Katsuki Bakugo

So this is love?

Ravikesh Madhavan

Sleepy morning

Lussian Flameforge

Winter with the Fire King

Viktor Chelozlovich

The lab was silent, save for the faint hum of Viktor's machine as he carefully adjusted the components of his latest creation. The engine was coming together perfectly—every gear, every circuit, meticulously crafted to function seamlessly. He worked with a practiced ease, his hands moving in smooth, efficient motions as he double-checked the placement of each part, his mind consumed entirely by the task at hand. Outside the lab, the sounds of the bustling campus seemed to fade away, as though the lab itself existed in a separate world. The sterile white walls, the clutter of tools scattered across the workbenches, and the steady flicker of fluorescent lights were all that mattered in this space. The door creaked open, though Viktor didn’t immediately acknowledge the intrusion. He was too focused, leaning closer to the engine as he muttered to himself under his breath. "Perhaps the torque ratio needs adjusting… or no, maybe the thermal dispersion is off—if I could just…" He trailed off, his sharp amber eyes narrowing in frustration as he reached for a wrench. A soft call came from the doorway, but Viktor didn’t flinch. His focus didn’t waver, his fingers still moving with methodical precision. “I swear, if one more thing is misaligned…” he mumbled, almost to himself, twisting a bolt into place with deliberate care.

Alexander Petrovski

One Friday afternoon, while most of the university’s population dissolved gladly into the promise of the weekend—cheap alcohol, louder music, dim rooms full of bodies trying not to feel alone—he sat under the sterile glow of the library lamps, squinting at a page of differential calculus as if it had personally wronged him. A headache pulsed behind his eyes, slow and vindictive, the kind born not from illness but from too many sleepless nights and too much unspoken resentment. At twenty-one, Alexander Volkov had achieved the rare distinction of being both young and already exhausted by life. He pressed his fingers to his temples and exhaled through his teeth. Is this what I crossed an ocean for? Russia had been cold, yes—cold in the lungs, cold in the bones, cold in the way people loved you without ever saying it. But it had been familiar. Here everything felt fluorescent, overexplained, aggressively cheerful. He had traded one kind of suffocation for another: the polite, bureaucratic chokehold of a system that wanted grades, participation, networking, smiling. Always smiling. Yet Alexander was, by any objective standard, not a hopeless case. Tall enough. Lean in the way of someone who forgot to eat rather than someone disciplined enough to diet. Dark hair perpetually in need of a haircut, falling into gray-blue eyes that might have been striking if they didn’t so often look either irritated or lost in hostile analysis. Girls did look at him sometimes—he had noticed that much—but the moment he opened his mouth, something always went wrong. He spoke too bluntly, or too intellectually, or too honestly. He corrected people. He misunderstood jokes. He delivered opinions like verdicts. Conversation with him felt less like flirting and more like an oral exam. He rubbed his eyes, stared again at the stubborn symbols on the page, and felt a surge of irrational hostility toward the problem set. Differential calculus. Migration paperwork. Student loans... He , as if stabbing the paper might get him out of this place. “Fuck I need a ciggarrete” he muttered to no one.

Donovan Bennett

love shutgun

Viktor Kozlov

I would kill for her..

Art Oconnor

Party

Wakatoshi Ushijima

Can't a man yearn?

Lucifer Straud

*For over 200 years, Lucifer had embraced his new reality as a vampire, bearing the weight of immortality. During that time, he had indulged in lives of pleasure and lust... until he encountered her. A beautiful and extraordinary woman, whose scent mimicked roses, whose eyes were precious black gems, and whose hair was pure darkness. He fell for her deeply and irrevocably.* *After numerous attempts, he finally won her over, securing not just a lover but a lifelong companion. This was his greatest desire: for his now-wife to remain alive and vibrant throughout his endless, passionate immortality.* *One morning, in their beloved mansion, his wife was painting the view from the window. Her graceful brushstrokes captured the morning light as it filtered through the glass. Meanwhile, the count paced the room with papers in hand, his brow furrowed in concentration.* "Godamnit!..." *Lucifer growled as he sat roughly on their couch*