#do we get extra math credit for this

[msboutofcontext]

[supersymmetries]

i've finally reached the part in the semester where we're covering the second law of thermodynamics. matt bellamy we're in it together now

[oysterie]

78 in chem rn..... two tests left incl. cumulative final...... hm

[girliism]

nerdy!art who based on his physique and good looks should be getting any and every girl he wants but instead he chooses to hide away in his books. he’s top of all his classes and does extra credit work for fun on the weekends, according to his roommate patrick he’s kind of a loser that needs to get out more. patrick invites him out to a lot of parties but art just ends up in the corner nursing only one drink before leaving early.

you were the opposite everyone on campus knew you. you went to every party thrown but you weren’t some slut you just liked being around people. now you weren’t stupid by any means but you also weren’t top of your classes.

“what do you mean i’m failing.” you looked at your math professor who just told you that if you don’t pass this upcoming test you’d fail his class. “i don’t think you’re understanding the material very well that’s why i assigned you a tutor.” a tall blonde with thick rimmed glasses walks up to your professors desk. “this is art, i’ve asked him to help.” art gave you a small wave. you’ve seen art around campus sitting under trees reading or stuck in the corner at a party. he was quiet only spoke when spoken to, you had no idea he was even in this class.

art cleared his throat. “you can come by my dorm tomorrow if you’re free.” art held on the door for you to walk out of. “tomorrows fine with me. you’re patrick’s roommate right?” art nodded “cool! i can get your dorm number from a friend of mine.” you smiled big at him. art gave you a closed mouth smile back before you guys waved goodbye.

“can you please not be here when she comes over.” it was saturday the day of yours and art’s tutoring session and he’s been cleaning up their dorm. “right i forgot you’re having a girl over.” patrick says raising eyebrows up and down before placing his cereal bowl in the sink not bothering to wash it. art pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge. “we’re just studying.” he mumbles going to wash patrick’s dish. patrick ended up leaving so art had the dorm to himself when you showed.

you sat on the couch in their dorm studying the place instead of the math problem art was trying to explain. “you got lucky pairing with zweig this dorm is partially an apartment.” art stopped talking to look around his dorm before shrugging going back to teaching you. “ugh i’m so jealous i’d kill for a dorm this big-” “you like to distracted yourself from your work when you don’t understand it.” art said cutting you off. you just stared at him not knowing what to say. art senses the awkward tension he created. “i’m sorry i didn’t mean to make you feel bad just if you payed attention i think you could really get it.” art spoke softly and you just nodded finally shutting up and listening to him.

studying with art was kinda fun. every saturday you’d meet at his dorm and listen to explain more in depth what your professor didn’t. at first art was very rigid but after a while you got him to loosen up. he now laughed openly with you and made stupid math jokes.

“ART!” you ran over to where he was sitting under a tree. art closed his book standing up when he saw you rushing toward him. “look what i did.” you shoved you test paper in his face smiling. “a B congratulations you’ve officially passed.” you couldn’t contain the squeal that came out of you when you pulled art into a tight hug. “no thanks to you. how will i ever repay you.” you pouted. art just shook his head saying there was no need. you gasp. “delta phi is having a party tonight you have to come and hang out with me.” the second art heard the frat name he was already declining. “parties aren’t really my thing.” art scratches at the back of his head. “bullshit dondalson, you saved me from failing which mean we have to celebrate. you’re coming weither you like it or not.” you gave art an excited smile and he gave you a nervous one back.

(a part 2 will be happening 🙏🏽) part 2.

[mingtinysworld]

Extra Credit

Pairing: tutor!wooyoung x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: you can’t help but admire how attractive your tutor is, and you finally decide to do something about it

Warnings: mdni, handjob, oral (m receiving), pet names (pretty boy, love, baby)

A/n: this is a request from my friend, so she takes the credit for the idea. I’m so obsessed with the idea of stuttery and shy Wooyoung hehehe. I hope you enjoy!! Please reblog if you liked it, love youuu - jules

“Ok and then the exponent goes here, and since it’s 3, that means it’s cubed.” Wooyoung explains with a passionate voice, his interest in math clearly obvious.

You don’t listen to a single word though. You can’t. He looks so pretty sitting there, big sparkly eyes that are covered by his black frame glasses. His hair is fluffy and covers his forehead, making you want to run your hands through it.

You feel yourself so mesmerized that you don’t even hear Wooyoung calling your name.

“Y/n, hellooo earth to Y/n.” He says with a slight chuckle.

You snap out of your daze and give him a sheepish look. “Oh sorry, I just got distracted there for a second.”

“All good!” He replies, sounding so chipper. He continues with his rambling about equations and who the hell knows what else. All you care about is Wooyoung.

You’ve been having tutoring sessions with him for the last 3 weeks, and you’ve totally become enamored by him. He’s just so so sweet.

But so oblivious.

You’ve tried every method of getting him to even look at you suggestively, but he simply averts his eyes and continues with his lesson. It’s got you so frustrated and you can’t even explain the reason as to why without sounding like you’ve lost your mind.

Today, you unbuttoned your shirt. A lot of buttons. So much so that the top of your black bra shows under your white top. Once again, Wooyoung has not spared you a glance.

You take a look at the clock and see you only have five more minutes of the session left. In that moment, you make a decision. You’re not leaving Wooyoung’s place without getting some kind of result.

“Ok! That was it for this lesson, and I will let you know when we can…” His words trail off as he realized just how close you are to him. You’ve scooted your chair right next to him, making your shoulders touch. His breath hitches at the way you make direct eye contact, and you can’t help but feel proud of this tiny achievement.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, tilting your head and innocently batting your eyelashes.

His cheeks light up in embarrassment and he looks straight in front of him, avoiding your eyes again.

“Wooyoung, look at me.” You let your voice carry a demanding tone, which makes him obey immediately.

“Oh look at you, you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.” You take a hand to his cheek and just hold him there. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to realize how much I want you.”

His eyes widen at your admission and he opens his mouth as if to speak but no words come out.

“That’s alright, you don’t have to say anything. I’ll take care of you.” You lean into him and put your lips against his.

He responds immediately.

It’s as if he’s been touch starved his whole life with the way he clings onto you. You kiss him gently at first, not wanting him to get intimidated. However, it seems like he wants way more.

“What do you want pretty boy?”

“I-I’m not sure, I haven’t um really done anything like this before.” He looks at you nervously, anticipating your reaction. Then it hits you. Wooyoung’s a virgin. That explains everything, from him being nervous to him going wild at the slightest touch.

“Aw baby, that’s ok. I can make you feel really good, I promise.” You stand him up from his chair and make him sit down right on top of the study table. “All you have to do is just sit there and feel good.” He nods timidly while biting his lip.

You slowly unbuckle and unzip his pants, letting the material pool around his ankles. Immediately his hard bulge catches your attention. Wooyoung looks so flustered, and looks anywhere but at you.

“Youngie you’re so excited for me, I’m so flattered.” You settle a hand on him and he whimpers from the contact.

“Has anyone ever touched you here baby?” You ask sweetly.

“N-no never,” Wooyoung already sounds ruined and it makes your ego inflate. You now take off his boxers and his hard dick slaps against his shirt. Your hand wraps around his length and Wooyoung bucks into you, chasing more stimulation.

You slowly stroke his length which makes his breath stutter. There was so much precum gathered at his tip that it makes your grip slippery.

“Oh you’re just so needy aren’t you?” You pump his length faster now that he’s actively letting out desperate whines.

“Oh my god o-oh my god,” he repeats while throwing his back. “I think I’m gonna cum.”

“Already?” You question in a teasing manner. He just whines in response.

“Good boy, you can cum for me,” you give permission. As soon as you do, he cums with a strained groan and it splatters all over his clean t-shirt.

“You did so well love,” you praise with a warm smile. “So proud of you.”

“I want more.” Wooyoung says in a demanding tone.

“Oh? Getting brave now huh.” You say with a smirk, as you lean over to give him a quick peck on his flushed cheek. “As you wish.”

You slide down to your knees, taking in his length hardening once more. You smoothly take him into your mouth, making him squeak out in surprise. Wooyoung instinctively grabs onto your hair, making you choke out a moan. His entire dick fills your mouth, cutting off all oxygen.

As you come off to take a breath, you watch as his facial expression twists into pleasure. You think you could watch Wooyoung’s face all day and not get tired of it. But you go back on him, going even deeper than before.

“Oh fuck Y/n,” Wooyoung swears. He feels like he’s about to explode again, too quick for his liking. But you double your efforts, bobbing your head at a brisk pace, offering no breaks. He bucks his hips into your mouth, and you fight the urge to gag. You keep going until he finally tips over the edge.

His legs shake with the effort and the tears in his eyes make him look so pretty. You swallow down his cum and you stand up to take a good look at him. “How was that pretty boy?”

Wooyoung wraps his arms around you, pulling you in tight. He hides his face in your neck, making his words muffled.

“Thank you Y/n,” he says gratefully.

You can’t help but coo at his sweetness, so pleasantly surprised with the turn of events. “You’re so welcome love. Would you like to relax now?”

He nods yes into your skin and you chuckle at him. “Ok baby, let’s cuddle on the couch.” You help him put his clothes back on, and lead him to the couch. You put on a cozy show and settle down to lay together.

He smiles shyly at you as he snuggles into you. “That was worth extra credit by the way.” He says with a cute blush on his cheeks.

[aakeysmash]

Roommate or boss?

part 2, part 3, part 4

Pairing: f!reader x Katsuki Bakugou.

Warnings: none, really. AND THEY WERE POSSIBLE ROOMMATES, MAYBE?

Context: 3k words. Reader is a barista and she only meets Bakugo at the end of this </3. He’s her boss but she doesn’t know. I don’t delve into this tho, just so you know. They’re both 22.

A/N: never thought I’d write a slow burn but I HATE not giving context. This is just me yapping with zero grammar context whatsoever. The reader is super oc in this one, but all the girl names I thought about were UGLY. Let me know what you think about it!

“No.”

“Come onnnn it’s gonna be just this one time” pleads your best friend from the other end of the phone.

“Ochaco, you know I hate when you pull this shit” you reply, while putting your jacket on.

“I knowww, but listen, me and the cute guy have had NO time for ourselves lately and-“

“And you’re leaving me doing this assignment with who knows who? We’re always partners for physics, you know I can’t do it all alone and you can’t phrase your deductions to save your life. We complete each other. You’re my soulmate. Why are you leaving me for a guy?” you whine, while closing the door of your apartment and walking towards your car.

“It’s gonna be just this one time, I promise! It’s not like we’re gonna fail. I think. I hope…” she mumbles.

You sigh. “If we do fail, you’re getting your ass beaten, I am so for real” you concede after thinking about it. You start your car and put your phone on speaker.

“BABEEE I love youuuu! You know you’re the only one for me! I promise to finally tell you all the details on Saturday” she squeals.

You wince. “Nah, I can’t this Saturday. I have to work, manager is on vacay. Maybe Sunday?” you said, knowing she will start rambling.

“Y/N just leave that place, they don’t even value you as a person, let alone as a worker. Plus, your manager is a bitch” Ochaco says sternly. “I still haven’t got over the fact she makes you work double shifts just because she wants to be in Bali with her new stupid tomboy. Who, by the way, cheats on her. You said so yourself, and I heard him and your colleague going at it that one time I came to visit you last week -not Momo, bless her heart, how is she by the way?- oh and he steals her money. And-“

“I need the money, and I do love to make coffees for the nice old ladies that tip me” you interrupt your more-than-protective best friend, knowing that she could go on complaining for hours if you didn’t stop her. “Also, I just got to the cafe and I’m already running late. I’ll text you when I get off, okay? Love you”.

“Yeah yeah. Don’t overwork yourself too much, love you” and you hang up.

