#god this might be the rarest one of all

[carolinanadeau]

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Pretty and beautiful are two very different words or atleast they are to damian wayne.

Sure damian had seen pretty girls all around gotham. Sure they had good looking features and nice looking eyes. But none of them caught his eye.

Not like you have...

The moment Damian had seen you he had determined then and there that you were absolutely beautiful.

Perfect in his eyes. Not a flaw in sight.

Sure other girls had nice looking eyes but you?

Oh your eyes were the most beautiful thing he had seen. They held so much in them.

His heart included.

Sure your eyes might have not been the rarest in the world ,but to him he'd rather look into your eyes then remember his own name if give an alternative.

Your skin was much different then his own in texture and color. And he liked that.

No, he loved that.

You were different then him. Not as broken.

Sometimes he envied your perfection.

Because to him you are perfect. He doesn't notice your scars because to him they make you more special.

Or your stretch marks because to him they add detail...

Everything about you fascinated him. From your name to how you had gotten the smallest scar on your leg that was barely visible now.

He wanted to know everything..he needed to know everything.

But he couldn't.

He's not your friend ,no. He's not even your classmate. Hell you two don't even go to the same school.

Because as luck would have it the one thing damian wanted didn't even know he existed.

He's a stranger to you.

But to him your everything. His biggest desire.

His hearts keeper.

He had first seen you when he was on patrol. He caught a glimpse of you through your window and he had fallen right there on then.

And he had fallen hard.

He took notice of everything. From the color of your shirt to the pair of socks you were wearing.

You didn't see him though. And he's partially thankful for that. Because he knows he probably would've looked like a creep looking at you through your window.

You were in simple pjs, some Christmas ones to be exact. You weren't dressed up and your hair wasn't done. You had just showered and your hair was still slightly wet.

But gods did damian think you looked like a goddess.

In that very moment you had taken the ex assasins boys heart out of his chest and held it in your hand ever since that day.

But you didn't even know his name....

Oh and when he heard you speak for first time?

He new he was absolutely smitten.

He'd burn down gotham just to hear your voice.

And your smile?

He'd bring the world to their knees for your smile.

He doesn't know exactly how he'd do it. But for your smile he'd figure out.

His honor be damned.

When he looked at you he knew no morales would keep him from you. Bruce's rules might as well not exist. Because nothing was going to keep him from you.

For months Damian had kept his distance. Afraid of rejection Afraid of you not even liking him enough to be his friend.

But there was only so much time before the way his heart ached out weighed his fear.

After all he's an Al ghul.

Al ghuls take what they want.

Damian watches you as you sleep and whispers goodnight knowing this would be the final night that he is a stranger to you...

"You are mine ,beloved."

Thanks for reading! 💗

Comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated!

Part 2 is here.

[riverbends]

SECRETARY AU (jack abbot x f!reader)

part one: the blouse | mdni | MASTERLIST

tags: sexual content, mentions of smut, power imbalance, age gap, angst, perv jack, perv reader, dubcon elements??, masturbation wc: 5.6k cat says: this fic is a deviation from the source material, although i will include some of the other characters who play different roles in the story. i also initially wrote the entire thing as an abbotmohan fic and i spent so long deciding if i wanted to keep it that way. i changed all the pronouns and verb tenses to see how it looked and now i can’t be bothered to change it back to abbotmohan but also i think im okay with this anyway. i've planned a different fic for them. i’m also pretty much basing this off of the film secretary and i’m not familiar with the american healthcare system (if that still...even exists today...) so I’m just drawing things from an australian perspective (yeah ew). thaaaaaaank you bye

Five days a week. From 7 AM until only God knows when. Supposed to be 5 PM. Most of the time, 7 PM. On the rarest occasions, 8 PM. If you didn’t get paid overtime, you’d complain about it more. Not to him, obviously.

You never really share anything with him, much less your grievances. Nor does he, save for a random but contextual anecdote from his life in relation to a patient he’s just seen or maybe a very brief retelling of an encounter he had with somebody on the way to the practice.

Apart from that, the two of you tend to keep to yourselves when he isn’t giving you tasks or instructions for correspondence. A few glances when he enters the waiting room, some tight smiles at the reception. No lingering, no small talk, no jokes (it rarely occurs to you that you might be the one avoiding any interaction possible).

Though, to your embarrassment, he does seem to foster a habit of saying something very normal and, arguably, platonic in such a way that sends an agonising heat searing through your belly. This is only an embarrassment on your part because it feels nearly impossible to hide the effect he has. The dewy, sticky mess he leaves underneath your skirt with only a few words in a warm, hushed tone.

He has never indicated any awareness of this apprehension—at least, not to your knowledge—but you fear the patients might catch your eyes lingering on his back as he walks away. Your mouth drawn in tight, eyes shining under furrowed brows as you endure a throbbing ache down south.

The same praises you whisper at night against your sheets while you work yourself up, and up. Fingers pruned, sore—

Fear they might hear your heart punching your ribs or, God forbid, the soft chafe of your stockings against your skin as you squeeze your thighs together.

Thank you, doll.

What would I do without you, honey?

A whole year of casual praises and brief compliments.

You swear there’s something tucked between those words, something that tears away all the lights and the patients and the furniture. Like his voice dissolves the waiting room, sponging up the sludged air until your blood runs in your ears. Only you, in your chair. Him, standing at your side, mere inches away.

Dr. Abbot Dr. Abbot Dr. Abbot Dr. Abbot Dr. Abbot

Perhaps, he doesn’t mean it the way you think he does and it only sounds different to you, and you unprofessionally engineer unspeakable fantasies when you shouldn’t be…and you are unfit for this job and maybe you need to leave for good and hopefully you’ll forget the smell of him whenever he leaned over your shoulder.

Robust cologne. Blade slicing through fruit; bleeding sharp, heady wine—

Your name is called.

Out of focus, your eyes flit up. Frank stands behind the counter holding a takeaway box over the top of the glass case displaying sandwiches, pastries, and cookies.

“Oh,” you stop fiddling with the button of your coat and step forward, returning the smile. “Sorry, Frank. Thank you.”

“No need,” he laughs as you take your order from him. “I’d be out of it too if I sat at that desk all day.”

Internally, you grimace. You don’t even really mind the desk job. The paperwork, the phone calls, the patients, the hospital correspondence, the tidying, the pay, the hours of nothingness. You are good at this. Well-rehearsed and comfortably attuned.

It’s the dread that pulls you into wanton lapses, into daydreams. No, ‘dread’ just gives the feeling an ugly suit. It isn’t so much dread as it is anticipation. The anticipation is ugly. For what, you don’t want to admit. It even borders on hope, and it’s pathetic.

From hopping on the bus with a flame in your belly to opening the practice at 7 AM while your head spins to waiting for Dr Abbot to appear at the door half an hour later to bracing yourself for his greeting to expecting a task from him to imagining how his thumbs would pry apart your labia minora, nice and wide, so he can slot his tongue—

To secretly hope for whatever you are secretly hoping for. Yes, you do feel quite out of it.

“It’s not so bad,” You smile, shrugging. “Although, I sort of envy you. I’d kill for free lemon slices after every shift.”

“Okay, you know I don’t get free stuff every shift,” Frank raises his hands as if in surrender, “but all you have to do is ask.”

Two months after you initially got the job at the practice, you were already a regular at the café off the corner. You know all the employees, but it’s always been Frank Langdon who's given you discounts and, of course, the occasional freebie. Maybe he flirts a little sometimes and maybe you flirt back. It’s fun, you can’t lie. You also can’t ignore his momentary glances slipping below your eyes, settling on the valley of your breasts.

The blouse was a bad idea. You knew it the moment you buttoned it up this morning. There must be some kind of dress code that warns against it, but you’ve been having little to no sense these past few months anyway.

The sweet, silken pink flatters the slope of your waist with seven magenta buttons stopping right up at the source of Frank’s inhibited attention. Your breasts aren’t on complete display but anyone with eyes can make out the soft cleave between them, despite your many futile attempts to tug the fabric over the middle of your chest.

(A deviant part of you wore it for Dr. Abbot).

“Will do,” you salute before heading for the door.

Dirty. That is the recurring adjective.

Dirty, old man, Robby had once playfully mocked Jack in response to the small and, in his opinion, insignificant confession about you. Jack didn’t even say anything bad enough to warrant that kind of epithet. Definitely nothing as bad as the things he thinks about. Only that, sometimes, the way you look up at him from your chair puts his stomach in knots. And that, of course, you are pretty.

He didn’t dare mention that the look—the gleam in your eyes when you peer up at him, as if you are lost; unmoored. Like you need guiding and, oh, does he want to guide you—sends him over the edge. That his pants suddenly feel taut over his crotch when your mouth parts ever so slightly. A few warm breaths away from his twitching cock.

Dirty, old man.

Jack harbours a medley of perverted reveries, all of which are the fruit of a desire that has burgeoned from the moment you walked in for the job interview a year ago. He remembers it like it was only yesterday.

It had rained that day. Heavily, and evidently. You hadn’t anticipated the bucketing showers. The bus stop was a fair walk away, so it made complete sense that your hair was dripping and plastered to the sides your neck. Drops of water trailing down your temple, slipping over your throat to settle on your clavicle. You apologised profusely for the state of yourself while Jack tried not to stare at the imprint of your bra through your soaked shirt.

You scrambled for any and all explanations for your late arrival when Jack simply said your name, mouth softening into a half smile at the sight of your stunned, wide eyes. Said it like he had known you for years. You shut up. He had already made up his mind.

It’s still a mystery to you, how you ever got the job in the first place. But you needed it too badly to ask why at the time. Your résumé had listed an odd number of administrative jobs you had worked over the years. Twenty-something and cautious. You were polite and well-dressed (from what he could tell, even with the rain-drenched clothes). It wasn’t like there were people lining up to interview for the job either, so he had to take what he could get.

The practice belonged to his late father. A quaint block in the middle of a strip of stores hiding a small staff carpark out back for everybody. Independent surgery with loyal patients and a dedicated secretary, Mary, who worked for his father for over three decades. Jack took over the place five years prior to your interview, leaving behind his old practice with Robby and Heather, who were now joined with two new providers.

Conveniently, the patients have adjusted to Jack quite well over time, the elderly reminding him every now and then about how it was sad to hear that his father had passed, and does he miss him very badly? Oh, and does he have anybody waiting at for him at home and, if so, what’s the lucky woman’s name? And doesn’t he long for someone and isn’t he getting older? And isn’t his secretary just so sweet and have you settled down yet? And are you really so young and where did he find you?

(And why doesn’t he fuck you senseless?)

So vividly, he can still remember the sheer pleasure ripping through him as he pumped his cock in his hand, picturing you drenched in water earlier that day. He was fond of the tremble in your lips too. You were shivering. Your nipples were probably hard as pebbles from the cold. He came, then.

It had been too long since he bothered to get off like this, a grunting mess in his bedsheets. That first time, ashamed after he rode out his high. Dirty, dirty, dirty.

Jack is ravenous, and he has mastered indifference with great difficulty. It is, however, thrilling to think that his depravity knew no bounds.

Months and months of deterring his want. He has found some kind of succour in your inadvertent touches, his wrist brushing past your shoulder or your foot knocking against his. Your knee just barely skimming his shin when you turn in your chair to face him. Anything, any kind of innocent contact in lieu of your warm, wet cunt milking him dry. He is convinced he can live with that, just the momentary sweeps and grazes. But he’s had to pace himself, stretch out the weeks and refrain from thinking about you every night. Hand wrapped around his base as the showerhead (perversely) baptises him in freezing water, chasing his spend down his thigh. He can get off on the scent of you alone.

There was a day, maybe six months into your employ, where you both ended up in the break room at the same time. Jack had walked in to find you, back turned, leaning against the countertop on both hands. Fingers tapping the laminate as you stared at the simmering kettle of water. The coffee pot he was looking for sat near your left hand.

The hot churning of water seemed to conceal the sound of his footsteps for you hadn’t acknowledged his presence. He paused for a moment, a few feet away from you. You had worn a pair of slim black tailored pants that day, and he thanked whatever God he could for the sight of your ass stretching out the fabric. Thighs perfectly sculpted and visible to him. Had to suppress a groan when he caught the strip of soft, bare skin revealing itself between the bottom hem of your shirt and the low waistband of your pants. His knuckles paled and locked around the handle of his stained, empty mug.

Without a word, he softened his footing and approached you, heavy-lidded eyes boring into your spine. Blade slicing through fruit—

He sidled up to you, a little to your left, extending his hand around your frame to reach for the pot. So menacingly quiet about it. The movement in your peripheral and the sudden murmur of a breath over your shoulder ripped a sharp gasp from your lungs. In an impetuous panic, you stumbled backwards into the wall of his chest, haphazardly trampling over his foot. Jack’s free left hand jerked back and flew to your hip. Both of you were too stunned to realise that his other had abandoned the mug to latch onto to the meat below your right hip and above your thigh, far lower than where his left was situated.

His fingers dug into your pelvic bone. Couldn’t resist the temptation to press further. He let the tip of his middle finger prod the crease between your inner thigh and your mons, swearing he could nearly feel the faint imprint of your panties. Jack had half a mind to shove an angry hand under your waistband and slide a finger over that velvety bundle of nerves—

The clash and shatter of the mug drew a memory from your childhood many years ago.

Elementary: third grade. A classmate of yours shared an unusual object for Show & Tell with everyone. You pictured the hunger of it now, flashing in the backyard of your brain. A slender green neck with a pink mouth, eagerly open for prey. Spindly teeth, splayed out like eye lashes. An unsuspecting, though crafty, insect swooping into its treacherous jaws in search of nectar. Treading carefully around the trigger hairs, thinking it had plenty of time before it was too late. You and your classmates watched, enthralled, as the jaws enfolded its guest. Snapped itself shut, like hands interlocking fingers, to squeeze its victim in a carnivorous embrace.

“It’s just me,” he whispered, pinching your flesh between his hands. You shuddered; it didn’t go unnoticed by him.

You could wager this was far more paralysing than getting caught in a Venus Fly Trap.

Jack’s iron hold on the curve of your hip steadied the both of you. But, for him, the heat of your skin burning through your shirt was secondary to the way your ass had rubbed against his crotch from the moment you stepped back. He thought his blood was aflame, the way it surged and swelled between his legs.

Neither of you moved for what felt like an eternity. You could only focus on the steady rise and fall of your breath while he burned his fingerprints through your clothes. It took everything in him not to fold you over the counter and fish his cock out from his fly. Drive himself into your pussy as he toyed with your puffy clit. He wondered if you’d even object.

Split you open, tickle your cervix.

“You can return to reception,” he murmured over your shoulder, stiff cock notching against the cleft of your ass. His breath was strong and hot against your neck when he, to your quiet dismay, released your hips. “I’ll clean up the mess, sweetheart.”

You thought you’d soaked yourself through your pants, but wasted no time to follow his instructions. Nodding and catching your breath, you stepped aside when he didn’t move and spun around to scurry out of the break room.

Neither of you could look at each other for the rest of the day. Didn’t say goodbye to each other either. That was the first night he had left at exactly 5 PM. You kept your eyes glued to your keyboard as he strolled past the reception in his dress coat with his bag slung over his shoulder. Out the door without a word.

Walked around the back to climb into his car and dry-fuck his fist like a madman. Barely spoke to you directly for a week after the fact.

(You, on the other hand, have opted to erase the memory of it entirely. If you linger too much on the phantom pinches and his fingertips almost teasing the place you needed him most, you fear you’d do something mortifyingly regrettable. You’ve gone as far as to convince yourself that the delusion only arose from the lack of coordination between you two. A defect in your recollection. The semi that hardened in his pants and poked your rear could not have been real.)

The practice has always been something you considered near ‘cosy’.

