#my goal is to finish it sometime this year <3

[watery-melon-baller]

i need a fucminh. like beta. for this animatic dear god. tragically none of my irl friends are as abnormal about toh as I am and this thing is a digital mess that is completely incomprehensible if I try to export it in it's current state. hnggg

[nexttothelamp]

...

[noxtivagus]

i've been listening to more of arknights' ost n i love it so much

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Weird Brain Hacks That Help Me Write

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer/aspiring novelist, member of the burnt-out-gifted-kid-to-adult-ADHD-diagnosis-pipeline, recently unemployed overachiever, and person who's sick of hearing the conventional neurotypical advice to dealing with writer's block (i.e. "write every single day," or "there's no such thing as writer's block- if you're struggling to write, just write" Like F*CK THAT. Thank you, Brenda, why don't you go and tell someone with diabetes to just start producing more insulin?)

I've yet to get to a point in my life where I'm able to consistently write at the pace I want to, but I've come a long way from where I was a few years ago. In the past five years I've written two drafts of a 130,000 word fantasy novel (currently working on the third) and I'm about 50,000 words in on the sequel. I've hit a bit of a snag recently, but now that I've suddenly got a lot of time on my hands, I'm hoping to revamp things and return to the basics that have gotten me to this point and I thought I might share.

1) My first draft stays between me and God

I find that I and a lot of other writers unfortunately have gotten it into our heads that first drafts are supposed to resemble the finished product and that revisions are only for fixing minor mistakes. Therefore, if our first draft sucks that must mean we suck as writers and having to rewrite things from scratch means that means our first draft is a failure.

I'm here to say that is one of the most detrimental mentalities you can have as a writer.

Ever try drawing a circle? You know how when you try to free-hand draw a perfect circle in one go, it never turns out right? Whereas if you scribble, say, ten circles on top of one another really quickly and then erase the messy lines until it looks like you drew a circle with a singular line, it ends up looking pretty decent?

Yeah. That's what the drafting process is.

Your first draft is supposed to suck. I don't care who you are, but you're never going to write a perfect first draft, especially if you're inexperienced. The purpose of the first draft is to lay down a semi-workable foundation. A really loose, messy sketch if you will. Get it all down on paper, even if it turns out to be the most cliche, cringe-inducing writing you've ever done. You can work out those kinks in the later drafts. The hardest part of the first draft is the most crucial part: getting started. Don't stress yourself out and make it even harder than it already is.

If that means making a promise to yourself that no one other than you will ever read your first draft unless it's over your cold, dead body, so be it.

2) Tell perfectionism to screw off by writing with a pen

I used to exclusively write with pencil until I realized I was spending more time erasing instead of writing.

Writing with a pen keeps me from editing while I right. Like, sometimes I'll have to cross something out or make notes in the margins, but unlike erasing and rewriting, this leaves the page looking like a disaster zone and that's a good thing.

If my writing looks like a complete mess on paper, that helps me move past the perfectionist paralysis and just focus on getting words down on the page. Somehow seeing a page full of chicken scratch makes me less worried about making my writing all perfect and pretty- and that helps me get on with my main goal of fleshing out ideas and getting words on a page.

3) It's okay to leave things blank when you can't think of the right word

My writing, especially my first draft, is often filled with ___ and .... and (insert name here) and red text that reads like stage directions because I can't think of what is supposed to go there or the correct way to write it.

I found it helps to treat my writing like I do multiple choice tests. Can't think of the right answer? Just skip it. Circle it, come back to it later, but don't let one tricky question stall you to the point where you run out of brain power or run out of time to answer the other questions.

If I'm on a role, I'm not gonna waste it by trying to remember that exact word that I need or figure out the right transition into the next scene or paragraph. I'm just going to leave it blank, mark to myself that I'll need to fix the problem later, and move on.

Trust me. This helps me sooooo much with staying on a roll.

4) Write Out of Order

This may not be for everyone, but it works wonders for me.

Sure, the story your writing may need to progress chronologically, but does that mean you need to write it chronologically? No. It just needs to be written.

I generally don't do this as much for editing, but for writing, so long as you're making progress, it doesn't matter if it's in the right order. Can't think of how to structure Chapter 2, but you have a pretty good idea of how your story's going to end? Write the ending then. You'll have to go back and write Chapter 2 eventually, but if you're feeling more motivated to write a completely different part of the book, who's to say you can't do that?

When I'm working on a project, I start off with a single document that I title "Scrap for (Project Title)" and then just write whatever comes to mind, in whatever order. Once I've gotten enough to work with, then I start outlining my plot and predicting how many chapters I'm going to need. Then, I create separate google docs for each individual chapter and work on them in whatever order I feel like, often leaving several partially complete as I jump from one to the other. Then, as each one gets finished, I copy and paste the chapter into the full manuscript document. This means that the official "draft" could have Chapters 1 and 9, but completely be missing Chapters 2-8, and that's fine. It's not like anyone will ever know once I finish it.

Sorry for the absurdly long post. Hopes this helps someone. Maybe I'll share more tricks in the future.

[lynxastrology]

Intimidating placements ⛓️💥

Disclaimer: These observations are based on my personal interpretations <3

Mars dominance: These people might face alot of challenges in life but their resilience and their willpower is what makes them powerful. They have a fiery energy to them and are very energetic people. These people never quit when they are faced with a challenge and are very independent. This placement gives off major WARRIOR vibes. The only problem about this placement is controlling anger which might take time but once they master how to channel their anger, These people are immensely powerful and strong both mentally and even physically. Can bless someone with great mental strength.

Aries ascendant/ aries dominance: These people are naturally very assertive. When they set a particular goal, they make sure that they finish it ASAP. These people have low level of patience which can cause some problems in their life but the drive towards their goals is nearly unstoppable. Their confidence and assertiveness is intimidating.

Capricorn mars/MC/rising: These people have absolutely zero tolerance for bullshit. They’re not bossy, they are the boss. Since they are heavily ruled by saturn, they have this air of authority around them and saturn also indicates karma so if anyone messes with them, karma will hit those people 10 times harder. People naturally see them as someone who is the BOSS and they might look kinda stoic and strict. They have patience but once they lose it, then can be very intimidating and merciless. BOSS BITCH energy FS

8°,20°: Personal planets (venus, MARS, rising) can bless someone with lots of sex appeal (esp if this degree is on the mars/venus). Their aura is just powerful even if they think they are not, people naturally see them as someone who is powerful, resilient and sexually attractive. 8° on the mars can make the mars sign a lil scorpionic 🦂.

Lilith square ascendant: This is a very intense placement in a birth chart. They evoke strong reactions from people and might have been a victim of bullying during the early years. These people usually get hate for no reason especially from women and its cuz of pure jealousy. One of the most sexiest and intimidating placements to have in a birth chart. Especially women with this placement intimidate alot of men but men also find them to be sexually attractive and seductive. People with this placement get alot of jealousy and hate which can shatter their confidence. Working on themselves and bringing back that confidence will make them very sexy, intimidating and powerful. They might have very intense facial features which look raw and sometimes even scary.

Pluto-sun aspects: These people radiate power and charisma (esp the easy aspects). Sun is all about identity, ego and pluto is about power and transformation. This aspect can make someone very resilient and they can handle pressure quite smartly. I have sun sextile pluto and i can handle pressure pretty well. These people are naturally persuasive and this placement is also kinda scorpionic 🦂❤️‍🔥.

Asteriod aura(1488) conjunct mars/MC in aries/scorpio/capricorn: Their aura might be very commanding and authoritative. These people might also viewed as a sex symbol and someone who is intimidating. They might also have a prominent sex appeal which can be viewed as seductive and dangerous (in a sensual way).

10°,8°,22° on the ascendant: Having these degrees on the ascendant means that your first impression to people would be strong and intense. 8° degress on the ascendant can give dark and sharp features to the native. Meanwhile, 10°, 22° (esp 10°) can bless someone with sharp and angular features. People who have this degree on the ascendant literally look like models and they look very seductive as well. These people can capture people’s attention and make heads turn fr 💋.

1st house ruler in the 10th house: These people usually are very charismatic and have a big presence to the people around them. They command respect and they naturally get that respect. This placement can be a fame indicator. Everyone knows their name and who they are because they attract popularity so effortlessly. Their career is the most important aspect in their life and they can also be authoritative. These people can also be excellent CEOs, entrepreneurs because they have an energy that intimidates people in a way that everyone respects them. Another BOSS BITCH placement ✨.

saturn-asc hard aspects: People with this aspect have the ✨best✨ bone structure. This placement is kinda similar to capricorn mars. These people have very defined facial features and their face naturally looks kinda stoic. I have this placement and everyone tells me that i have a stoic/ rbf. They have an aura about them that is authoritative and disciplined and these people also have good sex appeal as well. These people usually age like fine wine.

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Servant’s Secret 

♡ featuring: ayato kamisato x f!reader

♡ summary: the commissioner catches you during some alone time, and decides that punishment is in order. wc: 2.1k+

♡ cw/tw: afab, unprotected sex, breeding, edging, overstimulation, spanking, humiliation, slightly sadist?, cunnilingus, mild degradation, pet names (bunny)

notes: hello! I read a lot of smut but never write it and it's been years since I've written anything so I figured I'd give it a try! sorry if I'm a bit rusty. let me know if u like it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

The commissioner was a busy man. When he occasionally visited the town, his honeyed words left a lasting pleasant impression on the public. However, Ayato would be gone many nights, returning haggard from cumbersome affairs. He flashes a gentle smile, reluctant to reveal the vitriol he harbored for these repetitive duties. He was a man to be feared, stopping at nothing to achieve his goals. Stern and prideful and clement. Only the most loyal companions could see him in this vulnerable state. Therefore, it came as a surprise to Ayato when he took a liking to you.

Maybe it was the way you accidentally beamed whenever he returned to you, awaiting his arrival like a loyal pet. “Welcome back, my lord.” You’d say in a monotone cadence. Though you were anything but when he wasn’t around. When you and Thoma had your weekly water fights in the kitchen during food prep he pretended not to notice. When your soft giggle echoed against the confines of his heart, he pretended not to notice.  

Simply because the thought of you smiling for everyone but him was frustrating.  

You were a lowly servant. You were careful not to disturb his tedious work. You felt he was much more important than you; a man this compassionate and protective over his people should be considered in the highest regard. Still, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks glow hot whenever he called your name, saccharine vibrations that sent shivers down your spine. Sometimes his gloved hand would graze against your shoulder or neck, leading you to wonder how it would feel in other places. He never caught you dozing off—or so you thought—but daydreaming about his lips decorating your neck was a daily occurrence.  

Tonight, was a night like any other after finishing your tasks. As you wandered through the garden, the stars casted an orchestra across the welkin. You tell yourself repeatedly to repress the improper thoughts you had of him. But turning to the sky to cleanse your mind doesn’t always help, and so you return to your quarters for a more direct approach.  

Sliding your hands between your legs, the only thing you can think about is Ayato’s delicate fingers working their way inside you, kissing the shell of your ear with light praises. Usually, you were more careful to lock the door and control your voice, but your senses were clouded with the stimulation of chasing your high. “Ayato...” you whimpered into the bed sheets continuously. Just as you were about to cum, a familiar voice approached the door. “(Y/N)? In the morning I need you to- “. Cracking the door open, Ayato caught a glimpse of your flustered, trembling figure.  

It happened so fast you couldn’t register it. He immediately shut the door, followed by a quick “My apologies”. Your orgasm was immediately ruined, and you were mortified. You never prayed to an archon before now, but you called on all of them to save you in this moment.  

Your plan was to avoid him at all costs. The only thing you could hope for was that he didn’t catch the moaning. Your tasks for the next two days were done quickly and quietly, too stricken by horror to bear seeing his face. Ayato immediately caught on, but the thought of chasing you was slightly amusing to him.  

On the third day, your cleaning was just wrapping up.  

“Excellent job today, (Y/N).” His presence this close to your ear was shocking and you almost dropped the duster in your hand. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll be going now.”  

“Mm, no. I would like to speak with you privately.” He said, his lips slightly curling. You wanted anything but that right now.  

“Have I… have I done something wrong my lord?”  

“Have you?” He retorts, his eyes peering into yours. You felt all the air leave your chest. “I don’t think so, no.”  

“Okay, come then.” His tone was almost commanding more than playful, and you knew not to protest.  

In his quarters, you both sat quietly for some time. He leaned forward with his hands under his chin, staring at you from across the desk. You try your best to avert his gaze, but his eyes never leave you. The room feels so much smaller now, like a predator surrounding its prey.

“You’ve been avoiding me. Have I done something to offend you?”  

“No, my lord” you reassure him, “I was just feeling a bit ill.”  

“Ah, I see.” He lazily covered his mouth with one hand, attempting to stifle the sly smirk that creeped onto his face.  

“I can’t allow my subordinate to fall under the weather. May I check?” You allowed him to get closer. He removed one glove and grazed his hand against your face, then the back of your neck, then your ears. You were burning up just from the contact of his bare hand.  

“You feel hot. Looks like a bad fever.” You nod along, fueling the lie.  

“Do liars commonly come down with the flu?” 

“…What?”  

“You were shaking and sweating when I caught you a few days ago, perhaps that’s a symptom.” You immediately knew what he was talking about and went into panic mode looking for a proper explanation. Instead of padding for more lies, you drop to your knees and bow your head.  

“I’m so sorry, my lord. My actions were disrespectful and crude and this will never happen again.”  

A soft ‘tsk’ came from Ayato. “Why are you using ‘my lord’ when my first name was commonplace on your lips not too long ago?” Nothing could make your life worse right now. You couldn’t find any other words and bowed your head again.  

“I’m deeply sorry.”  

“…So, what should I do? I can’t just allow this to go unpunished.”  

“I’ll accept any punishment, my lord.”  

His eyes darkened at this statement.  

“Anything?”  

“Your lying is more indecent than everything else. What did you say again?”  

You were completely stripped naked and bent over his desk, your hands tied behind your back. It was an hour since you accepted your punishment, and you came three times already. A clit sucker is attached to your pussy, while Ayato sits back and curls his fingers into your dripping heat. Any rational thought you had sunk a while ago. “So- ’m so sorry my lord.” Your words teeter on babbling; mind foggy from his skillful digits. A sharp slap makes contact with your ass a few times, forcing your back to arch and send spikes of pleasure through your legs.  

“I’d appreciate it if my pet was more honest. But it’s okay, I have no problem reteaching obedience.”  

He sped up his fingers, matching the movement of your body writhing in pleasure. Your cum dripping down his gloved fingers made his cock twitch and grow in his tightening slacks. “Poor thing, your pussy is so puffy and sensitive. You’re not going to give up on me, right?” He detached the sucker from your clit and admired how swollen you were. The feeling of being empty made you whine, before he sent a stinging slap to your clit.  

“Ah. No, my l- “Before you could finish, Ayato shoved his fingers covered in your essence in your mouth. You sucked on his fingers, and he tugged your hair roughly, forcing you to look up at him. “You are not to call me ‘my lord’ anymore. Only Ayato. Do you understand?” You nod through half-lidded eyes.  

“Good girl.” He spread your backside to get a perfect view of the sticky mess coating your inner thighs and ass and licked a long stripe into you. The feeling of his wet muscle invaded your senses and turned your brain to mush. He ate you out like a starving man, grunting from the squelching noises that erupted from your core whenever he sucked on your folds. He stopped occasionally to catch his breath and went back in to lap up your juices.  

“Please Ayato, ‘M gonna cum.” He was greedy and unforgiving, feeling his smile soaked in your arousal whenever you pulled away because it was too much. The raw sensation made your knees buckle, but your legs subconsciously opened wider for him. You just wanted to be good for him. Then he suddenly stopped. 

“Are you sure you deserve it?” He cooed. You turn to meet his dark sadistic gaze. 

“Please.” Your words are broken and fall to a whisper, tears spilling from heightened sensitivity. His smile is soft sunlight despite the look in his eyes, and he takes your chin within the caress of his palm. “When you misbehave, these things happen. I don’t think you deserve it just yet.”  

Ayato cut the restraints binding your wrists and carries you bridal style to the plush bedding further in his chambers. He set you down like a delicate flower and began to strip. You try your best to cover yourself, but the numbness in your limbs protested. “Exposing yourself so shamefully in front of the commissioner, how errant.” He teases. Ayato finally springs his cock free, sticky with precum and desire. His veins meet the underside of his shaft and angry red tip, begging to be buried inside you. He steadies over you, placing a breathtaking kiss to trailing soft pecks and bites along your ear. It was stirring you up all over again, and you wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kisses. “Wan’ you.” You mumble between breaths.  

“Do you? Beg for it.” You suddenly get shy, unable to find the words. “Tell me exactly what you want, my little bunny.” 

“I want... I want you to ruin me. I need it bad Ayato please.” For some reason, verbalizing what you wanted was much more embarrassing, and he felt your reluctance. “This shouldn’t be too hard for you, right? What did you think about when you touched yourself to me?” His directness makes you cower. “Did I face-fuck you to tears or was I more passionate. Tell me everything.” Your breath hitched. “I want your cock deep inside me and I want you to breed me. I don’t want you to hold back, do whatever you want to me please.” This answer seems to satisfy him. 

“Good girl.” 

Ayato positions you into a mating press and in one motion shoves himself balls deep in your sex. His breath is ragged, and the feeling of your walls sucking and clenching around him perfectly drove him over the edge. He begins driving himself in and out of you from base to tip, squelching and slapping from his balls against your ass echoed throughout the room. His veins dragging along your most sensitive spots combined with the tuft of hair that made contact with your clit after each thrust make you dizzy. You're drowning in his scent and your heart is drumming in your chest. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” His words come out shaky. “My little bunny. You’re mine. Say it.” His thrusts get needier and rougher, and his whimpers turn to breathy whining. The coil tightening in your stomach threatened to snap at any minute, but you held on for permission. 

“I'm yours, Ayato. Please-”  

“Go ahead, cum for me bunny. Cum on my cock.” Stern, almost like a command, he speeds up and begins to rub circles on your abused clit. Your legs shake and you throw your head back along with your eyes. You came on him with a scream, violently clenching and pulsing around his girth. He doesn’t stop and fucks you through your high as he is approaching his. “Where do you want my cum?” Everything in you clung to him tightly, and so you begged for him to do it inside. 

“Fuck- you’re such a good slut. All for me.” He finally reaches his climax, stuffing you to the hilt and spurting into you. Thick, hot cum fills you from the inside as he whimpers throughout it, feeling his cock twitch at times. He stays there for a while, making sure you were properly full. Making sure he owned you. You were so exhausted you ended up dozing off with him still inside. 

You wake up to a sleeping Ayato, eyes lingering on the scratches littering his back. You were cleaned up, minus the dark bite marks dotted around your torso. The early morning sun reflected on him like an angel, and you wanted nothing more than to stay with him. Recollecting the hot daze on his face from the previous night, surely there wouldn’t be any harm in continuing this arrangement. 

[levmada]

every—lesser known—canon fact about Levi Ackerman.

infamously over the years, there have been countless false rumors about Levi in particular out of the cast. many of them have become popular, even ubiquitous, and it's annoying!

and also disheartening when you find out it's not true....

and hurtful when you realize it was - sometimes - made up by trolls.

so i'm making this post<3

credit to @levisfavoriteacup for the idea!!

*disclaimer: i'm not perfect, so this may not be Everything™️ but I am confident that it's the majority of information available, and that it's trustworthy. :)

First the most populars. There is no evidence across interviews nor other content over the years that:

Levi is ugly, and is considered ugly in AOT.

Nope. See here: (tumblr link), or:

Isayama finished his first sketch of Levi mostly on a whim, but the moment he drew his face, he had a sense it would work well / he knew he had something good. Something told him: "the yaoi fangirls are going to like this one".

As time passed and his popularity grew, Isayama caught onto this and wanted to portray him more attractively (in multiple ways) to the viewer/reader.

But from the beginning, this was something of the goal. He is short because Isayama had in mind what young women/fangirls in Japan consider attractive: a man with a higher-pitch voice; has a small face; and who is "short but strong".

In the world of AOT, he (in a nutshell) is mostly considered plain or awkward, but combined with his reputation and style, he's very charming. "He cleans up nice." Overall, it is positive :) But more importantly, realistic I think.

He's also something of a celebrity. People who advertise their product as being used by him are more successful; when he's seen in a shop, this by itself is considered "advertising" and more people come in. Quote: ""the tea that the hero bought”".

He's definitely not a 2/10 at any rate😇.

—the 24th episode of Naoki Yoshida's Anime Plan, 2013 / Interview with Frau Magazine, 2013 | Hajime Isayama x Hikaru Suruga (2014) | AU Smartpass - Erwin & Levi Close Up Interview Part 1 | Taking shelter from the rain reprise: Levi and Peaure

Levi’s type would be someone who’s "tough, feminine and sensual".

Levi's type "might" be tall people. But context matters, because in multiple translations "don't you think?" and "might be" are thrown around a lot. Isayama isn't known for his clarity. When asked, he practically said the question right back. —fan Q&A from a festival in Betsumaga, Aug.2014

What this quote might have come from is a statement by the author of an article Isayama was likely involved in. I can't say this is 100% canon, but in my opinion it's a little less canon than the Smartpass AUs; if those are sub-canon, then this is sub-sub-canon:

Levi's romantic type is someone who walks three steps behind him, and likes cleaning.

In the past, in Japanese culture, for a wife to walk three steps behind her husband implied highly traditional gender roles. What this is much more likely to mean is that Levi's romantic type is someone who will let him protect them, or will run away and survive even if it costs his life. (And they have to like cleaning.)

—the article is from 2013, and no longer exists. but the link was used as recently as 2021 as a source in this post by a reliable translator. I've found this quote also in varying qualities of translation across Japanese and English forums, so to the best of my knowledge, it's reliable.

Levi's cravat is a piece of his mother's dress + he was wearing her dress when Kenny found him.

This is a popular rumor that Isayama has never confirmed (i think it is true, tho.)

December 25th was chosen by his comrades because he doesn't know his actual birthday.

The guidebook only states that it is his birthday. I can't find any more context on this. —AOT Guidebook; p.256

His character profile:

—AOT Guidebook; p.78–79

His name is Hebrew, and means "attached" or to be "joined".

Isayama came up with Levi's name after watching American documentary "Jesus Camp". (It's about a summer camp-type program where evangelical Christian children are taught extreme beliefs. One of the children was named Levi.) Isayama heard it and thought it sounded cool. —Hajime Isayama x Hikaru Suruga (2014) | 2010 blogpost by Isayama

Levi is in his early 30s (in s3/RtS/volume 19). –Interview, Universal Studios Japan’s SNK THE REAL exhibition, 2016 | confirmation

If Kuchel was still alive, Levi would want to make sure she had an easy life. This means specifically filial piety, a concept exclusive to the East: he would fulfill his duties as a son for her. (tldr he's a mama's boy :3) —Bessatsu Magazine, 2019

Levi would have thin facial hair, but he prefers not to, so he shaves frequently. —January 2020 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 124)

He doesn't like coffee milk or coffee jelly. They're out of the question even.🤐 —July 2018 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 106)

He just gets depressed when he drinks coffee. Maybe he loves tea that much? He stopped calling Hange names like 'shitty glasses' since they became commander because he "seems" to respect their position that much. However, a Smartpass story delves deeper into this (and states as I suspected): [After Hange makes a joke] "Since becoming the commander succeeding Erwin, they’d toned down on their past speech and behaviour that had a touch of tomfoolery; Levi understanding that they were nevertheless trying to maintain the self “that was the case then”, also loses the will to curse at them." + "In the past, Hange had a Hange-type dream, and should have been progressing to that purpose. That lately, was it the weight of the office of commander, or was it due to the reality that is “all the world was our enemy”, their manner had changed considerably." —May 2017 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 92) | Goodnight. Sweet dreams, dear. Act II: Levi

If he and Kenny had fought one-on-one, Levi would've won. —December 2016 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 87)

intermission: all about tea

His favorite "food" is black tea. No actual food.

He doesn't add sugar or milk to his tea because he considers it too expensive—which it is canonically. Despite this, he will share his tea with his comrades (his original squad as far as is seen).