You and Ochaco have been friends since you were babies. Your parents were neighbours back in your hometown, and your moms coincidentally got pregnant in a span of 2 months apart from each other. You have been attached to the hip all of your school years, and fortunately you have been accepted at the same campus at university. You moved to different apartments because you wanted to be independent, but you are still living pretty near each other. You are enrolled in literature, while Ochaco has a passion for astronomy; you had chosen physics as a bonus class for some extra credits since Ochaco said it would be easy and you trusted her, but she didn’t take into consideration that you failed math throughout all of high school, and she had to save your ass multiple times in the past. You’ll never forget her face when she got an 86% on one of the graded tests she did for you: she was so disappointed she made you ask the professor to redo the test, which you barely knew the basics of. She got 100%, and the professor congratulated you (her) for being such an overachiever. You never felt more ashamed of yourself and proud of your best friend at the same time. On the other hand, she made you do her English essays on a monthly basis, so she really wasn’t in the place to complain about doing all the dirty work for you.

You had partnered up with her since she was a genius, but she met this ��cute guy” a month ago and was head over heels for him. She still hasn’t said his name to you, all you know is that he is a part of the physics course and he apparently just stole your assignment partner.

You sigh inwardly. Sometimes you wished love could come to you as easily as it comes to Ochaco. She is a lover girl at heart, nicer than anybody could ever hope to be, but she sure could bite if she had to. She has been there for some of the worst moments of your life, and you have done the same for her. You really didn’t know what you would do without her. Maybe you should get her an apology pastry from the cafe’s leftovers to make up for the last two missed Saturdays (“they’re for the girls!” she said, and you meticulously met up every week up until you had gotten a job).

You’re a bit distracted by thinking about her when you get into the place you work at. It’s a cute cafe, a little bit too orange for your taste, but it’s cozy enough to make work pleasurable. Plus, it’s 5 minutes from your apartment (15 if you walk, but you are lazy). They pay on time, the coffee is good and the clientele isn’t too bad. If it wasn’t for-

“You’re 32 seconds late. You’re getting a formal complaint this time” says your manager, waiting for you with her arms crossed.

“Put that on the note that says I worked 8 extra hours a week for the last 5 months. Hello to you too, weren’t you supposed to be in the Philippines or whatever by now?” you say sickening sweet, with the fakest smile you can muster, while you pass next to her to get to the room behind the register.

“Shut your smart mouth up before I get you fired!” she almost screams. Some of the people at the table near her look at her like she’s crazy before going back to their cappuccino.

“My oh my miss Utsushimi, it’s not nice to use that tone before the rush hour” you reply, giving an apologetic look at your regulars next to her.

“Mpfh, whatever. Close up this place when you’re done, the boss will probably be in to ask you for the keys at the end of your shift. I’ll be MIA for the next two weeks, bye” she says to you. Then she turns around and smiles sweetly at the clients who previously looked at her with distaste and lies “pregnancy hormones I hope, me and my man are trying for a baby, I’m sorry for scaring you!”. You know damn well she had an IUD appointment last week, because she made you work instead of working herself. Fake bitch.

Without saying anything else, she leaves the place.

“I hate her ass so much”, says someone next to you.

You snicker. “Who doesn’t, Momo?” you face her with a genuine smile.

“Never leave me alone with her ever again, you know I can’t survive this place without you, work wifey” she kisses your cheek fast, before going back to making coffee for a client at the register.

“Ochaco will be hearing about this and she’ll slap you” you laugh heartily.

“I love her too, she’s my work wifey’s wifey, so she’s basically my wifey” she winks at you.

After a few more laughs here and there, you both go back to work like usual.

A couple of hours pass and it’s closing time. Momo waves you goodbye, clocking out. “I’m so tired I could sleep on the floor right now” she whines.

“Yeah, how about no. Let’s go, babe. We don’t want to drag Y/N’s time” says her boyfriend, Shoto, who shoots you a nod of acknowledgement before placing a hand on her lower back and escorting her out of the cafe. “I remember suffering at closing times, let’s leave her be and go home” he nudges your colleague, smiling down at her. He has been inside the cafe a lot in the years you’ve worked here, sometimes picking Momo up. Momo says he was one of the best bartenders the cafe ever had, but he found a job that payed him more and he decided to leave. You couldn’t blame him.

“See you soon, you two lovebirds!” you reply, waving a hand of your own.

Now all alone since even the waiters have gone home, you clean up the counter before packing up the pastry for Ochaco.

“Damn, I have to wait for the boss to give him the keys” you remember, rubbing your face.

You wait 45 minutes before a redhead makes his way into the cafe. He seems busy on the phone with someone.

“I’m here, let me just get- fuck no I don’t wanna talk to Camie about it, Baku- no, wait- fire? Are you going to take her place and finally come down here like the boss you are? Yes, I know- what? And where would we- what do I have to do with all of this? No, I’m going home- fuck, he hung up” the man sighs, before turning his body towards you.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, not really manly from me” he smiles, looking sorry.

“Oh don’t worry about it!” your smile was really stretched, and you think he notices, because he says “sorry” again. “The manager said to give you the keys. So you’re the boss?” you say politely, stretching your hand with the keys towards him.

You’ve seen him multiple times, he’s a regular. He always gets the same order (one black coffee and one hot chocolate with extra cinnamon), and he always tips you and Momo well. Today he seems distressed.

“I wouldn’t wish to be the boss, to be fair. You could say I’m his right hand. Where’s Camie? Boss needs to talk to her in private before next week comes” he sighs.

“She said she’ll be gone for two weeks” you reply, confused.

“And who said she could do that?” Kirishima, you think that’s his name since you’ve written it on his order just yesterday, looks at you in disbelief. You shrug. “I don’t ask. The less I know about her, the better I feel about working here”. You start to pack your things up, before going towards the door with the man following behind you closely.

“This is nuts. I hate doing job interviews” he mumbles fast, turning the key in the lock. You raise an eyebrow, what is he even talking about?

“Do you live near? If not, I could give you a ride. I’d hate losing the only barista who makes boss man’s drink good enough to not make him pissy” he says, while pointing to his car.

You laugh. “It’s just a hot chocolate. Tell him he should try it with a few drops of hot sauce in it. Sounds disgusting but it’s actually pretty good. Also don’t worry, I live just down the street”. He nods and you wave each other goodbye.

“It does sound horrible. Thanks again for waiting, see you tomorrow for the same exact order I always make” he grins, then gets in his car and drives away, not after seeing you get in your car as well.

Once at home you call Ochaco, who’s “been worried sick, you never get home this late”.

“Y/N you seriously need a roommate. Did you even eat?” she reprimands.

You sigh. “I have to meet someone tomorrow. But you know, girls tend to look at you weirdly when you say you need them to know how to cook. They feel like you’re looking for a maid. Like, I can’t eat sandwiches every day like I did with the last roommate I had” you explain while opening your fridge. Sausages and smashed potatoes from yesterday will do the job for today.

“The psycho who thought vegetables made her look weak? Freak” you hear your best friend snicker. “At what time are they coming over?”

You groan and say “8 am. It’s a guy this time. Who wakes up before 8 am at uni? He’s already lost 2 points for this” while gulping down your food.

Ochaco’s snicker is now a full laugh. “People who have their lives together, maybe? But pay attention, males scare me” she replies quieting down.

“Yeah yeah. I’m gonna sleep now, text me the deets for Sunday, okay?” you clean your plate and go to the bathroom to wash your teeth.

“Will doooo. Good night, babe” she smooches on the mic before hanging up.

After making sure you locked your apartment door, you go to your bed, where you manage to fall asleep in thirty seconds.

The next morning you’re brutally awakened by the sound of your doorbell. You look at your phone screen: 7:42 am.

“Who the fuck is it now?” you grumble, before going down the stairs and looking through your peephole.

“Shitty hair I swear if this takes me more than 10 minutes… she hasn’t even opened the door. Yeah, she said 8 am, who cares if I’m early? I AM NOT the only one awake on a Saturday morning. Y’all are just lazy fucks” a blonde rudely says into his phone. You can hear him talking loudly from behind the door. You widen your eyes, before screaming “coming! Give me 5 minutes!” and rushing towards your bathroom to make yourself presentable. “Fuck, I forgot about the roommate appointment” you whine, while putting on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. At least they are clean.

You open the door to find a broad man staring at you menacingly. He’s kinda tall, kinda (really) fit, kinda underdressed for the winter. Kinda hot, too.

“Hi, how can I help you?” you offer him the nicest smile your still sleepy mind can muster.

He looks you up and down, before focusing on your face and levelling you with an indifferent look.

“You must be Y/N. I’m Katsuki Bakugo, we had to meet at 8 am for the spare room offer. I've been here for 15 minutes” he gruffly declares.

You add “rude” to your list of “kinda”. You don’t like his tone. -1 point.

“Yeah, and it’s 7:48” you bite back, your smile faltering while shaking his outstretched hand. He’s definitely going to the gym with the callouses he has.

“Come in, I’ll let you see what you’re getting yourself into”, you say, opening your door more.

You live in a nice apartment, you think. There’s a nice kitchen with a nice island that also serves as a table in front of it, a blueish couch in front of the tv, and a couple of steps that bring you to a corridor with three doors: your room, the spare one and the bathroom.

You describe everything while he stays in absolute silence next to you. It makes you feel uneasy. -1 point.

You just finished showing him the bathroom and are ready to tell him you don’t think he’s a good suitor when he finally speaks up.

“And how much do you pay for this shit?” he asks. Nice voice, you think. Gravelly and rough enough to not sound annoyingly forced. +1 point.

“500 a month” you reply, while returning to the kitchen.

“Your shower needs some work done, it leaks. Also, mold is starting to show on the bathroom ceiling, might wanna check on that. Your oven looks unusable in the condition it’s in. Small tv. At least you’re clean from what I've seen” he begins to say.

You frown and turn to look at him. Did this bitch talk for the first time in 15 minutes only to complain?

“Do you even know how to cook with said oven?” you say, ignoring everything else he just said, and giving him a nasty look.

He tsks. “Yes. Is this your way of asking me to cook you fucking breakfast? I don’t eat with lazy people who get out of bed at 11 am” he makes sure to say.

You scoff. Men really do find the audacity to say stuff like this nowadays? It seems like you've been out of the loop for too much.

“You showed up early. It’s a sign of disrespect, you know? Also no, I know how to fix myself something. I just don’t want you to burn my kitchen down to a crisp and smell takeout whenever I get home” you say in the rudest way you find possible.

He smirks before saying “might wanna check on that fucking attitude of yours too before I poison your food”, tapping your shoulder to get you out of the way and take out some pans. You showed him where to find them earlier on.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you say in disbelief. “This is still my kitchen. Get out”.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m making you fucking breakfast to say sorry for interrupting your princess sleep. Just make coffee while I come up with something. If you know how to make it, that is” he doesn’t even look at you while getting eggs, milk and bread out of the fridge.

You’re baffled. He’s making himself at home when you didn’t even say he was accepted.

“Wait, you’re still not-“

“I'll give you the money at the start of every month. I’ll paint the walls of the room, I hate that fucking green, but painters are scammers so I’m doing it myself. I’m clean, I’ll just need a spare key in a matter of days to take my shit here. I’ll keep myself in my room if you keep yourself in yours. Any further requests?” he interrupts you, assembling his french toasts on the pan.

You’re even more stunned. But you’ve always been quick with your thoughts, so you come up with something.

“I’ll say yes if those french toasts are good. If they’re not, your ass is out” you say, still not looking at him, while making coffee.

“Might say yes if you know how to make a hot chocolate from scratch instead of the poor coffee that machine will make” he watches you from the corner of his eye. You scoff, you’re a barista nonetheless: who does he think he’s talking to? Meanwhile, he could swear he knew you from somewhere.

“Deal”.

“Deal”.

Neither to say, the french toasts were “not that bad” and your hot chocolate was “barely fucking acceptable”.

[dashielldeveron]

soulmate trope | aizawa, part one.

Aizawa's route of soulmate trope.

Part one bc tumblr formatting weird. Part two here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bolted.

***

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

On the other hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

No blankets on floor.

