#ask the faculty lounge

[radioactivictoli]

Why is the school nurse Like That? Like. I like her, and Good on her for giving students a safe space but also most of them are openly cutting class. They’re not even trying to hide it. Mubby got paralyzed during battle studies, and I asked her if she could help, and she just slapped a bandaid on him

[cowlings]

warnings for nsfw! implied age gap (it's always age gap when it's older pro heroes), swearing, afab reader, she/her used, fingering, dom! aizawa (?), poorly written smut. this is my birthday gift from me to me! mdni.

shota aizawa and birthdays are not a great mix. he's as emotionally available as a pet rock, so it takes him a while to actually care for such dates.

but when yours comes around, it's an entirely different situation. he somewhat cares, and he's thoughtful enough to consider buying you a gift. key word being consider. it's usually something small like buying you lunch from the cafeteria, or gifting you something practical for your hero suit. and it's very subtle; he gives you his 'gifts' with nobody around so there's no speculation about his bias for your special day.

this year, he made two tiny mistakes.

one, getting noticed by hizashi yamada.

two, buying you something entirely different than before.

so when he's attempting to wrap a small chocolate box in crinkly wrapping paper, he can sense his workmate's eyes lingering on his figure. thinking little of it, he continues.

shota should've known there was something going on the second he stepped foot in the teacher dorms and it was empty. the only sign of life were your huffs and groans coming from the kitchen as you measured flour and some other dry ingredients.

"y/n? where are the others?"

"they said they had to go prepare some stuff at the faculty lounge for my secret party" you laughed, "can you believe i'm stuck baking my own cake?"

shota's eyes slightly widened as he walked towards the elevator, explaining how he had a small present for you. taking advantage of the solitude, it was better for him to deliver his present now than later. a few minutes went by until he returned with a small bag, inside being a box wrapped in crepe paper.

"oh my gosh, you really didn't have to, aizawa" you giggled, your hands steady on the kitchen counter as you jumped to take a seat. you slowly tore away the paper to reveal a simple, black box with golden lettering. they were chocolates, and not the cheap kind. "these look so good, you wanna share?"

he shook his head in response. "they're for you, y'know." you tilted your head to the side, "and if i want to share?"

he scoffed, "alright, but don't be complaining later when i eat the whole—"

there was a loud sound coming from a speaker. shota knew that mic bought it to have ambiance music during dinner or during cooking, but he never knew it could turn on by itself. more importantly...

the speaker wasn't playing pure background noise. it was playing a song.

shota sighed as he recognized the familiar tune, which was one he had heard during his younger years. and he knew that you recognized it too, from the way in which you held in your laugh. "is this your doing, aizawa?" he shook his head as his phone pinged, and to his surprise, it was a text.

Yamada 19:05 AIZAWA BUDDY Hope you like the surprise!!! We won't look at the kitchen cameras for the rest of the night We still want you to be at the lounge for Y/n's party at 9 tho so move along!!

Shota 19:07 Are you fucking serious?

Yamada 19:08 It's her birthday so you know she wanna rii-ii-iiide out Seriously we're gonna be upset if you waste my good music for nothing bro.

"it's mic's doing" he grumbled, to which you laughed. "is this his attempt at setting us up?" he asked. "probably. is it working?"

"i don't know a single person who enjoys this song unironically. do you seriously want to do this with yamada's playlist?"

"something's better than nothing, aizawa" you smiled, "wanna sing along to birthday sex with me?"

shota took the chocolate box from your hand, picking a small tablet and placing it between his teeth. he moved closer, his hands slightly parting your thighs as he positioned himself between them. though his voice came out muffled by the chocolate, it was obvious what he was saying.

"come on. eat."

your fingers grasped the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer as you leaned in to take a bite. before you could, though, shota took the chocolate from his mouth and threw it somewhere on the counter, connecting his lips with yours. your hand cupped his cheek as your back slightly arched, wanting to close the gap even further. shota's hand was on the small of your back as he slowly dragged you to the edge of the counter.

his hand lowered towards your ass, causing you to gasp. shota was quick to slide his tongue inside, earning a whine from you. your lips are intoxicating to shota. they're addictive, and he tries desperately to keep nibbling on what he deemed heaven itself.

but alas, air is not only something he needs, you need it too. you pulled away to catch your breath, your hand moving from his cheek to under his shirt, softly tracing the skin on his lower back. "you do know this is probably mic's sex fantasy, right?"

he stifled a laugh, "something's better than nothing, right?"

shota's fingers ghosted over your thighs. "this okay?" he asked, to which you nodded. his fingers traced the hem of your shorts, sneakily pushing the fabric to the side as the tip of his finger lazily drew circles on your clothed cunt. "y'know, i could just fuck you like this, no prob. the shorts make it easy."

and his touch is enough to give you goosebumps. you trembled as he slowly, and carefully peeled your panties to the side, slipping two digits inside. he chuckled as you gripped his shirt in response. "you're this wet already? but we're just getting started."

the way his fingers thrust inside you made your grip on him tighten. you wondered if he had any previous experiences—he’s old, so he’s had to have some—there’s no way he’s naturally good. his fingers curled up inside your walls, and it was enough to have your hips jerk towards him, your head on his chest as your breath quickened. shota's thumb drew circles on your clit as he leaned in to whisper.

“does it feel good?”

you try to answer as coherently as you can, but it’s no use. “it—aah—s’good, aizawa.”

without warning, he slips in one more digit. the moan that escaped your lips was so raw—so lewd, it was almost enough for shota to cum on the spot. “that’s not my name, it’s shota. try again.”

“fuck—shota—so good.”

“that’s better” he growled, his free hand moving under your shirt. shota aizawa is skilled, because in one swift movement your bra is unclasped, your shirt is lifted, and his lips and nibbling and suckling on your hardened nipples. shota aizawa knows your sensitive spots. he either guessed them first try, or has known you long enough to know.

you were a moaning mess. you clung onto him so hungrily, with so much desperation. the only sounds that left your mouth were incoherent thoughts and screams.

“sho—want you ‘nside—now.”

he let out a low chuckle, “you need to cum for me first. think you can do that, y/n?”

shota didn’t have to tell you twice.

[touyaismycomfortboy]

♡ mr. aizawa's wife....

a/n: i'll probably most definitely write about husband aizawa with a wife who has a quirk, but for now here are some quirkless wife hcs <3 this is lowkey all over the place, all I've been thinking about is husband aizawa and what that would be like so i need to dump out all my thoughts and then I'll write smth more organized eventually

word count: 0.7k

synopsis: what it would be like to be aizawa's wife <3

pairing: shouta aizawa x fem!quirkless!reader

genre: headcanons? dump? i honestly dont know!! i'm just writing stuff fr <33

you're not a pro-hero so you don't work at UA, but you're still there all the time. the heroes truly love you, you oftentimes get bored after your own job and bring the faculty fresh baked goods, typically leaving a big tray in the teachers' lounge but delivering aizawa's to him since he's always so busy with class.

the first time you met his new first years they were doing some training outside, you had just come by the school with a tray of peanut butter chocolate cookies and were about to deliver some to aizawa and give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before heading home.

when the girls of the class saw you walk up to aizawa out of the corner of their eyes and give him a kiss they gasped and stopped whatever they were doing.

aizawa panicked when he realized they saw and told them to get back to training, but they were already immediately approaching you and showering you with questions.

"oh my god mister aizawa has a wife?!" "how long have you two been together?!" "how did you guys meet?!" "what is aizawa like at home?"

you would laugh nervously and brush off their questions, whispering something to them about how aizawa is secretly a snuggle bug or something of that nature and usher them back to training, watching as they giggle and whisper to each other as they walk back, looking at aizawa and giggling some more.

aizawa isn't sure what you told them, but he'll "glare" at you for a moment with no real anger behind his stare, then mumble a quick "love you" before returning to work.

if you get off of work before him, he loves coming home and crawling into your arms, collapsing on top of you if you're lying on the couch.

he feels like a classy man when he wants to be. he'll be the kind of man to tell you to be ready at 7pm and to wear a nice outfit, and tell you he got you both a reservation at a restaurant.

he'll never tell you where it'll be, but he'll make sure to vet the menu beforehand just to make sure it has food you like so you never have to pretend to like something around him.

it will never be an insanely popular place with a bunch of people, but it'll always be nice. he doesn't like loud, crowded restaurants that are so loud he can barely taste the food in front of him, he loves quiet and intimate spaces with you.

if you ever volunteer to chaperone at a UA camp or dance or any other event, he always secretly loves watching you work with his students. he loves the chemistry you build with each of them and the effort you put into building friendships with them.

izuku loves to talk to you, he's always running up to you with his notebook asking questions about what the personal life of a pro hero is like and seeing if you have any anecdotes or fun facts about his quirk.

you're also one of the people all might lets see his true form before it's revealed to the public. you're always worrying over him, and he always brushes it off and tells you that he's okay, but you still check on him every time you visit UA.

as seen with how he acts around his students when something traumatic happens to them, he's very good at talking you through whenever you're sad. he's not a man of many words, but the words he does say leave an impact, and he always knows what to say.

he's not much for PDA, most people don't even know he has a wife until you just show up since he's so private, he prefers his intimate affairs stay intimate, he doesn't like everyone in his business or knowing how he acts around his wife.

nothing makes him feel guiltier than all the times you're awake for days on end next to his hospital bed after protecting his students from a dangerous situation. you understand why he does it, how important his students are to him, but still... seeing how destroyed his body gets after a villain encounter always makes you sick to your stomach, and you never feel quite at ease when he's working.

you both love taking naps together, if naps could be a love language that would be your guys'. you're always snuggling when alone and one thing will lead to another and you both end up snoozing on the couch for 30 minutes or so, something about being in each other's presence is so relaxing.

[dekariosclan]

I have a simple thought

Tav making or trying to make Gale fail No Nut November

Woof-

Dearest Anon, I am giving you the most enthusiastic high-five right now. 🙌💯💯💯

Not only because this ask is magnificent, and not only because I squealed when I read it, but because you sent it to me at 10:28pm on November 1st.

Anon, the fact that you couldn’t even last 24 hours into No Nut November before sending in an ask about No Nut November is absolutely perfect. And do you know why?

Because being unable to last 24 hours into No Nut November is exactly what would happen to Gale.

Truthfully, the hardest part of this ask was coming up with why in the hells Gale would ever agree to participate in NNN in the first place. In fact, I think he would be positively incensed at the very idea: “…an entire MONTH of abstaining from pleasures of the flesh?! Simply to prove that it can be done?! Well! I could chop off an arm and cast spells one-handed to prove that it could be done, but it’s hardly something I’d willingly partake in!”

However! For the sake of this fantastic ask, we’ll say that he was convinced and agreed to try.

But the real crux of the matter, and your actual question, is what Tav would do about this situation. And the truth is, I really don’t think Tav would even have to try hard (or uh…at all) to make Gale fail at NNN.

Picture this series of events with me, anon:

Gale waking up with Tav in his arms (or he in theirs)

Drinking in the sight of his beloved as he does every morning

Noticing that Tav’s nightshirt is unlaced, their shoulder and chest uncovered and in full view

Their leg draped over his, thigh fully exposed

Gale already uncomfortably hard due to it being the morning

Tav innocently shifting and repositioning themselves to snuggle closer, their leg brushing over his bulge

Gale doing everything in his power not to audibly moan, thoughts flooding his mind of how they’d made love in the morning just a few days past. Remembering Tav pulling him from sleep by riding him as though their life depended on it. Thinking of Tav’s thighs clamping around his midsection, and then around his head, the taste of Tav on his tongue as he—

Gale not rolling out of bed so much as falling out of it.

Apologizing profusely, frantically getting dressed in his teaching robes, giving Tav a chaste kiss on the forehead, and all but running out the door

Tav joining Gale for lunch at the Academy as usual

The faculty lounge being so crowded that Tav has to sit on Gale’s lap

Beads of sweat forming on Gale’s forehead as Tav blithely chats with the other Professors

Gale trying not to think about Tav’s perfectly shaped ass

Gale trying not to think about how good it feels pressed against him

Gale trying not to think, period

Fumbling or dropping his fork every time Tav shifts slightly

Apologizing for his clumsiness to the point of babbling, even as Tav reassures him it’s fine. Tav finally just putting their finger over Gale’s lips to get him to stop

It taking every ounce of willpower for Gale to not take Tav’s finger in his mouth

Lunch ending with Gale looking as flushed and sweaty as if he’d just ran a marathon rather than sat for 45 minutes

Tav asking him if he’s okay and Gale reassuring them that he’s fine

Grateful that they cannot see his orb scar through his thick teaching robes, certain it is glowing blindingly bright purple

Kissing Tav goodbye, this time on the lips. Instantly realizing his mistake as the thought occurs to him that he could just dimension door them both into his private office, and—

Hastily breaking the kiss and telling Tav he hopes they have a good afternoon, he’ll see them this evening, he loves them

Spending the rest of the afternoon steeling his resolve

Barely able to pay attention to his class

Muttering to himself that it’s just 30 days! Surely that is surmountable! His bond with Tav is incomparable, they are tethered at the soul, their love goes beyond just the physical, even if that aspect is magnificent and life-giving and—

Ending class early when he realizes he’s mistakenly conjured Tav’s likeness when he was supposed to be channeling the Weave

Arriving home, escaping to the kitchen to start dinner, praying that Tav is busy elsewhere in the tower

Relieved to find a note that they will be home a bit later

Focusing on dinner preparation to the point that he doesn’t realize how much time has passed

Looking up to see Tav has arrived home. The air suddenly thick with their sweet musk

Gale, realizing from their glistening muscles, flushed cheeks and battle gear that they have been off doing their weekly practice at the local armory

Gale, completely mesmerized as a single bead of sweat rolls down their neck and over their heaving chest

OhGodsNo.jpg

Tav, greeting Gale with a quick kiss, suddenly finding themselves caught in his embrace

A purple hue rapidly covering Gale’s chest

His eyes dark, face flushed

His mouth hovering over Tav’s, his voice sounding parched. “Forgive me, my love. I seem to have made a mistake.”

Performing a quick spell with a single hand motion, changing the date on every calendar in the Tower. “I thought it was November 1st when we awoke this morning. My most humble apologies. It appears to actually be December 1st.”

Tav, their lips brushing Gale’s, laughing. “Oh? My goodness, November seemed to absolutely fly by.”

Gale, pulling Tav even closer, his lips brushing theirs as he whispers, “With any luck, December will feel like it lasts a lifetime,” before claiming their mouth with his own.

[xothatnerdykid]

say yes to heaven (say yes to me)

Aizawa finds out you have a crush on him. Fluffy, slightly suggestive Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead x reader drabble. Slight age gap, teaching assistant!reader. 1,937 words.

"You know Y/N has a crush on you, right?"

You nearly choke at that, freezing up against the wall. You had been taking a phone call outside the faculty lounge when you overheard Yamada and Aizawa make their way inside, oblivious to your presence. 

"I thought I told you to drop it already, Hizashi," Aizawa grunts.

"Wait, you know?" A third voice, Nemuri, asks incredulously, followed by a noise that sounds suspiciously like Aizawa elbowing Yamada mid-laugh.

You feel your face heat up, mortified at their discussion. Of course Aizawa knew you had feelings for him, you all but slap yourself. How could he not when you clam up and turn into a stuttering mess whenever he’s around? 

You're well aware that plenty of the girls of Class 1-A (and even 1-B) harbor a not-so-secret crush on their sensei, and you're embarrassed to admit that you're not much better. You're always suddenly breathless and flustered to be near him.

Always a little too eager to help during training or classes. Always tripping over your words whenever he spoke to you. He must have tried to brush it off at first, but it just kept happening too many times for him to ignore.

"The only thing I know," Aizawa answers gruffly, "Is that this conversation is bordering on entirely inappropriate."

"What? Why? It's not like she's a student here or anything," Yamada retorts.

"She was, just a few years ago."

"Yeah, and now she's my teaching assistant," Nemuri counters.

But you can practically see Aizawa shake his head. "See? Same difference."

"Oh, lighten up! So you have a bit of an age gap—"

"I wouldn't call 8 years a bit of an age gap, Hizashi."

"Who cares about that? I think she could make you happy, Shouta, and you deserve to be happy."

“Now that I think about it," Nemuri adds. "You two would be good together. You need someone who can make you smile and stop being so serious all the time, and she..." She chuckles playfully. "For some unexpected reason, really likes that about you."

"Don't tell me you haven't at least thought about it?" Yamada teases. “I see the way you look at her, too, you know."

