagi’s aunt puts an arm on your shoulder. Riko and Hiro straighten. Aunt Shoko to the rescue! “I’m sure they had their reasons.” She eyes them. “They’re smart kids.”

Riko hides her smile.

You frown. “Shoko, this really isn’t the time to be taking their side. That boy’s face—”

“—is all better now,” she says calmly. A touch of her hand, and the boy’s breathing had evened out, much to the relief of his father. “It’s like nothing ever happened.”

No permanent disfigurement. But he’ll remember, and for now, that’s enough.

You remain unconvinced. You turn away from them and close your eyes.

Her Aunt Shoko gives them an I tried shrug. She gives you a brief hug. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Be good,” Shoko says to the three of them, smiling as if she hadn’t been the one to tell them: ask your mother for forgiveness, not permission.

And with that cheerful nonchalance, their only chance at salvation strolls out the house.

You look at the three of them, gaze decidedly less severe, and exhale. The set of your shoulders make you seem older. It’s an odd contrast. Suguru and Satoru seem to get younger as the years pass, but you’ve always taken on worries too easily. Fragile in a way the three of them always understood, even as children. A shaky mirage in your ever encompassing sadness.

Your mother’s different, Satoru said to Nagi once, when the two of them had been walking home from her ice skating lessons. You had spent the day, listless in bed, Hiro curled up at your side, ever faithful. Suguru had grasped your hand, stroked your face with another, and given you a kiss on the head before making breakfast. She gets lost sometimes. People are meant to overcome their pasts, but some never leave it. You’ve always treaded that line precariously, much to Satoru and Suguru’s constant worry.

“I don’t—” you break off, biting your lip. Gone is the momentary anger, replaced by a deep sadness weighing in your eyes. “Not on my behalf. It’s not worth the trouble. I don’t want you, any of you, to get hurt.”

Hiro bristles, all righteous anger. “If they have something to say about you, they can say it to my face.”

At the same time, Riko surges forward. “They’re—”

“No,” you cut her off, looking right into Riko’s eyes. Then Hiro’s. Then Nagi’s. “No.”

Protests immediately burst from Hiro and Riko, but you’re looking at her.

Nagi meets her mother’s gaze, and nods.

You soften. There’s a history there, in her mother’s eyes, and she knows Hiro and Riko are too impassioned to see it. People will say what they say, even with the threat of her fathers bearing down on them. Entrenched tradition and prejudices making tongues loose, even at the risk of dismemberment.

You are a whore, a seductress, a vile wench who doesn’t know her place. A promiscuous, morally loose woman who can’t stop getting pregnant despite the fact that men are expected to have broods of children with different women. Had Satoru done his duty and taken a high ranking wife, Jujutsu society would have been better off, blessed even. Suguru was inevitable. Even the higher ups held their tongues at what was the most unorthodox relationship to have graced Jujutsu society, appeased only by brute strength. If marriage was out of the equation, then at least a mistress of their choosing, paving the way for children they could mold to their liking.

In no satisfactory outcomes are you kept within the bounds of that equation.

When Nagi was nine, a similarly aged son of an honored guest from Okinawa had told her his father was looking for a whore, and someone had pointed him her mother’s way. Riko had been outside climbing trees. Hiro, glued to your side. Then he proclaimed his intentions to marry her, despite her whore mother’s blood. Nagi never saw the man or his son after that meeting. People were suspiciously quiet in the aftermath. You never made appearances in high society as often after, and you were happier for it. And if you were happy, then everyone was happy.

Footsteps from the corridor. Nagi’s younger brother skids into the living room, football jersey still plastered on his back. He looks wildly at the scene before him, and grins.

“Oh, you guys are in troubleeeeeeee.”

Riko rolls her eyes, folding her arms. Tsuki sticks out his tongue.

You beckon to Tsuki, and he wraps his arms around you, face nuzzling into your side. “You need to take a shower,” you reprimand lightly. “What did I say about leaving your dirty soccer cleats in the genkan?”

Tsuki pulls himself away. “Yes, mama,” he replies obediently, looking thoughtful. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving! Is Papa cooking tonight? When are Mimi-nee and Nana-nee visiting again? Megumi-nii said he’s coming over soon. Did you invite him tonight? Is he bringing his girlfriend this time? Satoru says Megumi-nii doesn’t actually have a girlfriend and he’s lying because he’s hopeless at love. Have you met her?”

He pauses. Looks to his three older siblings. “Have you guys met her?” Then he blinks, the shade of his eyes, peculiar in their color. “Why is everyone in trouble again? Satoru and Papa won’t say anything.”

Tsuki’s brand of hyperactive questioning is nothing new. Questions since he could speak, you reminisce fondly. 

You laugh, the sound a relief, wiping a grass stain off Tsuki’s face with your thumb. Riko opens her mouth, then closes it.

Hiro sighs. “Katsu. Yes. Next Thursday. Yes. Don’t know. Yes.”

Tsuki brightens at the information. Before he can respond, you pat his cheek. “Go take a shower,” you say lightly, smile growing on your face. Maybe they’ll make it out of this one thanks to Tsuki’s timely intervention. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Fine,” he chirps. Approaching Nagi, he smiles, her kid brother, still all gawky limbs and uneven teeth. “You look really nice Nagi-nee. It’s nice to see one girl in this family who cares about dressing up.”

“Ex-cuse me?” Riko squawks.

Hiro chuckles, before an elbow lands itself in his gut. Nagi can’t resist a smile. There’s no underlying jab in the statement, just a plaintive truth most children grow out of. Except Tsuki never had. Nagi thinks it’ll either make his life very easy, or very hard.

She ruffles his hair. “Mama’s right.” She holds her nose. “You stink. You’ll wake up Suzu with that smell of yours.” If Satoru and Suguru haven’t already.

Tsuki lifts his arm to his nose and makes an affirmative noise, nose scrunching. “Tell Suguru I could eat enough for three!” 

Riko snorts. “You pregnant?”

Tsuki frowns in mock-disapproval, holding his hands protectively to his stomach. “I could be,” he says seriously. It’s the last thing he says before hoisting his gym bag on his shoulder and scrambling off to his room in search of his shower.

You sigh, the fight in you long gone. You turn to the three of them, gaze unreadable. In a way, Nagi thinks you are even more indecipherable than Satoru and Suguru. The two of them have never been unfaltering or uncompromising in their wants. In many aspects the two of them are open books people refuse to read. You on the other hand. 

Everything Nagi knows about you is from Suguru and Satoru. 

“I love you three,” you say quietly. “There are better things, better causes to fight for. Just remember that.”