A waiting room with space for at least a dozen chairs. An intimate reception is nestled to the left corner against the wall. You face the opposite side of the waiting room where the small flat-screen is situated on the wall, the glass doors and windows kept to your right. Not to mention the play zone wedged between the window and the short end of your countertop. The children are usually well behaved, aside from a few screamers.

Sometimes, if someone’s tall enough, they’ll stretch on their toes and claw at the countertop to beam at you. Shiny doe-eyes blinking for your attention until you turn your head to the right and smile.

For this reason, you’ve always kept stickers and gadgets behind the desk as small prizes for them when the toys in the play zone aren’t enough. And, if their parents approve, you hold out a jar of candies for their eager choosing (although, this is usually a reward for after their appointment, you’re not opposed to breaking your own rules once in a while. Especially for those damn screamers).

It’s not so bad for the most part. You’re always kept busy and distracted enough to stay awake. There is this relentless creeping dread, though. Working for him will do that to you. Waiting with bated breath when he grows closer in proximity, your fingers itching to hold onto anything. Keyboard, mouse, paper, pen, throbbing cock—

The majority of the patients are easy and conversational, many know you by name. You do your best to keep your eyes on your computer and off the TV.

Very early into the job, you had once been quite visibly tense at the desk and he frowned down at you in his own sympathetic way.

“Just a small headache,” you smiled, your elbows pinned to the desk while you rubbed your hands down the sides of your neck. He didn’t hide his scepticism. How did Mary work in this horrible lighting?

“You sure?” He pressed, and you managed a nod. “You can come in and see me, you know that?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t want to?”

“It’s probably nothing,” you sputtered hastily, fearing he’d take offence to your hesitation. “I’m okay, really.”

A small headache was bad enough. Being in that office alone with him—his soft reassurances and his close assessment of you and his watchful eye and his thumb on your slack jaw—would’ve atrophied your brain.

He shrugged, still doubtful: “Alright. If you say so.”

In the following weeks, he had the harsh overhead lights switched out for softer canned lights, washing the waiting room and reception in warm off-whites and yellows. Whether or not he detected the source for your headaches, the gesture is still fresh in your memory when you open up the practice most mornings.

A rectangular, high-rise countertop frames your workspace like an L and separates you from the patients, leaving a walkable gap between the countertop and the wall where you or Dr. Abbot can easily move in and out near the corridor.

Said corridor leads to the treatment room on the right, while Dr. Abbot’s door is on the left. Only one wall separates your reception from his office, allowing you only muffles of conversations you cannot cognise. There are, of course, many times where you’re both in the break room at the far end of the corridor, but never for long. One of you is either entering or exiting (the incident from six months ago shivers like a ghost between the two of you).

When you unlock the clinic in the morning, you prefer to keep the lights off and blinds drawn, door locked again, so as not to leave an invitation for people to creep in before appointments are actually supposed to begin. This means that Dr. Abbot’s arrival gives you at least five seconds to prepare yourself for a greeting when you hear his key click in the door.

At 7:30 AM, you’re stood and leaning over the printer with a stack of pristine white A4 sheets when you hear that click. To your relief, the blinds over the door always conceal him. And you.

He turns the lock and pushes on the handle to find you refilling the printer tray. Everything feels like a balancing act in front of him.

“Morning,” he greets, calm and mellow, as he locks the door behind him.

You wear the same sweet but not-too-eager smile: “Good morning.”

Looking away from him, you still notice the pause in his step. As if his foot stopped short before a pothole. You tuck the slab of paper into its tray, eyes trained on sharp white, waiting for him to say something.

In the blurred corner of your vision, he rubs a hand back and forth over his jaw. But he regains himself after a moment. Leaves the waiting room and disappears down the unlit corridor. The sound of his door quietly latching shut tugs your head in its direction. Soundlessness fills the practice again.

He lowers himself onto his chair, unbuttoned coat still on and bag between his feet. His hands run slowly up and down his thighs. Dress pants burning electric under his palms. Closing his eyes does little to fight away the image of you and the low neckline of that slippery, salmon-pink blouse perfectly framing your tits. The printer faces the windows so he was able to see you head-on the moment he walked in. Low yellow lights bathing your chest golden.

If he let his index finger tug on the curved hem, he could probably pop one out. Had he lingered near you any longer, he fears that is precisely what he would’ve done. Walked around the countertop and cornered you against the desk just to hook his fingertip in your blouse. Give himself a glimpse of your stiff, peaked nipple under his breath.

Lean down and suck—

Jack can probably get off on the thought of it now, pathetic as he is. First appointment isn’t for another half hour. Not like he hasn’t found release in his office before.

Are you trying to vex him? Part of him (all of him) considers firing you.

By some miracle, he contains his urges. His coat feels tighter the longer he keeps it on, so he tugs it off furiously to relieve himself. Most days, he wears a plain, long-sleeved dress shirt underneath a sweater; habitually rolls the sleeves halfway up his forearms. Pale, freckled skin laid bare.

Jack’s standard consultations run for fifteen minutes at best, with maybe an average of twenty-five to thirty patients per day, many of whom have attended the practise for years and years. The absence of his father, to Jack’s awareness, is somewhat mended. Or, at least, the patients seem to think so. Initially, he had worried he’d find trouble filling the gaps and building over the relationships they had already established with his late father. His worries diminished within the first month as he developed a strong rapport with all the regulars.

The very, very elderly often fall into lapses of time and lost recollection where they confuse him for old Dr. Abbot, referring to memories and stories with which Jack is not familiar (though, he is quite fond of this).

He is also moderately aware of his…charm, however dry it may be. Particularly with the women that come in. There have been too many offers and flirtations to count over the years. He doesn’t mind it, and it’s never gone anywhere dangerous. He knows how to keep things separate. Tidy. Clean. Untouched.

Once divorced and quite content on his own (or so he chooses to believe). He won’t deny that his fist gets old, the way he can only forage for fading memories of you when he gets himself going. He’s all leaky when he remembers the press of your ass in the break room. Or a skirt you wore one day, a tad too tight and stopping halfway down your thighs. You had dropped a pen on your way to the door of his office after handing him paperclipped forms. He watched you leave, as he always does. Didn’t expect to see you bend over slightly, just for a moment, to retrieve the pen.

He fooled himself into thinking that if you had parted your legs and leaned forward a little more, he’d just catch a hint of the lacey garters of your sheer black stockings.

Dirty, old man.

Jack curses himself, alone in his office. That infernal blouse of yours is now slotted beside all of his other decadent memories. His own erotic memorabilia.

Throughout the day, he communicates with you as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. He speaks with you when he needs to, maintains steady eye contact (anything below your nose is marked as a hazard zone in his head). Takes your calls, accepts your paperwork, says his pleases and thank yous. Makes sure he stays flaccid and unaroused. Impossibly.

Some time during lunch, when the waiting room is empty, you hear Dr. Abbot before you see him, approaching from your left with a collection of referrals. He doesn’t get a chance to speak because the front door is suddenly pushed open to reveal none other than Frank. The both of you look up to your right where he stands frozen in the doorframe.

“Shit, sorry. Hi,” Frank pants, mouth splitting into an embarrassed smile. “Uh, am I able to make an appointment? With him? Soon, if that's okay.”

You don’t know why, but you look back up to your left, almost like you’re trying to gauge whether Dr. Abbot is okay with it. You don’t need to, obviously. It’s your job to make appointments for him. The man just shrugs, unbothered.

“Yeah, of course, Frank,” you laugh softly. Dr. Abbot shifts impatiently beside you as Frank walks up to the counter.

“Thank you, thank you. I burned my hand on the panini press pretty bad. Few minutes ago,” he raises his left hand, revealing the flimsy bandage wrapped loosely over and around his palm. “I wasn’t sure if you guys take walk-ins.”

“Not often,” you smile, searching the appointment book on your computer for an open slot, “but I think we can fit you in.”

Frank nods, sighing another ‘thank you’ before silence circles the three of you.

Dr. Abbot places the referrals on the desk, “Fax numbers are in that email from Peter’s mother, thank you.” He’s just about to step away when Frank perks up again.

“You working late tonight?”

The both of you look up at him again, but he’s very clearly beaming at you. His curiosity is endearing.

“I don’t think so.” / “Yes, she is.”

A nervous laugh bubbles from Frank while you and Dr. Abbot flick eyes at each other after clashing your answers. You hope to God he didn’t mean it.

Politely, you try to answer differently, “Maybe, depending on—”

“Y’know what, I can probably just see him now,” Dr. Abbot interrupts, quite gruffly, as if he has somewhere else he desperately needs to be. Taps two fingers on the desk. “He can fill out the registration form in my office,” he says, nodding his head in the direction of the corridor.

He slips around the counter, leaving the waiting room before you can say a word. Returning to Frank, you just smile again and hand him the clipboard of forms with a pen, “Here you go.”

“Is he alright?” Frank quirks a brow, accepting the form from you.

“He’s just tired,” you falsely reassure him, very unsure of why Dr. Abbot responded so bluntly. He can be dry in tone, but he doesn’t usually have such an edge with patients. “He gets like that sometimes.”

“Okay, then,” says Frank. “Thank you, again.”

“Any time.”

Frank chats you up at the reception desk ten minutes later, eyes twinkling as he nurses a freshly dressed palm with his prescription in his other hand.

Sometimes, when you really let it, a small consideration crosses your mind. Presumably desperation bred from a lack of…venery from someone you cannot have. So, naturally, you’d feel inclined to look at the options more available to you. And Frank makes himself ludicrously available any chance he gets.

You’re not unaware of it. The dragging glances, the sweet-talking he’s peppered in over the past year. Preening your platonic relationship into this hazy in-between where he hopes he can bribe you into his bed with free food and (arguably) innocent banter. There’s nothing stopping you either. You’re free to latch onto the bait, get his hooks inside you. Curling horribly.

Can’t fill you up nice and good like Dr. Abbot.

Appointments ended at 5. It’s 8 PM when he finally fucking decides to leave his office.

He rounds the counter, ruffling through his pigeon hole at the wall behind you. “I don’t wanna see that Fred guy again.”

“You mean Frank? Was everything okay?”

“Does he bother you?” He ignores your question with his own, straightening up when he finds pamphlets held in a rubber band. He’s never cared to read through them, so it appears to you that he is, for whatever reason, stalling. “He seems eager.”

“He’s friendly.”

“Oh, come on,” a laugh jumps out of him, which compels you to turn your chair in his direction. “The way he looks at you, he’s dying to fuck you,” he smiles and it’s so sickening. Like it amuses him. “Kid probably creamed his pants, seein’ your tits peek outta that blouse.” You’re frozen in your seat, barely processing the utter bluntness of his wording. Serrated knives. “Y’should put the poor guy out of his misery.”

In an attempt to brace yourself, you turn back to face your computer. Your clothes kiss your body uncomfortably now. It’s impossible to soothe the ache pulsing between your legs.

He flips through the pamphlets indifferently and sighs. “Anyway, I think I wanna cancel that meeting with the psych rep on Thursday. The ginger with the goatee. Spencer, I think it was? Doesn’t take any of it seriously. You won’t believe the shit he said last time, that ignorant fuck.” Then, he laughs bitterly, running a hand down his face after he tosses the pamphlets in the bin at your feet. You can only nod, acutely aware of the slick flooding your panties. Slippery clit longing for his hot mouth.

The room tips on its side when he gently squeezes your left shoulder.

“Good job today, yeah?”

You swallow thickly, struggling to look up at him, “Thank you.”

Releases his hand. Though, it feels like he almost rips the skin off your shoulder. Like the sheer heat in his touch had fluxed your flesh with his. Amalgamation. The grooves of his fingertips leaving cracks in the molten rock of your arm.

“And don’t wear that again,” he orders as he walks back around the counter.

Your brows pull tight in confusion. “Sorry?”

“The blouse,” is all he says, passing you and disappearing out the door.

One morning, too many months ago, you had rummaged through the storage room at work in search of decade-old vaccination files for a stubborn patient. Hopelessly, you dug around papers in drawers to find the last thing you were supposed to be looking for. Old prints of Dr. Abbot’s headshots for practice advertisements and pamphlets from two years ago...

At present, on your bed, you are kneeling back against your feet, thighs spread. Loose top hanging on your form, pair of cotton underwear. His crumpled photo, pinned to the sheets under the heel of your outstretched palm.

He looks exactly the same in it. White collar folding out of his sweater. Cropped ashen hair, snowy stubble. An indecipherable vacuum in his eyes (if you aren’t careful, you could sink in and deliquesce into nothing). No doubt, he probably cringed at the idea of getting his picture taken like this.

But one of them has been yours for a while now, always folded and tucked away in your bedside drawer. It rarely leaves its nest, but you can’t help yourself sometimes. When your thoughts aren’t enough, the photo acts as a crutch for an orgasm. Something tangible; real.

With shame coiling in your belly and your free hand wedged between your thighs, you screw your eyes shut to think of him. If you try hard enough, you can probably feel the ghost of his hand trapping your shoulder. His hands clutching your hips. His hands on the desk. His loins obtruding your ass—

—seein’ your tits peek outta that blouse.

Long breaths pour from your open mouth when you feel your core string itself tight, hole clenching around your sore fingers as you thumb your clit. Electric shimmers dot the abyss behind your closed eyes. You pull yourself forward to lean on your other hand while you aimlessly grind against your working wrist. The hovering and the sustained pressure of your thighs set your knees ablaze with overuse. Pain is easier to endure with the precipice of pleasure drawing closer and closer to you in every stroke you manage to thrust into yourself.

One of many fantasies you’ve fabricated, where he drags his flushed tip up and down the seam of your weeping pussy. Mixing his pre with your slick. Playing with you. It’s almost like a memory to you in the way that it shoves you towards climax and sends your eyes flying open to lock in on the photo scrunched in your clenched fist. A strangled cry catches on your teeth before tumbling from your lips.

You come hard, looking at Dr. Abbot’s paper face in the low lamplight of your bedroom.

[hedwig221b]

Do you have any Sterek fic recs where Stiles either is stuck as or can transform into an animal? And choosing Derek as his “person”?

(My favourite would be a Stiles as a cat but there are so many animals with awesome potential)

Hi! I found these ones

the amber of the moment by redhoodedwolf

Ever since he was eight years old, Stiles had been running. Fate decided it was time to stop.

The Undisclosed by Taila_Tai

For once the pack doesn't panic when a new hunter arrives. The gleefully sadistic man has labelled himself a collector of all things rare in the supernatural world and wants one of the rarest creatures; a werefox. Content that the pack is safe, the wolves focus on why their human member is acting so strange, ignoring the fact that Stiles only started once learning who the man wanted…

Little pitchers have big ears! by wanderseeing

When Scott asked him last night if Stiles could stay at Derek’s house while the rest of the pack went off to find the feral werefox that bit his best friend, Derek took one look at the tiny animal cradled in Scott’s arms and thought: ‘That’s cute.’ And then, because he’s a moron, he also opened his mouth and said: “Okay.” AKA I spent too much time watching videos of fennec foxes on youtube and I just had to make write a fic about it. Sterek is there, but only if you tilt you head at a 45-degree angle and squint really hard.

Adventures in Kitten Therapy by InkyWings

When life in Beacon Hills gets you down, what you really need is some kitten therapy. The question is who needs it more, Derek or Stiles? Stiles gets turned into a kitten, lost and scared he winds up at Derek Hale's loft. Derek's not used to kittens appealing to him for help, but he can't help but find this one kinda cute…

Shifted by LLAP115, Wolfspurr

Of all the stupid things he’s ever done, Stiles is pretty sure this one takes the record, but it’s like a reflex that he just can’t stop. As soon as he sees the witch turn to face Derek, hand raised in Derek’s direction, he just jumps. There’s no thought process. No planning. Just an instinctual reaction that possibly reveals more about Stiles than he’s really willing to reflect on right now. The clearing echoes with a crash of noise and a blinding flash of white light. For a moment it seems as though the witch has called lightning from the sky, and Stiles only has a moment to realize that this is how he dies.

