#very surface level but good content

[mothbeasts]

i miss posting and making and engaging with ieytd content but I will be honest sometimes it feels alienating. as a lesbian.

[luveline]

Ooo can we have a blurb where bombshell! R and Spence were either on a date or were about to have their first time but got called into work? They both look a little annoyed at being interrupted. The bombshell reader series has my heart 🥺

im picturing boyband reid here maybe <3 fem

cw suggestive content

“These are trick buttons,” you accuse. 

Spencer laughs for the tenth time in as many minutes, perhaps tickled under your hands, more likely that he’s just feeling the same rush of hormones (namely adrenaline) as you are. “They’re not trick buttons, it’s ‘cos your hands are shaking.” 

He takes your poor hands in his. “It’s okay,” he adds softly, “I can do it.” 

“I’m not nervous, I’m excited,” you say, less soft, more desperate than he is, or at least on the surface. 

“I know, I know–” He catches your lips in a sudden eager kiss, a hand jumping to your cheek to ferry you closer, the other sewing down between your two chests to work open his fiendish buttons. 

“See,” he says between kissing, “easy.” 

“I’d like to see this level of dexterity when you unclasp my bra,” you mumble, kissing with every bit of hunger and love you have for him, lips drifting to his cheek, and then down to his jaw. Your mouth opens of its own accord. Spencer lets a breath slip from him coloured with wanting, the most amorous sound he’s ever made under your hands as you kiss, and nip, and—

Your phone rings from the nightstand, a heavy, repetitive vibration. 

“Ignore it,” you say easily, climbing up over Spencer’s lap, hand to the side of his face and rubbing tenderly. 

“I was planning on it,” he says. He was shy at first, those first few kisses, but Spencer’s a person like any other and he squeezes your hips closer to his without further argument. 

Your phone stops ringing a half a minute later. You smile into his mouth, even more when his fingers climb the length of your spine to slip playfully under the clasp of your bra. “How many tries do I get?” he asks. 

You sit back just a touch to meet his charming gaze. “As many as you need, handsome… I’m very patient.” 

He pulls you in to kiss your neck just as his phone begins to ring. 

“It’s work,” he guesses, paused regretfully under your chin. 

“We don’t know that.” 

“That’s my ringtone for work.” 

You breathe heavily atop him. “Can’t we be late?” 

He smiles at you gently. “I’m sorry, angel. If we’re late again this week he might actually bite your head off.”

Things were so perfect. This was it, this was the moment you finally knew each other to the very core, and your stomach aches with how badly you want him. You're startled at the heat behind your eyes knowing it’s not gonna happen. 

“Not tonight,” Spencer says, like he can read your mind. Maybe he’d been thinking a similar thing. “But soon, okay?”

You wrap your arms around his neck. 

His phone stops ringing before he can catch it. Both of your phones ping with simultaneous text messages quickly afterward, before your ringtone begins again in earnest. 

He leans graciously toward the nightstand, allowing you to continue hugging him while also answering the phone. “Hello?” you ask. 

“Agent Hotchner’s calling you in.” 

You press your nose to Spencer’s shoulder. “Okay. I have Dr. Reid with me too. Please stop calling, we’ll be there as soon as possible,” you say, flustered. You hang up quick. 

Spencer pats your back with his fingers, palm flat to your shoulder, apparently the less gutted of the both of you at your missed moment. “Let me get you dressed, okay?” he says. “You’re too sulky. It wouldn’t have even been that good.” 

“How rude.” 

His teasing continues. “I’m serious. I haven’t been with anyone since that girl in Vegas–”

“What girl in Vegas?” 

“–and anyways,” he says, tilting your head back, his smile both playful and adoring at once, “you shouldn’t have been on top.” 

“Spencer,” you laugh, pressing your hand to your eyes. 

“I have a head full of statistics on female pleasure and I don’t need them to know you should be laying down when we–”

You kiss him. “That’s enough,” you say, pressing the tips of your noses together. “I get the picture.” Your arm curled around his neck feels right, and you’re heartbroken to let it slink back to your side, but you do. “I love you. I wish we’d chosen different careers.” 

“I love you, too, but I don’t. Then we never would’ve met,” he says simply.

You let out a happy breath. “I guess not.” 

Spencer hoists you off of his lap in an impressive show of strength, but then he dumps you in the mess of sheets, which is less lovely. “What do you want to wear?” he asks, springing up, heading straight for his closet. “I pressed your pinstriped dress yesterday, that would look cute with your stockings. And you won’t need a jacket, it’s hotter out there than it is in here. Why are you looking at me like that? We literally don’t have time for this.” 

You love him. You’re gonna rock his world when you get home. “The dress is fine.” You put your arms up in the air. “I’m waiting. And look! We’re half undressed already. How convenient.” 

[mysicklove]

Toddlers are known to look at their caregivers to see how they should react when they trip and fall. Even if the stumble of their wobbly legs doesn’t hurt them, in many cases, they will still cry if their guardians fuss over them. Although, if the adult doesn’t give them a time of day usually the little beasts get up and go back to playing with their friends.

This phenomenon is pretty common for the toddler you raise. The small child seemed to master how to react during certain situations depending on who is watching him, you or his wicked older brother.

The three of you go to the park where Yuuji runs around the playground, letting out giggles and squeals when Nobara and Megumi play tag with him. You somehow drift off on Sukunas shoulder on a nearby bench, closing your eyes and slumping against your boyfriend, content with the fact that he has his eye on the reckless child.

As to be aspected, Yuuji, after being warned very harshly by his “doting” brother to go slow when going down the steps of the playground, ignores the caution and sprints down the stairs only to miss a step and fall straight to the bark. It wasn’t a hard fall — his legs collapsed beneath him, and he landed on his knees with a plop. No harm, no injuries, mostly just shock of him falling a couple feet into the bark.

The first thing he does is look toward you, unconsciously questioning if he is about to cry out from the pain so that you can pick him up and coddle him. But he can’t catch your sleeping gaze and instead finds himself face-to-face with Sukuna.

His brother only raises an eyebrow at him, shaking his head as if to say “i dare you to cry right now”. The two of them make eye contact for longer than necessary, silent communication, and Yuuji sniffles, gulps, and slowly gets up before going back to playing.

The elder Itadori puts his hand in front of your eyes, blocking out the sun from disturbing your sleep and continues to watch his younger brother walk much more carefully up and down the playground. It was good to not coddle the boy; Sukuna didn’t want Yuuji to grow up spoiled; he was to be a man, strong just like him.

But of course, Sukuna happened to be raising him with you, a person with the biggest soft spot for the child. And so when you wake up from your nap, and Sukuna calls the boy over to leave, you notice the tiny piece of bark sticking out of the boy's leg. It was surface level — Yuuji didn’t even notice it, but still, the image looked much more gruesome than it was really.

You gasp and begin to fuss over his “injured” leg, asking the boy if he tripped and fell if he was hurt at all if he was okay. And suddenly, to Yuuji, it seemed that maybe that fall did hurt a little too bad. Maybe he wasn't okay like he thought.

Tears begin to well up in his eyes.

“Don’t you give me that shit. You’re fine. You tripped like five minutes ago, and I know it didn’t hurt.”

Yuuji shakes his head, ignoring his brother and rubbing his eyes while he looks up at you. “O-Owie…” he whines, rubbing at his knee.

“Poor thing, did you hurt yourself? I’m sorry baby, I wasn’t watching.” He reaches his hands up to you, and you scoop him up while he begins to cry into your neck.

It was a fake cry, obviously enough. It makes the elder Itadoris mouth hang open. “You little liar!”

“Don’t be mean, Sukuna.” You say, teasing him because you realized quickly enough that the boys “cries” didn’t produce any liquid from his eyes. You didn’t mind spoiling the boy either way.

Sukuna, realizing you also understood, lets out a dramatic groan, shaking his head before exclaiming, “Why am I surrounded by weaklings?!”

You just laugh at him, thinking about to a few years earlier during highschool. Sukuna was the one who would dramatize his pain whenever he got in a fight. You would listen to his whines (after he profusely exclaimed that he won by a longshot) over a busted lip and a black eye while you would fuss over him, just as you are doing to Yuuji.

He got into a lot of fights during highschool because Sukuna could never get enough of you fretting over him. He liked when you played nurse and coddled him, way too similar to the way you cooed at Yuuji.

The two of them, although Sukuna would never admit it, are way too similar. Both are strong and independent boys who happen to turn into whiny, attention-seeking puppies when you are around.

[saturnsbabyboii]

♡Venus Through the Houses♡

(Brought to you by Sailor Venus)

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In astrology, Venus is the planet of luck, love, and beauty. It represents the way one loves, relationships, sharing, affectivity, and seductive ability. Venus is all about pleasure, especially pleasure shared with someone else. This planet concerns itself with love, romance, and harmony in our emotional attachments, marriages, friendships, and other unions like business partnerships. Venus is content to spread happiness and tenderness, all the while teaching us how to love and appreciate others and the things that we possess. We appear attractive, and we attract others. Socializing with and relating to others are important to this planet. Beauty is also strongly associated with Venus. The arts, music, dance, drama, and literature, and a sense of the aesthetic fall within the realm of Venus. Venus entreats us to indulge our senses and revel in the beauty of our world. This planet is inextricably linked to refinement, culture, charm, and grace. Venus also deals with the pleasure we derive from our possessions. Luxuries, jewelry, paintings, expensive cars, good food and drink, a beautiful home, and a sense of refinement all please Venus. This planet asks us to appreciate the exquisite nature of things. It’s a sensual and romantic world as far as Venus is concerned. Venus takes 225 days to complete its orbit of the zodiac and is never more than 47 degrees from the Sun. Its feminine energy rules Taurus and Libra and the Second and Seventh Houses. Venus's sign describes how you love and how you want to be loved. The house of Venus tells in which life areas you find happiness and where you feel loved. As the lesser benefic planet, Venus is often a point of ease and luck in the horoscope. 

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♡Venus in the 1st house♡

When Venus is in the 1st house, there is a strong sense of self-identity that is linked to beauty, love, and harmony. Natives with this placement are very likely to be charming, attractive, and personable and may have a natural talent for the arts or music. However, they may tend to be overly concerned with appearances and place too much emphasis on superficial qualities. If Venus is close to the ascendant, then this benefic planet would have a large influence on your appearance. Venus in the first house indicates a beautiful physical body. You appear ethereal, and some may refer to you as a goddess or god. This placement is frequently found in the charts of actors, models, and fashion icons. However, they may tend to be overly concerned with appearances and place too much emphasis on superficial qualities. A person with Venus in the 1st house might be feminine in demeanor and energy. 

Venus here represents a person with exceptional social skills. They can also be quite diplomatic, tactful, and skilled at negotiating relationships. You are magnetic, affectionate, and charming. You desire peace, harmony, and beauty all around you. People are drawn to you, and you are well-known. Individuals with this placement should remember that true beauty comes from within and cultivate deeper connections with others beyond mere surface-level attraction. Venus expresses her qualities through the 1st House values. Your initial reactions are either subtle or sensual. You follow your dislikes or infatuations, sometimes quite blindly, before you begin to think, accept your interlocutor, or keep your distance. Through your sensations, instinctive desires, or natural repulsions, you discover the world, others, and the unknown. Venus in the first house indicates that you are well-liked and popular. These individuals are stunningly beautiful. Everyone seems to want to be around them, and success seems to come naturally to them. In addition, they are often attractive and well-mannered. People are drawn to you because of your charisma and, in some cases, physical beauty. Venus is all about harmony, and when it is in your first house, it tends to give you a melodic appearance- the kind that people write music and poems about. Venus in your first house bestows grace, elegance, beauty, and allure on you. Others frequently spoiled you, especially when you were a child. Venus in the first house also indicates that your childhood might have been pleasant and that you lived in a lovely location. 

This placement often gifts you with a beauty that radiates inside out. You are friendly, warm, and affectionate. This placement can be a lovely location. This placement often gifts you with a beauty that radiates inside out. You are friendly, warm, and affectionate. This placement can result in an outgoing personality; most people with Venus in the first house are extroverts or at least comfortable around others. People with Venus in their first house also tend to have refined tastes, and many are talented actors. Planets in the first house always appear in one's life and are visible to others. People notice the energies of planets in this house and associate them with the person when they look at them. Venus in the first house is no different. People regard you as the epitome of beauty and grace. 

Venus is the planet of love and romance. As the ruling planet of Libra, she desires harmony above all else. A person with a prominent Venus in their chart has a strong desire for love and intimate connections. They want to be loved, and there are usually a lot of people who want to. With Venus in the first house, however, make sure that people are drawn to the real you. The natal chart is much more than just Venus, and people have much more to offer than beauty. People with Venus in the first house function best when they are in a relationship. To be happy, you need a lot of romance and pleasure in your life. One disadvantage of a natal Venus in the first house is that it may attract superficial people who will abandon you when times get tough. This is not to say that people love you solely because of your appearance, but it is important to be aware of this tendency. And, as always, Venus's sign and aspects have a significant impact on how this planet plays out. 

People with natal Venus in the first house instinctively know how to attract what they want into their lives. They achieve their objectives more easily than others, in part because people are eager to assist them. Although Venus is beneficial, it bestows its gifts on you without your participation. Too much Venus can make you sluggish. You become accustomed to success without exerting any effort, and you have forgotten how to work for it. This is often learned the hard way, especially if your Venus in the first house is afflicted. Venus enjoys living life to the fullest. However, everything should be done within reason. People with Venus in their first house have a proclivity for self-indulgence. They are attracted to the finer things in life, such as nice clothes, good food, and other luxuries, and could be described as a hedonist. However, you might have an extremely addictive personality, and once you've gotten used to this lifestyle, it's difficult to give up. 

♡Venus in the 2nd house♡

When Venus is located in the 2nd house, it can significantly impact an individual's financial status and personal values. This placement is often associated with a fondness for beauty, luxury, and comfort, which may result in excessive spending or a desire for material possessions. However, it can also attract abundance and financial prosperity since Venus is the planet of love, harmony, and prosperity. Individuals with this placement may also place a high value on their self-worth and self-esteem, which can influence their relationships and career decisions. It is important to nurture your emotions and engage in meaningful experiences. Although love cannot make you wealthy, it can enrich your life. Your wealth is measured by the kisses and tears you share rather than the number of dollars you have. You have an instinctive and effective approach to managing your assets, even if it may seem haphazard at times. You prioritize a person's innate preferences and personality over their image or wealth. People with this placement are their own greatest asset, possessing healthy self-esteem and the belief that they deserve the best. Venus is in dignity in this house because it is traditionally associated with Taurus. 

When it comes to financial success, Venus is one of the best planets to have here. You will probably accumulate wealth. This placement indicates that you are a hard worker who strives to lead a comfortable life. You have a deep appreciation for the luxuries that life has to offer, such as art, jewelry, nice clothes, and other refined things. This hedonistic tendency makes you an excellent fit for careers in areas like fashion, beauty, interior design, or any other creative field that requires a refined aesthetic sense. Venus governs the second house, which means that these individuals have a natural knack for creating financial prosperity, making money, and a keen understanding of how the material world operates. The second house is also the house of talent. Venus here represents an artistic talent and a sophisticated taste. You value beauty in the world and are a source of beauty yourself. Taurus rules the throat in astrology, and people with Venus in the second house have a pleasant voice. However, you can be quite materialistic, in your emphasis on financial stability. Venus in the 2nd suggests that you might spend a lot of money as well, which can be exasperated by the presence of hard aspects. This can be problematic because financial success is based on the amount you retain rather than what you earn. You place a high value on your social status and are willing to go to great lengths to amass more popularity, as it is interwind for you with wealth. However, becoming fixated on your status can lead you astray. In some cases, Venus in the second house can cause you to become obsessed with material gain, and this can lead to stinginess, and shallowness, and develop a vain and histrionic attitude towards life. 

The position of Venus in your birth chart can reveal the kind of partners you tend to be drawn to. When Venus is located in your second house, you may find yourself attracted to people who are both sincere and well-off, as well as physically appealing. You place a high value on stability and security in your romantic relationships, and you feel loved when your partner expresses their affection through physical means. You are not one to rush into a relationship - instead, you take the time to get to know your potential partner before committing, and once you do, you are fully invested. Your love is enduring, and you believe in taking things slow and steady in matters of the heart.

♡Venus in the 3rd house♡

This house is ideal for individuals with Venus placement in the 3rd house. It is believed that this placement brings about a charming and sociable nature to one's communication style. People with this placement are known for their conversational skills and have the natural ability to connect with others on a personal level. They may also possess a talent for writing or poetry and find pleasure in reading about art, beauty, and culture. However, it is important for individuals with Venus in the 3rd house to balance their desire for harmony with the need to express themselves honestly and authentically. It is crucial to control your moods based on the way you relate to the world. Communication is more than just exchanging information; it is a field of experience that involves your natural likes and dislikes. You should refrain from making judgments on people, ideas, or concepts. Instead, let your heart have the final say. You possess a creative mind and can easily express yourself. You are also very curious and love to communicate, which makes you diplomatic and a good conversationalist. You may be associated with street style, fashion education, art galleries, or the local art scene. You have good social skills, are flirtatious, and can easily strike up a conversation, developing a reputation as the popular girl in school or the girl next door or something of equivalence.

Venus in the third house indicates literary talent. You enjoy poetry and are artistic and creative. The third house represents education. Venus is madly in love with education. If you have this placement in your horoscope, you will spend your entire life educating yourself. Your home is most likely littered with books. You have a natural talent for languages and can quickly learn new ones. Aside from knowledge, Venus in the third house frequently bestows dexterity. People with this placement are extremely talented. This combination can result in a good teacher or writer.

It is suggested that if Venus is placed in the third house, you may tend to avoid conflicts. You may possess the ability to understand the other person's perspective, which can be advantageous in negotiations. Venus in the third house can help to resolve disputes quickly. This placement of Venus indicates that you have an inherent talent for communication and can achieve your goals while simultaneously being kind and charming. The third house is associated with siblings and childhood. If Venus is not negatively affected, it indicates that you had a harmonious relationship with your siblings during childhood, which will continue to be supportive throughout your life. Individuals with Venus in the third house usually have cheerful childhood memories and are often well-liked by their community. Although, at times, you may indulge in gossip, you are a beloved member of your neighborhood and acquaintances. Venus in the third house also indicates that you enjoy running errands and embarking on short journeys. During these trips, you may come across several things that can serve as sources of inspiration for your artistic endeavors.

Through the influence of Venus in you chart you can discover what you desire in a relationship, how you approach love, your way of giving and receiving love, and your perception of your worthiness. The third house in your chart represents your cognitive abilities. If Venus is present, you naturally gravitate toward intellectual individuals. You seek a partner who can mentally stimulate you and make you laugh. Additionally, you enjoy flirting. Communication is vital to you in any relationship, and you long for someone with whom you can engage in stimulating conversations. You tend to meet potential partners through your immediate surroundings, relatives, or even chance encounters on short trips.

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♡Venus in the 4th house♡

When Venus is located in the 4th house, it can indicate a strong desire to create a pleasant and harmonious home environment. This placement is often associated with a deep connection to family and a need for stability in relationships. Individuals with this placement may have a natural talent for decorating and creating a cozy atmosphere. They tend to express their emotions most freely within their family circle. However, they may be selective in their choice of loved ones and exclude those who are too different from themselves. They limit their love to a reassuring home and may tend to become overly attached to material possessions. It's important to remember that true happiness and fulfillment come from deeper connections and emotional security, rather than just external aesthetics. People with this placement are typically optimistic and cheerful and thrive on being surrounded by love and warmth. They are well-suited for creating a happy family environment and have good relationships with all family members. They are skilled at diffusing conflicts before they arise.