It’s plain on their faces that Hiro and Riko want to argue. Hiro’s gaze flickers to her’s, just for a second, and Nagi shakes her head. Hiro glares at the floor.

“Now,” you say, clearly ready to be done with this once and for all. You smile. “Get ready for dinner, okay?”

——

“You know,” Satoru starts in that deceptively light tone that tells Nagi she should prepare herself for whatever words proceed next from his mouth, “Your mother never wanted children.”

Nagi stares at him.

The seconds pass, and Satoru sighs happily, unfazed. “You really look just like your mother when you do that.” He slips the sunglasses from his face, and places it on the floor of the engawa, fingers grasping at his temples.

Nagi stares at him.

Satoru’s smile touches his eyes, bright in their joy. It’s hard to reconcile this silly go happy fool with the stories, all the myths uttered in whispered awe, but this myth is a reality. Her (unfortunate) reality.

“When your mother was pregnant with the twins, it was really hard for her.” Satoru unfurls his limbs in all their grace, getting comfortable. The evening summer air feels nice on her skin. She watches the leaves of the trees in the large yard flutter. Nagi wonders if the convenience store near the house is still open. She’s craving melon ice cream.

She’s curious though. You’ve never made any mention of this. You wouldn’t. And Satoru doesn’t lie. Especially not when it comes to you. Hiro thinks you’ve compartmentalized your life into before and after, at least that’s his theory.

She stays silent, urging Satoru with narrowed eyes to continue.

“It was so difficult to get your mother to settle,” Satoru sighs in a woe-is-me manner. He grins, sharp. Nagi almost does a double take to make sure it isn’t actually Hiro in front of her. “Then she was pregnant.”

Nagi makes a face. She really doesn’t need a play by play about how her kind, beloved, mother had been essentially baby trapped into marriage. She knows. Riko and Hiro know. All the pointed remarks about babies and pregnancies. Satoru had brought up vow renewals the other day, and Suguru, an all too casual comment about Suzu growing up. Nagi inwardly retches.

“The point being?” Nagi asks coolly.

The amusement falls from Satoru’s face, so easily, Nagi stills at the sudden appearance of Satoru’s grave expression. “She was terrified because she didn’t want them to inherit anything of her’s.”

The gravity of the moment fades, as Satoru’s face regains his usual liveliness, just enough to inject levity into the atmosphere. “Thank god they inherited my looks,” Satoru says, much more cheerily. He twirls his index finger. “Your mother would’ve gone down a dark, dark hole had they looked anything like her.”

Nagi isn’t sure what to say. You’ve never once treated Suzu with anything but the careful consideration that is your love. She can’t imagine you casting your gaze away from the youngest. From her, from Riko or Hiro. You love them with everything. You would die and kill for each and everyone of them. That’s undeniable.

But Suzu especially. Her younger sister who just lost a tooth. Suzu likes fairy tales with princesses and princes, a dreamer at heart who will grow up wanting for nothing. Nagi can already see that. Satoru and Suguru’s favorite. The apple of their eye. Doted on by the entire family. Hiro already frets about what people will say when they see her, the child that takes after you the most. Suguru and Satoru have never taken her to see Satoru’s family. Or anyone really. To Suzu, jujutsu sorcery is a fun family secret to keep hidden from people that aren't her family. 

“Mama loves Suzu,” Nagi says confidently. 

Satoru’s features go soft. “Of course she does. She could never hate any of you. Never in a million years.”

He goes silent, and she can’t help but think it’s rare to see her father so deep in thought, without his characteristic flamboyance. 

Nagi doesn’t realize Satoru is gazing at her until she catches his eye. The look on his face is so fond, the glint of his eyes, proud, that she can’t even find it in herself to be exasperated. She can confidently say she’s never grown up without love. For all that Satoru and Suguru exasperate her, she is fortunate to have not one, but two fathers who love her. Satoru’s unwavering faith. Suguru’s steadying hand on her back.

“Everything good about you comes from your mother.”

And Suguru would agree is the unsaid statement.

Nagi meets her father’s gaze evenly, easily. 

There are many things to be said of Gojo Satoru. People cower and curse and worship. But if anything can be said of Satoru as a parent, a father, let it be this: his children have never known fear in his presence.

Not everything, Nagi thinks. But that’s neither here nor now.

“I know.”

——

extra:

“You two should’ve taken a mistress,” Nagi says, later. She’s only half joking.

The two of them are spread out on the engawa, soaking in the remnants of the summer sunset, watermelon seeds on their tongues. In three minutes, Suzu will join them, excitedly jumping into Satoru’s open arms while he peppers her with kisses as she beams. Tsuki will join them next, clutching a football in his arms, Riko following soon after. Then Suguru, you, and Hiro. Everyone will pretend to be interested in and listen to Suzu point out shapes in the cloud and fabricate inception stories, except Satoru and Suguru won’t actually have to pretend. You will stop Satoru from doing stupid like letting Suzu’s whims dictate what shape he should change a cloud into, and confusing meteorologists for the next week or so. And Suguru will rectify Suzu’s pout with a curse that changes shape into anything she wants. 

Her father frowns, looking more disgruntled than she’s ever seen him. “Suguru and I have enough competition!”

[iliketangerines]

Lord liu kang or like- bi-han with a male reader who’s a himbo. Like very big and squishy pecs and he’s like a puppy- he’s taller and had more muscles than them but is an absolute bottom. Very eager to be praised by them and he’s good with children ((which makes the boys want to breed him-))

hands off! pt. 2

a/n: RAAAH, BREEDING KINK GOING CRAZY RN FR

pairing: liu kang x amab!reader x kung lao x raiden

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), breeding kink, denied orgasm, blowjobs, nipple play, overstimulation, praise kink, slight degradation

Raiden and Kung Lao set off to find you

you had disappeared halfway after lunch, and they wanted to train against you because well, you were the best fighter here besides Liu Kang

they travel around the Wu Shi Academy, looking into various rooms and wandering through half of the base before they find you

you’re standing in the front of your room, demonstrating very basic skill sets against Liu Kang, and a gaggle of kids watch with wonder as you easily throw down the god

you tell them to go and partner up and practice their moves, and you walk around the room, correcting their posture and giving out sweet compliments

your eyes are bright, and there’s dopey smile on your face as a kid laughs when he’s correctly executed the move

Liu Kang goes over to stand next to Kung Lao and Raiden, and they all watch you teach and interact with the kids

you wave at them, grinning widely, and you look so beautiful surrounded by kids

as class ends and parents trickle in to collect their children, the kids all go and hug you, climbing all over your broad shoulders and clinging onto your thin waist

you laugh and drag them around easily and pass them off to their amused parents

when the last kid leaves, you trot over to them and envelop them in hugs, and Liu Kang tells you that you look beautiful today, glowing even

you laugh at the compliment, telling him that you just like working with the kids and that they make you smile, that they’re so cute and that maybe you’d like some of your own one day