Even though he's Captain, he'd rather drink it straight (the implications of which are he's a hardworking man, like that of a farmer. aka, this makes him seem humble).

If a time of peace ever came, Levi wants to open a black tea shop (he said in a dreamlike way, not so much based in reality).

He also knows a good amount of facts and history about it. He's a tea enthusiast!!

Levi receives pilfered tea in shipments monthly, thanks to Erwin.

—AU Smartpass - Erwin & Levi Close Up Interview Part 2 | Part 1 | Taking shelter from the rain reprise: Levi and Peaure | Bessatsu Magazine, Jan.2014 | September 2016 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 84) | AU Smartpass My First Time Around: Levi Ackerman | The Case of the Corps Tea Party - File No. 09 Levi's Side (3/3) | sugar and milk in tea from the Japanese perspective

Levi, out of his original squad, found Petra cute/sweet in the general sense of the word "kawaii". Like Levi's romantic type however, this was sort of a non-answer to the question (of whether Levi thought she was cute). —2014 interview

After RtS, Levi seems to consider Hange and the 104th his family. —AU Smartpass My First Time Around: Levi Ackerman

He wears a cravat because Isayama based part of his design off Rorschach from the movie 'Watchmen'. He looks "delicate" because of his size and weight, but he's so powerful because [in issues before the reveal of the Ackerman bloodline] of "invisible power" at work. —January 2016 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 76)

The best way to describe the way he thinks is to compare him to the main character from the movie The Hurt Locker (2008). His character was born from Hiei from the manga 'Yuyu Hakusho', and Rorschach from the movie 'Watchmen'. The former was the basis for his appearance (especially his eyes), and the latter was the basis for his personality. Firstly though, Isayama had an image of a small man being the strongest.

—Hajime Isayama x Hikaru Suruga (2014) / Brutus Magazine (2014)

He is something of a protagonist (especially in s3p1). — Animedia, June 2018

His favorite tool (in general...?) is microfiber cloths (for dust I guess. Levi has no need for weapons :3) —July 2015 issue of Bessatsu Magazine

He will usually laugh/smile when he sees convenient cleaning goods (i.e., vacuum cleaners? feather dusters? ((cuz he's a shorty?❤️)) —Bessatsu Magazine, Dec. 2013

He does want to be taller sometimes. He gets eager to clean up after meals rather than cook at all. He can cook, though. —Bessatsu Magazine, Aug.2014 | fan Q&A in Oyama, Oita, Mar.2018

Levi mostly couldn't adapt to the changes that came about after the truth was discovered. Only he wears mostly the same uniform, cape, and blades.

After RtS, Levi personally retrieved Erwin's remains himself, for whom there was a special memorial service. After Eren (inadvertently) called him a "tiny old man" in season 3, Levi didn't care, but when he thought of it by himself later, he was hurt (unclear exactly why). Levi's father, most likely one of Kuchel's customers, is an insignificant man who's short. That's where Levi's height comes from. His face comes from his mother. At the start of season 4, Levi didn't change much compared to the 104th because he's turning into an "old man" who'd rather stick with his flip phone so to speak. He "doesn't break out into cold sweats". AKA he's always calm under pressure. He considers prostitution to be an ordinary job because of his childhood. Levi's vision is very sharp, way above average. He thought Eren's new look beginning season 4 was unclean/dirty (in more ways than one perhaps). —fan Q&A in Oyama, Oita, Mar.2018

He has slight bouts of insomnia. He never snaps/explodes when he's angry. But he does get angry or grumpy a lot, in general. He doesn't sing. It's more likely he would dance. If he was a fan of Momoiro Clover Z (jpop girl group), his favorite would be Momoka. When/if he drinks, he has a high tolerance, but he can get a little drunk :) One thing he highly hates and fears is mold. He is the one who ordered Armin to dress as Historia during the uprising. His blood type is A. Blood types are much like horoscopes in Japanese culture, and Levi's is as such: kichōmen, or well-organized; he likes keeping things neat, but can be stubborn and stressed out easily.

Whether he eats enough or has a good diet? He is "a bit lax". Maybe he forgets to eat sometimes, or has a low appetite. When Levi bathes, he goes for a quick shower then soak in hot water, which takes about ten minutes. Like a bird :')) He on any given night gets about 2-3 hours of sleep. He thought Eren was the best at cleaning (in season 3 / uprising arc). Because of his childhood in the Underground, Levi has a preoccupation/obsession with cleaning (specifically to ward off disease). He also doesn't have any pajamas, mostly keeping day clothes on when he goes to sleep - which is in "his" chair. Levi cuts his own hair using clippers. (Something like:)

He's aware Oluo imitated him, and found it annoying. Levi's horoscope (in general) as a Capricorn: Humanity’s Strongest Soldier - Levi. He possesses warmth in the midst of a dispassionate nature, and he is capable of leadership without verbal expression – both of which are special qualities of a Capricorn. Capricorns tend to hold certain levels of authority, even if they must carry out somewhat unreasonable tactics while in such positions. But when such authority is backed up with actual abilities, a Capricorn can gain Levi’s type of confidence and also be put on a pedestal by those around them. However, Capricorns won’t be dependent on others, much less trust them easily. They don’t hold high expectations and thus never feel a sense of failure. Levi’s faults include the inability to express himself clearly.  Even though he wants to encourage his companions, he always speaks in a roundabout way, and without Hanji’s translation it’s nearly impossible to understand Levi’s intended meaning. Even though he is dependable in most situations, when it comes to love/romance, he expresses himself clumsily/awkwardly. —FRaU Magazine, Aug.2014. | fan Q&A in Oyama, Oita, Mar.2018 | Levi: Close-up Report (Part One) | Translator *the horoscope wasn't written by Isayama, but was published alongside canon information, and it's also not factually wrong, so I'm including it.

The dark circles under Levi’s eyes are to convey the “self-destruction” he takes on to reach the “standard” of Humanity’s Strongest. —Interview on the topic of Levi, May 2015

His 'liege'—as Eren is to Mikasa, and Uri is to Kenny—is Erwin. He is afraid of making deep relationships because of the cruel world he lives in; he can't know when someone he cares for will die or how soon. That 'gap' left in Levi's heart by Kenny's death was filled by his squad (the 104th). If Levi hadn't joined the Survey Corps, he would've been a "very irresponsible person". Risky with his life perhaps? As a kid, Levi used to make himself stronger in order to receive praise from Kenny. When he abandoned him, he wondered what his strength was even for. He was able to find peace with Kenny after his death. In CH72, the reason Levi kicked the shit out of Eren and Jean is because of his argument with Erwin earlier.

He knows he's a slave to his own strength, aka the idea of being a hero. He realizes it when Kenny asked what he's a slave to in s3/ch69. —Answers Guidebook, Aug.2016

If he ever changed his appearance, the one thing Levi couldn't be able to give up is his undercut :') He would grow out the top and tie it up :3 —Oyama homecoming event Q&A in 2014 | 2 | 3

Levi knows how to use a gun, but he "places more trust" in knives. —Bessatsu Magazine, 2019

Levi tolerates saunas. But instead of enjoying himself he seems to see it as a test of endurance. (LOL) —Bessatsu Magazine, 2020

Levi has newspaper-level handwriting that he practices often. He's very conscious of it and being connected back to the Underground. —AU Smartpass TEXT: Levi’s Signature

Isayama had considered killing Levi around the time of the thunderspear explosion. (As always) Isayama deliberated with his editors whether or not it'd be meaningful if he died, and they decided it wouldn't be. —Kawakubo interview, 2021

Specially, Levi holds his swords in a reverse grip "his own way" since he wasn't officially trained. —Illustrate Note Magazine, 2017

Levi forcefully bathes Hange by knocking them unconscious. —AU Smartpass - Erwin & Levi Close Up Interview Part 1

Levi is 4 at the time that Kuchel dies. —What the director informed Kamiya Hiroshi of on set

His character song is called "Dark Side of the Moon", found on YouTube here. Translated lyrics here.

how to draw Levi:

—AOT Guidebook; p.229 | +Illustrate Note Magazine, 2017

[cutielando]

not fair ~ oscar piastri

Summary: Upon joining Formula 1 this year, there has been a lot of scrutiny regarding Oscar and if he was really up for the challenge. More confident than ever in his abilities with you by his side, he is ready to prove everyone wrong.

Words: 1.1k+

Other works: my masterlist

♡♡♡♡♡

Formula 1 was no joke. 

The amount of stress the drivers were being subjected to was sometimes almost ridiculous. Add that to also being a fresh rookie in the business and you're done for.

That's exactly how Oscar felt ever since joining McLaren for this year's season.

Getting the opportunity was everything he had been working towards ever since he was a little boy just starting up in karting. It was his dream to race in the big leagues, and now it was finally happening.

However, the first half of the season hadn't been going that well for your boyfriend.

He had been having a hard time getting a grip on the car, on the new tracks he hadn't driven before. F1 was much more demanding than F2 and it was taking a while for Oscar to get used to it.

You were there for him every single step of the way, cheering him on and supporting him fully. However, there was just so much you could do. 

The thoughts in his head couldn't be controlled and oftentimes he wouldn't let you in because he would think it was something he had to deal with on his own. No matter how many times you asked, he just wouldn't budge.

The summer break had been the one thing both of you had been looking forward to. You had been planning a trip back to Australia so Oscar could visit his parents and you were hoping some time away from the chaos of it all would be good for his mental health.

But of course, Oscar being Oscar, the first thing he did after arriving at his home in Australia was jump in the simulator he had set up at home, practicing different tracks for hours on end.

You would just about convince him to take breaks to eat and use the bathroom.

After 3 days of constantly sitting in the sim chair, you had decided that enough was enough.

It needs to stop.

♡♡♡♡♡

"Baby?" you called out, entering his game room where he had been in ever since he woke up several hours ago.

"Hm?" he barely acknowledged that someone else was in the room with him, his eyes trained on the track he was practicing.

"Can we talk for a minute, please?" you stopped behind his chair and put your hands on his shoulders, trying to get him to come back to Earth.

"In a moment, darling. Just let me finish this race and we'll talk, okay?" he quickly looked up and offered you a smile before his attention was back to the screen.

You sighed but mumbled an okay, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on the top of his head. 

Having some time on your hand, you just decided to sit down on the small couch in the corner of the room, scrolling through your phone while waiting.

After a couple of minutes, you heard the simulator turning off and Oscar joining you on the couch, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pecking your temple.

"What did you want to talk about?" 

You sighed before twisting around to face him.

"You know I love you, right?" the words made Oscar's stomach turn.

Nothing good ever comes out after those words. Still, he decided to remain calm.

"I do. I love you too" 

You nodded, twisting your lips while deep in thought, trying to come up with a nice way to say what you wanted to say.

"I know how hard it's been for you this past few months, signing with McLaren and getting used to the stress and chaos that's F1. And I'm unbelievably proud of you baby, but what you're doing isn't healthy. You're a rookie, baby, you're learning the ropes and nobody expects you to get everything right on your first try. Everyone makes mistakes and the point is to learn from them. I know you've had a rough first half of the season, but it's not over yet. You need to take care of yourself and not let yourself lose sight of the big goal, baby. Obsessing over things and spending every waking moment in that sim while neglecting your health and training isn't helping anyone, my love" you took his face in your hands, cradling it.

He looked at you deeply, knowing that you were right.

He nodded, looking down at your lap so you wouldn't be able to see his lip quivering.

"I just wanted to prove to everyone that I deserve the seat and I deserve to be here" his voice was small, almost like a little child's.

Your heart broke at that.

Seeing your boyfriend fight so hard just so he could prove to his fans that he deserved to be a McLaren driver, putting that huge pressure on his health to prove himself made tears well up in the corner of your eyes.

"Baby, you don't have to prove anything to anyone. You are here for a reason and that is the fact that you are so immensely talented, my love. You've worked your ass off ever since you were a little boy and McLaren saw that, which is exactly why they fought so hard to sign you. You need to give yourself some credit and be proud of where you are, Os" you were caressing his cheek with your thumb, slowly gathering the tears that had started flowing down his cheeks.

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry" he buried his face in your neck, sobs wrecking his body.

You kissed the side of his head as you held him tightly, grateful that he could finally let out everything he had been pushing down for months.

And you were right there for him.

♡♡♡♡♡

Oscar hated being told "I told you so", but he was grateful you got to say that to him in that moment.

Upon returning from the summer break, both McLaren drivers seemingly did a 180 and started absolutely dominating the grid every single race and every single sprint race.

You genuinely thought things couldn't get any better, but then Qatar rolled around.

And Oscar won his first ever Sprint in Formula 1.

To say that you were proud beyond words wouldn't do justice to what you were feeling.

Seeing him holding the P1 trophy made your heart swell and your stomach fill with butterflies like they did when you were just a young teenager falling for Oscar for the first time. Upon seeing him holding that trophy, you found yourself falling in love over and over again.

When the hype after the race finally calmed down and Oscar was finally able to return to his driver room where you had been waiting, there were only 4 words that needed to be said.

"I told you so"

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

JOIN MY TAG LIST HERE

REQUEST HERE

♡♡♡♡♡

Tag list: @outerudeth @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @dardouni @saturnssunflower @moony-artemis @blissfulsunsetstuff @samantha-chicago @nikfigueiredo @therealcap @iloveyou3000morgan @daemyratwst @rqlstefanny @bwormie @hangmandruigandmav @kagome45 @enidsinclairaddamsthesecond @tallrock35 @sesamepancakes @boywondrgrayson @evlkking @evie-119 @ijustwanttoreadlols @cixrosie @poppyflower-22 @hiireadstuff @ellouisa17 @paintedbypoetry @hellowgoodbye @lpab @xlinxdax0704 @decafmickey @teti-menchon0604 @ctrlyomomma @sya-skies @likedbygaslyy @booksandflowrs @acidburnsthings @dhanihamidi @mynameisangeloflife @5starl1ght @teamnovalak @ferrarisfailedstrats @basicuniter @jxnellat

[vodika-vibes]

Can you please do Blue Daisy and Anemone for Crosshair with a Bounty Hunter Reader? I really love your stories, you're doing amazing!

For The Love Of A Sniper

Summary: You're a Bounty Hunter and Crosshair is your partner in every way. And when your family threatens you, Crosshair offers to deal with it.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 1234

Warnings: Crosshair is soft

Prompts: Blue Daisy - Long Term Loyalty, Anemone - Undying Love

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted, I was going to make this a sequel to my recent Crosshair series, but I had a better idea!

When you were a little girl, your parents planned your life almost to the minute. You were ferried from school to dance lessons or music lessons or voice lessons or language lessons. Every second of free time had to be accounted for.

You didn’t have time for friends, and barely had time for family.

Your parents also planned your outfits, frilly dresses in pastel colors and your hair meticulously curled every morning, and then styled with bows and ribbons. And shoes that were so uncomfortable that, on more than one occasion, you considered cutting your toes off so it would hurt less.

Even your schools were devoted to making you the best daughter. High end boarding schools with even more high end finishing classes, with the end goal of sending you to Naboo to attend Theeds Law School.

Perfection was the expectation.

And you were never perfect.

The day that your parents dropped you off at Law School, you dropped out. You managed to get the school to send the refund, nearly 3 million credits total, to your personal bank account, and then you spent a massive chunk of money cutting and dying your hair, and then buying a new wardrobe. 

Within a week of your parents dropping you off on Naboo, you were gone.

That was four years ago. And over the last four years, you’ve made something of a name for yourself as a bounty hunter. You have your own ship, painted vibrant purple and named Spoiler, and you often bounce between cargo delivery and Bounty Hunting, based on what is the most profitable at the time.

Sometimes you do both at the same time, just for funsies.

And you know, because you’ve seen it, your name is plastered on missing persons lists and on bounty boards. Too bad that you don’t look anything like the cherub looking girl on the posters anymore. 

In fact, the only person who might recognize you as the girl in the poster is your boyfriend. And even then, only because you told him. 

Speaking of said boyfriend-

You hang your body armor on the rack in the cargo hold, and climb the stairs to the main part of the ship. You slide open the door to the bedroom, and grin at the man stretched out on the bed. “You ever planning on getting up, handsome?”

Crosshair seems to stretch out even more, and he tucks his arms under his head, his dark eyes locked on your face, “I thought I’d be lazy today,” He drawls, “You could join me.”

You lean against the doorframe, a small smile on your lips. He really is too handsome. Especially lounging in your bed wearing nothing but the dark sweatpants that you bought him. He looks healthy, finally, having put some weight on now that he’s no longer with the Empire.

“See something you like, doll?”

You grin at him, lazy and slow, “I see something that’s mine.” You tease.

Crosshair chuckles and shifts to free one arm, “Come here, princess.” He almost purrs. And, really, how are you expected to deny that request?

You kick your boots off and climb on the bed to drape yourself across his chest. You take a moment to press a light kiss just over his heart, before you slide up to tuck your head against his neck. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm, I did.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder and presses a light kiss to the top of your head, “And then I got an alert-” He uses his free hand to grab the datapad on the side of the bed, “Someone put a flag on all accounts attached to your old name.”

“Another one?” You roll slightly so you’re able to see the screen, and then you sigh, “This is, what, number five? Six?”

“Eight in the last six months.” Crosshair corrects.

“Well, following the money is step one in the ‘how to find someone who doesn’t want to be found’ handbook, I suppose.” You mutter under your breath as you roll again and fold your arms on his chest.

“You would know, wouldn’t you, princess.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like those accounts are attached to my name anymore.” You reply as you look down at his face, “Which is a shame, there’s nearly 3 million credits in that account.”

Crosshair reaches up and slides his fingers across your cheek, “Those credits have so many strings attached, you might as well be a puppet.”

“Mm, don’t I know it.” You lean in and kiss him gently, “Luckily, they won’t find me. And 3 million credits is a lot less than I would pay to never be their perfect little doll ever again.”

His eyes glitter, “Even if they did, if you think I’m giving you up without a fight-”

A soft laugh falls from your lips, “Aww, I knew you loved me.”

His lips curl up into an amused smile, “You’re alright, I suppose.” In spite of his light, teasing, words his hand tightly clutches at your hip. 

You shift and press feather light kisses across his face, “I’m not going anywhere. Not willingly.” You whisper to him.

His grip loosens slightly, “Of course not. You’d never find anyone as good as I am.” His hand slithers up your side to grip the collar of your shirt between two strong fingers, and he pulls you down to crash your lips against his. “We do, however,” He murmurs after a moment, “have to deal with this.”

“Can’t we ignore it?” You whine.

“You know we can’t.” He finally moves his other arm from under his head, and he wraps it tightly around you, “Let me handle it.”

You nervously bite your lower lip, “I don’t know-”

“I’m not going to hand you in,” Crosshair murmurs, as gentle with your anxieties regarding your family as you are with his anxiety about you leaving, “My loyalty is to you. Now and forever.”

You sigh, “I know. I just don’t like you going off on your own.” You kiss him quickly, and then press a longer, slower, kiss against his lips, “I never wanted to demand your loyalty.”

“You never had to.” There’s something soft and vulnerable in his gaze, and you think you love him a little more for it, “You didn’t expect my loyalty like my brothers.” He kisses you just under your eyes, “And you never demanded it like the Empire.” He drags his lips across the bridge of your nose, “You were loyal to me, so I became loyal to you.”

“That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You say warmly.

He rolls his eyes, “Then how’s this? I love you. Forever. Until there’s no more breath in my lungs. Until my heart beats it last.”

You press your forehead against his, “You’re going to make me cry and mess up my make-up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll never say anything so gross ever again.” He jokes. “What do you say, Princess? Trust me to handle this?”

“Deal. You can handle it, and I’ll just…hang out in the ship for you.”

“Deal.” He pulls you back into a deep kiss, “Later though. For now you’re on top of me and won’t stop squirming-” You release a bubbly laugh as he flips the pair of you and pins you to the bed, “Really, you brought this on yourself, princess.”

[nanowrimo]

Pro Tips from a NaNo Coach: How to Write a Novel in 30 Days

NaNoWriMo can seem like a daunting task sometimes, for NaNo newbies and veterans alike. Fortunately, our NaNo Coaches are here to help guide you through November! Today, author Adiba Jaigirdar is here to share her advice on how to set yourself up for noveling success:

Welcome to the very first week of NaNoWriMo! I’ve done NaNoWriMo for (almost) every year since 2008. I’ve won some, I’ve lost some, but I’ve learned a lot along the way. In fact, I apply a lot of the tactics I learned in NaNoWriMo to all my writing. When I wrote my second book, Hani and Ishu’s Guide to Fake Dating, I ended up with a first draft of 74,000 words written in 30 days. That wasn’t something I would have thought possible in 2008 when I was slogging through my very first 50,000-word novel. That’s why I’m here today to share with you a few tips and tricks I’ve picked up through my writing journey, in the hopes that they serve you and your novel this November: 

1. Accountability 

One of the most difficult parts of writing a novel is that it requires so much self-discipline. It’s not like a job you show up to where your boss is holding you accountable for how many words you’ve written. Only you are ultimately responsible for how much you get done—which is why it’s easy to get demotivated and give up. So, you need to figure out ways in which you can be accountable for your novel this month.

You’ll be glad to hear that you’ve already taken the first step in doing this: you’ve pledged to do NaNoWriMo. You’re here, ready to write. But you can go a step further: ask your friends and family to hold you accountable by checking in on your progress during the month. If you have friends who are doing NaNoWriMo that’s even better; you can hold each other accountable. If you’re on social media, you can share updates every day and be accountable to your followers. There are a lot of ways to do it; so figure out what kind of accountability works best for you! 

2. Planning 

Planning a novel is definitely not for everyone. This is coming from someone who has pantsed many books! Planning can look different for different people. If you are a true-blue plotter, you might have your entire novel planned from beginning to end, with comprehensive chapter outlines. But if you’re not someone who plots out your entire novel before you’ve written a single word, planning is still important.

This planning can look like a rough outline of your book or finishing your writing day and jotting down a few quick ideas of what to write when you come back to writing the next day, or it can be leaving yourself voice memos as ideas spark when you’re nowhere near your novel. Going into every new day of writing without any idea of what the blank page will hold is very, very daunting, which is why planning ahead can be just the motivation that you need to fulfill your word count goal for the day. 

3. Figure out what works for you 

I have published four books so far and I’ve written many more. The process of writing each of these books has been very different. I drafted one in three months, one in 30 days, one was completely plotted with a rigorous outline, while one was plotted with a flexible outline, and two were completely pantsed. What I’ve learned about myself is that to make a book work, sometimes I have to try something different.

The only thing NaNoWriMo requires of you is to write those 50,000 words. How you go about it depends on you. You don’t have to write every single day if that doesn’t work for you. You can write at the same time every day, or a different time every day depending on what sparks your creativity. You don’t have to participate in writing sprints if writing with a countdown doesn’t help you focus. The point is that now’s your time to figure out what works for you and what doesn’t. You might be surprised by what methods you swear will never work for you but ends up helping you over that finish line. 

4. Have fun!

This is easier said than done, but try to enjoy writing your novel. Especially when it feels difficult. When I wrote 74,000 words in 30 days, it felt like a breeze because I was having a lot of fun with my book. Try to remember what makes you excited about your novel and go back to that when it’s tough. If writing is what you love, find the joy of it and nurture it throughout this month. The more you enjoy it, the more likely you are to keep writing.

Adiba Jaigirdar is the award-winning, critically-acclaimed and bestselling author of The Henna Wars, Hani and Ishu’s Guide to Fake Dating, A Million to One, and The Dos and Donuts of Love. A Bangladeshi/Irish writer and former teacher, she has an MA in Postcolonial Studies and a BA in English and History. She is the winner of the YA book prize 2022, the KPMG Children’s Books Ireland Awards 2021, and was a finalist for the 2022 Lambda Literary awards. When not writing, she is probably ranting about the ills of colonialism, playing video games, or expanding her overflowing lipstick collection.

[emilylorange]

We’ve finally made it to ghost and ghoul season! For the month of October Tumblr will be running a template-based art challenge, with new prompts on Mondays! I have been invited to participate as a featured creator :) You can work however you want! Fill the space in whatever medium you feel comfortable with, be it digital, traditional, or written. The objective here is to have fun!