It seems that you possess a deep fondness for both your biological family and the family you establish as an adult, as indicated by the placement of Venus. This position suggests that you share a strong bond with your parents, and they have played a positive role in your life. Those with Venus in the fourth house are more likely to hail from a well-to-do family. The fourth house symbolizes not only your immediate family and home but also your ancestors and heritage. Venus in the fourth house is captivated by great-grandparents and all of your ancestors. It is believed that the past holds the answers to contemporary dilemmas. Individuals with Venus in the fourth house are often intrigued by history, archaeology, and ethnology or feel a profound connection with traditions and people of the past and their way of life. Customs and traditions are of great importance to you. You live your life by your family's values, and your principles align with your parents'. With this placement, you tend to be more conservative, and traditional values hold a special place in your heart. A joyous family life is a top priority for you. You may be fortunate in terms of real estate or land ownership. 

Venus in the fourth house also suggests that you are environmentally aware. You put in quite a bit of effort to make your home look appealing. Your aptitude for interior design is revealed by Venus in this position, as you may take great pleasure in decorating your space, be it your bedroom or home, create a cozy and welcoming atmosphere for yourself and your loved ones. Spending time at home is crucial to an individual with Venus in the fourth house, and they put in considerable effort to make it inviting and comfortable. 

You are likely drawn to individuals who are clean-cut, traditional, and stable. You seek a long-term relationship rather than a fleeting romance. However, those with this placement typically marry later in life. Emotions play a crucial role in your relationships. You possess intense emotions, and feeling secure and loved is critical for establishing a bond with someone. With Venus in the fourth house, you exude charm and tend to attract partners rather than the other way around. Raising a family with your partner is of great significance to you, and you may have a passion for it. As a cardinal house, the fourth house may also influence your passions and career. With Venus in this position, you may excel as a wedding, party, or event planner, wedding dress designer, interior decorator, house flipper, or jewelry designer.

♡Venus in the 5th house♡

Individuals with Venus in the fifth house possess a deep-seated admiration for sentimental and romantic relationships, as well as emotional attachments that bring them a sense of fulfillment. Their pursuit of love, whether it be a lover, a child, or a work of art, is characterized by an unwavering passion that drives them toward their desires with unwavering determination. They desire to craft something with genuine affection that is truly stunning and leaves an indelible mark on both themselves, as a creator, and the recipients. The act of expressing love is one of the most powerful ways they share a piece of themselves. 

This placement indicates a heightened desire for pleasure and entertainment, which manifests as a strong creative energy and an appreciation for art and beauty. People with Venus in the fifth house are often blessed with natural charm and charisma that makes them attractive to others. However, it is important to balance pleasure with responsibility, as the fifth house also represents happiness, putting one's happiness in the presence of others, love, vices or monetarily luxuries can lead to a shaky and unstable mindset that shifts between optimism and pessimism that depends on what they have and what they don't. It is no surprise that individuals with Venus in their fifth house possess a playful and humorous disposition, making them interesting people who enjoy being the center of attention and entertaining others.

The influence of Venus in the fifth house can enhance one's artistic abilities, such as acting and writing. It is a remarkable combination for producing art since the planet of beauty is situated in the house of creativity. This placement imbues individuals with an imaginative and playful personality, allowing them to go with the flow and exude an appealing quality that draws others towards them. They have a good relationship with their inner child and tend to be childlike and playful, traits that children are naturally attracted to. People with Venus in the fifth house are often skilled at working with children and enjoy nurturing and protecting them.

They usually have an abundance of romantic opportunities as they are very attractive. They value attention and are playful and charming, with plenty of sexual energy. They are drawn to individuals who share their upbeat and fun-loving nature. Hence, this placement suggests that they may have many love affairs. They're attracted to exciting individuals with vibrant personalities, strong creative abilities, and an intense desire for love and pleasure that match their own zest. 

♡Venus in the 6th house♡

Individuals with Venus in the house of Virgo are generally associated with practicality and groundedness. As an earth house, the sixth house prioritizes the pursuit of making a living and facing reality. It is worth noting that health and work are the two central aspects of life that the sixth house focuses on.

For those with Venus in the sixth house, there is a tendency to be detail-oriented and find pleasure in work that encompasses beauty, aesthetics, or creativity. This may manifest as possessing artistic abilities or having a passion for fields such as interior design, fashion, or graphic design. Individuals with this placement possess a keen eye for color, texture, and design and are often drawn to professions that involve helping others, such as healthcare or social work. In essence, Venus in the sixth house indicates a desire for beauty and harmony in the workplace and a commitment to serving others.

Your Venusian signature lies in your ability to be affectionate. You define yourself and your social role through your sensitivity, sense of aesthetics, and ability to be emotive. This often leads to a profession that is directly related to charm, femininity, and art. Ultimately, your place in society and your social function are determined by your ability to seduce, trust your instincts, and your natural preferences.

The distinction between the sixth and tenth houses is crucial to understanding your professional life. The tenth house represents your overall career and life path, while the sixth house represents your job and workplace, where you earn a living and pay your bills. The sixth house is also linked to health, revealing your susceptibility to diseases and what to watch out for. Daily routines that aid in maintaining good health are associated with the sixth house.

Pursuing art and beauty daily is a way of life for those with Venus in the sixth house. Finding beauty in the ordinary is a skill that they possess. Office decorating, interior design, architecture, creating objects of form and function are all areas that can be explored. You possess the ability to bring harmony to the workplace, beauty, and help your coworkers get along. You enjoy providing aid and assistance, which is why those with this placement often work in health or counseling positions, but there are many other jobs where they can indirectly aid others. Collaboration is typically a part of your job.

People with Venus in the sixth house are often conscientious and make excellent employees who are emotionally attached to their work. This placement indicates a job where you spend most of your time in a pleasant work environment. You get along well with your colleagues and are charming, creating a harmonious work environment. Venus in the sixth house makes you popular and well-liked at work, bringing you good fortune in your daily dealings. Your health is excellent, as you prioritize healthy habits such as getting enough sleep, drinking water, and avoiding unhealthy habits. However, if Venus receives difficult aspects, you may be prone to indulging in junk food and other sugary and salty foods.

Success in both work and love often go hand in hand in your life. When you are happy and fulfilled in your job, you radiate happiness, making you more attractive. Those with this placement frequently meet their partners at work, and they may share the same profession or work in the same field. When it comes to matters of the heart, you take a logical approach. You may appear reserved and cold, taking your time to decide if a relationship is right for you. However, once you commit, you are a devoted and caring partner.

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♡Venus in the 7th house♡

The placement of Venus in the seventh house is considered favorable for Venus since it is in her own house, the house of Libra. This placement is believed to bring about a happy marriage and good fortune in relationships. If Venus is not afflicted, then one's spouse is likely to be charming, attractive, and financially well-off. Individuals with this placement tend to perform best when paired up with someone as they dislike being alone. The placement of Venus in the seventh house can reveal valuable insights into an individual's relationships and partnerships. People with this placement are usually highly sociable, possessing an innate charm and charisma that often draws others towards them. Such individuals are quite popular among their peers.

One notable characteristic of individuals with Venus in the 7th house is that their decisions are based more on gut reactions than logical reasoning. When it comes to interpersonal relationships, they tend to feel first and think later. This sensitivity can be a double-edged sword, as it can make them the most charming person in the room when their sensitivity matches that of the other person. However, they can also be vulnerable to unwanted visitors and should approach new relationships with caution.

Regarding romantic relationships, Venus in the 7th house suggests that the individual places great importance on finding a partner with whom they connect on a deep emotional level. They tend to be quite romantic and enjoy expressing their affection towards their partner in various ways. This placement is an excellent sign for a happy marriage, as Venus is here to help them find the person of their dreams and live happily ever after. The spouse is likely to be attractive and charismatic, embodying many of Venus's characteristics. People with Venus in their seventh house have plenty of opportunities to get married.

Individuals with Venus in the 7th house often have a natural talent for public relations or working with the public. They are charming and loving, and the people tend to adore them. They are also well-suited to careers in law or counseling, where their negotiation skills and ability to see the other person's point of view can be put to good use. If Venus is not afflicted, this placement can also bring good luck in legal matters or business partnerships.

However, there is a potential downside to this placement, which is a tendency toward codependency in relationships. Individuals with Venus in the 7th house may struggle to maintain their own sense of identity outside of their partnerships, relying heavily on their partner for emotional support and validation. They value intimacy in their relationships, and emotional bonds are crucial to their sense of well-being. They want a relationship where there is a balance of giving and receiving. Individuals with this placement feel truly loved and worthy only when they are with someone. Finding happiness on their own can be a significant challenge, and they require a sense of belonging to someone. This dependency on others can be a trap, and it can be challenging for them to advocate for themselves in relationships, especially if their Venus is afflicted. To avoid this trap, it is essential for individuals with Venus in the 7th house to cultivate a strong sense of self and learn to advocate for their own needs in their relationships.

♡Venus in the 8th house♡

Your Venus is located in the eighth house, the house of Scorpio, which brings a sense of mystery and allure to your life. You are naturally drawn to hidden things and have a passionate and mysterious personality. This placement indicates that you will benefit greatly from other people in life, especially when it comes to joint resources, inheritance, gifts, and other methods of financial support. However, it also brings intense and transformative experiences in relationships and finances, indicating a strong desire for deep emotional connections and intimacy, while also fearing vulnerability and betrayal. The eighth house represents shared resources and financial gain often enters your life through the finances of others. Relationships help you grow spiritually and financially. Your spouse might leave you a great inheritance.

You have a natural talent for managing resources and investments but need to be careful not to become too possessive or controlling. This placement suggests a need to explore and understand the deeper mysteries of life and love. You have a strong desire to transform other people's sense of beauty and appearance. You should move beyond what the mainstream tells you to like, love, and look like. Shed superficial creativity and notions of beauty and art. Get deep into your creative processes and discover what truly inspires you. You are well-adapted to crises, thrills, wounds, and healings, and your affectivity thrives on contrasts, transformations, and self-questionings. When you explore something you love deeply, you might become so obsessed with it that you let it symbolically (or literally) kill you. People with placements in this house are drawn to mysteries and things that defy logic. You enjoy contemplating everything hidden, and this placement might pique your interest in psychology and spirituality. You are frequently drawn to forensics, detective novels, and horror films. Your ideal way to die would be out of love. 

Venus in Scorpio's house makes you irresistible, but it doesn't guarantee happiness in a relationship. You may struggle to understand emotions and be complete on your own. Your marriage may not last, but when it ends, you will benefit greatly, as you transform and improve after the ending of every vulnerable and intimate connection. In a relationship, you want to share yourself completely and seek your soulmate. You place a high value on intimacy, which may lead to jealousy or possessiveness if you feel hurt or in danger. Sex is an important part of any relationship for you, and you may have numerous kinks and desire to explore your sexuality and limits with a trusted partner. This placement is often fraught with drama, and you may choose the wrong partner for a relationship. Ultimately, you have a strong desire to save and assist others but remember that everyone must first help themselves to solve their problems.

♡Venus in the 9th house♡

This placement of Venus in the ninth is absolutely enchanting, serving as a testament to your positive, bright, and daring spirit. The ninth house has a significant association with the higher self, indicating a deep-rooted interest in spiritual pursuits. When Venus, the planet of love and relationships, is positioned in this house, it points towards an individual who possesses a unique set of values and ethics that they abide by in their daily life. This placement often leads to a preference for partners hailing from diverse cultural backgrounds, with travel being a common means of finding a suitable match.

Your Venus is endlessly inquisitive and constantly seeking out novel experiences, which may account for your profound love of traveling to foreign locations and immersing yourself in different cultures. With Venus situated in the ninth house, it's possible that your significant other hails from a different country or culture, and this placement may also suggest a powerful inclination toward higher education, philosophy, and spirituality. You tend to be drawn to individuals from diverse backgrounds and treasure the values and beliefs that you glean from these encounters. However, it's important to maintain a practical and rational approach to life, even as you embark on the beautiful journey of discovering love as you may lose yourself in absorbing everything in your partner's life, neglecting your own. Your philosophy is rooted in emotions, pleasures, and heartfelt connections, which allow you to explore and excel beyond your limitations. You possess a deep appreciation for wonders, and your emotional life is constantly fueled by exploration and discovery. Your romantic life is akin to a playful game of "love me-love me not," but with exotic flowers instead of daisies. You firmly believe that everything is waiting to be discovered and shared, and you never tire of adding new dimensions to your emotional life.

You possess a natural inclination to explore the world beyond the confines of your hometown. Your passion for adventure, coupled with your desire to experience diverse cultures and religions, is a direct reflection of your Venus placement in the ninth house. Your natural talent for acquiring foreign languages is impressive, and your attraction to individuals of varied backgrounds is quite apparent. You crave the excitement of traveling to exotic destinations, continually seeking to quench your thirst for knowledge and curiosity.

Your sense of independence is highly valued, and you remain open-minded and accepting of others. Should you encounter any constraints, you are not one to remain in a restrictive situation or relationship for long. Education is of utmost importance to you, and you thrive in both formal and informal learning environments. Those with Venus in the ninth house tend to be highly educated and may even pursue careers in teaching with a primary focus on maritime law. Your philosophical interests are strong, and you relish in contemplating life's most profound questions, eagerly engaging in discussions with others.

Higher education and spirituality are two other domains that the ninth house represents, thereby making it likely for individuals with Venus in the ninth house to find their significant other either in college or through spiritual connections. Jupiter, the planet of good fortune, is closely associated with the ninth house, thereby making it a place of abundant positive energy. Venus, being a sensory planet, absorbs this energy, leading to a favorable outcome in terms of marriage. The type of individuals that one is attracted to is also indicated by Venus, and in the case of Venus in the ninth house, one is attracted to individuals who are well-educated, modern and have a broad-minded perspective. Philosophical connections and a shared ethical value system are highly valued in a partner. In addition to this, the ninth house is also associated with in-laws, and with Venus in the ninth house, it is likely for individuals to share a positive relationship with them.

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♡Venus in the 10th house♡

Individuals with Venus in the 10th house are bestowed with a plethora of charming and attractive qualities that can prove to be advantageous in their professional lives. This placement brings forth a sense of balance between the energies of Venus and one's career, resulting in the emergence of success and recognition. The Venusian talents of these individuals are predominantly utilized in their vocations, making them popular among colleagues and superiors. Their public image is likely to be good, and they may excel in fields of directive roles in art, beauty, fashion, or entertainment.

However, this placement can sometimes result in a tendency to prioritize social status and material success over emotional fulfillment and inner satisfaction, leading to an imbalance between professional goals and personal values. To ensure a harmonious equilibrium, individuals must strive to strike a balance between the two.

If your vocation is correlated to aesthetics, art, or decoration, your Venusian qualities such as charm, taste, and receptiveness can prove to be valuable assets in maintaining your ambitions. You may become known for your work in the world as an artist or an innovator who rearranges elements into harmonious forms. Additionally, you may also have creative talents that you can be presented through public performances that make an impression on the audience. This placement also highlights the potential for success as an arbitrator or someone who mediates and resolves conflicts in family or work environments.

People with Venus in the 10th house are passionate about their work and think about the long-term, making plans for the future. They value beauty and grace and consider them as assets that help make them feel powerful in life. A smile is considered the most effective weapon for individuals with Venus in the 10th house. Venus brings good fortune and harmony to the house where it resides, making success in career and professional life easier to achieve.

Working with the general public can also lead to good fortune, and this placement brings social success, making one a born diplomat. Individuals with Venus in the 10th house are courteous, kind, and charming with excellent manners. In the eyes of the public, Venus here makes individuals appear charismatic, graceful, and loving. They are well-liked and adored, and their community knows who they are, with overwhelmingly positive impressions of them.

This placement also indicates a preference for playing it safe and following the rules rather than dictating them. Individuals with Venus in the 10th house are usually attractive and well-dressed, and this placement often shows that authorities and bosses favor them, helping them get ahead in life. In terms of love, these individuals tend to choose partners based on logic rather than emotion, carefully considering whether they will be good partners. They are drawn to powerful and accomplished people but also value trustworthiness and accountability. With traditional values, this placement indicates that these individuals may meet their partners at work or in a professional setting and desire, not just a successful partner but also one that adds and support their own success.

♡Venus in the 11th house♡

When Venus is in the eleventh house, it indicates a desire to socialize, make new friends, and be a part of something bigger. You have a fondness for meeting new people, and as a result, you have made many new friends. These friends often help you advance both professionally and personally. There is always someone available to present you with a new opportunity, introduce you to someone, or involve you in a new project.

Having Venus in the eleventh house is a favorable placement for money matters. This house denotes the income one earns from their profession and the things that come into their life. People with this placement have a diverse set of interests and prefer engaging in activities with others. They are likely to be part of organizations or societies that share a common goal or interest, such as those related to art, fashion, diplomacy, and social causes. They enjoy being part of a group and are regarded as socialites or society's darlings. Their relationships are marked by a deep understanding and complicity, which makes them feel like a whole entity. Although this principle can create some challenges, they strive to maintain exemplary relationships. They have artist friends who share their aesthetic sense, and they tend to meet their partners through social groups or organizations. They are natural leaders, and people are drawn to them. They have a large circle of friends, mostly feminine in nature.

Individuals who possess Venus in their eleventh house tend to be highly intelligent and creative. They enjoy questioning conventional methods of doing things and often wonder if there's a better way to accomplish a task. In their journey, they relish meeting like-minded individuals who share their interests. Venus is commonly associated with clubs and organizations in this domain. Being a part of a group where one can meet new people and assist one another is gratifying. These individuals have an extensive network of professional contacts and love the act of volunteering. It's an excellent way to forge new friendships while simultaneously contributing to the betterment of the world. With this placement, there are frequently humanitarian ideals. Venus in the eleventh house corresponds to being tolerant and open-minded. With the planet of harmony, they connect modern values with traditional ones to create unity between people. The eleventh house represents ideals, and Venus implies that these individuals have a plethora of them, to the point of losing touch with reality in their pursuit of a utopian world they envisioned.

Venus represents how one loves and desires to be loved. Its placement is critical when it comes to one's love life. With Venus residing in the house of friendship, one's partner is also their friend. This is a positive position for long-term relationships since both individuals share similar life goals and aspirations. Individuals with Venus in the eleventh house often attract others with their intelligence. A mental connection is significant to them, and they seek someone who thinks like them. If one hasn't found their soulmate yet, getting involved in social activities, volunteering, fundraising, or charity work may help. Spending time with friends is also essential. Often, these individuals become romantically involved with someone who is their friend or someone they met through friends. It's not uncommon to meet a significant other through volunteering or within the same group or organization that one is a part of.

♡Venus in the 12th house♡

When the planet Venus is in residence in the house of Pisces, where it is exalted and its influence is particularly strong. individuals may experience difficulty with self-esteem and connect with others on a deep level. While Jupiter remains the true benefactor in this astrological situation, Venus still offers some level of protection and guidance. However, it is worth noting that the twelfth house can be a challenging and peculiar place for planets to reside, as their energies often feel distant and difficult to access in one's everyday life. It is not uncommon for those with this placement to find themselves drawn to unavailable partners and engaging in secretive relationships. The twelfth house is typically associated with hidden or subconscious issues, which can make it challenging to overcome these patterns of behavior. 