Kung Lao’s dick twitches at the thought of you full and round with their children, and it seems the other two have the same thought

you remain oblivious to the growing debauchery in their heads and go off to take a shower and wash off the day’s sweat

but Liu Kang grabs onto your wrist and drags you to back to his bedroom while Kung Lao and Raiden follow in tow

you let Liu Kang guide you, a little curious as to why he would bring you his bedroom, but when he presses his lips to yours and gropes at your chest, you melt into his arms and stop thinking

Raiden and Kung Lao watch, palming their erections, as you go limp in Liu Kang’s arms, head tilting down as you kiss him and moaning at how Liu Kang squeezes your chest

the god walks you backward to the bed, and you fall backward onto it, Liu Kang never once leaving your lips

he grinds his hips into yours, and you whine into his mouth

Liu Kang pulls away and grabs at your training uniform, pulling it down to reveal your muscular chest, and he latches onto your nipples, sucking and biting them

you whine, hands gripping onto the god’s hair and tugging at the strands as Liu Kang presses long firm licks into your nipple and nips at the sensitive nub

he continues teasing your nipple with his tongue, his other hand pinching and rolling the other nipple between his deft fingers, and you moan for more

he detaches himself from your chest and tells you to be patient before moving his mouth to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention until it’s swollen and puffy

finally, he stops and gestures for Raiden and Kung Lao to come over

they two happily come over, and Liu Kang pulls down your pants to reveal your hard cock, tip flushed and red as you moan

he goes off to grab some lube as he leaves you to the other two

Raiden and Kung Lao kneel down, a mutual understanding passing between the two, and the both of you lavish your cock with attention

they kiss up and down the shaft, giving kitten licks to the tip and running their tongue along the veins in your cock

your hips buck up as you beg for more, but Raiden tuts at you and tells you to take it and be good for them

you whine but keep your hips as still as possible as they kiss up and down your cock

their lips suck on either side of the tip, tongue pressing into the sensitive flesh, and you moan and beg to cum, please please

Liu Kang returns and tells you not yet, and he pulls Raiden and Kung Lao off of you, the two letting out a disappointed groan

the god moves you so that your face presses into the sheets and your ass is high in the air, and he squeezes lube out from the bottle onto your asshole and his fingers

you shiver at the coldness, but Liu Kang quickly warms his hand and traces the rim with his fingers

you wiggle your hips in anticipation, and Liu Kang chuckles at your excitement before inserting a finger into you, making you whine

he fucks you slowly on his finger before slowly adding in another as you continue to relax

you whine, hands gripping onto the sheets as your cock leaks pre-cum on the sheets, and Liu Kang curls his fingers into your prostate

you arch your back and keen loudly, begging him to please please cum

he tells you to wait, and you tell him you can’t but that you want to be good for them, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes

Liu Kang smiles, telling you that you’re so good for telling him that you can’t handle it by yourself, and he fists the base of your cock as he continues to fuck you on his fingers

your hips tremble as you try to stay still for him, and he adds in another finger, stretching you for his cock

finally, he retracts his fingers, and you whine at the loss of stimulation

he squeezes some more lube on his cock, smearing it around before lining up with your entrance and pushing in slowly

you cry out at the intrusion, hips bucking forward as the stretch burns

Liu Kang rubs circles into your ass, going slowly until his cock is fully seated inside of you, and he praises you, telling you that you’re so good for taking him so well

Raiden and Kung Lao pump at their dicks at the sight of your teary eyes, and the way your cock slaps against your stomach as Liu Kang starts to thrust in and out of you

once you start to moan, whining as Liu Kang bullies your prostate with the tip of his dick, he sets a brutal pace, his hips slapping into yours and filling the room with obscene sounds

he squeezes at the base of your cock and uses his other hand to press into the small of your back and force you into a deeper arch

he tells you that you’re so good, that you’re going to be a great parent, that you’ll look so pretty full of their child, that they’ll breed you full of children, make sure that it takes

you whine at his words, and you clench around him

Liu Kang groans at the feeling and presses deep inside of you and cums inside of you

he doesn’t pull out until he’s made sure you’ve taken every single last drop, and he gestures for Raiden to come over

Raiden replaces Liu Kang, fisting the base of your sensitive dick, and he thrusts into you in one smooth stroke

you moan at the feeling, and Raiden groans at the feeling of you clenching down on him

he fucks into you fast and hard, gripping on your hip with his other hand and telling you that you’ll be a good breeding bitch for them, that your hole will look so pretty filled with his cum

you cry out at his words, hips jerking forward as you try to cum, but with the way Raiden grips tightly at the base of your dick, you can only shoot out blanks and sob

Raiden groans as he cums deep inside of you, and you can feel yourself getting full

your drool and tears soak the sheets as Kung Lao comes up behind you, and he slides into you easily

his thumb presses into the slit of your cock and spreads your pre-cum all along the shaft as he slowly thrusts into you

you cum quickly, keening loudly and crying as your cum spurts out onto the sheets, and Kung Lao laughs and strokes you through your orgasm

you whine as you finish cumming, but he continues to stroke you dick, bringing it back to full hardness

he tells you look so pretty like this, full of their cum, and that you’ll be so beautiful carrying his heirs and taking care of their children while you’re round with the next

you sob at his words, cock still so sensitive as he continues to pump it slowly, and his thick cock drags along your prostate

he grunts and cums into you, and your mind goes blank as he strokes you to another orgasm, overwhelming pain and pleasure shooting through you

you pant into the sheets when Kung Lao pulls out, but he keeps your hips in the air as Raiden hands him something

you don’t have to wonder about what it is when you feel cool metal slip into you and nestle snugly into you

Kung Lao brings you into his arms, looking comedic at the way your larger form completely covers his chest, but his strong arms bring you to the bathrooms where Liu Kang waist, heating the water with his hands

you’re set gently into the water, and the both of them groan at the sight of a small bulge in your stomach

you head lolls back as they wash your hair, and you feel so full

the plug rubs against you, and their cum stays inside of you as they wash you and bring you back to the bedroom with freshly-changed sheets

they tuck you into bed, and you reach out for them

they can’t deny you and get in bed, and you grip onto Liu Kang as he warms his body for you to snuggle up next to him

they trail their hands over your body, pressing into the bulge in your stomach, as you drift off to sleep, telling you how pretty you look filled with their cum, how pretty you’ll look with their heirs

you dream of children running about you, one with glowing eyes, one with much too confidence, and one as sweet as honey

[okeiglxg]

5 fanfics about JLA meeting the BatFam with plus one Day 2

------------------------------

Just Here For The Popcorn by Lumeleo

-dick grayson/wally west (bg relationship barry allen/ iris West)

- 1,696 words , 1 chapter

Summary- Some members of the Justice League are worried that Batman might not be able to handle Gotham alone. Batman makes a point of showing them that he is not, in fact, alone. Of course he has to do this in the most dramatic way possible.