You can download the template for your own creations from this post. Be sure to use the #build a beast tag for your creations and check out what other folks have made!

My Art This Week One of my goals this year has been starting to make nice character sheets for my OCs. They’re sometimes frustrating but it has been satisfying to see the finished references when I’m done. This challenge provided an opportunity to dust off a witchy cat that I drew in a sketchbook challenge in 2016 and make her really mine.

You May Find Useful I like my designs best when I keep them simple, and limit them to a few ideas so things don't get too cluttered or confusing to the eye. For example, I tend to limit colors to 3-4 main choices that define the character, with a few compliments for smaller details. Here I chose black and orange to fit the Halloween theme, and an accent of purple that pops nicely with the fur.

Who am I? Hi, I’m Emily! I’m an illustrator and concept artist, currently working in the tabletop gaming space. My most recent projects include providing card art for the official Blaseball: Wildcards published by Wayfinder Games, as well as prop art for indie homebrew D&D manuals.

[dashielldeveron]

soulmate trope | aizawa, part one.

Aizawa's route of soulmate trope.

Part one bc tumblr formatting weird. Part two here.

Warnings: BTS mention. Reader is explicitly a kissless virgin to make Aizawa feel Worse. Part one: reader gets a mild hand injury. Threat of dub-con. Claustrophobia. Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Part two: alcohol consumption (not by reader). Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Fem reader.

Remember that U.A., for the purposes of this fic, is a university. Lore dropped carries over to previous and subsequent chapters.

~38k overall. ~20k for part one.

You didn’t have a soulmate, and that was just how you liked it.

Because instead of being hooked to one of your weird-ass classmates, you were free to continue to harbour your crush for your weird-ass homeroom teacher, and you nurtured your crush like a stray kitten brought out of the rain. A creature comfort, really, this affection for Aizawa Shouta—a creature no one knew you kept hidden in the back laundry room and sneaked scraps.

You’re not stupid. The man has to stay your homeroom teacher for the rest of the year, until graduation. Besides, you did have a sneaky little goal with your crush, though it will probably never come to fruition. It’s not an immediate plan in which you corner him after class to beg for sexual extra credit, no, but it’s a long, onerous, masochistic plot of delayed gratification: sometime down the road after graduation, you’ll casually run into him on a patrol, casually suggest you two share a drink to catch up, and then casually I-miss-you-terribly-sensei-you-deserve-to-sleep-more-oh-wow-your-hands-are-really-big-what-if-I-place-them-right-between-my-legs your way into his heart.

For now, the most you can do is be the best student you can. Yes, Yaoyorozu is most likely always going to beat you in chemistry and some maths, since her quirk relies on her knowledge of those subjects, but you’re positively gruntled and satisfied with your place at the top for humanities, along with trading top spots in other subjects with the same three or four people.

But mostly, you tried to be 1) resourceful and 2) not annoying, because Aizawa dealt with a lot of teacher bullshit, probably.

So, while you knew about stories in which students would seduce their teachers by favours (sexual or not), lingering innuendo, or flashing lacy underwear from their seats, you weren’t going to do that shit. 1) How dumb, 2) how embarrassing, and 3) you didn’t want your (hopefully future!) relationship founded on cliches for student/teacher relationships. How a relationship starts shouldn’t have to be a secret, either, or be something to be ashamed of.

(Because you could just picture your family’s faces at Christmas if you said something like, “Hey, this is my boyfriend, Aizawa; he used to be my teacher, and we started dating after I sucked him off under his desk while he was giving a lesson.”

Although, admittedly, there’s probably no good way to introduce a former teacher as your boyfriend.)

You figured, for now, it was enough to stand out in a quiet way, never outright begging for his attention, yet somehow landing in situations in which you got it. You liked to think that Aizawa appreciated that you read when you finished your classwork early instead of talking to your friends (guiltily activating your cringey not-like-other-girls complex that you tried to suppress), along with being attentive in class in general, and you landed an unexpected advantage in Midnight.

Since your first year’s sports festival, you’ve been her sidekick. Well, first you were her intern, and then you signed on the next school year. It was mostly academic work instead of hero work at this point in her career, but you found you liked it and her. You tagged along to record events and complete evals and rubrics, and running her errands allowed you into the staff room, where Aizawa was often curled up in his office chair or on the couch. And hopefully, Aizawa heard good things about you from Midnight.

Midnight’s current project when not teaching or on active missions was rehabbing female villains. She was easy to trust. They tended to let down their guards around her, eventually, and it fascinated you the way the system treated male and female villains differently—

“Hey,” whispered Mina, hunching forward in her desk to tap you on the shoulder, “You got back from Sakura Grove Rehab with Midnight really late last night. Did something happen with Tainted Love?”

You shot a look towards the front of the classroom, where Aizawa was gripping the podium intensely in an effort to stay standing, and once you garnered he wasn’t paying attention to you (big sigh), you turned slightly in your seat to whisper back. “False alarm,” you said, shaking your head, “She used her emergency buzzer because she heard that BTS released a music video, and she wanted to see it.”

Grinning, Mina nodded. “Normal BTS fan stuff. Is a member her soulmate, or something?”

“Don’t you think she’d be dead by now if she were? Ito said—sorry, Tainted Love said that they’re all simply very easy on the eyes and that she’s a connoisseur of human beauty. But her ass is in trouble right now, because the staff’s pissed they had to break out the emergency procedures for that.”

“I don’t know,” said Mina, fiddling with her earring, “I think that’s completely fair. It’s, uh—girlboss, gaslight, get-to-see-BTS.”

You snorted, covering your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s the wrong order, and you know it—”

“Since you have the energy to talk during a lesson—” Aizawa called towards you, his voice sharp, and your head snapped towards the front of the classroom. “—then I expect you’ll be capable of a higher calibre of effort and example for the class in your stealth presentation today.”

“Absolutely,” you said, recovering and folding your hands on your desk, “I’m ready when everyone else is.”

Aizawa gave a dismissive wave and allowed the class to leave the four minutes early to change and head towards ground beta. You’d already triple-checked that all of your support gear was ready, because it was your day in the rotation to serve as a combat example to the rest of your peers. Your focus for the past month had been on stealth, so you were presenting on your findings—presenting through whatever challenge was posed to you at the hands of one of the faculty.

 Giddy, you headed towards ground beta much more quickly than your friends, who were still getting dressed. Since you’d be presenting on stealth, you had a good idea of which teacher you’d be facing.

Aizawa was waiting at the entrance, himself clad in full gear. You shot him a cheerful wave, which he lazily returned, and you retreated to one of the benches nearby and opened the book you’d brought along.

(You don’t want to aggravate him, and what’s more, if you talk to him before your challenge, you’re going to be thinking about your conversation during it. Aizawa will be more impressed with your performance if you don’t fuck it up due to daydreaming about his cock.)

Making yourself comfortable, you lay down on the bench, holding the book above you to block out the sun.

Aizawa pushed his goggles back into his hair. “You have a book,” he said (asked?) flatly as he trailed towards you.

“You have a sleeping bag,” you said, jerking your head towards the yellow bundle wadded up by the door, “We must both be relaxed about this presentation.”

Crossing his arms, Aizawa carefully leant against the door and squinted down at you. “Do you not see me as a threat?”

You tore your gaze away from your book to look up at him, tilting your head backwards to smile into his scowl. “Should I?”

Kirishima and Tokoyami burst in and broke up the conversation before it turned into something that got you off for weeks.

Once the rest of the class clambered towards ground beta, Aizawa cleared his throat and addressed the class about the challenge; he spoke with his back to you (and a couple of others), since most of the class clumped in one spot.

“Sero’s melee close-combat presentation yesterday will be a tough act to follow, but today is our first presentation on stealth. Bakugou, Aoyama—your stealth presentations won’t be following the same format, but take inspiration from it.” Aizawa stowed his hands in the deep pockets of his jumpsuit and shifted his weight forward slightly, his broad shoulders lost under his capture weapon. “Hagakure and Tokoyami, I specifically want your critique of your peer’s performance today. Be ready to give her advice. I will be the faculty member she is up against, and—” Frowning, Aizawa cut himself off, did a quick head count, and spun in your direction, his hair whipping at the movement.

Seeing you reading over on the bench (which you were still doing in what was hopefully a sexy devil-may-care, fuck-the-police way), Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose before spreading his palm over both of his eyes, heaving a sigh, and dragging his hand down his face. He then held it out in from of him and curled his fingers to beckon you closer. “C’mon; I know you said you weren’t threatened, but now you’re pushing it.”

You were sunshine; you were ease, and you were pushing it, for some reason. But you were feeling it, so you cheerfully trotted up to Aizawa, in front of whom you halted expectantly and bounced on the balls of your feet, hands holding your book behind your back as you waited for further instruction.

He cleared his throat and snapped, holding out his hand farther to confiscate your book. You shunted it towards him, and when Aizawa took it, your fingers grazed his—your pinkie and ring fingers just barely brushing against his thumb.

And.

And it’s a rickety, staticky, lightning-type thing, this wave of thunder that rushes through you, branching from where you touched him—a two-second, core-shaking rumble that only you can feel.And there’s an electric jolt.

Vibrant pink blossomed from the points of contact, staining the skin like watery ink.

Two seconds. Two seconds compressing what must be years and years of salient moments yet to come, and they—they all had him, Aizawa, in flashes of memories (?) integrating him more and more into your life. And you knew, in that shock and subsequent ooze, how it felt to be pulled into his arms and held like you’re something precious—wrapping around you while he’s half-asleep and acting on instinct, hunching and curling over your back to shield you from a backdrop of  a battlefield—the feeling of you two lying together bare. You heard the crack of his voice in the morning as he nuzzled closer to you in bed, the rumbling vibration when he growled against your skin. Felt a ghost of his fingers digging into your hips as you arched beneath him (rocking, writhing), sucking a small spot on your neck, kissing down your shoulders, your back. A shiver as he trailed his hand down the inside of your thigh. A prolonged kiss to your collarbone. The passage of thunder left your body sore, like live-or-death level adrenaline had just faded. For a moment, your knees were in danger of buckling.

Aizawa must have seen—felt—the same phantom sensations, because once a noise from the class snapped him out of it, he grimaced, tucking your book and the pink-marked hand under his opposite arm.

Ducking your head to stare at your shoes, you took a step back, overheated and too aware that the class was watching.

“Recovery Girl’s office,” Aizawa said, his voice rasping, “Now.”

You bolted.

***

You slumped in the sky-blue plastic chair in the patient area of Recovery Girl’s office, unable to shake the sensation of his arms around you. You shuddered and hunkered over, a wave of misery washing over you as the last vestiges of his warmth (?) faded. Fucking figures that the only time in your life you’ve ever been in someone’s arms is in a goddamn vision and not reality.

On the other hand.

The pads of the two fingers that touched Aizawa were blemished with the same bright pink as that dust you’d inhaled the day Tainted Love’s team had invaded, and the colour wouldn’t rub off on your hero costume when you tried. An evil sort of smile spread across your face.

You jolted in your seat when the door slammed open, the knob banging into the wall, and Aizawa stormed in, shoving one of two clipboards into your lap.

“Quirk incident form,” he spat, a plastic chair scraping against the tile as he yanked it next to (but not too closely to) yours.

You slid the pen out from underneath the clip. “This says it’s a soulmate registry form.”

Aizawa glanced up at you, already a few strokes into writing his name in the first blank. “Tainted Love’s team had utilised her quirk enough before attacking U.A. that a specific form had to be made. Nevertheless,” he said, finishing the kanji for sho with so much pressure that the paper ripped slightly, “it’s a subset of the Quirk Incident Registrar.”

Huh. You supposed you should’ve known about the paperwork, since you’re working with her, but then, you’re dealing with personal rehabilitation, not the bureaucratical aftermath.

Following his lead, you quietly began to fill out your form. Basic stuff, really: name, home address, current address (dorms), quirk, soulmate’s name and quirk…

“How would you describe our inciting soulmate incident? Are you only putting first physical contact, or are you mentioning something about the, uh,” you said, leaning over to see his paper, but he flipped his clipboard up against his chest to hide it from view.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Aizawa, finally looking you in the eye. His tight grip on his pen didn’t dilute the saturation of the pink on his thumb. “And we’re not going to talk about it. You’re not going to tell anyone about this, and I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Oh, he’s repressed repressed. “Not even my mother?”

He shook his head. “Nothing important happened today, and nothing’s going to happen.”

“That’s a shame,” you said, moving onto the next section of the form, “I was already picking out China patterns.”

He flipped his clipboard out enough to continue writing. “Don’t even joke.”

“Hey, it says I need your phone number.”

“Leave that part blank. I’ll fill it out once before turning both of them in.”

That little sneak. “Wow. You really are intent on having nothing to do with me,” you said, sighing, which he echoed.

“Listen,” said Aizawa, running his hand back through his hair to sweep it out of his face, “if you genuinely require an explanation, you don’t deserve to be in school at U.A.”

You crossed your arms. “Try me, sensei.”

Aizawa winced, scrunching his eyes shut. “Don’t call me that. Listen. What I’m about to say does not apply only to me but to teachers in general. No one wants to fu—pursue a romantic relationship with a student because we are tired. Teaching is our job. No one wants to take work home when you don’t have to. You want to have a life outside teaching, and in addition to that, I have hero work.”

“There are lots of books and stuff about teacher-student relationships,” you said.

“Written by deranged maniacs who haven’t been teachers. Sometimes, it��s difficult to see your students as people, let alone the horrific romantic par—God.” Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose again, his fingers moving the press into his eyes, almost like he wanted to gouge them out. “The only reason a student may be brought up in conversation in a non-school setting would be if that student did something particularly moronic that day. At the end of the individual day, teachers are tired of their students and want to slip back into being an individual instead of an educator.”

You pursed your lips. “I have yet to hear that you personally are tired of specifically me.”

“Let me attempt another approach,” said Aizawa, hunching over to rest his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers together, “As your teacher, I would have an unfair power over you in a relationship.”

“Hell, yeah, you would,” you said, grinning.

Aizawa turned his head away, pressing his mouth into his shoulder. “I’m not going to engage with you if you keep making comments like that.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, aware you were getting yourself in deeper shit the more you opened your mouth. “I wouldn’t want you to propose in Recovery Girl’s office, anyway.”

It took him a moment, while you waited by scribbling a doodle of your cat onto the bottom margin of your form, but Aizawa genuinely let out a hiss as he snapped towards you, his teeth gritted as his eyes flashed scarlet, hair flying upwards in an instant.

“You can’t make those sorts of quips around anyone else—at all. Nothing is going to—” He seemed to notice that you’d shrunken in your seat, away from him, your hands held up while you let the clipboard fall to the ground, and he released his quirk, mildly startled that he’d activated it on impulse. He settled back into his own cold, plastic chair and sank his chin into his capture weapon.

“I’m sorry,” you said, quiet and subdued, “Joking about stuff is how I handle it.”

“No,” he said evenly, stooping to pick up your clipboard and pen, “I knew that already. That’s how you show you understand the material in class discussions. I should’ve taken that into account.”

He held out the clipboard, pinching it by the edge. You won’t touch each other, this way.

You took it and clicked your pen, scanning down the document to where you left off. “There’s this checkbox I wanted to ask you about.”

“What checkbox—oh,” Aizawa said, his voice faltering.

Near the bottom. A single, small line and box, for the weight it held: do you want this form to double as your marriage registration?

You crossed your legs to prop one ankle over your knee and tilted your clipboard away from his line of vision. You checked it before he even answered.

“Yeah,” you said, proceeding to shade in the entire box, “Do you—”

His scowl cut you off. “Leave that blank, too.”

“Of course,” you said, drawing a couple of hearts around the inked-in box before moving on.

You finished filling it out before he did, and when he set his pen aside, he pushed on his knees to stand with a soft grunt, taking your clipboard underneath his without caring to glance over it.

“All right. The rest of class has been joined the training session that All Might was monitoring for Class B, and given the circumstances—” His eyes fell to your stained fingers. “—you’ll have to make up your stealth presentation at a later date with a different faculty member. I’ll have someone else grade your work from now on, so you won’t have to worry about my grading you more harshly because of this.”

Aizawa waited for you to nod, and after, he took a step towards the door. He ducked his head for a moment before turning back to you, saying your name under his breath. “I’m serious when I say that you can neither tell anyone about our soulmate bond nor do anything about it.”

Swallowing, you slowly stood up from your seat. “I don’t know how well I can do that, Aizawa-sensei, but I can promise that I’ll do my best not to trouble you. I haven’t been troubling you for the past three years, have I?”

“Not exactly.” Aizawa narrowed his eyes, his shoulders tensing enough that his mouth disappeared underneath his capture weapon. “Why do you ask?”

Okay. You can do this. You’re fine. You’re normal about it. You held up your hands, as if gesturing that he should brace himself. “Because that’s, uh, how long I’ve—” Been in love with you—no! Stop that. “—had feelings for you.”

Grimacing, Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. He’s done that more in the past hour than you’ve seen in the past semester. “Holy shit.”

“Please don’t—please don’t feel any fucking pressure whatsoever,” you said quickly, trying to backtrack, “I’ve been dealing with this by myself for so long that I’m good at it, so please don’t, uh. I mean, I—I live in my head; I live in my books and stories, so it’s fine and good and tolerable that I’ve never been in a relationship or kissed or anything; I’m used to it, so you don’t have to worry; I’ve been handling this by—”

Aizawa exhaled very carefully, his chest heaving in a controlled way as he dug his fist into his eye, rubbing it. “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”

“Ah, ha. Ha,” you said, scratching the back of your neck, “Sorry if that’s too much information; that wasn’t the point—”

“You’re transferring to Class B,” said Aizawa, and he spun on his heel and sped out of Recovery Girl’s office.

Huffing, you seized the clipboards and ran after him. “Wait up,” you said, shoving the door to the stairs open after he nearly closed it on your face, “I was just trying to let you know I am open to a relationship if you want it, but I’m more than fine—” Liar, spat the voice in your head as you scrambled down the staircase after him, your footsteps reverberating against the grey-cinderblocked walls. “—if you don’t want anything to happen, but if you—”

Aizawa turned sharply to glare in your direction as you caught up to him, and when you skibbled to a stop on the same stair, he said under his breath, “Quiet.” His gaze followed how your hair fluttered with each of his harsh syllables, so he took another stair down to distance you. “Anyone on the stairs could hear you,” he said, resigned.

He crossed his arms, and you slanted the clipboards away from your chest for him to take them.

“You really didn’t know I’ve liked you?” you asked as he took them, “All this time?”

“It’s never crossed my mind,” he said, and he continued down the stairs at fast pace but one you could keep up with, “Like I said, students are a different category of person once you’re a teacher.”

Biting your lip, you followed closely enough to keep your voice down. “You never knew. That’s comforting,” you said, and after a few more stairs, you grinned. “Could that count as my stealth presentation?”

***

You would think that more was supposed to happen, now that you’re soulmates. More conversation, at least. Perhaps a conversation.

Instead, a lingering, bruising feeling branded your chest, as if you’d been kicked the night before, and often a stifling, smothering pressure weighed down on your shoulders until you could be in the same room as Aizawa again. Sometimes, it felt like steel marbles were playing pinball in your chest, the aches where they hit gnawing and settling into your bones.

(Your cat, your chocolate-point baby Dango, has been upset with the hours you’ve been sleeping away the pain instead of playing with her. Luckily, Kouda has been borrowing her some afternoons. You don’t know what he does with her, but you do appreciate very much being able to tell Dango, via Kouda, that you love her very much.

Kouda also has the advantage of being subtle when you lend him your cat, because cats aren’t allowed in the dorms. You’ve been secretly caring for Dango for over a year now, so it’s as if you, Kouda, and Shinsou, who brought Dango catnip treats, were partners in crime.)

In class, Aizawa interacted with you as little as possible, usually asking Present Mic to grade your assignments in his stead. He didn’t act any different towards you from the perspective of the rest of the class, you supposed, except you made fewer jokes and he fewer retorts. Instead, you kept your head down, reading or working on your Sakura Grove data for Midnight, and you were skimming by.

But sometimes you’d be doing Midnight’s paperwork after finishing an assignment early, hunched over your desk, when your skin prickles and the emptiness in your chest wavers for a moment, and you’d look towards Aizawa—either slumping over his desk with his chin on his palm or almost concealed inside his sleeping bag behind the podium—eyes half-lidded and boring into you.

When you look away, it’s as if he’s the one kicking you in the chest.

***

The Saturday after a particularly painful school day for you (aside from your fucking up in a combat exercise, Aizawa had been going down the line of those who’d participated to give individual feedback, and he skipped over you without hesitation), you’d planned to spend all day huddled underneath layers and layers of covers and throw blankets in bed as yet another snowstorm swept across Mustafu, but you jerked awake, completely fucking frigid, before the sun had truly risen. You blindly fumbled over the edge of the bed for any or all of your six billion blankets and felt none of them, and, making a miserable whimper as you cracked open an eye, you peered over the side of the bed.

No blankets on floor.

No…no little bedside rug.

Jesus, did you somehow kick your bed away from the wall during the night? Wait, where’s all the shit you have all over your walls this isn’t your room.

Something was pressed against your back.

Your life was over. You’re totally getting expelled from U.A. for sneaking into your teacher’s room. It’s got to be his—holding your breath, you slowly peeked over your shoulder before snapping back towards the bare wall. A flash of that yellow sleeping bag, even in bed—it’s Aizawa’s room, all right, and his back was pressed against yours, with only your sleepshirt and his sleeping bag keeping your skin from touching (unless he’s wearing a shirt, which, in that case, get sluttier, Aizawa).

In the case that somehow appearing in his bed overnight made him detest you, you elected to slither out of his living space without his ever knowing. You wouldn’t have any answers for him, even if he caught you, really, at least not this early in the morning.

In the vexingly slow process of getting out of bed without waking him up, you had the time to look around, not that there was that much to see; it was all greyish and sparse and didn’t really feel like a home at all or that he spent much time here, with the most significant pieces in his bedroom being the shoddily painted radiator (in heaven, everything is fine) and a desk with both a PC and a propped-up tablet on it, with some papers spread in front of them. But the layout of his flat appeared to mirror another part of the dormitory, so you bet the door to leave his area entirely was through the next room, and you’d be home-free.

What caught your attention, though, was a well-loved cat tower, with one of the dangling mice for the cat to bat at torn off the string and resting on the middle level. Aizawa must have a cat. Funny, since that’s illegal in the dorms. As you finally slinked off the bed entirely, you resolved to locate the cat to kiss its little forehead before slipping out of his room entirely. Cat detours are allowed.

Walking out of his bedroom, you first were hit by the pungent scent of brewing coffee and then by a cold wave of defeat. Across the kitchen counter, Aizawa’s back was towards you while he fossicked through different brands of sugar packets.

You could’ve punted that empty sleeping bag out the window.

You took one step towards the exit before he spoke, his voice gravelly from sleep: “Do you want to offer me an explanation before I write you up?”

Fucking stealth heroes. “I don’t have one,” you said, shoulders falling slack while trudging into his kitchenette—with an ulterior motive of seeing more of his place before being removed permanently. “I’m—I don’t know how I got here. You didn’t—?”

“Of course not,” said Aizawa, ripping open two differently branded packets and upturning them into his coffee. He turned to face you as he took the first sip, and you wished you could say that his eyes drank you in hungrily, or whatever, but you supposed that you have to get sluttier, too: you were just as completely and unalluringly covered as he was in his Purple Revolution sweatshirt and pants. “You don’t have any ideas from working at Sakura Grove?”

“Uh, no,” you said, “I’m not encouraged to talk to I—Tainted Love. It’s more like bringing her food and filling out paperwork for her craft requests. I am very much the middleman. I can—”

“Don’t.” Aizawa held out his free hand. “I’ll ask Nemuri.”

Nemuri. You’ve known, you supposed, that he was on a given-name basis with Midnight. You resolved to get him to call you by your first name, too. And then the thought came that you might be ruining something romantic between them? Based on every interaction you’ve had with either of them, you had no indication of romance, but Aizawa had said that teachers aim to have very private lives. Yikes. You elected to slough it off for now, because introducing feeling jealous of your mentor whom you admired very much would only complicate the situation more. You could linger on jealousy once you figured out what the hell was happening.