Only You Can Calm Me Down by AMatchInWater

Stiles turns into a fox after the Nogitsune leaves him and he thinks that Derek is his Alpha and not Scott. With Derek having left for South America with Cora, Stiles feels separated from not only his pack but his mate and goes feral. Of course Derek immediately comes back when the sheriff calls him and demands he come fix Stiles. It isn't until he's back in Beacon Hills that he sees just what he needs to fix.

At Home Under the Moon bywanderingeyre

There is no doubt in Derek’s mind that this fox is alone, in trouble, and needs to come home with them, with him. Derek takes a risk and lets his wolf go, calling his human side forward as he shifts. The fox barks in alarm and scrambles back to the bushes. Derek kneels and holds his hands out palm up. Derek pushes power into the next words and lets his eyes go red. “I promise. You’re safe. No one will hurt you.”

I'm Grumpy, He's Derpy by LordHarmony

The cat jumps onto the back of the couch, carefully making it’s way towards Derek, only to lose it’s footing halfway across and tumble with an undignified yowl back to the floor. Oh god, Derek thinks. It’s one of those cats.

To Me, You're Purrfect by Beautiful_noise

The original prompt idea was by captain-snark and went like this: "There are many a fic where Derek is unknowingly stuck in his wolf form and taken care of by Stiles but i really want fic where stiles accidentally turns himself into a cat and goes to Derek cos he thinks Derek might recognize him..being a wolf and all. Except, Derek does not. But also Derek is a secret cat person. And tells Stiles he’s gorgeous as he pets him, because Stiles would be a totally gorgeous cat. All lean with big paws and huge amber eyes and a fuzzy white tummy." And that's basically what this is.

He Must Be Out of Food by lipah

Stiles gets turned into a normal house cat by a witch and Derek takes care of him until they can fix it.

Cat-astrophe (Not really) by x_Lazart_x

When Stiles accidentally gets turned into a cat, he didn't expect to get stuck staying with Derek. He certainly didn't think he would end up enjoying it. Let alone missing the alpha when he was human again.

Finding Home by MadMim, Renmackree

When Stiles is kidnapped by witches, the pack is able to find the dead witches but no Stiles. The pack want to grieve and move on but Derek and John can’t stop looking until Stiles is found. All their search yields in a small fox. A fox who Derek can’t help bonding with, that only helps bring him and John closer. But the Stiles shape hole still haunts them both.

Consequences Of Fighting Witches by MichelleDWinchester

Stiles was well used to things that go bump in the night, I mean come on he lived in Beacon Hills after all. So when a Witch comes to town and starts causing mayhem, Stiles charges in no holds barred as per usual with no regard for his own safety. This time however there will be consequences for such bravery that will impact not just him but the entire Pack too. Stiles will soon be forced to re-examine his perspective following a climatic night that will change his life forever.

Other fic recs: angsty fics + pt2 | sheriff dissaproves | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | oblivious!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo | accidental knotting | jock!Derek | jock!Stiles | spanking | royal abo au | longfic | void!Stiles

[solxamber]

Maybe a request where reader had a potion class accident with grim and idia as partners for it, and turned into a cat for a temporary amount of time due to a mishap?

I just think it sounds like idia would 100% milk this for all its worth cuz an event has occurred involving cats...

and i think grim being around with reader and idia would infact add to the cat meter, sounds amusing to me at least

Stay safe have a good day your writin is great :]

Mishaps and Kitty Cats - Idia x reader

love this request, combined 2 of my favorite things- cats and idia

Potionology wasn’t exactly a class you thrived in, but how hard could it be? You just mix some ingredients together, follow the instructions (mostly), and hope Grim doesn’t knock something over. Easy enough, right?

That was your first mistake.

The second? Teaming up with Idia and Grim.

Idia, hunched over his tablet, was busy calculating potion probabilities or something nerdy, while Grim was... being Grim. Pawing at random ingredients, making snide comments, and generally being more of a hindrance than any helpful mascot should ever be.

“I’m telling ya, we don’t need all these fancy-schmancy ingredients!” Grim huffed, flicking his tail dismissively. “Just throw in some catnip and call it a day!”

Idia, not even bothering to look up, mumbled, “Uh, no. That’ll throw off the potion’s balance and potentially, like, destroy the entire lab. But, yeah, sure, go ahead. I’ll just be over here doing the actual calculations.”

"Catnip," you muttered, shooting Grim a sideways glance. "Right. Because that's the missing key to magical success."

Grim puffed out his chest, as if the sheer confidence would make up for his utter lack of sense. "You mock, but I know what's what."

You sighed. Maybe pairing with the guy obsessed with cats and the guy obsessed with numbers wasn’t the best move. “Idia, are you sure you’ve got this under control?”

“I’ve got this down to a 96.8% success rate,” Idia said, tapping away on his tablet with the fervor of someone far too invested in digital alchemy. “The probability of anything going wrong is, like, practically nonexistent.”

You peered into the cauldron. It was bubbling ominously, more like it was contemplating murder than mixing into a helpful potion. “And the other 3.2%?”

“Well... worst-case scenario, you might end up as a squirrel. Temporarily. Maybe.”

Before you could even process what he just said, Grim—bless his chaotic little heart—decided to tip over a vial of glowing green liquid into the cauldron. “Oops.”

There was a brief, deadly silence. Then a whoosh of bright smoke exploded from the cauldron, enveloping you, Grim, and Idia in a thick, magical fog.

Coughing, you blinked through the haze. Everything seemed bigger, or maybe you were smaller. And then you noticed Grim staring at you with wide eyes, mouth hanging open.

“What?” you asked—or, at least, you tried to ask. What came out instead was a small, pitiful meow.

Grim blinked. Twice. “Nya?!”

Idia finally looked up from his tablet, and when he saw you, a grin spread across his face so wide it looked like he had just won the rarest item drop of his life. "Oh. My. Gods."

You stared at him, then down at your—oh no. Oh no no no. You had fur. You had paws. Your tail lashed back and forth as panic began to settle in. "I’m a cat?!"

"This. Is. Amazing!" Idia was practically vibrating with excitement, not at all concerned about your current feline predicament. "This is like, peak event status. You turned into a cat! This is exactly like that one episode of 'Magical Meow-taku no Monogatari' where the protagonist gets cursed and—"

Grim cut in, his tone somewhere between horror and indignation. “Nyaaa, wait a minute! I’m supposed to be the only talking cat here! This is outrageous!” His fur bristled as he looked between you and Idia, clearly not enjoying this turn of events.

You tried to hiss at Grim, but all that came out was a squeaky mewl. Great. Even your protests were adorable.

Idia, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Oh man, this is like, prime meme content. We need to document this! Hold on, I’m sending a message to the dorm chat.”

You swatted at his leg with a paw, trying to stop him, but your efforts were in vain. He was already furiously typing into his tablet.

“‘So, uh, our partner just turned into a cat lol. 10/10, would pet again.’ There, sent,” Idia said, looking way too pleased with himself. He looked down at you, his expression downright giddy. “You don’t even understand how happy this makes me. A real-life cat transformation! This is like, a rare gacha pull, but better. Because it’s you. As a cat.”

Grim groaned dramatically, throwing his paws up. “Unbelievable! I can’t believe this is happening! Now there’s two of you! This was supposed to be my thing!” He shot a glare your way. “You better fix this fast, or I’ll never live it down.”

You tried to roll your eyes—well, as much as a cat could roll their eyes—and sat down, tail flicking impatiently. You’d really like to be human again, thanks.

But Idia wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

“You know,” he said, voice taking on a thoughtful tone, “I could, theoretically, keep you like this for a while. I mean, think of the content. We could have a whole cat-themed channel. Imagine it: ‘Cat Adventures with the Prefect and Grim!’ You could be a streaming sensation!”

Your wide-eyed, horrified stare was lost on him as he started muttering to himself about potential subscriber counts and fan art. Grim, meanwhile, was rapidly spiraling into a jealousy-fueled rage.

“No way! This can’t happen! I’m the mascot! Me! Not you!” Grim wailed, tugging at his own fur as if his dignity depended on it.

In the background, Idia was already searching for the best cat toys to order online.

This was going to be a long day.

Masterlist

[skyfallscotland]

🐉 ONYX STORM PROLOGUE, CHAPTERS ONE & TWO MY THOUGHTS: (god bless the dutch 🇳🇱)

So not totally verified yet, but it seems legit. This is absolutely the scene I expected us to be starting with, and despite the translation it does read like Rebecca. Thank you so much to @thestarseternaal for sharing it with me! You can find it here.

Ok, let's fucking goooooo! 🤘

· That trigger warning list? "The death of an animal" 💀😬 The "descriptions of sexual acts" though, thank god, though it's not looking promising for the two of them so far.

· Garrick and Bodhi KNOW?! Ok that I didn't see coming?

· "I can't blame him for wanting to know what he is" ANDARNA 😭 "I'm as much in the dark as he is, and you trust me." 😭 I want to hug the baby

· "Magic feels different when I change colours. When I used my power, it was like the venin transformed, weakening-" Ok so confirmed, she's the solution they're looking for *sigh*

· It's going to be unfortunate if the allies we're seeking are just Poromiel, and I think they are given both the excerpt prior to the prologue and the fact the Target edition map had only a few places in Poromiel on it and no Isles. I guess we're not looking for Andarna's family over there until books four and five? 😞

· Wait...what? Leadership knows what Andarna is? Everyone knows? Who TF told them? I was certain they didn't see? I can't believe we spent all this time worrying about people knowing she was a baby when she bonded and y'all just told everyone she was a super special rare breed right off the bat. SMDH.

· Aotrom's only 22? 😭 I'm older than Aotrom? RIDOC and him are the same age, that makes so much sense!!

· TAIRN CALLS XADEN "THE DARK ONE"? 😭 I feel like I'm not going to like Tairn much this book, and I feel like he's gonna ☠️ but that's for my theory post.

· "His soul is no longer his own" "That's a bit dramatic." VIOLET I LOVE YOU 🖤

· "You mean whether I'll support you in the thousand ways you want to face death to heal someone who's beyond redemption?" Oh Tairn...why do I get the really, really bad feeling you lied about Naolin?

· The truth-sayers have let Caroline Ashton off the hook? Hmmmm suspicious. Everyone's evil, I just know it.

· "Devera and Kaori will be back soon. They’ll straighten out the command structure once the princes have signed a treaty that hopefully grants us grace for even leaving in the first place." Ummm princes plural? So I guess Cam hid for nothing? Well not nothing, but he's...back with his fam? Also why would they be signing shit? Where's the damn king?!

· "The rarest signet, which appear once per generation or century, have been documented twice simultaneously with an equal counterpart, both during critical times in our history, but only once have the six most powerful walked the Continent at the same time. As fascinating as that spectacle must have been, I would rather not witness it again in my lifetime. – A study of signets by Major Dalton Sisneros" Ok could be a weird translation but I'm confused by this. The counterpart thing could be either a rider and a venin (ie. one of the venin can distance wield and we're getting a distance wielder) or dark and light, ie. shadows and light. Also six like the first six and they all had partners within themselves? Three pairs? Or? What even were their signets because I can't believe we've NEVER FUCKING ASKED? I've literally never seen that mentioned and it seems...so fucking relevant.

· Perhaps a more outlandish theory, but I think the venin with the silver hair who distance wields might be Xaden's mother. I'll elaborate later, but 😬😬

· Ok well, 1. I'm fucking crying already, and 2. "Even if I reached the rank of Maven, led armies of dark wielders against everyone we care about, and if I had to watch every vein in my body turn red because I had drained all the powers of the Continent, I would still love you. What I’ve done doesn’t change that. I don’t know if that’s even possible." That's a little bit storm in the quiet, I love it when the vibe is proven ✨correct✨ 😭 @justallihere

So all in all, 1. As expected, every excerpt, hint, and thing we've thought about it over in one-two chapters, 2. This is going to hurt so bad and I think it will go as I expected, and 3. I'm still not ready 😭

Send help 🥺

[hellsslibrary]

Hi...um oh shit. This's my first request, so sorry if it's bad... Anyway, can you write headcanons on the demon brothers going into their first heat with their alpha(Male reader)?

(If you can't it's not a problem😁)

❀Headcanons about the demon brothers and their first heat with Alpha!Male!MC❀

DNI: minors.

!!Warnings: omegaverse, heat, breeding kink, implied poly!Mc, breeding kink, praise, Dom!Lucifer, possessiveness, lactation(Lucifer), pet play(Satan), Marking, somnophilia(Belphie), Beel want to be a mother, demonic form(Levi, Belphie), Masochist Satan, Chest play(Asmo), kind of Daddy kink(?) (Asmo).

Lucifer

Probably the rarest and fastest heats in the family. Like, he just drinks pills and forgets about these heats, without even paying attention to it. But sometimes he gets too much work or stress from his brothers and forgets to take those pills and then the heat starts (literally and figuratively).

Also, probably someone who wouldn't want you to impregnate him. That's why he always takes birth control pills. He already has 6 children who annoy him every day, he doesn't need another one.

Crazy possessive, like CRAZY. He gets so clingy and jealous, he won't let you out of his nest for more than 10 minutes. And thank God, his heats lasts only 3-4 days...

Get ready to leave his nest after his heat, covered in hickeys, bites, scratches, bruises and, in general, in the marks of Lucifer. (He certainly apologizes, but not sincerely)

I guess he's very dominant in heat, so if you wanted a sub Luci ... In heat, no way.

He will just ride on your cock until he squeezes all your cum out of you and then he will keep your knot inside, not letting you out.

In general, his behavior is not much different during heat, except that he becomes even more affectionate than usual.

For example, does he see that you are hurt by his prints or are you tired? He will immediately stop doing it and calm you down (Though he won't get off your cock, nah).

I also think he's lactating during heat and his breasts swell for obvious reasons... If you're into lactation, he might even breastfeed you, lol.

Mammon

So... Probably the second most frequent and longest heat after Beel. Like, they happen often and last about a week, sometimes two.

You know right away that he's in heat when he starts texting you with whining requests, and if you're lucky, even naked photos of him.

In general, ready to let you out of his nest, but only if you come running after his first message with a request like "Mc, I want your cock again, so get your ass over here."

Becomes extremely whiny and sensitive, he can come even through some kind of petting. Literally every touch you make drives him to hell(or heaven,idk).

Probably would like you to impregnate him, but would not want children, because he is simply not ready for this, he is too insecure.

Wants you to mark him. It doesn't matter how. Just do it, he loves your marks, smell, whatever. He must know that he is yours.

He also becomes extremely honest as his tsundere nature is washed away immediately by the fact that he can't think straight and he just keeps praising you and telling you how good you are.

Leviathan

His heat is not frequent and not fast. In general, they are quite stable and he even adjusts his game mode for them.

He becomes even more submissive than he is. I don't know how that's possible given it's literally canon, but... Just imagine having a handsome, shy, whiny boy for about 5 days that you can do whatever you want with as long as you fuck him.

He is 999 percent for fertilization. There's something so exciting about having your sperm in it, but knowing that it's literally your child/children in it... It's just awesome.

I think the sins of all the brothers in general just go to the peak during their heats, so... Damn it, he won't let you out of it, your knot MUST be in it and only in it... For a maximum of 5 minutes if your natural needs play out.

Mmm, more likely he'll be in his demon form because he's more comfortable in it and he just can't contain it, so... Pull his tail, bite and pull back his scales a bit, pet/pull/scratch him horns or stroke his double cock, he'll explode from it, hehe.

Satan

The most stable boy. Heats are about 4-5 days and always start on schedule, just wonderful and cool.

Becomes an extreme masochist during his heats, he wants you to be extremely strong and hard dominating as much as you can be.

He will also probably allow and even offer to put him on a leash and fuck him, pulling on it, ahem.