Barry's just here for the popcorn. https://archiveofourown.org/works/55824742

---------------------------

google search: are bats mammals? by graveltotempo

-no ships

- 3,255 words, 1 chapter

- batkids de-aged

Summary- Clark liked to think that years of being a superhero and being part of the Justice League had prepared him for everything.

What else could the world throw at him that he hadn’t seen before?

Well, apparently the world could throw Batman walking in with a child in arms, a huge purse on his shoulder, and a gaggle of children chatting and following quick behind him.

Your obligatory 'the batkids get de-aged' fic.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55251988

-------------------------------

Batman or Batdad? By flowers_must_rot

-clark kent/bruce wayne

- 7,733 words, 7 chapters

Summary- Batman isn't always great at turning off the Batdad, when he's with the JL. This is just a little collection of that.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53651890?view_full_work=true

--------------------------

Terribly Terrific by orphan_account

-no ships

-8,647 words, 6 chapters

Summary- Hood get's captured by the League while Batman's off-world. what's the worst that can happen?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52810042?view_full_work=true

---------------------------

familiarity by redsray (reigned)

-Jason Todd/ Roy Harper, Dick Grayson/Wally west, Tim Drake/ Kon-El (conner kent)

-12,550 words, 1 chapter

Summary- Roy (5:59pm): JAY

Roy (5:59pm): DID YOU SEND A THREAT TO THE WATCHTOWER

Roy (6:00pm): ?????

The reply came just a minute later, Roy sparing one glance to the chatting Justice League before looking back down.

Jay (6:01pm): Nah

Jay (6:01pm): Was I supposed to?

Jay (6:02pm): Also, that’s not a dinner dish. Try again, Ed Sheeran

Or: How Wally West, Roy Harper, and Kon-El Kent remembered that not everyone just knows the Batfam.

Or or: Three times the Justice League needed Batman but conveniently couldn’t get a hold of him. Good thing he has trained bat associates! Wait, what?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53177941

----------------------

Plus one

That One's Jason, Right? By batsandthebirds

-No ships

- 11,325 words, 4 chapters

-Dick and Jason get De-aged

Summary- The girl and magic staff were nowhere to be seen, instead a fine layer of blue, shimmering dust covered the ground. In the center, where Red Hood and Nightwing should have been, was what looked like a pile of yellow and black fabric until it started shifting and moving, revealing itself to be two human forms.

Tim stopped dead in his tracks, nearly slipping in the dust, causing Robin — who was apparently right behind him — to crash into his back.

Robin mumbled a few curse words directed at him, but stopped short when he saw what was in front of them.

It was two young boys, both with messy black hair, both covered in a fine layer of glittering blue dust, and both wearing the old Robin costume. It was Dick's design, the brighter one, closer in color to what the Flying Graysons had worn, and with a startling lack of pants. But it was the one that Jason had worn too.

Or, Dick and Jason get de-aged by some magic, assumptions are made, and those assumptions are very, very wrong.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54131665?view_full_work=true

---------------------

That's all! Please like the post for more recommendations

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 6

Yes, my darlings, you read that right. I promised I would get back on this one once I was done with In the Midnight Hour and admittedly I did get side tracked for a week doing the Valentine’s fics, once that was out of my head I have written almost 7000 new words for this story. I went from half way through this one to a few hundred words into part 10. So yeah. Expect to see this one updated fairly regularly. I haven’t given up on Star Child I’m just trying to decide which direction the next part should take.

Also on the tagging, I HAVE REACHED MY HARD AND FAST LIMIT OF 50. I love the response this story has gotten. I do. I love you all. I love every reply, like, and reblog. It brings me so much joy, you don’t even know. But tagging is hard for my ADHD brain. I have gone up from 20 to 30 and finally 50 as my system improved but I think if I do any more than that I’ll go insane. So any future tagging requests will be ignored. Sorry.

The best way to keep update on these stories is follow me and set me on notifications. I rarely do a lot of reblogging these days (too busy churning out stories like whoa), so more often then not a post will be a story. I try to post at least once a day (some times twice if I’m trying to rush through the posting a bit like I did to make sure the Valentine fic got out in time without making people wait on Vamp!Eddie), just never at set time.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

*

They all met up by the fountain in the middle of the mall. Eddie was bouncing on the balls of his feet nervously.

“You sure he’s going to come?” Jeff asked.

Eddie tried to peer around the crowd. “That’s what he said.”

And then they spotted him. He was in a nice red sweater with a white polo underneath and fitted jeans. Eddie ran his tongue over his teeth in appreciation.

But then he noticed the gaggle of children following behind him. And what a gaggle it was. It consisted of Red, his new best friend, another girl with a thousand yard stare. The tall black kid must be the Sinclair boy. The remaining three were also very interesting. There was the short curly haired kid with no front teeth. The last two were both dark haired, but the one on the right was darker. Hair and attitude, judging from the rounded shoulders and down cast expression of the other boy.

Steve sighed. “I’m sorry I’m late. Dustin called asking me to take him to the arcade, only when I told him that I was going to the mall, suddenly they all wanted to come.”

“And then I got roped into this because they wouldn’t all fit in Steve’s car,” a voice called from the back.

The person jostled his way to stand next to Steve. Jonathan clasped Steve on the shoulder. “I gave Will money to call me when you’re done so I can pick up him and El. Make sure he doesn’t spend it on the gumball machine.”

Steve nodded. “Thanks, man. I’ll see you later.”

Jonathan nodded and waved goodbye to everyone, but especially the timid one. Which Eddie figured must have been Will.

“Your children, I presume?” Eddie asked, eyeing the thirteen year-olds warily.

“Yup,” Steve said with a put on expression. He pointed to each of them in turn. “That’s Dustin, Mike, Will, Lucas, Max and El.”

Eddie did the same to his friends. “I’m Eddie, these are Jeff, Gareth, and Brian. Or collectively, the band Corroded Coffin.”

“That’s bitchin’,” El said with a smile.

Steve ducked his head as he tried not to laugh.

“Hell yeah, it is,” Jeff said, taking an immediate liking to her.