“Right,” you said, pulling at a hangnail, “What if this happens again?”

“We’ll put a stop to it. Simple as that.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “We’ll be able to prevent this once we have more information. Until then, just handle it maturely and without fuss.”

“And here I was hoping we could cuddle,” you said, heaving a huge, fake sigh as Aizawa narrowed his eyes, and you pushed yourself up to sit on the counter, swinging your legs. “This is the part where you offer me coffee.”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“C’mon, Aizawa. Or I’ll spread that you have an illegal cat in the dorms.”

Aizawa hesitated just as he brought the lip of his mug to his mouth. “I don’t have a cat,” he said before taking another drink.

“Come off of it; I saw the cat tower.”

“I don’t have—”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when something prodded your thigh; a lanky, tuxedo-patterned cat had sneaked up to headbutt you before you could notice, and it climbed onto your lap to loaf. It’d be nice if your own cat were this friendly.

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings,” grumbled Aizawa as he poured your coffee.

You flipped over the cat’s tag, the light catching on the rose-gold heart. “You named your cat Konpeito?”

“Eri named it.” Aizawa set the mug next to you instead of giving it to you directly—stubborn bastard, not wanting to touch you again. “Don’t make a scene when you return the mug.”

“You’re kicking me out before I even start drinking?” You tentatively gripped the handle and maneuvered the cat off your lap.

“You keep asking these questions that have obvious answers.” He gave a dismissive wave. “Don’t make too much noise on the way out; Eri’s in the next dorm over, and I don’t want you to wake her.”

***

You woke up in Aizawa’s bed again less than a week later. You’d had a dream that you’d been freezing, and the reason had been, once again, you were, since apparently Aizawa depended on his sleeping bag instead of blankets. You allowed yourself a moment of savouring the sensation of his back against yours (for real, this time, since the sleeping bag was snoring) before slipping out.

The third time, you left him a note to tell him to get a damn blanket, or else you’ll bring one of your own to keep there.

You idly took notes in Present Mic’s class, words coming slowly on paper while he prattled on. How come it was always you who was showing up in his bed? How come you always went to Aizawa, and he never came to you?

Your eyes flicked up to what Present Mic was writing on the board in skewed, thin handwriting. Had Aizawa told him the specifics? Present Mic had to know something, since he was grading your work, but Mic was also Aizawa’s friend—a luxury you didn’t have in this soulmate situation. Midnight would also be a strategic person to tell, from Aizawa’s perspective, but she hadn’t given any hint she was aware.

You drew a heart in the margins, and then you gave it legs. You made it walk off the page and onto the desk, colouring it in by crosshatching. If only you could get up and leave. Class without Aizawa dragged nowadays; where did he spend his time during school on break? Probably huddled in his sleeping bag in a slant of sunlight like a damn cat, maybe out on the grounds where he couldn’t be found. Or maybe he fucked off to a gym closet where the mats were; they’d be cosier than sleeping directly on the floor. And you could cosy up next to him, pressed up against each other in that snug—

You slammed into a wall of solid muscle, papers flying and tea spilling over the tile to seep into the rug in the teachers’ lounge, and you sprawled on your knees in the midst of it in your haste to get the fuck off of Aizawa before he could say anything, hissing as you tentatively raised your hand from the wet, broken cup. Despite the slivers of pottery in your palm, you one-handedly fumbled for the papers that had been dropped—third year evals, now crimped and tinted a yellow-green.

Aizawa took the papers, tapped the bottom to align them, and gave them a firm shake to flick off excess tea, and when you started to sweep the broken cup into your hands, he stopped you.

“Go to the faculty bathroom,” he said, pointing to the connecting lavatory, “I’ll be there in a minute with a first-aid kit.”

You had a moment to yourself in the clean, warmly-lit bathroom, so you pushed yourself up on the green marble by the farthest sink and crossed your legs, ensuring your shoes didn’t dirty anything. The pain’s setting in, but you won’t cry, not in front of him, and you’re crying, but just a bit, right? Fuck.

At the sound of the door, you hastily wiped your nose with your sleeve and did your best to look stoic, like pottery in your hand happened every day. But your eyes were too watery to even see the tweezers as he dug them out of the kit.

Standing in front of the sink, Aizawa clicked the tweezers twice (carcinisation, baby!) and held out his other hand.

You looked at it. “What do you want me to do with that?”

He said your name through a sort of scoff, which would’ve been way hotter if it had been your given name and also in bed. “Just give me your hand.”

Tears ran down your face in an overflow. “You wanna touch me?” you asked, sniffing.

“Fucking hell,” Aizawa said under his breath, “At least I know you’re all right if you’re still joking.” He shifted his jaw, scanning your palm. “If you’d rather have it at an uncomfortable angle over the sink—”

“No! No, I wanna—I wanna touch you,” you said, and you lifted your shaky, injured hand for Aizawa to hold steady. The instant his fingers cradled the back of your hand, everything fell into place: touching him was like breathing in cool, crisp air on a clear night or the smoky kindling of a fire that never goes out, like feeling sunshine on bare shoulders on a spring day with freshly cut grass, like walking into your childhood home’s kitchen when someone’s baked chocolate-chip cookies, like breathing in, like breathing, and—

You lifted your hand just a hair from his hand.

You have a stopped-up nose.

You glanced at Aizawa, whose lips were parted, his chest visibly heaving underneath his baggy jumpsuit. “Did you…?”

He ran his tongue over his lower lip. “I need to get the pottery out of your hand as soon as possible.”

Bracing yourself, you rested your hand in his again, and that irresistible warmth swept over you again. He’s got to be feeling it, too, so why isn’t he reacting? You’re embarrassing yourself, so why can’t he?

“Were you trying to teleport to me earlier?” he asked (distracting you from the sensation of each shard being plucked from your skin), head bent over the sink and your hand.

“No, I never—I don’t intend anything. But now that we’ve seen it, we at least know it’s not a gradual thing. Instantaneous and painless. Well,” you said, nodding towards your hand.

“Nor, I see, is it limited to my bed,” he said, shifting over when you uncrossed your legs, “What were you doing before the jump?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. I was in class.” You dangled your legs off the side to get closer to him (for medical purposes of course), and wow, Aizawa smelled incredible—probably; your stuffy nose wasn’t doing you any favours—what the hell kind of soap did he use?

 “Were you thinking of anything in particular? The bond?”

That’s got to be pine, and there’s something earthy mixed in. You really needed to blow your nose (Can you even name earthy scents? [Dirt?] You’re not up-to-date with masculine scents; you’ll have to find his deodorant next time you wake up in his room). “I was—” You cut yourself off with a hiss as he pulled the largest shard out. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad, really. Keep going. I don’t really remember the specifics of what I was thinking about, but I—” You cut yourself off again, this time with heavy realisation. “Goddammit. I was feeling the acute loneliness hollow out my chest again, and I was wanting to—be near you. Which explains why I’ve been teleporting to you instead of you coming to me.”

“It explains nothing,” said Aizawa, and he set the tweezers next to the shards on the edge of the sink and flipped on the faucet, guiding your hand under the water and reaching for the gauze.

“Yes, it does,” you said, openly wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, because fuck it, this man didn’t care about you, so be gross around him. “If the teleporting is triggered by intense longing to be close to the other person, then it makes total sense that I’d be the only one teleporting, since I’m the only one who has feelings.”

“It explains nothing,” he said again, drying off your hand, “It’s only a possible contributing factor to the teleportation. Maybe it has to do with location, or timing, or action. It’s highly improbable that this physical action was caused by thought alone.” Aizawa ripped off a long strip of gauze and began to wrap it around your palm. “Don’t feel like this is a weakness on your part. I’ll probably teleport to you before the month is out.”

You let your fingers relax, your pinkie falling enough to graze his own hands as he bandaged yours. The more skin-to-skin contact you had, the more serene you felt—or maybe it was the injury adrenaline wearing off. Either way, you might fall asleep on the bathroom counter. “My bed isn’t big enough for two people.”

“That’s okay,” said Aizawa, and he slowed at the final wrap-around, holding it in place until he found the metal clips in the first aid box. “I’ve gotten very used to sleeping in odd places.”

When he stepped away to pack up the kit, you fucking whimpered on impulse at the loss of physical contact, and he froze, stuck in the motion of clicking the box shut.

“Sorry,” you said, sniffing.

His jaw tensing, Aizawa shook his head. “You should go to bed early tonight. Don’t overexert yourself.”

***

Yeah, except it’s Friday, and Jirou has been arranging this girls’ night for two weeks now.

Apparently, the karaoke bar you’re going to overheats really easily, since it’s in a refurbished building that used to be something-or-other; you’re not really listening to the explanation but were more concerned with having to wear summer clothes while it’s snowing out. The past two weeks have been strategic outfit layering plans from the lot of you, most of which have devolved into being silly and impractical (ranging from “I’ll just take off my skin and hang around in my bones when we get there” to “I will walk out of this dorm in a sleeping bag over my underwear” [the latter reminding you of Aizawa, in a pleasing, warm thought that you had to keep to yourself]).

Either way. Twisting over your shoulder, you strained to tuck in your bra so that it wouldn’t show from a mostly backless spaghetti-strap that you ended up borrowing from Uraraka, and once it was kind of hidden, you stuck your tongue into your cheek. It didn’t really sit right with you to be going out in this shit in this icy weather. You’d be a lot warmer and probably a lot more content if you peeled off these Best Jeanist jean shorts (from the Moulded to Your Ass line, unofficially titled) and crawled into your pyjamas and bed.

In the corner of your eye, your bed beckoned, with all of its blankets and stuffed animals (for when you just need to hold a little guy). What if you ditched the outing and—no. Stop that. You’ll be warm soon enough.

But with an abrupt lurch towards your bed, you found yourself spluttering into the scalding spray of a showerhead, water dribbling into your mouth between gasps and sloshing down your body. Blindly, you took a step backwards out of the cascade, but a flattened palm on the bare skin of your back stopped you before you could move farther.

“Don’t.”

The water still gushed and flowed over you, eyes scrunched tight and heart pounding. The hand on your back maximised the space between the two of you, but with the pathetic size of the shower stall, his body heat still seeped into your skin, complemented by rising steam. There’s a quiet grunt when he knocked against the frosted glass door; his shoulders must be wide enough for that to happen frequently (you swallow against a dry throat, because the man could hold all of you). If he wanted to, Aizawa, the way he has you now, could press his lips to the crown of your head, keeping his mouth there as his eyes flutter shut.

Instead, Aizawa was reaching up to tilt the showerhead away, giving you a good face-full of his bicep, and your eyes followed its movement (his jumpsuit did an excellent job of concealing a fucking powerfully built form), straining as he twisted the showerhead and relaxing as it fell back into place at his side—

“Eyes up,” said Aizawa, using his first two fingers to guide your chin back to face your front, where they lingered for a moment to tap against your jaw to ensure you’d stay there.

(With the shock of getting wet and the heat of his hand flat against your back [still there, still flooding you with an intoxicating headiness], you’d been entirely too overwhelmed to even consider catching a glimpse of his dick.)

“Aizawa-sensei—”

“Cut that out,” he said, huffing, ��You’re doing this on purpose.”

For once, you’re out of the loop. But since you’re in his shower, you could take a moment to locate his soap to put a name to what he smells like and perhaps get a look at his cock along the way. Only his washcloth hung over the faucet in front of you, so you moved to turn slightly as you spoke, ducking your head to scan for shampoo bottles: “Earlier today you were saying it wasn’t my—”

Hissing, Aizawa slid two fingers through one of your belt loops and yanked, jerking you backwards into his hips for an instant before establishing that space between you again—pulling you by the belt loop blocked your view of his cock, and his hand on your back kept you from touching him in any meaningful way. But he was still as close as he could be without touching you otherwise, his breath as searing as the steam as he grumbled into your ear: “Bad girl.”

The water splashing at your feet wasn’t so hot anymore.

Aizawa tugged at your belt loop again (for a moment, when a swish of cool air washed down your ass, you worried that he’d look) and kept you in front of himself as he turned sideways to face the shower door, which he (fuck!) lifted his hand from your back to prod open.

Light flushed into the stall, and he scoffed. “I knew it,” Aizawa said, bitterness creeping into his voice, and he unlooped his finger from your belt loop to tap the fabric firmly, nudging you forward.

“Knew what?” you asked, spinning on your heel the moment you were out of the shower, water flying, and Aizawa ducked behind the frosted glass with a defeated expression. “Right,” you said, grabbing the thick towel on the toilet and tossing it to him.

“Check your fingertips.”

Tearing your gaze from his frosted-glass impression of wrapping the towel around his waist, you held up your hands. “They look fine. My bandages are soaked, though, so I’ll have to redo—oh, okay, fuck. My soulmark is gone.” You’re not going to cry in front of him, and definitely not twice in one day, because that’d be—

“Sensei,” you said, choking up and curling your shaky fingers into an even shakier fist, “Sensei, my soulmark is—I don’t want my soulmark to be gone, fucking, I—” On accident, you slammed your elbow into the glass door when you were trying to—please get closer (so goddammit, if your eyes water, it’s from hitting your funny bone). “I don’t want my soulmark to disappear; I adore you and want—”

“It hasn’t disappeared,” Aizawa said softly as he stepped out of the shower, gripping his towel in addition to the firm knot, and he pointed behind you towards the mirror.

While Aizawa eased down onto the closed toilet to towel-dry his hair, you took the four, wet steps to the sink and wiped off the clouded steam. No difference in your reflection.

When you shot a baffled look towards Aizawa, he gently raised his eyebrows and his finger to twirl it once. So, you turned around to look over your shoulder at your back, where his pink handprint put all body glitter to shame in how well it reflected the overhead light and in how quickly it was spreading (ink leaking outside of the handprint in watery bursts before slowing, never detracting from the shape of his hand, though the ink seemed to rise more than fall, especially near his middle and ring fingers between your shoulder blades).

He was holding up his newly pink palm, wiggling his fingers in your direction.

You returned to him (really to stand on the bathmat, since you’re drenching his floor) and raised your hand to touch him, first glancing at him for his approval. Aizawa looked at your hand and back at you, and after he wetted his lips, he nodded and got back to towel-drying his hair.

You hesitated. Is this really so nonchalant, so trivial to him? It’s everything to you.

You dropped your hand to your side, mouth twitching. “What shampoo do you fucking use.”

“Hm?” He didn’t even look at you.

“You smell fucking good all the time. What’s. What scent is your soap,” you were saying, in the same, flat tone you’d use to argue with your landlord about finally fixing your leaky roof after two years.

Aizawa squeezed water out of the last of his hair and spoke in that infuriatingly gravelly, just-woke-up voice of his. “It’s sandalwood.”

Sandalwood. That’s earthy, you guessed. “Then where’s the pine come from?”

“That would be the aftershave,” he said, folding the hair towel in half twice and setting it aside, “You were going to touch me, but now you’re upset. Care to explain?”

You plucked at your wet shirt before crossing your arms over it. “Does this matter to you? The soulmate thing.”

“You matter to me,” he said, standing with a quiet grunt, “Let’s get you reasonably dry before going back to your dorm.”

“Oh, shut up with that teacher bullshit,” you said, following him to a cabinet, “You care about me through the lens of a student, because everyone in this fucking dorm is your—fuck, I’m. You’re insufferable.”

“I can’t lend you clothes, but I should have enough large towels to keep you warm.” Aizawa reached for the top shelf, with beach towels. “However, I recommend against going out tonight with the rest of your friends.” He handed you a new-looking, blue-pineappled towel.

You angrily wrapped it around you, pissed that you instantly felt better. “Oh, is it because you’ve gotten me wet—” Aizawa draped another towel around your shoulders, tucking it in a little to secure it. “—and going out into this fucking ass iceberg weather would get me sick—” Another towel, this one with Present Mic’s radio show logo on it. “—and then I’d have to miss one of your precious days of class—”

“Is that what you want me to say?” He arranged two more towels around you at once, tying the outermost one in a knot. “Or are you waiting to hear that I want you to hide away while you bear my mark?” He tugged your drapery down a smidge so that you could use your arms a bit—at the least, use your key to your room. “When in reality,” he said, taking a step backward and appraising his handiwork, “I want you to be comfortable and content. And I don’t think you’d be either if you went out after this, even if you got ready again.”

Goddammit.

“And you’ve had a long day with strange revelations. You have a new injury. Going to bed for the night will facilitate healing. Your body will have more time to process the day.”

Groaning, you said, “Fuck you for being right.”

“Thanks.”

Since you hadn’t touched him earlier, you took the opportunity to clonk your forehead against his chest (dense muscle was evidently comfy). The soulmark warmth blossomed throughout your body from the spot, and you took your time to appreciate it, taking a couple of unhurried breaths against his skin, dry save for some stray running droplets.

Aizawa sighed, the planes of his chest rising and falling under your close and thirsty scrutiny. “This counts, y’know. As staying up late.” If you hadn’t seen him put his hand on your arm, you wouldn’t’ve known, due to the thickness of the towels. “I told you to go to bed.”

You blearily looked up at him. “Take me there, then.”

After a moment, Aizawa said, “I have to feed my cat,” and he opened the bathroom door to escape. Before he left, he spun back around, and you would’ve sworn he was fighting a smile, if you hadn’t known how he felt about you.

“But first,” he said, “let me fix that forehead situation of yours.”

***

Picking up the folders from the office mailbox, you flipped out the flag for read/empty and trailed back to the office space that you and Midnight shared at Sakura Grove, idly waving to some co-workers as you flipped through the files. Pushing the door open with your foot, you dropped the folders onto Midnight’s desk and hurried over to lift the shaking electric kettle from the heat, since Midnight was too absorbed into her patient evaluation at which she was typing away.

You poured the boiling water the round teabag, watched it rise to the top of Midnight’s teacup, and bit back a cry—you clutched the chilled windowsill to stay standing, struck by an overwhelming dizziness that blacked out the edges of your vision and crept to darken it entirely; a bowling ball has just hit your chest and dropped to your toes, the ache reverberating through your veins as you caved and doubled over, nausea settling into your gut.

Through the dots clouding your vision, you barely make out Midnight stretching her arms over her head.

These attacks have been happening more and more. If Aizawa can have a friend in the know, so can you.

“Kayama-sensei,” you managed to croak, but she didn’t hear you.

You tried again, and she turned, her expression drooping when she saw you. “Is the tea that bad?”

Eventually, Midnight helped you into your seat across from hers with your own cup of tea, the pain draining away in the process of vague explanation.

“So, you genuinely think you’re starting to die because your soulmate won’t acknowledge you romantically. Easy solution in sight,” she said, picking her teacup up by her fingertips to breathe in the steam, “Just pick out some nice lingerie—you can use my sponsor discount for Wacoal—and arch your back when you lie in his bed for him to find. I can give you some tips on how to suck—”

“Kayama-sensei,” you said, your vision finally back to normal, “You do not understand how much I can’t do that.”

Her tongue flicked into her cup, testing the heat. “I’ll bite. Why not?”

“My soulmate is, um.” You frowned into your tea. “I’ve liked my soulmate for a long, long time. Before the soulmate stuff existed.”

Midnight ran her tongue over her lips, the corners quirking upwards. “So? All the more reason to make your feelings known and emphasised, now that you have an excuse for a legitimate relationship. Since he already knows about how you feel, you should keep trying to seduce him. All men crack eventually.”

“He won’t accept a lousy attempt at seduction, because—aside from I have no clue how to do that, I don’t—he’s, uh…” You trailed off, took a swig of tea instead of finishing, and ended up choking a bit at the heat.

“Yes? What’s the juicy detail you’re reluctant to share? Is he married? Is he a public figure? Is he too much older or younger than you?”

Narrowing your eyes, you asked, “Do you already know? Are you just making me say it?”

Tight-lipped, Midnight made a loose, dismissive gesture and moved to get back to her patient file.

“Fine. Fine! If anyone can help me with this, it’s you, because it’s—goddamn,” you said, deflating and sinking down into your seat, “It’s fucking Aizawa-sensei, okay? My soulmate is my stupid homeroom teacher.”

“Congratulations,” said Midnight, saving the document and shutting down the computer, “You have earned the right to call me by my given name for being so honest.” She spun in her chair to give you her full attention. “So. Shouta.”

“Did you know already? Were you just—”

“I had my suspicions but no concrete evidence,” she said, holding up her hand, “Just some observations from watching you for the past three years.” Tilting her head, she adjusted her glasses before lifting her cup to her mouth again. “Now, the reason why you can’t just seduce him is crystal clear now. I submit that you could start going to bed in skimpier clothes in the event you teleport to his apartment again, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Shouta’s got a steel will. He’s not going to violate that student-teacher professional relationship.”

“I know,” you said, slumping so far down in your seat that your ass was falling off of it, your chin touching your chest, “but if I’m in pain from not being with him, he probably is, too. And if he won’t acknowledge me romantically, I wanna know if there’s something I can do to alleviate the pain that we’re both feeling. He shouldn’t be distracted from his work because of it.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear.” Midnight jabbed a finger in your direction. “Starting today, you’re promoted. You’re going to be Tainted Love’s primary monitor.”

“What?” You shot up in your seat. “But I haven’t—I haven’t even had a proper conversation with her before—”

“But she’s used to having you around,” Midnight said evenly, opening her top desk drawer, “To her, you’re in a position of authority but not a threat. You’ve seen how she likes to talk, anyway, and you’re in a perfect position to find out more schematics of how her quirk works on the individual level.” Midnight smiled and handed you Ito’s folder. “Plus, she can’t do anything more to you, right? You’ve already got a hell of a soulmate.”

“Okay,” you said, hesitantly taking her file to clutch it to your chest, “So, you just want me to talk to her? Try to solve my problems?”

“Yeah. And anything you find out about her quirk that she hasn’t shared so far—because she hasn’t exactly shared much past the first interrogation—is welcome intelligence. Record anything new. Keep Ito happy. You’ll be golden. I know you’re more than capable.”

“Funny,” you said, flipping through the file and joining Midnight as she stood, “This feels planned. Got anything else motivating you?”

“Besides a perverse desire to see my friend and my sidekick get together?” Midnight grabbed her whip from the hook on the side of her desk. “I was going to assign you this, anyway. Ito isn’t a threat anymore, and I need to focus on preparing for Serendipity’s arrival next week from St. Philomena’s. Even the airline we finally convinced to transport her has backed out, so I’m scrambling to bribe another.”

That had slipped your mind—Serendipity was being transferred to Sakura Grove for rehabilitation, mostly because no one else wanted to house the most potently dangerous female villain in the Americas. “Understandable,” you said, holding open the door for Midnight to follow closely behind, “When do I start?”

***

Fifteen minutes later, you were setting a tray with tea and powdered thumbprint-cookies in front of Ito at her desk in her room. She raised a sharp, white eyebrow at how the dishes clattered at your shaky handling, but she nodded in thanks and turned back to her book. You guessed you were lingering awkwardly by the door a bit too obviously, so she rolled her eyes and set her book upside-down on the desk.

“You’re my new handler, right?” she asked, scratching under her eye.

“That’s me,” you said, hands folded tightly in front of you, “Midnight says you cleared stage five, so you’re safe to be delegated off to me. I have your stage six schedule printed out—”

“But why are you still here? Everyone usually leaves as soon as possible.”

“I’m the only staff member immune to your quirk,” you said, sliding her schedule out of her file.

“Immune.” Ito grinned and crossed her legs. “That’s interesting. How do you know that?”

Well, Midnight said to be honest in order to get honesty from Ito. You sucked in through your teeth. “I’m only immune because you’ve already given me a soulmate. I was the, uh, student you landed on when you attacked U.A.”

Scrunching up her face, Ito scanned you from head to foot, and when she finally stopped at your chest, she nodded. “Ah. I remember you. You’ve got good tits, kiddo,” she said, reaching for her tea, “Be proud of ‘em. You allowed to tell me how it’s going?”

You glanced behind you at the door, pretending to be considering the trouble of talking to her, and when you prodded it shut with your foot, Ito’s grin stretched all the way across her face, her teeth cutting into her lower lip.

“I’ve been desperate to talk to you,” you said, dragging the extra chair closer to hers, “My soulmate is being a little bitch.”