Despite these challenges, individuals with Venus in the twelfth house may possess a strong spiritual or artistic inclination. However, it is essential to remain mindful of self-sabotage and escapism, working towards greater self-awareness and balance in both personal growth and relationships. Love can be a complex and elusive thing for those with this placement, as they may be seeking an unattainable romantic ideal. 

These natives possess a compassionate heart and a desire to help others, which can attract positive energy and support when they need it most. If you were born with Venus in this house, you may be particularly sensitive and introverted, requiring plenty of time alone to reconnect with yourself.

You particularly possess excellent artistic abilities, as you have the potential to explore the mysterious realm of the twelfth house and use it as inspiration in your art, as well as in your daily life. Engaging in art can be a great way to unwind and relax. However, this placement of Venus also indicates that you have many emotions that you either conceal or keep hidden from others. Some potential themes of your artistic expression may include anything from married life to romantic fantasies, as well as exploring the beauty of nature and wildlife. You may also have a fear of sharing your art with others. It is possible for you to have your work displayed in exhibitions, institutions, or other public spaces. Through your art, you can develop your sense of love and embrace your fears by channeling them into creative expression. You may even find that you are drawn to creating spiritually-inspired or devotional art, including paintings of gods and goddesses, phantasms, fictional characters, fan art, and fantasy art. Despite any challenges that you may face, your creativity can flourish and help you to become stronger.

People with Venus in the twelfth house may find themselves in complex emotional situations. They may develop feelings for individuals who are not available due to reasons such as being married, having a family, or being committed to work. Expressing their feelings may not be an option in such cases. Moreover, even if they are in a committed relationship or married, they may find themselves in love with someone else, which can lead to internal conflict. Despite their desire to remain faithful to their partner, suppressing their emotions may prove to be a challenging task. Conversely, these natives might be victims of cheating and being in a relationship that is characterized by a breach of trust, boundaries, and in the worst cases, abuse. Consequently, their love life may be a source of pain, and they may have experienced heartbreak in the past.

Individuals with Venus in the twelfth house are often attracted to those who have experienced significant suffering or are emotionally unstable. They may be drawn to helping them, but it is crucial to remember that they must first help themselves. This placement may also shed light on hidden bad habits related to excessive self-indulgence. Since Venus is associated with pleasure and enjoying life, individuals with this placement may tend to suppress their need for love, which is a basic human need, and instead project it onto behaviors such as overeating, overspending, or denying themselves happiness.

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Bye Babes ❤

[nanamiluvs]

can you do nsfw alphabet for gallagher? :3

just yes omg gallagher is so ngh... like someone commented on my last gallagher post, i want him and wriothesley to tag team me idc

gallagher nsfw alphabet !

pairing : gallagher x reader

rating : explicit

wc : 2.4k

warnings : smut content, reader is afab but no pronouns used, not beta read, reader is called "miss" and "baby" and "good girl", reader is smaller than gallagher in size, size kink, cum play, slight pet play, come eating, gallagher likes to torture himself, manhandling, praise kink, choking, spanking, gallagher eats pussy like a champ, face-fucking, very slight hair pulling, begging, mentions of creampies, overstimulation, teasing, so much teasing

a : aftercare

gallagher is not the biggest practitioner of aftercare, he'd much rather you two just lay down in a mess and leave the cleaning to later. but he's an acts of service type of man. if you want to be cleaned, he will clean you. if you want to be held, he's cuddling you already. gallagher can do whatever you want to do the point it comes off as weird, but really, he's fine with whatever you like. he wants whatever you want. this man can eat his own cum out of you with pleasure for fuck sake.

b : body part

gallagher loves how big he is. he knows his frame is large, wide shoulders and a build adorned with hard muscles. he acts like he's not aware of it, but he loves how you fit in his bulky arms. for you, gallagher loves anywhere he can grab or run his hands through: your waist, your tummy, your thighs, hips, throat- anywhere, really. to be honest, it doesn't matter but on a surface level, gallagher seems to be the type to prefer a heavier body.

c : cum

gallagher is messy and i mean it. he likes to see a mess on you or himself, he doesn't care, just make a mess. he loves to see his cum dirty your body, sprayed across your tits and stomach or seeping out of your cunt. his cum has an off-white color, thicker in density and he cums a lot. you don't know how it's possible, but the man just doesn't stop cumming. he loves to smear his cum too, even more when you scold him for it, laughing like a little boy.

d : dirty secret

gallagher is not shy, but the idea of wanting you to put a collar on him and treat him like a dog, is a little embarrassing. if you ask him to, he'd say something like 'eh, whatever you want, miss' and oblige. it's definitely not as if he's so fucking hard he's turned on by it, he just wants to go along with your requests.

e : experience

gallagher is probably quite experienced. his job is quite stressful, so why not let off some steam with some hook ups here and there? he's not one to judge you whether you're experienced or not, he simply thinks of his experience as an advantage to pleasure you. he knows what he's doing and he knows it so well.

f : favorite position

gallagher has no set favorite position since this man finds joy in throwing you around. sex with gallagher never finishes in the same position as it started, he will find a way to manhandle you to his whims. probably likes g-whiz, table top and upstanding citizen a lot. get used to him moving your body and handling you into another position he wants because he loves doing it.

g : goofy

gallagher is, most of the time, very laid-back during sex. there are times he's more serious, but usually it's him cracking a few jokes here and there. he doesn't see sex as a necessarily romantic thing- gallagher is someone who prefers to fuck rather than to make love. he's extremely cocky too, so much that you'd want to punch his grinning face in with your fist, but well, that's gallagher for you.

h : hair

gallagher definitely has a happy trail and i don't care what anyone else says. he's probably hairy down there, he doesn't let it get too wild since that bothers him but don't expect to see a completely bald surface. he likes it if you're more on the hairy side as well. for gallagher, the messier, the better when it comes to sex.

i : intimacy

gallagher, like i said, doesn't view sex as strictly romantic. he's often teasing you, dirty words spilling through his lips as he fucks you into utter bliss. this man fucks like he has no respect for you. the other times he's on the intimate side, gallagher can't help but smile fondly as his hips roll into yours, arms wrapped around your body with his low voice whispering in your ear. it's so unfair, how he can pull off both with ease.

j : jack off

gallagher probably jacks off once or maybe twice a week at max. i imagine him doing it after work, before he gets to sleep. he mainly does it to destress. i also imagine him wanting to see you masturbate, rough and calloused hands palming his clothed groin as he watches you pleasure yourself. he will not touch you unless you're done, cunt all wet and messy for his thick cock to fill up. and fill up, he will.

k : kink

gallagher is honestly the kinky type.

‎ ‎ ‎ begging : gallagher wants to see you beg. beg to cum, beg for him to finish inside you, beg for him to fuck you, beg and beg and beg. he finds it so arousing, the way you can go so vulnerable for a man like him. he's a meanie, too, making you beg for anything.

‎ ‎ ‎ choking : gallagher would hate to hurt you, but sometimes he can't help but wrap his hand around your throat as he fucks you. he's never too harsh, he knows how strong he is, his touch is more like a reminder of his presence. his thumb plays with your lip before he leans in and kisses you. he also absolutely loves getting choked by you, your smaller hands wrapped around his neck as you ride him, a teasing grin on his face as he struggles to breathe. he says you don't need to worry about going overboard as he can simply stop it if you do so. trust me, he doesn't want to.

‎ ‎ ‎ overstimulation : gallagher hits me as the type to be able to do it for hours on end, obsessed with making you cum over and over again before burying himself inside. he loves fucking you silly, your whining and moaning sound like music in his ears. loves overstimulating himself too.

‎ ‎ ‎ praise kink : gallagher has a praise kink. it's frustrating at this point, the way he can get you to do anything with that stupid smirk on his face and whispers of his, praising you for everything you do. so much that you want to choke him, yet he's just so sickeningly sweet with his words. anything you do well, he will praise you for it. he turns it into a game of whether you'll get his approval or not, going as far as making you beg and crawl for it, and then praise you for how well you've been. 'y'can do it for me, can't ya? good girl.' he can get you to do almost everything he wants with the providance of praises. likes to be on the receiving side on the times he's on the submissive side, often begging for praises during it. 'ah, i've been a good boy, right, baby? right? come and sit on it, please.'

‎ ‎ ‎ size kink : gallagher wants to tower over you. he wants to hold both of your wrists with one hand. he wants to see how small your hands look compared to his larger ones, he wants to see those big fingers of his slowly disappear inside your pussy, filling you like a dick would. yet it's not even close enough to the feeling of his cock, so big and heavy and just too much. he smiles and pushes further inside, relishing in how much you struggle to take him. how many times has it been? are you still not used to his length? he teases as his frame wraps around yours with your back pressed against his chest, enveloping you with all the warmth radiating from the man. he loves how he's just so big compared to you.

l : location

gallagher cares little about things such as locations. if there's a surface, he can fuck you. he has no shame, he can and will do it everywhere you want him to. obviously won't force you if that's not your thing, happy to oblige in the privacy of your own home. the location really doesn't matter to him, because at the end of the day, it's your walls wrapping around his cock so deliciously.

m : motivation

gallagher has a high sex drive, so i think he doesn't need much additional motivation. but your reactions would be the biggest motivating point for him to continue, in love with the way you whine when he rubs your clit or the way you squirm under his hands as he caresses your body. he will go to heaven and back just to hear you moan in ecstasy. would get hard again at the sight of his cum seeping out your folds.

n : no

gallagher most likely wouldn't have a strictly negative opinion on anything. he's a firm believer that everything can be tested but he's not a fan of the idea of physically hurting you with knives or other sharp weapons.

o : oral

gallagher eats pussy like a craved man. it's either him holding you down by your thighs as you sit on him or your plush thighs threatening to crush his skull when he goes down on you. you may think he does it to pleasure you, in reality, you couldn't be more wrong. he eats you out because that's what pleasures him, the taste of your juices along with the melodies your moans sound like in his ears. he grows so hard it's unbearable, yet no, he won't stop to fuck you for real. his hips grind against the bed, dick aching with need in his pants, low moans spilling from his mouth as his tongue laps your slick. his stubble grazes your lips as his jaw moves, your hips desperately chasing the friction. he also loves pushing your head down on his length, watching you gag and choke around his thick cock as you struggle to take him in. he enjoys eating you out but also face-fucking you, although not as much as the former. his grip on your hair tightens as he gets closer to coming, your saliva and his precum mixing before he buries his cock in your mouth, cum spilling down your throat. he will definitely pull out if you don't like the stretch.

p : pace

gallagher has such a rough pace that it's intoxicating. his hips slam into yours so heavily, you can feel his whole body with the way he thrusts inside of you. he's not slow too, you wonder how he does it. each thrust fills your insides with vigor, groans coming from his mouth. his hips fasten as he comes close to finishing, and that takes quite the long time, the sensation overwhelming.

q : quickie

gallagher absolutely enjoys quickies and no one can convince me otherwise. he thinks they're just so useful for getting one out of his system with the load of his work. though most of the time, he prefers having his time with you.

r : risk

gallagher is probably open with taking risks when it comes to sex. anything you wanna try, he's alright with it- truly a gentleman.

s : stamina

gallagher can go on for multiple rounds on end. you don't know how he does it, he just cums and cums and cums until there's nothing left in his balls, yet it repeats all over the next day! his stamina is probably one of the highest of the star rail men.

t : toys

gallagher can use anything that makes the act more pleasurable for the both of you. it's usually him asking you to try out some new toy he got from who knows where.

u : unfair

gallagher is such a bully. he does nothing but to tease you and rile you up, he just can't shut up for one second! he makes fun of how you're so easily crumbled, how you must have no shame with the way you beg for his cock, how you turn into mush the moment you take his tip. he says all of those with a stupid smirk on his face that only widens when you scold him for it. he enjoys seeing you get teased and all shy so quickly. you want to bite him, punch his face as he keeps not shutting the hell up, his large palm coming down to slap your rear from behind as he laughs at you. 'what's that? oh? you think i'm too mean, miss? how cute, you know you love it.'

v : volume

gallagher is not the most vocal during sex but definitely not quiet. he's more of the groaner and grunter type instead of moaning. you can still make him moan, though, just ride him with your hands tight around his throat and listen to him singing.

w : wild card

gallagher likes how painful it is to have a boner. he leaves his pants on for the sole purpose of feeling his dick stretch against the fabric, begging for release. it hurts so much yet he loves the feeling, cockhead too sensitive and weeping by the time he frees it. he likes it when you sit on it, not putting it inside you but just sitting on it, forcing it to cower as you rub yourself along his length. likes it when you squeeze the shaft so tight that he can't help but curse. gallagher loves the pain if it's because of you.

x : x-ray

gallagher has the biggest or second biggest cock in all of star rail. he's just sooo large, longer and has so much more girth than average. it's a tan color fading into a furious red in the tip. it's so easy to get precum oozing out of it. definitely has thick veins sticking out here and there that you can feel inside of you. he knows how big he is yet he acts like he doesn't.

y : yearning

gallagher doesn't need to have sex that much but definitely wants to. it's okay if you don't want to, he can just rub one out if it's so urgent and nothing if it's not. likes to do it with you almost every day to every other night.

z : zzz

gallagher probably has problems sleeping, i mean, have you seen this man? so when it's night and you're in your home, it's when he falls sleep the most easily. he doesn't want to let you go, his big arms wrapped around your body as he pulls you into his chest, spooning you as if he was a little kid and you were his favorite toy to sleep with.

reqs are open !

i mainly write for jjk, hsr and genshin ✩

[lunaritex]

A WARM WELCOME . .ᐟ — kinich.

᱖ content: established relationship, reader is gender-neutral, reader is introduced to kachina and mualani, the natlan trio as a found family trope.

᱖ from hye: here's something i wrote at work to celebrate kinich's banner release for tomorrow! may all kinich wanters be kinich havers!!! @kazuhaiku

“Say, is it me or has Kinich been… happier for the past few days?” Kachina whispered to Mualani. 

The two girls were hanging out together as always and the shorter girl was the first to bring the topic up. Mualani hums, lazily swinging her feet back and forth in the air. They sat by the edge of the edge, their feet grazing against the cooling surface of the small pool located in the People of the Springs. The pools proved to be an effective way to help the members of the tribe to cool down. 

“Hm? What do you mean, Kachina?” Mualani asked her friend, despite already knowing the reason for the male’s change of behavior. 

“Well, the two-! Wait, look over there!” Kachina was about to explain herself when she spotted two very familiar figures from a distance. She wasted no time in pointing them out, startling the nearby people from her sudden outburst as they recovered themselves and continued on their way. 

“Hm?” 

Mualani followed the direction of where she was pointing. The sight of Kinich walking together with someone nearly made her blow her cover. But she was an incredible actress; well, that’s what she hoped she was. Grinning from ear to ear, the girl wrapped her arm around Kachina’s shoulders and giggled. 

“Kachina, isn’t it obvious why Kinich is happier these days?” 

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Kachina asked, innocently blinking her eyes at her. 

“Kachina Kachina, when someone falls in love, of course they will be in a good mood! Well, it’s still too young for you to understand,” she explained, playfully ruffling the other’s hair. 

“I-In love!?” Kachina squeaked, ears turning red as if she was embarrassed by the thought of it. 

“Haha, why are you embarrassed! Come on, we should say hi to them and maybe Kinich can introduce his partner to us,” she laughed, dragging her poor friend along before she could voice her own thoughts. 

~ 

“Are those your friends? It looks like they are coming over,” you inquired, pointing ahead of you and before your boyfriend could reply, the two girls came to a stop before you. 

You had to hold back a chuckle when you saw how the shorter hid herself behind her friend, using her as protection. The sight was adorable when she snuck a peek at you, her hands gripping onto the back of the other’s clothes. Kinich on the other hand, was not amused with the unwanted interruption. He sighed, crossing his arms and arched an eyebrow. 

“What is it now?” He deadpanned, earning a light kick to his feet for his rather rude tone. 

“We were wondering who your partner is and thought we could introduce ourselves to them! You know, so we could be friends,” the girl with blue and white hair beamed, reaching her hand out for a handshake towards you. 

“Hi there, I’m Mualani! Nice to meet you, thanks for taking care of Kinich on our behalf. It’s great that he has someone as amazing as you.” 

Her compliment made you flushed slightly as you accepted her handshake. “Nice to meet you too, I’m (Name) and really, the same could be said to you too. I think Kinich is a great guy, although he could be more expressive.” 

“I’m right here, you know,” his remark was ignored by everyone. 

“And this is Kachina! Don’t mind her, she’s a little shy,” Mualani looked over to the girl who goes by Kachina, gently nudging her forward so she could properly introduce herself. 

You bent down so you were eye-level with her, not wanting to intimidate her with your taller figure. You gave her a gentle and reassuring smile. “Hi Kachina, it’s great to meet you.” 

“H-Hello (Name), it’s great to meet you too,” she stuttered over the first word but managed to regain herself, shyly smiling at you. It took all of your will to resist the tempting urge to squish her cheeks together; the sight beyond adorable for your poor heart to handle. 

“How did the two of you meet?” Mualani asked, choosing to stop beating around the bush as curiosity had gotten the better of her. 

“I had to save them when they accidentally slipped and if it weren’t for me, they would have fell to their death,” Kinich briefly explained, much to your utter horror and disbelief. 

“Kinich! Can you at least say you saved me from Saurains or something!” You whined, your response making your partner roll his eyes, sighing in exasperation. 

“Oh, was it love at first sight for you two?” Maulani teased, playfully wiggling her eyebrows. 

“I-”

“Alright, that’s enough. We have somewhere else to be, so if you excuse us, we will be taking our leave,” Kinich interrupted, pulling you away from his friends as he grabbed your hand; interlocking your fingers together. 

You managed to bid them farewell before they eventually vanished from your sight. Once they were gone, you turned to your boyfriend and couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the sight of his red ears and flushed cheeks. 

“What’s so funny?” He shot you a light-hearted glare, and you choose not to tease him. 

“Nothing, I just think you’re cute, that’s all,” you chuckled, moving closer to press a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

“Well, I think you’re ugly.”

“Hey!”

[sugarfairyteez]

Seonghwa: First Date

pairing: seonghwa x fem! reader

Word Count: 726

Warning: Involves mature content containing vulgar activities and language. Minors do NOT interact.

Includes:

Praising, Dirty Talk, Swearing, Pet Names, Desperate Seonghwa, Release on Clothes, Grinding

————————————————————————

His cock ached in anticipation. Craved to be engulfed by your wet cunt, exploring the depth ends of your vulnerability. Destined to share that precious moment with you, the thought dizzied him. Clouded in his brain, he was finally going to have you. Lingering the night was the goal.

“S-Seonghwa…”

The sweet melody of your voice hung in the air. Thumps resonated in his heart and his throbbing dick, sedating him. He could feel you, the wetness of your bare dripping pussy seeping in. The harsh rhythms of your hips pressed your slick on his hardened, clothed bulge.

You reeked with desperation— he sensed it. Desperation to get yourself off increased his level of eagerness to make you come undone.

“I know Princess…”, Seonghwa cooed, hands sliding against your smooth skin. Caressing your legs, he’d headed to clasp on the underside of your plushy thighs. Veins shredded through his thin flesh, streaking underneath as he squeezed. “You keep going for me…You’re doing amazing”

Your whines.