“All right,” Steve said, turning to the kids. “You are to stay in pairs at the very least. And you know who your partners are. Will and Mike, Max and El, and Dustin and Lucas. Regardless of what you are doing, you will meet up here at 2pm. No later. I have plans with these guys at three and I’m not going to be late because of you guys a second time.”

There were a lot of eye rolls but everyone agreed to meet at the fountain at two.

Once they had left, Steve turned back to see that all four of them were struggling not to laugh.

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Go ahead and laugh. Because fuck knows it’s hilarious.”

So they promptly burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” Gareth wheezed. “It was like watching ducklings.”

“Yes!” Eddie agreed. “My dude, I hope you are charging their parents for this.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s not like I need the money.”

They all just shook their heads.

Eddie clapped his hands together and rubbed. “Right, Stevie, this is how it is going to go. You’ll have one hour to get the most outrageous gift. Ten dollar maximum.”

“Each person or total?”

“However you want to swing it,” Jeff said. “But forty bucks is a lot.”

Steve nodded. “I guess my one concern is that I don’t know you guys very well and I don’t want to offend anyone.”

“So take Eddie with you,” Gareth said. “And then for the last ten minutes split off to buy something for each other.”

Eddie and Steve looked at each other.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, “that could work. What do you say, Stevie?”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

Every one but Steve set a timer on their watches. Steve’s wasn’t a digital one, so he couldn’t.

“On your marks, get set,” Brian said. “And go!”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s hand and suddenly he was being dragged along.

Steve giggled. “Where to first?”

“We are going to Suncoast,” Eddie said with a grin. “It’s the best place for all your metalhead needs.

“Lead on, MacDuff!” Steve said with a grin.

Eddie finally let go of Steve’s hand as they neared the store.

“I found out in drama that a lot of the sayings and words we use today are because Shakespeare couldn’t find the right word and made them up,” Steve said nervously.

“Wait, really?” Eddie asked, coming to a complete stop. “Like what?”

“Well, ‘Lead on, MacDuff’,” Steve said, “just for starters. It’s from Macbeth. Green eyed-monster. Just loads that I can’t think of off the top of my head.”

Eddie stood there for a moment blinking. “If they had taught that in English, I think would pay more attention.”

Steve laughed. “I know, right?”

They entered the store and everything had a dark red neon glow to it and it was clearly separated between the movie part of the store and the music part of the store. It was almost jarring. The movie part was dark like the inside of a movie theater. The music part was well lit and almost sterile white in its design.

They wandered around the music section. And they stopped by the minuscule instrument section. It had mostly accessories but also a couple of guitars. Mostly acoustic but one or two electric as well.

“This is pitiful,” Steve said staring at the selection.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, dude,” Eddie said. “There is an actual record shop with a full on instrument section. But that is not the point of this.”

Steve stopped by the drumsticks. “Gareth is the drummer right?”

Eddie nodded.

“I’ve been to a couple of concerts and I saw that the drummer had a bucket of sticks...”

“Are you asking if you should get Gareth more drumsticks?” Eddie asked. Steve nodded. “Go for it.”

“What’s his favorite color?” Steve asked.

Eddie frowned, but Steve pointed to the drumsticks on display and the had all sorts of different colors and patterns.

“The black ones with the flames on them, for sure.”

Steve grinned and picked them up. They got a couple more things here, but it was time to move on.

They hit up the stationary store, the weird little shop that sold incense and little Egyptian figurines, and Hammond’s Toys.

As they were passing Shapiro’s on their way to Hammond’s Toys, Steve found his gift for Eddie. It took every bit of will power not to just rush back and grab it, afraid it would be gone by the time he got back.

Eddie came up to him. “All right, Stevie. This is where we have to part ways. We only have ten minutes left and we need to get each other something, too.”

Steve smiled and nodded. He doubled back to Shapiro’s and quickly bought it. He raced to the fountain to be there first. He sat down on the edge of the fountain, his packages tucked under his legs so people wouldn’t steal them.

It wasn’t long before the others started showing up. Brian showed up first.

“How the hell did you beat me, man?” he asked as he sat down next to Steve. “I’m always the first to arrive.”

Steve blushed. “I got lucky.” He was practically vibrating with anticipation.

Brian eyed him suspiciously. “And you got a present for everyone?”

Steve pressed his lips together and nodded.

Gareth was the next to show up. “Now that’s just embarrassing. Being beaten by Brian is one thing, he’s a shopping guru. But Steve Harrington, too? However will I get over the shame?”

Jeff laughed from behind him, having just shown up himself. “You’ll live.”

Eddie was the last to arrive showing up exactly at the hour.

“Ooh,” Jeff teased. “By the skin of your teeth. Is Steve-o here really that hard to buy for?”

Eddie grabbed his knees, panting for breath. “No,” he huffed. “Just on the other side of the fucking mall.”

“So,” Gareth said turning to Steve. “Now for the next phase of our little get together. We meet up at my house at three and exchange gifts and play a one-shot.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Is that like a D&D thing?”

“Yup!” Brian said gleefully rubbing his hands together. “It a story meant for a single day instead of multiple days like a campaign.”

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “We roll up quick character that are meant to die and just go to town no real rules. Just fun.”

Steve nodded. “Sure I could do that.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got twenty minutes before the kids show up.”

The other three backed away slowly.

“Yeah,” Jeff said, “we aren’t going to wait for that mob.”

“Oh, hell no,” Brian agreed. “I’m sure they’re great kids and all but I have three younger siblings, if I wanted chaos, I’d hang out with them.”

“Middle schoolers, man,” Gareth said, “are the plague of the earth. See you at three.”

Steve laughed. “Agreed on all accounts. I see you at Gareth’s. I’ll get the address from Eddie.”

The three boys walked off, shoving and pushing each other, laughing as they made their way to the exit.

“So what about you?” Steve asked. “You going to run before the hoard gets here?”

Eddie laughed. “I should. Leave you to the wolves.” He grinned. “But nah. I want to properly meet the kids that Steve the pied piper of Hawkins has taken under his wing.”

Steve blushed. “I wouldn’t call myself that. They barely listen to me.”

Eddie’s face softened. “I’m sure that’s not true. I bet the little sponges are just soaking up everything you tell them.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “That would explain the language problem.”

Eddie tilted his head to side. “What language problem?”

“They swear like sailors.”

Eddie blinked a couple of time before he burst out laughing. “Having trouble not swearing around kids, Stevie?”

“You would be swearing too if you had to deal with them all the time,” he said with a shake of his head.

“So why do you do it?” Eddie asked.