“I like you better than Doc Kim already,” said Ito, and she took a noisy slurp of her tea. “Spill it.”

“I need your advice on what to do about the pain.”

“You found your soulmate already? Then you shouldn’t be feeling any,” she said, shrugging.

“No, I need you to tell me about what to do about the pain. I don’t know if he’s feeling it, but it’s fucking killing me, and he won’t do anything about the soulmate stuff because he doesn’t like me—”

“Back up.” Ito slammed her cup on the tray, spilling tea. “You’re not making any sense. Start over. Tell me about your soulmate.”

Groaning, you buried your face in your hands, leaning back in your chair until your back popped. “He’s my professor, and I’ve liked him for years. Since I met him, pretty much.”

“Hot. He got a sensei kink?” She shoved two thumbprint cookies in her mouth at once, and she nudged the plate in your direction.

“Eh,” you said, weighing your options, “It’s possible. But he doesn’t—”

“Nice. So, he says he’s not gonna do anything while you’re his student, which means he’s burning with shame and sexy, sexy doubts about how good of a man he is. Always sexy to bring a man to his moral and literal knees. Are you wearing fun things to class?”

“We have a uniform.”

“Shame,” she said, gulping down more tea, and then she cocked her head. “Unless.”

“No.”

“Spoilsport,” said Ito, gesturing towards the cookies again. This time you took one, pinching it absentmindedly in your lap. “I think I want to go on my daily walk around the courtyard. Is there room for that in my new schedule?”

You checked it. “I’ll make it work.”

Minutes later, you and Ito were bundled up and strolling the perimeter of Sakura Grove’s courtyard, full of other in-patients in team recreation in the middle and in private conversation on some of the benches.

“I’m still not with you,” Ito was saying as she stared up into the bare limbs of a sakura tree, “I don’t understand why you’re feeling the soulmate pain. It shouldn’t be affecting you, since you know and have met your soulmate.”

You huffed, breath visible. “Well, if you don’t know, then I’m lost. But if he’s not going to complain about the pain, then I suppose I’ll just have to deal with it. I like him too much to bitch about it to him, I guess.”

Ito shoved more of her long, white hair underneath her pom-pom hat. “Then it’s probably the same for him, with him liking you too much to bother you about it.”

“Nah.” You stepped into one of her footprints, the snow crunching under your weight. “He doesn’t like me, and I don’t think he ever will, since once a student, always a stu—”

Ito’s head snapped towards you, cheeks rosy from the cold. “What did you say?”

“My soulmate doesn’t like me, because—”

“You said that earlier, too,” said Ito, and she looked around for other monitors before jerking her head for you to follow her. She guided you in a casual-but-not trail away from any doors or eavesdroppers, and she said in a hushed voice, “You do know that my quirk doesn’t assign soulmates randomly, right?”

“What the hell? Say more right now,” you said, taking smaller steps to stay closer to her.

“Oh, well, that’s news for me. I figured they’d captured my team’s notes on my quirk by now. Okay, well, report this, or not,” said Ito, jabbing a finger towards you, “How much do you know about probability? Yeah, yeah, more math—yes, soulmates usually to inhale the same cloud of my quirk to be considered soulmates, but there are other factors, too. See, you were making sense until you said your soulmate doesn’t like you back.”

“Okay, I’m not following—hey, let’s walk more towards the centre; I think those two by the door are watching us.” You steered the two of you back onto the typical path but stayed close to speak quietly.

“In addition to breathing from the same cloud, two people have to have had a moment of genuine, mutual attraction between each other. Not, like, you pass someone hot on the street and think you’d suck the soul out of their dick before dissuading yourself from the impulse, because they’d clearly ruin your life, but a moment of true, lingering affection for someone that you don’t talk yourself out of. A moment worth thinking about later. Hey, Rika,” Ito said loudly as you passed another patient on the path, “Good to see you today. How’s your cult? You don’t know? Great! Healthy! See you later!” Ito and you sped-walked past her, and once Rika was out of earshot, Ito lowered her voice again. “You don’t have to know the person, but maybe a stranger shared a moment of kindness with you. Maybe an old friend laughed in a new way. It’s a moment where you’re attracted to something past the surface level in a person, even for a brief second. I don’t give out soulmates with absolutely no attraction, even if it may seem that way.”

You, fuming, kicked snow out of your path. “That bitch likes me!”

Ito nodded. “And not just for your tits.”

“Shit,” you said, pushing hair out of your face and pulling your scarf to be snugger, “Nothing I do is gonna—”

“I can help,” said Ito, glancing over her shoulders again for eavesdroppers.

You stopped in your tracks. “But why would you do that? I’m just some weirdo.”

“Because when I have employed the help I’m about to offer you, it has been very, very funny to me,” she said, “and I don’t get outside news except through fucking letters.”

You joined her on the path again. “How many times have you done this?”

Ito looked up as she bit the pad of her thumb, trudging through the snow. “You’ll be the twelfth time. It’s like a part two to my quirk, but I usually don’t come across victims again to offer this sort of thing—and people usually don’t need it. Step one: we’ll need an airtight container.”

***

Cut to that evening in your dorm room, with you hunched over a ziploc bag sealed to the brim with her quirk’s pink dust.

Door locked. Lights down. Cosy pyjamas. Already under the covers in bed.

An increased probability of cliches, Ito had said.

You flipped on the flashlight on your phone to shine through the dust, pink light scattering on the ceiling like a home-planetarium.

Inhaling her quirk for the second time would still affect you, but it wouldn’t assign you another soulmate. Rather, it would dramatically increase your chances for romance tropes to occur in your real life. Stuff that only happens in rom-coms and fanfic could start to happen to you and your soulmate.

(“Like sharing a bed when there’s only one of them,” Ito had said, swirling her finger through the leftover powdered sugar and licking it.

“We’ve already got that covered with the teleporting,” you’d said.

“Shifting is what I’ve been calling the teleports, babe.” Ito had smacked her lips. “And maybe you’ll wake up grinding on his hard-on, now. Do you know how big his dick is?” she’d asked, and then she’d clicked her tongue. “Never mind; I wanna know about his thighs.”

“I can—”

“Or maybe he’ll spill coffee on your shirt and have to pat you dry, accidentally making your shirt see-through and getting flustered at your tits. Or maybe he’ll have to pick you up in the rain, and oh, no, the weather’s too bad for you to go home, and you have to wear his clothes, and—”

You’d snorted at the thought of wearing one of his jumpsuits. He didn’t seem to have much else.)

Either way, you had your ziploc bag of soulmate trope dust, and you had a soulmate reluctant to acknowledge you—even though you knew now that he liked you, that bitch. You’d prepared accordingly, already in bed, since Ito had said you’d likely pass out again. It sat a bit unpleasantly in your stomach that you were going to rely on cliches to jumpstart your relationship with Aizawa, since you hadn’t wanted to do that in the first place with teacher-student relationship cliches. But you could avoid that the best you could, you supposed.

You lay down in bed, adjusting your hair on your pillow, and with the bag on your chest, you popped it like bubble wrap, the dust surging into your face in a rosy burst.

***

Popping it Tuesday night led to a cruelly dull Wednesday, since, as seniors, Wednesdays were off-days for the hero course to spend more time in the field. You weren’t needed at Sakura Grove, as you remotely typed up your reports and sent them their way, and since all your friends were with their mentors, the hours crawled. You puttered around online for a while, before cracking open a book whose plot couldn’t hold you. Since no one was around to witness, you plodded downstairs to the kitchen in your pyjamas, stole one of Aoyama’s green tea popsicles for an early start to lunch, and booted up the console Kaminari kept in the commons.

While the screen loaded, you plopped onto the couch, licking the last of the tea off the wooden stick. What does Aizawa do on Wednesdays now that his class is loose? He frequents a cat café; the punch-card was poking out of his wallet on his bedside table last time you shifted to his room. But there are the mundanities—grocery shopping, catching up on sleep, grading, caring for Eri. And hell, how you’d like to share those moments with him—perhaps scrunching his nose at a change of ingredients of his favourite chip, stroking the neck of his cat in a beam of sunlight, braiding Eri’s hair with ribbon at the start of a school day.

Fuuuuuck, when will Aizawa let you in?

The next moment, you’re suffocating. Pitch black softness, swaddling and falling around you, sweltering within seconds, sweat beading at your hairline. You took a desperate, gasping breath—relieved in the slim moment a slant of light puckered in front you, until the hand shoved onto your face, palm feeling for your mouth and shutting your jaw for you. Within the cocoon, the frame on either side of you tensed, and—the hand fumbled, once you’d quieted, in the crack of light to clumsily cup your cheek, patting it abruptly before rubbing the thumb over your cheekbone.

From that touch and the peace it swept over you, you knew where you’d shifted: kneeling right between Aizawa’s legs in his sleeping bag. But he’s sitting upright in a chair and needed to silence you, so where was he right now?

You settled, leaning against the hard muscle of his calf and into his palm, nosing at it to signal you knew it’s him.

“You have twenty-seven minutes to finish your tests,” called Aizawa, and for the first time, you picked up on pens clicking, paper shuffling, and chairs scuffing against polished tile. “Don’t ask me when they’ll be graded; Kuranosuke-sensei isn’t set to return until Saturday.”

Bless him.

But okay. You’ve got about half an hour stuck between his legs under this desk in front of what’s likely a bunch of younger business students.

Huh, if you only inched your chin forward on his chair, you’d be perfectly positioned to nuzzle against his cock, maybe suck it if you maneuvered your arms out of the sleeping bag’s constrictions. But, you supposed, it would be very mean to tease him in that way in front of students who haven’t built that respect for him, and you’d prefer your first blowjob to be where Aizawa could throw his head back, face flushed, groaning loudly with a gentle, guiding hand on the back of your head—hey, now’s not the time.

You didn’t want him to feel the shame of having an erection in front of who were essentially strangers. It’d…you don’t want to humiliate your soulmate. You love that idiot.

But Aizawa was shifting his hips, to your horror, the thick fabric of his jumpsuit brushing your face in the moment his hand retracted, and the sleeping bag was shuffled down past the top of your head, which grazed the underside of a desk drawer.

You rested your chin towards the edge of his chair—yes, mere inches between your face and his clothed cock, but your breath probably wasn’t even hitting it. From this angle, you and Aizawa could share that suspicious glare he shot you, so you backed up the half-inch for your chin to rest of the very brink of the chair—he closed his eyes, his shoulders losing their stiffness—and you leant your head against his thigh, just on the inside of his knee. He heaved a silent sigh, giving a subtle roll of his eyes, and minutely nodded—an act so slight that if you hadn’t been looking for it, you would’ve missed it.

Aizawa’s hand came to rest atop your head, scratching his fingers gently against your scalp. Part of it’s the soulmate bond; part of it’s being touch-starved, but his gentle scratch was so fucking soothing that a hazy, relaxed sleepiness came over you. Your head sagged, nose pressing towards the underside of his thigh, while your eyes crossed. Maybe it’s the magic of his sleeping bag, but you’re so drowsy that the scratch of his short nails almost drowned out clicking footsteps approach the desk.

Aizawa froze, his hand stilling in your hair.

“What are we supposed to do with our tests?” came the whisper of a business student.

Aizawa made a grunt and moved as if he were stretching and reaching for something on the desk. “Whatever you normally do. Is there not a routine?”

“The basket we turn papers in to is missing.” The shadow of the student’s feet grew closer to the desk.

“Not my problem. Just leave them on the corner of the desk—” A tinny clink echoed through the teacher desk when Aizawa tapped it—his thumb swiping over your forehead to calm you.

“Gotcha,” said the business student, and you thought you were in the clear before she asked, “What—what are you doing under…?”

“Oh?” Aizawa jolted the chair forward to hide you, but with the jolt came his clothed cock pressed against your face; even through the thick fabric you could tell it’s his shaft pressed against the length of your nose and corner of mouth and balls nestled against your chin and cheek. “I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to text under my desk, the same as all of you do when you think I can’t see.” A metallic-sounding object scraped across the desktop, followed by an impulsively-large-sounding gulp.

“Your phone’s on your desk, sir,” said the business student.

His fingers now curled into your hair in a vain attempt to pull you away from his cock, but he couldn’t, with the scant room under the desk and bulk of his sleeping bag. Trying to be polite, you opted to avert your gaze from his crotch (even though it was right there), which shuddered so hard that you saw and felt it.

“It’s a common practise for pro-heroes to have secondary phones purely for work,” said Aizawa, taking another loud swallow of his drink. “You may want to invest in one.”

“Gotcha,” said the business student again, just as another shadow joined her at the desk and whispered for her to hurry up.

When they both retreated, Aizawa stealthily scooted back to gain some space in a move that looked like he was simply leaning back in his chair to drain the tea out of his cup—and you savoured the unshielded view of the tender skin of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed—and hey, that’s—Aizawa relaxed enough to glance down at you, elbow on the arm of the chair, holding in the air the teacup you gifted him to replace the one you broke (nowhere nearly as nice as the pottery one you smashed presumably was, but its deep crimson glaze had reminded you of his quirk-activated eyes).

You were strangely moved that he was using your gift so quickly after he received it, in public, and not where you were supposed to see it being used.

Your eyes darted between the cup and his eyes until he noticed, and he raised the teacup just a hair in a toast. Nodding with a tired smile, you wormed your arm around to unwind his hand from its grip in your hair, unintentionally still tight, and held his gaze as you kissed the pad of each finger, starting with his little finger, the pink flashing from each tip until you pressed your lips against his thumb.

Aizawa never looked away, but he narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. You wondered for a moment if he liked the thumbprint bisecting the centre of your lips, the rounded edge aligning with the dip in your cupid’s bow. But his expression betrayed nothing, and instead, he raised the teacup to his own mouth, his hand returning to your hair for the rest of the period.

After the last student had petered out of the classroom and Aizawa had given an uncharacteristic little wave as the last one close the door behind her, Aizawa held out a groan as he kicked away from the desk, his hands flying to adjust his lower jumpsuit and then raking his fingers back through his own hair.

“How are you holding up?”

You balked. “How am I?” You shoved at his knees so that you had room to stand, and you sat on the desk.

Aizawa pointedly nudged your legs together (you hadn’t even thought of it that way). “Nice pyjamas.”

“You’re lucky I don’t sleep naked,” you said, plucking at your shirt.

“Am I?”

Was that…was he flirting?

Your surprise must have shown on your face, because he continued. “You shouldn’t walk back to the dorms like that. I don’t have anything at the school besides a spare jumpsuit, but Hizashi should have his jacket draped on his chair in the faculty lounge.”

“How romantic,” you said, flicking the side of his teacup for the hell of it.

“I don’t have another class to sub until the period after this one,” he said, pocketing his phone and other personals on the desk before handing the teacup to you, “Let’s go.”

Present Mic was gloriously absent from the faculty lounge, so there was no one to stop Aizawa from laying his stuff on his desk and swiping the jacket off the back of Mic’s chair. You set the teacup on the cat coaster and had just barely turned his way before he was sweeping the open jacket around your shoulders. Aizawa lifted the leather while you slipped your arms inside, and he zipped you up, stopping the zipper just above the curve of your boobs. You looked down, and he flicked the zipper up at you with a smirk.

“Are we married yet?”

His hand dropped from your zipper. “I saw what you did with the registration form. You’re not funny.”

“I happen to be hilarious,” you said, “I assume to want to adjust the mark?”

Nodding, Aizawa waited for you to tilt your head up and to the side. “I am not marrying you. You’re my student.” He grazed the usual spot behind your ear with his ring finger.

“And someday I won’t be.” You shivered as the frisson of his touch rolled through you. “You’d rather have even more paperwork, bureaucratical hoops, and possibly a ceremony at a later, inevitable date than one simple checkmark on a sheet? Not very logical, sensei.”

He frowned. “Stop that.”

A beat. “No otherwise rebuttal?” you asked, grinning, “You agree, then, that we’re going to end up together? That we’ll be—”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Funny,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek, eyeing Snipe in the far corner of the room, “Then, hey. Compromise. What if we just hang out with no romantic or sexual connotations whatsoever? I wanna get to know you better. You’re cool.”

Aizawa crossed his arms and followed your gaze to Snipe, who was bent over in his seat, cleaning one of his guns. “Think about it. Would you trust a teacher who spends time outside of school with a student?”

“How’s the training with Shinsou going?”

“You are not funny.”

“And everybody knows you’re training Shinsou, and they’re fine with it. You could say you’re training me,” you said, stepping closer to him, looking him in the eyes despise his hunkering down into his scarf, “Please say you’re training me. I want to spend time with you. Hell, actually train me. You could make me strong enough that you don’t have to worry about me, or any bullshit. C’mon, Aizawa. Please.”

“That,” he said, “I can easily deny you. Now, get back to the dorms. I’d like to—”

“What? Why,” you said with a whine, “How can you say that so quickly? You didn’t even think about it.”

“Yeah?” Aizawa turned to his desk to boot up the computer. “It’s because you’re already strong enough to take care of yourself. I don’t have to worry about you in a fight,” he said, just barely crinkling his eyes, so you figured that he’s smiling beneath his capture weapon, “Keeping you from being a fool—now, that’s something I’ll have to watch for.”

You groaned. Loudly. And for way too long. “Whatever. May I sit on your lap while you grade?”

“No,” said Aizawa, not missing a beat, “Go back to the dorm.”

“You want me to check on Eri?”

“Sure. That’d be—really nice. Let me know—”

“Yeah?” Grinning, you bounced on the balls of your feet. “How am I supposed to do that? Sounds like I might need a certain phone number.”

Aizawa collapsed in his cracked, leather lounge chair and spun it towards his cubicle desk. “No need. If you don’t shift to me in the next half hour, I’ll assume everything’s fine.”

“Oh, come on. I feel like I deserve some sort of treat for not mentioning your half-chub while it was in my face earlier.”

Aizawa rubbed at his temple, his eyes strained. “I’m busy grading and don’t have time to talk.”

He was staring into a blank screen.

“Fine, you big baby. I’ll concede to you this time,” you said, and before you could lose your nerve, you leant over to kiss the top of his head.

You’d bolted for the door before he could even turn around.

***

It was supposed to be a routine field exercise.

The hero course had been split into teams, each under the leadership of a faculty member, for a field assessment as twenty percent of your grade for your final semester. As an extension of the personal study starting with the student presentations from earlier, you were in the group focusing on stealth headed by Aizawa, along with Bakugou, Aoyama, and Todoroki (who swopped into your group last minute, since Midnight declared that he needed to get away from her group working on public relations). Bummed that no other girls were in the group, you resolved to make it work by being better than the boys. Not to mention that the three included would, hopefully, be dense enough to miss the subtler interactions between Aizawa and you that betrayed something else going on.

The four of you were to know as little as possible about the assignment as possible before going in, so you all spent the week leading up to it making contingency plans (you’d been told not to go out otherwise that week, so Midnight had to do her own work, for once, at Sakura Grove), with maps of the city and subway splayed out on the floor in the common room, along with bowls of trail mix Bakugou had thrown together, claiming that Aoyama’s stuff was bullshit (though you had enjoyed it very much when you ate it in secret that morning). All you’d been told was that you’d be making an escort in secret, without the target even knowing you were there.

No contingency plan could account for this.

A thunderstorm popped up on the radar out of nowhere, delaying the plane’s arrival, and the airport radio signal had been scrambled, fed into a different language, and back again. If you’d been allowed more details during preparation, you’d have more of the story, but all you could piece together now was excruciatingly obvious: the airport’s east wing exploded and caved before the plane even hit it, and now you were trapped underground under wet, crumbly tonnes of rubble, confined to a pocket of space barely tall enough to stand in, with the only structure keeping half of an airport bathroom’s mirrored wall from collapsing and crushing you being the charred, lower third of a column from the airport courtyard.

“You can’t blow our way out,” you hissed at Bakugou, who was climbing his way up the column to prod at the ceiling, “The column’s load-bearing.”

“I know that,” Bakugou said, contorting his upper body and neck as he gawped with his mouth open at the debris above him, “I’m just seein’ if there’s any light from the surface comin’ through, or if there’s anywhere rainwater’s drippin’ in.”

Hunching with his upper back grazing the rubble ceiling at the tallest point in the collapsed space, Aizawa frantically fussed with his work phone (which he genuinely had, after all) and his radio, unable to get a signal. “Be careful with your movements,” he said, mind barely in the conversation, “You could make the debris slip, or it could get weighed down with rain and further collapse. At worst, you want it to settle. Aoyama, are you getting anything?”

Tapping the AI filter on his sparkle shades away, Aoyama tore his gaze away from his handheld device’s screen. “Alas,” he said with a quivering frown. His ankle was being wrapped by Todoroki, who had been careful to refill the place in the concrete where Aoyama’s foot had been with ice, keeping the space intact.

“It’s fine; you’re doing well. Keep an eye on the signal. We want to know if we get one.” Aizawa handed his phone to you, giving you a short nod and the same job. “Todoroki, keep that cavity frozen. Keep an eye out for similar spot about to collapse and do the same.”

“I’m assuming this isn’t part of the assignment, since you’re taking charge,” you said under your breath to Aizawa, your back to the others as you stooped to stand yourself, arms crossed, “What relevant information can you share about the assignment that might get us out of here? Who were we escorting? If we know who they have for allies, then we can start to understand how the signals are scrambled and how to walk out of this situation.”

Aizawa stuck his tongue in his cheek. “None of it’s relevant. Our target has been isolated for well over four years and was being processed by professionals. She wouldn’t have had any opportunity to sabotage this procedure; St. Philomena’s has kept our target from having untracked outside communication.”

An uneasy stone dropped into the pit of your stomach. “St. Philomena’s,” you said slowly, biting your lip, “That’s a women’s penitentiary.”

Aizawa opened his mouth to answer but instead inhaled a mouthful of dust as the earth shook and clattered around you. Bakugou braced the column while you and Aizawa kept the bathroom wall steady, but the mirror shattered and fell with the wall, with Todoroki grabbing you out of the way of the sink from crushing your legs, icing the concrete shards into a makeshift support for the column, enough for Bakugou to twist out from underneath it. You gasped in deep breaths of powdery concrete yet dug into wet clods of silt and grime with the heels of your boots.

The ceiling had caved in by about two feet in height, and if Aoyama hadn’t skibbled away from his spot in the corner, he’d be buried under glass and tile. You experimentally knelt and stretched towards the ceiling—good for you, for having some room to move upwards, but Aizawa could only sit, now. Every heaving breath from your friends was too close for your liking, and the stone fell from your stomach right into your gut when you noticed the steady trickle of water between the rocks and down the column, cutting a clear, ivory path through the grey dust coating it. Bakugou scooted out of the ways of its dripping, letting it instead drain in a puddle next to him.

You and Bakugou nearly jumped out of your skins at the skrrrt of Aizawa’s radio, but nothing came through except static.

“We’re okay,” said Aizawa, once Aoyama started to show signs of hyperventilation, “The static is a good sign. Even if we can’t communicate specifics, they have a location on us. They know we’re down here, and if it seems like they’re taking too long, remember that civilians are the priority. We’ll be all right.”

Claustrophobia.

Not your favourite.

But Aoyama was clearly having a worse time handling it, so it’s better to set an example for him—see how calm you are? See how much you’re not being selfish, curling into Aizawa’s arms for him to pet your hair until it’s over, keeping him all to yourself, even though it’d be really easy to pretend like it’s the size of the cavern instead of your own selfish desires that’s making you touch him. See how mature you’re being, not even touching Aizawa, even though he’s right next to you. You’re being rational about the whole thing.

Todoroki stared off, his bright eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, and he parted his lips, wetting them slightly before speaking. “You should move closer to Aoyama,” he said to Bakugou, “Someone’s hurt.”

“The hell d’you mean?” When Todoroki gestured, Bakugou followed his gaze.

The water’s white path through the dust congealed and blushed deep vermillion as it coursed down the column, falling in thick, steady plops next to Bakugou, the upsplash ticking his exposed skin with red.

“Holy shit.” Bakugou scrambled away the best he could, kicking away from the water and practically into your lap, but he shot you a sort-of apologetic look and shuffled into more of Todoroki’s personal space. “Do you think—it’s not blood,” he said, smearing it on his arm, still running a dark red even spread thinly.