Nemuri squeals, "Just imagine, the two of you being all lovey-dovey. It'd be so cute!"

Your heart catches in your throat, but Aizawa is quick to interject.

"It doesn't matter. None of those things you said matter. To do anything about Y/N's feelings for me would be taking advantage of her."

"Fine," Nemuri huffs. "But the least you can do is talk to the poor girl about it. You can't keep giving her the cold shoulder forever."

There's a beat of silence before Aizawa dejectedly responds, "You’re right.” And you hear the door knob lock behind them.

______________________________________________________________

You pretend not to notice that Aizawa's awkwardly been standing behind you for almost five minutes now, hoping he'd eventually leave if you looked busy enough typing away on your laptop.

And he almost does, if it wasn't for Midnight and Mic, who you can see out of the corner of your eye, gesturing at him quietly but frantically to go on. 

Your heart races when he clears his throat. "Uh, Y/N, do you have a minute?"

"Um..." You want to say no but can't think of a reason fast enough, so you take your time closing your laptop instead, bracing yourself. "Sure."

You get up from your seat and turn to face him, but neither of you can meet the other's gaze, which just makes everything feel all the more mortifying. 

"I'm aware of...Er, I mean...I apologize if I've seemed a little standoffish lately."

"You mean more than usual?" You smile weakly, trying for a bit of humor.

When you look up, you're surprised to see that his expression is serious but gentle. He almost smiles for a second before he seems to think better of it.

"It's been brought to my attention that you might…” He sighs, then starts over. “If I’ve ever given you the wrong impression, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention. I want you to know that I respect your feelings, but I think it’s best that we maintain a professional relationship."

“Of course! I-I never–You never–Um–" You swallow thickly, feeling your face burn up. “I agree.”

“Good. I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us.”

Like it could get any worse? You bite back the retort.

You take a deep breath, attempting to regain your composure, and plaster on another half-hearted smile. “It’s fine. We can move past it.”

He nods, his expression neutral. “Glad to hear that.”

_________________________________________________________________________

But you do not, in fact, move past it. At least not for a couple of weeks. 

In the days that follow, you find that you can't shake off the conversation, the way he looked and the vulnerability in his voice lingering in your mind. The hours at work feel longer now that they're filled with lingering silence, heavy with unspoken words and punctuated with stilted conversations.

Even more embarrassing is the fact that everyone seems to know about your unrequited and inappropriate crush now, if they didn’t already. You notice Mic and Midnight's sympathetic glances, and All-Might's whispered concerns.

Their attempts to act normal around you are agonizingly obvious, so you make it a habit to be the first one to leave every afternoon and spend most of your days alone at your table, with your eyes glued to your laptop screen or your nose buried in a mountain of paperwork. 

So how, exactly, did you find yourself in this position? Alone with Shouta in his apartment and sitting in his lap with your fingers tangled in his hair and his tongue practically down your throat?

_________________________________________________________________________

Last thing you remembered, you were walking home when he suddenly fell into step beside you.

"Hi," you managed, giving him a weak smile. It must've been the first time you've ever been alone together since the talk. 

"Mind if I join you?" He tilted his head to ask, his hands in his pockets and looking as tired as ever. 

"Not at all," You tried to reply coolly, even though your heart just about dropped to the floor.

A familiar awkward silence fell upon both of you.

You bunched up your skirt in your fists, acutely aware of the way he’s looking at you. His usually stern face seemed almost…unsure. Finally, he broke the silence. "How have you been?”

“Oh, you know…” You waved your hand dismissively. “Just trying to get through each day.”

He nodded solemnly. “Listen, y/n, I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings last time we talked, because that’s the last thing I’d want.”

You shook your head. "No, not at all. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for the position I put you in."

"I just want you to know that...It's not that I don't..." He trailed off meaningfully, his eyes downcast. "I just don't think it would be appropriate or fair to you to pursue anything because...Your feelings for me…they’re not real.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. “What?” 

"I understand that you might be confused by...that the dynamics of our relationship might have clouded your judgement and made me seem…”

“Stop.” You level him with a fierce gaze and he does. You do your best to sound firm despite the sting of his words. “It’s one thing for you not to return my feelings. That I can understand. But don’t patronize me by telling me what I do or don’t feel. It’s clear that you think otherwise, but I’m not a child, Shouta.”

Aizawa, surprised by the intensity in your voice, leaned back slightly. He doesn't say anything, which gives you the courage to speak your mind, telling him off before you can think better of it.

“I don’t like you just because you’re older than me or I see you as some sort of authority figure. I like you because you care a lot but pretend you don’t. And it makes me want to get to know you more. I admire your dedication and hard work at being a hero and a teacher here.”

He looked at you thoughtfully for a few moments, then nodded, a flicker of realization crossing his features as he absorbed your words. “You're right. I shouldn't have assumed or tried to define your feelings for you. I apologize."

"Thank you."

"And as long as we’re sharing…” He rolled his sleeves up, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think you’re a child, you know. I think you’re intelligent and perfectly competent. In fact, I think you're amazing."

The irritation and hurt you felt just moments ago was quickly chased away by the warmth that spread within you at his surprising admission.

He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I was hesitant because I didn't want to take advantage of you, given our age gap—"

"It doesn't bother me," you said with newfound confidence, and he couldn't help but chuckle at your boldness.

"But maybe... I've been too cautious."

You tilted your head, smiling up at him softly, sweetly, like you used to. "What do you mean?" You asked even though you already knew, you just wanted to hear him say it.

He ran a hand through his hair again, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous habit, you’ve noticed. "I mean, perhaps I've been so focused on maintaining professional boundaries that it's made me overlook the possibility of a genuine connection between us."

You bit the inside of your cheeks to keep from smiling any wider. "Are you saying...?"

He nodded, a hint of a blush tinting his face. "Would you consider having dinner with me tomorrow?"

_________________________________________________________________________

Fast forward to now, hours after dinner and one glass of wine too many, and you’ve somehow managed to muster up the courage to kiss him good night.

It catches him by surprise, but once he leans into it, he doesn’t let you pull away. He responds with an almost bruising eagerness, kissing you again, and again, and again, until you find yourself pressed up against the door of his apartment.

He jams his keys into the doorknob, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

But instead of swinging the door open like you expected, he puts his hand up against it instead, next to your face, and presses his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” he says breathlessly, his eyes screwed shut.

You draw a steadying breath of your own. “Why not?”

“Because,” he drawls in that frustratingly raspy voice of his. The one so low and deep you could practically feel it vibrating against your own chest, echoing off the walls inside of you. “You do something to me…to my self-control…”

You swallow thickly. “Do I?”

He nods.

“Good.” You link your hands around his nape, pulling at some of the hair there, and smile against the crook of his neck. “Then the feeling’s mutual.”

He puts his hands on your waist, gingerly, cautiously. “Doesn’t make it rational.”

You kiss his jaw. ”Why does it need to be rational?” And then his cheek. ”We’re both adults.” And then gently bite his ear, whispering, “Why can’t we let ourselves want what we want?” 

“And are you sure…” He pulls away a little, his eyes still closed and his eyebrows furrowed. “This is what you want?” He finally opens his eyes to search yours, and his are so smoky and dark you feel as though you're falling through the night sky.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, captivated by the intensity in his gaze.

"Yeah," you answer, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. "I'm sure."

His smirk is the last thing you see before your eyelids flutter close and his lips are on yours again. 

He doesn’t waste another moment.

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 1 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob is happy for his friends, but feeling like the fifth wheel every weekend has gotten old. Anna's main goal is to fly under the radar as she starts work at San Diego State University with her shiny, new graduate degree. She is convinced that the only company she needs is her own, but a specific flyer in the faculty lounge catches her interest.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, eventually 18+

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Bob hated it when Natasha was deployed without him. He always ended up feeling like the fifth wheel now that Bradley was married and Jake was dating Jessica. Well, both of those were actually understatements. Bradley was devoted to his wife, and Jake was soppy now that Jessica moved in with him. And Bob's feelings on the matter were never more evident than on nights out at the Hard Deck. 

Without fail, a girl or two or three would hit on one of the other guys, and they would deftly try to pawn said girl off on Bob only for the girl to look rather disappointed and kind of wander away. He just had that effect on women. He was a lot better with the written word than with the spoken, and something just didn't translate well for him when he was met face-to-face with an intriguing smile and an attractive body.

He groaned as he watched another woman head off in the direction of the bar as soon as he nervously stumbled his way through a sentence where he tried to introduce himself. How exactly was he supposed to compete with Jake Seresin anyway? Nobody who originally wanted him was going to settle for Bob. 

"I got you more peanuts." Bob looked up to see Bradshaw's wife smiling at him and holding out a cup. Ever since he visited Chippy's bar, he didn't want to admit to Penny that hers weren't quite as good, but if someone went out of their way to bring him a cup full, he was going to eat them. And it was also nice of her to make sure he was included tonight while Mickey was babysitting his nephews.

"Thank you," he replied softly, and she patted his shoulder.

"I saw you talking to that girl?" she asked, nodding her head toward the bar. "She's really cute."

Bob shook his head as he looked down at his ginger ale. "I mean, yes, she was very pretty, but I wasn't really talking to her. She didn't want to talk to me, actually." He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he looked up at her from his stool. "She wanted to talk to Jake."

She rolled her eyes, and Bob kept his fingers occupied by cracking open a peanut. He craved the familiar intimacy he saw when he looked at his friends and their partners. Maybe jealousy wasn't the right word, but he always felt left out of the loop. They all knew something he didn't, and he craved to be on the inside with someone of his own.

"I'd choose you over Jake any day, Bob. You're smart, and I like talking to you."

He smiled at her as he said, "That may be the case, but you'd choose Bradley over me."

"You got me there," she said with a laugh as she kissed his cheek, making him avert his eyes to the floor. "I'm probably not the best judge of character though."

Bob looked toward where she was smiling now and saw Bradley with his hideous tie dye shirt and idiotic looking backwards baseball cap as Jessica slaughtered him in a game of pool. "Yes, you are," Bob told her quietly. Because as soon as Bradley looked at his wife, his expression became one of complete wonder. 

"Sugar! Come here! Jessica is being mean to me again!"

She squeezed Bob's shoulder and then took him by the hand, bringing him along with her to the pool table. He blushed again as he looked a little nervously at Bradley, but everyone knew Bob was harmless. He was the one just drinking a ginger ale since he had to drive home.

"Baby," Bradley whined. "She won't even let me try to make a shot."

"That's not her being mean to you. That's her being better than you," his wife replied. "And what's the moral of the story again?"

"Women should never be underestimated," Bradley and Jake said in unison.

"That's right," Jessica said as she sunk the 8-ball into one of the corner pockets. "Especially ones who have a PhD and tenure." She handed her pool cue to Bradley and did a little dance. Then she reached into Bob's cup of peanuts and said, "Chippy's are better."

"They are," he agreed with a nod and a grin. He cleared his throat as Bradshaw's wife finally dropped his hand. "So I heard the new semester starts on Monday?"

"Yes," Jessica gushed as she fixed her glasses. "And Brian took a position at the community college, so this should be my best semester yet."

Bob already knew that Jake was relieved that his girlfriend would be going to work in a more comfortable environment every day, but it was nice to see how excited she was. 

"You know what I was thinking?" Jessica asked Bradshaw's wife quietly. Bob wondered if he should step away and give them some privacy, but they both kept helping themselves to the cup of peanuts. "Maybe we could put something up on the notice board in the main building, kind of inviting the other female teachers at the school to have lunch together one day? I felt so embarrassed and excluded from things because of Brian, I just thought it might be nice for anyone else who feels marginalized?"

Bradley's wife nodded. "I think that's a great idea."

Bob listened to them for a few more minutes before he wished them good luck as they started back to school for the fall term, and then he excused himself for the night. He stood outside in the dark parking lot for a few minutes and listened to the sound of the ocean before he climbed into his truck and headed for his silent house. 

--------------------------

"Dr. Webber."

Anna looked at the name placard on her office door and bounced up and down. "Dr. Webber," she read out loud again. She had the worst office on campus, no doubt about that. It was miniscule and kind of smelled like stale bread since it was so close to the cafeteria, but she loved it. All of the shelves were crammed with her books, and she could lock the rest of the world out when she needed a minute to herself. She just hoped that the tiny office wasn't a sign of bad things to come after San Diego State University willingly hired her less than a month before the start of the term.

In a matter of eight weeks, she had finally- finally- graduated with her PhD in English Literature and secured a job on the other side of the country. She sold everything she could think of, including her rings, and moved from gloomy New Jersey to a studio apartment in sunny southern California. Sure, all she had in her kitchen was a toaster oven and a mini fridge, but she was on her own. She had nobody to answer to. And she never would again.

"I guess everything is smaller here," Anna told herself as she locked her office door and went in search of the classroom where she would be holding the first lecture of her teaching career. She was too early for the class, but she was filled with nervous energy and decided that walking around would help. 

She looked in classrooms and listened to a poetry lecture on the third floor. She found a really secluded ladies' bathroom as well as a reading nook. Eventually, she and her copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn managed to wander all the way to the main building where she found a faculty lounge.

It smelled like coffee, and there were snacks out on the counter, and everyone was talking in pairs or small groups. She should probably get to know her colleagues, but she also didn't mind the anonymity that came with observing everyone without engaging. She was good at that, and she'd spend too much time around people who needed to be in the spotlight all the time. As she reached for a donut with pink frosting, she saw a notice board across the room and went to take a look. 

The hum of conversation around her was comforting as she read about a yoga class in the quad, alumni night, and a teacher appreciation banquet. Then her eyes caught on a single piece of paper with a plain black font. It wasn't flashy, and somehow it reminded her of a page from a favorite book.

WELCOME BACK FOR THE FALL SEMESTER, LADIES!

If you're interested in getting to know some other women who work on campus, let's meet for a friendly lunch on the first Tuesday of the term! Noon in the quad next to the weird tree.

Anna laughed. She knew where the quad was, but she wasn't sure which tree was the weird one. They actually all seemed a bit out of place to her since she wasn't used to living near palm trees. She started to skim a notice about how to recycle old textbooks, but she didn't get far before she was re-reading the one about meeting up for lunch. 

If it was truly meant just for women, then it sounded kind of nice. She could eat her sandwich outside. She liked weird trees. The idea of having zero men around made it even more appealing. The last thing she wanted was to develop an interest in anyone right now. Or maybe ever again. 

She took out her phone and snapped a picture of the page before checking the time and leaving with her donut. Twenty minutes later, with her class assembled before her in a small lecture hall, she cleared her throat and said, "Welcome to English 205. I'm Dr. Webber, and this semester we will be covering the classics."

------------------------

"You can do this. You'll be fine," Anna said as she walked slowly across the quad toward a palm tree that looked like it somehow started growing sideways about six feet up from the ground. "It's just some people."

But she wasn't good with people. Kevin had been quick to tell her that all the time. He liked to point out that she was awkward unless she was talking about literature or poetry or something from the New York Times bestseller list. Apparently she didn't know how to talk about normal things. Her hands started to sweat as she held onto her brown paper bag and can of ginger ale. 

"Oh god," she groaned as she got a little closer. Truly, there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just two women smiling as they talked to each other with their lunches. But they were both beautiful. Like the kind of stunning girls that Anna was always afraid to talk to when she was a teenager. One was wearing a suit and high heels, and the other was wearing cute brown loafers and some tweed, and she felt like her own outfit looked awful now by comparison. 

It wasn't too late to just walk past them and loop back toward her office and never try to socialize again. "Yes, let's do that." She nodded and picked up the pace a little bit. She could turn left at the weird tree and then maybe even make a run for it. "What are you doing?" she whispered, slowing down again. It was one thing to swear off men, but it wasn't going to be an enjoyable existence if she never tried to make a single friend here.

With a deep breath, she forced herself forward, and then soon two sets of eyes were on her. All she saw was matching smiles as she approached and said, "Hi. I'm Anna Webber. Is this the weird tree?"

"It's the weirdest tree I've ever seen," said the first woman as the other one jumped to her feet. 

"Hi! Are you here for lunch?" she asked as she adjusted her glasses. "I told you someone would come," she whispered to the first woman before sticking her hand out. "I'm Jessica Reed! I work in the physics department, and this is my friend, and we are so, so happy you're joining us."

Anna smiled at how bubbly she was as she briefly shook her hand. "I just got here," she said with a wince. "I mean... it's my second day working here? I just got hired. In the English department. I'm teaching literature." God, could she sound like any more of an idiot right now?