Steve huffed out a sigh and kicked the side of the fountain with the heel of his foot. “Most of them don’t have great home lives. Except the Sinclairs, of course. Especially when it comes to caring adult men. I know what that’s like, so I try to be that for them.”

“Huh.”

Eddie didn’t have much time to comment on that because the first of the terrors had arrived.

The two dark-haired boys that seemed joined at the hip.

“Hey, Mike,” Steve greeted, “hey, Will. Did you already call Jonathan to come get you?”

Will nodded.

“Good,” Steve said. “Eddie here DMs for his friends.”

Both heads turned to him in shock.

“There is no way,” Mike said. “Steve would never be friends with someone who likes D&D.”

“Hey!” Steve protested. “I’m friends with you assholes!”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Fine. Steve wouldn’t be friends with people his own age that play D&D.”

“Mike...” Will protested, speaking up for the first time. “What’s your favorite class?”

“Bard. It’s kinda self-insert type of thing,” Eddie said. “I play guitar, so I get the class. Um...second favorite would druid. I have a twelfth level druid named Kilmar Goatfiend in a campaign my club is doing right now.”

“You have a D&D club?” Dustin asked coming up from behind Will and Mike. “No way!”

“Yep!” Eddie said with pop of his lips. “The Hellfire club. Lenny Fitzpatrick is president this year. Next year, it’ll probably be Janice Montgomery.”

“You have a girl in your club?” Lucas asked, think of his sister Erika.

“Girls don’t play D&D,” Mike growled.

Steve hit him on the back of the head. “Oi! Your sister played. She’s the one that taught you. Show her some respect.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Nancy Wheeler plays D&D.”

“Did,” Will clarified. “She’s the one that gave me my wizard robes to DM in.”

“You dress up?” Eddie asked. “That’s so cool.”

Will blushed.

Just then girls arrived both of them eating ice cream cones.

Dustin spotted them and gasped. “You got ice cream cones?” He turned to Steve. “Why didn’t we get ice cream cones?”

Steve stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Because they saved their money and bought themselves ice cream cones?”

Max stuck out her tongue at him and El giggled.

“You better finish those up before you get into my car,” Steve said wagging his finger at them.

“Hey, I could take Max home,” Eddie said with a shrug. “I’m heading that way anyway.”

Steve looked at Max. “It’s up to you. You can go home with him or I could drop you off at Hopper’s and you and El can continue to hang out.”

Max thought about it for a minute. “I’ll think I’ll go home with Eddie and hang out with El tomorrow.” She turned to El. “Is that okay?”

El nodded. “I wanted to spend time with Will and Mike today.”

Mike blushed.

“What about you two?” Steve asked. “Where am I dropping you two off?”

Dustin and Lucas just shared a glance and shrugged.

“Well then you two can sort it out in the car,” Steve said and then turned to Eddie. “So what’s Gareth’s address?”

Eddie pulled out a pocket notebook and pen and scribbled out the address. “There you go, see you later, man.”

Steve took the piece of paper with a smile. “Do you always carry a notebook and pen with you wherever you go?”

Eddie grinned. “Sure, sometimes the muse will strike while I’m out and about so I need something to jot down lyrics or chord progressions as needed.”

“That’s sooo cool,” Mike said, a little star struck.

Will and Lucas looked over at each other and rolled their eyes. Eddie fought back a grin.

They split off, with Will, Mike and El, staying at the fountain to wait for Jonathan.

Part 7  Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Part 18  Part 19 Part 20  Part 21

@shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites @garden-of-gay @anaibis @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @jinxjinn @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @dangdirtydemons @lovelyscot @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread

[kuroneko1815]

Penelope does therapy… on Callisto

Callisto: so why do I have to do this?

Penelope: It’s to heal your inner child

Callisto: What’s there to heal?

Penelope looking at her charts: according to reports, you have large scale emotional outbursts, destructive tendencies such as mass murder, an inability to explain your feelings, and a fear of abandonment when it comes to your relationships.

Callisto: My outbursts are within the normal range, so what if a few kingdoms fell? That’s normal. Mass murder is not a destructive tendency, it’s a way of blowing off steam and a fun past time. Who needs feelings anyway? And what are you talking about? I feel no such sense of fear.

Penelope: So if I left and…

Callisto panics: What? Why are you leaving me? Princess, no! Don’t leave me!!! (Clings to her.)

Penelope: You were saying? I was going to say I was going to the Duchy for a bit.

Callisto: That’s mean! Why are you going to leave me?!?

Penelope writes on her chart: Yeah, you definitely need it.

-

-

Penelope: Okay, first close your eyes and focus on my voice, take three deep breaths.

Callisto, holding Penelope’s hands, tightly in fear, does as he’s told.

Penelope: Tell me one thing you smell

Callisto: Your scent

Penelope: One thing you hear

Callisto: Your heartbeat

Penelope: Huh? How?

Callisto: Dragon hearing

Penelope: Okay, moving on… one thing you feel

Callisto: Your hand

Penelope frustrated: One thing you taste

Callisto puts her hand up and licks it: You

Penelope: …

-

-

Penelope: That was a bust, lets try the next one, nurturing your creativity

Callisto: So why paints and paper?

Penelope: try them

Callisto hesitantly touches the paint: Eww

Penelope: What? You’re used to blood and mud but not paint

Callisto: But it’s wet and sticky

Penelope: So’s blood

Reynold walks in: Cool, paints! (Starts painting a stick man of himself standing over everyone as the supreme champion of all competitions and as the ultimate knight)

Callisto eventually gives in to Penelope’s look and draws himself standing over the corpses of his dead enemies and explains it. The other side of the painting is taken up with Callisto carrying Penelope with a whole gaggle of their children.

Reynold: That’s lame

Callisto: Oh yeah? What did you draw?

Reynold: It’s Super Reynold and his side kick spider donkey

Penelope as she watches them argue over who had the better painting: …

-

-

Penelope: How about you try collecting something?

Callisto: Oh, well, that’s easy, I already collect a few things

Penelope: Oh, can you show me?

Callisto: Well…

Callisto shows Penelope his collection of swords from his felled enemies, the collection of the flags of the kingdoms he’s defeated, and his Penelope collection, from strands of hair to gifts she’s given him.

Penelope: … no… just… no…

-

-

Penelope: How about we try visualizing things. Think back to your childhood, what would you think would be your ideal childhood

Callisto: Well, I’d have met you earlier as children.