No…no little bedside rug.

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

Something was pressed against your back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get out of my apartment.”

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

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

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

“I don’t have—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You lifted your hand just a hair from his hand.

You have a stopped-up nose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you said, sniffing.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t.”

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

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

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

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

“Aizawa-sensei—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Check your fingertips.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” He didn’t even look at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goddammit.

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you know already? Were you just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We have a uniform.”

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

“No.”

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

You checked it. “I’ll make it work.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

An increased probability of cliches, Ito had said.

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

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

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

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

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

“I can—”

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

Fuuuuuck, when will Aizawa let you in?

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

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

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

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

Bless him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aizawa froze, his hand stilling in your hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you holding up?”

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

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

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

“Am I?”

Was that…was he flirting?

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

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

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

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

“Are we married yet?”

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

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

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

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

He frowned. “Stop that.”

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

“That’s not what I said.”

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

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

“How’s the training with Shinsou going?”

“You are not funny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want me to check on Eri?”

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

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

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

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

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

He was staring into a blank screen.

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

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

***

It was supposed to be a routine field exercise.

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

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

No contingency plan could account for this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Claustrophobia.

Not your favourite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, baby—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I—”

“Do it.”

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

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

And—

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

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

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

“I’m not doing anything—”

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

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

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

His shoulders seemed wider than before.

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

He didn’t respond.

An easy grin stretched across your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wha—?”

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

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

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

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

And the quirk had passed through you.

It counted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Some professors like me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t put it past you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, my God.

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

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

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

You know who else likes naps?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you good to drive back to campus?”

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

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

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

[redtsundere-writes]

Out Of My League | Kayn Shieda / Rhaast

Heartsteel!Kayn Shieda / Rhaast x f!reader

Part 2: Shotcalling.

Part 1. Part 3. Part 4.

Sypnosis: A chronically online girl trying to get out of the friendzone. Contents: Modern AU, High school AU. Friends to lovers. Fluff and some angst. No warnings. Word count: 6982 words. Author's Note: So... I wasn't going to post a second part but the guys in AO3 asked for it so here it is as well lol.

Two months ago, you discovered that your weird online friend, Rhaast, was the famous Kayn Shieda, one of the most popular boys in school. Luckily, this dynamic change just strengthened your friendship. Now, both talked every time you ran into each other in the hallway and played League at night while criticizing people from school on call. You were lucky to have his attention, even if it meant that your jealous classmates glared at you every time you talked too much to him. You loved this new phase, but you knew it would end soon. 

The school year was a month away and that meant two things. The first one was that the famous annual talent show was approaching. It was a farewell event your school organized for the students. It was an important event attended by students and the general public. At first, it was meant to be a one-time event, but thanks to the great reception it became a tradition. Your math teacher liked to encourage students to participate, so he always gave extra credits to those who did. Credits that you urgently needed if you didn't want to take summer classes. 

So here you were, meticulously searching for a simple song that you could play and sing at the same time on Spotify. You weren't the best singer but at least it would be better than just boringly playing guitar. You were lying on a bench in the music room. That oasis where you met Kayn. That embarrassing memory had transformed into a nostalgic one. You were still an introvert and shy, but not with Kayn. 

"Found you," you heard Kayn as he entered the room with his characteristic velvety voice. 

Your heart skipped a beat mercilessly on your chest like the first day. Your hands started to sweat, so you quickly wiped them on your pants. Your lungs were feeling out of breath with every step he took towards you, but you quickly regained your composure. 

"What are you doing here?" You asked while putting your phone aside, pretending that his presence was no big deal. Kayn threw a soda can at you which you skillfully caught. 

"I didn't see you in the cafeteria, so I thought you'd be here," he said. Kayn quickly noticed your guitar. 

He was an observant man, he almost knew your routine by just watching your behavior. The guitar caught his attention because you almost never brought it to school, unless you participated in class and you didn't have music class that day. 

"Are you going to perform at the talent show?" You nodded and sat properly on the bench to drink the soda comfortably. 

"I have to do it if I want to pass math. I'll just play an easy song," you explained before taking a sip. 

"Heartsteel will also perform. That means we are rivals now," Kayn joked as he sat down next to you. You rolled your eyes. 

"It's not fair, you guys have practically have the contest on the bag," you said while frowning. He laughed at how cute you looked when you did that. 

"Do you already have a song in mind?" Kayn asked curiously. He had never heard you sing, so this new side caught his attention. 

"Yes, it goes something like this…" You replied before picking up your guitar again. Your fingers delicately positioned on the strings and you began to play a couple of chords to create a simple melody. 

"Two sides to a story, but never tell my side. Never been the kinda guy to stay inside the guidelines..." You rapped like Kayn did in Paranoia. He laughed when he heard you. Not to mock you, he just wasn't expecting you to know the lyrics. He couldn't stop smiling as you recited his part perfectly.  

"No one can replace me, baby," he commented sarcastically while applauding at your brief presentation. 

"I know, but I am a close second," you said pretending that your ego was as high as his. 

He watched you closely as you mocked his narcissistic personality. He liked that he could be himself when you were around, but he still couldn't let himself go like he wished. 

"What will you do without me?" He suddenly asked in a serious tone, completely changing the fun atmosphere you had created. 

"We've been online friends for 2 years, I'll be fine," you responded with the same tone as you noticed his concern. Kayn shook his head at the response. 

"You know it won't be like before. When I graduate, I will dedicate myself fully to my musical career and I won't have as much time to play or talk with you as we used to," he explained with a melancholic tone. 

The school year was a month away and that meant two things. The second thing was that Kayn, a senior student, would be graduating soon. You would no longer see him singing in the hallways, eating with his friends or playing basketball. Also, he had recently debuted with his band, Heartsteel, and they had recently released their first single. That would mean he would be busier with rehearsals, fan meetings and concerts. Just thinking about it saddens you, but you knew that he was fulfilling his dream and you had to support him. You still had a month left so you had to make the most of it. 

"You worry about nothing," you told him before nudging his arm so he stopped being so tense. 

"You know that I will always be available for you," you smiled at him so he would stop thinking about the future so could focus on the present. 

It was true that you always wanted to be by his side, but he was a star and you had to give him space to shine. If Kayn was happy, you would be. Even if it meant that your delicate heart would be sad in the mornings when you couldn't see him in the sky. 

The school day ended and you were heading back to the music room to retrieve your guitar. You grabbed the sheet music you had written during the break once Kayn went back to his friends, put the notebook in your bag and hung the guitar on your back. You left the room and looked out the window at a scene you hadn't seen in a while. 

Kayn was in front of a beautiful girl. You recognized her easily given her good reputation as the captain of the school’s volleyball team. With just a glance, it was obvious how good they looked together. Did you look like that next to him? Most likely you looked like one of his eager fans. 

She handed him an envelope decorated with hearts and kisses. She was confessing her love to him and he was receiving it. One after another, Rhaast used to tell you that he dated a new girl every week because “there's Rhaast for everyone,” or that's what he always used to say on call. You had already gotten used to seeing that scene in the distance many times when it came to the out of league Kayn, but this time it was different. Because you were close to him, you now felt like you had a chance to confess your feelings with ease and that's why you were jealous of the captain. Now you understood your jealous classmates, you had become one of them. 

If your time with Kayn was limited, you had to make the most of it. You had to confess no matter the outcome. Sure, you were afraid that he would cruelly reject your feelings but you didn't care. You wanted to tell Kayn everything your heart had been locking up since you first saw him. 

If you were going to confess, you were going to do it in Kayn's style. You were going to give him the best confession he had ever seen in his life, so you could stand out among your pretty rivals. You were going to write him a song and perform it in front of the whole school at the talent show. Did you know how to write a song? No. Were you ready to sing your feelings in front of a large audience? Also no, but that would be a problem for the future you. You had to do it to make the most out of the opportunity. 

You watched tutorials on YouTube on how to compose music, you researched how to write romantic lyrics, and you asked your friends on Discord what they thought of how the song was turning out. Some showed their support while others made fun of you, but that didn't matter to you in the slightest. Your confidence was the highest it has ever been and no one could take away your motivation. 

You decided to write a song about how Kayn made you feel every time you saw him, how you couldn't take your eyes off him even if you wanted to, and how you wanted him to look at you like you were the prettiest girl in the room. You wrote him a song to show him how bad you wanted him compared to the other girls. 

One night, Kayn sent you a message while you were focused on writing. You ignored your computer because you were repeating a verse that didn't convince you how it sounded with the beat. 

Kayn was in his dark messy room. The glow of his computer dimly illuminated his pale body. He frowned when he noticed that you didn't answer him as quickly as you usually did. He sent another message to get your attention, but this one was also ignored. “She better be showering or else,” he thought, annoyed. Minutes passed by and you showed no signs of life. Kayn had no choice but to send another message... which you didn't answer. This was really rare in you. “Is she mad at me?” he thought before starting to analyze everything he had said or done to find out the reason for your strange attitude towards him. 

“Damn, what did I do?” he asked himself, starting to worry. He got up from his gaming chair to walk anxious from side to side through the gloomy room. “Maybe she's talking to someone else,” he thought, looking at your Discord chat. Out of nowhere, a shirtless K'Sante walked into the room. 

"Hey, Kayn, can I borrow some of your shampoo? I ran out of mine," he asked with a towel hanging over his broad shoulder. 

"Do you think she hates me?" Kayn asked without taking his eyes off the unread messages. “What this have to do with shampoo?” K'Sante thought, confused. 

"Why would she hate you?" he asked, unsure if he wanted to participate in the conversation. 

Kayn trusted K'Sante when it came to talking about girls because he was the one who gave the best advice out of all the members of Heartsteel. 

"I don't know! I already sent her three texts and she doesn't answer me!" Kayn cried, desperate for attention. K'Sante sighed as he shook his head. 

"You're overreacting," he said, getting fed up with his friend's nonsense before closing the door. Kayn huffed and settled back down in front of his computer. 

Eventually you were able to rewrite the verse that bothered you so much and thus you finished writing the lyrics of the song. You checked your phone and were surprised to see Rhaast's messages. 

@Rhaast: League or what? (10:30 pm)

@Rhaast: Heeeyyyyy (10:38 pm)

@Rhaast: YOU CAN'T BE BUSY, I'M YOUR ONLY FRIEND!! 😞 (10:45 PM)

You didn't hesitate to call him as soon as you read those messages. Rhaast answered you almost immediately. 

"What did I do to deserve your coldness?" he asked, annoyed at you. “What's up with him?” you asked yourself. 

"Nothing, I was just busy," You said as you searched in your room for an excuse to give him other than “I was writing a love song for you.” 

"I was doing homework, Mr. Smith left us so many problems to solve," you said as seriously as possible to lie the best you could. 

"You better, you said you would always be available for me," Kayn refuted, less angry this time. 

"I'm sorry I have a life outside of you," you responded sarcastically. 

"I will always be part of your life!" he barked. Kayn was grateful that you couldn't see his cheeks slightly blushing for saying that so boldly. You smiled and shook your head. 

"Yeah, yeah... Are we going to play or are you going to keep yapping?" You mocked him before opening the game. Kayn sighed in relief after realizing you weren't upset with him. 

The talent show was two weeks away. You were practicing the song you had written in the music room. It was 5 pm. There were almost no students in school, so you felt comfortable practicing without interruptions. Your fingers slid along the strings to play the melody that you had worked so hard to compose. You sang what your heart wanted to say to Kayn but was too of a coward to do so. You were in your element.

"It doesn't sound bad,'' a voice said behind you out of nowhere. You screamed in shock and turned around quickly to see Kayn's friend, Yone, standing in the doorway. You were relieved that at least he wasn't your crush. 

You didn't know much about Yone. He was one of the popular kids in school thanks to his height, handsome appearance, and his piano skills. He was also a very important member of Heartsteel because he was the main producer and songwriter. You only knew that because Kayn talks about him from time to time to complain about how uptight and serious he could be.