Aoyama cringed. “It’s not going to—it won’t fill up the—”

“No,” Bakugou said quickly, “It’s drainin’ through the cracks. We’re fine, Aoyama.” Bakugou made a point of dragging his hard glare from Todoroki to you, as if to say that keeping Aoyama calm was essential to getting out.

You checked Aizawa’s phone again for any signal, and, sighing, you stowed it to keep from scratching the screen.

“Nothing?”

Shaking your head at Aizawa, you resisted the heavy urge to rest your forehead on his shoulder. You know what? Maybe you could. He’s right there, and if you did it in this situation, it could be read as a simply act of comfort that you could have easily shared with anyone, perhaps. The two of you could stare romantically into the dripping, red goop, talk about your lives together, about teaching your psychotic friends, about sidekicking at Sakura Grove—

“Hey, don’t touch that,” you said, jolting in your seat, to Todoroki, who stopped, wide-eyed, in his odd stretch over Bakugou’s lap before he could prod with his outstretched finger the congealed mass accumulating in the puddle, “I think I know what that is.”

Beside you, Aizawa sucked in through his teeth. “Just once, I wish your deduction skills weren’t so good.”

Without averting your gaze, you moved to elbow him in the chest, hard, but he caught your arm and held it deathly still: he only touched you by your sleeve, though, so no soulmark would bleed through. Odds were that the mark was still furtively hidden behind your ear. Frowning, you tried to wrest your arm away from him, eyes on the falling droplet heavy enough to break the surface tension of the gathered, congealed mass, making the whole thing burst upwards in a dense, ruby smoke.

“Get down, as close to the ground as you can,” you said in a rush, cut off when Aizawa shoved your head to the ground with his hand on the back of your neck, his face inches from yours and only moving closer as he made room for the others to join you, cheek smushed against a patch of intact bathroom tile.

“It’s aerosolising,” said Aizawa, eyes darting over the ceiling, where the mist was rising through cracks in the rubble, “Follow where it’s escaping; we might be able to use—”

“No, you fucker,” you hissed (Aizawa squeezed the back of your neck), “Not all of it’s going to escape. It’s going to condense into liquid again on any surface that blocks it and then drop back on us.”

“Someone tell me what the hell is going on,” spat Bakugou, voice muffled from behind you but strangely reverberating back through the curved metal of Aoyama’s armour.

“We’re only going to be safe on the ground if it doesn’t condense, which is un-fucking-likely the way the thunderstorm’s moistened and lowered atmospheric pressure,” you said, the sound of water rinsing through crannies in the rocks growing from the far side of the cavern, “Aoyama, try to breath evenly but shallowly; you don’t wanna inhale this.”

The knuckles of Bakugou’s heavy glove struck the centre of your upper back. “Dumbass. Just tell him to hyperventilate, why don’t you?”

A drop of red water fell onto Todoroki’s pale cheek, sizzling with the impact as it was absorbed into his skin, a miniature puff of smoke emitting from the spot.

After a moment of heavy silence, Aizawa shifted his jaw, his eyes dark as they focused on you. “Academic protocols are over. Time to share what you know about Serendipity’s quirk.”

You dropped your jaw, even with the grit digging into your skin and jaw. “Who’s the insane person who assigned a bunch of students to escort fucking Serendipity—”

“I am,” said Aizawa, grip on your neck tightening and eyes flaring scarlet so briefly that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been inches away, “Considering your high level of academic success, I thought you capable enough to complete a more difficult mission than your—”

“Someone just fuckin’ say what her quirk does!” Bakugou’s hand curled into a fist with the fabric of your hero costume taut between its fingers, his fist lay, overheated, between your shoulder blades.

You jerked your shoulder away from him, but there wasn’t any room to go, so his hand stayed on your back, putting distance between the two of you, though his knees and hips still touched the back of yours. “Okay,” you said after settling, glaring directly into Aizawa’s eyes, “Serendipity is the third most dangerous villain in the western hemisphere, evidently being transferred today to the place Midnight and I work, because fucking no one else wants to handle her. C’mon, Aizawa, is that why I wasn’t allowed at work for the past week? So I wouldn’t know? Fucking—” You tried to give a half-hearted kick to Aizawa, but his thumb curled enough around your neck to locate your pulse point, which he pressed down on in warning. “But yeah, her quirk is so volatile and dangerous because—because yes, it’s a sex pollen quirk, but it’s fast, and you can’t solve it by touching yourself, like other sex quirks we’ve seen used for villainy; you have to orgasm at someone else’s hands. And no one can figure out why your internal organs shrivel and die within four hours—”

You inhaled sharply through your teeth as two droplets sizzled into your skin in quick succession, but the squeeze on your neck told you to continue. “Or the brain damage, or—because her quirk’s been studied, but no one can tell if it requires the feed of dopamine to the body, or not getting enough oxygenated blood cells, or capillary damage, or—” Bakugou thumped your back again. “—but no one is immune to it, and it’s fucking terrifying,” you finished, scrunching your eyes shut at the sensation of more droplets searing into your skin and into those around you, each person inhaling more with each individual puff of smoke from the viscous drops.

Tongue too big for your mouth, you trailed off, eyesight blurring as you zoned out for a just a bit, but you lurched back into reality when a hot ache stung the back of your neck and swept through your body. Aizawa retracted his hand faster than a viper striking, his eyes briefly holding the same dread yours did.

Shaken, you pushed yourself up to sit, and to your horror, an enormous gush of arousal pooled between your legs—you snapped your legs shut at the sight of the wet spot on your hero costume (and worse, the dribbling into the gravel), and Aizawa saw, holding a steady, neutral expression despite your visible panic.

“Fuck, baby—”

It hadn’t come from Aizawa but Bakugou, whose hips you’d inadvertently ground against when you sat up. His large hand came to grip your waist, fingers digging in and pulling your ass back against him, and his other hand clamped over his nose and mouth as he pushed himself up. “I’ve always known you smelled good, but this is somethin’ else—”

“Absolutely not.” Aizawa yoinked you away from Bakugou and put himself between the you and the rest, cramping you into the corner with pointed rocks digging into your back, and he held up his hand, Bakugou glaring a hole into his palm, vermillion streaking down his face. “You’re drugged. She’s drugged. Even if you both say you want it, it’s not a reflection of reality.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue, but Todoroki tilted to the side to keep his tense gaze on you.

“No,” said Aizawa, using the scant room and the end of his capture weapon to snap in Todoroki’s face, “You’d be ruining the professional relationship you have. You’d be violating her. There’s no way she’d actually want you.”

Bakugou scoffed over Todoroki’s quiet how do you know that, already palming himself through his costume. “I’d rather risk it all blasting out of here than suck Icy-Hot’s dick.” His other hand crackled with the beginnings of an explosion.

“You can’t,” you said with effort, mouth and throat coated with dust as heat rose to your skin, sweat breaking out at your hairline, “If you’re not a heteromorph, Serendipity’s quirk suppresses yours. It—it overwhelms your entire system—”

“You couldn’t mention that before I got hard?” Bakugou scowled, thumb playing with his belt buckle in consideration. “I would’ve blasted us out of here earlier.”

Aizawa shook his head. “It wouldn’t’ve worked—”

Todoroki made a sort of horting noise in the back of his throat, drawing everyone’s attention, before hacking a thick glob of red mucus right onto a spot of white bathroom tile, large trails of saliva trailing from his mouth.

“Holy shit,” you said softly, your eyebrows shooting up, and Aizawa held you back before you could even move.

“Mon Dieu,” said Aoyama, and he removed his sparkle shades to see it without a red filter.

Aizawa’s radio crackled static again, but nobody moved a muscle.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Aizawa, his hand still up but hardly deterring an increasingly twitchy Bakugou, who kept staring at you over Aizawa’s shoulder, “Aoyama, you’re probably going to hurt yourself and others if you stay in your armour. If you think you can handle being more vulnerable, take it off. Prop it up between the three of you and us.” The radio hissed again. “We’re going to camp out here until help arrives. Waiting is the heroic path to take sometimes,” he said in Bakugou’s direction, “If you find yourself succumbing to the quirk, that’s okay. It’s not shameful. No one is immune to it. If you can work it out among yourselves, that’s fine. No one here is going to share any details you don’t want out.” But here his voice darkened, and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew Aizawa was shooting a hard, unmerciful look towards them. “But you’re not going to hurt anyone here, and you’re especially not going to take advantage of her because she’s the only woman. To get her, you’ll have to go through me, and I do not intend to be kind.”

“Fucking hell,” said Bakugou, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off.

You were feeling a similar way, but Aizawa had you so backed into the corner that there wasn’t room to take anything off. So, instead of tearing off the increasingly abrasive and scratchy fabric of your hero uniform, you hugged your knees to your chest, thighs clenching, and bit down on your arm to keep from crying out. A choked sound still escaped you as a leather strap on your upper thigh rubbed closer to a more sensitive spot.

You couldn’t even lift a hand to fan your face—but with how heavy your limbs felt, even the promise of cool air couldn’t bring you to attempt it, and instead, you tried to find relief in the cold press of busted bathroom tile at the back of your neck—and you turned your head to feel it against your cheek, too.

Your hips rocked, knocking your legs against Aizawa’s back, and when he turned over his shoulder to spare you a glance, you jolted as far back as you could away from him. Not that you could go anyway but barely half an inch backwards. “Sorry,” you said quickly, shaking your head, “Didn’t mean to. Really. I—” Your heart flipped at his concerned face (himself looking a little red), and a sharp cramp curdled into your lower stomach. “Oh, fuck,” you said, a hand shooting to your stomach and doubling over—but your forehead grazed him before you could, and you let out a quiet yelp before jerking back into place, tears welling at the pain. “Sorry about that.”

Aizawa grimaced at your weak smile and turned back towards the others. You hadn’t even heard what they’re doing, since the blood pumping in your ears apparently deafened you to anything besides your own half-smothered sobs into your arm. 

They were growing louder at their frustration, but they were, for the most part, not directing any of it at you. Hey, is—? Over Aoyama’s armour-wall, it looked like Bakugou might have gotten his cock out to start stroking it; maybe you could get a better look—

“Hey,” said Aizawa, blocking your view when he turned over his shoulder, “Stop all that squirming.” Were you? You hadn’t even noticed. “Remember what I’ve taught you. I know you can do better.”

“Oh, don’t say professor-y things like that,” you said with a whine while, yes, squirming in place, “It goes straight to my cunt.”

 Aizawa closed his eyes for a moment, but he soon opened them and continued, unaffected. “Focus. I’m holding you to a higher calibre than your peers, because I know you can do it. What have you been taught about remaining calm in crisis? Ground yourself.”

“But I—”

“Do it.”

You huffed and tried to settle down into your body, counted, and exhaled slowly as you shut your eyes, waiting for your other sense to sharpen. Body scan—focusing on flowing energy, starting at your head, down to your toes, and back up again. But you had trouble on the return to the top of your head, since every cell in your body screamed to zoom in on the throbbing in your lower half—hard to say what’s tremoring more: you, or the walls of the cavern.

But there’s an infinitesimal sound that drowns every other maddening, oversensitive sensation: from the back of Aizawa’s throat comes a quiet, breathy whimper.

And—

“Oh, my fucking God,” you said, noticing all of the surreptitious ways Aizawa was trying to hide how affected he was: his hand clasped in a knuckle-whitening fist covering his lap, eyes watering with frustration, jaw tensed, neck and hand veins pulsating, sweating through his undershirt, and you?

Wetting your lips, you strained forward to brush his hair aside to kiss the back of his neck, and Aizawa fucking shuddered, the thing passing through his whole body. Though it hadn’t been your intention, your legs spread as you did so, parting on either side of him, and his hair flew into your face as he took in your legs surrounding him.

“Hey, no,” he said, and he pushed back on your legs, willing you to scrunch up to hug them to your chest again.

“I’m not doing anything—”

“You fucking are,” Aizawa hissed over his shoulder, “You’re being a goddamn brat.”

That shut you up immediately. Feeling slick drip out of you, you curled in on yourself, tucking your legs up to your chest like he wanted.

“That’s what I thought.” He turned back to keep guard.

His shoulders seemed wider than before.

 Maybe it’s the heady, prickling excitement swarming in your chest at the unspoken threat of a punishment turned sexual, or maybe it’s the incoming brain damage, but you rounded up every nerve not currently on fire to keep pushing your luck. “Aizawa,” you said, soft enough for only him to hear over the squelching from the far side of the cavern, “If we were alone right now, what would you do to me?”

He didn’t respond.

An easy grin stretched across your face.

“Because I know there’s got to be stuff you wanna do to me, not with me, for how I behave sometimes. But I only want your attention,” you said, feeling a bit dizzy as heat flushed all over your feverish skin, “I know you can’t give it to me, because you wanna be all noble and stuff, but—”

Another cramp had you gasping and hacking up red-tinged spit. Aizawa started to turn his head, but you told him, totally deflated, “Don’t bother. I’m sorry—” You coughed up more red mucus. “I know I’m gross; I know you can’t look at me that way; I’m sorry I’ve been—I’m sorry.”

How can he be so calm? It’s not fucking fair that he can just sit there, cross-legged and sweating, with the scent of sex permeating the smoke-hazy air, and yes, he’s hard, but that’s just the stupid fucking quirk.

You’re dripping and clenching but still so, so empty, and the tears finally overflowed as Aizawa looked over his shoulder at you again. “I’m sorry,” you said again, eyes glazing over and breathing irregularly (for all the talk about Aoyama hyperventilating, you might be the one to actually do it). “I’ll—I’ll stop bothering you; I can handle this. I’ll, uh—” You cut yourself off at another cramp, seizing up at a stray spasm, releasing your hold on your legs and yanking at the roots of your hair. “Don’t worry about me; I’ll get—get Shinsou to make me come—sorry I tried to—I’m sorry; I should’ve left you alone—”

“Stop apologising.” Aizawa twisted to brush away your tears with his thumb, the skin that vibrant pink when he pulled away. “Christ, you’re burning up.” He hand returned to your face, this time against your forehead, and he frowned—yeah, he was frowning before you were pathetically raising yourself off the ground to nuzzle into his hand, to mouth voraciously at his palm, which flushed pink with every pass of your lips, and—

“Fuck,” said Aizawa, withdrawing his hand to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. You made a questioning noise, and to answer, he let his gaze drop to where the soaked patch between your legs dribbled into the rubble. He dragged his hands down the rest of his face. “You’re drenched,” he said, rasping.

A vehement moan from the other side of the space made both of you flinch, with Aizawa making a quick check to ensure their attention wasn’t on you.

You grabbed his capture weapon, pulling him close. “Please,” you said, panting, “Please, ‘Zawa, I’m not as capable as you think I am; I’m not good; I can’t take it. Please—”

His teeth dug into his lower lip as a grumbled scoff came from the back of this throat, and he shook his head. “God, not like this. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

Another loud moan and the sounds of skin on skin from the others brought another wince from the two of you, and Aizawa squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he’d steeled himself, determined and set. “I can’t have you corrupting my protégé,” he said (it was a joke, right? Why isn’t he smiling?), “but I can’t offer you anything more.”

“Wha—?”

Aizawa was nudging your knees open, his eyebrows raised, and when he turned to face the others, he scooted backwards to sit between your spread legs, pinning you between the rock and his back, crowding you in, and oh, oh, my God, you should’ve been embarrassed at how wet the back of his jumpsuit got as he pushed himself back to sit right in front of your crotch, but the first, pulsing wave of relief as your clit rubbed against him washed everything else away.

Did this count? Did this count as coming at someone else’s hands? You found the problem less compelling the more you thrashed against him, grinding your clit against his back so hard that your vision blacked out at the edges, breathing in that terribly awful frustrating sexy combination of pine and sandalwood, desperately huffing it in in gasping breaths and curling your fingers into the back of his jumpsuit to bring him closer: you needed to kiss the back of his neck again, to see that pink mark on his skin.

But it’s as if he knew what you were going to do, because instead of letting you pull his hair aside, he reached back to grab your hand, and he (mercifully) allowed the grab to relax into a hold, letting you lace your fingers through his as he guided your arm around his waist (an evil part of you was disappointed that he didn’t place your hand over his cock, instead of resting your entwined hands on his leg [cute]).

And you were quiet: you didn’t moan, so the others wouldn’t know, unless they could somehow make out your laboured breathing behind the hand you cupped over your mouth. You’re grappling for pressure against your clit, but it’s your shiver when he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb that triggered your orgasm—pounding, rushing, and all at once, the throbbing of your clit taking you somewhere distant and piney, with you slowly coming back to reality by an abrupt pulsing, for some reason, in the roof of your mouth.

And the quirk had passed through you.

It counted.

But it kept you bound in a tired haze, sultry and lethargic and red, and lost in the lingering high of both the scarlet saliva you kept hacking up and that Aizawa let you grind against him until you came, you closed in on yourself and did your best to stay awake. Your brain tried to worry about Aizawa, but the quirk shushed you and forced you into a cloudy exhaustion.

You were out of it when Aizawa’s radio crackled to life, when the rescue unit exhumed your team, when the EMT on duty looked you over. You were still foggy when you were put in a passenger seat of a government vehicle, but the fog dissipated when Aizawa climbed in the driver’s seat and told you to call Midnight.

“I don’t know the number for Sakura Grove,” he said, turning on the windshield wipers, “and I need to warn Midnight that I’m asking her to help me with this quirk.”

Thunder rumbled through the sky and into your bones as he turned into downtown traffic, headlights blurring in the rain. Blankly, you wrestled his phone out of your pocket and began to dial her work number. “Okay, traitor.”

Aizawa’s expression darkened, his face glistening with sweat. “You know that I can’t—”

“So I can’t do the same for you?” you asked, putting his phone on speaker and letting it ring (cranking up the volume to hear it over the rain pelting the windows), “I can’t just, like, hold out my hand for you to grind against, or, God forbid, give you an actual fucking handjob—”

“Stop it,” he said, and he snatched his phone from you, switching off speaker, and you crossed your arms to fume, staring out into the miserably grey morning.

You smushed your forehead against the cool of the window, watching the raindrops chase each other down the glass, and you tried to focus on car horns blaring instead of the conversation regarding Aizawa’s sexual release that he and Midnight were currently having.

When he hung up, you sat up from your slouch against the window. “Is that all you need me for, then? You’ve got the number. You might as well drop me off at the next light.”

Aizawa swore under his breath. “Stop being such a—” He cut himself off, his leg not working the pedals bouncing profusely. “I still need you to enter Sakura Grove.”

That was true. You had three number-codes to punch in for clearance, and there was a thumbprint scan at the building in which you and Midnight worked. Still, you scoffed. “Just get Nemuri to let you in. You evidently don’t need me.”

The hand on the steering wheel tensed, veins pulsing. “First name basis?”

“Some professors like me.”

“Forget I said anything,” he grumbled, and when you turned to the window again, he mashed on the car radio, volume loud over the rain.

After a babble of a drum solo and what sounded like shouting in English, you were able to translate the song in your head by the time it hit the chorus:

“Got it bad, so bad, I’m hot for teacher.”

Aizawa stared, baffled, at the radio instead of the road as the guitar picked up, and he changed stations.

Again, in English, but with a hypnotically alt-relaxed beat: “Can’t tell my friends, ‘cause they will laugh; I love a member of the staff.”

You sneaked a glance at the driver’s seat, where Aizawa was fighting traffic, his erection, and his incredulity at what he was hearing.

“I fight my way to the front of class to get the best view of her—”

Aizawa changed stations before the singer could finish the couplet, and he sank into his seat at the safe sounds of synth and guitar, but you sat up straight, eyes wide and biting back a laugh, because you knew what the fuck was coming:

“Don’t stand—don’t stand so, don’t stand so close to me—”

Aizawa smashed the radio’s off button, seething. He ran his fingers back through his hair, and after a deep breath, he opened his mouth. “What’d you do,” he asked flatly.

“Me?” you said, pointing at yourself, doing your fucking best not to smile, “What makes you think I’ve done something?”

Aizawa was panting. Chest heaving. Sweat visibly dripping down his face. Free hand darting between a superfluous position on the wheel, resting on the car door, and bunching up his jumpsuit to hide his erection, which only drew attention to it. “You didn’t—you and Nemuri didn’t orchestrate all this, did you?” he asked, teeming with nervous energy, “It’s a little—it’s a little too perfect for you, to get to see me dishevelled and desperate, to nearly get me to cave into what you want.”

Several feelings flooded you at once: revulsion at the suggestion you made a criminal use her quirk on you, anger that he’d even consider it to be in your character when he’s known you for years (and more anger that he thought you would want to lose your virginity with three other guys in the room), a wretched, clawing desperation to prove him wrong and beg for forgiveness—and a creeping disgust and shame towards yourself, for having been so vulnerable in his presence when he didn’t want it or you.

Time to shut down. “C’mon, Aizawa. That’s not very logical in the grand scheme of things,” you said, scathingly using his favourite word, propping your chin on your fist, and leaning against the window again, “And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t let it end with my fucking soulmate going to someone else to make him come, especially when I was similarly helpless.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you—”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” you said bitterly, “but I wouldn’t do that. To you or to me. I don’t do things that would humiliate or hurt you.” You scooted closer towards the car window, away from him and his stupid pine aftershave. “I guess I’m a brat, yeah, but I’m not mean.”

To have something to do instead of talk to him, you exhumed the car manual from the glove compartment and started to read it, and you read that dull fucking piece of crap until you were forced to punch in your clearance codes for Sakura Grove.

As soon as he was inside the main building and out of sight, you slammed the manual and the glove compartment shut, and you screamed. No one would’ve heard you over the thunderstorm, anyway. Comforting that the weather was as angry as you.

You unbuckled and cosied up in your seat, glaring at the curtain of mist blowing rain horizontal outside. Lightning illuminated a worker rushing from one building to another, and she had to double back to get her ballet flat, hopping slightly to put it back on.

You don’t have another work shift until Monday, but you kind of wanted to clock in, anyway. It’d be satisfying to bitch about the whole thing with Ito. She’d tear into Aizawa. He deserves it.

Slunking down into your seat, you were struck with new terror: what if Aizawa were right? What if you did, inadvertently, plan this out, by inhaling Ito’s quirk dust a second time? Sex pollen was…sex pollen was a trope. A pretty fucking common one.

Oh, my God.

You clamped a hand over your mouth and tried to work out the logistics. Serendipity was already scheduled to arrive in Japan regardless of you inhaling the dust again, and—fuck fuck fuck. You didn’t like this.

You swallowed thickly, turning it all over in your head, and as the variables overlapped and blurred in your mind, you started to cry.

“Goddammit,” you said aloud, sitting up and dabbing at your face with your sleeve. You’ve already cried a lot today, and it’s not even noon. You’re taking a nap when you get back to campus.

You know who else likes naps?

You fucking sobbed harder, even though you were laughing a bit, too. You decided that you were too worn out to make any sound judgments. Go to sleep once you get back, and think about it when you wake up.

You sniffed and looked towards the door to the main building. God, he’s taking a long time. You’d figure that he’d edged himself to oblivion and back during the car ride, but no—

The next instant, you tensed up, frazzled, because a half-dressed Aizawa’s straddling you, hips jerking, driving into your own and biting into his fist as he came on your shirt, cum spurting all the way up to your boobs.

The groan he released once the spill of his cum slowed to a slight dribble nearly wrecked your ears and stopped your breath. You’re hastily, desperately drinking up details, eyes flicking over them rapidly in case they’re snatched away before you could notice: the weeping, pink tip of his cock, the only part of his dick peeking out of his jumpsuit’s lower half—the trail of dark hair leading up to it from his naval, framed by an infuriating v on his lithely muscled abdomen—all of his exposed, corded muscles of his chest, tendons visibly stretching and contracting in his forearms—and when he wiped that final drop of cum off his cock, it was with the thumb stained with soulmark pink.

Of course, for how much relaxation coursed through his body, it all fled him the second he finally opened his eyes.

You expected that he’d scramble to cover himself up and off of you, but once that initial panic faded, all he was left with was resignation. He yanked up the elastic of his boxer-briefs to hide his cock, and, sighing, he said, “Please. Please don’t say anything. I can’t handle it right now.”