But Jessica gasped in response. "Advanced Literature!" Then both women squealed, and soon the other one was introducing herself and talking about the math department and pointing out a building Anna had never been inside yet.

"It's silly, we know, but we kind of have code names for each other. I'm Advanced Calculus, and Jessica is Advanced Physics. You can be Advanced Literature. If you want." Now she looked a little uncertain while Jessica bounced in her high heels. "Wow, we sound like absolute nerds."

"We are nerds," Jessica confirmed with no shame as she looked at Anna. "I collect scientific journals. She uses math as foreplay with her husband. Do you want to eat lunch with us, Anna?"

Her response came with an ease that she hadn't felt in a long time. "Yes. Please." Then both women were shifting their lunches down and making room in the middle of the bench. Anna took a seat and watched Advanced Calculus pick a carrot stick out of the most beautifully organized lunch container she'd ever seen. She also had a tie dyed lunch box that was charming in a hideous way.

"How's your first week going?" Jessica asked as she bit into a delicious looking sandwich on fancy, multigrain bread. Anna knew she didn't fit in here at all as she pulled a plain turkey sandwich and some peanuts from her bag, but it was all she could afford right now. 

"Well," she said with a sigh. "It's better than New Jersey."

Both women squealed again. "You're from the east coast!"

"Yeah," she replied as she opened her ginger ale. "I grew up in New Jersey. I went to college and grad school in New Jersey. I attempted to move to New York, and then somehow I ended up here." She left out the heartbreaking parts about Kevin, because he didn't really belong in a conversation where she was surprisingly kind of enjoying herself. 

She learned the two women were from Massachusetts and Virginia, and that they both had PhDs from prestigious universities. They were both in committed relationships with naval aviators who also happened to work together. And both of the men loved packing their ladies lunches. 

"Lucky," Anna muttered as she popped a peanut into her mouth and thought about the kitchen in her studio apartment. It was so small, it almost didn't exist. She was almost thirty and essentially still lived in a dormitory. How sad.

"Hey," Jessica said suddenly. "If you like peanuts, you'd probably love Chippy's!"

"What's Chippy's?" Anna asked curiously.

"Eww, no. Don't listen to Jess. Chippy's is a disgusting dive bar on the other side of campus."

"It's not disgusting! He just doesn't clean the floor."

Anna laughed. "I actually do love peanuts, but I'm not a big drinker." Then both women silently studied her, and she could feel heat rising in her cheeks. She'd said something wrong already. Of course things couldn't be this easy.

"Huh. You like ginger ale," said Advanced Calculus as she sat paused with a carrot stick halfway to her mouth.

Anna nodded as she said, "My... well, a guy I know used to make fun of me for being a ginger and loving ginger ale." She gestured to her auburn hair which was clipped up at the back of her head. 

"Are you married? Or in a relationship?" she asked, and she finally bit into the carrot. 

Anna didn't even have a chance to reply as Advanced Physics gasped on her other side. "You like peanuts. And ginger ale. How do you feel about men with glasses?"

"How do you feel about men with greenish blue eyes?" 

"How do you feel about sweet men who blush?"

"Would you ever date a guy in the Navy?"

"Are you fond of beat up pickup trucks and country boys?"

"Do you want to come to the Hard Deck this weekend?"

Anna was starting to get whiplash as she looked back and forth between the two of them. "Wait, I'm sorry. What? I thought we were talking about a place called Chippy's?"

"We were. But now we're talking about a man called Bob."

-----------------------

Omg omg omg. Okay, here we are with a story for our lovable Bob. Thanks for reading about the Sugarverse. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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[fatkish]

First of all that most recent request deff healed smthing in me, second of all, since reader is so clingy in this could I maybe request Aizawa HAS to go back to work at UA so reader comes along with him? I know I technically asked for this before but I want it with the younger version if that’s okay >__< -🐶

Aizawa x Child Reader

I’ll Protect You Pt.2

After some time of getting the reader used to being in public with him at the insistence of the reader’s therapist, he knew he’d have to go back to work

Takes the reader to a cat cafe so they get used to being in public. The reader plays with the cats and eats their food, and afterwards, Aizawa explains that they’ll be going to work with him

He takes the reader to the store and lets them pick out stationary like pens, pencils, notebooks etc. he definitely gets them cat themed stuff like cat erasers and cat shaped sticky notes or a cat themed pencil case.

The reader clings to him or holds his hand the entire time they’re outside

Aizawa gets them a cute cat back pack that they’ll carry their things in at UA

Will likely homeschool them until they’re ready to go to public school. So he gets them math, science, English and history workbooks to do as their schooling and helps them if they need it

Makes lunches for the both of them and brings them with him

Helps them gather all their stuff the night before school and helps them organize their backpack so it isn’t cluttered

They like to get ready with Aizawa so brushing their teeth together and brushing their hair while he does the same

Makes sure the reader buckles their seat belt before he drives off

Since reader is still too scared to be separated, he lets them cling to his pants as he introduces them to his class

His class think it’s adorable how the child is so attached to Aizawa (all the girls coo at how cute you are)

The reader has a backpack filled with snacks and things to do like puzzle books and coloring pages etc.

Sits in the classroom by Aizawa’s legs and does their own homework while he teaches

Snuggles up to Aizawa when he takes naps in the classroom

When introducing the reader to people, they’ll hide their face in his legs or chest if he’s holding them

They like to eat their lunch with him and talk to him or just eat in comfortable silence

They’ll draw pictures for him and he’ll hang them in the faculty lounge by his desk

The reader will take naps under his desk in the faculty lounge when school is over and Aizawa is grading papers

The reader has gotten used to Present Mic and Nemuri but isn’t anywhere near as close to them as they are to Aizawa

When Aizawa is on patrol, they’ll sleep in his bed if they can’t stay up and wait for him

You slowly get used to his students and become friendly towards some of them

Momo Yaoyorozu will have snacks on her or little candies that she’ll give to you, she’ll also help you with your workbooks since she’s smart

Todoroki lets you sit on his lap and color. If you ask him to, he’ll color with you and actually enjoys it. Always asks to take the colored picture to give to his mom seeing as that’s what you do for Aizawa

Bakugou will silently follow you in the halls during lunch and breaks to make sure no one messes with you or scares you *cough*monama*cough*

If you have to go to the bathroom but are too scared to go alone then Momo, Todoroki or Midoriya will gladly walk you to them and wait outside for you

If you draw a picture for a student then they’ll happily keep them

Nedzu sometimes has tea with you and helps tutor you. He has kept and proudly displays all your drawings you made for him

Aizawa won’t admit it but he’s fallen in love with you and sees you as his child. He’ll protect you til the end of time.

Hope you enjoyed this 🐶 anon. I hope it helps.

[fa1rydr3ams]

“Mistltoe Mishap”

Shota Aizawa x Coworker Gn! Reader

| cw: innocent kiss, sfw, awkwardness, romantic tension, gn! reader

| a/n: day 2 of ficmas 24’ !! check the ficmas tab on the pixie works for the next update!

| wc: n/a

The festive hum of conversation filled the UA faculty lounge, strung with holiday lights and the faint scent of pine. You stood near the punch bowl, chatting with Nemuri, her sparkling laughter blending seamlessly with the party’s cheerful ambiance.

Nemuri leaned in slightly, her smile turning mischievous as her gaze flicked across the room. “So… you and Shouta?”

You followed her line of sight, spotting Aizawa standing near the fireplace. He was deep in conversation with Yamada and a few other teachers, his signature scarf pulled up despite the warm room. You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink.

“It’s nothing serious,” you said, though the flutter in your chest betrayed you. “I mean, we get along really well, but… I’m not totally sure how he feels.”

Nemuri tilted her head, clearly unimpressed by your answer. “You should ask him. Or, better yet, make a move yourself.”

You laughed, waving her off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it. Anyway, I’m going to freshen up real quick. I’ll be right back.”

Nemuri smirked knowingly as you set your cup down and slipped out of the lounge.

On your way back from the restroom, you rounded a corner and nearly walked straight into Aizawa.

“Ah, sorry—” you started, but he shook his head, stepping aside to give you space.

“It’s fine,” he said simply, his voice calm and low as always. “Enjoying the party?”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m surprised you came, though. Not really your thing, is it?”

He huffed softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yamada didn’t give me much of a choice. He said I needed ‘holiday cheer.’”

You both chuckled at that, the air between you warming slightly.

Before you could say more, a familiar voice broke through the moment.

“Oi! Lovebirds!”

You both turned to see Yamada walking by, whistling a jaunty tune. He gave you a cheeky grin and pointed upward before disappearing into the crowd.

Confused, you glanced up—and froze. Hanging just above your heads was a sprig of mistletoe, its green leaves and red berries swaying innocently.

“Oh,” you said, biting back a laugh.

Aizawa stiffened, his gaze flicking from the mistletoe to you before quickly turning away. His scarf shifted slightly, but not enough to hide the flush creeping up his cheeks.

“You’re blushing,” you teased, leaning in just a little closer.

“No, I’m not,” he replied, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

You tilted your head, an amused smile playing on your lips. “It’s a rule, you know.”

Aizawa cleared his throat, his eyes darting back to yours. “A rule?”

“Mm-hm,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to kiss under the mistletoe.”

For a moment, he seemed to weigh his options, his hands fidgeting slightly in his pockets. The blush on his face deepened, but he didn’t step back.

You took a small step closer, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon from the room wrapping around you both. “What’s the matter, Shouta? Scared of a little tradition?” you asked, your tone light but playful.

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, though the blush on his face betrayed him. “I’m not scared,” he said firmly, though the slight crack in his voice made you smile wider.

“Really?” you said, tilting your head just a little more. “Then what’s stopping you?”

Aizawa shifted, his scarf moving as though he was debating whether to pull it higher or just bury his face in it completely. “It’s not exactly… appropriate,” he mumbled, his gaze darting toward the bustling party in the lounge.

You leaned in a fraction closer, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “No one’s looking. Besides, it’s just a kiss—hardly scandalous.”

His eyes flicked back to yours, and for a moment, the tension in the air felt almost electric. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he said, his tone flat but not unkind.

You grinned. “Maybe a little. But I think you are too.”

Aizawa sighed, clearly resigned to his fate. His hands, which had been stuffed in his pockets, twitched slightly as though he was debating what to do with them.

“Fine,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of holiday music. “Just… don’t make a big deal out of it.”

You nodded, your smile softening. “Of course. No big deal.”

Taking the lead, you closed the remaining distance between you, tilting your head up. For a split second, Aizawa froze, his breath hitching. Then, ever so carefully, he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a feather-light kiss.

It was over in an instant, but the warmth lingered, and when you pulled back, you couldn’t help but notice how flustered he looked.

“There,” he said, clearing his throat and adjusting his scarf. “Happy now?”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm. “Very. See? That wasn’t so bad.”

He gave you a long, measured look before the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re trouble,” he said, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Maybe,” you replied, your grin teasing. “But you like me anyway.”

Aizawa shook his head, but the way his gaze lingered on you told you everything you needed to know.

From across the room, Yamada let out a loud, exaggerated cheer, and Nemuri raised her glass in your direction, her expression gleefully smug.

Aizawa groaned. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

“Probably not,” you admitted, your tone light and playful. “But hey, at least now you’ve got some holiday cheer.”

He sighed again, but the slight curve of his lips didn’t go unnoticed.

dividers by @anitalenia love!!

[creamhoodie]

Hot Kettle

synopsis: "Reader is a new teacher at Jujutsu High school. She and Gojo have mutual feelings for each other but she at first thinks he is a player and avoids him. After being snowed in and spending time with each other, they learn more about each other.

A/N:Not sure how I feel about this but I've been working on it for weeks and have writer's block when trying to write anything else.

tags/warnings: NSFW, smut, unprotected sex, fluff, afab reader. Switching perspectives between Gojo & Reader. Flashback scenes written in italics. Other jjk characters mentioned.

word count: 8.2K

Snow flurries fell on the campus of Tokyo Jujutsu High and the ground had frozen into crystals.

You had only been working as a professor here for four months and it was your first winter here. 

Principal Yaga had sent out an email saying that classes were canceled. Of course the students rejoiced, but for faculty members snow days meant faculty meetings. 

You made your way to the designated meeting spot now, your snow boots clicking along the ice as you made your way into the building. 

Upon arrival, you found the room empty. Strange. Surely this had been the designated meeting room as stated in Principle Yaga’s email. 

Perhaps you were early? You had a tendency to arrive notoriously early for meetings and events. No matter, it gave you enough time to pop into the lounge room and heat up your ramen as a substitute for the breakfast you had skipped in order to arrive on time. 

You made your way into the lounge room that was only two doors over. It was also empty, but that was expected given the ghostlike fashion of the building besides your presence. You placed your tote bag down on the table and took out your heatable ramen. Fortunately you had packed a plastic fork. 

That meant the only thing you needed was water. The kettle was out already, strange but there was nothing suspicious about this given that and the toaster were often left out after use and not put away into their assigned cabinets. 

You went to grab it and as you did let out a blood curdling shriek as the white hot pain in your palm and fingers signified it had recently been used. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Oh my god we’re sorry Professor!”

“What do you mean we? I told you to put it away!” 

As your eyes opened, having winced them from the pain, your eyes focused to find three of the students: Megumi fushiguro, Yuiji Itadori, and Nobara Kugisaki.

They were all staring at you with concern and from the mugs they were holding in their hands and their words you pieced together that they were the culprits.

You didn’t have a chance to respond however as footsteps came running over and to add more insult to injury, your fellow faculty members were peering in: Principale Yaga, Mei-Mei, Kento Nanami, and of course dreadfully… Satoru Gojo. 

You felt his eyes watching you underneath his blind fold.

“What happened?” He asked, his voice sounded unusually harsh.

“We wanted to make hot chocolate and we were in a rush because afterwards we were gonna have a snowball fight using our techniques. I guess we didn’t put the kettle away properly and the Professor here got burnt,” Yuji explained for the group. 

His explanation did nothing to dissuade Gojo however.

“And how many times have we told everyone to put the kettle away properly so that this doesn’t happen?” 

By this point, all eyes were on Gojo. He was sounding so stern and angry, nothing like himself. He was usually the most carefree of the adults. 

“Gojo, it’s okay. They didn’t mean to, I should have been more careful,” you said. 

“No it’s not okay,” Gojo said, going up to you now, his thumb wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had been shed from the pain. 

Now your face was flushing and you were glad that the onlookers would just take it as embarrassment from the situation not knowing that there was more at play here, that there was history between you and the blind folded man which added to your embarrassment.

“That’s enough. Gojo, would you escort her to Shoko please? She should still be in her office since she hadn’t met with us yet for the meeting,” Principal Yaga said. 

“Can Nanami escort me instead please?” you asked.

You didn’t want to be alone with Gojo, it would only make things more awkward, no right now you needed to be with anyone but him. 

“That’s fine with me, I’ll go with you,” Nanami said, ever the gentleman. 

You gave an apologetic smile to the students as you followed Nanami.

“Oh and Nanami? Relay to Shoko that the meeting is canceled. I’m sure given the morning’s events and the weather that’s the last night anyone wants to do,” Principal Yaga said. 

You felt several eyes watching you as you followed your tan suited escort, but only one pair of those eyes mattered, pairs that you had actively been trying to avoid. 

The thing you enjoyed about Kento Nanami was that he didn’t pry, meaning he wasn’t one to ask invasive questions. 

While others may have asked about Gojo and why he had reacted the way he had, Nanami had only assured you he’d get you there safely and that Shoko has healed far worse. 

He had a calm presence and demeanor, the type that set you completely at ease. That is why though you had only been here a short while he was your favorite coworker.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to spend your morning,” you felt the need to apologize to him all the same. 

“It’s no matter. I’m sure you didn’t want to be burnt this morning, but life is full of things we can’t anticipate,” he replied kindly. 

You followed him to a part of the school you hadn’t been before. Luckily you've had the fortune of not having to visit Shoko for healing purposes until now. In a way it was embarrassing as you were sure Nanami had been here for much for dire wounds, battle wounds really from his missions since he was a grade 1 sorcerer. But Nanami didn’t judge, he wasn’t the type to goad or say hurtful things. 

After what felt like forever due to the burning sensation in your hand, you two at last arrived in a wing of the school that seemed more like a hospital with its medical items laid out and its fluorescent light. A figure with long brown hair was slumped in a swivel chair in front of a computer.

“Shoko?” Nanami asked, shaking her shoulder slightly so she’d wake up.

Her eyes fluttered open and as if she could sense it she seemed to know there was a problem.