They drove him insane, on the edge of insanity. His contained composure cracked, but not yet crumbled. He was tempted to flip you over on the sofa, yet allowed you to work your hips on him.

Seonghwa craved you for long— too long.

He couldn’t scrutinized anything with impatience. Creating long last memories in your living room meant more than anything. He needed this to be permanently engraved in your mind— the perfect ending to your first date.

“F-Feels g-good H-Hwa”

Your cries echoed in his ears like an empty cave. Air winded his chest— the buttons on his vest loosened and undone as you yanked, clinging for dear life. “G-Gonna c-cum soon…”

Soon?

It was his key sign to make you release now. He needed you to.

Matched rhythm, Seonghwa grind, amplifying the pleasure for you and himself— his pulsated cock. Determination stroke within, driven by the crazed wails and moans spewed from your lips.

“I’m aware doll face~”

Gruffness filled his tone. The acceleration of his heart beat increased whilst his hips moved rougher. His cock twitched, begging to be released.

“Bet your pussy is aching to release, isn’t it?”

Thoughts were spoken into words. Peace settled, the bliss freeing him as he continued. “You deserve it…You deserve to be fucking spoiled”

Leant back, he caught a glimpse of you:

Face fucked out and scrunched, your lips were wide agape. Your eyes were shut, random strays of your hair peeked messily. Your dress was ruffled, bunched on your hips; the thin strap gliding down your shoulder, exposing your skin. You looked beyond ethereal.

An animalistic growl fled from him. “Fuck, you look so pretty for me baby~”

His palms roamed, head spun in circles as the surface of your smooth skin grazed his touch. The grip on your thighs freed, swooping upwards to grasp on your nude ass. “You look prettier than I imagined. Can’t wait to finally fuck you…”

Hues of red splayed over your glistening skin, flushed with a tinted blush. Your neck dampened, shining with the residue of your sweat. He knew you were very close.

“I wanted you for too long Princess~”

His airways felt as if they were closing in. The shakiness was visible, peaked through his words. Nostrils were caressed with the sweet scent of cherry blossoms, pulling you even closer to him. “Waited too long to fuck you~”

“S-Seonghwa! P-Please—”

Tingles jolted throughout his body, the shriek that left from you pierced through him. Your dainty fingers combed his black, long tresses— the air whisked as the bucket hat fled long ago. He’d moved his hips harsher.

Mind blank, gushiness sunk in past his restraints. Lewd squelching hung loosely in the air— a hazed feeling washed over him. His cock was teased, hinted with the sweetness of your nectar.

“Fuck doll face~”

Saliva pooled in his mouth— your breasts neared his face, perked nicely. The tender flesh was loose, partially covered by your dress and bra. His lips ached, trembled as his leant in to place gentle kisses on your skin. Lips stung with anticipation.

There was one more thing left to do— the thing that would complete him.

“Need to be inside of you…”

Seonghwa mumbled across your skin, breathed between each soft kiss. “Is that okay with you Princess?”

The whiney ‘yes’ was all he needed.

[yan-lorkai]

Hi, so I've read the rules, but I'm not sure how much I can ask for. Can I get a headcanon about the TWST Housewardens finding out that the GN! reader has a boyfriend? Oh, and the reader's boyfriend is just some random student NPC in their dorms. If it's too much, just some of them reacting would be cool. Thanks!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Finally done, yay! Been a while since I wrote for all the housewardens so it is a little lengthy. Hope u enjoy, darling!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Tw: Yandere content, stalking, implied violence and kidnapping.

He's been watching you this whole time, feeling his heart beat inside his chest whenever he heard your sweet laugh and saw you smiling. His feelings slowly start to grow as you become friends, but there's just one problem: You have a boyfriend. What an unpleasant surprise! Well, what a shame that your boyfriend will disappear under suspicious circumstances that will never be resolved and he will be right here by your side to comfort you :)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Azul know just what to do. He plots and plans and trap your boyfriend on a deal he can't refuse. It's a tricky deal, trickier than usual, I mean, a one in a lifetime chance, whatever it is. However you won't never know what happened to him, not when you come to Azul asking if he knows something, not when he is comforting you and rubbing your back as you cry while he pretends to be just as sad as you. As if he ever feel sad to lead your boyfriend to his demise when he can have you like this, when he can mend your heart himself and love you like you deserve. Though when you recover Azul will show you just how devotion and love truly feels. He has been deprived of it for too long, bullied and teased, and he will have you, even if you found out about the deal, even if you claim to hate him, he can bear it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Kalim is a sweetheart on the surface level, so happy all the time, so friendly. But he is oh so suffocating, always touching your arm and pulling you into a hug, kissing your cheeks and forehead and laughing when you tell him to knock it off. People always tend to assume he is your boyfriend and tell you that you too are a very cute couple, and they're always shocking when you tell them that Kalim isn't your boyfriend but just your bestie. Not yet, at least. On an intimate level, he likes to think about what to do with your actual boyfriend. People love money more than they love humans. Can he bribe him? If so, how can he guarantee that he won't go back on his word? Or should him send Jamil to do his dirty work? Mmm, so many options, either way, by the end of the month your boyfriend will disappear and you will need a friendly shoulder to lean on and Kalim is more than happy to be there for you.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Idia already has Ortho investigating this student and is so easy to watch him since he is in Ignyhide. He isn't worthy your time, your love and care, he is but a little plankton, not very smart or interesting, Idia don't know what you had seen on your actual boyfriend but he is never going to tell this to your face. Instead, he invite you to his room to play and study, assuming a more softer approach about this little problem than most yanderes, telling you how your boyfriend has been acting strange and visiting another person's room for a very long period of time. He even show you a very factual and not at all fabricated camera footage as a proof. Idia considers himself a very good friend when he comfort you and wipes your angry tears, telling that you deserve better, that he can treat you better. After all, it wasn't your fault that your boyfriend was a cheater. And Idia can show you what true love is.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Vil is horrified about your taste in men. Like, really, Liebling? You love this... Thing? Well, He has to give recognition where it is due and as a Pomefiore student, your boyfriend tried to polish and better himself. Though it wasn't enough. He wouldn't be good enough for you even in thousand years. Vil likes to imagine how he would take care of you, love you, polish you. He likes to imagine how he'd let down his walls around you and told funny stories from his movies or backstage gossips. Knowing you have a boyfriend kinda of shatter those thoughts. He tried to be happy for you, he really tried but in the end he couldn't help himself. So he created a potion, so sweet and yummy, and gave it to your boyfriend. Simple as that. Having you crying on his lap was just a bonus, a bonus Vil would cherish dearly.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Malleus has what he wants. And he wants you. It's only natural that things will fall in order after he states his claim on you, every single little thing start to goes wrong in your relationship and you, stressed and sad, tells Malleus every single thing while he comforts you. Sweet words are whispered in your ears, great dreams greets you everytime you sleep and in your dreams you are always so happy by Malleus's side, exploring woods and swimming in lakes, petting sheeps and listening to the birds singing. Simple things. Great things. While you sleep, Malleus send nightmares to your boyfriend, makes him so horrified and paranoid that he can't even form coherent thoughts. He wants you and he will have you, even if he has to tear you two apart like this, since your boyfriend took to isolate and murmur to himself.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Riddle doesn't like this. He quite dislike your boyfriend a lot, he is messy, a rule breaker, a bad student, he isn't worthy your time and love. Riddle is consumed by a jealousy that make him see red, nowadays he is always collaring your boyfriend, always making him busy so you two can spend less time together. And if you come to Heartslabyu to try and spend time with him, Riddle will just lie to you and tell you he didn't do anything and has no idea about what you're talking about. Yes, he gaslight you. But he is doing that because he knows what's good to you and that is certainty not your boyfriend. Instead, he fills your head with doubts and lies, and takes you to the Unbirthday party so you can have a little fun. Savor the present moment, the little snarky jokes Riddle tells you and the delicious tea. Forget about your boyfriend before Riddle takes matters into another level.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Leona is smug. Like, really? You love this guy? He is so much better than your boyfriend, more smarter, stronger, he huffs whenever he see you two being all cute and chummy together. He should be the one holding you, kissing you, cuddling you. You are his precious mate so he put all his effort in conquering your heart and love. And when Leona is determined to do something there's nothing in the whole world that can make him stop. He plans and make so many strategies in order to be successful all the while he has Ruggie making the dirty work for him. Kill him, bribe him, whatever, Leona will make you a single person again before making you fall in love with him. Even if he has to turn your boyfriend into dust, he will without thinking twice.

[odoraful]

𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄

content: rafayel x gn!reader; reader is scared of the ocean but hasn't told rafayel about it; following the events of ch7 so minor spoilers!; established relationship; mild hurt but lots of comfort; raf being patient and understanding <3; 1.2k words

a/n: listening recommendation for when you’re reading is zora's domain (night) from botw ⛲️ the soothing water level music really helped me get in the feel for writing this piece hehe

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You fully intended on telling him. Ever since the battle on Hat Island—when you were swept deep beneath the currents, breath slowly leaving you before Rafayel pulled you to the surface—the very thought of being near the ocean made your chest tighten. However, with the sparkle in his eyes each time he counted down the days before your beach getaway, you kept pushing bringing the topic up later and later. He was just so excited about going, you couldn’t possibly bring his mood down. This was also one of the few times he was keen on planning in advance. Besides, how silly was it that a hunter like yourself was scared of water? So, you kept quiet about your fears, consoling yourself that you’d get away with just sitting on the sand, as far from the ocean as possible.

“Don’t tell me you’re not going into the water at a beach?” Rafayel asked.

You lowered your novel, peering at him from above the top edge of the book. He was standing directly in front of you—hands on his hips and a pout on his face.

“You can go in without me. I think I’ll just sit back here and get some reading done.”

You tried to keep your voice as casual as you could.

“Puh-lease,” he enunciated, “You can read anywhere, but the ocean is only ever in one spot!”

Emphasising his point, he gestured wide towards the crystalline blue before the two of you. Though he was likely showcasing the brilliance of the scene, when you gazed out at the endless expanse of water, the sight left you queasy.

You covered up your uneasiness with a light laugh.

“I might join you a little later. You go first.”

Rafayel quirked a brow as you lifted you book up again, covering your eyes. It was unlike you to be so unenthusiastic on a date like this. Perhaps you just needed a little nudge.

You sensed Rafayel approaching your side, and you were suddenly hoisted from the ground. The movement made your book tumble from your hands, fortunately landing on the beach towel rather than the sand. He scooped you up into his arms, flushed against his chest. His skin was warm from basking in the sun as one hand wrapped against your back and the other below your knees. You cried out his name in surprise, staring up at the mischievous smirk on his face. Your stomach dropped realising exactly what he was about to do.

Fear seized you as he carried you closer to the water, just where the waves met the shore. Everything Rafayel was saying as you were in his arms faded away with the rapid beating of your heart in your ears.

Rafayel halted immediately as he felt you unexpectedly tense up. Looking down, he saw your eyes scrunched closed, hands balled up close to your chest. The smile on his face fell. Overwhelmed with concern, he turned you away from the water, cradling you close in his arms. Reassurances and apologies were cooed softly into your ear (Shh I’m here. Everything will be okay, I’m really sorry), releasing you from that momentary numbness.

“Are you feeling better?”

Moving to sit beside you, he brushed any errant hair strands away from your face. You nod, staring down at your lap. Shame bubbled inside you. Your silence twisted Rafayel’s heart.

“You should have told me you didn’t like the water.”

“I know… it’s just that you were so excited. I didn’t want to ruin this day," you admitted. You shuffled your feet in the sand, feeling the grains beneath your toes. “I know the ocean means a lot to you.”

Rafayel leaned forward, trying to meet your eyes. “But it’s no good if you’re not having any fun either.”

Instinctively, you turned to meet his gaze. Violet eyes brimmed with compassion. The tension slowly eased from your body like waves receding from the shoreline.

“I feel like such a villain almost throwing you into the water,” Rafayel added with a shake of his head.

The corners of you lips twitched, your spirits returning to you at his half-joke.

“It was a little evil of you,” you admitted with a soft chuckle.

Hearing you laugh was a victory for him.

“Will you let me have my redemption arc then?”

Your brows furrowed, wondering what imaginative thing your boyfriend had thought of.

“We can work on your fear together if you’re willing to,” he offered. “I won’t make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with, you can trust me.”

You had been so worried up until that point that he would be offended by your feelings. However, though the artist may be quick to tease you, the very last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. Besides, who better than a Lemurian himself to help you adjust to the ocean?

As expected, it took small steps. Rafayel never let go of your hand during the process. First, you simply watched the water together, getting used to the rich scent of salt. The scent that had once had been suffocating now filled your lungs and refreshed your airways as Rafayel wove tales of a kingdom below the sea. He also spouted a surprising number of facts about sea animals (He kept commenting on the silly smile on your face as he spoke. You couldn’t help but notice that many of these ‘facts’ he seemed to speak anecdotally about).

Then, he gently led you to the water—just until the waves caressed his and your ankles. You gasped at the coldness, body locking in place. Your mind couldn’t help but thrust itself back to being pulled beneath the currents—the icy water numbing you. Rafayel’s hand was your anchor to reality. Warm and assuring, he squeezed your hand. A wordless signal. I’m here for you, you’re safe. Although you were probably not ready to swim in it just yet, you were confident enough to let the foamy waves lap around your calves. The water tickled your skin, playful in their greeting. It reminded you of a certain someone.

You ended the day by collecting shells along the sand. Rafayel described them as little gifts the ocean was bringing you to say goodbye. Careful inspection was required for each shell before he placed them in your hands. You were left with a handful of shells in a myriad of unique shapes and colours. “These would make pretty pendants,” you said, holding them up to the light. He hummed in agreement, already thinking about all the different jewellery pieces he could create that would look perfect on you.

The sun hugged the horizon, its glow illuminating the water. The sea turned into a glittering spectacle like thousands of rhinestones. Your jaw dropped at the sight. Too mesmerised by the landscape, you didn’t notice Rafayel admiring your expression. Whilst the view was magical, it was nothing compared to seeing the pure wonder in your eyes. Maybe next time, he would offer to take you to watch the sun rise on the beach as well.

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[jibunbosh]

Mesmerizer is a satire of TikTok, YouTube Shorts, and the rest of the modern short-form vertical video format

A brief thematic analysis.

I'm sure there are countless people already interpreting the imagery and details in this wonderful song & MV, like here and here, so I won't spend too much time retreading that ground. Miku and Teto are dancing. Miku gets hypnotized. Teto signals for help, but gets hypnotized at the end as well.

That part is obvious enough, but that's still pretty surface-level. What is this seemingly hyperspatial horror scenario supposed to mean to us?

While checking to see if anyone before me's already come to the same conclusions as I did and if I should bother not writing this text post at all (lol), I came across udin's great analysis video. She comes to the conclusion that the song tackles themes of disillusionment with reality and the ways we indulge in escapism to relieve ourselves of the pains of the world.

I agree with that reading! From practically the very beginning, we have Miku call to us - the viewer - to push away our true feelings. Teto comes in to peddle a solution, inviting us to surrender and empty our minds - in her words, "pretending to know nothing."

You, the viewer, are a critical character in this masquerade. For nearly the entire video, Miku and Teto's eyes are unfailingly trained on you. Or, well... perhaps they can't actually see you, but they can see a camera, or whatever other aperture the point of view is supposed to be from. And they know they're being watched. (Who else would Teto be sending distress signals to?)

Let's put a pin on that for later.

udin notes very early on that Miku and Teto are, conspicuously, kept in vertical frames - very similar to the video formats of TikTok (and Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts, and whatever other clones of the format exist.) You know, just like the animator Caststation's Rabbit Hole fan MV that went viral some months ago.

Hey wouldn't it be crazy if the song's producer, 32ki, released Mesmerizer shorts too haha. Wouldn't that be crazy.

Wow, wild.

These short-term vertical videos are captivating & alluring. If you're reading this, it's more likely than not that you've also found yourself caught up in them at least once, scrolling through the infinite algorithmic slurry and forgetting about the real-life issues you have at hand. Would you say, then, that you felt hypnotized? Mesmerized, even?

And so these two invite us to join their world and focus on the... uh... rectangle.

Their dances are repetitive, following the same loop. Their outfits are distinct, but their choreography isn't. They're copying the same formula, repeating it ad nauseam to the best of their ability.

They're doing a fucking TikTok dance.

Back to the pin I told you about earlier, with Miku and Teto looking at a camera.

Miku sways with the camera, eyes looking directly at it like a swinging pocket watch. She's been looking at it the entire time, after all. We've been seeing her via our screen this entire time, but, again, she doesn't necessarily see us. She's beholden to the camera, which she dances for day after day, caught up in its spell. She's hypnotized by it. Eventually, she breaks.

Teto, on the other hand, resists. For a while, anyway.

Despite her being the one jumping to us with the "solution" at the beginning of the MV, there's very quickly good reason to question how much agency she has in this. She dances for the camera as well, but she doesn't want to. She's signalling for help. She wants out.

Many content creators (as much as I personally loathe the non-specificity and soullessness of the term) have struggled with the adaptation to the short-form video format, and the preference the algorithm has had for these captivating, bite-sized videos. They're catchy, and easily drive up metrics. Practically anyone who's publishing their work via video format online needs to learn to adapt or fall behind, even if that means whittling their content down to fit the frame, the time, and people's shortening attention spans. Sometimes, that means compromising on specificity and completeness... or, in other words, the true representation of a full work.

The song's writer, 32ki, has been releasing songs on YouTube for several years. Their first YouTube Short, however, was posted only a year ago: a short, whittled-down segment of their previous song, CIRCUS PANIC!!!, hoping for it to win the ProsekaNEXT song contest. It was their first song to achieve widespread popularity and hit a million views.

The shorts, however, aren't the "true" versions of the song. The full song just won't fit.

We're being mesmerized as consumers of this endless stream of content, rather than appreciators of music and art. However, that relationship isn't completely symmetrical across the plane that is the 4th wall. Miku and Teto are trapped not by their attention spans, but by a compulsion to project their "truthful acting" and peddle that window into a colorful, problem-free world.

We, as the collective audience, need not dwell on any one thing for too long - we need only swipe, and move on to the next video. However, Miku and Teto are trapped behind the screen for eternity, day after day.

They're the only characters we get to see, of course. There's no evil 3rd voice synth character that's plotting to keep them trapped in there. We can't put a face to whatever force is hypnotizing them and trapping them behind the screen. It's faceless - like the inscrutable algorithms of YouTube recommendations or the TikTok For You page, or the impersonal corporations that develop & maintain those aforementioned apps. Miku and Teto's likenesses, on the other hand, are being exploited and extracted from for their entertainment value, being strung along by that metaphorical hypnotizing force like puppets on a string.

Many people, represented by Miku, enjoy their success on such platforms. It's freeing and liberating to throw oneself wholeheartedly into such an endeavor, of course! Others, represented by Teto, harbor their doubts of the emotional veracity of such a medium, but know they have little choice lest they face destruction... perhaps not literally as a person, but as an idea.

Wouldn't it be easier just to let oneself be swept away by it and give in?

[prettieinpink]

 ♡ PRETTIER HIERARCHY ♡

HAPPY 1.2k+ TO PRETTIEINPINK! Thank you guys for the support, here’s a lil gift from me to you. 