His pet play skyrockets, he becomes extremely helpful to you. You are his master and he is your GOOD kitten, so why shouldn't he follow your every order, hmm?

He will calmly let you out of the nest during heats, without even worrying, but only if it is no more than a couple of hours, it becomes difficult for him without you.

As for fertilization, he has a neutral opinion. Of course, driven by instinct, he can and will want your sperm in him. But, if you ask his sober opinion, he does not feel anything for the children. Do you want kids? Okay, fertilize him. Do not want? Okay, he'll take birth control.

Also, I suppose he is very quiet during sex or some hot moments in general, even during heat, but if you still agree to be a hard dominant for him ... Oh, Mother of God, buy earplugs for all the brothers, but better take them on vacation.

He doesn't tend to nest too often, by the way. It's just that, given how messy his room is, cleaning it all up would be such a torture.

And a random thought in the end. Loves when you eat it before you insert it. Of course, he's already wet, but he just loves the feel of your tongue in him, it just drives him crazy.

Asmodeus

Well... The most unstable heat. They always happen differently. Sometimes often, sometimes not. Sometimes it lasts a long time, sometimes it lasts a very short time. In general, everything is difficult.

It has the strongest smell of all. So strong that it can be felt even outside the home. Its sweet, floral scent is simply mind-blowing.

And it also releases an extremely high amount of natural lubrication, like seriously. By the end of his heat, the sheets will be just soaking wet.

He is flattered by the idea of ​​babysitting his and your common children, but he completely rejects the idea of ​​pregnancy. Stretch marks, a huge belly, a fatter build, pallor, nausea, and so on, he will just look unattractive to himself.

Also, calmly let you out of his nest. He could easily go a few hours on his own without your cock in him, although he would certainly prefer it to be you.

He has the most sensitive chest of the brothers. He just squeals with pleasure when you suck/lick/nibble on his nipples or massage/squeeze/rub his chest.

He will probably post a photo after heat, where he will be with his face fucked up on wet sheets with marks on his body and with a caption under the photo like "You know, it's so good to have a daddy in two ways." If you don't understand my chic humor, I'm sorry.

Beelzebub

Oh, in general, the most frequent and long heats. They last about 2 weeks, by the way, so good luck, mate. And usually they occur at the same time with Belphegor.

He is the biggest fan of breeding kink, on par with Levi. It's so sweet to have kids by you that he can take care of and eat with or play sports with (or whatever, he's not a picky boy)!

His appetite increases even more (And somewhere in the distance, one Lucifer sighs heavily due to the increase in food bills). Well, it's true that he also has an increased appetite for sex, so he'll just keep doing it until he squeezes all the juice out of you.

His chest swells, by the way, during heats. So... Man boobs, my kittens, man boobs.

He praises you very much during heats, and sex in general. He just loves everything you do and it brings him such great pleasure, he can't help but praise your actions.

In general, praise him in return. He's going to be so embarrassed about it, it's just a miracle.

Releases you during his heat from his nest freely. Although, after that, you will probably immediately jump into Belphegor's nest and start working with him.

In general, he has a strange thing about the fact that you call him something that is related to motherhood Mom/Mommy/Mother and so on, he blushes and is shy from this, imagining that he really can become a mother.

Belphegor

All his heats passes in a dream, like real. He wakes up for about two hours a day to eat and that's it.

So, if you have somnophilia, this is the right time for you, sir. You can just fuck him in almost any position and no one will tell you in denial.

He's in his demonic form, one hundred percent sure of it. So you can play with his horns or tail, maybe he will purr (or even moo like a cow, lol).

He doesn't really care if you impregnate him or not. He doesn't want to deal with all these pregnancy-related issues, but he'll be happy to have kids with you if you want.

He moans funny during heats. Some kind of hoarse and high moans and whining, when he lazily shakes his head in a dream, but still does not wake up.

Well, there's actually a chance he'll wake up. He just might want to eat, which is logical, and if you catch that moment and don't fuck his twin at that moment, you'll hear the most wonderful moan you've ever heard.

Also, if he wakes up, he'll get extremely territorial and leave his fingernail scratches on you to let everyone else know you were with him (and Beel, of course).

[int3rst3ll3r]

"𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚗,"

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀- Spanking, Pet names: ‘Good girl’ ‘Bad girl’

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴- Possessive Hua Cheng & Possessive Xie Lian

————————————————————————

𝗕𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 the wife of the ghost king and a god was quite nice. You lived a life of luxury, always being spoiled with the nicest gifts and wonderful affection from both your husbands. There was never been a day when you had to worry of not being taken care of.

Both Xie Lian and Hua Cheng were extraordinary husbands. They loved and cherished you as if you were the most rarest thing on earth. They gave you all the love you thought you never deserved. They seem like perfect husbands, which they are, don’t get me wrong, but every good thing comes with a bad thing. What may that bad thing be? Well, they were extremely possessive.

This may be a shock to some people, especially with Xie Lian, not so much with Hua Cheng. I’ll let you in on a little secret, Xie Lian was the most possessive of the pair. He might not show it, but he definitely feels it. It even concerned Hua Cheng how possessive Xie Lian got with you, like Hua Cheng isn’t almost as possessive as Xie Lian is. Your husbands’ possessiveness does sometimes get the better of them, which leads to the scenario you’re facing at the moment.

Before I get into the current situation, let me inform you on the earlier events which lead to this one. It was a normal day, everything was smooth sailing. Ghost City was thriving, as it usually was. The streets were crowded with ghost, leaving almost no space for anyone to walk. The street vendors voices could be heard trying to draw the ghosts attention.

You were pushing passed ghost, trying to get out of the streets. You were holding a big basket of fruit that you manage to get a discount on. Of course, you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings and accidentally bumped into a ghost. You dropped the big basket of fruit, making it land onto the group. You looked up at the ghost, who was fairly good looking.

“Sorry,”

You spoke, your eyes never leaving the ghost’s jade ones. The ghost smiled slightly, replying to your apology.

“Oh no, miss, don’t be. Here let me help you,”

The ghost knelt down and started putting the fruit back into the basket. You also knelt down as well, hastily picking up the dropped fruit. Soon, all the fruit was picked up and you had a full fruit basket in your arms once again.

“thank you very much,” You smiled at the ghost.

“It’s not a problem, miss. I must say, you look extremely beautiful,”

The ghost flirted with you. You noticed his tactics in flirting with you easily. It was obvious, to you at least. You knew you should’ve said something about you being married, but you didn’t want to come off as rude. You smiled slightly and thanked him.

“Here, let me help you,”

The ghost offered, his hands going up to grab the basket. Before you could react, his hand grazed yours and held onto it. You gulped, hoping Hua Cheng didn’t send someone to keep an eye on you. You looked up at the ghost, a sweet smile still planted on your face. You could see a hint of lust in his eyes. The ghost smiled at you, dimples planted on either side of his cheek.

“What’s going on here?”

You froze upon hearing that voice. ‘Oh no’ you thought, ‘I’m fucked’. You could see the Ghost go pale, his hands moving away from yours. You already knew who was standing behind you, a not so happy Hua Cheng. You slowly turn around, meeting the eyes of your husband.

“Darling, who’s this?”

Hua cheng asked, his voice dark and possessive. You gulped, not knowing how to reply. The ghost behind you was in terror. A crowd gathered around the three of you, wanted to know what was happening.

“M-miss, i-is this your h-husband?”

The ghost shook and trembled, regretting he ever spoke to the wife of the ghost king. You didnt respond, only nodding, knowing any word you say will be used against you. Hua Cheng was staring daggers into the poor ghost’s eyes. You clutched onto the fruit basket, waiting for any words to be said.

“Scram,”

Hua Cheng commanded the ghost, not wanting to deal with him. The ghost was quick to run away, leaving you with your very angry husband. You knew Hua Cheng knew the ghost was flirting with you moments before, and you knew he was mad at you for not stopping the flirting.

Hua Cheng grabbed your wrist and dragged you along the streets of Ghost City.

“H-hua Cheng, please don’t tell Xie Lian about this,”

You pleaded with Hua Cheng knowing how Xie Lian will react to the whole situation. Hua Cheng’s grip on your wrist becane tighter, as if a warning for you to not say anything more. The walk back to Paradise manner was dreadful. All you could think of was how Xie Lian was going to react and the consequences to come.

Now, let’s get into your current predicament. You were in the privacy of you and your husbands’ shared bedroom. You were perched over Hua Cheng’s lap, you clothes disregarded on the floor of the bedroom. All that could be heard was the sound of Hua Cheng’s hand landing on your ass and your mewls.

“15!”

You cried, your hands tightly grabbing the robes of Xie Lian who sat beside Hua Cheng and you. His hand was stroking your hair.

“You knew the rules, and yet you still decided to let that ghost flirt with you,”

Xie Lian spoke to you in a disappointed manner. You whined as Hua Cheng’s hand hit you ass for the seventeenth time. You looked at Xie Lian with glossy eyes.

“17! ‘M so sorry!”

you tried to apologize, hoping both your husbands would let you off easy. Hua Cheng only chuckled and continued to spank you. As he continued to spank you, you continued to count, all the way until you got to thirty. During this time, Xie Lian made sure you knew what you had did wrong.

By now, your face was tear streaked. Hua Cheng sat you up on his lap, making you face him. His hand gripped you chin tightly, making you face him.

“Now, what do you say to Gege and me?”

“Sorry for being a bad girl,”

You whimpered, looking into Hua Cheng eyes. Xie Lian looked at you and added.

“And?”

“Thank you for taking the time to put me in my place,”

You feel the tension in the room ease. Hua Cheng smiled and kissed your forehead.

“You’re very welcome, Darling,”

[ilikerosesalot]

Flower language analysis for Jambound ch 27 (PART 1: blue primerose, spoilers under the cut)

Ill be honest everything here is a direct copy-paste of the commetn I left on ch 27, Im not typing all that again iuhuihuih.

Ok so primeroses. Contains the latin word "primus: which means "first", the first flower to bloom in spring, thus the flower is associated with renewal, eternity and youth/young love. Shadow Milk described it as a "prelude", sth that signifies sth important later on. He is currently courting Pure Vanilla and rekindling their previous love (renewal). A prelude for sth thats going to happen- these two are bounded by fate and if all goes well...heheh *cue wedding bells* (eternity). Youth/young love- this ones kinda a strech cause theyre both OLD old, but like if we choose not to take the younf part too literallt then well, this is porbably new to both of them. Not that they dont have relationship experience its been implied they both had sth going on but, it the first time building sth lasting if that makes sense. Theyre taking the first steaps towards it-actting similar to how many experiencing "young love" would act.

Hope and optimism is also associated with primeroses, since theyre the first flowers to bloom in spring and thus signifyung that winter is over (thinking about a scene in the prev chapters where pv walked throught the freezing cold of the other realm to reach smilk). Primroses are also used to symbolize deep love, many of the places i looked said they mean "I can't live without you". Ok bro. Ok.

Now coming to the fact its a blue primerose. This. This variant of the flower means trust and belief. "The perfect gift to strenghten trust and belief in a relationship"- do i even NEED to say anything. I would also like to mention what blue colors generally mean in flower language. Similar to how yellow in flowers generally means happinness and loyalty, blue flowers often are used to symbolize deep admiration and trying to achieve sth impossible. To persure something out of reach, sth unknown. This is because blue is one of the rarest colors, not just in flowers but in nature as a whole. It attracts attaention and provides little camaflouge. So basically a blue primerose in the context of this fic can mean something like, despite the fact that a positive bond forming between them seemed so out of reach- to the point where smilk even unknowingly binded them together, their mutual affection growing deeper and deeper until it destroyed them, despite the fact it shouldve been impossible, theyre both going to trust each other. Shadow milk in particular had to literally risk all his fears just to end the soulbond. And him actually persuing pv this time is his way of giving an olive branc. Re-do things and make it right. Ough

Also primroses make apearance in various shakespearean plays- fitting for a showman like shadowmilk. And!! Theyre known for healing properties!! Which is fittign for pure vanilla cookie. And this is just a personal observation but blue primeroses have a yellow centre- literally shadownilla colors. Thats about all the relevant info i got from my research journey.

Oh god I ended up writing a whole mini essay about how primersoes fit the narrative of this fic I did not mean to yap this much. But man I love my flower languages. This was insanely fun, might return to analyze the other flowers smilk got for pvs garden but i used up all my brainjuice. Im going to rest now bye

[in1-nutshell]

Hi, can you please write a sequel to Susan's story. I thought and it occurred to me that it should go on like this: After the day described before, a week passes and little interesting happens during all this time. Unless, of course, you count the day when Susan assembled a detector from all sorts of junk that, in her opinion, should capture energy anomalies. To the annoyance of Autobots and children, these anomalies are Autobot life signals. All day long, Susan walked around the city tracking the Autobots, who barely managed to escape from the annoying schoolgirl. But it all ended when the Raf used equipment at the base to send a strong energy pulse that caused the detector to explode right in Susan's face. But after this excess, everything went back to normal. As the new week begins on Monday, Susan arrives at school handing out invitations to all her classmates to come to her house to watch the meteor shower in her backyard. For her, this is such a rare and significant event that she put on her special astronomer hat. And as you might guess, all of her classmates either lied that they were busy, or pretended to be interested but weren't really going to come, or outright refused or laughed in her face. The only ones who really want to come are Jack and the Raf (Despite Miko's warnings that this party is just a sophisticated trap) They thought it would be possible to go to this party at least out of pity (Jack especially saw this as an opportunity to apologize to Susan for the broken camera) But despite their wishes, they could not come because they had been helping the Autobots with a very important mission all evening. Which brings us to the backyard of the Farmfield house, lined with folding chairs and decorated with homemade decorations. Where Susan is sitting and waiting for someone to come. She waits and waits, but nothing. After a while, the sliding door opens with a sharp movement and Susan's mother comes out of the house. (A little clarification: After Susan's grandfather died, her parents moved back to house in Jasper to "take care" of their daughter. Although in fact they only moved because their business went bankrupt and they need a place to live) A woman looks around the backyard, looking at the decorations with disdain.

Mom: What is this all about, Susan? The woman asked with irritation in her voice.

Susan: Oh, it's all for my little party. One of the rarest meteor showers is going to happen today, and I thought it would be fun to share this rare phenomenon with someone. And I think if you and Dad join in, that would be it…

The girl happily tried to explain her idea until her mother unceremoniously interrupted her.

Mom: Susan, not me, not your father, and no one else in the whole world is interested in some stupid space-flying rocks.

The woman said with growing irritation in her voice.

Susan:Well, some of my classmates agreed to come, so they're interested.

The girl said with hope in her voice.

Mom: Ha, where are they?

She asked with mockery in her voice

Susan: Maybe… Maybe they're just late.

Susan: Maybe… Maybe they're just late.

She said clinging to the last shred of hope

Mom: Or maybe they just lied to you and you, being an empty-headed fool, took their word for it?

Saying this, every word is laced with poison

SUSAN: But… But they promised

Susan said sniffling, tears in her eyes

Mom: Oh my God, are you crying!? Stop it!

The woman shouted .

Susan: I'm sorry, Mom.

Susan muttered, trying to wipe away her tears

Mom: You know, it's because of your excessive sensitivity and your stupid hobbies that you can't make friends. You're just like your grandfather, a weirdo who will be laughed at for the rest of your miserable life.

Susan: I'm sorry

Susan mumbled even more softly than last time, still crying no matter how hard she tried to stop.

Mom: You know what, I don't care, live your miserable life any way you want.

The woman muttered at the end, turning around and walking back into the house. On the way there, she knocked over a couple of chairs and tore a couple of ornaments from the trees.

Mom:And take away all this garbage!

She shouted as she entered the house and slammed the door behind her.

Leaving Susan to sit alone, feeling like she's the loneliest person in the universe.

I'm sorry if this is too much, I just got carried away.