“What is it? Who needs to be healed?” She asked, but she answered her question upon looking at your tear stained face. 

She stood up and took your hand. Her gaze shifted between you and Nanami, clearly questioning.

“The kids left the hot kettle out and she got burnt,” he explained.

“Ahh,” she said in understanding. 

Your face flushed even more. It was so embarrassing. But Shoko was focused on healing you now and her mind had gone into the place only she and few others knew.

You watched as she worked her magic. You had heard others speak about it in awe but having never witnessed it yourself, it was amazing to see. Your palm and fingers once jaded red were now returned to their baby soft pink, they seemed even more soft than before as if you had just been reborn. Most importantly, there was no pain. Matter of fact if it wasn’t for your current location and Nanami at your side, you would have almost thought you dreamt the whole thing.

“Better?” Shoko asked, her eyes were dim and jaded and you remembered thinking how she always looked sad. 

It had always been strange to you how someone with an ability capable of performing miracles could be so sad but you chalked it up to the fact that healing wounds lost its charm when it was those close to you on the brink of life and death.

“Thank you,” you said as she slumped back into her previous position.

Nanami filled her in on the meeting’s cancellation as she took out a cigarette and lit it. 

The first time you had met Satoru Gojo was in one of the faculty meetings that he had hosted at his place. It was your first faculty meeting in fact, and it had been hosted on your third week at the job.

By then you had met all the others, besides him. 

You had been filled in on the details about him from students to faculty alike and had gathered a mosaic of him from their words: the strongest, childish, intelligent, 

Those were all adjectives that had been used to describe him.

However, nothing had prepared you for when he had asked for you to stay behind once the meeting had been dismissed and everyone else had left.

“You’re new. We haven’t been properly introduced,” he said to you then outstretched his big hand for you to shake.

“I don’t really think you need an introduction. I’ve heard a lot about you,” you said, noticing how he still held your hand in his own despite the shake being far from over.

“And what is it you’ve heard?” He asked in a teasing fashion, his lips curled up at the ends.

“Only that you're the strongest sorcerer, Nanami said you’re childish, the students like you a lot,” you paused.

“What is it?” He probed. 

“I’ve been told you have these eyes that are so vividly blue,” you said, not being able to hide your curiosity.

He chuckled in understanding.

“You want to see them? You can take my blindfold off,” he said. 

At last he released your hand so you were able to do so. You had to stand on your tippy toes and he had bent down to help you as you flipped up the blindfold so it was resting on his forehead. 

You had gasped at the mesmerizing blue that was like no other.

“Like them?” he teased. 

His words had sent a jolt of heat in somewhere you were sure was not appropriate. 

“They are beautiful,” you had found yourself whispering. 

After that encounter, you and Gojo had experienced various flirtatious exchanges. The two of you had only gotten physical once and it had been unexpected. 

You had been cleaning up your classroom, the students having long been dismissed when he had come in.

“Still here?” He teased. 

“I’m not in a big hurry to go home,” you said offhandedly ignoring how his presence next to you, heat radiating off his body was making you nervous. You finished wiping off the chalk board and looked up at him. 

“Lonely at home?” he continued to tease. 

“No,” you said a little too defensively before adding, “I just like being here. You may have been here for a while but I’m still trying to get established.” 

It was true, you had shared it with him in one of your lounge room talks where he had asked you about your background. You were a foreigner that had cursed energy and had taught at a non sorcery university in your home country. Having heard of Jujutsu High and being introduced to Principal Yaga through a mutual connection, the principal had then invited you to come teach at Jujutsu High. 

“That’s right, I’m sorry,” he said, tugging at a strand of your hair.

“Why are you still here anyways?” you asked, turning the question back on him. 

“Because I knew you’d be here,” he answered honestly.

“Me?” you asked dumbfounded. 

He chuckled, stepping forward.

“How long are we gonna do this dance, princess?” he asked, calling you the nickname he had coined for you. 

“What dance?” you asked.

But you knew, of course you knew. All those flirty exchanges, light touches, teasing, and lounge room talks weren’t for anything. 

“That we don’t want each other,” he said simply. 

“And who says I want you?” you asked defensive again. Okay maybe you did want him, but he didn’t have to be so arrogant about it. 

“Hmm. Well what was it you said about my eyes again? ‘They are so beautiful.’ “

You flushed in anger and embarrassment now and tried to push past him, but he held onto you effortlessly by your shoulders. You were pinned against the chalkboard.

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours and your body instantly relaxed, you felt him smile at that. 

He was right of course, even if he had gone about it in the way he had, there was no denying the sexual tension and chemistry between the two of you. 

Giving yourself over to it now, you moaned as his lips moved to your neck, teething slightly at the skin. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he groaned into your skin. 

Your hands went to his hair, fisting the soft white locks. 

Nothing else seemed to exist besides you and him. 

“Gojo,” you whined wrapping your legs around his waist and he seemed to know exactly what you needed as he hoisted you up easily and placed you on your desk, notebooks clattering on the floor. 

“Fuck,” he cursed as your long skirt spilled around your thighs revealing your silky skin and damp underwear. 

You bit your lip as his fingers found your clit. You felt like you were in heaven and his name had spilled from your lips over and over again like a prayer. 

Satoru Gojo…

Of course you had wanted him who wouldn’t? He was impossibly handsome, he had truly won the genetic  lottery in more ways than one, and he was so gifted with his fingers that were making you reach new heights even you hadn’t taken yourself to.  

That line of thinking created a problem brewing in your mind: Everyone wanted him.

So what made you different? You were the new girl on the block, and you didn’t know him all that well despite your talks with him. You didn’t know him all that long. Maybe you had been overthinking, but it was that thinking that had taken you out of the mood.

“Gojo stop,” you choked out. 

His movements stilled, hearing the tone in your voice.

“Is something wrong?” He asked. 

You couldn’t exactly tell him your worries as you didn’t want to make things awkward. Besides what were you supposed to say? ‘I’m worried I’m just another one of your quick hook ups?’ You didn’t want to be clingy or weird especially if he just saw this as a casual encounter.

“No, no, everything is fine. I just should be going now it’s getting late,” you rambled straightening yourself up and standing up from the desk. 

You had been grateful you hadn’t seen his eyes as you were sure they were confused.

“Well can I  walk you to your car?” he offered. 

“No, that’s not necessary but thank you for your concern,” you had stated. 

Then you had rushed off. 

Your relationship with Gojo has been rocky ever since. You actively avoided him and he started doing the same. In a way you wondered if you had bruised his ego since he had never been used to rejection. 

Having assured Nanami you would be fine, you had driven yourself home. There was no reason for you to stay on campus given the meeting’s cancellation and the snow day. Moreover, you weren’t up to sticking around because of the morning’s embarrassing events. 

You made your way into your small apartment, and kicked your shoes off.’

When you were about to settle down on your couch and watch some television, the doorbell rang. Perhaps it was Nanami doing a possible checkup on Principal Yaga’s orders? 

You opened the door and found the person you were actively avoiding: Satoru Gojo.

“You forgot this,” he said, holding up your tote bag that you had left behind in the lounge room. 

“Oh, thank you,” you replied, still stunned. You stood there frozen for too long until he cleared his throat.

“It’s kind of cold out here, you know snow day and all,” he said, shivering with emphasis.

Even though it was the last thing you wanted to do, you invited him in. 

“Make yourself comfortable. Do you want anything?” you asked, closing the door behind him and watching as he looked around your living room. 

“No, I’m good. I can make you those noodles you wanted earlier though,” he offered. 

The noodles? Oh yes, the ramen pack. You had forgotten about them. It was endearing in a way that he had even remembered them. 

Before you could answer, he was picking the plastic bowl out of your purse and heading towards the kitchen.

“That’s not really necessary..” you began to protest as you followed him but he cut you off.

“Have you eaten today?”

Your stomach betrayed you, giving a rumble by way of answer. 

He chuckled before saying, “thought so.” You watched as he filled one of the pots with water before placing it on your stove and turning it on. The kettle would have been much more straightforward but given the morning’s events you figured he didn’t want to use it. Once the water heated up enough, it didn’t take too long on account of you having a gas stove, he transferred the dry noodles from their plastic bowl container to the pot.

Watching him in this domestic setting did something to you. Though you couldn’t see his eyes, his face was calm and focused. 

“Watching me?” he teased.

Your face blushed scarlet. 

“You know it’s not really fair that you wear that blindfold around,” you said. After all, it gave him the advantage of being able to catch you gawking at him. You suspected this wasn’t the first time he had noticed. 

“Would you like me to take it off?” He asked innocently. 

Remembering your only other exchange with him that involved his unsheathed eyes, you opted against shaking your head then adding a firm “no” in case his eyes weren’t on you for once. 

All the same, you continued to stand there leaning alongside the counter watching him as he had now taken to stirring the boiling noodles with a fork. After a few minutes of this, he transferred the now ready noodles into one of your bowls. 

“Do you prefer your noodles with broth or drained?” He asked. 

“Drained,” you replied, 

“Me too. I find that too much liquid laps up the flavor,” he said, going to drain it now in your sink. He then added the flavor, stirring it. When it was at last ready, he set it on your kitchen island, beckoning you to come sit. 

Hunger winning out, you did as he had instructed, not even bothering to care that he sat in the seat next to you. 

The noodles were good and just warm enough for you to enjoy and satisfy your hunger. You eagerly stuffed your face forgetting for a moment the man at your side. 

It was only when you finished eating that he at last spoke up.

“I wanna talk to you about what happened between us,” he said. 

Of course you had expected this, but it didn’t make it anymore easy to breach this topic. 

“What is there to talk about?” you asked, deciding to play dumb. 

“The kiss we shared,” he said, turning his body towards you.

He knew damn well it had been more than a simple kiss. If you hadn’t put the brakes on when you had maybe the two of you would have gone all the way in the classroom! 

“I don’t see why we have to discuss it. We kissed, so what? We can move on from it,” you said. 

“But that’s the thing. I can’t move on. I think about it all the time,” he said. There was a unique yearning in his voice, a tone you had never heard from before. At last you turned to face him as well and though his eyes were still hidden there was an expression of sadness on his face. 

“Well I’m sure you kiss people all the time,” you said. In an effort to put some space between the two of you, you stood up and walked away from the kitchen back into the living room, hoping he’d follow so you could direct him to the door. 

“That’s it then? You think I just kiss anyone?” he asked, following you as you had anticipated. His long legs allowed him to catch up to you quickly and he caught your wrist, swiveling you around to face him. “Don’t ignore me. You feel something for me too, I know it.” 

His proximity to you had your breath hitching, it had been a while since you had been this close. 

“Gojo-“ you began to protest.

“Satoru,” he corrected, wanting things to be less formal. 

“Maybe you should get going,” you said but your voice wasn’t as convincing as you’d hoped. 

“You’d really throw me out in the snow like that?” he teased. 

“You’d be fine,” you retorted. 

By now your resistance was waning, despite your better judgment, the scent of his cologne and the feel of his warm body was threatening your resolve. 

He seemed to know that all too well. 

“Let me kiss you again. I’ve missed your lips,” he whispered. 

Your knees buckled a little. 

He bent down, lips brushing against your jawline, the scent of him intoxicating.

It was futile, you wanted him desperately and he knew that. So when you didn’t push him away his lips lingered merely inches from yours, his minty breath in your face, leaving the option to you. 

Giving into your urges, you had only to bend forward, and once you did his lips were on yours. Like before, the passion between the two of you was intense, even more so given the built up frustration from how you had avoided him then. 

His tongue soon found yours and your legs hoisted yourself around his waist. 

“Satoru.. bedroom,” you whimpered. 

He understood, still holding you as you guided him to your bedroom. 

You didn’t have time to feel embarrassed about the plushies you had on your bed despite being a grown woman, as he plopped you down alongside them.

“Lay back,” he commanded. 

You did, but watched as he got on his knees in front of you. 

“Satoru, what are you doing?” you asked, still breathless from the kisses you had exchanged. 

He took his time answering you, a sly grin on his face as his hand caressed your pantyhose clothed thighs that were exposed as your skirt fell in ripples around your waist. 

“I’m gonna make you feel good. The way I wanted to before you left that day,” he said. His hands went up to the top of your waist band, pulling your pantyhose down effortlessly. He gasped at his newfound discovery. “No panties? You really are so shameless.” 

Your face was red.

“I- there was a line with my skirt and the tights are thick,” you stammered, feeling the need to defend your choice of wear. 

“I like it. How often do you go commando under these long skirts of yours?” he probed, fully removing your tights and leaving your legs and sex naked underneath the layers of your skirt. 

“Only when I wear the tights underneath,” you replied.

His hand cupped your heated sex, your arousal leaking into the palm of his hand.

“That’s right you did have some panties on in the classroom that day,” he said recalling. His fingers parted your wet folds. “You think one of these days you could just go completely commando for me? Nothing underneath? Not even your pretty little tights?” 

By this point you kept feeling pangs of pain and your clit throbbing, there was no denying the effect he had on you. 

“Somehow I don’t think that would be appropriate for the classroom,” you stated. 

This only seemed to encourage him more. 

“It’d be fun though. Just think about it,” his hand released your sex. He seemed to have something devious in mind. He came closer to you whispering in your ear. “You and me. The fun we could have. The quickies we could partake in between classes.” 

You’d be lying if you said his words weren’t appealing to you and vivid images of you hoisted against a desk and him shooting his load into you were intruding your mind.

“Satoru…” your voice had an edge to it. One that still remembered why you had put the brakes in between the two of you in the first place. 

He seemed to understand.

“Oh that’s right. You think I do this with just anyone. That I’m something of a player huh?” He asked, and you were surprised to hear offense in his voice. 

“I just don’t know you all that well yet,” you stammered apologetically. 

You felt that it was an almost stupid thing to say given the state the two of you were in. 

“Do you want to know me?” He asked. 

“Yes,” you replied. 

“Good, because I want to know you too,” he said. He sunk back down to his previous position between your legs. He pulled his blindfold down, letting it rest at his neck so his crystal-like eyes were visible. “And right now, I want to know what makes you tick.” 

When Principal Yaga had first told him there would be a new professor from overseas joining them, it hadn’t mattered to him greatly. 

Another teacher? Well that was good. A foreigner? Interesting. 

However, it hadn’t been something he had given much thought to.

So when he first met you at the faulty meeting he had hosted in his apartment, he had been surprised to find out how beautiful you were. You were also young, a little bit younger than him but still so young for someone so well accomplished (yes after your flirtatious encounter where you called his eyes beautiful he had looked you up). 

He must confess, he read your academic articles all thirty of them and he was always finding an excuse to speak to you in the lounge room. 

At last when he hadn’t been able to fight the longing for you anymore, he had waited until after hours, knowing you’d still be on campus. 

“Still here?” He had taunted. 

“I’m not in a big hurry to go home,” you said.

That was interesting to him. Surely a woman like you had someone waiting for her? It was something he had pathetically tried to find the answer to online but had fallen short given your profiles being professional in nature.

Desperate for the answer he continued to tease.

“Lonely at home?” 

God, he could shoot himself in the foot for that one! How incredibly cringe. He was used to getting away with it on account of his good looks, but you were different than most. You didn’t seem to fall easily to his charm. In a way it was humanizing, you didn’t let the veil of his looks and his power get in the way of seeing him for what he was. 

“No. I like being here. You may have been here for a while but I’m still trying to get established.” 

As suspected, you didn’t find his comment charming, answering rather defensively. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said, tugging a strand of your hair and considering it a good sign when you didn’t shoo him away. 

“What are you still doing here anyways?” You asked him. 

His heart was racing from how your eyes looked up at him and he was (not for the first time) grateful that his blindfold kept him shielded for surely he looked like a lovesick schoolboy.

“Because I knew you’d be here,” he said.

“Me?” 

The way you asked so dumbfounded made his heart ache for you more. 

Yes you, he wanted to tell you, he wanted to tell you just how completely unaware you were of the effect you can have. 

Even more so when you allowed him to kiss you, he felt like he was on cloud nine. Your body had felt soft on him, it was everything he had dreamed about, everything he had allowed himself to feel despite his fragile heart being ever so cautious.

“Gojo stop,” you had said suddenly, and to his horror.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. 

You had only made excuses and ran off leaving his fragile heart to shatter into a million pieces. 

“Fuck, Satoru- you’re so good at this,” you moaned, your back arching as you fell back against the mattress. 

He tongued at your folds, lapping at your clit and your arousal as if he was dehydrated and needed it in order to live. 

His fingers spread you open for him, flashing him with your inner pink, the sight nearly sending him into a frenzy. 