You nodded. His eyes travelled over your face, his expression cracking. “You’re crying,” he said, voice breaking.

“Not because of you,” you said, wiping at your tears, “It’s something I did.”

He wiped away the tear stains on your other cheek. “Let’s find something to clean you up.”

While he twisted to fossick through the console for tissues, you swiped two fingers through the stuff on your shirt. So, this was a man’s cum. Weird. Thick. (You’ve seen some before; you’re not an idiot, but this was your first time, uh, experiencing it. Honestly, it reminded you a bit of the congealed quirk stuff earlier.) You rubbed it between your fingers.

“Oh, what are you doing—no, stop that,” said Aizawa softly, swatting your hand away from your cum-stained shirt. When you eyed the bit on your fingers, Aizawa sighed again. “Don’t taste it.”

He took your hand and wiped it clean, pink ink seeping across skin with every brief touch. He gave you a tissue from the pack he found for your tears, and he used the rest to wipe off your shirt.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anything else for you to wear,” he said, checking the backseat.

“It’s okay,” you said, balling up the tissues and putting them in the centre console, “We’re going straight back to campus. I’ll just shower and go to bed.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Aizawa, and he lifted himself from your lap and moved to cross to the driver’s seat.

You grabbed his arm to stop him. “You should, too. Don’t run yourself dry.”

Aizawa froze, considering, and then he nodded, slowly sinking back onto your lap.

He braced his hands on his thighs. “I’ve been cruel to you.”

Too exhausted to argue, you shrugged. “You have your reasons.”

“I shouldn’t be so cold to you, though. It’s been wearing away at my conscience,” he said, patting his pockets on his thighs and moving down to his calves. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he said, “Give me your phone. You deserve my number, at least.”

You pulled yours out and opened a new contact before handing it over. “You’re sure you’re comfortable with that?”

“Yeah,” said Aizawa, tapping the screen, “So long as it doesn’t…lead to anything out of bounds. And…maybe you can stick around for a while next time you shift in your sleep.” He shot you a smirk as he returned your phone.

The contact name simply read Shouta. No surname or honorifics. Just Shouta.

Heat rose to your face, but it was much pleasanter than when it had earlier that day.

“Are you good to drive back to campus?”

Tilting your head, you pocketed your phone again. “Yeah, I’m up for it.”

“Good,” he said, climbing off of your lap and into the backseat, “I’m going the fuck to sleep.”

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: You First {One-Shot} ***

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: Plenty Of Words, Cursing, NSFW, 18+ Mature Content, Male & Female Receiving,

Words: 7.3k

Summary: Nah!

Note: Written on my phone's Notes app, so please forgive any weird spaces or if the look of this is off.

As always, thank you for reading. I appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!!

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

You stared at the text then busted out laughing yet again. This time you couldn't control yourself. You let it all out not caring how loud you were.

"This fool," you said between gasps of air.

Was that supposed to be a love confession? Was that his way of saying he loved you or wanted to lock you down?  The more you thought about it the more you laughed. This fool couldn't be serious about anything. He always had some kinda joke or funny comeback. At the beginning of the text your heart melted, then at the end your eye roll took over. Did he make this graphic himself? Had he busted open a quote creator app and gotten carried away?

Sighing, you decided to fuck with him. After finding your own quote creator app you got busy creating. It took almost 10 minutes to finish because you quickly got sucked into the process and wanted to make it pretty. You looked it over again then hit send.

The longer you admired your creation, the more you thought you did pretty good.

MSG Lewis:  Are you being serious right now?

As you giggled you typed out your reply.

MSG: Of course! I never lie about put me in the grave stroke game. It's so rare it must never be spoken about unless absolutely true or else you'll never experience it in life.

MSG Lewis:  🙄.

Again, you laughed.

MSG Lewis: See that's what I'm talking about. We're on the same wave length. You get me.

Snorting, you thought about his words.  He was right. You did get him. Often times you knew what he meant halfway through his sentence or knew how he felt just by looking at him, or even knew what he wanted without him uttering a single word. Sometimes you thought your connection was unsettling and it had taken many months for you to even embrace it and accept it for a cosmic connection. Now all you waited for were the 3 little words from his lips. 3 little words he'd been tight lipped with, 3 little words you could tell were at the tip of his tongue but dissolved whenever his brain and instincts entered the chat.

It wasn't that Lewis was a commitmentphobe. He liked all the perks of having a ride or die in his corner,  the support, the loyalty, the bomb sex, the intimacy, the comforting feeling of not going through life alone. He cherished all of that but a lot of times his battle with conquering and progression clouded things. He feared an unfulfilled life, feared not meeting all his goals on his endless list of goals that doubled and even tripled with each milestone he reached. He feared getting lost in anyone for fear of losing himself and his way. 

You'd seen that red flag that waved vigorously over his head the first time you spoke with him. It was a red flag that never went away but it was a red flag that your red flags enjoyed playing with. 

He didn't want to lose himself and neither did you. He wanted companionship and so did you. He wanted loyalty, support, bomb sex, a ride or die in his corner, intimacy that rivaled any other that others experienced, comfort, and goddamn it, so did you. He didn't want to depend on anyone or need someone, and fuck outta here neither did you. 

So, the musical chairs game you played worked well. There were kinks but the way the two of you were in your own personalities, those kinks always worked themselves out. This game, song and dance had been going on for 4 years now.  4 years of no strings attached companionship, loyalty, bomb sex, someone having your back, intimacy and comfort. 4 years of dating in the open in secret. 4 years of this connection and still neither of you had said the words. 

You wondered if it had turned into a game without either of you acknowledging it. Had there been times when the words were at the tip of your tongue? Sure. However you kept a tight chain on that shit because everyone knew that lose lips sink ships. Plus you weren't about to be the one at his mercy,  no matter how strong what you felt for him was.

MSG: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get you as much as you get me.

Putting your phone to the side, you tried to buckle down on the last bit of work so you could enjoy your 4-day weekend ahead.

MSG Lewis: Since I get you and you get me, when can I have you?

Just like that, you were distracted once again.

MSG: Depends. How do you want me?

MSG Lewis: Oh I think you know the answer to that already.

MSG: Nope. Tell me. I'm clueless.

MSG Lewis: I want you bent over the table on my penthouse balcony. Since I walked in and saw it the other day, I haven't been able to atop thinking about it.

MSG Lewis: I want you on your knees in front of me in broad daylight on that same balcony with my dick so far down your throat you can't breathe.

MSG Lewis: I want you against the wall of the pool here. The lights change color depending on the movement of the water and the sounds around. I want to see what pattern your moans make.

Your jaw was dropped, imagination running wild, and panties soaked. Fuck, you thought. For several minutes you just played through each of those fantasies. You didn't even realize how long you'd been trapped in them until your phone rang out startling you. When you saw it was Lewis, you took a few breaths to calm yourself. There was no way you were going to let him know he affected you.

"Hello?

"Were you just touching yourself?"

You scoffed, "I see you think very highly of yourself."

"Just asking."

"Not at all. I'm actually working."

"Boo."

"Says the workaholic."

He chuckled and the deepness of the sound sent a zing of electric current right to your lady parts.

"Mm."

"What was that little butterfly?"

"Nothing. That's a stupid nickname by the way."

"Oh, it definitely was something especially since you're trying to deflect from it by clowning the nickname I gave you. Do you remember why I gave it to you?"

You rolled your eyes.

"Nope. Forgot long time ago."

You were full of shit, you knew it and he knew it.

"Bullshit," Lewis called before continuing, "How could you forget that afternoon we spent having high tea at the garden? Well, we were supposed to be having high tea, instead my head was buried between your thighs barely touching you except for the lite barely there butterfly flicks of my tongue against your clit."

He moaned then and you couldn't help but slip your fingers to the place where you wanted them most. Well, you really wanted his fingers but yours would have to do.

"You remember now, little butterfly?"

Your finger swirled around your slick bud not wasting time with teasing. You wanted a release, and you wanted it now. Truth be told you were quite fond of the nickname. It brought back wonderful memories. Memories of a warm rays beaming on your skin, a gentle breeze caressing your back as his fingers did the same to your inner thigh. What a feeling to be Rosé tipsy and getting amazing head. Not much else could compare in the world.

"Mm you tasted better than those strawberry shortcake scones," Lewis teased.

The more he spoke the faster your finger swirled and the faster your finger swirled the shallower your breathing became.

"Oh little buttlerfly I can hear your breathing. Are you touching yourself to my voice? Using the dirty things I say to get a nut? Does it feel good?"

"Mm."

It was the softest of whimpers, but you knew he heard it. In response, Lewis let out a deep moan and you felt that moan right between your legs.

"Fuck, Lewis," you rasped.

"Tell me does it feel good, Y/N?"

"Ye--," you gasped as a strong wave of pleasure hit you. "Yes!”

"How good?"

"So fucking good," you replied already in a frenzy.

"As good as my fingers? "

You groaned, "No."

"As good as my mouth?"

Your panting turned to whines now as you felt how close you were. "No ne-never."

"As good as this long, thick dick?"

"Oh fuck..."

You heard his muffled grunting and knew he was doing the same thing you were. For a man of immeasurable control, you always pulled him to this point.

"I want your tight little pussy wrapped around my dick right now. I want to fuck you until you can't walk, speak, or even comprehend the English language. Fhhhuck!”

"I'm gonna cum Lewis I'm gonna--gonna...

"Cum with me little butterfly."

On command, your entire being shook as you found your release. Your high-pitched wails filled the room, and you couldn't care less who heard you. You were sure they'd heard far worse through your walls.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Lewis groaned.

You could hear him panting as he tried to get himself back under control.

"Come see me this weekend. I miss you."

"This weekend as in tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I know we have an agreement for at least 48 hour notice but---."

The silence stretched for a while.

"But?"

He sighed, then came rustling as you assumed he changed his positioning.

"I really do miss you," Lewis said, his voice soft and sincere.

You picked up on something else in it...something close to longing. You sat extra still and contemplated his words, allowing them to fully sink in. He sounded so vulnerable so delicate.

Oh boy, here you go, your brain said to your heart before you replied.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You don't know what divine and holy being you had to thank for everything coming together so effortlessly and flawlessly. Somehow you'd managed to snag a squeeze in, last minute show up appointment at your body spa for the works, nails, massage, wax, etc. You even managed to procure all the items from your favorite brands for the weekend in just 3 hours.

Things continued to move smoothly when you breezed through packing, an act that usually would take hours and inconceivable degrees of stress on the PS scale, and managed to be 100% put together in the back of the chauffeured car on the way to the private tarmac just after 1pm the next day. This had to be a record.

By the time you landed in Qatar, the sun was still high in the sky, and you felt like you were seconds away from evaporating into a sparkling plume of magical melanted fairy dust. You knew Lewis was probably with the team trying to tweak his car and come up with strategies for his upcoming race and you didn't want to interrupt but you now felt the magnitude of how much you'd missed him.

The debate in you went for the duration of the drive to Lewis' hotel and at the last minute you decided to just go to the hotel and push those feelings down. You didn't want to be the one who fell first. The drive was peaceful and scenic. Every sight you passed you gaped in awe. There was something so majestic about simple surroundings with mind-boggling architecture that encapsulated a country in the best of the past and the future. When you walked into the penthouse you received a message from Lewis.

MSG Lewis: Landed?

MSG: Yep.

MSG Lewis: On your way to the paddock?

MSG: Nope.

That was the last message you got from him until he walked inside the penthouse 4 hours later. The sun was setting beautifully over the sky, bathing everything in milky oranges, purples and reds setting the scene with the dinner you'd just finished cooking in the state-of-the-art kitchen. Yeah, you could have ordered room service, but you wanted to give him one of his favorites authentically made. The soft instrumentals playing made it so you didn't hear him come in. It wasn't until Roscoe jumped up on your leg did you realize you weren't alone anymore.

"Oh my goodness, Roscoe. Hi baby. How are you?"

You were stooping rubbing the fashionable bulldog down and cuddling him close. You'd missed him and from the way he lapped at every inch of exposed skin you could tell he missed you too.

"Have you been a good boy for daddy? Have you? Yes? Oh, you're so cute."

You peppered kissed along his frame then gathered him in your arms. Roscoe took full advantage and attacked you with licks, pinning you down. You giggled and wiggled trying to hide your mouth from him. You loved him to death, but you kissed no dog on the mouth.

From somewhere to the side, you heard a series of tongue clicks and seconds later Roscoe climbed off of you and padded away. From your lying position, you saw Lewis standing there with Roscoe assuming his perfectly trained position, right at his feet.

"What are you jealous?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. You stood and rearranged your form-fitting jersey dress and saw Lewis' eyes rake over your frame. His eyes rested at your hips which the dress accentuated, and a smirk slipped across your lips.

"I dont get jealous," Lewis said.

You snorted knowing he was the one who was full of shit now. He'd never admitted it, but you knew there had been several occasions where his jealousy manifested in the form of a back breaking, cervix bruising fuck all because of the attention you drew in his presence.

"Thats the hello I get little butterfly?"

Scoffing, you crossed the room to him then wrapped your arms around him pressing up so close to him your bodies melded perfectly. Lewis let out a soft sigh as he reciprocated your action. The longer you remained in his arms the tighter he held you.

"Mm, you smell good," you mumbled against his neck.

Lewis pulled back then gazed into your eyes, "So do you."

His lips softly pressed to yours, surprising you. You expect something more fevered and frenzied but there was nothing frenzied about the way his lips moved across yours. The languid way his tongue coaxed your lips apart continued with the way it stroked and wrapped around yours. He was taking his time, pressing this moment to his physical memory banks. When his hands slid down to rest on your hips, he pulled you closer and a groan slipped from him vibrating against your lips.

Lewis' fingertips pressed roughly into your flesh and the heat from him seared the fabric of your dress and branded you. "Mm."

When he pulled back, his forehead was pressed against yours. "Thank you for coming," he whispered.

Holy shit you thought. This was new somehow. There was something about this exchange that felt different from every other one over the years. The way your heart thundered against your rib cage was also new and because of how close you were, you worried he could feel it. Just as you were going to pull away from him, you looked up into those dangerous burnt honey and bourbon eyes and you were trapped, captivated and so ready for him.

The moment was thick with the promise of more but then Roscoe cut the sexual tension with a bark. That was where you found the strength to tear yourself from him creating space as you wondered what the fuck that was.

"Hungry? I made your favorite."

Lewis rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head as if he too had been greatly affected by whatever that was just now. 

"Starving."

"Cool. I set the table on the balcony. Thought we could eat out there," you said walking back to the kitchen counter.

"Need help?"

"No. You and Roscoe go sit I'll be out soon."

Lewis lingered for a few moments before he walked off to the balcony with Roscoe trotting behind him. You busied yourself plating up the meal you'd made with him in mind. Then you plated Roscoe's vegan feast. When you put his bowl down, Roscoe immediately went for it.

"Roscoe, what do you say?"

Like the obedient pup he was, he stopped in his tracks before he buried his face in the bowl then yipped at you before circling you once and giving your exposed leg a lick. Your heart melted.

"Good boy," Lewis rewarded.

Roscoe then happily dug into his food as you placed the rest of the plates on the table. Before you pulled out your chair, Lewis beat you to it. He was always the perfect gentleman but because of the moment you shared earlier this also felt different.

"Thank you."

"It smells amazing," Lewis complimented as he prepared to dig in.

You watched him take a hearty forkful then smiled when his eyes lit up. He moaned and added another forkful before finishing what was already in his mouth.

"Mm."

You giggled and followed his action. He was right. It was good, you knew that though. As you ate, he told you about his last few weeks of work and play. He told you about the week he'd spent with Miles in Japan and the latest on his niece and nephew and other family members. Then he listened attentively as you spoke about your last few weeks and the details of how you'd spent your time away from him.

By the time dinner and dessert were finished and the sun had long set, you continued to listen as he spoke of his day and the changes they'd made for the next race. He looked tired as if this chosen career was taking its toll. A sudden urge to give him a massage washed over you and without thought you stood, moved behind him and did just that. As expected, his shoulders were tense.

Almost as soon as you started Lewis moaned then relaxed under your hands. His words stopped and the only sounds around you were the sounds of Roscoe peacefully napping at your feet and the quiet nature sounds of Qatar. The longer you massaged you found yourself relaxing as if this was as natural to you as breathing. When you felt Lewis' head resting against your stomach you looked down and found his eyes staring at you with nothing but tenderness and awe. It was then you realized how very domestic this was especially right now.

Lewis' eyes continued to bore into you making it impossible to look away. Gradually your hands slowed until they came to a complete stop. One thing that did not stop was your heart. It pounded loudly in your ears, and you knew he could either hear it or feel it. You tore your eyes from his and looked into the sky at the full moon.

"U-uh--um...this is amazing, so beautiful," you stuttered as you stepped away from him ready to clear the dishes away.

Before you made it, Lewis grabbed your hand and pulled you to him bringing you down into his lap. Again, on instinct you wrapped your arms around his neck while his engulfed your waist.

"Did you miss me, Y/N?"

His voice was low, only loud enough for you to hear. You watched him rake his eyes over every inch of your face before he gazed back into your eyes.

"Did you miss me?"

It was a cop-out; he'd told you that he did last night. Lewis smirked then sighed as he tipped his head back to look in the sky. Nudging his chin up to it, he spoke.

"I’ve looked at that moon every night no matter where I've been for the last 5 weeks, and I thought of you."

You looked across to the full moon then back at him. He looked as if he were having an internal debate over something. He remained quiet for several long moments and when he spoke again, what he said surprised you.

"I thought what is she doing right now? Is she looking at the same moon? Does she miss me? Is she having fun right now or is she home unable to shake the inexplainable blues? Or am I out of sight and out of mind? Is she smiling at someone else right now the way she smiles at me or letting them kiss on her? Is she working herself into the ground or unable to get up because of how crippled she is with this confusing sadness?"

Lewis took a breath then harshly released it. Keeping his eyes on the moon, he continued oblivious to how you were crumbling before him.

"This moon is the only thing that made me feel closer to you. This moon has seen me do embarrassing things all in the name of you. Things I don't fully understand yet. Things that are completely unexpected especially for me."

You remained silent unable to speak because you knew if you did you would blurt the answers to each and every one of those questions he wondered about. So, you bit your tongue and focused on not crumbling any further and resisting the urge to kiss him. His eyes shifted to you, and everything became too much.

"You’re so beautiful like this," Lewis whispered bringing his hand up to caress your cheek.

"I look jet lagged."

He smiled softly, "You look flawless."

Your stomach did backflips now. Holy hell, the man was on a mission to ruin you.

"I missed you too," you said in a daze.

They were words you hadn't planned on saying, words you'd been trying to keep in for weeks. Words you were reluctant to speak out loud because words carried weight. Words held implications and brought complications. From the way he looked at you now you could tell those complications had just sprouted and had now woven around the two of you. A clean break looked to be something that was quickly drifting out of reach.

Lewis' cupped the back of your head then pulled your lips to his. Kissing you slowly he sparked the desire for him in you that laid just below the surface--always just at the surface. Within seconds you twirled your tongue with his, teasing as good as you got. It didn't take long for the kiss that began slowly and felt timid and investigative to turn sultry. When he moaned against you, yours followed.

You felt like you'd been struck by lightning, but the feeling was 10 times more electrifying as if you stood in the sand in the middle of a storm and the act of lightning striking the sand also set you ablaze wrapping you in a cocoon of flames and electricity. Soon you'd pulled the hair tie from his hair leaving his black and blonde braids free.

Your lungs burned and begged for air--they pleaded for the very sustenance that would prolong your life, but you didn't give them what they craved because you craved something else entirely. Lewis pulled his lips from yours then bombarded your neck with kisses. The more he kissed the hazier everything became. When you leaned back the clatter of dishes brought you back to reality.

"Lewis--the--the dishes," you whispered. Anything louder was above you right now.

"Leave them. It doesn't matter."

Moving you as he pleased, he rearranged your positioning so you were now straddling him.

"The dishes will sit here if--if--."

Lewis claimed your lips again clearly in an attempt to shut you up. You moaned as you felt his hardness press against the quickly dampening fabric of your underwear.

"Lewis," you groaned again.

"Tomorrow’s another day."

With that he went back to your neck this time sucking his path to the one spot he knew you would be powerless to fight against. Your gasp was high-pitched and jagged when he sank his teeth into your flesh.

"Fuck," you croaked as you held onto him tighter. "Lewis."

His lips were on a mission, and it was to make your panties not just damp but soaked. He was well on the right path, and he knew it. The feel of his hand sliding around your waist and against your stomach left a trail of heat and need. Then when he pressed his palm between your breasts right at your sternum, he paused. You knew he was feeling your heartbeat.

Lewis' eyes met yours and the same wild passion you felt thundering inside of you, you saw mirrored back in his eyes, and it scared the shit out of you. He continued to press down sending your back to rest against the edge of the table.

From there he trailed that same hand up, up, up to your neck where he gripped it and squeezed. It wasn't hard enough to cause harm but just enough to thoroughly ruin your underwear. Another moan escaped you and this one was very telling. Lewis brought his other hand into the mix just before he dipped down and cupped your breasts.

"Oh fuck, Lewis," you whined.

The feel of his large hands massaging you sent actual chills through you and made you want him even more.

"I like the way my name sounds from your mouth," he mumbled against your neck never stopping the assault on your skin. If he kept this up, you were sure you'd cum.

At the thought of cumming Lewis doubled down on the spot on your neck while his hands continued massaging your breasts. Every so often he tweaked your nipple through the thin fabric of the dress. His hands left your breasts for a few moments, and you whined, begging him to come back. Lewis gripped your hips as he stood. His body was now keeping you pressed against the table while he slid the dishes to the side of the table away from the two of you, then he plopped you on it.

From your half-lying position, you stared at him taking in how unbridled he looked. His hair hung loose around his face, lips red and swollen, eyes completely glazed as he stared at you like you were his next meal.

"So damn beautiful," he mumbled before he hovered over you and kissed you.

The kiss was so passionate, so deep, and all-consuming that you struggled to hang on to your sanity, struggled to keep yourself restrained so you didn't say something you oughtn't. Lewis kissed a blazing trail down your throat, across your collar then down the center of your body until he nipped at your nipple which strained through the material of your dress begging for more.

"Mmm."

His lips didn't stop there though, when he kissed just below your belly button, he gripped your thighs.

"I'm hungry."

His intention was now crystal clear, and it broke through the haze in your brain. You gaped at him.

"What?! Here? We're outside on the balcony Lewis."

"So what?"

He slowly hiked up the hem of your dress as your brain sputtered, "So what? People could see."

Again, Lewis' response was nonchalant, "So?"

Dropping a kiss to your inner thigh, he sucked onto your flesh making your nether parts twitch and throb. He was not playing fair. Lewis trailed a path of open-mouthed kisses, nibbles and fire to your pelvis. Your body involuntarily lurched upward sending your sex brushing against his jaw. Lewis groaned then cussed.

"For fuck, Y/N, you will be the death of me."

He laid the flat of his tongue against your core then licked upward nudging your clit which felt incredible, so incredible you exclaimed into the night air.

"Baby," you whispered.

"Still stop, little butterfly?"

"What if someone sees? We can end up on TMZ or Daily Mail? If that happens everyone will know, this--this becomes--crazy."

Lewis stared at you really thinking about your words. He looked like he was quickly running through the possibility, but not even a minute went by before he spoke again.

"Listen to me. I want you in every aspect of the word want, everything it epitomizes. Everything."

Lewis scoffed then shook his head. "I want you, Y/N. I want you emotionally, mentally, physically, I want to engulf you, swallow you whole so my entire being captures your entire being."

Holy shit in a manger, you thought as his words washed over you. The intensity in his eyes only stole more of your breath.

"I don’t see outside, I dont see a balcony, I don’t see anything but you…and me."

Lewis laced his fingers through yours holding your hands against the table in the most tender way. His eyes so clear and open bore into you working whatever magic he had that always made you want to give in to him. "Let me have you…all of you. Every inch, every single part that you hide and tuck away, every part that you hold back from me, every layer that you deny. All of you."