"I'm s-sorry, I was-sn't expecting anyone here," you stubbornly said when you saw the handsome boy with white hair and red highlights, a perfectly sculpted face and a great presence enter the room. He approached you while analyzing you from head to toe. 

"Did you compose that?" He asked skeptically before taking your sheet music notebook. 

"Ah y-yes, it's the firs-st one I w-write," you responded, avoiding his intense gaze as he flipped through your sheet music and notes. 

Yone knew perfectly well who you were. You were Kayn's closest friend, which is already a pretty impressive title considering Kayn has no friends. He might have many acquaintances, but he could count his true friends with one hand. He knew you were nice, funny, good at playing League and liked to play guitar. Yone didn't really care, but Kayn couldn't stop talking about you. He was surprised at your apparent interest in writing music since his friend had never mentioned it. 

"Is it for Kayn?" He asked directly about the song. Your eyes widened at how quickly he deciphered the lyrics.

"What?! Of course not!" You blurted out blushing. Yone gave you a dubious look as he handed your notebook back. 

"By the color of your face, I can determine that you are lying" Your head fell in defeat. 

"Please don't tell Kayn. It's a surprise," You begged. Yone nodded in camaraderie. As a songwriter, he understood that songs are sacred and confidential until one wishes to share them. 

"Your song has potential, is it the one you will perform in the talent show?" he inquired. You just nodded. His serious expression did not allow you to decipher his true intentions. 

"Do you think Kayn will like it?" You asked him with a light blush running down your cheeks in awkwardness. Yone thought about his answer. 

"I've never seen Kayn listening to a romantic ballad, that sounds more like Ezreal's style," Yone answered as he approached one of the storage lockers in the room. The reason he was there was to get back some amplifiers he had lent to a classmate.  

"But I can help you produce something he will like," he offered before stuffing the amps into his backpack. 

"Will you really help me?" You asked excitedly. 

"I like supporting new artists and I think I can polish the rough diamond you have in your hands," he explained, pointing to the music sheet. You smiled and thanked his kind offer. 

And like that, the days went by. Yone would invite you to his production room from time to time to work on the song. Together began to change some verses so that the lyrics flowed better. Yone changed your acoustic guitar for an electric one. You recorded your voice while he worked on uniting all the sounds to create a song so you could proclaim your love. 

Both were listening to the final version of the song. It was direct and fierce. The sound of the guitar next to the drums was made to catch anyone's attention, but it would definitely catch Kayn's. When it finished, you applauded the wonderful job Yone had done. 

"It's such a bop!" You shouted excitedly, unable to believe that you were the one singing. 

"Kayn won't know what hit him when I perform this bad boy!" You said enthusiastically. Yone smiled softly seeing you with so much energy, something that was unusual in you. 

"Can I ask you something?" Yone said. You looked at him curiously.

"Why don't you just tell him this in private? Why composing  and singing a song in front of everyone? Doesn't sound like something you'd do," Yone asked.

"Because I want him to look at me the way I look at him when he's on stage. I want him to see that I understand him and that I'm cool as well so that he wants to be with me," you explained with a smile plastered on your face thinking about his reaction. Yone nodded before saving the song file to his computer. You got up from your seat to grab your things. 

"You have something else to do?" You asked him. Yone said no. 

"I'll treat you to a coffee, it's the least I can do after tolerating me these couple weeks," You invited. Yone giggled. 

"Believe me, Kayn and the guys are lucky they're talented." He said tiredly. You just limited yourself to laugh. 

Both arrived at a coffee shop near Yone's apartment and ordered delicious drinks. You sat on a comfortable couch to enjoy your coffees while bossa nova covers played in the background. You liked Yone, he could be serious and a little bitter, but he was very kind. It was like you were hanging out with a cat. 

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Yone asked while shaking his cold brew so that the ice would cool the coffee he was about to drink. 

Tomorrow was the talent show. Your nervous body was shaking but your mind was excited to finally show Kayn what you've been working on for him. 

"Yes, I'll practice all night and put on a nice outfit," you answered confidently. Yone sipped his drink as he watched you excitedly talking about your outfit choices. “I hope Kayn doesn't ruin it” he thought as he focused on seeing you smile. 

The bell that indicated the entry of new customers into the cafe rang. To both of your surprise, it was the other members of Heartsteel, Kayn among them. Your body froze and you looked at Yone worried but he was as calm as always. You tried telepathically telling him not to say anything about the song, but he already knew that. Sett became aware of your presence as soon as he entered. 

"Hey, Yone. I thought you said you'd be busy," Sett said as he approached you and the other members followed him. 

Kayn didn't know what to say as soon as he saw you sitting so closely to Yone. "What's going on here?" he wondered as his gaze bounced between you and his friend. You looked nervous, like you had been caught red-handed. 

"I was busy," Yone answered, pointing in your direction. 

"Doing what exactly?" Kayn questioned, placing himself in front of both of you. You were going to answer but Yone beat you to it. 

"I'm helping her with her performance for the talent show," Yone explained calmly. 

"That's true?" Kayn asked you directly with a grim expression. 

"Yes, he has helped me a lot," you responded nervously, which Kayn obviously noticed. 

He knew you were lying. You were a terrible liar. Kayn needed to know what was really going on. 

"Really? Because it seems like you lovey doveys are on a date," Ezreal stirred the pot without knowing. Aphelios whack him for saying such thing. 

Date. That was the word that broke Kayn. “Are they really on a date?” He thought as if he couldn't understand the situation when it was so obvious. Yone and you being alone, him suddenly being busy the last two weeks without telling anyone what he was doing, and that time where you took a while to answer his messages. It was as if Kayn had finally put the whole puzzle together but he was forcing pieces into the incorrect places. “They're dating” he convinced himself that what was in front of him was reality. 

"I have to go," Kayn said suddenly before quickly leaving the premises. No lame excuses, he just left. 

You noticed that something wasn't right when Kayn slammed the door of the establishment, so you got up and left after him without apologizing to anyone. You went out into the street and looked for Kayn to see which way he had taken. To your surprise, he was nowhere to be seen. “He's fast,” you thought before heading to the right… when Kayn had gone left. 

After not being able to find him, you sent him a Discord message to make sure everything was okay but he didn't reply. You decided to leave him alone and see him at the talent show. “Maybe he's just jealous that I became friends with someone else” you thought, trying to find the logic in Kayn's illogical behavior. 

The day of the long-awaited talent show had finally arrived. The school auditorium was filled with students, family members and journalists waiting to see an incredible show. Your nervousness and anxiety increased as soon as you entered backstage. Beautiful girls in pretty leotards, guys going over their lines and clowns bombarded your field of vision and you didn't know who to see. You held tightly the strap of the electric guitar case that Yone had lent you for the performance. You took a deep breath and entered the place. 

You ran into the Heartsteel members among all the contestants. Everyone was there except Kayn. “That's weird” you thought. Ezreal and K'Sante complimented your black dress when they saw you, you thanked them while stuttering because you hardly knew them. Yone asked you how you felt and you told him that you would do your best. 

"We'll go bowling after the contest, do you wanna come?" Ezreal asked excitedly. You looked around wondering if Kayn was coming. 

"Kayn is going," Yone commented to reassure you. In that case, you accepted. 

Just then, you heard Kayn's voice behind you... along with the laughter of a girl. He entered backstage holding the volleyball captain by the waist. They looked good together. Too good. Your breathing hitched and your heart broke when you saw them so close together. 

"See you later, beautiful." Kayn said goodbye to her as he released her so she could go with the girls in her group. 

Their gazes met. Kayn's heart sped up when he saw you in that pretty dress that allowed him to see your nice legs while yours felt like it was fading little by little. He approached you to look at you closely, trying not to say anything flirty.  

"First time I see you in a dress, good for you," Kayn commented, pretending he didn't care about your glow up. "That's all?" you asked yourself, remembering how indecisive you were picking out an outfit the night before. So much effort and all for nothing. At that unenthusiastic reaction, you only thanked in a whisper. 

"Hey, Kayn. You’re going bowling with us, right?" Sett asked. Kayn held his forehead dramatically. 

"Oh man! I forgot about it! I just invited a super hot chick on a date," he flexed. You couldn't keep listening to him. You needed to get out of there. 

"I'll go deliver my sound," you said before quickly leaving. You could feel everyone's eyes on you as you walked away, causing the anxiety to take over you. 

The Heartsteel members glared at Kayn. Everyone was confused by his asshole attitude. It wasn't new of him, but they had never seen him act like that with you. Yone was the one who was the most pissed off. 

"What are you doing?" Yone asked as he crossed his arms. 

“Nothing, I just said that I won't be able to go bowling tonight,” Kayn answered obviously as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

"Don't act oblivious." Yone scoffed, approaching him suddenly. K’Sante stepped between them to prevent the situation getting physical. 

"Guys, we just signed a contract, we can't fight now." K'Sante said trying to lighten the situation. 

"I didn’t do anything. I don't know why you care so much," Kayn said, ignoring his friend's comment.

"It's obvious you tried to hurt her," Yone said, pointing out his clear intentions. 

"Good for you. This way you'll have another excuse to go out with her," Kayn barked. Aphelios rolled his eyes when he discovered the reason for his attitude. 

"I knew it was about that," Yone said, walking away from K'Sante to make it clear that he had no intention of fighting. 

"If I had known you would act like an idiot, I wouldn't have helped her," he said seriously. Kayn was surprised to hear that. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" He asked, calmer, but still tense. 

"You'll have to listen to it yourself." Yone said before heading to one of the sound booths with Aphelios. Kayn just watched them in disbelief, still processing the information he had just heard. 

"Kayn, you must set your pride aside or it will eat you alive," K'Sante advised him before patting him on the shoulder a couple of times. Kayn felt lost. He didn't even know what he was doing or why he was doing it. 

Your mind was a mess. You hadn't stepped foot into the ring and you had already been knocked out. How had you gotten to this point? A few months ago, Kayn was just another cute boy and it was enough for you to just see him from time to time at school. Now you were here, holding back the urge to cry to avoid ruining the makeup you had done for him and that he didn't even appreciate. You were waiting for your turn to perform while you were tempted by the idea of ​​going home. “I'll just play and leave” you thought as you prepared the guitar. 

"You look nervous," someone next to you commented. It was Kayn. You dodged his gaze so he wouldn't see you sad. 

"I'm fine," you lied. He realized. “Now she is really upset?” he thought worried. You weren't just upset, you were disappointed in yourself. How could you be so stupid to think you had a chance just because you were talking to him now? 

"I like to think that I am in a place that I really like when I perform. Just think that you are practicing there and you will be fine," He advised you as he patted your head. 

Given the intimate move, you decided to take a peek at him. Kayn was smiling at you. This time it wasn't a mocking or flirtatious smile, it was a genuine and calm one. He was proud of you. Now you remembered why you had worked so hard on the performance. You wanted to see that look he was giving you in that precise moment. “Please never stop looking at me like that” you thought. 

The host brought you back to reality. Your turn had finally arrived. You took a deep breath and walked onto the stage. The applause of the audience received you warmly as you positioned yourself in the center with your guitar. You glanced at Kayn, who looked at you expectantly. “A place that I really like…” you quoted, thinking about the music room. You imagined yourself sitting on the bench with Kayn in front of you, waiting for you to play the first note. 

♫ This is the last chance. The only one where my soul overflows. ♫

Your fingers trembled as soon as you started, but you tried to maintain your composure. The drums sounded behind you so that your guitar was the center of attention and the piano accompanied your voice. The beating of your heart agitated you but the memories with Kayn calmed you. 

♫ Want to look you in the eyes. You are the lust that never managed to satisfy. ♫

Kayn watched you from the side, not believing what his ears were listening to. His eyes went up and down observing your anatomy. He wanted to tattoo your image in his mind so that he would never forget it. Kayn was speechless, but he didn't want to say anything because he just wanted to listen to you. 

 ♫ My engine revs when you're around. You set me on fire and I consume myself again. ♫

"She worked really hard on it," Yone mentioned approaching Kayn as music exploded from the speakers. Kayn looked at him stunned. 