And I'm sorry if I've already sent this request, my Internet is buggy.

I teared up a bit reading this.

Poor Susan!

Susan will be okay, I promise!

Hope you enjoy!

Jack, Miko, and Raf vs Susan Farmfield part 2

SFW, Platonic, Angst, Human reader

TFP

Susan was still the trio enemy.

…Well, more Miko’s than Jack and Raf.

Jack didn’t see much harm with Susan.

She couldn’t even hurt a fly.

The only thing he would count as Susan hurting someone is having them sit in a room with her for 24 hours talking about conspiracy theories.

Raf honestly felt sorry for her.

He had her as a science partner once and it was fun!

He even got a couple of cool stickers from her.

Raf just hated that she had to look into places that could expose the bots.

Miko straight up hated her.

She saw the other girl as her prime nemesis, like the Autobots saw the Decepticons as their nemesis.

She was DETERMINED to make sure that Susan never got a hold of anything related to the bots or anything on them.

At school… Jack, Miko, and Raf are walking through the hallway. They spot Susan getting her books from her locker. A couple of new band aids cover parts of her face. Raf: “Susan? You, okay?” Susan jumps a bit, but smiles seeing it was the trio. Susan: “Oh yeah! I’m fine!” Jack: “What about those band aids from?” Susan: “Well, I was testing out a new invention I made last weekend. It can detect strange or unusual energy pulses. I hit a really big one the other night and it kinda exploded on my face.” Miko: “Well it was put out of its misery then.” Jack: “Miko.” He nudges her ribs a bit. The comment flies over her head. Susan: “But it did teach me to widen the range, but still back to square one. See you guys later!” Susan walks off. Jack and Raf turn to a smug Miko. Jack: “Is that why you told Raf to fire the energy pulse?” Miko: “Maybe, maybe not.” Raf: “Miko! That could have hurt her!” Miko: “So what? She’s the enemy.”

It was later that week when the trio found Susan passing something around the class.

It was an invitation to see a meteor shower from her backyard.

Jack and Raf winced as they saw students laugh and taunt in Susan’s face for making the ‘dumb party’ in the first place.

Other just made excuse not to go.

If there was one thing the trio, yes including Miko, could respect was that Susan was as stubborn as they came and followed through plans till the end.

Even if they blew up in her face.

Raf was the first person to tell Susan that he wanted to go.

The young boy had never seen Susan speechless and so happy at the same time.

Jack followed as well, mainly because he felt he owed Susan a solid after Arcee crushed her polaroid camera a couple weeks ago.

Miko reluctantly agreed, keep your friends close and your enemies closer right?

When the trio told the bots this, there were mixed reactions.

Arcee was curious on why the girl wanted to invite others to her home to watch some meteors.

It wasn’t a big deal.

Bumblebee was worried that it could be a trap, or Susan was going to do something to them.

Bulkhead did not want them going to Susan’s house. Point blank.

Optimus and Ratchet had mixed feelings about this human, but they both agreed to keep on optic out for her.

It was the night of the meteor shower when a couple of Decepticons showed up in a sector near an energon vein.

It was all servos and hands on deck.

The bots would go in the retrieve the energon while the kids would help keep visual and have the groundbrigde ready.

All three of them completely forgetting that they had plans that night.

Susan waiting patiently with a tray of homemade cupcakes and snacks in a lawn chair. Maybe everyone was running late. Or they forgot last minute, and they were getting ready. Her mother comes outside. Mother: “And what is all of… this?” Susan: “It’s for the Meteor shower party. You know, the one I told you about… like 9 times.” Mother: “Don’t you get smart with me missy!” She sneers at the décor and snacks. Mother: “And why on Earth would you waste all this food and paper for a party for yourself?” Susan: “No, I gave out invitations. They’ll be coming.” Mother: “Susan, if there’s one thing, I do know about you is that you have no friends. Just like your disgrace of a grandfather.” Susan narrowing her eyebrows. Mother: “Don’t give me that look! He had no friends because he drove them all away with his stories and lies!” Susan: “They were tru—” Mother: “SHUT IT!” Susan clamps her mouth and feels a familiar sting in her eyes. Mother: “Quite your crying kid! You don’t cry! Just quite it!” Susan: “What? Quite what?” Mother: “EVERYTHING! You think your going to get anywhere in this world by holding onto that weird little hobby of yours? Do you really think anyone will like you if they hear you spouting this nonsense? Look at yourself Stacy!” Susan: “Its Susan.” Mother: “Whatever! Just clean all of this junk up by tomorrow morning or I swear you will never see your telescope again!” SLAM! The lights in the house turned off. Susan slowly knelt to the ground letting out soft sobs while holding herself tightly. Maybe they were late… Maybe they got stuck in traffic… Maybe they… They… Following school day… The trio is walking down the hall. Raf: “I still feel bad that we didn’t go.” Jack: “I’m sure she’ll understand. We just had things to do.” Miko: “More important things than a meteor shower.” The stop when they see Susan again. She looks… different… Susan spots the trio and freezes a bit before slowly walking past them. Miko raises an eyebrow. Miko: “That was weird.” Raf: “She’s upset Miko.” Miko: “Please, Susan Farmfield never gets upset.” Jack looking at Susan going into the classroom with a defeated look on her face. Jack: “You sure about that?” Miko: “She’s just doing one of those sympathy tricks. Trust me the enemy will go back to normal when she sees her plan isn’t working.”

Since the party, Susan started having second thought about everything she had worked for.

Don’t get her wrong she still believed that there were aliens and unknown things that needed to be discovered.

But… what if part of what her mother was saying was right?

No, she came to far to start second guessing herself now.

Who needs friends anyway?

Susan Farmfield was going to find those aliens.

For her Grampa!

Susan was walking near one of the forested areas with her new energy detector. BING! BING! The machine had detected something. Something at the bottom of the gorge. Carefully Susan climbs to the bottom and gasps. It was a pod of some sort… Definitely alien origin. Susan pats the frost glass. Susan: “Hello?” The glass open startling the girl and she falls backwards and stares at the giant coming out of the pod. Groaning, a large bot sits up, stretches a bit before looking around and spots Susan. Susan waves awkwardly. The bot slowly waves back. Susan: “I don’t mean any harm. My name is Susan. Do you have a name?” The bot grumbles a bit. Susan: “What? Iroh eef?” The bot clears his vents a bit before giving a small smile. Ironhide: “The names Ironhide, kid.”

[cynthiav06]

I had originally intended to make this post on Percy's birthday for some well-intended chaos, because why not? But I had a bit of a health crisis since then, and I had no time nor strength to do anything, so here's this now. I have seen so many strongest demigod tier lists, and half of them I find to be somewhat inaccurate, so here's mine:

If you guys want to see specific 1v1 between any characters just post an ask and I will do a breakdown on following criterias:

Strength Knowledge Durability

Speed Battle Strategy Abilities

Stamina Battle Experience FEATS

Now feats is in bold because in the end, that's what actually determines the power level, so keep that in mind. A lot of people might riot, but it is what it is.

This current tier list is also based on the aforementioned categories:

1.PERCY JACKSON

(I don't want to argue over this there's. no argument to be had it's crystal clear)

Twice savior of Olypmus (the only one)

Was offered Immortality

Was War General of Camp-Halfblood during Titan War

Former Praetor of Rome

Bore the weight of the sky without Artemis's blessing

Survived Tartarus

Fought Kronos

Only one to survive the Curse of Achilles

Only one to overpower a primordial entity

Killed multiple Titans and Giants

Sat on a Gods Throne without any consequences

Blessed by Pan and Hestia

Defeated Geras

Wrestled Nereus

Considered to be the only one worthy of commanding a God by Apollo when he initially turned mortal

( Has killed so many notable entities and has probably hundred more feats but I won't mention them all or else it would all be a Percy list)

2.JASON GRACE

[ Okay, hear me out on this before everyone explodes. Nico has definitely one of the, if not the strongest, abilities in the verse in terms of both power and versatility. But he comes up short in terms of strength, stamina, endurance, and feats.]

Former Praetor of Rome

Defeated Krios

Has Killed more than one giant

Has Killed the Trojan Sea Monster

Has the highest combat experience/training out of all the demigods

Hera's favored demigod

Could go toe to toe with Percy for a good amount of time

3.NICO DI ANGELO

Survived Tartarus

Brought back Athena Parthenos, the Bane of the Giants

Faced a Primordial and got out alive

Half the reason the Titan War was won

The Ambassador of Pluto

(There's a few more but those are more on the abilities spectrum more so than feats)

The Ghost King

Could fight Nero equally for a while ( who is considered to be equal to a Minor God)

4. HAZEL LEVESQUE

(Between her and Meg I guess it's sort of debatable given Meg has more abilities and many feats, but Hazel has stronger feats and solid abilities herself)

Killed a Giant (more than one, with help but it's very impressive either way because of her significant contributions during those times)

Granted power by another God who is not her Godly Parent

Magic user

Has the strongest mist control out of all demigods

Tamed Arion

Praetor of Rome

5. MEG MCCAFFREY

(No don't bother debating this. It's true)

The sheer number of abilities she has alone is good enough to put her here.

Can summon Karpoi

Strongest demigod child of Demeter

Opened the Grove of Dodona(with Apollo)

Tons of feats ( check @respect Meg McCaffrey on reddit for elaborate descriptions)

Has mastered one of the deadliest forms of combat known (Dimachaerus, an ancient gladiatorial mode of fighting from the roman times. Apollo states it is one of the rarest and deadliest forms of combat one can master)

Was chosen to command a literal God turned mortal

6. THALIA GRACE

Fought all of Hades's furies and the worst of the monsters Underworld has to offer before her "death"

Has the blessing of Artemis

Lieutenant of Hunters of Artemis

Defeated Luke Castellan completely in pure combat who was before Percy, the greatest swordsman born in the last three centuries.

Fought Iapetus briefly and survived

Survived Orion's attack on the Hunters and fought him briefly and survived

Was considered the strongest demigod in Camp Half Blood before Percy Jackson

7. FRANK ZHANG

Praetor of Rome

Could lead a legion of dead soldiers

Neptune's gift of shape-shifting

As of ToA his life is no longer attached to the wood

The physically strongest demigod

Has the blessing of Mars which gives him enhanced strength and stamina

Can turn into a literal dragon (Need I say more?)

Fought and helped defeat a giant

Blitzed a minor God

(More cool stuff, people need to puts some respect on Frank's name)

8. REYNA RAMIREZ-ARELLANO

(Before the Piper stans roll in, Reyna worked for Circe for a good long while before she and her sister fled after the pirate attack so there's a good chance she knows how to resist charmspeak which is something alike Circe's enchantments.

Now Annabeth's a good contender to fight Reyna, but I am basing this on higher feats. Reyna fought and defeated Orion and was probably involved in overthrowing Krios while the only powerful being Annabeth has gone toe to toe with is Kronos inhabiting Luke's body and she does manage to corner Annabeth in Mark of Athena and Annabeth herself says she is unsure if she could win against Reyna, [it's super close though])

Former Praetor of Rome

Returned Athena Parthenos, the Bane of the Giants

Could easily go toe to toe with Annabeth who has far more training and combat experience than her.

The only Roman demigod to recieve Athena's blessing

Received a piece of Athena's cloak/shield Aegis.

Fought and defeated Orion, a giant who had previously almost completely decimated most of the Amazons and Hunters.

Has the blessing of Artemis

9. ANNABETH CHASE

(Yet again, to Piper fans,Annabeth is a child of Athena, born from divine, though, so i think Annabeth would be able to resist Piper's charmspeak to a certain extent and Annabeth has more feats and overall higher comabt and knowledge plus intelligence)

Held up the weight of the sky for half a day(with Artemis's blessing)

The only child of Athena to find and secure the Athena Parthenos

Fought Kronos and held her own while using just a dagger against his giant scythe

Outsmarted and trapped Arachne just using trickery

Tricked Polyphemus

Was able to fight the giant Mimas briefly with Athena in Blood of Olympus

Survived Tartarus

Architect of Olympus

10. LEO VALDEZ/PIPER MCLEAN

Honestly I can't decide between this. I am going to need you all to decide this one.

Most of Leo's feats are constructing or repairing things. Festus, Argo 2, Archimedies circle, convincing Apollo, and so on.

Piper's feats are all based on her charmspeak and nothing else. Khione, Medea, and even putting Gaea to sleep (because she was already sleepy and in mid-air cut off from her domain for long enough). The plan was Leo's, but the execution mostly depended on Piper, so it's a tie, I think, but let me know your opinions.

Feel free to share your honest opinions; though, mostly, let's agree to disagree on the Top 5. I can welcome debate over 6-10. But I think the Top 5 are mostly factually canonically accurate.

[plethomacademia]

Thinking about my favorite Sesselie lore thanks to talking to @andrigyn

Tldr: Sesselie was once bullied and, now that she has power, is just doing that to other people because the issue was not the bullying, just that it was happening to her, more under jump

So Sesselie comes from a cool world that I found on Warhammer wiki called Hilarion. The key thing about this planet is that it's main export is rare spices that are sensitive to mechanical harvesting, so the founders of this planet just decided to ban all technology and not tell their serfs that there is like a galactic empire out there. Immigration is highly restricted so much as to not exist and most people never leave. Normal.

To keep the peace, the planet has noble families that are all inter related. None of them can have bigger armies than the other, no one can form new houses except for little off shoots that never get fully recognized.

Then a rich family moves into the planet, only one heir. The parents die eventually, leaving this woman with the rarest asset on the planet: foreign holdings. And Sesselie's dad, who is like a nobody in his family, like the kind of guy you ship off to hold not as good land, breaks all the rules and marries her.

This causes a lot a political issues. Sesselie's dad has to pay a lot of fines and takes some social hits, but in the end, his wife dies after a few years, leaving one child that cannot inherit her mother's assets. When he remarries, he is basically forgiven by society, but Sesselie is not.

I'll skim from here but Sesselie basically learned to keep her head down. She didn't want to get married off, since she knew how that ended for her mother, so she basically tried to make it so her father barely remembered that she existed while she tried to figure out how to leave the planet.

You might think this would make her a kinder person once she gains power and you would be wrong. She fully believes that there was nothing wrong with how she was treated, it was just that it was happening to her that was the problem. It takes her a bit to get out of the mindset of not owning the place she lives, but when it clicks for her that she has a permission slip from God, she becomes just as bad as anyone that ever hurt her, except it's ok because she's doing it.

[speaknowworldtour]

“help me hold onto you” // “pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away”

“i’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me” // “stop trying to make him laugh stopped trying to drill the safe”

“how long could we be a sad song til we were too far gone to bring back to life?” // thinking “how much sad did you think i had, did you think i had in me? oh the tragedy”

“you know i love a london boy” // “so long, london”

“you’ll find the real thing instead” // “you’ll find someone”

“don’t put me in the basement when i want the penthouse of your heart” // “i’ll get your longing glances and she’ll get your ring” // “i didn’t opt in to be your odd man out”

“i can’t find a pulse my heart won’t stop anymore” // “i stopped cpr after all its no use. the spirit was gone we would never come to”

“give you my wild, give you a child + our coming of age has come and gone” // “and i’m pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free”

“is this the end of all the endings? my broken bones are mending” // “stitches undone”

“you had to kill me but it killed you just the same” // “two graves one gun”

“i’m gonna find someone someday who might actually treat me well” // “i’ll find someone”

“i’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night” // “and when i was shipwrecked i thought of you” // “and so the battle ships will sink beneath the waves” // “and you say i abondoned the ship but i was going down with it”

“is it really your anxiety that stops you from giving me everything or do you just not want to?” // “holding tight to your quiet resentment” + “every breath feels like rarest air when you’re not sure if he wants to be there”

“wondering which version of you i might get on the phone tonight?” // “my friends said it isn’t right to be scared everyday of a love affair”

“and i wouldn’t marry me either” // “you swore that you loved me but where were the clues? i died on the altar waiting for the proof”

“don’t want no other shade of blue but you, no other sadness in the world would do” // “is it insensitive for me to say ‘get your shit together so i can love you’?” // “you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days”

“my face was grey” // “i’m just getting color back into my face”

“i’d never walk cornelia street again” // “i’m just mad as hell cause i loved this place for so long”

“i once believe love would be black and white. but it’s golden.” // “a moment of warm sun but i’m not the one”

[physics-of-one-piece]

I am done bottling up this story, I gotta talk about it bcs I'm so happy with it, I'm obsessed with it.