Your hands went to his white hair, gripping the locks and using them as an anchor as his tongue continued to pleasure you. 

Your moans were just as pretty as he had imagined and between that and the taste of you, he was determined to make you orgasm hard. 

It didn’t take long for him to find your sweet spot. You were starting to realize that of his mouth had more uses than just teasing and your toes curled. 

“This is where you’re weak, huh?” he said, sensing it from how your grip on his fingers tightened. You felt him curl his fingers up inside of you, continuing to pleasure that new unlocked spot as he leaned forward tongue still sliding down your sensitive clit. 

“Mm- Satoru I’m close,” you warned.

“I know, I know,” he cooed against your skin. 

Continuing that pace and motions, you felt it arising now, the tell tell signs of orgasm and the adrenaline feeling as if you were falling off a cliff. “That’s it, baby, let it go.” 

And you did, coming down from your high as your fluid flooded his tongue. 

You panted and watched as he lapped you clean, relishing the taste. Then, like before, a devious look rose to his crystal eyes. He came up to you, hovering gently above you, hands on the bed to steady himself.

“You should really taste yourself,” he said. Before giving you time to register what he meant, he kissed you and you moaned against his lips. The taste on his lips was sweet yet metallic and it was yours. It was so lewd, the way you enjoyed it, but again the fire of desire was burning for him so you simply indulged in the passionate makeout.

“Want help with that?” you asked, eyes pointed at the bulge in his pants as the kiss broke apart, salvia still connecting the two of you faintly. 

You swore you saw him blush, but having a new found confidence, you didn’t wait for him to answer, fingers shakily undoing his pants. 

“So eager,” he teased, stepping back to fully shrug the pants and his boxers off. His shirt followed after.

His cock was big, bigger than any you had been with, and the head was just as pink as his lips. A forming bud of precum was visible at the tip.”Like what you see?” 

“Very much so,” you admitted. You were ready for him to sink into you, but an expression of concern overtook his face. 

“I don’t have a condom,” he explained, “I know you think I do this a lot but I don't, I don’t just have them on me.” 

You chewed the inside of your cheek. You weren’t exactly on any birth control right now since it had been a while since you were sexually active yourself, but you didn’t want to turn him down. Plus you were aware of where you were in your cycle so the chances of pregnancy would be slim.

“It’s fine, but I’m gonna need a morning after pill just in case,” you stated. 

He seemed to perk up.

“Does that mean I can spend the night?” He asked. It never ceases to amaze you how someone of his stature could still have such a childlike demeanor. 

Oh what harm could it do? You had already made it this far with him.

“Yes,” you conceded. You tried not to think about the fact that he was still technically a coworker and you intrusively wondered how the students would react if they knew the two of you were engaging in such activities. 

“Hey, what’s going on in that pretty little head?” He asked. 

“Nothing I just, we’re still colleagues,” you said. 

He smiled and lined himself up with you, the tip of his cock fettering your entrance.

“And? Colleagues can’t blow a little steam off together every now and then?” 

You gasped feeling him against your slickness, not in yet but only just, still lingering at your entrance.

“That’s not really helping your case of not doing these things with just anyone,” you said. 

He laughed.

“I can assure you before you I had no need or desire to fuck a colleague,” he said. 

Then at last, he began to sink into you. At first only the delicate pink tip, then an inch, then two more, until the full length was bottomed out inside of you. 

“Oh, you feel so full,” you whispered more as an exclamation to yourself but he heard all the same. 

For him, it has always been a fantasy to fuck you in your work clothing, as he had told you before your long skirts offered the illusion of quick access whenever at his disposal. 

He began to thrust lightly, allowing himself to relish all your warm walls. 

“So sexy,” he praised as his pace began to quicken. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure and you could feel his pulse beating away inside of you. 

It felt natural being under him like this, almost right as if you were meant to be underneath him like this taking every inch of his impressive rod. 

Although you were no stranger to sex at your age, his thrusting made you feel something you never had before. 

“Fuck me back, you’re a big girl aren’t you?” he teased, his mind probably following your line of thinking.His words emboldened you, and your vaginal grip on his cock tightened, and you began to thrust your hips up to meet his pace. 

You craned your neck a little to watch as his cock went in and out.

He caught you looking. 

“So you like to watch, huh?” his voice was heated. God, he was finding out so much about you. You were just as dirty as him, even if you were usually so well composed. 

“Satoru!” you yelped as he easily lifted you up, bodies still connected and dragged you to the restroom. 

“Oh this is perfect,” he whispered. 

Your bathroom had a large full length mirror and another large mirror above the sinks. Here, no matter where you’d look, you’d be able to see him fucking you. 

“Satoru, can I take my clothes off?” you asked, horrified at the idea of your work clothes getting soiled. 

“I have no objection to that,” he said. He placed you against the countertop, and undid your blouse removing it and your bra. 

Then came your skirt. 

Regrettably, for this he had to slide out of you, but it only took a moment. 

“Face the mirror I want you to be able to watch,” he said.

You did, gripping the counter as he slid into you from the back.

This all felt so surreal. 

Had it only been just this morning that you had burnt yourself? You had still been avoiding him then, now he had you bent over in your own bathroom as he thrusted in and out of your vagina raw from behind. 

You supposed this was what fucking a colleague entailed, it was much more chaotic than in the movies. 

Your eyes caught sight of his face, red and sweaty, eyes closed and turning your head to your side, you saw his length going in and out of you from the reflection in the full length mirror. 

His fingers kneaded the flesh of your ass, and you threw your ass back against him, cheeks enveloping his cock.

“Fuck,” he cursed. 

Your shared moans echoed in the bathroom’s acoustics and it only set him off more. His pace quickened and his hands reached around to cup your breasts, squeezing the sensitive nipples. 

You turned your head and your lips found his, all the while his thrusting and you grinding your ass back against him were bringing you both closer to reaching your peak.

“Satoru-“ you warned, but he seemed to understand.

“I know, I know. I’m cumming too,” he panted. 

Breathing heavily, you felt him shoot his load into you as you came on him, fluids dripping to the floor. 

He gave a shaky laugh.

“Erm- I can clean this up. Don’t worry about it. You should go lay down,” he said after using your hand towel to clean in between your legs. 

Mumbling in agreement, you went back to your room. 

Heart beating fast you tried to reconcile with the fact that you just had sex with a colleague and moreover you had agreed for him to stay the night. It wasn’t that you regretted it, Gojo was many things but a bad lay wasn’t one of them. 

You opened your drawer and quickly changed into a matching lounge set. You heard Gojo humming and moving around in the bathroom as he cleaned up. When he came out, he held your clothes in his hands, still naked himself. He placed your clothes on your bed before going to pick his own up and putting them back on, laughing slightly.

“What’s funny?” you asked. 

“You,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His lower half was covered once again as his boxers and pants came back on. 

“What about me?” You pressed. 

“You’d think after what we just did you wouldn’t be so shy still. It’s cute,” he said, pulling his top on and adjusting it so his v-line was no longer visible. He left his shoes off and when you raised your brows he said “remember I’m staying the night?” 

Of course you remembered. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, shrugging. 

He let out a belly laugh. 

“Why do you keep laughing at me?” you asked, growing frustrated. 

His face softened as he smiled at you fondly. 

“It’s just I don’t think I’ve met someone who is worse at expressing their feelings than me, it’s comforting.” 

Well, he was right in that assessment so you couldn’t help as your lips twitched upwards in a smile of your own. 

If today was going to be his only chance to make a good impression of you, he was going to use it to his full advantage. 

“You know what I always loved to do during snow days? Build a fort and watch movies with hot chocolate.” 

Luckily, you had taken his suggestion well and so he had taken it upon himself to build said fort by maneuvering your furniture and bringing your blankets and pillows over to the living room in front of the tv. 

He was aware of your eyes watching him as he did so. 

“What?” he asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck self consciously. 

“You’re just different than I expected,” you said genuinely, your voice free of judgment. 

He nodded in understanding, he was used to people having the wrong impression about him. His looks, his talents, which were given to him at birth, all of these were things that shaped how people viewed him. He couldn’t fault you for having thought the same, but it did relieve him that you seemed to be gaining a more comprehensive perspective of him now. 

“I’m gonna make us hot chocolate, you’re still banned from using the kettle after this morning,” he said, making his way to the kitchen and looking through your cupboards. He found the hot chocolate packets and went through the motions of heating up the water again just as he had done for the ramen earlier. 

“Speaking of this morning, you should really apologize to the kids. You were kind of stern with them,” you said, appearing at his side and leaning  against the fridge. 

You looked so beautiful to him in the fluorescent lighting, your lips still puffy from the kisses you had exchanged and your hair tousled. He wanted to freeze this moment and live in it. He could see himself growing old with you and sharing domestic moments such as this. Satoru you poor romantic thing, he thought to himself. He had quite a habit of being a yearner, of letting his feelings consume him. 

It was his biggest flaw.

“Yes, maybe I should. Tomorrow I’ll make sure to do so,” he said. 

He finished preparing the hot chocolate and carrying both mugs he said: “now would you like to choose the first movie?” 

Watching movies with Gojo was peaceful. You each took turns choosing a movie. He preferred comedies and animated movies while you chose cult classics. 

Strangely enough, you felt comfortable with him. His commentary every now and then throughout the movies and the way he laid close to you in the fort, with only your knees brushing past each other occasionally, made you feel like he was trying to put you at ease.

Despite the two of you having sex earlier, he didn’t make any moves to touch you again, and you felt that it was intentional with him leaving the choice up to you. 

After the last movie finished, credits rolling, he turned down the volume before facing you.

“So what’s with you and Nanami?” he asked. 

You could tell from his expression he was trying to seem nonchalant, but his eyes that had remained unblindfolded betrayed him, there was worry in his pretty blues. 

“Nanami? Nothing. He’s just a colleague and I enjoy working with him. Why?” you asked. 

“I just wondered because you chose him to accompany you to see Shoko over me,” he said. There was a long pause before he added, “you know we’re colleagues too.” 

Your face flushed as you understood. 

“I don’t like Nanami like that,” you mumbled, no longer able to meet his eyes. Luckily, he didn’t press you more, your answer being sufficient enough for him. 

You felt him shift besides you until he was no longer on his back but facing towards you. Having had his blindfold still off you were able to notice more of his emotions he usually kept hidden. Now there was a hint of sadness in them, the same sadness you had seen on���.

“Satoru, why does Shoko always look sad?” You asked. 

He gave you a wry smile. 

“It’s a long story and I’m sure only Shoko can speak for herself, but I can tell you about it as best as I can.” 

So he did.

He told you the story of three young gifted sorcerers and their ‘blue spring,’ as he had coined the last time the three ever felt a sense of normalcy. The story involved himself, Shoko, and someone named Geto, but mainly it orbited around him and Geto. Gojo told you of the mission they had failed at, to keep a young girl named Riko alive since she was the Star Plasma Vessel. You could tell by how he spoke of it that he felt largely responsible, especially since he hadn’t rested as much as he should have. 

“But that wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have possibly known about Toji and he was strategic so you’d never see him coming,” you said. 

“Maybe but it’s my fault for not noticing after how Geto changed. It affected him more than me in a way because of his ability to absorb curses. All that negative energy and the way it made him feel especially after he was jaded by the fact that non sorcerers couldn’t care less about sorcerers who protect them.”

Feeling that this was the first time he had opened up about this, you turned your body to face him as well and took his hand in your own squeezing it for support. 

“Maybe you didn’t notice it because he kept it to himself? You can’t fault yourself for that,” you said.

“Or maybe he didn’t tell me because of who I am, who I was born into being and my abilities. You know I’ve never known what it’s like to feel weak to feel truly powerless? Sometimes I don’t even feel human.” 

You felt a twinge of guilt for having thought he was some sort of womanizer, after what he had told you, that seemed so far out from the truth. It was clear he wore his heart on his sleeve and that it was his nature but he was guarded, even felt isolated because of the magnitude of his strength.

“I don’t think that’s fully true. Maybe in terms of power and your cursed energy but what you described: regret, guilt, and loneliness. All those things are very human,” you said. He smiled at you, and it reached his eyes so you figured your words had been of some comfort to him. 

“In a way Shoko probably feels more regret than I do, though I can’t be certain,” he explained to address your original question. 

“How so?” you asked. 

“Shoko’s ability is to heal. Curses destroy, people get hurt, and she heals. It is the same over and over and after a while you can start to wonder if there’s a point, if there is an end to the cycle.”

“Just like Geto did,” you finished for him, making the connection. 

He nodded. 

You laid there in silence for a while, listening to the gentle sound of his breathing. 

“Why me?” you asked, finally asking the question that has been the source of your previous resistance to him. 

“You’re beautiful, I thought so the moment I saw you. In truth it was after reading your published articles that I wanted to know you more. I felt like you’d understand me. You know your article analyzing Shakespeare's King Henry?” 

You nodded. How could you forget? It had been a pain to publish through all the hurdles of academia. 

“There was one line from the play you wrote about and it really stuck with me,” he said. He waited as if he wanted you to guess which line it was, and instinctively you knew.

“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”

You don’t remember falling asleep or making it to your bed but when you wake up with the warmth of the sunlight kissing your face you immediately sit up as you remember the previous day's events. Your blankets having been used for the fort were draped back around you. 

A glance at your bedside tells you that Gojo had been to the store already, the morning after pill box sitting there waiting for you to take with a glass of water next to it. You go through the motions of taking it and then follow the scent of bacon and eggs to your kitchen. 

Gojo is there, cooking breakfast and his blindfold is back on. 

“Good morning,” he says, seeing you linger at the entrance. 

“Satoru, what time is it? It’s so bright out,” you asked, going to sit at the kitchen island. 

“A little past noon. Shhh don’t worry. Classes are canceled for today again so I turned your alarm off,” he said, setting a plate of food in front of you alongside a cup of orange juice.

“I don’t remember falling asleep,” you said, biting into the fat of the bacon. 

He laughed.

“Yeah you went out like a light. I think it’s my fault we spent the whole day watching movies and I trauma dumped on you,” he said. 

He sat down next to you with his own plate of food and orange juice. 

At his words, you briefly remember strong arms carrying you to bed, lingering lips on your forehead and a gentle kiss on your skin. 

“Did you sleep here last night?” you asked him remembering how he had wanted to spend the night with you.

“I did. I slept on the couch. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he explained. You nodded, yet a part of you was worried. Would you two go back to formalities? After everything the two of you had done and shared yesterday you couldn’t phantom that possibility. Fortunately he felt the same way. 

“Listen, the kids told me they are gonna have another snowball fight today before all the snow melts up. They asked me if I wanna join and I want you to come with me,” he said. 

You finished eating and looked at him. 

“I’d like that,” you replied. 

His hand reached for yours and he interlocked the fingers with you. 

“I want to be your man, if you’ll have me. I know we’re still getting to know each other but I can see myself spending forever with you,” he said, his cheeks were rosy.

“I want to be with you too. Forever is a long time,” you said. 

“I know so let’s start with now and we’ll lead our way into forever,” he said. 

When he leaned forward to kiss you, you didn’t deny him, savoring the taste of him and bacon grease. 

[spooky-holtz]

Sicilian Scheming

Melissa Schemmenti x reader

Genre: pure fluff

Word Count: 3.4k

Prompt: "I seen you were looking for ideas for fics and was wondering if you’d write one where Mellisa’s Nona comes to visit her at Abbot during summer planning where she meets teacher Reader and essentially forces them to go on a date together even though they don’t get along well but they end up really hitting it off then a time skip to their wedding where Nona’s bragging about getting them together?"

I've diverted from the prompt a little but the core of it still stands. Strap in.

--------------------

Make no mistake, you absolutely love teaching the third grade but by the time summer comes around, you’re glad to see them go. Summer vacation gives you a chance to relax and enjoy your time away from the stuffy brick building that is Abbott Elementary, spending weeks at a time curled up on the window ledge of your apartment basking in the sun with a good novel and often a crisp glass of wine.  

You rarely get chance to see your co-workers save for the coffee dates you have with Janine, often meeting the smaller woman around the corner from her home to sit and chat in the large glass windows as the rest of the world passes by. You spend hours at a time chatting about anything and everything your rather uneventful lives have thrown at you, fingers curled around a sweating glass of flavored iced tea. These breaks are always among the highlights of your year, giving you a chance to wind down and refresh ready for the next group of kids that you will take under your wing.  