"You knew," He said, finally completing the entire puzzle with the pieces in the correct places. 

"She composed it herself. I just helped with the instrumentalization," Yone explained without taking his eyes off you like a proud teacher. 

"We never went on a date. She's crazy for you," he continued. Kayn just smiled at that.  

♫ Give me a kiss, I’m only asking for one, my love. ♫

You sang from your heart. You no longer cared if Kayn stopped talking to you and left with the captain. You finally felt free. More than singing, you proclaimed each verse you had written with a passion that you didn't know you had inside. You loved Kayn, you loved him very much and you wouldn't stop loving him until he gave you a good reason to do so. You wanted to be always with him even if you were just friends.

♫ Stop my suffering. Stay with me. ♫

You played the last note and the applause rained down on you, but there was only one that truly mattered. You looked at Kayn applauding you, not caring if his hands were hurt from the impact. A sigh of relief escaped from your lips when you saw that he liked it.

You returned backstage to more applause coming from your classmates and Heartsteel. You smiled shyly as you placed the guitar on your back. 

"Wow, you really know how to rock!" Sett exclaimed, fascinated. 

"Thank you, I wouldn't have done it without Yone," you acknowledged him before looking at Kayn, making it clear to him that there was nothing between you. 

"You looked amazing, I knew you would do great," Kayn said before ruffling your hair in a friendly manner. You couldn't help but smile at the attention he was giving you. 

"Finally, what everyone has been waiting for! Let's welcome Heartsteel to the stage!" The host announced. 

"It's our turn!" Sett said excitedly as the members walked out onto the fierce stage. Kayn stayed back for a second.

"I want you to look at me," Kayn requested seriously before following them. You could only nod obediently. 

♫ Two sides to a story, but they never tell my side. Never been the kinda guy to stay inside the guidelines. ♫

The iconic melody began to play. The audience went crazy and people were singing excitedly. Several of your classmates crowded next to you to watch the performance. “Kayn looks great as always” you thought as you watched him rap with his cool flow. 

"I love you, Kayn!" A girl next to you shouted that you didn't see before because you were stunned by Kayn's performance. 

It was the captain. Kayn's girl. “Here we go again…” you thought before the avalanche of insecurities took over your body again. While listening to Paranoia, you realized something. “I already did what I had to do, now I can go home” you thought as you turned around and disappeared among the tsunami of students. 

♫ They prayin' for the death of the rockstar. ♫ 

The song ended. The members' ears were greeted by the roar of the public. Everyone was happy, even Kayn... until he realized that you weren't among the people applauding. You had abandoned him. A panic sensation took over his body and he needed to act immediately. He didn't hesitate to run off the stage to go after you. 

“You're so dumb, it's like you've never dealt with a woman before!” he thought, annoyed with himself before leaving the auditorium. His eyes searched for you in panic. If he let you go, he would lose you. He ran all over campus looking for you. He was grateful to have an athletic body so he could run at full speed after an energetic performance. 

He finally left campus and saw you sitting on a bench waiting for the bus that would take you home. You looked sad, as if you were holding back tears. Kayn ran over to you and pulled you out of your seat so you would get up. 

"I told you... to look… at me!" He said angrily with his voice cracking from fatigue. You were so shocked by the state he was in that you forgot you were about to cry. He was bathed in sweat, his hair was messy, and he had lost one of his piercings. 

"But I did see you, you did great," You said, confused. His hands wrapped around your wrists tightly carefully so he wouldn’t hurt you. It was like he was afraid you would run away again.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, catching his breath. 

"I'm going home. What are you doing here? The captain must be waiting for you," You asked, still confused. Kayn took a deep breath and looked into your eyes. He was ready to confess his crimes. 

"I lied. I don't have a date tonight. I was just jealous of Yone and wanted to make you feel the same. I'm sorry," He confessed heavily, feeling guilty for his actions. 

"What?" Your eyes widened at that unexpected revelation. 

"The girl is from my class and is a Heartsteel fan. She wanted help getting closer to Yone," he sounded like he regretted his actions, as if he were about to cry as well. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. 

"You look so hot. You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you," he said with a mischievous smile as if that was going to fix something when you were still more lost than a child alone in a busy mall on Christmas. 

"What?" You repeated, not knowing what to say. Kayn took your hand and pulled you to him. 

"Let's go somewhere more private." He said as he guided you. 

The school was empty because everyone was in the auditorium. Kayn ended up leading you to the music room. It was becoming a habit for both to meet there from time to time. A custom that, unfortunately, would last only a little longer. You left your guitar in the entryway as you watched Kayn trying to find the best words to start the conversation. 

"Do you know why my relationships don't last?" He asked, embarrassed. 

“Don't say it, don't say it '' you repeated to yourself in your mind. You knew perfectly well the reason. His girlfriends didn't last long because he had a mad personality. You had listened to Rhaast complain about his countless girlfriends for over two years, thinking how lucky you were to not fall into his charisma. Oh, how the tables turn, huh?

"Because you are... an idiot?" You finally responded. “Shit, I said it!” You scolded yourself. Kayn let out a malicious chuckle. 

"An idiot you wrote a song for," He finished off and destroyed you. You felt like your soul detached from your body and it didn't know how to get back. Your head hang in surrender. 

"Did Yone tell you?" You asked with a thin voice. 

"In the end, I was right. You're crazy for me," he said, still smiling to himself, but his serious expression returned when he remembered why he had brought you in the first place. It wasn't time to flirt. 

"But you're right, I'm an asshole. That's why everyone cuts me off when they realize. I'm not patient, I'm rude, I hate a lot of people, I drive like a maniac, I don't like being bombarded with attention but I also don't like not being given attention, and well, you know, a lot of other things..." He explained, still embarrassed. This caused him to recap in his mind every girlfriend he had in the past. 

"Most girls approach me because of how cool I look and am, but they break up with me when they realize who I really am," he explained. 

He also explained that this not only happened with girls, but also with ex friends. He told you that he used to be in another band before Heartsteel and that they kicked him out because he was a “troublemaker.” It was the first time you saw Kayn open up in such a way. He finally felt comfortable enough to vent to you. 

"Then I met you. We've been talking for two years and you never judged me when I thought I could never change who I am. Today you showed me that I can. I just needed motivation to do so, and that's you," he said before reaching out to take your hands. It was something he had done before, but this time felt different. It's like he was finally holding a valuable and fragile object. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, it's just that I couldn't bear losing you like the others. You are the most important person in my life," he said as he tenderly caressed your knuckles with his thumbs. 

The information was still being processed in your mind. You didn't know how to react, you still couldn't believe that Kayn thought that way about you. You were relieved that you at least had a special place in Kayn's mind, in his heart you didn't know, but in his mind it was obvious. 

His hands cupped your flushed cheeks. Kayn looked into your eyes, then lowered his gaze for a second to your lips and then brought it back up again. His thumbs caressed your skin with a tenderness you didn't think he was capable of. 

"I want you to be by my side forever," He whispered so that you were the only person in the world who could hear him. Your heart began to jump with joy upon hearing that your most precious wish was being granted to you. 

His touch felt like a dream, his eyes gave you warmth and his words were full of hope. You whispered his name, letting him know that you wanted the same thing. Kayn bravely reduced the distance between you. His lips brushed against yours and you felt like your feet were no longer touching the ground. 

Kissing Kayn was like sailing through a storm. His kisses were fierce and volatile but his hands running along your waist gave you security so you could enjoy the adrenaline. You hugged him by the neck to get closer to him, melting into each other. Kayn deepened the kiss, causing you to step back until your back hit the wall behind you. 

Even though he already had experience with other girls, Kayn was enjoying every second as if it were his first time. Their lips moved in sync as if you had done this before. He didn't hesitate to stick his tongue inside your mouth which caught you off guard because you didn't have much experience, but you trusted him and just let yourself go. 

Kayn ran his hands over your body without any shame. He didn't care at all if anyone saw you, he wanted to enjoy that first kiss to the fullest. The fingers of his right hand tickled your hips while the other one grabbed your butt tightly. It was the first time Kayn felt so grateful with the gods to be with someone as cool and patient as you. 

"Kayn, don't do that... Ouch!" You scolded him as soon as he bit your neck. He coldly planned to leave you a deep purple hickey for everyone to see. You tried to stop him but the vampire didn't want to leave your neck alone. He only stopped because his phone started ringing. He reluctantly moved away from your neck to answer. It was Ezreal. 

"Hey, Kayn! Where are you?! We won the cont-!" Kayn hung up on him because he had more important matters to attend to. 

"Kayn! Don't give me a hickey! My mom can see it!" You scolded him as he looked at you tenderly. He couldn't take you seriously when your face looked like a tomato. He silenced you with another kiss that you gladly received. 

Finally, he was all yours. You have achieved it, how? You still didn't know exactly how but you were happy with the result even though you thought he was out of your league. 

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[wisteriagoesvroom]

schools of thought: part 2 🦊

A landoscar college AU, told through social media

to catch up, check out part 1 here

author's notes

thank you for your patience and the kudos on part 1 🤧 irl stuff happened and i worked on a different story for a while before getting back to this one

ignore timestamps, they don't really matter

if you enjoy it, please consider liking / reblogging / commenting! 💙

—————we pick up at the federation U library———————

lando's studying late. it's a tuesday, and there aren't too many people there - just him, linda the librarian who isn't particularly impressed at anything or anyone, and a couple of other students on other islands of desks, stuck in their own world.

lando doesn't find academic work impossible per se, it's more the sustained attention that gets challenging. and contrary to how he seems, he does actually work hard at his core modules. even if he isn't sure exactly to what end, yet.

the screen's blazing bright and lagrange's theorem is starting to make his brain statick-y, so lando rubs his eyes. one of those advice pages on tiktok said changing tasks could help sometimes to refocus on his studying. something about crop rotation or switching channels of the brain or something. if it's on social media, it must be true.

so he opens his design software instead and makes a party invite.

he sends a prayer to the holy trinity of tiesto, guetta and darude for his very basic photoshop abilities. and an extra hail-van-helden for the free software that he pirated off charles.

the party playlist is already whirring in his head. definitely some garage smashed with some old school hip hop, and he's sure there's a way to get some hans zimmer piano in there. whatever, it'll work.

satisfied with his efforts, lando sips from his hydroflask. (the drink is one part instant coffee, one part spicy honey, and a lot of hot water. carlos gives him shit about it all the time, but carlos is spanish and generally prone to dramatics when it comes to coffee and just about everything else.)

still focused on his important task of Procrastinating His Stabilizer Equations, lando texts max.

linda, to her credit, only glared at him once when he started humming kid cudi under his breath.

and judging from experience, max and charles are going to be a while, so there's nothing for lando to do but stare at the wall and keep working on his playlists. oh, and his math assignments.

meanwhile, oscar gets a ping from logan.

what is there to say about the meeting really, oscar thinks. uneventful. ———————earlier——————————

the first project catch-up with lando, they'd met under the campus bee statue. a sunny afternoon, but the campus was quiet, half of them having decamped to the nearby hills or beach for a change of scenery. it was just the pleasant and tolerable buzz of other students enjoying the warmth and doing university student things. he'd spotted a couple of people with picnic blankets out. he hadn't brought a picnic blanket, thinking this would be a quick meeting.

lando had appeared in a blur of white and orange, like a y2k elf. ear piercing, music festival rubber bracelets and all. in a t-shirt that said i'm acute angle.

"'sup osc!" lando said.

"that t-shirt's gramatically incorrect. technically." oscar had replied.

"whaa-aat. but more to the point, it's funny."

"i guess. did you do the reading yet? thought it'd be good to talk roles and responsibilities and maybe a project timeline."