Penelope: That’s sweet but I’d still be a baby, you’re five years older than I am

Callisto: Then, I’ll steal you away as my bride and lock you away from the world, I’ll take care of you of course. And then it would be better if I can sacrifice my half brother to a volcano. And then maybe feed my stepmother to some sharks… hmm… maybe I’d tear down Delman earlier and kill them all…

Penelope: this just took a turn…

-

-

Penelope: Okay, fine, let’s try some journaling

Callisto: Do I have to show it to you?

Penelope: No.

Callisto: I want to show you

Penelope: Okay

Callisto: Today, I saw Penelope again, she looked so pretty…

Callisto continues to wax poetics about her and she’s blushing: And just before I forget, I also executed some rebels and had so much fun.

Penelope: … you are hopeless.

-

-

Penelope: Okay, last one… let’s try playing

Callisto: Oh (Waggles his brows and tries to strip)

Penelope: What are you doing?

Callisto: You said we were going to play. You know, our code word for fun times in bed

Penelope: No! I mean we play with these children’s toys

Reynold who walked in: Wow! I remember these. (Proceeds to play with them)

Callisto: Why didn’t you ever try these on your brother

Penelope: You think he needs to work on his inner child? He never grew up. That’s his natural state. A perpetual child!

[gavamont]

Went on a date with a sorceress from winder (wizard tinder) and she was somehow too unhinged for me.

She has a thing for making contracts for first born children from people and she had a gaggle of children tied to her waist like a dog walker with a load of dogs. Like, make some deals for first born children, but that’s not something I’d openly bring to a first date.

Like, I left my collection of tomes that seal away people I don’t know what to do with. Though if she could seal some of those kids away in tomes, maybe it could work out.

[butchfairyzine]

“FEY: A Guide to Fairies of the Butch Variety” themes (Text version)🐸

This book will explore butch fairies, arranged into six differently themed sections. Below are descriptions of these themes, as well as a number of example concepts that might fall under them! You can choose one of the examples we’ve provided, or come up with something yourself - as long as you run it by the mods to approve!

We will be choosing five (5) artists and one (1) writer per theme - one (1) artist to illustrate the ‘title spread’, and four (4) to illustrate the ‘guides’ within. The writer will be asked to provide snippets, comments, short poems, and descriptions to intersperse with spot illustrations on the ‘guide’ pages.

🌱 Garden Fairies

Garden fairies thrive in the world’s backyards - they can be plant-themed, critter-themed, and insect-themed. Large or palm-size, they tend to their surroundings with care and good spirit, and are often brightly colored, eye-catching things. This is your ‘Seelie’ group, for a real-world folklore equivalent.

Example concepts:

A fairy taming a grasshopper steed

A petal-winged rose fairy sleeping in a flower bud

A butterfly fairy collecting nectar

🏡 House Fairies

House fairies reside in and around the home. They are usually small, hiding from humans in nooks and crannies and forgotten places - and will get stuck between the couch cushions. They come out when the coast is clear to make mischief: rearranging trinkets, pilfering snacks, turning up the corners of carpets - all heinous behavior!

Their own dwellings are not to be trifled with, however. They’re of the utmost coziness, warm and safe and full of . . . ‘collected’ goods . . .

Example concepts:

A fairy facing off against a housecat

A fairy in their little home surrounded by myriad stolen trinkets

Fairies scheming to throw something nasty in a human’s stew

🕸️ Dark Fairies

Dark fairies dwell in the domains of shadow - in fairytales with unhappy endings, in childrens’ nightmares, under the surface both figuratively and literally speaking. They rejoice in sowing discord and causing mayhem, and shun the light. These are your ‘Unseelie’ equivalents.

Example concepts:

A murderous moth fairy poised to strike

A hag-like fairy offering a bargain one can’t refuse

A gaggle of tooth fairies

👑 Courtly Fairies

Courtly fairies are those who spend most of their time between lavish palace walls, voluntarily or otherwise. Towering spires, silkspun sheets, all wreathed in swirling gold filigree - a fairy court makes itself known for miles around. Most other fairies consider them the least carefree, though every once in a while a monarch does crop up who rules the land with wild abandon, whipping all fairykind into a frenzy for a decade or fifty. 

As an aside: dark fairies enjoy courtly fairies as particular targets for their curses, twisting their beauty and opulence into ironic reflections.

Example concepts:

A cursed fairy monarch chained to their throne

A rogue fairy prince on the run

A fairy knight in beetle armor

🌆 City Fairies

City fairies have bid the splendors of the fey adieu for the neon-splashed fast lanes of a human metropolis. Usually, they try to (more or less) blend in, bask in humans’ energy, break their hearts and leave them wondering how you do that thing you do. Little city fairies exist, too, trying their best not to get crushed underfoot as they go about their busy lives!

Example concepts:

A raver fairy stealing the show in a color-soaked warehouse

A mundane-looking fairy creating otherworldly pastries with the help of some friends

A fairy guardian of some public property

🔥 Wyld Fairies

Wyld fairies are closest in essence to magic itself, to nature and those primordial forces they let flow through them: the elements. They eschew court-made laws, borders, customs, and causes, simply forging their own paths through life with little consideration of worldly issues. They are bright like fire, deep as water, free as the wind.

Example concepts:

A fairy fire dancer

A seahorse (or, ‘kelpie’) herding underwater-fairy

A fairy exploring the edge of the upper atmosphere

[doraminatook]

The Detox (a fanfic)

Specifically a Good Omens fanfic.

After being away on holiday, Crowley comes home to find his angel...sick? But ethereal beings aren't susceptible to diseases the same way that humans are. Right? Either way, it looks like Aziraphale needs some good old fashioned TLC, and Crowley is here to deliver. Hurt/comfort ahead.

Words: 4,489

Rating: Teen and Up

:::

Crowley did not have to do Hell’s work anymore, but old habits die hard.  A particularly hot summer had kept him cooped up for several weeks in the bookshop, and by the middle of August, he was starting to feel antsy.  More than antsy…he was feeling demonic .  After yet another afternoon of pacing and insisting that he was perfectly fine , he finally reached his breaking point: someone (it was unknown who exactly) decided that it would be very funny to graffiti the fronts of various Soho stores, including Aziraphale’s bookshop.  The artwork included rather naughty language and crude renderings of genitalia.  Crowley was practically bouncing off the walls, he was so irate.

“I’ll just miracle it away,” the angel said, in an attempt to assuage his demon, “I don’t know why you’re so upset.”

“I don’t see why you’re not more upset!” Crowley screamed, “Fucking kids!  Fucking humans!”  