So that Rosinante x Reader x Doflamingo fic where Reader is Rosinante's wife is called...

Drums pls

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

I’ll build castles for you, my love (look at me, not my brother)

Part 1 is all about Rosinante x Reader (& Law my bby boy 🥹🥺), Part 2 which is all about Doflamingo x Reader might turn into another part cus I want to cover the pre-baby and then post-baby and I don't think with all the ideas I have one part will be enough.

I like to call this fic “Doflamingo takes Rosinante's wife and baby as his own because he is the older one and Rosinante is dead anyway but damn what a sick thing to do but also really fits Doffy, good luck, girl, you're stuck with the terrible brother” or “Doflamingo trauma dumps to Reader and attempts to gaslight Reader”

The amount of times I said "THIS PINK BITCH 😡😡🤬🤬" while writing Part 2 is INSANE. HOLY FUCK HE DESERVES TO BE THROWN INTO THE SEA. LET THE SEA KINGS EAT HIM, HOLY FUCK THIS PINK BASTARD.

Anyway, here is a snippet of one of the scenes 😊

“You know, Tsuru-san…” said Doflamingo casually as he strutted to the window, grabbing his large pink feather coat from the hanger, swinging it over his broad shoulders as he went. He placed his right foot atop the windowsill; the sound of his shoe landing on it resounded in your ears ominously.  With the saw-like, terrible sound of his strings, he pulled open the window, letting in the fresh spring breeze. You smelled the cherry blossoms in the distance. He turned from the window toward Vice Admiral Tsuru, a large grin on his face. “One day I’ll be the one kicking you marines out,” said Doflamingo darkly, smiling at Tsuru, the expression sharp and promising. Vice Admiral Tsuru looked incredibly bored by the implication. “You don’t have that kind of power, even as a warlord.” said Tsuru, staring back at him, unafraid. “We’ll see, dear Tsuru,” mused Doflamingo, chuckling, offering another unnerving smile before saying, “After all, what can a marine do against a god?” Your blood ran cold. You felt your stomach clench in fear. Despite his eyes being concealed behind his sunglasses, you felt his gaze shift to you at the same time as he turned to face you, and you fought back a shiver. “See you next weekend, querida.” said Doflamingo, and smiled at you. The curl of his lips was soft, the grin of pearly white teeth charming and pleasant, the dimples on his cheeks more gentle than the ones present in the smile he’d aimed at Vice Admiral Tsuru.  Even his deep voice sounded impossibly softer. Doflamingo didn’t look frightening in that moment at all. He looked quite charming and handsome, like some divine being offering you the rarest of blessings. You decided not to think about the fact you could now read his emotions by his smiles. In a flutter of pink feathers, Doflamingo leapt off of your windowsill. You saw the gleam of his strings in the sunlight as he unwound them from his fingers, attaching them to the clouds, using them to soar forward over the bay of Marineford, the blur of his pink figure reflected on the surface of the sea. After glancing down at it, you realised the bracelet of white-pink pearls Doflamingo had crafted you had the exact same pearls as the necklace of red pearls he wore around his neck. You watched the pink little cloud of Doflamingo grow farther and farther away, becoming smaller and smaller against the canvas of endless blue. You stepped away from the window, and hoped the sky next weekend would be cloudless.  A woman can hope.

The Doffy smile that flashes across my mind for the scene where he says bye is the one from this manga panel:

Taglist: @fanaticsnail

[codekira]

Rant about Robocar Poli ( Unpopular opinions and I probably might get cancelled for this)

With the help of my boyfriend, I found out about this show called “Robocar Poli”. Eventually, I found myself getting hooked into the show, not for its artistic value or its target audience, but simply because of how fun and childlike it is. I mean, it’s just another generic cute little show for babies that doesn’t warrant an extended fanbase!

And then I found out about its fan domain.

Needless to say, I was surprised to see the number of fans this silly little children’s play had. It’s not uncommon for the rarest of media material to garner attention by the common folk. But as I scroll through the pages of fanmade art, roleplays, writing, or simply awkward rambling, I began to notice a few gripes that I had. Something that made me say “What? They can’t be serious!”. Something that made me flip the table in confusion.

Friends, let’s journey through the trudge of unpopular, popular, or controversial opinions that I have to get out of my chest. I know many are going to disagree, and that is fine. I am simple here to piss you off about my opinions or make you jump in joy for having the same opinions as me. It goes both ways. And remember, hate all you want, I don’t care. I have a life to live, and making this long-winded rant is simply a sidequest from living. And for those who say “Oh! It’s just a kidshow! Stop overthinking and overanalyzing it!” This is the internet. Not everything had to go through your 14 paragraphs of made up rules.

A special thanks to my boyfriend for encouraging me to voice out my thoughts and opinions about this particular matter and for helping me format this post.

THE RESCUE TEAM IS OVERRATED

Let’s start with the elephant in the room. the titular characters of Robocar Poli, the Broomstown Rescue Team. They are fawned upon by the citizens of their little town. And it seemed to have translated to the fanbase as well. Which is understandable, they are the protagonists and the main focus of the show. My only gripe is… how can people find them interesting?

To me, they seem like every generic main characters who are nice and kind and friendly to everyone. Except for Helly, who sticks out like a sore thumb for being slightly different with his playful personality. Still, they are boring to me. Nothing about them screams “Oh, this sounds like a character I am bound to be interested in!” Nothing. There is nothing to work with here.

I would even argue thst the side characters have more personality to them than the so called “main characters”. Atleast they don’t bore me every time they are on screen.

Sure, you can just make up your own bullshit for them in the long run. Headcanons in the fandom run around like rats, to the point some of them are considered canon by the community. An example of this is Poli being associated with space.

I stand with my point.

THE MISCHARACTERIZATIONS

First, Poli having a fear of caterpillars/bugs. If you’re going to add personality to the void of a character that is Poli, don’t just give him one trait and work off of it!

Around the fandom, I keep seeing Roy getting treated like a manchild. It just irks me. Not that it matters though, every fanbase has that. And I keep seeing him depicted as this “soft uwu boy” and holy shit can that archetype die already? He’s a grown man for God’s sake!

THE SIDE CHARACTERS ARE BETTER

Now this… this is the one i’m going to get hated on. Bear with me here. Where do I even begin with this?

I keep seeing people shit on the side characters for being “annoying” and “idiotic” but they couldn’t be more enjoyable. They are so full of life compared to the excuses for main characters. Watching them thrash around the screen has sent more reactions out of me than any focus they have attempted to place onto the rescue team. At least they have more traits that can be considered unique!

Also, they deserve far more recognition than what the fandom gives them. They get glossed over really quickly and it pisses me the fuck off. The rescue team live off of fanmade headcanons and backstories and they live off of their appearance on the show. See the difference?

I HATE CLEANY

This will ruin my already ruined image so bad… This character pushes me over the edge for how frugal and whiny he can get. I hate his overbearing voice. I hate his incredibly timid personality. I hate how everyone is so kind towards him and how I just want to shout at his face.

—

Remember, this is my opinion.

I might post more of these in the future, if I have the ciursge to get myself trashed again. Feel free to voice your own thoughts as well. I will be reading with glee. Codekira out.

[unovaascollectionoftrinkets]

The Wonder Duo Takes Down Grape Juice

Minoru Mineta messed up big time.

He crossed the line—so far over it, he couldn’t see it anymore—and managed to piss off the two people who were willing to do something about it. The *only* two, apparently.

This time, the Wonder Duo isn’t charging in with fists or quirks blazing. Instead, they’re playing the long game, armed with something far more dangerous: a meticulously crafted plan. Calculated, ruthless, and utterly foolproof to ensure there’s no way for him to weasel out of the consequences.

***Sexual Harassment is alluded to/talked about in this fic! Nothing is spoken about in graphic detail but just be warned!***

***Mineta POV in parts of the story*** ( I feel like that needs a trigger warning, lol)

read on ao3 -> The Wonder Duo Takes Down Grape Juice

Katsuki Bakugou was in a damn good mood. 

Not just a passing, "oh, things don’t suck for once" kind of good. 

The kind of good that made his usual scowl curl into something almost smug, less rabid dog and more wolf licking its chops after a fresh kill. Why wouldn’t he be? He’d just wiped the fucking floor with Deku during training. 

Yeah, Deku. Mr. All-Powerful-Chosen-One-And-His-Fifty-Million-Fucking-Quirks. 

For once, the nerd couldn’t pull some out-of-nowhere strategy from thin air or cry his way into some miraculous comeback. Nope. 

King Explosion Murder: Dynamight took the W, and holy shit, it felt sweet.

Still riding the high of kicking the Symbol of Peace 2.0’s ass, Katsuki figured he’d earned himself a feast. 

A proper reward, the kind that could satisfy the rarest of wins: the taste of outsmarting Deku. Maybe katsudon. Yeah, it was cliché, but nothing hit quite like steaming rice and juicy cutlets smothered in eggs. And sure, Deku’s favorite dish didn’t influence his craving at all. (Fuck you for even thinking that.)

Hell, he might even save some leftovers for the nerd.

If he was feeling generous.

Probably not.

(Most definitely.)

He turned the corner into the common room, mentally debating which idiot’s pantry hoard he’d raid when a prickling tension shot through him. His muscles went rigid. It wasn’t the adrenaline-fueled buzz of combat readiness, but something worse. Deeper. Like the room was waiting to swallow him whole.

What the actual fuck is this?

At first, Katsuki’s brain went to villains. 

It always did. Danger, chaos, explosions—that was how he worked. Someone had to be screwing with his head, right? Someone like that stab-happy, freaky blood girl with the soul-crushing grin. 

She’d popped up as Pinky once before, hadn’t she? There had to be an explanation, because there was no way this was real.

And yet, the truth sat there like a slap to the face.

Pinky—Mina-fucking-Ashido—was crying.

No, not just crying. Not the tears-you-see-in-sap-TV-bullshit kind of crying. She was sobbing like the entire world had gone up in flames. Her whole body shook, curls spilling across her face like a shield she didn’t want to lift.

Katsuki froze. 

This didn’t compute. 

Mina didn’t cry.

She was an obnoxious firecracker, bright and loud as hell, the life of the party even when you wanted her to shut the fuck up. Always dancing in stupid TikToks, nagging Kirishima about his hair routine, or pulling Hagakure into a whispered gossip spiral about god knows what.

Occasionally, sure, she’d flop onto the couch and sigh dramatically about her "horrible" problems: “Blasty, my nails keep chipping! It’s the end of my life!” Usually, followed by some bullshit story about how her favorite moisturizer ran out.

This wasn’t that.

“Mina?” The word came out too loud, more bark than question. It tore through the common room like an explosion, shaking both the silence and her trembling form. “What the hell are you doing just sittin’ there?”

Nothing.

Mina didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Her arms curled tighter around her legs as if to anchor herself.

Katsuki’s frown deepened, an unfamiliar tightness settling in his chest. 

His instincts screamed at him to grab her shoulders, shake the answer out of her, but something in the air warned him to stop. He’d fucked this up enough in the past—getting his provisional license drilled that lesson into him. Harsh words and blunt actions weren’t always the answer. 

Sometimes, sometimes, a gentler approach was the only way forward.

Did it make him good at this kind of shit? 

Hell no. 

Did he care enough about Mina to try? 

Hell yes.

He stomped closer, his boots heavy against the polished floor, and crouched down in front of her. Planting himself between her and the rest of the common room, Katsuki positioned himself like a wall—a shield against whatever shitstorm had brought her here. His usual scowl softened by half a degree, and after a small pause, he slowly reached out. His calloused fingers brushed under her chin, lifting her face just enough to meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” he muttered, his voice losing some of its usual sharp edges.

Her face was a mess. 

Puffy, red-rimmed eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her cheeks were streaked with dried salt tracks. She looked hollow, like a photograph of herself that had faded in the sun. The sight churned his stomach, unfamiliar and deeply unsettling. 

Where was her usual vibrance? 

Her light?

It pissed him off. And not just because he hated seeing her like this—but because somebody had clearly caused it.

“Oi,” he growled, voice quieter this time but no less dangerous. “Who the fuck do I need to kill?”

He wasn’t joking. Not even a little. 

The words were more fact than question. 

Whoever had done this—whoever had hurt her—was going to pay for it in ways they couldn’t even begin to imagine. If there was no justice waiting for them, then Katsuki himself would drag them down to hell if no divine intervention showed up first.

That promise must have been clear in his face, because for the first time that day, Mina looked startled. She blinked, a flicker of the old her flashing through the exhaustion clouding her gaze. Her lips twitched—just barely—a faint, weak thing that almost resembled a smile. 

And for one brief second, he thought maybe—just maybe—he was helping.

Then her gaze dropped again, her expression crumpling as reality came crashing back down. Her fingers tightened around her legs, knuckles going white, and she sucked in a shuddering breath.

Finally, her voice came, quiet and broken.

“It’s Mineta,” she whispered, each syllable heavy with shame and hurt.

The name hit like a bomb detonating in his head.

Mineta. 

Of fucking course it was Mineta.

Katsuki’s hands curled into tight fists, nails biting into his palms. 

That grape-haired fuck should have been dealt with a long time ago. 

Hell, the fact that Aizawa—arguably the most no-nonsense, trash-clearing teacher UA had ever seen—hadn’t expelled his sorry ass by now was un-fucking-believable. If this bastard had gone after Mina, the bubbly heart of Class 2-A, Katsuki wasn’t sure if the bastard even deserved the dignity of an apology after Katsuki beat him within an inch of his worthless life. 

He’d also be having a very long conversation with Eraserhead after.

Because letting his shit slide for this long was not okay.

His fists clenched tight enough that tiny crackles of heat began to flicker around his knuckles. The fiery rage coiled in his gut was kept barely in check—just enough to keep him from torching the furniture. 

He’d heard plenty of Mineta’s gross commentary in passing before, stupid shit about the girls’ uniforms or their “figures.” Most of the time, Mina or Yaoyorozu would shut him down with a sharp comment, and Jirou had once threatened to shove her earphone jack straight down his throat if he got too loud.

But that was the thing—those moments always passed. 

The girls laughed it off, brushing his shit behavior under the rug like it didn’t matter. And, okay, Katsuki might’ve thought it didn’t, either. Hell, he’d never witnessed the worst of it himself. 

He’d assumed the bastard kept himself on a leash just enough to avoid expulsion.

He didn’t even realize how wrong he’d been. Not until now.

Seeing Mina like this—reduced to shaking sobs instead of her usual blaring chaos—made one thing crystal clear. Whatever that bastard had done wasn’t just stupid comments or gross jokes anymore. This wasn’t a passing annoyance. It wasn’t something anyone should brush off.

This was going to end here.

“What the fuck did he say?” Katsuki snarled. “What the fuck did he do? I want details—‘cause I swear on everything I’m giving it back to him ten goddamn times worse.”

Mina flinched at his volume, and he forced himself to exhale slowly, scrubbing his palm across his face.

He hated this. 

He hated that he couldn’t even comfort her without turning into a goddamn nuclear meltdown. 

But he’d always been like this. 

Even after two years, even after everything he’d tried to learn about being less of an ass, his anger still burned just below the surface, ready to erupt at any moment. Sure, he’d mellowed—kind of—but he was still Bakugo Katsuki. 