"timeline?" lando said, as he tossed his backpack down and flopped on the lawn. lando extracted two heinekens from a side pocket and went through a complicated manouvre of opening them with his room keys. "thought we'd maybe crack open a beer and just chat, matey."

i'm not your matey, oscar thought. i'm a passenger to whatever train of chaos it is that you're driving and i'd like to get off.

oscar's skin prickled as he realised the double meaning of get off. he also tried to not think too hard about how overfamiliar lando was acting towards him. the worse thing was: there was a bigger part of him that was probably willing to let lando get away with it.

lando seemed to be ignoring whatever existential crisis oscar was going through. instead, lando was going on and on about philosophical youtubers and sparknotes. lando was so animated when he spoke, too: hands always in gestures, as if excitement buzzed directly out of his fingertips and onto oscar. there was a sparkle in his eyes, blue sliding into grey, that made oscar want to sit on his hands. because they were the kind of eyes they wrote about in regency novels, the windows to the soul kind of melodramatic nonsense. that would make him want to do stupid shit. like, get-in-the-way-of-the-project-grade kind of stupid shit.

so it took oscar a lot of energy to focus in that first meeting. he thought he did a pretty decent job picking up the thread of conversation, around the part where lando had called foucault's theory "the indiana jones thought thingy."

"i think you mean archaeology of knowledge."

"right! right." lando said, as he beamed up at him.

oscar had suddenly felt overly warm, then. probably just the sun on the quad, he thought to himself. he was from australia, so technically he should've known better, and worn adequate SPF. he'd have to set a phone reminder for that at a later point. he refused to be fooled again by the european summer and its apparently hypnotic effects. even if those hypnotic effects were probably mostly caused by a menacing parallel phenomenon that oscar would call solarus landonitus.

—————————————————

later, oscar's cooks dinner, and tries to decipher the instructions on the back of a frozen bag of beef mince. pato and logan are away at a football game across the border in italy, an overnighter thing.

his phone vibrates. it's lando.

oscar's hands hover over the letter keys. a party? he couldn't think of anything worse. but lando said a couple of friends, and it's true oscar hasn't really partied, and he thinks hanging out with his D&D friends doesn't really count. there had been that one instance in first year when oscar had gone to try and meet logan and pato at the ministry of sound, and he'd accidentally ended up at the ministry of state government building. after that, he'd figured parties weren't really fated for him.

but. lando, social butterfly lando, campus personality lando is the one asking. and logan's right, oscar probably does take himself too seriously.

osc types and deletes at least four different responses before be replies. he is an eng lit major, he tells himself. surely he should be better at crafting his words than this. but sometimes it is what it is.

so it isn't a commitment, and it isn't a hard no, either.

oscar stares at his phone. it's gone quiet. lando's moved on – probably uploading an instagram story. or smashing his too keyboard loudly in a public space as he solves a polynomial. or making a new and unlikely EDM song out of radiator noises, or whatever it is that lando "i'm so cool" norris decides to do with his free time.

oscar is studying the dorm kitchen tiles, thinking about not thinking about lando, when his pasta water boils over. it hits the induction stove with a loud hiss.

"shit!" osc yelps. he grabs a nearby dish towel to wipe it up.

the pasta ends up both soggy and under salted, but he eats it anyway. mind turning all the while.

——————stay tuned part 3 (hint: party party)————————

p.s. if you want to be tagged/notified on the next part/updates just lmk in comments or DM and i'd be happy to!!

[yaeggravate]

brief post about kaeya's potential future arc (or why 5 star kaeya will totally happen 🔮✨️)

so something i noticed is that kaeya always removes or distances himself from the end of any situation he's in. (it's much more noticeable in his hangout).

first is crepus's death. he hangs back and doesn't get involved in his final moments.

kaeya disappears in the final section of the ballads and brews event. you can find and talk to every character except him.

in the venti route of his hangout, kaeya stays back when it's time to sing with everyone. venti then drags him back in. (what's odd is that venti didn't even notice he was gone at first 👀 "now you see them, now you don't")

Kaeya: Slipping away before the final verse is sung, before the poet has uttered the last line, before everything has concluded… I don't know, something about it just resonates with me.

klee says kaeya hasn't read her the end of the book series the fox and the dandelion sea yet, which is about a guy stuck in a loop. in somewhat the same vein, in the secret summer event, he tells her a story about the jinni and a shepard boy but changes the ending from what we know from the in game book…

and then we have the prince qubad play, where he quietly exits after it ends. he explains why himself (through nahida's auge):

(Use Nahida's All Schemes to Know on Kaeya, optional) Kaeya: (I always like to extricate myself before things start getting tedious.)

in the same route, kaeya quotes the character jaques from shakespeare's play as you like it

Kaeya: Let me think... "All the world's a stage, and all the people merely players."

which is very fitting considering, quote the wiki:

Jaques takes no part in the unfolding of the plot, and confines himself to wry comment on the action and exchanges with his fellow characters.

he also silently does things for others without wanting to take credit, i.e. being rewarded.

and i think i know why 😏

in his character story, kaeya is referred to as a chess pawn in CN, he then repeats this in his hangout.

Kaeya: But I shall not bow to the will of fate. I am no pawn in heaven's plan.

further emphasizing it's not a random throw away term.

i'm neither chess expert nor chess amateur. but anyone can pull up a wikipedia page 😤

pawns are the only pieces that can't move backward, pawns can get promoted to another piece when they reach the end of the board, and… pawns are expandable, made to be sacrificed for the kingdom.

he even expresses the desire to age backwards….which pawns can't do of course.

A very simple such analogy is the Pawn — the expendable, powerless, nameless foot soldier who may, if his actions are brave and his heart is true, become a Queen (although someone more practised at the game may note that the pawn is really a symbol of why you should never overlook apparently powerless people).

that sounds exactly like kaeya's situation, doesn't it? many people have questioned why kaeya is a 4 star given his importance to the main plot, but i think it could be a deliberate narrative decision. (at least i hope it is 😬)

if kaeya is a pawn he can be promoted to a queen when he reaches the end…. except kaeya doesn't want to, as demonstrated by his unwillingness to see things through till the end.

why would he do this?

simply put, it's foreshadowing 😏

kaeya will have his character arc eventually, where the only sensible path is accepting that he must reach the end because pawns cannot stay pawns forever

Promotion is mandatory when moving to the last rank; the pawn cannot remain as a pawn.

there is some sick sense of irony in him declaring he won't be heaven's pawn, when a pawn can only stop being a pawn by moving forward.

i think kaeya's birthday letter about tcg of all things is also hinting at his arc:

If you think about it, playing cards aren't easy at all — you gotta do the math before throwing the dice, and be extra careful with your every move. One step wrong, and the whole table is turned. When that happens, don't you think it's most amusing to watch your opponent's frustrated face, hmm?

(uh oh, celestia 🤭)

say he does reach this metaphorical last rank, what would that look like for him? gameplay wise it would mean a promotion to 5 star status. story wise? a magical girl transformation into the second coming of fischl.

haha ok but, unfortunately i doubt it's that simple.

something else that has been foreshadowed is kaeya's eventual fate…

Traveler: What did you think of the story? Kaeya: It was alright. I suppose the hero always has to sacrifice himself to save others, and it does make for some good storytelling. But it leaves you wondering how he really feels about the whole thing. Did he ever have second thoughts? Only he can know, I suppose.

Kaeya: My dear audience, I ask you this: Do you believe in fate? If fate decreed that your life was to end in tragedy, what would you do?

Kaeya: I, Qubad, will spend the rest of my days in a foreign land, till I breathe my last in a place far from home.

Kaeya: And anyway, life is short, so we should make the most of the time we have. Right now is the perfect time to relax and enjoy ourselves, and who knows how many other chances we'll get. So come on, what do you say?

Fallen I 还没尽…兴… Haven't enjoyed...to the fullest...

When It's Windy 真是和平啊、可又能持续多久呢？ How peaceful, but how long can it last?

Traveler: Good night, Kaeya. Kaeya: Is it that time already? I'm not sure I'm ready to say goodbye.

let's face it, these are death flags. no, kaeya is not going to perma die, but this might be what he has seen through the Auge der Verurteilung and why he's so reluctant to reach the ending of his story.

but in order to defy fate and become a 5 star you have to throw yourself into the embrace of the immernacht first 😈

[oddballwriter]

Moon Boys as Subject Teachers

Warnings: None that I know of 

Author’s Snip: This was inspired by @ominoose's post for Oscar Issac characters as school subjects teachers so shoutout to them for the inspo.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Steven Grant - History & English/Literature

A bit of an obvious choice but there's a reason

Steven 100% is a favorite amongst the students

He actually makes learning history and reading fun for them because he talks so enthusiastically about everything in each unit and finds ways to let the kids engage in what's happening

He tries his best to personalize the lessons with either making a worksheet for it to help the kids take in the knowledge or make a slide show for demonstration and visualizing what's being said

His slideshows are actually very iconic because he makes sure they look nice so that the kids will pay attention to them. He has an occasional outdated meme but you know what he's trying and the kids know that

Steven's classroom is also very decorated with both posters that he bought or ones made by students (matter of fact poster making is an extra credit thing if you need it)

He's very attentive to his students and believes that it's crucial for teaching. If a student is struggling then he gladly helps them and works on finding a way to help them learn the lessons in their own way, and if they need to spend some time after school then he'd be happy to stay and see what they need

Steven hates having to be strict and disciplinary but if he needs to then he will.

If a kid misses an assignment's deadline it's okay as long as they give him a heads-up and they turn it in before a unit is done or something. But if someone is actively not doing their homework or assigned work then he will have a talk with them and give them detention if need be and make them do that work

As for troublemakers who disrupt the class he does the whole politely telling them to quiet down or stop, to telling them more sternly, to standing outside till he tells them to come back in, and then the final strike is sending them to the office

On a lighter note, Steven is definitely the kind of teacher to let students eat in his classroom during lunch as long as they don't make a mess and clean after themselves and actually uses that to get to know the kids outside of the lessons

I firmly believe that Steven has talked to the school about creating a book club of some kind so that kids can be in an environment that treats reading as an activity you can do rather than something you NEED to do and sort of does the same with his literature and english students

For example, my senior year English teacher had us do fifteen minute reading time at the beginning of class each day with a book we checked out at the library. I feel like he'd do something like that

But anyway, yeah, he's definitely petitioned to have a book club or some other club similar to that

Marc Spector - Math

I actually see him being more of a student counselor but I just get this weird sense that if I had to pick a subject that he would teach then I'd say math like algebra, calculus, and geometry, for some reason

I don't know he just seems like he's good at math and would be fine with teaching it

His class, despite being a math class, isn't so bad.

Marc's one of those chill teachers who teaches what he needs to and lets the students do their own thing so long as it's not causing any trouble

The first half of class is him teaching the students a new formula, how to do it, how it applies to the world and stuff and then he writes some equations on the board for the students to solve on their own on a piece of paper that they give to him at the end of class just to confirm that they were listening

He's not an easy A exactly. He is when you actually try and listen though

Marc hardly has rules to be honest, they're basic as hell. His class rules are just "Pay attention, do your classwork and homework, yes you are allowed to use a calculator if you need/want to, yes they are allowed on tests, show your work on the sheet or a piece of paper as long as you write your name on it and staple it to the worksheet, don't cheat on your tests, and don't disrupt the class"

He's also very lenient on things. You can listen to music while you work so long as he isn't actively teaching. You can chew gum so long as you aren't chewing or blowing it loudly and sticking it on the desks. You can freely talk to your friends and classmates as long as you aren't bugging them, being loud, or doing it while he is teaching.