By the time the summer break winds down though, you’re eager to get back to school and see your dysfunctional work family. There’s nothing you love more than the first day after weeks apart, hearing all about Barbra’s annual cruise with Gerald, or Jacob’s latest mission to get himself “down with the kids” - it usually involves some god awful Tik Tok trend that he should NOT be doing, but you don’t have the heart to stop his rather spirited approach to engaging with his students.  

You love these conversations but there is somebody else that you find yourself searching for the second you step foot through the green doors of Abbott; Mellisa Schemmenti. The older woman has become an infatuation for you, her rigid exterior always melting when you interact. She knows exactly how you take your coffee, always leaves a seat open for you during meetings, and takes every opportunity to compliment your appearance - whether it's a new pair of earrings, or a slightly different shade of hair dye, Melissa will always notice.  

She makes you feel special in the smallest ways, always leaving you with the hope that she might actually like you back. It feels juvenile and you can’t help but imagine yourself as one of the kids you teach every day, sending heart eyes across the room at each other at any given chance, just waiting for her cheeks to flush and that small, suppressed smile to appear on her glossed lips.  

Your crush is no secret, but you would never tell anyone - well, except Janine who had managed to guess exactly why you get so nervous around the older woman after a few glasses of wine at the last faculty holiday party. You didn’t have to say anything; your longing looks toward the redhead on the other side of the teachers’ lounge as you nursed a plastic cup full of cheap alcohol was enough to prompt your friend to ask. You could never lie to Janine’s puppy dog eyes, especially not with a buzz courtesy of the liquor store across the street.  

You can’t help but let your thoughts drift toward thick Philly accents as you sit in the gym on the first day of school, squashed between Jacob and Janine and caught directly in the middle of their conversation about whatever new Netflix documentary series dropped last week. You’re really trying to listen, but your thoughts are consumed by bright red curls and glittery lip gloss, not true crime documentaries.  

You find yourself scanning the room as the pair babble on and you notice that the seating arrangement is half empty as you wait for the rest of the faculty to arrive and for Ava to take the stage for yet another development week speech that will go down in infamy at Abbott. She’s already poked her head from behind the curtain on the stage twice, clearly impatient to make her grand entrance to a group of less than willing participants.  

You begin to hear the telltale sound of heeled boots clicking against the linoleum floor and you feel yourself freezing into place just as Melissa waltzes into the hall, Barbara in tow. You don’t know if you’re impressed or terrified at her ability to constantly wear those shoes and the thought makes you realize that you’ve never actually seen Melissa at her normal height. 

Just as you suck in a deep breath, her eyes scan the room and instantly land where you sit, sandwiched between two of your rather enthusiastic co-workers. As her green eyes meet yours you see them shrink at the smile she sends your way, her pearly white teeth cutting through the shiny pink lip gloss she’s always wearing. You send a similar smile back, overjoyed at the fact she merely noticed you. God help your heart rate when she decides to talk to you for the first time in two months.  

Your attention is pulled away by Barbara, who waves enthusiastically from behind Melissa, making her way toward the empty seats directly in front of you. Your eyes dart back to Melissa as she follows the billowing of the older woman’s cardigan, heels still impossibly loud against the floor. 

The dark button down she’s sporting is tight against her torso, the sleeves rolled up to reveal her deceptively toned forearms. You have to remind yourself to look away for a split second, the thought of getting caught ogling her by one of your co-workers forcing you to tear your eyes away. You look toward Janine who has trailed off her conversation with Jacob, the pair watching you and Melissa like a tennis match. You feel your shoulders slump at Jacob’s knowing look, the excitement practically making him vibrate.  

“You’re kidding, you know too?” You sigh. 

“Uh yeah, you don’t exactly hide the heart eyes,” he scoffs. He must see the deer-in-headlights expression on your face because he continues, “I wouldn’t worry, she was definitely just throwing them right back at you.” 

You have no time to reply as the subject of the conversation reaches the row of seats in front of you, sitting in the hard plastic chair and turning her torso to see you, hand resting on the back of her seat. Her smile is wide again as she looks to you. The panic brews in your throat and your palms instantly become sweaty at the prospect of Melissa feeling the intensity of your feelings.  

“Hey hun, it’s been a while,” she says, her eyes still crinkled from the smile she wears. Her focus is entirely on you, ignoring the duo that sits on either of your sides.  

“Yeah, it has,” you manage to stammer out, “How’ve you been? You look good.”  

You inwardly cringe at your words but you’re not lying. She’s obviously had her hair dyed ready for the new school year and it’s even brighter than usual, making her even easier for you to pick out of a crowd. She looks so full of life and at ease, the break clearly having done her well. Her smile grows impossibly wider at your compliment, putting you instantly at ease.  

“It was great,” she replies. “Spent a lotta time at the beach with my family, so I’m not as pasty as you may have remembered.” 

She throws a wink your way with the last statement, causing a pink blush to cover your cheeks within seconds. What you wouldn’t give to actually see Melissa at the beach, totally relaxed on a sun lounger with a drink in hand. The image turns your cheeks an even deeper shade of red and Mel clearly catches on, her smirk letting you know that she knows exactly where your thoughts have gone.  

Before you even have chance to reply, Ava makes her grand entrance from behind the curtain to a chorus of groans that echos throughout the room.  

You can feel Janine’s elbow nudging into your side, your friend having had a front row seat to your entire interaction with the redhead. The action earns her a swift kick to the ankle under her seat, accompanied by a hissed “don’t you dare”.  

The meeting is over almost as quickly as it begins, Ava rushing back to her office to catch the latest episode of Real Housewives - she didn’t explicitly say it but you all know that’s the only reason she would be running back down the hall. You won’t complain though because it means you can get started with your work to prepare your classroom for the year ahead. You stand from your seat alongside Jacob and Janine and have all intentions of getting back to work when Melissa turns around again. Her emerald eyes stop you in your tracks, mid-stretch, your arms flexed above your head.  

“I never got the chance to tell you earlier, but I really like your dress,” she says, completely catching you off guard. Your hands fall, hanging limply by your side and brushing against the floral fabric of your clothing. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wear it specifically to catch her eye this morning. The soft smile she wears on her face makes your heart melt, the look on her face only reserved for you. “It's real pretty.” 

You both stand there for a few seconds, blushing like lovesick teenagers and staring into each other's eyes when a throat clearing brings you back to reality. Janine claps her hands together, flustered by the interaction.  

“Okay, I’m gonna get back to my classroom and, uh, get started on cleaning. Have a good day guys!” She calls as she walks away with Jacob in tow, enthusiastic as ever as he throws a thumbs up your way. You know that within five minutes of leaving the school gym she’ll be in your classroom waiting for the rundown on what the hell just happened between you and Melissa, as if she didn’t see it all happen from inches away. At this rate, you wouldn’t be surprised if Jacob shows up with a bag of popcorn to join in with the gossip session.  

“Oh shit, yeah, I need to clean before Nonna shows up,” Melissa mumbles, “I don’t wanna even think about the earful I’ll get if my classroom is a mess.” She doesn’t even stop to think before she turns on her heel and practically runs out of the gym and down the hall toward her classroom. You don’t have time to process her words before her best friend speaks.  

“Well, I guess that just leaves us,” Barbara says from her place next to where the redhead stood. She wears a gentle smile on her face that will always help you feel at ease. She reaches her arm out to you, linking your arm within hers as she turns to walk. “Come on honey, I’ll walk you to your room and tell you all about the cruise I had with my Gerald.”  

After a rather lengthy conversation about ‘Sea Barbara’ and her less-than-christian antics, you’re back at your door for the first time in months and can’t help but feel like you’re home. Nobody particularly likes their job but that couldn’t be further from the truth for you. Already, you’ve planned out the next year and can’t wait to welcome your little Eagles back into the classroom.  

It’s a full hour later by the time you actually hear another person’s voice - Janine chose to keep her distance but will no doubt grill you about Melissa at some point today. It’s just a matter of when.  

You hear the signature clicking of her heels before you can see her, her footsteps considerably slower than usual. You can hear her talking as she walks, though you can’t make you exactly what she’s saying. The footsteps grow louder and slower before you hear a knock against your doorframe, the door propped open by a thick stack of textbooks that you’ve wedged in front of it in a desperate attempt to get some airflow in the stuffy room.  

The sound makes you whip your head from where you stand on your stepladder, stapler and crepe paper in hand as you put together a display for the kids. You know exactly who will be standing there, already smiling as you turn and meet her eyes.  

“Hey Hun,” she says, “I’ve got someone here who wanted to really meet you.”  

For the first time you notice the presence beside her. You don’t need to take any guesses that this is Melissa’s infamous Nonna, the older woman clearly having stamped her grandchildren with her genes - she looks exactly how you imagine Melissa would in her old age, her hair silver and leaning gently on a cane.  

“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti!” she exclaims, making you jump and stand up straighter, terrified at the prospect of already being on her bad side. You climb down from the ladder as she stares at you, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress in an effort to get rid of any creases that may have formed during the morning. “You said she was pretty, but not this pretty!”  

You feel your shoulders relax as you laugh at the older woman, taken aback, Melissa by the side of her groaning loudly with a “Nonna, really?” You move toward the pair holding your hand out to shake the wrinkled one of the grey-haired lady before you. Her fingers are adorned by the same kind of jewelry that Melissa wears, her Sicilian heritage extremely clear from the large signet rings that she wears across her hands.  

“And there’s no mistaking that you must be Nonna,” you grin, introducing yourself. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re like a living legend around here.” She closes her hand around yours, the other still gripping her cane.  

“Pretty and complimentary?” She remarks, turning to look at her granddaughter whose face has managed to turn the same colour as her hair. “Well, you kept a lot quiet about this one.” 

You can’t help but look at Melissa at this statement, catching her eye and smiling even wider, Nonna’s remarks already making your grin impossibly wide. Her brow relaxes itself slightly, the hard lines around her eyes softening when she sees the pure joy on your face at finally getting to meet the woman you’ve heard so much about over the last few years.  

“I’m not sure if I want to hear exactly what you know about me,” you joke to her, catching Melissa’s eye yet again. The poor woman looks unbelievably flustered but it's a welcome change in your dynamic. She usually gets to revel in the fact that you turn into a puddle in her presence, but now you can only hope to add to the quickly darkening hue of her cheeks.  

“Trust me, you do. This one doesn’t shut up about you,” she says, smiling slightly and cocking her head toward Melissa who is actively wishing that a sinkhole would open up beneath her feet. She lets go of your hand and moves further into the classroom, leaning ever so slightly on her stick but still moving with all the confidence of your favourite Schemmenti woman - at least you know where Melissa gets it from now.  

Your eyes dart to Melissa, the older woman already looking back at you with a silent apology in her eyes her teeth worrying her bottom lip. You reach out and rub the top of her arm over her shirt in a small act of comfort, letting her know that this entire situation is doing nothing but working in her favour.  

“Ya know, it’s nice seeing something other than my Melissa’s classroom or the reception desk at this school for once,” Nonna says, almost speaking to herself. She looks around the room almost in awe, taking in the displays in various degrees of completion around the room.  

You follow her further in, Melissa hot on your tail behind you. She’s so close that you feel her almost walk straight into your back as you stop closer to the older woman, her once intimidating heels stuttering slightly on the wooden floor.  

“So, tell me,” Nonna begins, turning in place to face you, “What brought a girl like you to Philly? I know you’re not a local.” Her eyes twinkle as she asks, and you have a sneaking suspicion that she already knows the answer to her question from the tales her granddaughter has seemingly told her about you.  

“I just wanted a change,” you answer honestly. “I only thought I’d be here a couple years, but it’s been five and I can’t see myself leaving any time soon.” 

At your statement you hear Melissa sigh by your side. As your head turns to meet her gaze you see just how much it softened at your words. She knows just how much you love your job and the dedication you’re willing to put into making sure these kids make it. Year after year she’s been the one to help you draft lesson plans and mark countless piles of work over a mug of coffee in the teachers’ lounge, helping you when you feel slightly out of your depth in more ways than she could imagine. 

It’s only when she’s this close to your face that you can see the glittering of her lip gloss as she smiles slightly, her lips pulled together in a look that conveys so much softness.  

“Do you like Italian food?” Nonna asks, breaking the tense silence that has fallen between you. You feel the redhead beside you jump, both of you completely forgetting that her grandmother is just meters away from your little moment. You can’t answer quick enough, crying out for her approval and hoping that you can focus back from the incredible green eyes that are currently burning into the side of your head.  

“Oh yeah, I absolutely love an Italian,” you stutter out, “Can’t get enough.” 

You inwardly cringe at your words as you hear Melissa snicker by your side, Nonna’s eyes twinkling with amusement again. You hear a quiet “Bedda Matri” from Melissa through the giggles that shake her body.  

“I bet ya do,” Nonna says, her grin revealing her impossibly pearly white teeth. You can feel yourself getting warmer and you’re not sure if it’s from the stuffiness of your classroom and its broken windows or from the pure embarrassment radiating through your system. “You know, I taught Melissa everything she knows about Italian food. Maybe if you’re nice she’ll cook for you sometime.” 

Nonna’s eyebrows are raised as you turn to meet Melissa’s eyes, the older woman shrugging in your direction. It's nice to know you aren’t the only person completely lost in this conversation.  

“Oh, I know!” Nonna exclaims, making the pair of you jump yet again, “Melissa, how about you cook this nice girl the family baked ziti tonight? Say, 7 o’clock?”  

“Uh sure, if you don’t have anything on?” Melissa says, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion once again.  

“No no, I’m totally free,” you stammer, your cheeks matching the deep red of your co-worker's hair. “I’ve got your address too.” 

“Wonderful!” Nonna almost shouts, her shrill voice echoing off the semi-bare walls of your classroom. “You’re going to love it, trust me.” She says, throwing a wink your way.  

You don’t particularly want to admit that the smaller woman is, but you do love it. So much so that two years later you’re twirling around a dance floor in a lacy white dress, Melissa in a matching getup and shiny new diamond rings on your left hands. As Billy Joel croons the chorus of ‘Just the Way You Are’ from the speakers set up around the room, you hear a familiar voice chirp up from a table just out of reach of the dance floor.  

“You know, they would never have gotten together if I hadn’t practically knocked their heads together,” Nonna says, her voice carrying over the song as she explains her matchmaking services to Melissa’s Uncle Tony. You feel Melissa grin where her cheek rests against yours, your expression matching hers as you hear the older woman carry on. “I’m telling you now Anthony, this wedding wouldn’t even be happening if it wasn’t for me.”  

You feel Melissa begin to giggle where she stands, her hands resting against the lace at the small of your back, thumbs rubbing gently against the surface as you sway together. You hear Nonna carry on, adamant that the life you’ve built wouldn’t be possible if not for her, and as much as you don’t want to give her satisfaction, you both know she’s right.  

[incorrectbatfam]

The batfam as teacher comment section in report card.

Dick: Mr. Grayson brings a contagious energy to the class and his enthusiasm is well-appreciated. However, he tends to channel that energy very physically and while that may benefit his learning, it's a disruption to other students. This is a frequently recurring issue that I would like to discuss with a parent or guardian.

Translation – Is this kid ADHD because he won't sit the FUCK down

Jason: Mr. Todd has displayed remarkable attention to detail and a love of literature that I can only attribute to positive reinforcement at home, and he's always a pleasure to have in class. As much as I appreciate seeing him apply his lessons outside of school hours, I believe there are more productive avenues of discussing Shakespearean playwriting with his peers than what he has been reportedly doing. 

Translation – Stop biting your thumb at people

Tim: Mr. Drake continues to exceed expectations in his schoolwork, but his attendance and participation may become a detriment to his overall grades if unaddressed. I have caught him sleeping in class on multiple occasions but he has yet to provide me a reason why he is so tired. Additionally, last month one of our monitors caught him loitering in the bathroom with a note that I did not recall writing. 

Translation – Get some sleep and also you can't make your own hall passes

Damian: I have had the privilege of teaching the Wayne family through my decades at this institution and I believe that Damian takes after his father the most in more ways than expected. His grades are stellar and he is well-organized, but I'm noticing familiar and concerning traits in his attitude and social interactions. I am requesting a meeting with his parent to understand the full context so I can devise a plan for out how to best support him. 

Translation – Forget falling, the apple is still on the damn tree

Duke: Mr. Thomas has been a pleasure to have in my chemistry lab and is always willing to help classmates who are struggling. However, after last week's minor combustion reaction mishap, I think it would be worthwhile to review the lab safety packet that all students received at the beginning of the year. 

Translation – How did you set water on fire

Cullen: Mr. Row displays a passion for transformative literature and demonstrates a clear understanding of modern media culture that has helped him synthesize a lot of our complex readings. However, I'm concerned about his laptop being a distraction, especially with numerous incidences of him looking at non-academic material.  