If you don’t want to read all of this, I created a hierarchy of everything you need to do to glow up, right at the end!!! But I recommend reading everything first &lt;3

I’ve been trying to ‘glow up’ like forever, but there was no actual content out there that helped me glow up. Most people sugarcoated, or their lifestyles of glowing up just weren't sustainable for me. So, I created this post for everyone planning to glow up or maximise their prettiness! 

DISCLAIMER – THIS POST IS NOT DETAILED. I wanted to do a simple outline to give you guys an idea of what to do to maximise your pretty. A little help to plan, especially as we enter 2024, but I’ll expand on these individual topics in the future. 

GRADE 1 – HEALTH

Being healthy can make you SO pretty. Being healthy is the foundation. There are other ways to be physically healthy, but after doing these 4 the rest usually fall in place.  Here are some simple ways to become healthier, and then eventually prettier!

HEALTHY EATING.

 I'm not going to go super deep into this, as no diet fits everyone + Please consult with your doctor before taking any extreme advice. Though, I'll tell you a bit of things that helped me !!

Stop drinking soda. Please, it's so unhealthy and it's full of so many sugars. Even the ones that are 0 cal, have weird chemicals that I don't trust. Many more alternatives taste just as good, like coconut water, herbal drinks, smoothies etc! Especially because nowadays most large calories and sugar intakes are from sugary drinks 

Stop restricting, moderate it. I am a big fan of dairy, yoghurt, milk, and cheese, I love it all. However I acknowledge that dairy isn’t the healthiest, so instead I always ensure I'm eating in moderation. E.g I put a tablespoon of shredded cheese in my omelettes instead of a handful. You will enjoy healthy eating so much, but only if you're not restricting. 

Have one serving of fruit, vegetables, or both with each meal. It provides so many good nutrients, makes you fuller and keeps you hydrated. Measure with your palm to ensure you’re eating enough. 

Know that just because one food has fewer calories than the other, does not mean it is the healthiest. I struggled so much with this, especially because many weight loss accounts will mention this, but it is so wrong. White bread has fewer calories than brown bread, but brown bread is higher in nutritional value. 

Plan snacks. Planning snacks for throughout the day, instead of spontaneously eating is so much better. I recommend this for anyone who gets hungry during the day but not enough for a meal (like me!)

Drink more water. Not 1L a day, because it is so much more ideal for you to have a glass of water with each meal + when you feel thirsty. 

Start educating yourself. This is as much as I can tell you, im not a nutritionist or a dietitian but if you plan to ensure that healthy eating becomes your lifestyle, educating yourself is essential!! 

EXERCISING.

Once again, I'm only going to go surface level with this because it is only based on my personal experience + Consult with your doctor before doing anything extreme. 

Start aiming for 5k+ steps. I see a lot of people advertise 10k+ steps as the standard, or what's active, but it's not sustainable If you're a busy person with a sedentary life or a beginner at exercise it is gonna be hard to sustain that. But walking is so good for you and simple too.

Join your local sports! Such a fun way to socialise while still exerting energy. 

If you can't do that for whatever reason, there are many ways to exercise at home. Research and pick a workout that you like and is sustainable. E.g. jump rope, pilates, home exercises, weightlifting, biking

Start standing more, it exerts energy. While very little, it still is very good. 

That's it, but remember to always start small with exercising, and RESEARCH!

BETTER SLEEP

To me, it doesn’t matter how much sleep a person is getting, but much more rather the quality of said sleep. So, here are some tricks and tips to get better at sleeping!!

Investing in a good quality pillow is so good for your sleep, the more comfortable you are, the better + it reduces the chances of poor posture or hump necks 

Research about different sleeping positions, as some positions at night promote back pain, difficulty breathing or poor posture. 

Start sleeping in complete darkness. Remove all sources of light or invest in good light-blocking curtains OR binders. Though, binders seem to be much more effective but are more pricey. If you cannot do either of that, buy a good sleeping mask. 

Sleep in the cold. Your body easily falls asleep if your environment is cold, and you’re less likely to wake up in the middle of the night. 

It is ideal for you to stop using devices an hour or two before bed, but if it is not sustainable for you, wear red blue-light-blocking glasses instead of clear ones. Red ones are more effective. 

Avoid large physical or mental tasks before bed, use that time to unwind and tell your body it's time to go to sleep. 

Avoid napping for longer than 30 minutes, or it can disrupt the sleep you have at night. 

Go to sleep at similar times every day. If you go to sleep earlier or later than this, you will ruin your sleep schedule and feel groggy. 

I expand more here. 

ORAL HEALTH

This is a step many people will neglect, but the most important in my opinion. Your teeth are the only body part that fails to regenerate after a certain age. Here's how I take care of mine!

Brush your teeth for longer. Brushing your teeth should not be a sped-up process, put actual thought into it. 

Start flossing. Floss removes plaque, and reduces the chances of your teeth yellowing! Do this ideally after each meal.

Brush your teeth before you eat. Brushing my teeth is the first thing I do when I wake up because brushing your teeth is supposed to protect your teeth from the food, not wash away your food. 

If you have the means, buy an electric toothbrush, as this gets in the little nooks and crannies that a regular one cannot. 

Use a tongue scraper or your toothbrush to get rid of any bacteria on your tongue. 

Use straws to drink coffee or any heavily coloured drinks. This avoids the premature yellowing of teeth. Make sure you put the straw on the side of your mouth to avoid your teeth. 

Use good mouthwash. A total game-changer, makes your breath fresher and your gums healthier. 

If need be, definitely use a purple teeth serum as a whitening treatment.

GRADE 2: STYLE 

I do not mean literal clothes and style, that's in grade 3. This is all about basic grooming and such. This is 2nd most important, especially if you're somebody who’s never been invested in beauty.

SKINCARE 

Get a basic skincare routine, cleanser and moisturiser.

If you have other skincare concerns e.g. dry skin, hyperpigmentation, acne, or blemishes, invest in a serum. 

Avoid touching your face frequently.

Wash makeup brushes & pillowcases often.

Dermaplaning to help skincare absorb better. 

Use sunscreen!

HAIRCARE

 Invest in a good shampoo and conditioner for your hair type.

Use a good hair oil, it doesn’t have to be for growth, but just for nourishing your scalp

Sleep with a good quality bonnet on.

Find which type of hairbrush works the best on you!

Use warm water to remove product build up and dirt, but use cool water to rinse.

Buy spray suncsreen to put on your scalp during hot weather.

Once again, research. Hair is just too much of a broad topic for me to thoroughly talk about.

EYEBROW & LASHES

Trim your eyebrows regularly to avoid too many stray hairs

Tint your eyebrows and lashes. If you already have dark eyelashes and brows, try a lighter look. I seem to prefer a dark brown look to a black 

Invest in a good lash & brow serum or use any oil

Don't use Vaseline on your eyelashes.

 Limit how much you wear mascara. 

I talk more about this here. 

BODY & HANDS 

Have a daily shower routine which consists of washing, exfoliating and moisturising your skin. 

Using scented products is such a game changer, smelling good is like being a magnet 

Doing manicures, my routine is a cuticle scrub, file, buff, polish, paint then cuticle oil. 

Shave on the areas you want to. Having smooth skin is nice, but to ensure your shave lasts longer, watch a video. 

I post about creating a good shower routine here. 

LIPS

Invest in a good, portable lip balm. I prefer the ones that burn your lips to give it a more fuller effect

Make your lip scrub. Sugar, honey and turmeric are my go-to. Helps remove dead skin.

If you have hyperpigmentation around the lips, use glycolic acid, only a little.

GRADE 3 – FASHION

My favourite grade, because it is so fun and focuses more on the aesthetic side of things. However, they're not essential, which makes it all the more fun!

CLOTHES 

 I have a post about wardrobe essentials here. 

Find out about what season colours you are. This helps with using colours in fashion to enhance. ( if you don't like your colours it is okay, it doesn’t change much if you do not wear them) 

Figuring out your undertone colours for jewellery. 

Figure out what works for your figure. Experiment with necklines, bottom length etc. 

Find out your general style too, what you feel confident in and more assured. 

MAKEUP

Research and only watch tutorials of women who look like you (trust me). 

Dear Peachie has a bunch of videos of how makeup works, for beginners to more advanced artists!

Then make your signature look for every using your knowledge. 

FRAGRANCE 

Invest in a good eau de parfum and eau de toilette. Cheap fragrances suck. 

Invest in a good-scented lotion. My favourite brand is Vaseline.

Using a good nice fabric softener for laundry makes you feel and smell fresh

Using an expensive scented body wash doesn’t matter, invest in a good body lotion. 

HAIR STYLING 

Hairstyles that enhance your face shape, not shield it. 

Having a simple signature look for everyday

Experimenting with your hair is ideal, but if you can't for whatever reason once again research.

GRADE 4 – PERSONALITY

The way you seem to others can make you so much prettier. Fake it till you make it as always~

POSTURE

Having good posture makes you stand out, makes you look prettier and is generally good for your health

Chin is parallel to the floor, shoulders are down and relaxed, rib cage is elevated, pelvis is tucked in, your knees straight and flexed, and the weight on your feet should be in the center.

You can stretch for good posture, there are many videos on this on YouTube.

Ensure your sleeping position is promoting good posture, not poor. 

Buy a back brace to reinforce good posture.

BODY LANGUAGE

Learn how to move your body during conversations to seem more self-respected and confident.

Train your facial expressions for different situations, but especially for taking photos.

There are tons of books and videos on this, won’t expand because this is all about how you want others to perceive you. 

ELOQUENCE

Improve the way you communicate with others. Be fluent and clear to understand 

Expand your vocabulary, know how to substitute words on the spot and make sentences. 

Knowing what to say in like any and every conversation makes people like you more, and the best way to be more eloquent is just practice. 

There are so many good books about this.. read.

GRADE 5 – MIND

Personally, having a good mindset does boost your self-perception of your prettiness + being happier in general makes you more inclined to take care of yourself = being more pretty!!!

MENTAL HEALTH

Start journaling as a way to organise your thoughts and to truly analyse your emotions. There are a lot of journaling prompts on Pinterest and such!

Meditation as a way to clear the mind when needed is so good. There are a bunch more meditations for other purposes though like body image, productivity, focus or just general relaxation.

Go to therapy, or just have at least one person you can talk to when life becomes tough.

Cut back on social media. There's misinformation, trolls and a lot of content that isn't nourishing your mind. 

Get some sun! Simple and doable, but has a huge effect on the body. It can improve the current mood. Wear sunscreen. 

Start learning how to process situations, instead of bypassing the emotions that come with them. 

Start surrounding yourself with like-minded people. Seriously, being around people who are just too different is draining. 

MINDSET

Embrace growth and reject all forms of comfort. Being uncomfortable with something is growth. 

Don’t do things because you ‘have’ to do this, do them because they benefit you and see it in that way. E.g ‘I’m going to clean my room because I deserve a clean place to rest and work’ instead of ‘I have to clean my room’

Become detached. Stop letting everything that happens in your life affect you, start observing instead of consuming. 

Self validates yourself. Tam Kaur did a wonderful video on this that I think everyone should watch.

Stop believing that everything and everyone is out to get you. Your subconscious mind believes this, do not feed it, starve it.

There's a lot to say about mindset, but I recommend watching some mindset YouTubers who explain everything in depth.

and now,,,, here's a ANOTHER gift from lanny because u read her post. And liked it. And reblogged it. And followed her.. pleaseee

[bunicate]

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ BY YOUR SIDE . pierro x fem reader

warning ꒱ྀི incest. ddlg dynamics. daddy kink [ papa + dada ] . size kink. creampie. reader kinda being a litl brat / repost / unedited as always :p / wc ꒱ 2.5k / 18+ / ♡ + ↻ are rlly appreciated ! !

there’s the faintest, most desperate echo of a mewl that can be heard from outside the biggest room reserved for no one other than the first harbinger himself.

fourteen days he was away from you. fourteen days without your touch. fourteen days he was unable to see you. fourteen days without inhaling your scent. fourteen long, bitter, cold days pierro spent missing you and still, finally graced with your presence, he’s as composed as ever.

he leans until his back hits his chair, and he relaxes. with his half-empty wine glass discarded on a nearby tray, he eases himself down from his budding desire with deep and steady inhales and exhales. his eyes are clouded over with lust.

the level of patience pierro possessed was carefully crafted throughout the many years he’s been alive. his resilience has never been more clear than it is right now, as his daughter, whom he loves so dearly, clamored over him half-naked.

he found your struggle to be quite a show. chin resting on calloused fingers, he occasionally rubs the scruff of his stark white beard. It’s become habitual for you to crawl and seat yourself on his thick thighs. pouty and close to tears, your fingers claw at his polished suit to steady yourself.

he’s always been the one to take the lead, but he’s forfeited that control momentarily, allowing you to use him to your heart's content.

your chest bares from the looseness of your clothes, and his facade slips only slightly. your hips swivel clumsily, and his erect cock bounces off the plumpness of your butt. he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

you raise your bottom higher, placing his cock right against your wet slit that stained the coarse hairs at the base of his shaft. his body tenses at the contact, his eyes zeroing in on the pretty sheen that coated his remarkable length.

“hnnn.”

a strangled moans escape when it skims over the surface of your twitchy button—a gentle caress with enough pressure to make your back arch.

it was difficult prepping yourself for the first time, but you refused his help. you were like him in so many ways. you’re a creature constantly chasing perfection. one attempt after the other until you’d be rewarded with what your efforts promised, but pierro just didn’t want to see you hurt.

“take it easy, little one.”

his hand cups the softness of your ass, lightly squeezing it. you shake your head. brows pulled together and lips trembling as the drag of your cunt wets him further.

he expected you to behave like this.

a recent conflict pulled him away longer than he expected, and he knows that in his absence, you were unsatisfied. your fingers are not nearly as thick and long as his to ease that ruminating ache between your legs, but he was here now to finally take over, and you wouldn’t let him.

holding your chin, he tilts your head up. you see the concern sewn into his mature features.

“I'm not going anywhere; you don’t need to rush.” it’s a very simple affirmation, but it did nothing to relieve your troubles.

‘liar’ you want to retort, but you choose to remain silent. the truth is, he couldn’t promise that. you knew he’d leave again, and each time you were never sure if he’d return. how you managed to have such little faith in a man who’s lived nearly half a millennia and witnessed such catastrophes was unheard of.

to others, he’s feared—untouchable, unscathed, a force to be reckoned with, but somehow a much smaller and weaker girl— his girl worries for him dearly. It's humorous, but he could never, in good faith, hold it against you. It's been too long since he’s felt the delicate touch of another and to be looked after with such care. he’d readily take as much as he could.

you put your hand on his shoulder, and the other grabs his cock by the thickest part as it comes to life in your palm. it’s warm and beads pre-cum that slowly drips, following the path of his most protruding vein. there’s a feeling that shoots through your body, and it’s all too familiar as you watch the milky drops descend.

you have to bite back another broken moan.

hovering over his dick, you cushion it right against your entrance, swaying from the slight loss of balance. finding your footing, you try once again to tuck him between your walls, but the leakiness of your cunt makes the head of his cock slip. your frustration was an understatement.

pierro watched you closely as you moved sloppily. stuck in a mulish state, you’d rather fumble instead of asking for his help.

“you’re going to hurt yourself, love,” he remarks. while aroused by the brief contact of skin, pierro remained humbled at your show of defiance.

you make a noise, brushing off his concern and rolling your shoulders to straighten up.

“don't care, ‘need to have you inside of me.”

you huff your chest every time his smooth tip rubs your slippery opening. tracing it against the silky folds of your cunt, they separate as you struggle to insert him. you begin to brace yourself. it only takes a few more shaky attempts until his cock finally penetrates with a swift and brutal plunge.

“hmmph—!”

you can’t stop twitching around him when he’s buried so deep. your head hangs back, and your bit lip is barely enough to keep the hiss at bay. no amount of rubbing against his thigh could ever prepare you for that piercing stretch that churned your insides. the stretch that forces your legs further apart and makes your eyes tighten in desperation.

your stomach flexes, and anxiety wrecks you. you breathe audibly, finding it in yourself to remain calm, but archons — you were a few thrusts from already cumming.

“do you need papa to help you ?”

his voice stirs you from concentration, and it borders on breaking.

pierro would be a liar if he said watching you take him didn’t bring a sense of triumph. riding him was no easy task. even after countless nights and all sorts of positions, his girth still proved to be a challenge, one that would take a lifetime for you to master, and that was one of the few things he could actually promise you, time.

but you ignore him and the concern in his tone. you’re a big girl, you don’t need his help. you’ll have all of him inside of you even without the wonderful burn of his fingers to help loosen your gummy walls.

you inhale slowly hoping that it will somehow allow the tension to subside and it does. it takes a minute, maybe two until the pressure feels comfortable. you’re still not quite all the way down, there’s another few centimeters left until he’s fully sheathed inside your walls. you’ve been resting your weight on your toes that dangled close to the floor and you know you should in fact take your time, but your body refuses to cooperate.

it's a wet plop from your thighs and ass meeting his groin when you force him in.

“h-hah—!“

pierro’s cock sharply hits your precious cervix and your eyes reel back into your skull. your daddy pats your leg encouragingly. even now he could barely fathom how such a small pussy could be so accommodating.

“there you go.”

inevitably, the praise still made your chest feel heavy. “that’s it, sweet girl.” that baritone voice made blood rush to your cheeks. lightheaded is what you felt. all the fire you once possessed turned into a lovesick, numbing feeling that left you unable to retain any air. especially when he adjusted his hips and his veiny cock bumped your cervix once more.

“ah— f-fuck!” you whine.

the hand on your thigh squeezes your softness as a warning.

“language.”

you're winded up so tight, afraid that if you moved an inch, you’d cum. the tears that brimmed your waterline fall.

“s-sorry papa.” you sniffle, “but it’s so deep, n’ I feel it stretching inside me.”

“does it hurt?" he hums. “would you like to stop?”

you shake your head profusely.

“no! please, I don’t wanna stop, not yet.”

unwilling to be separated from him, you lean on his chest. it’s warm and reminds you that you couldn’t be anywhere safer. slowly, you begin to ride his cock. a messy rhythm that did enough to please you.

his dick presses against your insides as your hips rotate in sloppy circles. your clit brushes against his skin with every move, pulling you closer to the end you missed so desperately.

 you speed up, chasing that feeling selfishly until it grows and becomes too powerful to control.

“daddy . . .” you try to halt your hips, but you can’t stop the desperation. you settle for slowing down even more, but it only seems to drag the pleasure out further.

“I might make a mess” you mumble. you tuck yourself closer to his chest again to escape the burning flush of embarrassment.

pierro knows your body better than you do and even before your own realization, he was able to quickly assess your expression and feel how your cunt pulses around him. he understands what’s happening before you do.

“just focus on me. focus on papa.”

you nod.

it takes a moment to get the courage to move faster, but his cock nestling in your cunt couldn’t placate you. your humps pick up, and your thinking crumbles to know people stood less than 10 feet away, walking past the room. knowing they could possibly be hearing the moist noises of your cunt while you fucked him sloppily. the nervousness wasn't present; instead, a sweltering, mind-breaking urge grew. one that turns your stomach into knots and makes your your knees dig into his hips

“let it out, my dear.”

your legs lock around him, and a disgruntled groan leaves his lips as your pussy clenches.