Due to the free talking he knows all the gossip around school simply because the kids will be talking about it while they work

He says he doesn't care/isn't into gossip but he secretly moves the kids who gossip toward his desk so that he can hear it while he works at his desk when he changes up the seating chart every once in a while

On top of that he gets to know his students because he will walk around the classroom to stretch his legs and will start small talk with the kids that sometimes leads to full conversations

Marc is very no-nonsense or slacking off though. If a kid is not doing their work then he tells them to start doing it or else they'll need to do it at home along with their homework if they don't get it done at the end of class. As for troublemakers, he just sends them out or to the office since he's learned that more want the attention

Jake Lockley - PE

I know a lot of people say that Jake would be a Spanish/foreign language teacher, and I can see that, but to me, this man gives off PE teacher energy (in a good way)

Jake is sort of the tough love kind of PE teacher that still makes the kids do the activities but he's not cruel

He also doesn't just stand there. If he can he will do the exercises with the kids so that they don't try and be a smart ass with him. He will run the mile with the kids but stays behind so that no one can walk it while he's not looking. It also helps boost the confidence of the kids who don't run as fast and fall behind by being there and praising them for keeping it going

"You're going great. It's about being active not pushing yourself."

If a student feels sick or is on their period and having cramps he'll ask how bad it is and depending on how severe it is he'll let them sit out on that day if it's bad or walk a few laps around the track if they can. "Just as long as you're doing something, okay?"

He's not an idiot though. If they use the sick or period card too many times and it doesn't add up then he calls them out and tells them to do the activity

"Matter of fact, do double because you think I'm stupid."

Jake also isn't oblivious to the fact that he's "the hot teacher" that the female teachers and students blush and giggle at. Of course, he doesn't do anything about either because it's unprofessional and one is a literal crime

But he's not dumb. He knows that some teachers check him out while he's running and exercising with the kids outside

Jake is a part of after-school/extracurricular programs too.

He's definitely a coach for one of the school's sports teams, he finds it to be a great way to give kids something to do after school instead of running around and possibly causing trouble. Jake also likes seeing the kids who've got something going for them and encourages them to do something with it

He also loves seeing all the other clubs and extracurriculars too and is so supportive.

Cheer and dance team going to a competition? Knock 'em dead!

Theatre doing a production? He's buying a ticket and encourages his students and players to go if they can.

Speech and Debate off to a tournament? The other schools have no idea what's coming.

He's sending his love to all of them

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction (I forgot to add this, also my applications are open just ask lol)

[toska-writes]

Jedi Maul has been on the brainnnnn!

“Jedi Knight Maul AU”

Summary: With the idea of Jedi Maul of course knowing me I had to twist it into a Platonic piece! Enjoy these headcannons of Jedi Maul

Pairing: Jedi!Maul AU x GN padawan!Reader (ofc it’s platonic!)

Warning: ummm none really I can think of!

Word Count: 913 (I didn’t proof read lol)

Notes: since I couldn’t find any fics like this I filled in! I swear I’ll get back to doing requests but with school now fully back I do have a little more to do in my free time, whether I like it or not

-if anyone ever messed with or talked bad about his commander or men they definitely have another thing coming

-He gives me very protective dad/older brother vibes but only to his little tight knit circle

-And that would include you soon enough

- I definitely think if this certain AU wasn't set in the clone wars Maul would look for a strong willed padawan to pass his teachings too

-HOWEVER do you know how many bad things you would learn from him??? Mostly likely any swear word from any dialect in the entire galaxy. He would give Wolffe a run for his money for the way he would roll his eyes- and don't get me started on how he would totally blow senators off " in the most polite way"

-except of course the nice senators that want the best for everyone including the clones *cough cough Senator Chunchi my beloved*

-and I just keep thinking of this scene where maybe the both of you are talking to the council or maybe some Sith, and Maul would totally make a quip to you or something to ease the tension

-He would want the absolute best and peace of mind when he can't be right with you on the battlefield, because at the beginning he definitely wanted to be

-Maul definitely isn't the type to verbally encourage you, I think he'd be more of an act of services. Whether that be with a blanket and a shoulder to lean on after a hard battle, or helping you clean and wrap a wound if you don't necessarily want to go to the med bay

-Teaching you have to fly is like doing math homework with a parent at the kitchen counter. However after a few more lessons it is definitely a hobby you like doing together even if there is a little banter

-I can imagine on a far away planet while away for a campaign he may or may not sign you up for a pod race just for some extra credits. Would he cheat?... well it's worth it when he sees you fly around the corner with the rest of the troops cheering like mad men

-Meditating is... something else. He knows how hard it is to just sit. And relax, especially in a time of war. But it seems more bearable with someone else for the both of you

-Maul would take lightsaber and dueling technique training very seriously, it's an art form in his eyes and something that he believes he can excel at so of course it's one of the first things the two of you bond over

-He would want to make sure you are prepared for anything, hand to hand, blasters, lightsaber you name it

-Now let’s say something does go wrong and maybe just maybe you get hurt

-One word would be furious, what ever man or creature did that better say their good byes quickly.

-He’s not one to lose his padawan, or hurt by seppies in that matter

-now let’s be honest he’s pretty intimidating and holds a high standard for everything but when the broken little voice of his padawan says they’re scared- his heart is broken into a million pieces.

-that would probably be the only time where he properly brought his voice down to provide some comfort.

-Also can we talk about how dramatic he would be, maybe your sparing and you jab him in the chest.

-he would definitely grab his chest and look at you stunned saying his own padawan is growing before falling to the ground

-two more words: war crimes. I don’t have to explain and I won’t

-there would be so many different competitions among the ranks, kinda like how Anakin and Ahsoka see who can kill the most droids. Something to make the war seem bearable

-Now if anyone ever found out about these last few parts he’d wither away to nothing

-I would say Maul has something against the cold, he doesn’t like snow or being freezing. And so when it comes time for a cold related planet everyone has to know

-the clones would definitely be making different jokes and such but of course behind closed doors, no one wants a cold upset Maul

-however when it comes time for night Mauls CC definitely let’s him bunk with him

-that’s when the clone cuddle piles with the two Jedi really get started

-there’s just something about being absolutely surround by people you know you can properly trust and they trust you to protect them.

-and I’m more than certain the both of you have probably stolen blankets from the clones barracks

-On sleepless nights you both could probably be found talking about the most random shit that had nothing to do with the raging responsibility. Or even in tougher ones with nightmares Maul would most likely put an arm around you and have you fall asleep there

-My boys trying ok. Being a single father to his padawan with a bunch of crazy uncles

-He tries, maybe one day it’s both of you painting your own fighter or tricking it out, maybe it’s another where it’s all intense training and he carries you back to the temple room

-All in all I think Maul would be a fun interesting master to have!

If you want to see this take the form of an actual fic let me know!!!

_____________________________________

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting @solstraalaa @ray-rook

[nyazhis-jsablr]

BotB - Challenge 4 RESULTS!

“Urhg…. Is it over..?”

“Oh I th-think it’s over…”

“A-Anyways, My name’s headache, I have a Step, and welcome back to the… Battle of the Battles…yeaah!!!!!”

“Some news first, Moxie and Matrix’s Bloxer isn’t here anymoe sadly, but it is cool for the two to compete! Thaks for playing!”

“Ahem… Now uh, Results for the Challenge!!!!”

VOTING POINTS

“First place… it’s Mr. Eclipses! Wow, actually thinking wasn’t that, cograts!”

“Now let’s do the… uh… extras? Yeah!”

EXTRA CREDIT VOTES

“Congratulations to the… uh… winning guys!! My head hurts… Can’t do math, but I did the maths before my stabbed got a head. Yeah!”

“So that is all! I’m head, and we wait for this Ste- OW”

The knife gets yanked out of Step’s head.

“Step, you haven’t rid this blade off your head.”

“O-Oh, yeah, thanks Pulse!”

“By the way, you did call for me for this next contest, right..?”

“Yep, thanks for coming! Anyways, I’m Step, and this is the Battle of the Blixers! See you next challenge!”

LEADERBOARD

@blixersupremacy @anonymously-night @woahtriangle @fim-and-echo-co @starwlf @jsabaddict @zim-card

[mabelstone]

Prof. Stone.

matt stone x reader

summary: your calculus professor's got it out for you. you're going to change that.

word count: 831

note: a short introductory chapter. no 18+ (yet... hehe)

hes a bit of a dick in this one but he will get nicer. maybe.

pls lmk what you think! asks are always open with suggestions :)

also i dont know why the picture quality sucks sorry

Part One.

You begrudgingly walked into lecture theatre for your calculus class; the one you’d had to take for extra credits. You’d hated math ever since elementary, but since you weren’t doing well in your psychology degree, you had to pick up an extra course over the summer. As calculus was the only class not full, here you were, surrounded by a bunch of arrogant overachievers who seemed to be passing you in every way imaginable.

To make things worse, your professor had it out for you, or at least it felt that way. As the rest of the class piled in filling the seats around you, you rested your arms on the tiny desk, your head following suit with an exhausted sigh.

After several minutes passed, the chatter in the room died down and the theatre door echoed shut. “Morning,” your professor mumbled, placing his things down on his desk before taking out his laptop and fiddling with the projector. He was a tall, sinewy man probably in his late forties, early fifties, with short, curly hair, and a neatly kempt beard. He was a handsome man, and you often heard girls in the class whispering about him, and no doubt, he heard too. You could tell by his demeanour, the way he carried himself. He knew he was good looking, which in his mind meant he didn’t need to go out of his way to be friendly. You lifted your head from your arms and opened your laptop, wishing more than anything you were still in bed.

As you waited, you rested your hand on your cheek, letting out a large yawn. The mumbling in the background seemed to fade as you allowed your eyes to flutter closed.

“Usually, we rest before we come to class,” you jolted awake at the harsh voice of your professor, who was only inches from your face.

“Sorry, sir, I-“

“Alright!” He proclaimed to the class, ignoring you and heading back to the front of the theatre. “I was very impressed with the assessments you turned in, give or take a few.” The class chuckled at his snide comment, causing you to huff and slump back into your seat. That assessment kicked your ass and there was no way you passed. “I’ll pass out your results shortly, but in the meantime, revise chapters fourteen to thirty; they’re relevant to your exam.”

As he handed out everyone’s papers, you flicked through to page fourteen, struggling to keep your eyes open. “Y/N,” your professor approached your desk in a hushed tone, his green eyes piercing through you with a glint of disappointment. “Stay back once everyone leaves, okay?” You nodded, your face turning red as he slid the paper onto your desk; 20% circled in bright red marker. Fuck.

As the lesson wrapped up, he said goodbye to the class and packed his things away. You remained seated at your desk, heart pounding, incredibly embarrassed. You watched as the last two girls in the class went up and thanked him for their grades, batting their eyelashes and claiming that they were so grateful.

“You’re welcome, ladies,” he smiled, ushering them out of the theatre. He made his way over to you, clasping his hands together. “Right, you know why you’re here, yes?”

You sighed loudly, slouching back into your seat. “Stab in the dark, could it be my shit grade?”

“Well, it’s not because of your wonderful attitude,” he huffed sarcastically, leaning on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Why are you even taking this class, Y/N?”

You shrugged, crossing your own arms. “I need the points,” you claimed in a blasé tone.

“You’re not gonna get them with this pathetic effort,” he snickered, watching the way you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Did you even try?”

“Of course I did,” you retorted in defence. “I just have no fucking clue what I’m doing.”

He moved toward you, not breaking eye contact, his voice stern. “Maybe you would if you didn’t sleep every lesson.” He walked over to your desk, placing his large, veiny hand onto your paper, chuckling under his breath, "you certainly aren't tired from studying calculus."

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, gathering your things. “Did you seriously hold me back to belittle me? Look, Mr. Stone, I’m sorry I didn’t do well.” You made your way to the door feeling humiliated. You wouldn’t be coming back. “It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little nicer by the way.”

Just as you were about to grab the handle, he spoke up. “I will help you.” You dropped your hand turning back to him. “If you will actually try and not waste either of our time, I will help you. Because you will not pass without it.”

“Okay.” You replied dryly. You knew he was right.

“Stay back tomorrow after class.” He nodded to the door, and without another word, you left.

Okay, maybe you would be coming back.

[iaus]

okay after seeing the student count of aguefort courtesy of idonthaveanyurlideas... this was originally going to be me talking about the classes, but i got fixated on the schedule LMAO.

anyway.

i will be using california school standards simply because that is what i am familiar with. and using the (erroneous) assumption that aguefort has any sort of state/education board requirements...

listen. i love applying stupid, horribly mundane realism to ridiculous fantasy.