Translation – Quit reading fanfics in class

Stephanie: You should be pleased to know that Miss Brown consistently keeps the well-being of her peers in mind. This semester, she launched a meal initiative for students whose needs could not be met by the school cafeteria. While we value her good intentions, she has been causing hallway obstructions and there are some regulatory concerns that we need to discuss. 

Translation – She sold pancakes in the halls without a permit

Cassandra: Although Miss Cain is relatively quiet in class, she continues to blow me away with her breadth of knowledge not just on class materials, but also interpersonal details. While this is a good skill to cultivate, we ask that she dial it back especially with our faculty. Additionally, please remember that the teacher's lounge is a staff-only space and students should remain in the common areas. 

Translation – She knows too much

Barbara: Miss Gordon is easily one of the best AP Computer Science students I've seen in my twenty years of teaching. She even went above and beyond the scope of our class to apply what we've learned to a greater school context. While that is deserving of credit, I'd also like to remind her that, in the future, certain ideas should be subjected to careful consideration before actions are taken. 

Translation – She hacked the lunch menu to make every day French Fry Friday 

Harper: Miss Row has a remarkable aptitude for the engineering process that exceeds beyond what students her age can typically grasp, and she is very inventive in her own right. That being said, I would appreciate it if she followed our lesson plans more closely and reviewed our guidelines for woodshop safety so everyone can continue to have a positive experience.

Translation – She made a working crossbow out of popsicle sticks

Carrie: Miss Kelley is a bright student who brings positive energy that is very much needed, especially in morning classes. However, she's been falling behind with several missing assignments at this point, and her explanations for why she cannot finish her work don't seem to be sufficient. 

Translation – "Killer Croc ate my homework" Yeah and I'm Batman

Kate: Miss Kane seems to be very eager to move forward to the next stage of her life, as evidenced by her Career Day presentation. While I believe young people should be free to explore their passions, I also think that Kate would benefit from some workshops outlining more feasible options. 

Translation – "Get bitches" isn't a career goal

Alfred: Mr. Pennyworth is easily one of the best students this institution has seen, both in his academic record and extracurricular activities. He recently expressed interest in the sharpshooting team, which I will not discourage him from, seeing how highly accurate he is. As of this year, I will be retiring as the coach for the team, but I wish him all the best.

Translation – I'm not about to get on his bad side

Selina: Miss Kyle's resourcefulness continues to astound me. Earlier in the semester, she forgot her locker combination and quickly improvised a mechanism to safely unlock it using only the materials around her. The speed and accuracy with which she did that will surely benefit her in the future. 

Translation – Did... did she just pick a lock with another lock?

Bruce: No further comments. 

Translation – whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck—

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 3 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, morning sickness/vomiting, food aversions, fatigue, some angst sprinkled in for ~flavor~

WC: 1.2k

Divider credit to @saradika

March 1999

Oatmeal: a delicious, nutritious breakfast food that has been a staple in your diet since you were a child. It hasn’t done anything wrong. 

Until now. 

The scents of brown sugar and cinnamon always perk you up in the morning; at least, as much as anything can without containing copious amounts of caffeine. Today; however, they waft past your nose and have you hurtling towards the bathroom. 

Eddie runs in from the bedroom, his jeans button still unfastened where he’d abandoned getting dressed for work. “S’okay,” he murmurs, rubbing your back as you empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. Your cheeks blaze with the rush of blood to your face and the shame from being in such a vulnerable position. 

You spit the last of it into the bowl and grab a handful of toilet paper to wipe your lips, taking a moment to collect yourself before slowly standing up. Eddie places a warm washcloth in your palm; you hadn’t even heard the faucet running over the pounding in your ears.

“Thanks,” you mumble, pressing the damp cloth to your forehead and taking a deep, shaky breath. This isn’t your first bout of morning sickness–that happened about a week after you received your positive test result–and it likely won’t be the last. Still, you’re surprised at how quickly your husband has adapted to this relatively new routine. 

He kisses your scalp, nimble fingers fixing his pants button and buckling his belt. “Are you sure you wanna go to work today?” he asks, concern pinching his brows as he takes in your exhausted form.

You nod slowly, determined to stop the room from spinning. “I already took off twice last week.” 

“So?”

“So,” you explain with a sigh, “I don’t want to use up all of my sick days in the first trimester. Not when I’ll have more doctor appointments as I get farther along.” Not to mention the fact that people have started questioning your absences, and you’re not ready to tell anyone the reason just yet. “Besides, I woke up feeling okay; I didn’t throw up until I smelled the oatmeal.” Your insides lurch at the mere mention of the food, and you find yourself hovering over the bowl once more.

Eddie hums knowingly as he runs the washcloth under the water again and wrings it out with a twist of his hands. “Uh-huh. And what if one of your students happens to talk about oat–”

“Don’t say it!” you cut him off as forcefully as you can, fighting your buckling knees as you steady yourself. 

He relents, exasperatedly pivoting back to the bedroom to finish getting dressed. There’s little sense in arguing with you, especially with a nosy little boy eating breakfast in the kitchen not even twenty feet away. As far as Harris knew, you’d just been battling a stomach bug, and you and Eddie were both grateful that he hadn’t questioned it further. His response was telling you a…charming story about how his friend Charlie ate three bags of Hot Cheetos before promptly vomiting all over the cafeteria table; an anecdote that did nothing to quell your nausea.

You pull yourself together enough to make it to work. The queasiness subsides as the minutes tick on, though you take your lunch break in your car to avoid any smells in the faculty lounge that could inadvertently trigger another bout of sickness. You half-heartedly go through the motions of story time and arts and crafts, silently promising your students that you’ll have more enthusiasm once your second trimester begins.

By the time you arrive back home and trudge through the door, you may as well be dragging sandbags from your ankles. Exhaustion hits you without warning, your eyelids heavier with each passing second. You drop your keys on the side table and glance over at the clock hanging on the wall. The larger hand has barely ticked past the “6,” which means you have just under a half hour until you have to leave and pick up Harris from his after-school art program.

You don’t even make it to your bedroom, heaving your body onto the couch with a grunt; the stiff pillows have never been more comfortable. The last thought that crosses your fatigued mind is that you can’t sleep for long. If you lay down for a moment…set an alarm for fifteen minutes…

You’re awoken not of your own accord, but by the sound of the apartment door squeaking, the knob thwacking against the wall as though it’s being flung open.

“Thank God you’re okay.” It comes out in one breath, Eddie’s relief palpable as soon as he sees that you’re alive and breathing. 

Still groggy with sleep, you push yourself onto your elbows, squinting at the influx of light from the hallway. Why wouldn’t you be okay? You were just taking a nap; it’s only been…an hour and a half?

“Shit, shit, shit!” You scramble to your feet, not even cognizant of the fact that you’re swearing in front of Harris. You take in his tear-stained face, comprehending his thought process before he can even say it aloud. “Har, I’m so sorry. I swear, I didn’t forget about you. I’ve just been really sleepy–”

“Har, can you go to your room for a sec?” Eddie keeps his voice even and controlled, but you can still sense the frustration simmering beneath. He puts his hands on his son’s shoulders and gives a tense squeeze, and Harris nods and somberly obeys. 

Your misty eyes meet your husband’s gaze, his jaw steeled as you fumble to explain yourself. “Eddie, it was a total accident! I…I needed to rest…I didn’t think I’d sleep this long…” 

He shakes his head, arms dejectedly hanging by his sides. “I asked you not to go to work,” he says softly, teeth digging into his lower lip. “It’s not because I think you’re weak or incapable or anything like that. You just need to take care of yourself.” His voice drops to an even quieter whisper as he walks closer to you, caressing your cheek. “You’re growing our baby, Sweetheart. That’s a pretty big deal.”

“I know,” you murmur, tears leaking from your eyes. “I’m not good at slowing down.” You can usually push yourself to your limits with minimal consequences, but it seems like those days are behind you. 

Eddie tilts your chin so you’re looking directly at him. His expression isn’t as hard; a faint smirk of understanding graces his lips. “And I love how driven you are. But your mission for the next nine months—should you choose to accept it—is to incubate Baby Munson.”

“Incubate?” You wrinkle your nose as his phrasing. 

“Incubate,” he affirms with a kiss to your nose. “Now, why don’t you go check on Harris, and I’ll start dinner.” His hand rests on the small of your back. “I was just gonna roast some chicken breasts, if that works for you?” It’s a quick and easy dinner that you have once a week. 

But it looks like it might be off the menu for a bit; your eyes bulge and your palm flies to your mouth as soon as you imagine the varying textures of meat and skin. 

“On second thought,” Eddie mutters, plucking a Surfer Boy pamphlet from the kitchen drawer, “maybe we’ll do pizza tonight.”

--

[peacheeeliz]

035. my jellies are tingling... (wc: 1073)

You have Mark propped up on the study room table, standing between his legs as you clean the cut on his stomach. He winces as you drag a wet rag over the wound, letting out a pained laugh right after. “Deja vu, huh?” He says. “Really gotta stop getting myself into these kinds of situations, it seems.”

“You're accident prone. It's not your fault,” you tease, smiling up at him. “Or, maybe you just like me between your legs.”

He chokes at your words, only making him wince once again as it shakes through his stomach. “Careful, careful,” you tell him, laughing softly. “Don't hurt yourself even more.”

“You can't just say shit like that, man,” he says quietly, sighing. He watches as you finally begin patching up his injury, wrapping it with a gauze pad and some bandages.

“Why not?” You continue, pulling his shirt down, your hands lingering as you play with the loose stitching across the hem.

His arms move slowly, hesitant to pull you closer to him. They wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His face scrunches up in pain as you press against his stomach, yet he still loves the feeling of your body shaking as you laugh. “You know why,” he whispers, pulling one of his arms up to cup your cheek, thumb grazing softly against your skin.

Your body heats up at his touch, burning as his other hand grips into your waist. “Maybe I want to hear you say it,” you pause. “You can trust me, right?”

“Come on,” he shys into your shoulder, smiling to himself like an idiot. “I've told you before, do I really need to tell you again?”

“Ooookay, so you're saying I need to get you drunk again for you to tell me,” you joke, letting go of his shirt to tighten your grasp on his waist. He raises his head up to look at you again, a pout forming on his lips. “What? I'm kidding.”

His smile returns, but he doesn't say anything. Mark lets it go quiet as he takes in just how close the two of you really are to each other. His eyes gaze over yours, admiring the way they twinkle under the flickering fluorescent light. He hesitates for a moment, but he can't stop the words that threaten to spill from his mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

You're surprised by his question, eyes going wide and mouth falling open. You can't even get anything out before he's stammering on: “I mean, we've done it before.” He says, ears going red. “So, I just thought it wouldn't hurt to ask, is all.”

Despite the thousands of thoughts running through your head–this could ruin everything, you couldn't let yourself kiss him, this is going to make things awkward, so on and so forth–your body's acting before your brain can catch up. You feel yourself leaning in, but not before Mark pulls you in by your waist, finally closing the gap between the two of you.

All that runs through his mind are thoughts of you as he deepens the kiss, gripping your waist impossibly tighter against him. He remembers the first kiss you shared with him, that silly, simple kiss that definitely didn't last as long as he had hoped. How he went home that night, completely starstruck as he replayed the moment over and over again. How he fell asleep that night, with his fingers grazing his own lips, in awe that it had even happened. The fruity taste of your cherry chapstick and the sweet smell of your perfume invades his senses, and he just can't get enough, groaning into the kiss.

You're fairing no better, as you rake your fingernails up his shirt until they find their way to the back of his neck, tangling with his hair. You completely melt under his touch, thankful that months of heedless pining had led to this moment. If it weren't for the tight grip his hands held on your waist, your knees probably would've given out from the warmth that burns through this kiss.

Meanwhile, just a few buildings away in the faculty lounge, Johnny sits quietly on one of the sofas as the Dean paces back and forth in front of him. “Sir, if you don't just sit down and take a breather, you're going to give yourself an aneurysm,” Johnny comments, picking at the skin around his fingernails.

The Dean stops, staring at the professor as if his head had fallen off. “They've been at it for hours! The sun has gone down,” he exclaims, pointing to the abandoned carnival grounds outside the windows. “I want to go home! To my wife and kids! But I can't leave until we have a final winner.”

“About that, how exactly were you able to score an okay for priority registration?” Johnny asks, finally looking up from his nails with a cocked eyebrow. “I thought it was against some student equality act?”

“It is!” The Dean shouts, startling the man across from him. “Sorry, I'm just… Stressed. The prize was supposed to be a PlayStation Five, but someone stole it right before the games started.”

“So, you thought promising priority registration was a better idea?” Johnny scoffs.

“Oh, quiet! Do you have a better idea, smart guy?” The Dean retorts, rolling his eyes. He lets out a sigh, “there's classes in the morning! This has to stop.”

Johnny eyes the eerie festival stalls outside the windows, taking in a deep breath. “Put me in,” he pauses, seeing the way the Dean's head whips around in the corner of his eye. “I'll take each and every one of them out. Just put me in, and you can go home.”

“But that wouldn't be fair,” the Dean starts, shaking his head ‘no.’ “You're not a student.”

The smile Johnny sends Dean's way sends a chill down his spine, “but you can change that, can't you?” He asks, making the Dean tilt his head. “Enroll me in a class.”

The Dean stays quiet for a moment, like he really needs to think about the man's proposal. As a smile slowly grows on his face, he then hears the sinister laughter of his colleague. “So, what are your interests?” He questions, calmly leading the man to his office.

“You know, I've always liked volleyball,” the man replies, genuinely intrigued with the various classes he could enroll in.

synopsis ⤏ mark, desperate to talk to the cute girl in his japanese class, forms a study group. who knew that other struggling college students might want to join a study group?

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[jasmineandcedar]

Wingspan

An Elriel one shot (Azriel's POV).

A reimagination of the scene where Feyre asks Rhys about wingspans - Elriel style (with a little bit of Nessian involved). I wanted to capture Elriel's subtle playfulness. And I wanted to combine the playfulness of that scene with the impact of sharing a gaze with the one you're not supposed to want.

Warning: sexual undertones

-------

“I’ve heard that the size of an Illyrian male’s wingspan says something about the size of another... body part”, Nesta said, leaning back in her chair and scanning Cassian sitting across from her. Wicked delight coated her every word.  

Azriel paused mid-chew, his fork hovering in the air. He glanced across the table at Elain, who was clutching her fork as if her life depended on it, her unblinking eyes fixed on the plate in front of her. Azriel swallowed. The faintest blush was spreading across her cheeks. Were he not entirely in control of his faculties, a smile would have bloomed across his own face at the sight of it.

“And…” Nesta continued, twirling her fork tauntingly between her fingers, her eyes never leaving Cassian's. “I heard Azriel has the biggest wingspan”.

She nodded towards Azriel, gaze still on Cassian, the smirk on her face a willful provocation.

A brief silence followed, broken only by the clatter of Cassian’s fork hitting the table.

“That’s it! Bring out the measuring stick,” Cassian boomed, leaping out of his chair. The daring gleam in his eyes was a match to Nesta’s. “We’re settling this once and for all!”

Azriel’s gaze remained fixed on Elain, who looked like she wanted nothing more than to know how to winnow with how her body stiffened, her eyes glued to her plate. Still, he swore he caught the faintest trace of a smile fighting to break free—the slight tightening of her jaw, the delicate tensing of her lips. Were he not the Spymaster of the Night Court, and more importantly, irrevocably wrapped around the finger of the middle Archeron sister, he probably wouldn’t have noticed her quiet amusement.

“Az?” Cassian pressed.

Azriel finally shifted his gaze away from Elain and turned to his brother, biting down the smirk threatening to spread across his face.

“What?” he replied calmly, not betraying his thoughts of the enthralling female sitting in front of him.

“Wingspans”, Cassian insisted, folding his arms over his chest. “We’re settling this”.

Azriel rose smoothly from his seat.

“I don’t need to resort to it”, he said coolly.

“Come on, Az!” Cassian argued, amusement lacing his voice.

“You should thank me, Cass”, Azriel said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he patted Cassian on the shoulder. “At least now it’s not confirmed you don’t have the biggest wingspan”.

With that, he left the room.

-------

“Is it true?”

Elain’s soft voice blended with the gentle crackling of what was left of the dying fire. It was late. The others had already gone to bed, but Azriel had lingered in the sitting room as Elain finished her preparations for the morning.