“daddy. ” your nails scratch him, but he doesn’t flinch nor shy away. his hardened skin from years of ruthless battles could surely withstand the dig of his daughter's nails.

with a petulant whine and submissive arch of your back, your pillowy breasts block his vision while you seize around him. clenching and unclenching, arousal streams down his massive cock and sprays his front in spurts. your hand comes to rub at your clit to ride out the addicting high.

pierro could only watch in awe. how quick and easily you came to make his shaft throb to the beat of dull and erratic twinges.

“pretty girl, you’re going to make this old man faint.”

he presses a kiss on your nipple, holding you while your cunt continues to milk him. he hasn’t yet reached his own high and still he makes no effort to rush your come down. he’s far from a selfish lover, but that was something that came naturally as it’s his job as your father to make sure you are pleased in all aspects.

pierro’s cock remained snuggled inside of you. he pressed light kisses on your skin, as your breathing slows. before you can lose yourself in it, the scratch of his beard makes you pull away. turning up your nose, you make a noise of disapproval.

“you need to shave, daddy.”

he rubs his chin to feel his beard himself. it has been a while since he’s given it a trim. “you don’t like it?”

you take a second to think, staring at the thick gray covering the lower half of his face. “that depends. can I shave it for you?”

his eyes widen a bit, and his head turns away. “that’s . . . dangerous.”

you frown. “then no, I don’t like it.”

pierro laughs, and he rubs the sides of his face against your soft cheek, the hair of his beard uncomfortably prickling your face.

“w-what, what are you doing?” the scratches against your face mushed you two closer. his nose and lips poking you until your lips clumsily collide.

“papa, stop!” giggling, you push him away, but he holds you still. the kiss is uncoordinated at first because of your laughs, but he doesn’t mind it. one peck and then another until your lips are interlocked, moving at a slow pace that manages to steal your breath.

he groans when you move closer, and he guides your hips, hoping to drag more moans out for the rest of the night. feeling his cock throb, you remember he didn’t finish, but it didn’t take long to transition from the playful atmosphere to what it was once prior. the arousal was now thick in the air, weighing you down into submission.

your father picks you up with ease and fucks you like a toy. rough hands resting on your hips drag you up and down on his cock. the schlick schlick of his cum-coated length, plunging so deeply until it kisses your womb.

“cum inside me, d-dada, use me. use me to make you cum.”

“keep talking like that, baby; daddy is so close.” your pussy puffs from his slams. how something so small can manage to swallow his sheer size amazes him. balls slap against your ass, his grip on your body is tight, digging into you, and such a display of strength it was.

“y’r so deep. . my cunny was made for you.” the words are uttered in pauses from the force of his motioning hips. your tits point towards the ceiling—your nipples, perked and moist from his eager mouth, bounce, and the sight makes any remaining coherent thought disperse.

“you’re going to take every last drop of my seed.” it’s not a question but a demand, and like you were taught, you pleasantly comply.

“yes, daddy.” the veins in his arm are pretty and decorative. you look at his flexing muscles the way you’d look at a painting. eyes, absorbing the details that marked his brown skin. sweat trailing down his massive frame.

you want to kiss him, but your wrists are bound by his hand. maybe they’ll bruise later, but it’s not a concern of yours, you only want to see the man above reach his completion.

“make it so full with your cum until it leaks out of my little pussy,” you say barely a whisper, but the effect on him is still the same.

a gruff growl tumbles from his mouth, and his grip grows tighter.

“I'm gonna give it to you. daddy is going to fucking breed you, darling.” he uses your body to pump his cock, losing himself to the massaging of your tight walls.

his cock swells inside your creamy pussy, and then a stream of cum jets out. milky ribbons plugging you to the brim until it spills from the sides.

“ah–thaaat’s it. that’s my little girl .” he grunts. squeezing you tightly, the sound of his mess squelching in the now warm room could be heard. countless nights have ended with him buried in you, and still, your cunt managed to make him feel like a young man.

he rests his head back and swallows audibly to catch himself. you watch him in amusement at his sudden breathlessness.

“just give. . . *whew* papa a minute,” he sighs.

[shadowtriovibes]

fever (what a lovely way to burn)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Word Count: 4.8k

Rating: M

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, friends to lovers, character with fever/illness, mild sensual content

Summary: request: "since you saved Sebastian from Azkaban, he has met you in the common room every morning and you have gone to breakfast together. One morning he isn't there so you go to his room looking for him to find him in bed, poorly."

“I’m disgusting,” he groans. “I can’t stop coughing, I’m sweating everywhere, I feel like I’m going to be sick but there’s nothing to–” He cuts himself off with several dry, pathetic coughs. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him firmly. “Ominis is going to go to class and come back this afternoon with some Muggle medicinals. In the meantime, I’m going to help you eat a bit of food and have a bath.” “N-no, absolutely not,” he stammers. “You think I want you seeing me like this any more than you already have?”

Monday, October 5, 1891

Even a month after the start of term, it’s unseasonably warm in the Highlands. The heat from the dog days of summer persists well into the arrival of autumn, permeating the ancient stone walls of the castle and settling like a thin layer of fog across Hogwarts’ students.

Professor Sharp’s N.E.W.T.s-level Potions class meets promptly at nine o’clock every morning. Despite the early time slot, the dungeon-level classroom starts to become warm rather quickly thanks to the heat of two dozen bodies and six potion stations, each with their flickering flames preheating the students’ pewter cauldrons.

Your little trio is usually the last to arrive from breakfast. Sebastian sidles up to the doorway just as Professor Sharp is preparing to close it, gallantly offering to hold it open for you and Ominis as you take your time sauntering down the hall, arms linked together and chatting happily about the latest gossip to have surfaced in the Great Hall.

Then you settle in at the potions table squarely in the middle of the classroom, which you’d unabashedly claimed at the start of term. (Ominis can hear Professor Sharp most clearly here, and Sebastian, as always, gets to remain the center of attention.)

Finally, with Ominis’ dictation quill hovering over his parchment, Professor Sharp begins his daily discourse.

“Dittany, as you’ll recall, is one of the most useful herbs for creating a wide range of healing draughts,” he explains, showing off a tendril of the fiercely pink plant clipped from Professor Garlick’s greenhouse just that morning. “Can anyone give me an example of one?”

“Wiggenweld Potion, sir,” Amit chimes in.

“Very good, Mister Thakkar,” Sharp replies with an approving nod. “Another?”

Adelaide Oakes timidly raises her hand. “Essence of Dittany, sir?”

“Well done, Miss Oakes,” he murmurs. “Though not as effective as a properly-brewed bottle of Wiggenweld, dittany on its own can be used to craft a powerful restorative tonic – especially useful in preventing the occurrence of scars. Five points to Hufflepuff.”

Then Professor Sharp glances around the room expectantly. “One more, perhaps?”

“Moustache paste, sir?” Sebastian mumbles under his breath, and you quickly elbow him in the side.

“What was that, Mister Sallow?” Professor Sharp drawls.

Sebastian bites the inside of his cheek. “Er, the Antidote to Common Poisons, perhaps?”

Professor Sharp levels Sebastian with a dubious look. “I’m afraid not. While dittany is a broadly useful herb, its powers are generally limited to healing, not curing. When considering its uses, think ‘paper cut,’ not ‘influenza.’”

You raise your hand and ask, “Sir, are there any potions that do cure illnesses?”

“Yes, in fact,” Professor Sharp answers. “The Pepperup Potion will quickly resolve any common colds or cases of the flu, with the enigmatic side effect of generating steam that will pour from your ears for hours on end.”

You wince a bit. “I suppose that’s worth being over a cold in a day.”

“I should think so,” he replies with a slight grin. “So has the majority of the wizarding world since the twelfth century.”

As Professor Sharp segues into a lecture on the history of healing potions, you pull out a piece of parchment and start to take down some notes.

“Sebastian,” you hiss. “What does Pepperup Potion taste like?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says. “I’ve only had it once, and it was a decade ago.”

You frown. “Why’s that?”

“I can’t drink it,” Sebastian says simply. “I’m allergic to bicorn horn.”

You blink, surprised. “You’re… allergic? How did you even discover that about yourself?”

“Oh, it was gruesome,” Ominis chimes in gleefully.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Well, I had my suspicions as a child when my parents gave me Pepperup Potion and steam poured out of my ears, nose, and mouth for a full week. Simply suffering through the cold would have been better.”

“And then?” you prompt.

“Well… in our third year, Anne and I made some Polyjuice Potion,” Sebastian admits, glancing around furtively. “We wanted to see if we could attend our classes all day as each other without anyone noticing the difference.”

“And Polyjuice Potion has bicorn horn,” you surmise.

Ominis looks delighted. “They were both in the Hospital Wing for three days, stuck as half-formed versions of each other.”

You gasp in disbelief. “That sounds awful!”

“It was the one and only time in their lives they were truly identical!” Ominis crows. “‘Sebastianne,’ we called them.”

You can’t help but giggle at Ominis’ delight while Sebastian sulks.

“In any case,” Sebastian grumbles, “I can’t take Pepperup Potion anymore, but luckily I never get sick.”

“Really?” you ask skeptically. “Everyone gets a common cold once in a while.”

“Not me,” he says proudly. “I haven’t been sick since I was a child. At the very least, if I have been sick, it must have been so mild that I wasn’t slowed down in the slightest – no need for Pepperup, thanks.”

“I’d be careful, Sebastian,” Ominis demurs. “Wouldn’t want to tempt fate, would we?”

With a lazy shrug, Sebastian turns to his potions station and begins to roughly chop some dittany leaves for a new healing potion Sharp intends to teach that afternoon. He glances up surreptitiously while you tie your hair back with one of those green ribbons you like to keep around your wrist for when the Potions classroom becomes especially humid with cauldron steam.

Though it’s unwise to lose focus while holding a knife, Sebastian has become quite skilled at multitasking while tending to his lovesick heart with stolen glances and half-formed daydreams.

He becomes so distracted staring at the column of your neck that when he suddenly feels a bit dizzy, he merely attributes it to the thick, heavy air in the room.

—

Tuesday, October 6, 1891

“You look dreadful,” you tell Sebastian cheerfully as you take a seat at breakfast.

Across from you, Sebastian looks a sight. His generally unruly hair is sticking up in every direction, and his face, which until this morning had still been sun-kissed and freckled from his time carrying out summer chores in Feldcroft, is ghostly pale.

“Cheers,” he grumbles, his head in his hands as he stares down at a plate full of untouched tattie scones.

You know for a fact they’re his favorite. In fact, you’ve stolen countless scones from the Great Hall on weekends when he treats himself to a bit of a lie-in just to make sure there are some left for when he finally emerges, hair rumpled and cheeks creased with pillow lines.

“Late night?” you ask him as you pour yourself some juice.

“The opposite, actually,” Ominis explains. “Sebastian was asleep before I even finished my Runes assignment last night, and I practically had to drag him out of bed this morning.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” you comment, frowning. “You’re usually up half the night reading. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Sebastian shrugs weakly. “I’m fine, I just… It’s dreadfully warm in the castle, and my head is aching.”

Without thinking, you reach across the table and press the back of your hand against his forehead.

“You’re quite hot,” you mumble.

“Wh-what?” Sebastian stammers, his eyes going wide. “What did you do that for?”

“You have a fever,” you explain to him. “Old Muggle trick. And your eyes are quite glassy. I think you might be coming down with something.”

Ominis unsubtly slides further down the bench.

“I’m not sick,” Sebastian protests. “It’s just the heat, it’s making me tired.”

You eye him warily, and as if to prove that he’s not ill, Sebastian lifts one of his hoarded scones to his mouth and takes a bite.

“See?” he asks with his mouth full. “M’fine.”

You grimace. “Lovely.”

Sebastian determinedly joins you and Ominis for Potions and manages to remain upright until the very end of class. He sways just a bit as he gathers up his belongings, and you offer him your shoulder while you make your way toward the stairs to Divination.

He balks when he sees the twisting spiral steps.

“On second thought,” he mumbles, “I think I’ll skive off today and get some rest.”

“Will you be alright?” you ask him concernedly. “I can come with you…”

“No, it’s fine,” he insists. “I’ll just lie down for a bit and then I’ll be grand, I promise. Save a seat for me at dinner, will you?”

Later that evening you linger in the Great Hall until the last of dinner melts through the tables down to the kitchens below, but Sebastian never shows up.

—

Wednesday, October 7, 1891

“You do not want to go in there,” Ominis tells you warningly. “Trust me, he’s a mess.”

You scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Sebastian still hasn’t emerged from his dormitory in nearly eighteen hours, and you’re starting to worry for him. Ominis had brought him back some food from dinner the night before, but according to him, it had gone untouched.

When he’d failed to show his face at breakfast, you knew you had to step in.

“He wouldn’t want you to see him like this,” Ominis tries. “Sebastian is hardly a gentleman, but some things are sacred.”

“He’s our best friend,” you remind Ominis. “I really don’t care if he’s not entirely put together.”

Ominis opens his mouth as if to say more, and then seemingly changes his mind.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll tell Professor Sharp you’re tending to Sebastian, and I’ll ask Amit if you can borrow his notes.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Ominis,” you breathe, quickly pulling him in for a hug. “What would we do without you?”

“Rot in Azkaban, most likely,” he grumbles, which… is fair.

Once Ominis leaves for class, you gently knock on the seventh-year boys’ dormitory door. “Sebastian? Can I come in?”

Through the door, you hear him whine, “Go ‘way.”

“Sebastian,” you call out patiently. “Ominis told me you’re sick, and you haven’t gotten out of bed in too long. I’m coming in.”

He protests weakly from his bed as you open the door and slip inside, carefully pressing it closed behind you. As you’d expected, his other roommates have all gone for the day. Only Sebastian remains – or at least, you think it’s Sebastian.

All you can see sticking out from underneath the pile of pilfered blankets on his bed is a mess of curly, brown hair.

“Oh, dear,” you sigh.

“Jus’ leave me alone,” he mumbles from beneath the covers. “...I think I’m sick.”

“Finally facing the music, are you?” you tease him, taking a seat at the foot of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like death warmed over,” he groans. “I’ve never been this ill before.”

“Should I take you to see Nurse Blainey?” you ask him. “I know you can’t have Pepperup Potion, but perhaps she has something else that would help.”

“No,” he sighs. “Ominis already sent for her, she said I’m a dafty and I’ll be fine in a coupl’a days.”

You bite back a laugh at Sebastian’s deteriorating accent; for how posh he usually sounds, apparently that rougher Feldcroft vernacular tends to slip out when he’s feeling poorly.

“Poor lamb,” you croon. “Can I do anything for you? Have you eaten?”

“M’not hungry,” he sulks. “Ominis made me drink some water before he left.”

You hum softly as you start to slowly pull his piles of blankets down low enough that you can see his face. Quickly you realize that Ominis had been exaggerating – Sebastian doesn’t look entirely a mess.

His eyes are a bit wet and glassy, you observe, and his nose is bright red from persistent rubbing with a handkerchief abandoned on his bedside table. He looks a little swollen beneath his jaw, but otherwise, he looks like he’d merely stayed awake all night, and you’ve seen a sleepless Sebastian countless times throughout your friendship.

There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw that you’ve never noticed before; it’s the same rich brown color as his wild, unkempt hair.

(Honestly, how dare he still look handsome even when he’s ill.)

“Hello, you,” you tease him in a voice just above a whisper. “Was beginning to wonder if you were even there under all those blankets.”

“I’m cold,” he complains.

“That’s the fever talking,” you tell him. “You should probably–”

But before you can tell him that he’d be better off with less covers, the blankets shift lower and you realize he’s not wearing a pajama shirt.

(Your disobedient mind immediately raises the question of whether he’s wearing anything at all, and subsequently, if you could get away with having a look. Immediately you scold that particular thought away.)

“Er, you should… don’t overheat yourself,” you finish lamely.

He’s flushed down to his chest, fever-pale skin burning red where the blankets had been piled on top of him. You discover that he’s got a thin smattering of hair here, too; he’s grown into the body of a man much sooner than many of your classmates, you imagine.

Sebastian watches as you swallow, your own eyes raking down his body.

“You’re missing class,” he observes. “You never miss class.”

“It’ll be alright, just this once,” you say softly.

For a moment you aren’t sure if you’re talking about missing class or being in Sebastian’s bed.

Then Sebastian suddenly starts to cough and hastily reaches for his handkerchief. He sounds utterly pathetic as he coughs and groans in discomfort, rolling onto his side and looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

“My chest hurts,” he whimpers. “I’ve been coughing all night.”

You reach across him and gently stroke the backs of your fingers down the middle of his chest. His skin is noticeably hot to the touch and damp with sweat.

“I can put some Muggle herbs in a warm compress for your chest,” you offer. “I know they’re not as effective as a potion would be, but it always helped me feel better when I was a child.”

“Alright, I suppose that’d be nice,” he mumbles.

But when you move to stand, he quickly snags your wrist.

“Wait,” he says. “Er… where would you go? For how long?”

“Well, I’ll have to go see if Nurse Blainey has any, and if not I can go look at the edge of the Forbidden Forest,” you explain. “It might take a bit of time, I’m afraid.”

“Then, just… stay,” he whines. “Keep me company? That’s better than some plain old herbs.”

You shift onto the bed, curling up on your side behind Sebastian. It’s a tight fit, and you’re dangerously close to falling off the edge, but you’re able to leave enough space between your bodies that you can make the argument that it’s friendly, and it’s fine.

“Can I rub your back?” you ask him softly. “It might help with the soreness.”

You have no idea if it will help his aching body, but you’re eager to try it nonetheless.

“Go on,” Sebastian rasps. “I… I might fall asleep.”

“You should,” you croon. “Your body’s telling you that you need to rest.”

“S’pathetic,” he grumbles. “I never get sick.”

“You had a good run,” you tease him. “But the common cold comes for us all eventually.”

He falls silent after that, his leanly muscled arms curled around a pillow while you stroke your hand up and down the length of his back. He’s so warm, and you’re a bit anxious about letting him ride out a fever as long as he has, but soon he drifts off to sleep.

You learn two things while he rests: he snores when he’s on his back, and he frowns whenever you take your hands off of him.

—

Thursday, October 8, 1891

Ominis had managed to talk you into returning to your own dormitory for the night, promising to look after Sebastian while you got some rest. When you return the following morning, you find him in even worse condition.

His sheets are bunched down to his hips, and he’s still bare from the waist up. His entire body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, and the bags underneath his eyes have worsened – despite how much rest he’s getting, he seems more fatigued than ever.

“What happened?!” you ask Ominis.

“He’s had a fever all night,” Ominis says grimly, looking just as worn out as Sebastian. “He hasn’t eaten a thing, and I’ve barely been able to get him to drink some water.”

“Oh, Seb,” you sigh, taking his clammy hand and resting it in your lap as you sit on the edge of the bed. “You poor thing.”

“I think I’m dying,” he rasps. “This is it, right?”

“Hush now, there’s no need to be so dramatic,” you gently scold him, pressing your hand to his forehead. “You’re quite warm, but I’m not worried about your imminent demise.”

“I’m disgusting,” he groans. “I can’t stop coughing, I’m sweating everywhere, I feel like I’m going to be sick but there’s nothing to–”

He cuts himself off with several dry, pathetic coughs.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him firmly. “Ominis is going to go to class and come back this afternoon with some Muggle medicinals. In the meantime, I’m going to help you eat a bit of food and have a bath.”