Now. In California you have some credit/class requirements for graduation. I'm not bothering with the specific classes (like Algebra and the types of history) because we are going to be making some fantasy requirements up.

But okay bare bones, to graduate high school in California you need:

3 years of English

2 years of mathematics

3 years of social science

2 years of science

2 years of physical education (wish someone had given me this fucking memo)

1 year of foreign language OR visual and performing arts

So. Let's get started on what your 4 years at Aguefort could look like.

Let's preface this with the fact that probably every Class teacher probably has to have at least one or two periods of a core subject (and they probably grumble the whole time about it).

Now let's do some "equating" of those core subjects to fantasy core subjects.

English Language Arts = Common Language Arts

Mathematics = Same. You need math no matter what. Suck it up.

Social Science = Split up into history, government, and geography.

Physical Education = The idea of wizard/sorcerer PE is making me lose my shit so yea let's add this in here.

Foreign Language/Arts = Largely the same. I'm assuming these would be your languages, tools, weapons, armor proficiency.

Okay we got our equivalencies.

Now I'm going to once again do some speculating on high school schedules based on my time teaching in middle school (very similar structure) and the high schools around me. Please don't doxx me with this information.

TYPICALLY in my experience you will have 6-7 classes each will be about 50 minutes each with a 40 minute lunch. We’re gonna use 6 classes for this because when you do 7 classes things start getting really fucked.

Now schedule-wise, some schools will do a "full" day where you go to all your classes and then switch to block (attend your odd classes/attend your even classes).

Some schools do certain days as block schedules while still having a M/F "full" day so students can go to all their classes. I'm gonna operate on the assumption that Aguefort does a fucking mind splitting version of this but we won’t get into that in this post.

So, let's make a sample schedule for... let's say a freshman because freshmen always get the short end of the stick because they hardly ever get to actually have electives because of all their core classes they have to knock out.

Period 1: CLA: Common 9

Period 2: Math: Introductory Adventuring Math

Period 3: Physical Education: Non-Martial Option

Period 4: Science: Introductory to the Bestiary

Lunch

Period 5: CLASS SPECIFIC

Period 6: CLASS SPECIFIC

Now, the thought here is to ONLY have a class specific class after lunch so that way the last 2 hours of the day, no matter the scheduling day, are dedicated to working on honing your class skills. So, if you do a standard go to all class you are still spending kind of a "home room" with your class which might switch off.

Like, for example if you're a fighter your class specific period 5 might be an extra physical education with Coach Daybreak (yikes) and a bunch of other general martial students, but your period 6 is then lecture/basics/fundamentals with Corsica. This also would align with MCAT kids because period 5 might be with your "primary" class and then period 6 is with what you've multi-classed into.

HOWEVER, this class schedule is missing some of the required classes.

So, this student, for example, does not have at a glance a language/art elective or social science. This is generally pretty common for freshman. You get jack shit because you gotta do your prelims before the fun stuff.

I'm imagining that language and arts would probably be more a junior/senior year thing. Sophomore if you're lucky.

Class specific classes also might double into that.

Ambitious students also might ask for a zero period, a lunch class, or a period 7 class (with parent/admin/teacher approval).

Now, using this same student let's make a sophomore year schedule.

For the record, to meet their grad requirements they need:

2 more years of CLA, 1 more year of math, 3 more years of social science, 1 more year of science, 1 year of phys ed, and 1 year of language/art.

This is also assuming that the student "passed" every class with at least a D and earned their credits. (Popular chant of my high school history teacher who I hated: D is for diploma.)

Now, I have a lot of moving parts so I'm not gonna move periods around but let's say we have:

Period 1: CLA: Common 10

Period 2: Math: Basics of Adventuring Mathematics

Period 3: Social Science: Geography of Spyre (Semester 1)/History of Spyre (Semester 2)

Period 4: Science: Advanced Bestiary Sciences

Lunch

Period 5: Phys Ed: Non-Martial Option

Period 6: CLASS SPECIFIC

Now, I'm imagining as a sophomore you might have a bit more “leniency” to take more non-class classes since you've presumably mastered the "basics" of your class. So sophomore year is when you start getting into more rigorous academic work and you sacrifice one of your class specific classes so you can start getting your social science credit out of the way.

This means that you are spending less time doing class specific things, but you are expanding your horizons as a student. This also means that this student gets to knock out the following requirements for graduation: Math, Science, and Physical Education.

So, this means they now have 3 extra classes to devote to either their MCAT, their primary class, and/or other graduation requirements. Let's do a check on what they need now that they've cleared 3 grad requirements:

1 more year of CLA, 2 more years of social science, and 1 year of Language/Art. Plus whatever other class specific graduation/party requirements might be set in place at Aguefort.

Let's do their junior schedule:

Period 1: CLA: Common 11

Period 2: Social Science: History of Solace

Period 3: Language/Art: Forgery 1 (for non-rogues)

Period 4: ELECTIVE

Lunch

Period 5: CLASS SPECIFIC

Period 6: CLASS SPECIFIC

Now juniors will have more elective options AND the option to go back to having two periods of class specific classes or a second elective. This student is on track for graduation as long as they are passing with Ds.

So, now all they actually need is 1 more year of social science. I remember my high school did this very deliberately. They wanted us to take government and economics in our senior year and that was literally the ONLY requirement for graduation (plus the high school exit exam). But if you were trying for college, you would probably take another year of language arts, another year of science, another year of something so it looks better. Now, let’s do senior year schedule:

Period 1: ELECTIVE/Free Period

Period 2: Social Science: Economics of Spyre and Neighboring Countries (Semester 1)/Government of Spyre (Semester 2)

Period 3: ELECTIVE/Free Period

Period 4: INTER PARTY DYNAMICS COURSE

Lunch

Period 5: CLASS SPECIFIC

Period 6: CLASS SPECIFIC

Now, again, just doing some vague assumptions here but I think your senior year at Aguefort would be about that final fine tuning of going from student to adventurer. You’d probably have some party dynamic classes you have to take that would be an equivalent of the high school exit exam. Senior year, typically, is a breeze from the seniors I’ve talked to. I don’t think Aguefort would do it, but I know I’ve substituted for senior English which was mostly them practicing composition needed for college.

But. Anyway. I was going to make a post more on what I think class sizes look like, but this came out.

I have no real ending thought here except for the fact that I find the idea of Aguefort Academy having to at least pretend to function like a real high school, so the state doesn’t swoop in and shut it down infinitely funny.

I don’t really want a senior year but if there is, please, AAA losing their accreditation or revealing that their degrees actually mean nothing would be SO FUNNY PLEASE.

[ughkat]

focus on me | l.r.h

part one

tutor!luke au

your college professor assigns you to an unexpected tutor for your music class. ❥

overall story cw: smut, fluff, tutor x student

wordcount : 1131

-

Soft rock played through my headphone's as I took in the unfamiliar sights around me. It was my second week at my dream college in Los Angeles, but I had yet to make myself at home. I swiftly guided my way down sidewalks with my head down, and towards a building labeled "Music" and "Theater", the building containing my next subject.

My school counselor aided me to join a special elective or extracurricular for more credits, my options being an extra math class, or a music class. I went with what I thought was the easiest choice, choosing to not subject myself to extra math. Not that I had anymore interest in playing an instrument.

Within seconds of entering my class, my professor quietly beckoned me. I let out a heavy sigh, knowing he was going to mention my work ethic in his class.

"How's your morning going?" He spoke respectfully, not looking at me while he sipped a coffee. I took a seat at a small stool beside his desk.

"Fine." I smiled with a nod.

"I've noticed you're struggling a bit in here. Have you been practicing out of class?" He questioned.

"Uhm. A little, here and there. I get busy with my other classes." I tried my best to create an excuse for my lack of passion for guitar. My professor let out a quiet "Hm." before turning his chair towards me.

"A past student of mine is a tutor, every fall he comes back down here to help out my students." he began, "I think you would benefit greatly from his knowledge." I mentally rolled my eyes at the thought of someone tutoring me about something I had no drive to expand my knowledge on.

"I think I'll be okay." I spoke kindly. My professor let out a small chuckle.

"Y/n, I wasn't so much asking you as I was informing you." He spoke slowly. "You will continue losing credits if you keep up the work you're doing." I looked at him with frustration.

"So I have no choice?" I sighed.

"I'm sorry, I just want you to succeed, and

Luke is an amazing tutor." I stood up from the chair at took my assigned seat, dwelling on the idea of being taught guitar by a stranger for the rest of class.

"Y/n!" I heard a cheerful shout ahead of me.

I looked up from the floor as I exited the music building, and was met with the face of my best friend, Leah.

"Hey." I spoke flatly. Leah frowned.

"What's the matter with you?" We continued our way towards the courtyard for lunch, dodging the rush of students in our path.

"I have to have a tutor for my stupid guitar class." I began, "I don't even wanna be in that class."

"Have you met the tutor yet? Maybe it'll be fun?" Leah spoke with optimism.

"Not yet. He used to go here though, his name's Luke, I guess." I muttered. Leah stopped in her tracks, turning to me slowly.

"Luke what?" She questioned. I shrugged, confused to why his last name was so important to her.

"I don't know, I didn't ask." I mumbled.

"Find out and let me know." I raised an eyebrow at my friends eagerness as we arrived to the courtyard.

2:00

I swiftly finished my day, my music and sketchbooks helping the minutes pass. As I made my way towards my dorm, I had accidentally brushed shoulders with a faceless figure. Before I could see their face, they were paces behind me. He was tall, really tall. His hair had a slight sandy blond curl to it, and he walked with grace, but with a purpose.

Thinking nothing of it, I continued to my dorm.

I tossed my black tote bag onto my bed, myself following shortly after. I let out a sigh as I bent down to unlace my converse, kicking them off of my tired feet.

The burdening thought of my mystery tutor ached my head, I began to feel my mood slowly decline. Why should I have to put effort into something I have genuinely no interest in? And why is it my fault when I do bad in that subject? I reached for my phone and saw a text from Leah.

"Can I come to your room? I'm boreddd."

I giggled at the message before giving her a yes, beginning to tidy up the small space.

My roommate mysteriously disappeared after the first three days of school—by disappearing I mean she dropped out, and none of us are really allowed to talk about it—, leaving me with the dorm to myself. I thought I would appreciate the alone time, but I find myself wishing I had more company. I did my best to decorate the dull room with posters and plants, and some decorations from home.

Three simple knocks landed in my door, I sat up from my seat to let my friend in.

"Can you please elaborate why you need to know my tutor so desperately?" I laughed as we took our seats on my bed.

"It's so dumb, honestly." She began, shaking her head with a giggle, "I guess there was a boy in one of the music classes last year named Luke, and everyone I know says he's like, outrageously hot or something." She explained. I raised my eyebrow and laughed.

"Well, he can't be the only Luke in this school. It's probably not the same kid." I shrugged.

"Hopefully it is. I've heard every girl who tried to ask him out got rejected." Leah dramatically widened her eyes.

"Whatever." I giggled.

We spent the after noon and early evening gossiping about professors, new students, and my mystery tutor.

5:30

After Leah's departure, I stared blankly at the guitar in its case across the room from me. I huffed before getting up and grabbing it from its enclosure, taking my seat again.

I plucked cluelessly, unsure of where to even begin. I placed my fingers to where I thought I remembered was a C chord, and hesitantly strummed down. The guitar emitted a strenuous tune, causing my face to scrunch. I tried once more, readjusting my fingers and strumming again.

"Ugh!" I groaned, shoving the guitar to the side of me. I was aware of my own impatience, but was too prideful to admit that it was my own lack of motivation to practice that was causing it to sound bad, and not the guitar itself. I began to think to myself, maybe a tutor wouldn't hurt? The faster I get help with the tutor and do the bare minimum, the faster I can leave the class.

I laid on my back in my bed, soaking in my own boredom.