Elsa's ice castle had nothing on you, right now in this moment being pinned underneath the last man you had ever expected to fall for, you were completely frozen as every single feeling you were currently feeling came to life in your mind in the form of screams. He'd always had a way with words and right now you decided to be just like Elsa and let it go.

And that was what you did. You let go. You pulled him to you by the collar of his shirt and crashed your lips to his then kissed him like the desperate, needy woman you were. All the weeks of pent-up urges and desires came pouring out of you. You no longer cared to hold back, no longer cared if you slipped up and said something first. He'd just said plenty. Lewis moaned as he battled for control but found no winning ground until he pulled away then kissed down your body again.

With rapid movements he raked your dress up around your waist then pushed your panties to the side. Once you were bare for him, he buried his face between your legs wasting no time on teasing. He licked and sucked at you like he were a starving man and every moment without the sweetness between your thighs caused him mortal pain.

You arched your back off of the table as your moans echoed around you. Resting your hand on his head you used it to center yourself. You knew you weren't going to last long; it had been too long, and you wanted too much. Lewis released your other hand and used his fingers to spread you. He then concentrated attention of his tongue against your clit sent you over the edge and you collided hard into your release.

A long drawn-out screech left you as your body convulsed from the sheer power of your orgasm. The sun had set hours ago but the entire sky lit up again with the oranges, purples, and reds. As you rode the wave of pleasure, Lewis remained between your legs inching you higher and higher with a series of mini orgasms that left his name on your lips.

When he emerged and kissed his way up your body he nuzzled your neck. "You've never shook before," he said looking into your eyes.

"Something is different," you whispered.

He studied you for a few moments then nodded, but before he spoke you kissed him again as you sat up. Taking control, you turned your bodies putting him against the table. Lifting off his shirt, you dropped it to the floor before you attacked his chest and teasing the spot right at his collar.

"Aaah, shit."

You didn't relent hellbent on making him as weak as you'd been moments ago. Lewis gripped the edge of the table as you continued your onslaught of kisses, licks and nibbles across every inch of his exposed flesh. When you made your way down his chest, and across his abs his eyes were glued to you. As you met them, you undid his pants then yanked them down. His hardness sprang free then bobbing in the air before you. Pre-cum dribbled from him while the length of him spasmed. You blew on it, making him groan loudly.

"Fuck don't tease me, Y/N, I can't take it."

You smirked. "As you wish."

With that you took the entire length of him into your mouth bottoming out as you tightened your throat around him.

"Aahggh!”

You moaned when you felt him throb even more from the tight confines you'd forced him into. Your name tumbled from his lips over and over, and as it did you pushed past all the boundaries and things got messier and messier. Each moan of your name sounded softer and softer until he looked to be completely at your mercy.

Before you knew it, Lewis had pulled you to your feet and crashed his lips to yours. His tongue coiled around yours just before he sucked pulling you into a sinful exchange that you desperately wanted more of. As he kissed you, he lifted you securing you on his lap and in the same breath lowered you until he was filling you to capacity.

"Oh fuck!”

Neither of you moved, both of you allowing the moment to consume you. However, neither of you could stand the stillness for long. Lewis lifted your body then lowered you again sending a shiver through you when he nudged deep inside of you. Fuck he felt good, you thought to yourself, throwing your head back.

As he moved you against him, you rocked on him using him to chase your next release. Soon your movements became frenzied, both of you desperate for one another.

"Y/N," Lewis grunted.

Each time you flicked your hips forward, he held you tighter. Soon he was practically dropping you on his cock allowing gravity to do the work. Every time he did that you clenched around him sensing how close you were.

"God, you feel so good baby," you said, holding onto him tightly.

Lewis turned and splayed you across the table spreading your legs wide so he could watch himself slide in and out of you.

"So fucking pretty. Watch me fuck you little butterfly. Watch this thick dick fill you up."

You eased onto your elbows and did as you were told. Your pleasure increased as you watched the sensual act of your coupling. Every few strokes, Lewis slowed down then locked eyes with you.

"Mmm do you see that? Your tight little pussy creams for me."

Dipping your hand down, you swirled your clit then rolled your eyes to the back of your head when that lit a fire for something so intense you could feel it burning through you like a lit TNT fuse.

"Oh god I'm gonna cum," you warned.

"Cum for me little butterfly. Cum all over this dick. Let me see how good I make you feel. How perfect we are for each other."

Lewis circled his hips hitting every angle with precision and without mercy. The pounding of your heart in your ears drowned everything out. The only thing you could focus on was the way your body tingled as if the entire thing was asleep and slowly waking up.

"Yes, yes, yes right there. Right fucking there Lewis!”

When you screamed your body shook again, you'd lost all control. Lewis' lips claimed yours, swallowing your scream but joining you with his own shout. It felt as if he were taking the life from your body but giving you his in exchange, fusing you together in an unbreakable bond. In those seconds that both of you came together you transcended space itself, floating off out of your body to soar in ecstasy just before an inky darkness swallowed you whole.

Slowly your eyes fluttered open and the first thing you noticed was the feel of softens under and around you. It contrasted from one of the last feelings you remembered before your world went dark. You realized in moments that you weren't on the table anymore. Glancing to your right you squinted as bright sunlight assaulted your retinas. A soft groan left you then you rolled to your left hoping to get away from it.

Your arms stretched and you took note of the emptiness beside you. That didn't feel right. You shot your head up and looked around, keeping your eyes squinted. It was either early morning or afternoon and you were not in your own bed. You dropped back down and allowed the memories to come back. When they did, you flopped onto your back and flinched as the throbbing ache of your body became a focal point.

"Jesus. What the fuck Lewis," you groaned reaching between your legs as the ache persisted. When you did that, you felt the soreness of your back and it was then you remembered lying against the stone table as Lewis had his way with you.

Coiling into a ball you flinched at the raw burn of your knees. When you looked at them you saw how bruised and chaffed they were. You recollected kneeling before him as you brought him to the brink of recklessness then again on the table as he buried his face between the full swells of your ass.

'Shit."

Though you were in pain your body thrummed alive with the beginning stirs of desire. Unbelievable you thought. You wanted him even now. Sitting up, you slowly slid to the foot of the bed then took a breath before you stood. Upright the thoroughness of the fucking you'd taken last night washed over you and you smirked because you regretted nothing.

After a piping hot shower where the pressurized showerheads worked magic on your aches, pains and soreness, you felt more human. When you walked out of the bedroom wrapped in your robe you made your way to the kitchen hoping to find some strong Middle Eastern coffee that would make you feel like a NASA rocket.

Before you made it to the kitchen you caught sight of Lewis from the corner if your eye on the balcony working out. He dropped to the floor did 5 perfect push-ups then 5 plank tucks before coming back up to do a sequence of right and left hooks with short jabs. He did it again and again and by the 4th rep your jaw was dropped as you stared at him. His body glistened with sweat and that sweat only made his newfound more defined muscles that much more mouthwatering.

You slurped back the little bit of drool that was almost dribbling from the corner of your mouth, "Holy shit."

Unable to look away you watched him move on to pull ups. With his back facing you, you got the perfect view of his shoulders and the incredible definition of his back. He was gorgeous and you knew then that though you hadn't said the words to him it didn't make it less true. You wanted him and he had you in more ways than you liked.

Unexpectedly, Lewis turned and caught you ogling him. A cheeky smirk stretched across his perfect face, and you knew there was no way to play it off. Still, you tried. Clearing your throat, you walked to the kitchen and said a silent prayer for health and wealth to whoever delivered the coffee then poured some into the ornate and vintage looking tea and coffee cup, then smiled as you took a sip.

"Mm."

The flavors of cardamom, cinnamon, hints of cedar, creamy pistachio and something close to cherry washed over your tastebuds and in seconds you'd finished the cup. It was that good. You poured a second cup then took your tine with it.

You could feel Lewis' eyes burning into you and though he made no sound you knew he was coming to you. When his scent wrapped around you, you sank your teeth into your bottom lip hoping to stifle the moan. He didn't touch you, but you knew just how close he was to you. Just when his proximity alone was causing havoc on your senses, he brushed his lips to your ear.

"Good morning."

The sudden urge to push him against the wall filled you but you resisted.

"Was it? I woke up alone. For a man who said he wanted me here you sure don't show it."

Lewis came around the kitchen island and took a coffee for himself. "Of course, I want you here, Y/N."

You rolled your eyes. "Yet I'm sleeping alone and you're working out."

You were only teasing him but parts if it felt true. Lewis put his cup down and came around to you wrapping his arms around you.

"I'm sorry. When you blacked out last night or this morning for the 3rd time, I put you in bed, but I was still wired, like more wired than I've ever been. I tried everything video games, working, reading, watching tv nothing worked. I just wanted you more and more. This workout took the edge off."

You let his words resonate. Blacked out? Third time? He wanted you? You finished your coffee then walked out of the kitchen toward the balcony. The memories flashed through your head like a movie. You had blacked out 3 times. He'd put in work work.

"So you were trying to hold back your perv tendencies."

Lewis snorted then wrapped his arms around you again.

"If I'm a perv then what does that make you?"

He turned you to face him and you smirked.

"The innocent obviously."

Lewis smiled then caressed your jaw. "I'm sorry I took too much last night."

You studied him for a moment then smiled. "I'm standing and able to walk. I don't think it was too much."

Lewis stared into your eyes trying to figure out if that was true.

"So you're working out because you're still horny."

He licked his lips then slid his hands down your arms.

"I'm working out because I'm wired and--you're not helping with what you're wearing."

His thumbs hooked at the collar of your robe teasing it. You smirked.

"Oh no?"

You pulled the sash then dropped the robe at your feet to stand before him completely bare. Lewis sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes raked over your body. His expression was pained as if he felt tortured.

"You want to not be able to walk or sit right today huh."

With a shrug, you slipped a hand down the front of his basketball shorts then smirked once you had the prize in hand.

"You're already so hard."

Boldness overtook you making you lower to your knees. You ignored the burn from the stretching skin over your knees and pulled him free.

"It's day time little butterfly. Someone could be watching," Lewis cautioned.

You smiled while stroking his length, preparing him for you.

"Then I better give a good show."

With that you lowered your mouth down his need, wasting no time with teasing.  Lewis' hands slipped to the back of your head as he watched you please him. The tight clench of his jaw said he was barely holding on at this point. When he began thrusting forward, pumping your mouth you opened your throat so you could take more of in.

'Aaaagh! You're ruining me Y/N. I'm completely fucking ruined for anyone who isn't you!"

You moaned then slurped your way up his shaft and smiled as you jerked him.

"You like hearing that huh? Like knowing that you've got me to the point where I dream about you at night and fantasize about you during the day. Like knowing that anyone who approaches me to flirt or hint at wanting to be on their knees in front of me like this is met with quick dismissal."

You moaned again then found his dick slipping down your throat. With a few thrusts, Lewis was fucking your throat for his enjoyment and your punishment for your cockiness. He knew you liked knowing that.

"You like knowing that your name is my favorite thing to moan. Like knowing that I only want you, I only want to be around you, I only want to show you these countries, I only want to experience this life with you by my side."

You paused completely shocked at the turn of his confession.

"Lewis--."

"Don't deny it."

He didn't give you the chance to before he shoved his cock right back in your mouth. Taking control, you gave everything you had used all the tricks in your repertoire all in the name of his pleasure. Within moments Lewis grunted and held tightly to your head as he released spurt after spurt of himself down your throat. You moaned as the hot thick substance hit the back of your throat, but you didn't pull away, you locked eyes with him and swallowed everything he gave.

"Fuck!”

Lewis pulled you up then threw you over his shoulder before stalking toward the bedroom. Once there he dropped you onto the bed and watched as you spread wide for him. Lowering himself, he hovered over you then swiped the tip of his hardness across your sex. You shivered then bit your bottom lip.

"You like knowing that you are the only woman I could ever--would ever want to go completely bare with."

His words brought back the memory of just that happening all night and early morning. Lewis watched you waiting for you to say something, object, anything but you didn't. Lewis slowly nudged forward pushing into you so achingly slow making sure you felt every inch, all the stretch as your body tried to accommodate him after it being pushed to the brink hours before. You gasped as the mix of pleasure and pain sent you so close to the edge it became impossible to breath.

Lewis looked as close as you were. With him fully seated inside of you, your eyes lingered as his body did over you.

"I'm yours, Y/N."

Your breath caught and the only thing for you to do was come clean.

"I'm yours."

At first Lewis looked completely surprised but then slowly he smiled.

"Took you long enough."

You snorted. "You still said it first."

Lewis flicked his hips forward making you groan.

"We'll see who says it most."

Drawing his hips back he plowed forward with full force making your eyes roll back and your body quiver. It was going to be a long day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@chaneajoyyy @caramara3 @valkryienymph @babyflowa07 @est1887 @halfrican-heat @mauvecherie-writes @nunya7394 @lovebittenbyevans @gardenwonders2 @sweetlikecoffy @dillie60 @ olabelle757 @ophiaedits @kenequa @triton08 @skyesthebomb @shipatheart @keytodespair @xsweetdellzx @labella420 @coldmuffinbanditshoe @ak329 @shar74nett @youremysuperstar @whore-like-behaviour @sonjashuterbugjohnson

@alookintohersoul @asiaaisa77 @jd-now-jq @naturalthrone22      @mrsbarnes-rogers @beyourownkindofbeautiful @beccacupcakesxo @toni9 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison00 @queenoftheworldisdead @doublesidedscoobysnacks @sophiealiice @richonne4life @coffeebooksandfandom @siempremamita @raveviolet @dumbchick  @amennariee @briellableu @leebabe444 @31miw-inkpsycho

@rororo06 @disaster-rose @bugngiz @yourwonderbelle @queenbetter @melaninhawtie @bekindbecoolbeyou​ @heartfullofgolden @idkiwantchocolatee @missuniee @avngrsfangirl @a-highly-opinionated-mess @19jammmy ​@nunya7394 @eltima02 @motheroffae @luckydiorxoxo

@majx00 @bbhyuneee @queenanababy @ravenqueen27 @multi-fandom5 @xsweetdellzx @bqueensweet @misswolff @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @blveeeeeee @majx00 @rowansshit @tian-monique @venusesworld @motheroffae

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

02/24/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Cast&CrewSightings; Samba BTS; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Damien Gerard; Guz Khan!; SaveOFMD Crew Billboard; AdoptOurCrew Saturday Sillies; Making A Difference; Articles; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Tonight's Taika;

Been a long Saturday yall. Hope you enjoyed the BTS and general clown/honking going around!

== Cast & Crew Sightings ==

= Samba Schutte Feat. David Jenkins! =

Samba's back with more BTS for us today!

This time the Crew Shoutout is for Chaos Dad himself: David Jenkins! So good to see Chaos dad having such a great time BTS. We love you David!

Videos on Tumblr:

Video 1

Video 2

Video 3

= Rhys Darby =

Rhys decided to take it up a notch today on his Tiktok/Instagram and tell... someone they've created a monster. Who might that be?

== Damien Gerard ==

Our crew-mate @patchworkpiratebear got a Cameo from our lovely Father-Teach, Damien Gerard! There's a bit of a story behind it, see below! Cameo link

== Guz Khan! ==

Hey! It's been a hot minute since we've seen our friend Guz Khan-- and now he's showed up on a cat! Good to see you sir!

== Save OFMD Crew ==

There have been questions raised about the billboard that the SaveOFMD Crew have been posting teasers for on their socials. The Crew had a meeting today wherein they discussed the concerns of the fandom, and have taken that feedback to heart. They are currently working on a clear information packet regarding the logistics of the current billboard efforts. They have kindly asked for your patience while they finish putting those last touches together!

== @adoptourcrew Saturday Sillies! ==

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew were kind enough to set up a new Saturday Sillies this week! This time they made custom OFMD Wordles! There were WAY too many images to include in the recap, so if you'd like to check them out, please visit the tumblr post below!

Wanna play? You can visit a tumblr post here

== Making a Difference! ==

Thank you to everyone who contributed to, or shared the fundraiser for Trans Pride Brighton! They've finally met their goal and can stay open another year! You made a serious difference in the lives of trans and non-binary folk in that community!

== Articles ==

Deze HBO-serie is gecanceld, maar had een 95% op Rotten Tomatoes

Schwule Romanze zwischen Piratenkapitänen

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies. I hope you had a fun Saturday/Sunday wherever you are. I know some of you are already closing out the weekend. We made it through another day-- and there's all sorts of action going on across all the platforms. I hope you got a chance to have fun, but also to rest. I know you know this, but even though I do too I often forget it. Rest is so very important. It's so easy to burn out, especially when we're constantly exposed to so much online. I think to myself "oh it's fine I'll just get a few more things done" and then it's suddenly 3 hours later and I've had only 4 hrs sleep in the last 30. Please please please give yourself self care today. Go brush your teeth, or take a shower. If you feel like you can do more, brush your hair, or make yourself a nice cup of tea. Do something for you that makes you relax and feel rested. On your last day of the weekend, make sure to take a few moments to yourself and just remember how awesome you are. You may not feel like it sometimes, but I can tell you now you truly are Awe-some. You bring so much life and love to this world and you deserve all beautiful things you want. Anyway, I'm very sleepy and I'm rambling again (what's new). Sleep well and enjoy your day lovelies, see you tomorrow.

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

I'm being lazy tonight again yall. Just two goofy gifs that caught my eye, sorry I am running on fumes. Tomorrow I'll try to find some themed ones for ya <3

Rhys Gif: Courtesy of @fandomsmeantheworldtome

Taika Gif: ohnotheydidnt.livejournal

[red-pill-to-swallow]

How to be attractive to men and my goals

Hey babes,

like I said – I want to incorporate RPT (Red Pill Theories) into my daily life immediately.

A few things that every women within the community seemed to be content with were:

1. You are never finished with glowing or leveling up. Never stop learning. Never stop trying to better yourself.

2. Pretty privilege is real.

I agree that pretty privilege is very real. I mean, I get affected by pretty people like everybody else, even if I don’t do it on purpose. It’s just something that is ingrained in our brains and I need to learn how to take this to my advantage.

I think I have a decent starting base, because I’m a skinny white woman in her twenties with long blonde hair. I am not really tall – even short men are at least 5-7cms taller than me – but I’m also not extremely short.

I have a petite frame but my body-shape is something between an hourglass and a peach. My face is average – I don’t really have striking features or am a natural beauty model – but my features also aren’t hideous. It’s really just something you can look at without thinking too much.

On a scale, I would rate myself a 5,5-6/10 on an average day and I guess that’s great!

But how can I make myself look better on a daily basis? I really took hours to research how I could make myself more attractive to wealthy and high value men.

Obviously, no man is like the other and every man prefers something different. One man might like tattoos and piercings while another man with the same social status thinks they are hideous. I don’t want to completely change who I am and I don’t want to spend thousands of dollars for it.

However, I really like this whole clean girl and old money aesthetic that is going viral on Tiktok right now – and I think those two aesthetics could fit me and my personality really well.

Most wealthy men seem to like this traits in women:

1. great skin without obvious pimples or enlarged pores

2. long and healthy hair in a natural color

3. straight white teeth

4. clean nails on both hands and feet

5. hairless legs, armpits and at least trimmed pubic hair

6. wearing clean and wrinkle free clothes without any holes

7. wearing a nice smell that is fitting to your overall appearance

I think those are the basics and they can be achieved by almost anyone. If you can’t afford braces make sure that your teeth are always perfectly brushed and that you’re keeping up with your dental hygiene in general.

In fact – if you have problems affording certain beauty procedures, research how to get as close as possible to them with DIYs.

For years, I always wanted to be the mysterious woman in the room. The woman with a dark aura, the woman that doesn’t speak much and remains most of her life a secret.

Well, I am not this woman even if I’m trying very hard. It would be an act that I would put on and I am sure that everyone in the room would notice.

I am naturally very bubbly and I love having conversations with people in general. I would also say that I have a broad knowledge on different topics and that I’m able to talk to almost everyone.

I am also very welcoming and I enjoy making people laugh and have fun in my presence. I tend to have strong opinions and I’m not afraid to take on a discussion.

With everything that I know about myself now, I made some points that I need to tackle in order to level up:

1. stop oversharing. Being bubbly is great but not everyone needs to know everything about my business. Sometimes it’s just better to be silent and to listen.

2. start with exercise again. I am happy with my weight but I am extremely weak and I have almost zero muscle mass. My breath is getting heavy if I have to take the stairs and my legs start to hurt after roughly 15 minutes of walking. I plan on going for a walk every day and doing pilates 3x a week.

3. start doing my hair and makeup again. My hair is long and blonde – so it is an eyecatcher. It’s also very healthy but I usually just throw it up in a bun or in a clawclip, so no one is really seeing it. I have multiple styling tools at home and I need to start using them. The same applies to makeup. I have so much great stuff that looks really beautiful and natural but I am just too lazy to use it. I plan on taking 20 minutes every day to do my makeup and to suck it up – because I usually always do a double cleanse at night, so it’s not really a struggle to take it off in the evening. It’s just inconvenient in the morning.

4. taking better care of my skin and of my dental health. I have high quality skincare and I love doing my skincare but sometimes I’m just too lazy. Let me just say that it doesn’t happen often – but still too much for my liking. Also my dental health – I need to make a dentist appointment asap. I think the last time I went was around 3 years ago!

5. buying better fitting clothes. I don’t like shopping for clothes but it is what it is. Right now I only have cute lounge sets for being at home but when I go out I usually only wear jeans with a basic top and sneakers. I want to look more polished and feminine. I want to stop wearing jeans and focus more on pants, skirts and dresses. Also literally any other shoes than sneakers.

6. go out more. I’m your typical homebody. Movie night? Reading a book? Ordering food? Count me in! I always have fun when I go out but I’m still mostly at home and I want to change that. I want to have a group of like minded friends that want to hang out with me. Maybe even at home. Lol.

I really thought hard about those six points but I think those are the first things that I need to tackle down.

In the end – I was asking myself: what could I do to feel the most comfortable with spontaneous outgoings and meeting new people?

It came down to wanting to look my best. Obviously. I want to make a good first impression and maybe even profit off of pretty privilege.

I’m sure we all know those times when we’re dressed like slobs and suddenly an opportunity to go out arises and we decline because it would take hours to get ready.

That’s the reason why I want to get ready in the morning – so I would only need to touch up if anything came up.

see you soon!

[buggee22]

hi hi ur art is so delicious i'm eating it for dinar esp ur toby n ej <3 have u ever drawn liu before? i'm curious what ur interpretation of him is,,,

Thank you sm!! (sorry for leaving this for actual decades))

I cant believe I haven’t posted my take on him anywhere besides tiktok,,,these sketches are also almost a year old I will draw him again sometime!

I will ramble on for a bit here because I used to think about him a lot!

After the Jeff incident + recovering physically,,

The part of him that consumed all of the hatred, anger, murderous intent over what Jeff did was Sully, a personality he created in order to (albeit poorly) deal with the former events. (I think of it like in moonknight w mark and Steven)

His main goal would be finding his brother and getting revenge for both the loss of his parents, his little brother, and all of Jeff’s innocent victims due to whatever ‘evil’ resides within Jeff.

Liu is constantly battling with his feelings on putting an end to Jeff’s madness/crimes, however, he still sees his younger brother within him. Someone who Liu can’t bring himself to harm.

Liu carries A LOT of guilt and regret for not being able to help Jeff, he thinks it’s his fault that things escalated to this point.

(which is absolutely not true, but he doesn’t see it that way) It hurts him to still not be able to finish things or have any sort of resolution.

Sully is somewhat the “barrier” that protects him from completely falling apart. Liu and Sully are pretty much two different people with different memories/emotions/reactions etc.

Sully on the other hand gladly would inflict pain upon Jeff and any other poor victims he may come across. He isn’t entirely deranged however, he’s very calculated in his killings and quite skilled combat wise.

Both of them are in love with Susan. The nurse who took care of them after the incident. She is also aware of both Liu and Sully and cares for them both as different people. She obviously doesn’t condone Sully’s actions however and is present enough to prevent some harm coming to innocent people.

I believe I’ve rambled on enough for now but if anyone is ever curious about more lore I have for any pasta I’d be so glad to share!

Thank you again for your message! <3