“N-no, absolutely not,” he stammers. “You think I want you seeing me like this any more than you already have?”

“You’ll feel better,” you promise him. “And I swear I won’t, er… look, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You argue back and forth until Sebastian, utterly depleted of his typical stubbornness, loses energy and gives in. Ominis promises to stop by J. Pippin’s to see if the shopkeeper has any draughts suitable for Sebastian’s allergies before leaving to go to class, and you help Sebastian get out of bed with his arm around your shoulders and your own around his waist.

(He’s got pants on, thank Merlin, but you have to help him into a pair of pajamas to make the walk to the Slytherin baths.)

Sebastian balks when you enter the boys’ baths, but you both quickly learn there are no enchantments in place to keep you from joining him. You offer him an arm to lean on while he takes off his pajamas and coughs – this time pointedly – for you to turn around while he sinks into the lukewarm bath you’d drawn.

“This does feel nice,” he finally says once he’s settled in the opaque, murlap-scented water.

“Good,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice how your voice has gone up a bit higher than usual. “I’ll be back in a few moments with some fresh pajamas for you.”

“I’ll try not to drown while you’re gone,” he drawls, and even though he still sounds exhausted, you smile to yourself knowing that the bath is already helping him feel more like his usual self.

Hogwarts’ house elves were exceptionally fast in tidying up the boys’ dormitory while the two of you were out, so when you finally lead a clean, dry Sebastian back to his room, you’re thrilled to find freshly laundered sheets and a new pair of pillows waiting for him.

“Gods, I love magic,” he groans as he collapses into bed.

You stay all afternoon and into the evening. Ominis returns shortly before dinner with a brew from Parry Pippin himself, similar to the Pepperup Potion but with cinnamon instead of powdered bicorn horn.

(Sebastian seems to emit thin tendrils of steam straight from the top of his head after he drinks it, but he perks up all the same.)

Feenky herself brings a tray of soup and some leftover scones from breakfast once Sebastian regains his appetite. While he eats, he tells you about how he used to sit with Anne during the summers when she was particularly ill from her curse.

“At the time, I wondered if my being there was more of a help or a hindrance,” he says ruefully. “She was… hard to read, then. I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed by me or appreciated me staying.”

You pause before shyly asking, “Am I helping? By being here?”

“Of course,” he says without thinking.

“Then I’m sure you were helping Anne, even when she was annoyed,” you tell him reassuringly. “That’s all we ever want to do really, isn’t it? Help the ones we love?”

Sebastian glances up at his tray with an inscrutable expression on his face. His eyes are still glassy and he’s a bit peaky, but the cinnamon-laced, not-quite-Pepperup Potion has restored some of the usual warmth in his gaze.

“Right,” he echoes. “Help the ones we love.”

You end up staying the night in the boys’ dormitory. Only Ominis knows you’re there, as he draws the curtains around the both of you before the boys’ other roommates return from the common room. Given that Sebastian seems to be feeling better already, it’s not strictly necessary.

But it feels nice all the same.

—

Friday, October 9, 1891

Sebastian’s fever finally broke during the night.

When you wake up he’s wrapped around you from behind, one of his legs jammed between yours with his arm curled possessively around your waist.

You’re sweltering, but he’s cool to the touch.

“Sebastian,” you whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

Judging by the way sunlight pours over the top of Sebastian’s bed curtains, it’s well past when you’d usually wake up during the school week. You can’t hear any other snoring boys around you, either.

“Sebastian,” you hiss. “Wake up.”

He groans tiredly into your hair as his arm tightens around your waist. “No.”

“N-no?!” you sputter. “It’s morning! We… we should, er.”

You trail off when you realize you aren’t quite sure what you should be doing. Evidently you’ve missed breakfast, and you’ve likely missed the start of Potions for the third day in a row. Professor Sharp will have no choice but to give you a detention; just as well, you suppose, as you can use the time to make up what you’ve missed.

But now that the damage is done…

“How are you feeling?” you ask him softly, your eyes still fixed on the green curtains in front of your face.

“Loads better,” he says, only this time his lips are pressed against the sensitive spot behind your ear.

You gasp as he rolls more of his weight toward you, pressing you more firmly into the mattress.

“Sebastian…” you sigh.

“I had a dream about you last night,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper beneath your ear. “I’ve heard Pepperup Potion can give one strange dreams.”

“St-strange?” you whisper back. “Why was it a strange dream?”

“I suppose it wasn’t really ‘strange,’” he acquiesces. “But it was nice. Really nice.”

“Tell me about it?” you ask breathlessly.

“Perhaps I’ll show you instead,” he asks, and when you nod, he slides his hand down to your hip and turns you onto your back.

Then quite suddenly he’s leaning over you, one knee still between your thighs. He rests on his elbows so his face is just centimeters from yours, and it’s the first time you’ve gotten a good look at him since the boys put out last night’s fire.

Sebastian looks so much better. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are clear and bright, and the sickly sheen of sweat he’d worn for days is entirely gone. (His hair is still a bird’s nest, but that’s to be expected.)

“We were like this,” he tells you.

“Were we just talking?” you ask him, but you’re met with only silence.

After a beat, he asks you, “Why have you been so kind to me this week?”

“You’re my best friend,” you tell him softly. “I – I wanted to help you feel better.”

“Is that all I am?” he asks. “Am I simply your friend?”

You bite your lip hesitantly and his gaze dips down to your mouth, his brown eyes nearly black in the soft morning light.

“Do you want to kiss me, Sebastian?” you ask.

Rather than answering, he surprises you by leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he lifts one of his hands to gently tip your face toward his, cradling your jaw while he deepens the kiss into one that’s hardly sweet at all.

It feels like it’s perhaps the first time in days that Sebastian has felt hunger.

You gasp his name into his mouth and then he’s the one biting your lip, just a quick graze of his teeth before he soothes your ensuing whine with another slow kiss. He shifts his weight onto his hip to rest on the mattress beside you, using that leg between yours to coax you into lying next to him. He rewards your body’s assent with a filthy kiss – the kind you’ve only read about in those Muggle romance novels you hide under your pillow, the kind where the hero kisses the girl with his tongue in her mouth and his hand in her blouse.

“Seb,” you moan.

“I didn’t know,” he confesses against your lips.

“Didn’t know what?” you whine.

“I didn’t know you loved me until last night,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours.

You’re so distracted by how red and swollen his lips look that you nearly miss him saying, “You stayed with me all week, you held me, practically healed me, and I still didn’t know.”

“Of course I love you,” you tell him.

“You love Ominis, you love Poppy,” he counters. “This – us – is different. Right?”

And the truth is, you would have done anything you’d done for Sebastian for any one of your friends. You would have helped Poppy into a warm bath and back into bed, and you would have sat at Ominis’ bedside all day and torn up pieces of scone to float on the surface of his soup.

But you would not have let them press you into their bedsheets and trace their lips along your neck, and right now Sebastian is eagerly doing both.

“Yes,” you whimper, both in answer to his question and as a plea for more.

“I love you, too,” he sighs against your jaw. “I have for ages, and I didn’t want you to see me all pathetic and poorly, but you still love me anyway.”

“I’ve loved you through worse,” you quietly remind him.

He nips at your throat for that remark; you’ve both agreed to speak of your fifth year as little as possible. Truly, the only reason you’d ever bring it up now is to remind Sebastian that you’ve long since made your choice – him, over duty and the law and perhaps even reason.

“Stay with me,” he pleads. “We have all morning, we have the dormitory to ourselves. Let me take care of you now.”

He pulls your thigh across his own and tangles his fingers in your sleep-mussed hair, holding you against his warm, bare chest.

“That’s tempting,” you breathe. “B-but perhaps we should check with Nurse Blainey, to see if you’re ready to return to–”

You cut yourself off with a gasp as he grinds his hips against yours. There’s no mistaking that he’s aroused, and that alone convinces you that he must be feeling well – you’re positive that he would’ve been too weak for this type of debauchery yesterday morning even if you’d gotten fully nude before him and begged.

“Trust me, I feel excellent,” he moans into your mouth. “Love, please.”

You don’t come up for air for a long while after that. By the time Ominis stops by during lunchtime to check on Sebastian, he nearly trips over your skirt, hastily tossed near the doorway.

“I take it you’re feeling better,” he deadpans.

“That potion of yours worked like a charm, Ominis,” Sebastian drawls. “Cinnamon, who would have thought?”

“I don’t suppose I mentioned that Muggles find cinnamon to be an organic aphrodisiac?” Ominis says innocently. “At least, that’s what Mister Pippin said. He told me you might have some rather amorous dreams while you recover.”

“No, I think you forgot to mention that,” Sebastian replies just as innocently.

Ominis simply hums and says, “Well, now that you’ve been made aware, I’ll be off to Herbology. I’d recommend locking the door if our dear friend is going to be keeping you company this afternoon, Sebastian.”

You’re too embarrassed to say a word, but Sebastian cheerfully thanks him as he pulls the door shut and reaches for his wand on his bedside table to magically lock it behind him.

“We’ve become menaces,” you whine as he rolls on top of you once more.

Sebastian grins wickedly down at you. “Not yet we haven’t, but thank Merlin we’ve got all afternoon.”

[bittersweetorpheus]

☆ THERE IS NO SWEETER INNOCENCE THAN OUR GENTLE SIN ☆

The original sin is the fairest: everyone sinks. make the most of the final feast, because for the sinners, the curtain call has come.

☆ CONTENT WARNINGS ☆

Spoilers for 4.0 Fontaine archon quest, pov switches, co-dependency & obsession, hints of soft yandere

“I’m not quite sure when it began, but a prophecy has been circulating around Fontaine: the people will all be dissolved into the waters, and only the hydro archon will remain, weeping on her throne.”

This has become a fact for the Fontaine people, with the water levels slowly rising and consuming parts of the nation. Everyone has different opinions on this- some ignore it, deciding to live in the moment- surely they’ll be long gone before water consumes the whole nation, some believe it’ll be like returning to their origins, and some dread it- how horrible must it be to dissolve into water and possibly lose themselves forever?

But mostly, the Fontaine people have been resigned to it, and gone about their day as normal. The water levels were rising pretty slowly, anyways, so it wasn’t their problem yet. Or it wouldn’t be, if the rising water was still moving at the same pace. However…

☆ 1 WEEK BEFORE THE DUEL ☆

Your awakening is a gentle one.

Or, atleast, it is for about a minute or two before you realize you’re underwater. You panic, scrambling around like a fumbling idiot for another two minutes before you finally get your wits about you and realize that you are, in fact, not drowning and are breathing like normal even though you’re underwater? Unfortunately, along with that realization comes the fact that you… well, where even are you?

You take in your surroundings. Ignoring the fact that you’re underwater for some reason, it’s actually… very pretty. There isn’t a single piece of litter in sight, and you don’t have a hard time seeing, as the water is clear and beautiful. An underwater cliff arches a few miles behind you. The lush ocean ground beneath you splits apart and a trench can been seen below it that splits into multiple different paths leading even deeper under the ocean. The ocean floors and cliffs are lush and foliage is all around you, ranging from huge and tall stocks of plants resembling a mix between flower stems and lilypads to areas with plants the color of autumn leaves. Fish can be seen almost everywhere- crabs that glowed a mesmerizing blue, tiny tidalage, seals splotted in pastel colors, groups of fishing swimming together, and more.

The clear, litter free ocean, bright foliage, and adorable pastel creatures make for an idealized version of an ocean. And, surprisingly, they seem familiar somehow.

Wait…

You give the seals nuzzling you one last pet, and make your way to the surface of the water.

You surface. Huge mountains with colorful foliage surround the ocean. A beautiful city can be seen in the distance, with some ships floating near it. Some sort of bridge can be seen running from the city and through the mountains. It goes so far that it disappears from your line of sight.

Oh.

Oh. Your guess was right. You’re in Fontaine. You stay there for a bit, astonished. You push that to the back of your mind, you’ll deal with it later. But first, did you still have your inventory? You cross your fingers- please, please, please! Archons, you spent so much money getting all those weapons and characters and so much time just farming materials and artifacts. You shudder at the thought of losing all your progress. You’ve already checked the banners, and they’re the same as usual, so you close your eyes, trying your hardest to imagine opening your inventory and-

Huh? What? You are, once again, astonished. You close your inventory and open it again- maybe its just a glitch? Or maybe you’re delirious. You open it again. Nope. Nothing’s changed.

When did you have all these characters- you’re pretty sure some of these characters haven’t even become playable yet. And all these weapons? Wait, how good is your artifact luck? How is this possible? Are you gonna be banned for hacking? Can you even be banned if you’re actually in the game?

You slowly close the inventory once again, still in shock.

Surely this is a dream, right? Yeah! It’s just a lucid dream, even if it feels so realistic.

You decide to spend your time exploring and petting more animals- maybe even meeting some characters! Who knows when you’ll be able to dream like this again.

Yep. Just a dream. You’re just dreaming, thats all.

☆ 1/2 WEEK BEFORE THE DUEL ☆

Dozens of rain droplet streak down the stained glass windows of Nuevilette’s office. Jazz plays, alongside the sounds of a heavy downpour of rain and the ticking of the clocks in the office. He finishes flipping through the files and leans back in his padded chair. He hasn’t been able to do much work these couple of days, always anticipating the familiar feeling of warmth flooding into his body and being guided to do things, but it never came, and with that realization, the rain had started to pour even harder.

Had you finally abandoned him? Had he not concealed his feelings well enough? Were You able to see through his facade? Had You finally noticed his concealed feelings whenever he saw You guiding the ever so immature Furina, or doing exploring the city with Navia? How the corner of his lips would curl down every so slightly whenever You took the warden, Wriothesley, to go ice-briding when You felt bored, one-shot bosses with the Champion Duelist Clorinde for fun, or farmed for talent materials for the magician triplets?

He may not understand humans and their emotions, but even he knows what these feelings are. So, he promises that he’ll stop soaking in jealousy or anger when you fawn over the two Fatui Harbingers or anything of that sort. Just… come back to him. Don’t abandon him. Comfort him like You always do. Praise him, praise his appearance, praise his personality, please come back, he needs You.

But he knows that You haven’t abandoned him. You’re still here, in fact, Your presence is stronger than ever, and the whole of Teyvat is flourishing, almost like its in celebration of something. So, where are You?

Neuvillette sighs, standing from his chair. He’d better check on Furina- who knows what she may be doing without your guidance. As he starts to walk to the door, his long tailcoat brushes against his desk, making a file that was buried beneath all the others fall down, onto the ground. It’s contents sprawl on the floor.

He bends down, picking up the papers and placing them back into the file. As he does, he skims over the contents.

He frowns. Could it be true?

☆ 2 DAYS BEFORE THE DUEL ☆

People are whispering, and Focalor is frozen in place.

The whispering grows louder. She can make out hushed and anxious tones.

“What’s she doing just standing there? How disrespectful.” She hears.

She snaps out of her state of awe, and tries to take grasp of the situation. Unfortunately, in her panic, she says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Imposter!”

☆ 1 DAY BEFORE THE DUEL ☆

“And what do you say to these claims?” Nuevillette asks, snapping ‘The Imposter’ out of their stupor.

“No.” ‘The Imposter’ says.

Nuevillette frowns, “no? I ask that you elaborate.”

“How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even know what I did wrong?” ‘The Imposter’ reasons, still not fully processing the situation.

“Hah! Trying to act dumb won’t work here. You know what you did!” Focalor interjects. Truthly, this situation had come to be because of her carelessness and now it had spiralled way out of her control. She can’t take back what she said now, so she’d had to pray for the best. She dug her grave, so she might as well lie in it and hope for the best. I mean, surely it was fine, right? Surely this is an imposter. “If you can’t defend yourself in court, than you might as well duel to prove your innocence.

“I- huh? Alright, then.” ‘The Imposter’ says, not seeing any other choice. “I request a duel, I guess.”

“Very well, your request is accepted. You will be dueling against Clorinde tomorrow at dawn.” Nuevillette says.

People slowly filter out of the court room in anticipation for the day of the duel.

Focalor has a sinking feeling in her gut.

☆ THE DAY OF THE DUEL ☆

Clorinde sits at the harbor, too ashamed to watch over The Creator.

The duel had lasted no more than one or two minutes. The Creator had made no move to fight back, and Clorinde had made quick work of Them. It was only when she had made her way over to Them to end Their life when she noticed the ichor that spilled from Their many wounds. Her heart sunk into her chest. In a panic, she screamed for doctors. She had tried her best to keep Them awake, but They had already fallen unconscious by the time the doctors arrived.

Obviously, The Creator was still alive- who knew what would happen to Teyvat if The Creator, Themselves, Died. But she couldn’t get the image of their unconscious form out of her mind. The sin she’d committed weighed her down like the anchor of a boat.

She sighed, standing up shakily, starting the walk back to the city and…

Wait. Was the water level always this high?

Oh.

Oh. 

[shibaraki]

THE KIDS ARE GONNA BE ALRIGHT ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

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

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

wc: 19K

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

A map of the campus

The UA handbook and Emergency guideline

The Teachers Code of Conduct 

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

One last thing to note: 

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

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

Kind regards,

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

Your new world is bordered by a large imposing wall. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That shouldn’t be so attractive, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Curious?” 

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

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

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

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

“O—oh…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good afternoon,

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

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

Take care!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ywor lea’win’?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t push your luck,” he dared. 

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

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

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

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

Hi hi

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

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

Thnx!

Kaminari Denki AKA ⚡️ CHARGEBOLT

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

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

Sent from my ePhone 

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

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

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

You do not feel much better. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the outcome is far more comprehensive than you expected:

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have a question”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two people are required to oversee the class”

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

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

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

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

Hisorrywoulditbepossibletogetanextensiononmyessay?Myspacebarisbroken. 

Shinsou Hitoshi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’re you thinking?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—and your throat constricts as you swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Monoma?” he repeated. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Surely it wasn’t that bad”.

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

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

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

“Disturbing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My friend,

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

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

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

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Something indiscernible has since shifted. 

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

The kids are being weird. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kaminari-kun!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Blood type? Whatever for?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What…do you mean exactly?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re ridiculous”. 

“Et tu, Brute?”

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

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

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

“Aw. That’s cold, Sho”. 

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

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

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

Yamada cackles again. 

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

The three day weekend couldn't come any quicker.

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

HEEEEEY 😎

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

(Rooting for you)

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look nice”. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“District?”

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

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

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

Shouta suddenly appears to have swallowed a lemon. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sensei”. 

“Do you all have your phone notifications on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are worse people to be lumped with”. 

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

“Ever the charmer, Aizawa”. 

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

Very eloquently, your response is, “Oh”. 

“Or don’t,” he grunted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s just a kid. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone vibrates. The message comes through.

—A thumbs up emoji. 

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

“The hell. He texts like my old man”.

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

“How do you feel about heading back?” 

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

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

“Let it bite me?” he repeats dryly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

Good evening,

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

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

Take care!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sleeplessness is an open invitation to overthinking. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Burning the midnight oil?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Impossible?” you repeat, hushed.

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

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

“Shouta,” you echo, charmingly dumbfounded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

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

There are none! Ha ha! Did you panic?