At that exact moment, a gaggle of youngsters crossed the street towards the coffee shop.  They appeared innocent enough, giggling and happily discussing their plans for the rest of the day.  But Crowley eyed them suspiciously nonetheless.  He didn’t know who exactly the graffiti culprits were, but he figured it was probably some imbecile children and thus decided to punish these children…just to be on the safe side.  Snapping his fingers in their general direction, they all immediately stopped right where they stood and projectile vomited into the street…and onto each other.  Following that incident, Aziraphale would not hear another word about it: Crowley had to get away.  He needed a vacation.  

In the initial stages of planning, the demon assumed that the angel would join him, but being as restless as he was, Crowley’s mind was geared more towards mischief than romance.  Perhaps, it would be best if he was simply loosed into the countryside to do whatever wicked deeds he wanted and left Aziraphale out of it.  

The demon had been gone for nearly a week, and truthfully, he did feel much better.  Even the weather had improved as he drove back into London.  He knew that Aziraphale probably didn’t want to know what he’d been up to, but at the same time, he was eager to share some rather interesting stories.  Any damage, bodily harm, or arson had only been inflicted upon those who really deserved it (would-be-assaulters, greedy landlords, and the like).  If Crowley spun it the right way, he may even be able to jokingly call it the Lord’s work.   Not even Aziraphale was above a good tale of retribution.  

Yes, Whickber Street felt decidedly homier now that the demon had given himself some space from it.  He hadn’t bothered to phone home and let Aziraphale know that he was on his way because the idea of surprising his beloved was too delightful an opportunity to pass up.  Crowley had even gone so far as to stop at Dark Sugar and pick up an eclectic collection of chocolates for the two to share (including Aziraphale’s personal favorites: Limoncellos).  

As he sauntered up to the bookshop, though, he knew something was off .  For starters, the front door was locked.  While Aziraphale did work hard to keep his books from being bought, he still had to maintain the facade of entrepreneurship; it being ten in the morning on a Tuesday, the shop should be open.  Perhaps something had come up and the angel wasn’t home.  With a quick snap, the doors unlocked and Crowley slipped inside.  

Somehow the strange sensation of dissonance continued into the lobby.  He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but the energy of the shop was all off.  The eerie silence and distinct lack of an angel certainly didn’t help the vibes.  

:::

Want to read more?

Check out my AO3 page at

[flowersforlaila]

Warrior Queen Rhaenyra coming back from bloody conflicts or diplomatic matters with Syrax to the Red Keep and immediately asking for Alicent. Straight up refusing to be received by anyone other than her Queen Consort.

Like imagine Alicent is tending to their children or a small council meeting, yk doing her queenly responsibilities, and suddenly a gaggle of servants, handmaidens, and guards are interrupting her duties to almost hysterically inform her that Queen Rhaenyra and Syrax arrived faster than expected and now she’s screaming bloody murder about WHERE IS ALICENT

And Alicent has to take a very deep breath because it would be grossly inappropriate to be entertained by this completely childish behavior. Really. She is totally not amused. At all.

So she walks down to the dragon pit with the gaggle of hysterical servants, handmaidens, and guards, to find Rhaenyra, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, First of Her Name, Protector of the Realm, sulking (with Syrax!) in the corner like a particularly grumpy child.

Alicent walks to her with all the grace of a Hightower, stifling the smile threatening to make way as Rhaenyra glares at those nearby, even those already cowering under her and Syrax’ mirrored ire. She stands behind them, perfectly unnoticed until she clears her throat and Rhaenyra turns around so fast, she almost gives herself whiplash.

“Your Gra–” Alicent starts before she’s abruptly cut off by Rhaenyra sweeping her off the ground, strong arms in a secure hold around her thighs. Breath suddenly knocked out of her, Alicent lets out a exhilarated laugh as Rhaenyra twirls her around in open affection for all to witness, an elated grin fixated on her face.

“Rhaenyra!” Alicent eventually protests and the Targaryen sets her down, only to kiss her senseless as soon as her feet touched the ground. The servants, handmaidens, and guards all avert their eyes, hysterics gone in favor of a collective awkwardness as they play the unwitting third party to their Queens’ passioned reunion.

[ghaniblue]

Drarry Fic: Draco Might Die

515 silly words for the @gameofdrarry prompt: professor Draco. Read on A03

Draco's first day as Hogwarts' new Charms professor was an unmitigated disaster. He spilled pumpkin juice on his robes during breakfast in front of the Headmistress, his new colleagues and students. Worst of all, Potter spelled it away with a casual flick of the wrist and an infuriating grin, so Draco was forced to interact with him in public and thank him. It was unbearable.

The eldest Granger-Weasley spawn sat in the front row of his first class, performing a pitch-perfect Incendio with an air of bored self-assurance. Draco could just imagine her letter home complaining about the new Charms teacher covering spells a half-witted first year should know. Weasley would love that, Draco was certain. Rose's wand movement and confident enunciation spoke of diligent tutoring in the home. Granger's doing, no doubt. The Rose girl was going to be insufferable, just like her mother.

Then there were the Slytherins, with Potter's son on the last bench next to Scorpius who was desperately trying to turn himself invisible or, failing that, slink under the desk and become one with the floor because quote, "You can't be my teacher, I might die." Scorpius came to his dramatics honestly, Draco had to admit.

Then, Potter flounced past in his Quidditch leathers, followed by a gaggle of first years with brooms under their arms that were twice as tall as them. One of the broomsticks hit Draco right in the face with a great big whack to the resounding gasps and giggles of Potter's flock of little ducklings. Splendid, a black eye on his first day. And Potter was there to witness the indignity, because of course he was.

Draco collected the scattered homework parchments that had gone flying out of his arms upon impact, trying to radiate an air of cool superiority while inwardly cursing every single decision that had led him to this moment. He could feel Potter's amusement like a physical thing. Draco smoothed a hand down his hair and whirled away in a rustle of freshly starched robes. His dramatic swish still needed a little work. He was no Professor Snape. Yet.

When he sat down for dinner that evening, he wasn't even hungry. If things progressed like today, stress starvation was going to set in soon. He could ill afford to lose any weight or his stomach would become concave.

At the end of this first hellish day, Draco dragged himself back towards his rooms: sweaty, dishevelled and wondering darkly who had allowed children into schools, little beasties that they were (except Scorpius, his boy was perfect of course). Were the hallways always this long and the portraits this rude? He didn't look like a bedraggled hedgehog, thank you very much.

Outside his quarters, Potter leaned against the wall, a bottle of firewhiskey dangling from his fingers, the most infuriating smirk on his stupid face. This right here was the worst development of them all: Harry Potter had grown up attractive. Draco might die.

"Drink, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Merlin, yes," Draco sighed, and promptly stumbled over the threshold and face-planted into his armchair.

DW link: https://acari.dreamwidth.org/817405.html