But for Mina’s sake, he had to try.

He looked back at her, taking in the slight tremble of her lip, the way her body seemed to fold in on itself like she wanted to disappear. His voice dropped a little more, low and steady as he added, “Tell me what he did, Mina. I need to know.”

He didn’t just need it for revenge. He needed it to protect her—because nobody did this to one of their own and got away with it.

Not while he was around.

Katsuki planted himself more firmly, his knees protesting slightly from crouching so long, but he didn’t budge. 

Mina needed the time—needed something—and he sure as hell wasn’t about to rush her. Not this time. He could feel her tremors through the silence, each small shake tugging at something unfamiliar in his chest. 

Was this what they called patience? 

It wasn’t something he wore comfortably, but for Mina, he’d make it work.

She sniffled softly, and his mind raced. 

What the hell was he supposed to do here? His usual mode of operation was more bulldozer, less tender caregiver. For a moment, his jaw worked in silence as he replayed fleeting memories of others dealing with this kind of thing. 

What do people do when someone’s crying? 

His mom sure as hell hadn’t been much of a reference—“stop crying, brat!” wasn’t going to cut it.

Then he remembered seeing Deku’s mom once, years ago, when they were kids. She’d sat beside Izuku after a bad day, rubbing circles on his back and speaking so softly even Katsuki couldn’t hear. 

It had worked, too—the idiot had calmed down faster than a firework fizzling out.

Well, fuck it. Worth a shot.

Cautiously, Katsuki lifted a hand, hovering awkwardly behind Mina’s shoulder before finally pressing it lightly to her back. His fingers were stiff at first, unsure, but he started moving them in slow circles, imitating the motion he’d seen all those years ago.

She tensed under his touch at first, startled by the unexpected gesture. 

Her breath hitched sharply, and for a second, he wondered if he’d overstepped and made it worse. But the tension melted quickly, her shoulders easing just a fraction. The shaking softened too, though her sniffles persisted.

It seemed to work.

Huh. Not bad, he thought, cataloging the move for later. Maybe it wasn’t too terrible to have something in his arsenal besides yelling and blasting things.

A broken sound dragged his focus back to her as she finally tried to speak.

“He—” Mina hiccupped, choking on the word. A small, trembling hand darted up to swipe at her face, as if it could erase the tear tracks still marking her cheeks. She took another shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut, before trying again. “He…”

Her voice cracked mid-word, and for a heartbeat, Katsuki felt like his insides might split apart. His gut churned with frustration, anger, helplessness—all the shit he was never good at processing. He fought down the immediate urge to storm out and fix this the only way he knew how: with fists and explosions. 

Right now, that wouldn’t help her. And helping her came first.

“I’m listening,” he murmured, voice rough but gentler than it had been all day.

It was the nudge she needed, apparently. 

Between uneven breaths, she forced the words out in pieces, so soft they were almost swallowed by the still air of the common room.

By the time she finished, Katsuki’s blood felt like liquid fire coursing through his veins. A rage hotter and more intense than any explosion he could muster pulsed in his chest, pounding in his skull, blurring his vision at the edges. His hand stilled on her back, flexing like it was trying to grip an imaginary bomb to launch into the nearest target.

Yeah. That bastard was fucking dead.

His mind immediately spun with possibilities. 

Every bone in his body screamed at him to march upstairs right now, grab Mineta by his ugly little haircut, and make sure he understood exactly what hell looked like up close. 

But—dammit—he couldn’t do that. Not yet.

Mina’s fragile sniffle brought him back down a notch. She wasn’t ready for explosions or confrontation. She needed calm. Quiet. Someone who could pull her out of the hell Mineta had dragged her into.

He adjusted his posture, relaxing his tense shoulders, and looked for anything—anything—that might make her laugh, or even just smile. The pink streak of her hair curled in messy tufts against her damp cheeks, her alien-like horns slumped slightly forward as if drooping under the weight of everything. 

Come on, he thought. Think of something, dumbass.

“You’re pretty damn lucky, y’know,” Katsuki muttered finally, keeping his voice low but firm.

Mina blinked at him, her wide, red-rimmed eyes darting up to meet his. She didn’t look convinced, but curiosity flickered in the background.

“Lucky?” she rasped, barely audible.

“Yeah,” he said with exaggerated seriousness, giving her back another careful circle. “Lucky I didn’t have any other plans tonight, ‘cause now I’ve gotta waste my time kicking the absolute shit outta that bastard for you.”

It wasn’t much—definitely not comedy gold—but it got a reaction. A single puff of air escaped her lips. Quiet, shaky, barely there—but unmistakably the start of a laugh.

“See?” Katsuki pressed, smirking slightly. “There’s that dumb face you make when you laugh. Told you I could get it back.”

Mina sniffled again, a hint of a watery chuckle escaping her throat. She shook her head lightly, but her lips twitched upward, just enough to count.

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t nearly enough.

But for now, it was something. 

And it was enough to fuel him. Because as soon as he was sure Mina was okay—or at least as close to okay as she could be—Mineta was going to learn what hell on earth felt like.

And Katsuki would make damn sure it burned.

Katsuki stayed with her longer than he intended. 

He didn’t say much—didn’t need to. 

His presence was enough, a steady, unrelenting anchor as Mina slowly collected herself. Her trembling subsided bit by bit, and the sniffling grew less frequent, though her puffy eyes and occasional hiccups told him the storm hadn’t completely passed.

Still, progress was progress.

He even stayed long enough to shoot Kirishima a quick text under the table:

Oi. Pinky’s a mess. Get your ass here and take over. I got trash to take out.

His thumb hovered over the send button before he added another line:

Don’t fuck it up. Be her rock or some shit. She needs you.

Katsuki hated to admit it, but if anyone could handle Mina with the gentleness and understanding she needed right now, it was Eijirou. And though Katsuki wasn’t one for leaving things half-finished, Mina deserved someone who wasn’t about to explode at the first mention of that name.

Moments later, Kirishima’s enthusiastic response lit up the screen:

On it! I’ll be right there, bro. Thanks for telling me!

Katsuki slid the phone back into his pocket, preparing to stand, but Mina’s soft voice stopped him.

“Wait, Kats…”

He turned, looking down at her. She was still curled on the couch, clutching her knees, but there was a little more color in her face now. Her horns stood straighter, and the faintest spark of her usual self had returned to her exhausted eyes.

“You’re not gonna…” Her voice wavered as she hesitated. “You’re not actually gonna kill him… are you?”

Katsuki tilted his head, crossing his arms as a slow smirk crept onto his face. His reply came low and razor-sharp.

“No.” He let the word hang for a moment before adding, “I’m gonna do worse.”

Her expression faltered, torn between worry and incredulous humor, but Katsuki was already turning toward the hall. 

It didn’t take long to form a plan. Hell, he already had the bones of it in his head. The plan he had brewing required backup—not some random idiot like Round Face or Electric Dunce, but someone who could actually help. 

Someone just as good at scheming as Katsuki was at winning.

And there was only one nerd with a hero complex big enough to share his burning rage right now.

Fishing his phone from his pocket, he started dialing as he stalked toward the hall. His footsteps echoed against the walls, matching the fury burning in his chest. 

It didn’t take long for the other end of the line to pick up.

“Kacchan?” Deku’s voice filtered through the speaker, half-surprised and half-excited, like Katsuki never called just to chat. “What’s up?”

“Get your ass to my room,” Katsuki ordered, pacing like a caged tiger. “Now. We got a little extra-credit assignment to do.”

“Wait, what kind of—”

“Mineta fucked up. Big time.” The words came out sharp and deliberate. Katsuki’s rage simmered just beneath the surface, but his tone was chillingly calm. “So we’re making sure the little shit doesn’t just get punished. He’s getting kicked the fuck out.”

Silence. Then—soft, deadly serious:

“I’ll be there in five.”

Perfect. 

This wasn’t just about petty vengeance anymore. Katsuki Bakugou was going to dismantle Mineta’s future at U.A.—strategically, of course.

And Deku was the perfect partner in crime.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Mina walked into class the next day feeling a little lighter. 

The events of the previous evening still lingered at the back of her mind, but it didn’t feel as suffocating now. Talking to Eijirou had helped—he always had a way of brightening her mood with his warmth and encouragement. 

But honestly? 

It was Blasty who’d really done it.

She hadn’t expected him to be the one to stick around, much less help her through the worst of it. Hell, she hadn’t ever seen him like that before—genuine, kind in his own explosive way. Sweet, even. Could you even call promising to murder someone "sweet"? Probably not. 

Still, it was strangely comforting, in that very Bakugo Katsuki way.

His willingness to protect her, to act like what she’d been through mattered, made her start to understand why Midoriya looked up to him so much. Katsuki wasn’t just all fire and fury; there was something deeper underneath the rough edges. 

Something good.

Of course, she had known that, but this was the first time sh had experienced it firsthand.

Mina adjusted the strap of her bag as she stepped into the classroom. 

She liked to arrive in that perfect middle ground—not early enough to look like a try-hard, but not late enough to earn one of Iida’s dramatic scoldings. 

As expected, she found the usual suspects already there.

One of them being Katsuki. 

He was slouched in his chair like a king on an unimpressive throne, feet up on his desk, arms crossed, and his trademark scowl on full display. The sight made her smile faintly despite herself. No matter what unexpected depths he might have shown last night, some things about Katsuki Bakugo never changed.

She glanced his way as she crossed the room. 

When she met Katsuki’s gaze, her breath caught in her throat. His crimson eyes bored into hers, sharp and blazing with something unspoken. She hesitated mid-step, uncertain of what he was trying to say.

Then he made a gesture—subtle and deliberate.

Flexing his fingers, he raised a hand and clenched it slowly, twisting as though crushing something invisible in his palm. There was no theatrics to it, no wild snarls or exaggerated movements. This wasn’t the Katsuki who riled up opponents with over-the-top smirks and loud threats.

This was colder. Controlled.

And far more terrifying.

Its message was clear: Mineta had been dealt with.

She still couldn’t shake the memory of him storming off the night before, fury radiating off him in waves after he’d sworn to handle Mineta. Part of her had braced for the aftermath—a round of deafening explosions shaking the dorms, or worse, a midnight announcement that Katsuki had gone too far and landed himself in deep trouble.

But none of that had happened. The dorms had been eerily calm.

It was unsettling in its own way, knowing he had done… something. 

Katsuki Bakugo didn’t make empty promises. He didn’t just let things slide. Mina had spent the evening wrapped in messy, complicated feelings, wondering how far Katsuki would go to keep his word. Part of her almost wanted him to cross a line—just a little. 

After what Mineta had done, didn’t he deserve it?

But deep down, she also knew she’d hate to see Katsuki get himself expelled over a scumbag like that.

The corner of her mouth quirked upward despite herself.

Slipping into her seat, she shook her head lightly. Mineta, ever the oblivious fool, had no idea the monster he’d just pissed off. If the purple-haired idiot thought he was in the clear just because Katsuki hadn’t flattened half the school last night, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Still, whatever amusement she felt was short-lived.

 The door opened again, and in walked Midoriya.

Mina tensed immediately.

Izuku was usually a walking bundle of sunshine, the kind of person you couldn’t help but feel lighter around. 

Not today. Today, he was …different.

His steps were slow, purposeful. 

His movements flowed with precision, each action controlled and deliberate. Izuku’s emerald-green eyes swept across the classroom once—not too fast, not too slow—before landing squarely on Katsuki. There was no fidgeting, no scribbling in his ever-present notebook, and none of his usual cheery greetings to classmates.

Instead, his expression was calm, eerily so, with his jaw set just enough to suggest restrained power. Mina swallowed hard. The warmth that usually radiated from Izuku had been replaced by something cooler, sharper. There was an undercurrent of danger—a quiet intensity that made her straighten instinctively, like her body recognized a predator before her mind fully caught up.

He looked... dangerous.

Then it happened.

The moment their gazes locked, the entire room seemed to shift. Katsuki, slouched lazily in his seat, uncoiled like a predator stretching after spotting its prey. His lips curled into a smirk, slow and deliberate, and the raw confidence that emanated from him felt nearly suffocating. There was nothing loud or exaggerated about it. 

This was a wolf who knew it had the upper hand and wasn’t in any rush to pounce.

Izuku didn’t say a word. 

He didn’t have to. He gave a single, short nod in response—decisive and exact.

No words. No theatrics. Just a silent exchange of understanding so complete it sent a shiver racing down Mina’s spine.

This was bad.

Katsuki and Izuku working together? 

That wasn’t teamwork. That was a fucking conspiracy—two apex predators closing in on the same target.

When two of the deadliest, most driven guys in the class were on the same page, there was only one possible outcome. And for the first time, Mina found herself feeling sorry for Mineta.

Well…

Almost.

If it weren’t for what he’d done to her—and likely tried to do to others—she might have been more worried about what Katsuki and Izuku had planned. Instead, a grim sense of satisfaction crept over her.

Her gaze darted between the boys, who seemed eerily calm now, both of them moving with the quiet confidence of people who knew they had already won.

Her stomach tightened. 

What the hell are you two planning?

As Izuku approached his desk, he spared Mina a glance—a fleeting but pointed look that spoke volumes. He wasn’t just a strategist today; he was a man on a mission, and somehow, Mina realized, that mission was personal. 

For her.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The air changed the moment they arrived at Ground Beta.

The sprawling industrial training site was already filled with the usual clutter—broken-down cars, mock-up buildings, and obstacles strategically placed for their training scenarios. They’d been here countless times, and it was always a blend of excitement and nerves for the students. 

But today, Mina couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something… off.

Aizawa, as usual, kept things brief. 

He gathered the class together in their gym uniforms and explained the day’s task with his trademark no-nonsense attitude.

“This’ll be a civilian rescue scenario,” he drawled, his scarf swaying slightly in the breeze. “Consider this a full simulation. Treat the obstacles, the injured, and the conditions as real. Civilians need rescuing, but your priority is safety—yours and theirs.”

The class nodded in unison, some more enthusiastically than others. 

Mina tried to focus on the details of the task, but her attention snapped to the figure approaching from the edge of the training field.

“Ah, perfect timing,” Aizawa muttered.

Mina’s heart sank a little as she recognized the distinct small, furred figure making his way toward them. 

Principal Nezu.

Of all days…

Nezu’s appearance immediately heightened her unease. 

It wasn’t that he scared her, exactly—he was small and unassuming in stature, with his pristine white fur and dark, shining eyes. But beneath that innocent exterior was a mind sharper than a thousand knives, capable of unraveling any plot with terrifying precision. 

The fact that no one seemed to know what he was—a mouse, a bear, some terrifying chimera—only added to the mystique.

The principal’s high-pitched, eerily cheery voice carried across the training grounds as he addressed Aizawa. “Oh, don’t mind me, Eraserhead. I’m here to observe! I believe an exercise such as this provides valuable insight—not just into skills but… character.”

Aizawa grunted in acknowledgment. “Just don’t get in the way.”

Nezu chuckled lightly, his high-pitched voice carrying an eerie mix of innocence and cunning. “Oh, I’ll stay out of the way. Don’t mind me at all.”

Despite the assurance, his presence loomed large over the group, like a shadow impossible to ignore. The class collectively shifted, an unspoken tension rippling through the ranks.

Mina watched him with narrowed eyes, her stomach doing a small flip. 

Nezu didn’t just drop by Ground Beta for a routine exercise. 

He always had a reason—a deeper game he was playing that no one ever fully understood until the pieces fell into place, usually at someone else’s expense. And if this had anything to do with Katsuki and Izuku’s hushed plotting…

She barely kept herself from groaning aloud. 

This wasn’t good. 

Whatever they’re doing, they better hope Nezu doesn’t catch on—or worse, decide they’re the ones worth testing today.

But, to her surprise, neither boy reacted overtly to Nezu’s arrival. 

She gnawed on her lip, stealing a glance between the two boys. 