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

Kind regards,

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

[piratesfromspace]

Just Like Old Times PART 2 (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price + Reader x 141 Rated: Explicit Word count: 4.3k Summary: Some flirting, hot springs, a cosy cottage in the snow, and lots of sex Note: This is the part 2 I promise with lots of smut, enjoy!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, smoking, praise kink, heavy smut, fivesome, oral, PiV, light ass play, overstimulation, dom/sub vibes, aftercare, fluff

MASTERLIST // PART 1

It doesn’t happen this very night, but the day after. 

The men are a little bit more rested after their long trek out in the open, and they are all very enthusiastic when you suggest a short hike to reach the hot springs hidden in a small valley just east of your cottage. It’s too remote from the touristy locations for random people to show up there, or for amateur hikers to stumble upon by accident. You’ll be alone and safe. And warm - most importantly. And it’s also a convenient opportunity to see them half naked. 

The hot springs are tucked against the side of a small glade, where the snow melts to reveal rocky arrangements forming shallow pools. Steam hovers above the clear water, signaling its warmth. The afternoon is sunny enough to make the snow gleam, painting a decor so pretty even the rugged men around you remark on it.

“Gosh lass, you didn’t lie when you told us about this place” Soap’s voice shakes you out of your contemplation. 

“Hope you don’t mind but I did not bring a bathing suit for our snow trip” Gaz is already stripping down, ready to dive into the steaming water. You take a beat too long to respond, mouth open at the vision of Gaz’s very naked and very ripped chest, muscles of his back rippling as he’s trying to remove his boots as quickly as he can. 

“Don’t you worry, she’s seen a lot worse back in the days”. It’s Price who comes to your rescue, a mischievous glint in his deep blue eyes fixed on your face. Warmth pricks at your cheeks - and it’s not because of the springs. It’s true though, you’ve seen quite a lot of men in all states of undress during your previous life. Missions after missions after training sessions after stays in the infirmary, you all tend to lose any sense of modesty. A body is a body after all. Just that. You repeat yourself as you undress as well - still, you intend on keeping the two-piece bathing suit you put on under your winter gear before leaving. You also try to keep your eyes down as the men strip and sink in one of the natural pools with satisfied grunts bordering on moans. Their sinful sounds don’t help with the warmth already creeping up your face. 

The steam covering the surface and the warping of the water does a good enough job at hiding the most intimate parts of their bodies. It’s not enough to hide how massive their bodies are though. You catch the glimpse of reddish or silvery scars on a muscular back or on a corded forearm. Dark hairs are dusted on the large pectorals of Price and Soap, while Gaz and Ghost are more smooth. 

Ghost has kept his usual facemask, even though he traded the skull mask for a printed balaclava, with a wider opening, framing doe-like brown eyes looking intently at you under blond lashes. He’s the biggest of them all - and it’s saying something considering Price and the two younger soldiers are far from small men - the level of the water had visibly raised when he lowered himself into the shallow pool. He beacons you with a nod of his head, and you finally muster enough courage to remove the last of your garment - except for your bathing suit - and join them in the water. They’re nice enough to not make any comment on your choice of covering yourself while they are shameless in their nudity.

The enveloping warmth of the spring is a blessing for your body, immediately soothing the goose bumps you got from the cold. You let yourself relax until the little waves are lapping at your nape, free of the hair you carefully tied up earlier. Your whole body goes slack as you take deep breaths, and close your eyes, sun rays lazily kissing the skin of your face. On your right, Price is doing the same, and when you readjust your posture, your arm brushes against his, and then your thigh touches his leg. You don’t move away though, you both stay like that for a moment, the joyful chatting of Soap and Gaz on the other side of the pool, a surprisingly relaxing background noise. The simple contact with his skin is warming you up from the inside, the memory of the kiss he gave you last night making you unconsciously squirm against him, clenching your thighs together. You’re feeling… hot. And the temperature of the water is not the only thing to blame. 

“Stop it, love.” the warning is uttered in a low gravelly voice, that does the exact contrary of what it was intended for. Liquid heat blooms between your legs as Price pairs his remark with a solid hand catching your right knee, immobilizing your whole leg. 

“Stop it, or I will be tempted to catch on all the time we missed.” It’s still a warning, but definitely not a threat, his voice goes gentler, almost sad at the last words. Fuck. That’s what did it a decade earlier, what made you cave in to your attraction for this man, the intoxicating mix of confidence - in his skills and authority - and vulnerability - emotions and kindness just bubbling under the surface. 

You can’t let this chance slip. Not again. Last night, you stopped at kissing, even though you wanted more, and you’ve been desperately horny since. You catch his hand on your knee, guiding it higher along your thigh, until it reaches the hem of your bathing suit. “What if I don’t mind it?” you whisper back, angling your body to better face him.

You can see the internal fight on Price’s face. 

“They will see” he mumbles, looking above your shoulders to the three men chatting just a few feets away. 

“I also don’t mind that…” you answer against the side of his head, pushing the words out before you chickens out  “... do you?”.

“I did not remember you to be such a menace” he chuckles darkly, before one arm snakes around your waist and lifts you up so you’re fully braced against his side. His other hand dips under the band of your bottom to cup your cunt. Your lips part around a gasp. His skin is somehow even hotter than the water. The hand on your back climbs until it clasps on your nape, bending your head in the crook of his neck, at a not-so-successful attempt at muffling your sounds. 

The captain waits for you to settle before he dips the pads of his fingers between your folds, grazing at your entrance where they meet the sirupy evidence of your desire. The tranquil water is not enough to wash away the sticky liquid, and Price takes advantage of it to glide effortlessly up your slit until he finds your aching clit. You stifle another gasp when he starts rubbing it in slow circles. 

“Quiet love” He squeezes your neck, trying to remind you of your surroundings - and especially of your audience. You don’t dare look behind you, but you can imagine how you look. For Price’s men, it must look like he has you in a tight hug, which is telling already. But if you start moaning on top of that, it’s not gonna look like a chaste hug for long. 

It’s difficult not to though, because the length of you is plastered against his formidable body, your tits pressed on his chest, he has you straddling one of his thighs, and you can feel his hard dick pulsing against your leg. Your teeth bite into your lower lip in an attempt at staying silent, and you would be scared to draw blood if you weren’t too far gone. Price’s fingers keep their pressure on your clit while he keeps you pinned to him with nowhere to go, and you know you’re not gonna last. Not when it feels so good to be in his arms, to feel his warm skin, and underneath it the strong muscles that keep you at his mercy. Not when he remembers exactly how to touch you to make you shiver in pleasure in mere seconds. Not when his most loyal men are probably looking at you from the other side of the pool. The idea that they might actually be, that they might understand what their Captain is doing to you, that they might even get hard at the view - you feel so dirty at admitting it, but it is what really makes you go over the edge. 

You come with a silent sob, biting into Price’s shoulder, until he redirects your mouth on his own. He kisses you with a hunger, a desperate thirst, like it pains him to want you this much. You answer with your own passion, careless in your display of affection for him. Low whistles and impressed Damn, captain erupt from the three other men. You part from Price with a chuckle, still not daring to look behind you. Until you feel someone gently tugging at your wrist. 

“Don’t keep her all to yourself Captain” Gaz beautiful eyes find yours, checking if you’re okay to follow him. You’re pretty sure he’s the only one to be able to snatch something from Price’s lap without too much trouble. John grumbles something that is lost in your soft laughs as Gaz brings you back with him near Soap and Ghost. 

“Now, tell us a story from your time with our Captain, I’m sure you have some funny ones!” he offers, and you comply, not minding the fact Gaz’s hand is still on your wrist, absentmindedly drawing circles in your skin with the tips of his calloused fingers.

❄️

You get back to the cottage just before sunset. The heater is still broken, but it’s a blessing in disguise, corelling you all into the living room, where the nice warmth of the fireplace makes for a mellow atmosphere. Soap has managed to find your stash of scotch, a vice you don’t indulge often in, but you still keep a few bottles at hand, to celebrate happy occasions or cushion hard news. You guess your reunion with Price is worth bringing those bottles out. 

The evening feels like one of those too-perfect fuzzy memories, made of laughter, comfort food and enough of the brown liquorous beverage to dull the last of your awkwardness around those newfound friends. Price has procured a cigar, spicy smoke weighing heavy on your senses. Someone has chosen a vinyl from your collection and turned on the old record player. Slow tempo music with suggestive lyrics. Gaz tugs you up from the ground, has you two sway along to the song - he moves his hips with a disconcerting easiness. You don’t really know what you’re doing, but he’s happy enough you follow him. You laugh in the dance, and he gets bolder, holding you closer with each new chorus. It drives you crazy.

Your earlier release at the hand of Price is long forgotten, and your whole body has been on fire since you came back from the hot springs. You can feel how embarrassingly wet you are, every little touch to move you out of the way in the kitchen, to lead you to your seat on the couch, every time they lay a finger on your waist, your arm, or even your face to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Everything they do to you makes you go crazy with want. Of course Price is the bolder of them all, large palms holding your hips while you step on a chair to reach something high in your kitchen, kisses stolen in the corridor, hungry eyes following your every move. 

He might be guilty of teasing you to death, but the three others are not that innocent either. And Price is letting them. He’s very clearly allowing them to flirt, watching with a small smile as they make you laugh, as they make you crave their attention. Yes, guilty, they are all guilty. And you’re their very willing victim.

Your glass is still in hand, your eyes are half closed. Ghost and Soap are sitting side by side on your couch, bodies relaxed, eyes on you and Gaz. Simon’s balaclava is bunched up on his nose, still hiding a part of his face, but allowing him to sip on his - yours actually - scotch. He’s watching you dance like you’re the prettiest girl in the club, although his hand is possessively holding Soap’s knee. You noticed they were close, but you did not expect this open display of affection. It means they trust you to some extent. It flatters your ego, makes you balance your hips more boldly.

As the song comes to an end, Gaz has you in a tight embrace with your back against his firm chest, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips so close from your nape, you wish he would kiss you there already. It’s not calculated, more instinct than wit, but you tilt your head ever so slightly to the side, baring your neck to his mouth. It must be instinct from his part also, because he immediately takes the bait and lays a gentle kiss on the side of your neck. You leave out a shaky exhale at the sensation and sink a little more against him. He leaves another kiss, a little lower, going down where your neck meets your shoulder. And another one. It’s not about instinct anymore, it’s deliberate, it’s a clear choice. The gentle warmth of the alcohol, the smoke of the cigar, the tiredness of the afternoon spent in the water - it all makes your body pliant and your mind happily dizzy.

“Let us thank you for the stay, lovie” Kyle murmurs against the shell of your ear, his hands solid on your hips, leaving no doubt as to how they intend to thank you. The shock of his demand forces you to use your brain for a second. You kinda knew this was coming - you wished it too. But it’s one thing to fantasize about it, and another to live up to it. Your eyes fly open to Price, searching for his opinion on this. Not hard to guess he already had his word to say in the situation, but still. 

“Don’t look at me. It’s up to you darling.” His voice is thick, thicker than usual. “You can say no. At any time.” he adds, words carefully chosen. The fire in his eyes when you nod your consent matches the fire between your legs.

Price rises from his chair while Kyle stays glued to your back, holding you upright, like an offering to his Captain. John stands in front of you, locks eyes with you and takes a long inhale on his cigar. His hand catches your chin, and he bends toward you until his mouth is a hair away from yours. You willingly part your lips to let him breathe out the smoke in your lungs. You can’t take it all, and the smoke spills out, engulfs your field of view, drowning you in the smell you have learned to recognize as his. Something rich and spicy, heavy and masculine, powerful and his, his, his- 

Price takes advantage of the way the smoke makes you even dizzier to kiss you on the lips. A hungry kiss, mirroring the one he gave you when he had you in his lap earlier in the springs. Before you close your eyes to focus on the way his tongue is licking inside your mouth, you vaguely register Ghost getting up and taking the cigar from his captain’s hand to let it drop in the ashtray. You feel his giant presence, can feel him nuzzling at the top of your head, smelling your hair, fingers ghosting over your shoulder and upper arm. It’s becoming overwhelming very quickly to be surrounded by them, and if not for Gaz holding you upright against him, you’re not sure you would still be standing up. 

Simon’s fingers find their way down your arm, until he gently takes your hand. His hold is feather-light, leaving you the opportunity to retreat. It’s a stark contrast with the raw strength you know he’s capable of. Price reluctantly stops kissing you, his large palms still holding your jaw from both sides angling your face towards his lieutenant. He wouldn't want for you to miss the show of Simon’s tongue peeking from his rosy lips to give a little lick at the pad of your fingers. Once, then twice. He groans, content with the taste of your skin. A predator confirming he caught the right prey. Without any warming he engulfs two of your fingers in his mouth, and sucks on the digits like he’s trying to get to the marrow of your bones. But instead of sharp teeths, all you get is the strange feeling of warmth and wetness, the powerful swipe of his tongue - he’s the one shoving your hand in his mouth, yet you have the intuition the big bad wolf is just a lost pet looking for a master. You press your fingers on his tongue, and down, until your flesh is flush against his teeth, and you keep pressing. He has no choice but lowering down too, unless he risks hurting you. 

The hands of Price and Gaz on your body tighten ever so slightly, when Simon finally puts his knees on the floor. With just two fingers between his lips, you have managed to make the giant kneel at your feet. He’s gazing at you with glassy eyes, the black make-up fading on his skin making his blond lashes pop. 

Simon nuzzles against your legs, and despite him being on his knees, his impulse for action is still there. He pushes his face against your crotch, his balaclava is bunching up on his nose and the bump of the fabric is providing some nice friction against your clothed cunt. Definitely not enough to quench your desire, but it’s welcome. It’s visibly an offense to Ghost that you’re still wearing clothes, so while Price is taking your attention with passionate kisses, he removes your pants and panties, until you can feel the air against your tender flesh. You’re already dripping, you can feel it against your inner thigh.

That’s when Soap, who is behind Ghost, a hand under his balaclava, fisted in his hair, pushes his face against your weeping cunt. Simon gives your folds a broad lick, and you let a heavy sigh out on Price’s lips. Ghost is lapping at you without any shame, his wicked tongue goes everywhere, no inch of the delicate skin between your legs is free from his attention. You have to grasp at Price’s shirt to steady you, because you’re squirming from the delicious wet warmth on your cunt. Gaz is still behind you, supporting you upright. His hands have found their way on your ass, he’s playing with the supple flesh, fingers inching between your cheeks. 

“Can I touch you here?” he whispers, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, and you nod your consent without second thought. He lets his broad hands wander fully between your ass cheeks, thumbs gently petting at your hole. Each sensation is not entirely new, but layered like this, happening all at the same time - it’s so much, intoxicating in the best sense. Ghost tongue in your cunt is making sinful noises, and you’re drowning in it all, body fully shivering between all of them. You feel a knot tighten in your gut with alarming speed, and you come for the first time of the night, moaning against Price’s neck. 

Price sweeps you off wobbly legs, and places you delicately on one of the mattresses. After this first orgasm, the warmth of the fire with the softness of the many blankets makes for a divine sensation. 

“All good love? Wanna keep going?” John asks, his blue eyes set on your face, looking for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

“Yes!” you answer with a fervor that makes the men chuckle.

“Wanna taste you too, hen” it’s Soap - he lies between your legs, folds them on your chest, so he can look at your cunt like it’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, before starting to lick, drinking the juices from your previous orgasm. He’s eating you messily but with enthusiasm, spending some time fucking you with his toungue, his thumb pressing on your clit. Your soft moans soon fill the air. It makes him bolder, and he goes even lower, his tongue licking at your puckered hole, not searching to go in, but feasting on every patch of skin he can find between your thighs.

Ghost is kneeling again, this time next to your head. He bends at the waist to kiss your mouth, making you taste yourself on his lips. He’s disciplined in the way he kisses you. After Price’s hunger, it’s a clear contrast. He makes you submit to his rhythm and is not afraid to make you feel the scrape of his teeth on your already swollen lips. He’s precise, sharp, calculated. Unlike you, he can’t be easily overwhelmed, and if you can coax a reaction out of him, it’s only because he lets you. 

Soap has you come on his tongue, and you don’t even have the time to let your legs go down before Price hoists them on his shoulders. An undignified little yelp escapes your lips in confusion and surprise that John is quick to sooth. 

“Shhh love, I’m here, you’re ok.” his gravelly voice making you so insanely hot that it has you clench on nothing. You’re not empty for long though. He fills you up in one slow inescapable move. It burns, but in a good way, a searing warmth seizing your whole body. The stretch is a lot. It has you clamp up on him, in a vicious reaction circle. 

“Fuck, you’re… a… lot.” you whimper, eyes shut to try and focus on relaxing.

“Don’t fight it” you recognize Ghost’s voice. “You’re doing great, bonnie” Soap echoes. “Breathe, gorgeous” Gaz adds. 

You open your eyes to see the three men in various states of undress, lounging on the mattresses around you both. Their gaze is fixed on you both, eager for the show you’re offering.

“Look at me, love.” John falls on his forearms, folding you in two. He cradles your face in his big palms, demanding for your full attention - the blue of his eyes is so dark, yet they are shining, like you’re watching a night sky full of stars. 

“You’re perfect. Your body is perfect. I know you can take it.” He punctuates his affirmation with a delicious rolling thrust of his hips, that has your lips part around a soft moan. 

“So let me make you feel good”

You can’t remember a single time in your life when you felt this good. This level of passion, not only from one person, but from four men. They take turns and team up to make you feel good. There are too many fingers and tongues on your body for you to count - sucking at your tits, leaving bruising kisses on your neck, hitting the most sensitive places inside of you, rubbing at your swollen clit. They discover they love giving a spank or two to your ass to hear you cry out in surprise then laugh and groan when the gentle heat of the blow reaches your cunt. They tie your wrists with a scarf for a minute, so you won’t disturb them in the very important task of finding out which one of them can make you come the fastest.

You love what they do to you, but you also want to please - want them to feel a tenth of the pleasure they offer. You follow the trail of hair on Soap’s belly with your mouth until you reach the tip of his cock. You ride Price until the muscles of your thighs give out. You swallow every drop of Gaz’s cum. You let Ghost come on your chest. 

“you’re taking me so well” “look at you, so pretty” “there you go, just like that, perfect" "you’re so good for us" 

You bask in their encouragement, let your brain short-circuit with their heady dirty talk, let your body go floaty, your limbs grow sore, let your flesh bruise under ravenous lips, let your skin get covered in sweat and spit and cum and your own wetness. The night is not young anymore when you shatter one last time on Price’s cock. He gently lay down your legs from his shoulders where they were perched. You don’t have any strength left in you to protest when Simon sits between your open legs to lick you clean for a couple minutes, ignoring your soft whines of overstimulation. It’s Gaz who comforts you, letting you know how good you’ve been, that you need to let them clean you up. He gently pets your hair while Simon and Johnny return with a damp clean cloth and try their best at cleaning your skin, before cleaning themselves. 

They help you into a warm hoodie - it’s so oversized it obviously belongs to one of them. They feed you pieces of dried fruit, tilt a cup of water to your lips, cuddle with you in front of the fireplace. The crackling of the fire is the background to their gentle chats and laughs, and the occasional muffled moans when Ghost keeps his lips on Soap’s neck. The view is sinful - those two men, built like Greek gods, half-naked, kissing each other - it would be enough to re-ignite your desire if you weren’t feeling so sore. And yet there’s something more than lust between them, something tender you guess they don’t show often. 

You eventually drift to sleep against Price, his body solid and warm by your side. Just like old times, you think just before he gently kisses your forehead - and you fall asleep understanding that maybe love has no fixed timeline.