And there she was. Emerging from the kitchen, delicate fingers twirling the strings of her apron. Azriel couldn’t fathom how such a simple act could make his stone-cold heart flutter in his chest. He’d tear apart the fabric of the universe to ensure she had a lifetime’’s supply of aprons to twirl between her fingers, if she wanted it.

Her gaze was fixed on the floor, lit up by the last flickers of the fire that had brazed in the hearth an hour earlier, framing her lovely face in hues of gold. She had let her hair down—loose waves of golden brown spilling over her shoulders.

The sight of her stole his very breath.

Lounging on the sofa, one arm drapepd over the armrest, Azriel angled his head, his eyes fixed on the female he could never resist. The one who had offered him kindness when he believed he deserved none of it.

Elain.

“Is what true?” he replied, his voice a low murmur. He leaned back, resting his jaw on his fist, openly observing her in a way he could never allow himself when they weren’t alone. He watched her twist a little at the spot, to his delight.

A few seconds passed before her tender voice broke the silence to once again bless his ears.

“What they say about wingspans?”

Something glinted in her eyes, even as they stayed fixed on the floor. Azriel bit back a chuckle at her boldness—so at odds with her sweet demeanor. The paradox of it all made him burn in all the right places.

Wrong places, he corrected himself.

Still, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. A pity. He might drown in those chestnut eyes of hers if she’d let him. Granted, he wasn’t sure he’d survive it. Perhaps this was for the better.

Against his better judgement, he rose to his feet and approached her slowly, unable to stay away. After all, they didn’t call him dark without reason. Though he doubted drowning in Elain Archeron’s chestnut eyes was the kind of danger they envisioned when they whispered about his proclivities. But he wasn’t one to argue. He had hidden behind a protective layer of preconceived notions for centuries. Until her. She saw right through him, and he let her.

And yet, she stayed. Twirling the strings of her apron between her fingers.

“What do you think?” he whispered into the quiet of the night.

He was right in front of her where she lingered in the doorframe separating the kitchen from the sitting room. She had gone motionless as he approached, but she didn’t shy away when he stopped—close enough for their breaths to mingle.

Which they did, as a few exhilarating moments passed.

Her gaze flickered to his before dropping to his chest. It was electric, that moment their gazes met. As it had been for a while now. He wasn’t sure when it had started. Wasn’t sure what had shifted between them—or if it had always been there. But that charge between them had become like a tether to him. Something pulling him towards her.

He was desperate for it.

That familiar blush crept up her neck again, and he wanted nothing more than to press his lips to it. To taste that immaculate skin. To savour her scent of jasmine and honey on his tongue.

She tilted her head up, still not quite meeting his gaze. It drove him mad, and she knew it. Her breath fluttered over the sensitive skin of his neck like a featherlight caress. He felt a tremor pass through his body. It settled somewhere low and entirely indecent. Should she come any closer, she would learn all about that wingspan of his. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the shudder that ran through him at the thought of her pressed against him—starved for her as he was.

The shift in her scent mirrored the shift in his. Equally improper. Forbidden, as it were.

And yet, it was holy to him.

“I don’t know”, she breathed.

A pretty lie. And he knew that she knew he was aware of it. He also knew that he was the only one to whom she would show this side of her. Daring. A sweet, quiet, intoxicating boldness that would have him on his knees at her invitation. For the second time that day, he resisted the urge to smirk at that quiet boldness. Resisted the urge to tip her flawless chin up with his fingers and make those beautiful eyes meet his.

It did not escape him that she did not resist the same urge. An irresistible smirk spread across her beautiful face. Feathery lashes rose to reveal her large brown eyes. Azriel felt his breath tighten in his chest when she finally met his gaze and didn’t drop it.

Mother above.

He was drowning.

Unable to resist, he let his fingers brush the string of her apron, where hers had been just moments before.

She let her fingers brush his.

Between the two of them, she was the fearless one. He saw it in every quiet moment they collided. Half a millennium of buried emotion, and yet she could unravel him with a single brush of her fingers.

He must have forgotten how to breathe, but he didn’t seem to need it.

He stretched out his wings, to the extent the cramped space would allow it. It hid the two of them from the fading embers of the fire that had painted the room golden. In the darkened silence, he lowered his face closer to hers, his gaze flashing to that irresistible flush traveling up her neck, reaching the delicate curve of her jaw.

“I’m sure you can imagine,” he murmured, voice sensual as sin as he shifted his gaze to pierce hers again.

She gasped softly, eyes darting between his wings. Perhaps she hadn’t imagined this.

She would now.

He leaned in even closer, his mouth brushing her ear as he let a single word slip past his lips in answer to her question, no more than the shadow of a whisper.

“True”.

She let out an involuntary sound, something between a moan and a whimper. It rippled over his skin, and he didn’t care to hide his shiver at the sensation. It was barely a breath, but Azriel would remember it—would replay it in his mind as he touched himself to the memory of her tonight, secretly shameless as he was where she was concerned.

He liked to think she’d be equally shameless.

The look in her eyes told him she would be. In the dead of night, with no one to witness and only her fantasies for company. What he would give to be shameless with her—not just in thought, but in flesh and bone. To show her pleasure beyond imagination.

If only he were deserving of it.

And yet, the way she seemed to see right through him and still chose to stay in his presence had a small but desperate part of him believing that he could be. That tiny spark of hope had become his lifeline.

Without breaking her gaze, he tucked in his wings, finally letting that smirk spread across his face to mirror hers.

“Sleep well, Elain”.

He felt his chest tighten at his own words, wiping away that playful smirk on his face. He saw his reaction reflected in the way her body stiffened—the implication that he always had to leave before they’d even truly begun dawning on her once more.

What he desired more than anything was to fall asleep next to her. To wrap himself around her and stay. To shower her with praise as gentle as her body and spirit until she fell asleep in his arms. His heart was bursting with words meant for her ears only. Words he repeated in his mind over and over but could never release.

It was suffocating him.

He wanted to bury himself in her warmth until it thawed even the darkest parts of him. And he wanted to love her—in every garden, under the night sky, in her bed.

But fate had been cruel to them, and it was too much to ask.

The last embers of the fire flickered and stilled, leaving the room lit only by the cool glow of moonlight.

“Sleep well, Azriel”.

His name on her tongue was his salvation, but the sadness consuming her was his damnation—a mirror to his wounded soul.

Fate was a cruel and wicked thing. He wanted to crush it with his bare hands for what it had done to the female he loved.

He took a step back and felt the loss of her warmth like the loss of a limb as he did.

“Elain, I…“ he began, his voice faltering.

“I know,” she whispered, the touch of her hand featherlight on his as she met his gaze again. Chestnut to hazel. He saw pure understanding in those eyes of soft, warm brown that felt like the only home he had ever known. That sense of connection he felt with her had once shocked him to his very bones—that time he had vowed to get her back when she had been taken. He had cradled her to his chest, terrified to lose her again. Of course, she knew. She knew all of it.

They had never felt the need to clutter their solitude with words.

They didn’t need words; they just needed time.

And he was patient.

He took the hand she had placed on his and laced his fingers with hers, just like she had twirled that string of her apron. His stomach clenched at the sweet thought of it. A sacrilege it might be, to taint her with him, but he had sworn to never be the one to stifle her.

He slid his free hand into the soft golden-brown waves framing her face, then leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, lingering a little longer than he should have.

“One day”, he whispered against her skin. Or perhaps he thought it.

One day he would stay.

“One day,” she echoed, so quietly it could well have been a thought. She leaned into his touch, like she always did, sacrilege be damned.

Then, shadows swirling, he was gone—leaving her breathless.

As was he, whenever she was near.

(Click here to read part 2)

[rendy-a]

If your interested i would like to request a self aware au where the player instead of possesses Ramshackle instead of Yuu

My first thought is that I don’t understand this request.  Possess the actual building of Ramshackle?  Then I thought it might actually be funny if the Player were stuck in the building Encanto-style.  Feel free to drop in a new request if this isn’t what you were looking for.  Until then, enjoy this silly idea.

The Dorm Magical

All the characters in Twisted Wonderland had an innate sense for when they were being observed by the Player.  It was a feeling so sublime that it was the only thing a character craved.  One day, they stopped receiving that feeling as they did lessons, went about the storyline and even engaged in event stories.  These were all the Player’s favorite times to grace them with their notice!  It was deeply disturbing to them (could you have quit playing the game?) until they noticed that feeling again within the walls of Ramshackle Dorm.  Now this unique dorm isn’t just the home to the odd students Grim and Yuu but also the only place left on campus to experience the notice of the Player. 

Nothing matters anymore unless you can do it in Ramshackle or take it to Ramshackle.  Riddle brings every perfect-scored test to casually hold up to the walls, hoping you’ll take notice.  A suspicious number of movies being filmed by the Film Club seem to use old houses as a setting.  If any odd floorboard squeaks or movements of doors happen, all the club members merely clap and declare that the Player is so good at ad-libbing. 

Epel bursts into the lounge of Ramshackle and Grim nearly chokes on a bite of tuna.  “Nya!  What’s the big idea barging in here like that?” he asks between coughs.  Epel holds up a spelldrive trophy enthusiastically, “We won the tournament!”  Yuu smiles at him indulgently, “Great job.”  Epel shoots him a puzzled look as though to say, ‘Why are you talking to me?’  Then he turns about the room, holding the trophy aloft until a beam of sunlight from a window seems to shift and hit the trophy perfectly.  Epel grins as though the Player had personally awarded him that trophy.  “Awe, shucks!” he beams while grinning like a fool.  Then, he suddenly seems to recollect somewhere he needs to be.  “I…I should probably get this trophy back now before Leona notices its missing.  See you later Player!”  He makes awkward eye contact with Grim, “and…I guess Yuu and Grim too…”

It’s not just students, so many classes seem to be held in Ramshackle dorm.  The same students that used to try to sweet talk teachers into holding class outside on sunny days are now suggesting they can concentrate so much better in the quiet Ramshackle dorm.  Staff are surprisingly fast to agree.  There is now a sign-up sheet in the faculty lounge to reserve a Ramshackle day.

“Turn to page 101 in your textbooks.  Today we are covering proper methods of distilling potions,” Crewel begins his lecture.  A hand raises, “Professor, couldn’t we learn this better in Ramshackle?”  Crewel lets out a long-suffering sigh, “There aren’t even potion making facilities in that dorm.”  Another hand raises, “But Trein got to have history there twice this week already.”  Crewel pauses for a moment considering that petty argument.  “Screw it,” he finally replies in an arrogant tone, “Grab your things.  We are moving this class to the kitchen of Ramshackle.”  A cheer erupts from the masses.

Rules had to be made preventing transfer to Ramshackle.  Crowly is very firm on this; if he can’t live there, no one else can either!  The few times in the main story where people stay over are the highlight of those student’s year.

Vil slides his hand gently down the banister of the staircase as he descends and lets out a satisfied sigh.  “Stop stroking my house,” Yuu retorts in an annoyed tone. “For the duration of the VDC training camp, it’s our house,” and continues to lightly run his fingertips along the wallpaper with a dreamy smile.

The guest room is the most coveted invitation on campus.  Students would gladly jump over any number of couches and tables for the honor of being trapped in the corner of the Ramshackle guest room.  Even Riddle is happy to cut class, dress up in his Halloween costume and stand idly by. 

Deep in the corner of the room, Sebek stands on two small squares of open space.  He paces a single step backwards and forwards.  He’s been trapped there for at least an hour, yet he still sounds at the peak of happiness as he exclaims, “THIS DECORATION REMINDS ME OF THE THORN FAIRY HERSELF!  WHAT A MAGNIFICENTLY APPOINTED ROOM!”  The door blows open slightly in a breeze and Sebek preens as though receiving an approving wave from the great Player themselves.  Ah, what a moment to be alive and trapped in a room.

[pandapetals]

Bed Chem

logan howlett x fem!reader - inspired by sabrina carpenter's song bed chem, implied sexual tension, fluff, short, no use of y/n, no reader description.

The moment you met Logan you felt sexual tension.

read on Ao3

You were in a rush, your eyes darting across the unfamiliar halls, trying to make sense of your new surroundings. Being hired as a professor mid-semester was stressful enough, but the endless handshakes and quick exchanges with new colleagues only added to the chaos.

You’d barely had time to gather your bearings when you crossed paths with him.

A quick, almost careless introduction—just a second to exchange pleasantries before you had to rush to your classroom. But in that brief moment, he caught your attention.

Logan.

Broad shoulders. Rugged features. That infuriatingly smug smile. He was wearing a tight white tank top and faded jeans that clung to him like an afterthought as if he’d just stepped out of a fight or something equally rough-edged. His skin glistened faintly like the day had been harder on him than it had on everyone else.

He’d said something—hello, you think—but the words barely registered. It was the way he looked at you, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, that left you unsettled. Intrigued.

Then he was gone, striding off like he had somewhere more important to be. Like you were just another face in a crowd he could forget but you couldn’t forget him.

In the days that followed, you found yourself lingering in hallways you wouldn’t usually walk, peeking into faculty lounges just a little longer than necessary, hoping for a glimpse of him. It was ridiculous, a silly crush, you kept telling yourself. But the more you tried to shake the thought of him, the more he seemed to linger in your mind.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself—effortlessly confident as if he knew the effect he had on people. Or maybe it was something deeper, something magnetic in the air whenever he was near.

You couldn’t deny the way your pulse quickened when he entered a room, the subtle tension that buzzed between you whenever your eyes met across the faculty lounge. You’d catch yourself glancing at the door, hoping he’d walk in. And when he did, your heart would give a little jolt before you masked it with the casual professionalism expected of you.

It didn’t help that Logan seemed to be everywhere, too. Standing a little too close when you were making coffee, his arm brushing yours like it was nothing. Catching your eye from across the lecture hall as you both dismissed your classes at the same time. The heat of his presence always seemed to follow, lingering in the air long after he left.

One afternoon, after a particularly chaotic day of back-to-back lectures, you found yourself in the staff kitchen, mindlessly stirring a cup of tea, when Logan appeared in the doorway. Your eyes flicked to him automatically, but you pretended not to notice—until he spoke.

“Busy day?” he asked, his voice low, smooth, the kind that felt like it belonged in a different kind of conversation, not casual work chatter.

You nodded, feeling your skin prickle under his gaze, the kind of attention that felt heavy even when he wasn’t touching you. “Something like that.”

He stepped inside, leaning against the counter, far too casual for the energy simmering between you. “You adjusting alright?” His eyes didn’t leave yours like he was asking something else entirely.

You took a slow sip of your tea, trying to play it cool, but the way his gaze dropped to your lips didn’t help. “I’m getting there,” you replied, though the steadiness in your voice surprised even you.

Logan’s smirk deepened, a glint of amusement lighting his eyes. “Good to hear.”

There it was again—that electric charge, like the air, was thickening between you, heavy with something unspoken.

You hadn’t realized he’d moved closer until the scent of him reached you—clean sweat, the faintest hint of aftershave, and something more raw underneath it all. Your breath hitched, just barely, but enough that you noticed.

His eyes, dark and intense, flicked to your lips again, lingering. The room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer.

“You know,” he said, voice dropping lower, “I’ve noticed you’ve been around a lot more lately.”

Your heart jumped, and you quickly lowered your cup, clearing your throat as if the warmth of the tea had nothing to do with the flush creeping up your neck. “Really?” You tried for nonchalance, but even you could hear the slight edge of nervousness in your voice.

Logan took another step closer, his body now only inches from yours, his presence overwhelming. “Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze heavy with meaning. “Funny how I seem to be bumping into you everywhere.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. His eyes held yours, and for a second, everything else—the chaos of the semester, the stress, the students, the deadlines—faded into the background. It was just him, just you, and the sharp, undeniable tension threading between you both.

The cup in your hand suddenly felt too hot, like it was burning through your skin. You set it down on the counter, your fingers brushing against his arm in the process.

That was all it took.

Logan’s hand moved, fingers sliding around your waist, not hesitating this time. The touch was firm, and possessive, like he had been waiting for an excuse. The contact sent a wave of heat through you, your breath catching again as your body instinctively leaned into his.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he muttered, his lips just inches from your ear now, the words barely above a whisper but charged with heat. “You know that?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing, your heart hammering against your chest. But instead of pulling away, you found yourself drawn closer, the magnetic pull between you undeniable.

“I—” you started, but his hand tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek with the lightest of touches.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Logan whispered, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I can feel it, too.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop—no more classrooms, no more faculty lounges, no more rules. Just the heat between you, the chemistry that had been simmering for days now boiling over.

Before you could catch your breath, his lips were on yours.