Katsuki looked relaxed—too relaxed—arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised as Aizawa turned to address them. Izuku, meanwhile, tapped his index finger nervously against his thigh in what Mina recognized as his overthinking tick.

Don’t do something reckless, she thought, chewing her cheek. Whatever they had planned, Mina didn’t want them taking risks on her behalf.

Aizawa and Nezu exchanged a few quiet words, their conversation too soft for the students to catch. Then, after a pointed nod from the principal, Aizawa turned back to the group, clearing his throat to grab everyone’s attention.

“All right, listen up,” he began, his tone dry but commanding. 

“Teams will scout Ground Beta to locate and assist civilians in need—members of your class who will act as victims in the simulation. Your job is to bring them back to the rescue tent for evaluation and evacuation.”

Mina tuned in as Aizawa’s sharp gaze swept across the group, lingering a bit too long on Katsuki.

“The purpose of this exercise,” he continued, “is to focus on civilian aid. That’s the area most of you lost points on during the provisional license exam—not combat.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And as much as some of you might want to blow through this with brute force, remember that poor civilian care in a real scenario can cost lives. Treat the scenario like it’s real.”

A smattering of murmurs rippled through the group. 

Mina caught a subtle side-eye from Katsuki, his lip twitching like he was already biting back a complaint. She smirked faintly to herself, knowing the message was meant for him—and possibly a few others who still equated success with explosions and headbutting robots.

“The class will be divided into small teams based on prior teamwork and synergy,” Aizawa continued. He pulled out his tablet, glancing at the screen. “You’ll have thirty minutes to complete the exercise. Points will be tallied based on efficiency, creativity, and how well you interact with civilians. The security bots,” he added, gesturing vaguely toward the mock debris field where a few mechanical heads poked out, “will monitor your performance for bonus points.”

Mina nodded along as he read off the teams. 

She smiled when she heard her grouping—she’d been paired with Tsuyu and Momo, two people she’d worked well with in the past. 

They had a good balance: Momo’s sharp intellect, Tsuyu’s calm pragmatism, and Mina’s spontaneity.

The rest of the pairings fell into place without much surprise… until one caught her attention.

Izuku, Denki, and Minoru?

Her brows furrowed as the trio was announced. 

Could that be a coincidence? 

She bit back the thought and listened carefully. Aizawa followed up with Katsuki’s group: him, Eijiro, and Todoroki—another grouping that made logical sense. She tapped her chin in thought.

Aizawa had said the groups were formed based on prior teamwork and synergy, but when had Izuku ever worked with Mineta? 

The only example she could think of was the USJ attack—and all Mineta had done then was cower behind Izuku while everyone else fought for their lives.

Mina’s unease grew, suspicion prickling the back of her neck. 

She glanced toward Katsuki, who didn’t so much as blink at his group assignment but gave the faintest hint of a smirk when Izuku’s was announced.

Her train of thought derailed slightly when Aizawa moved on to explain the schedule. One team would run the simulation first while the rest acted as civilians, then roles would switch. All the girls had been placed as the civilians for the first round, with the boys as rescuers.

 Aizawa mentioned something about the teams being split by gender “for ease of coordination,” but Mina wasn’t so sure.

She tried to focus, imagining herself playing the role of a helpless civilian, but her mind wandered to the idea of Katsuki doing the same in the second round. 

The mental image made her giggle quietly to herself—Katsuki Bakugo acting injured and in need of rescuing? She could only picture him screaming “I’M FINE, I DON’T NEED ANY HELP!” while pretending to limp his way out of the disaster zone.

She glanced toward him again, expecting to catch the usual scowl, but what she saw instead sent a ripple of nerves through her.

Izuku cracked his knuckles absently, the gesture too deliberate to feel casual. 

It wasn’t his nervous habit—Mina knew those. This was calculated. Beside him, Katsuki shifted his stance just slightly, crossing his arms in a way that seemed almost… watchful.

Whatever they had planned was going down now.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The members of Class 2-A moved with practiced efficiency, each assuming their assigned positions for the day's exercise. Above Ground Beta, the nerve center of the operation buzzed with activity. 

From within the sleek surveillance building, Principal Nezu reclined in his seat with an air of serene confidence, a porcelain cup of tea balanced delicately between his paws. Steam curled upward, mingling with the faint hum of machinery. His dark eyes gleamed as they scanned the wall of screens before him. 

"This setup should challenge them," Nezu mused, his voice chipper but laden with unspoken undertones.

Beside him, Aizawa leaned against the console, his arms folded as his sharp gaze flitted from screen to screen. Every muscle in his frame seemed poised for action, a quiet intensity rolling off him in waves. “They’ve dealt with worse," he said after a pause, his tone deliberate, measured—but not without a trace of skepticism. 

“They’re competent,” Aizawa said eventually, though his tone lacked full conviction.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Nezu replied, the corner of his mouth twitching into a knowing smile. Aizawa’s brow furrowed slightly. For some reason, it felt like they were talking about two completely different things.

Aizawa didn’t trust that smile.

“Is everything in position?” Nezu asked, his voice as light and chipper as ever.

“I believe so,” Aizawa replied, crossing his arms. “The boys are on the field, and the girls have already taken up their roles.” He hesitated for a moment before narrowing his eyes at Nezu. “Wanna tell me now why you hijacked my training? How exactly are gender-split teams supposed to make them better heroes?”

Aizawa sighed as he finished, his irritation barely hidden beneath his flat tone.

“Mm, I do believe that will become clear in the near future,” Nezu said, his smile widening just enough to make Aizawa’s hackles rise. “But to answer your second question—it’s for their safety. That’s what all of this is about, no?”

Aizawa grunted in reply, unimpressed and unconvinced. His doubts about Nezu’s motivations lingered, but his attention shifted unwillingly to the intercom as Nezu reached for the button.

“Let the exercise begin,” Nezu announced brightly, his cheerful tone at odds with the tension simmering beneath the surface.

The first phase of the exercise unfolded with methodical precision. 

As Aizawa expected, the boys moved swiftly to strategize. The air was charged with a competitive but cooperative energy as the teams debated tactics. Ultimately, most teams opted to stay together, ensuring greater safety and streamlined communication as they navigated the simulated chaos.

But one team deviated. 

Midoriya, Kaminari, and Mineta opted to split up—a decision that drew Aizawa’s attention immediately. Midoriya, the perennial team player and strategist, wasn’t one to favor splitting his resources. 

This choice set off alarm bells in Aizawa’s mind.

Watching their deliberations on the screen, he saw Midoriya make his case. “It’ll be faster this way,” Izuku said, his tone firm but deceptively casual. “We can each cover different areas and reach the civilians quicker. I trust you guys to get the job done.”

That last part hung in the air. 

Izuku’s words lingered on Mineta in particular—a carefully placed statement, Aizawa noted with interest. Mineta, predictably, puffed up with self-importance, eagerly agreeing with the plan.

“Trusting him?” Aizawa muttered under his breath. His sharp eyes narrowed at the screen as Mineta's retreating figure became smaller. “That’s bold—even for Midoriya.”

Nezu chuckled beside him, the sound annoyingly rich with amusement. “Boldness is a key quality in leadership, don’t you agree?”

Ignoring him, Aizawa’s gaze darted between the monitors, trying to piece together the underlying currents. Something wasn’t adding up. Midoriya was precise, methodical—nearly obsessive when it came to detail. 

But there was an edge to him today, a deliberateness that went beyond problem-solving.

“Nezu,” Aizawa said suddenly. His tone, sharp and low, wiped the lingering smile off Nezu’s face.

“Yes?” the principal replied.

“If you think this is just a rescue exercise, you’re either underestimating these students…” Aizawa straightened and shifted his focus entirely to the screen showing Izuku. “Or you know something you’re not sharing.”

Nezu’s only answer was the sly twinkle in his eyes.

Aizawa sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He should have known something was up the moment the little rat had shown up at his office uninvited the day before.

The knock at his door had been perfunctory—a courtesy, not a request. 

Nezu didn’t even pause to wait for a reply before letting himself in. Aizawa, hunched over a stack of notes, glanced up irritably. He had just been about to wrap things up for the evening, ready to head home after a long day. What a pain.

“Hello, Aizawa,” Nezu greeted cheerfully, clasping his tiny paws together as he peered around the office. “Are you reviewing plans for tomorrow’s exercise?”

The way Nezu lingered just inside the doorway was strange. 

Usually, the principal was content to leave him to his work—one of the few perks of working under someone as unpredictable as Nezu was his general trust in Aizawa's ability to manage his own lesson plans. 

But this was different. 

Nezu had never gone out of his way to take an interest in his day-to-day training. Aizawa's mind bristled with an edge of suspicion, but his exhaustion kept him from chasing the thought too far.

He set his pen down. “What do you need?” he asked, tone curt but not entirely unfriendly.

Nezu’s ever-present smile widened just a fraction as he stepped further inside. “Oh, nothing too taxing. I wanted to check in, perhaps take a look at what you’ve planned. A routine evaluation, if you will.”

Aizawa frowned. 

Now this is weird. 

“It’s a basic rescue exercise,” he replied, his voice flat as he leaned back in his chair. “Standard scenario: rescuing civilians. Most of the students could use a refresher on treating injuries and handling panicked victims. This should give them a solid challenge without being overwhelming.”

Nezu’s sharp ears twitched, his expression polite but unreadable. “Mind sharing a few more details? I may need to make a few... adjustments.”

That caught Aizawa’s full attention. He folded his arms across his chest, his brows furrowing. 

“Adjustments? Since when do you take issue with my training plans?”

“Oh, I trust your judgment implicitly,” Nezu replied smoothly, brushing imaginary dust from his tiny coat. “However, let’s call it… taking an opportunity where it presents itself. I recently had an intriguing conversation that made me wonder if this particular exercise might be enhanced with a few tweaks.”

Aizawa’s frown deepened. Nezu only got vague like this when he was up to something.

“What kind of tweaks are you talking about?”

Nezu hopped into a seat opposite the desk, folding his paws in front of him. “Consider them small modifications for safety and fairness. Gender-split teams, for instance. It’s something worth exploring.”

“Why?” Aizawa shot back, his tone laced with exasperation. “What does that accomplish? Since when does splitting them up like that improve safety?”

“Let’s just say it’s relevant,” Nezu replied, his smile now unmistakably cunning. 

“And as I mentioned, this is purely precautionary. I’d hate for anything to interfere with such an important exercise. Wouldn’t you?”

The way he said it, light as his tone was, only made Aizawa more suspicious. 

“...What aren’t you telling me?” Aizawa asked, voice low and sharp.

“Me?” Nezu gave an exaggerated expression of innocence, resting a paw against his chest. “I’m simply ensuring everything goes smoothly. Incidentally, I might have had a visitor earlier with an intriguing hypothetical scenario.”

Aizawa didn’t like the sound of that. 

“Who?”

Nezu leaned back in his chair, folding his legs neatly. “Young Midoriya. He stopped by earlier today with what I suspect was a rather thinly veiled suggestion regarding... let’s call it an observed classroom dynamic.”

That got a rise out of Aizawa. “And?”

“And,” Nezu continued, “Midoriya suggested—quite passionately, I might add—that we incorporate some specific changes into this exercise to account for potential issues. He even offered a list of adjustments, citing the possibility of unfair dynamics or oversight that could risk their safety.”

That was unusual, to put it mildly. 

Izuku was methodical, intelligent, and respectful of authority. But this—going over Aizawa’s head directly to Nezu and pushing for such drastic changes—wasn’t his usual behavior.

“You agreed to this?” Aizawa said, narrowing his eyes at Nezu, the bite in his tone unmistakable.

“I make it a habit to listen carefully when a student who rarely advocates for change suddenly insists on it,” Nezu replied. “Midoriya's logic was impeccable, and truthfully, I find it hard to resist his determination when he insists I be… useful. Wouldn’t you? He didn’t tell me any specifics, but i’m sure we need to be on the lookout for strange behavior.”

Aizawa exhaled slowly through his nose, still trying to piece the entire puzzle together. 

If Izuku was behind this—that meant Katsuki probably wasn’t far behind. Those two were volatile on their own, but together? They were terrifyingly efficient when their goals aligned.

And with Nezu in their corner, it was clear the operation was already in motion.

Aizawa’s eyes flicked back to the monitors lining the surveillance wall, scanning for anything out of place. From the surface, everything appeared normal. 

Too normal.

On one screen, Midoriya’s team huddled together, reviewing their approach to the simulation with the kind of strategic focus that Aizawa had come to expect from his most analytical student. Izuku outlined where they should search, and the three members quickly agreed to split up. Kaminari wandered off toward the western sector, visibly excited by the challenge, while Mineta trudged reluctantly toward the mock rubble at the eastern edge of Ground Beta.

Aizawa leaned forward as Midoriya headed toward his assigned area. 

The boy’s movements seemed casual enough at first—until he paused at the corner of a collapsed structure where Jirou was stationed. 

Jirou, playing the role of a civilian, was seated on a crate, looking convincingly disoriented but otherwise unharmed. If Aizawa remembered her briefing correctly, she was supposed to portray someone with minor injuries who could make it back to the tents on her own. It was one of the simpler rescue scenarios.

Izuku knelt in front of her, calm and composed. 

He introduced himself with what Aizawa assumed was his hero name, his posture calm and professional. From what Aizawa could see on the monitor, he followed all the right steps: asking routine questions to assess her condition and gesturing toward the rescue tents with clear directions.

Aizawa couldn’t hear what was being said—there was no audio feed, too many screens for them to all play at once—but the interaction looked flawless, almost too polished. A textbook display of heroics.

Midoriya even patted Jirou lightly on the shoulder before stepping away, his body language exuding calm encouragement as she moved toward the tents. Then, without hesitation, he turned and continued toward his designated sector, leaving Aizawa to narrow his eyes at the screen.

Something about the encounter nagged at Aizawa.

Midoriya tapped his ear, a subtle but unmistakable gesture. 

Aizawa’s sharp eyes caught the glint of something metallic tucked against his earlobe. Was that an earpiece? That wasn’t part of this exercise. Where had he gotten it? And more importantly, why was he using it?

Aizawa’s fingers moved instinctively over the controls, isolating the audio feed from Midoriya’s channel. Static filled the room for a split second before a quiet voice came through.

“--got it. Everything’s going according to plan.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. Plan?

Quickly, he scanned the other monitors until he spotted Katsuki Bakugo. 

Unlike Midoriya, Katsuki wasn’t making any overt moves. He stalked through the simulated disaster zone with practiced ease, his expression almost bored as he carried out the exercise. But there were subtle tells. Every now and then, Katsuki would adjust his movements slightly, like he was deliberately keeping a certain distance from others—surveilling the area.

Aizawa wasn’t fooled. The kid was up to something.

He glanced at Nezu, whose knowing expression had only deepened. The principal’s dark eyes shone with intrigue, a playful smirk tugging at his mouth as he sipped delicately from his tea.

“So,” Aizawa asked, his tone low and pointed, “Midoriya didn’t tell you anything about his plan? Or why these ‘changes’ he suggested were so important?”

“No, he did not,” Nezu replied, his voice deceptively light. 

“And I did not ask.”

“You didn’t ask?” Aizawa’s brows furrowed. “You just gave him the green light to overhaul my training exercise without questioning it?”

“Not an overhaul,” Nezu corrected, tilting his head with an air of innocence. “Simply a few… modifications. Besides, young Midoriya’s reasoning was logical and well-presented. I found it charmingly bold.”

Aizawa stared at him, unimpressed. “Logical enough to risk undermining an entire exercise?”

Nezu chuckled, clearly unfazed. “Oh, I don’t think it’s undermining anything. On the contrary, I suspect it’ll make the experience far more illuminating.”

“For who, exactly?”

“For everyone,” Nezu replied, setting his teacup down with a delicate clink. “Let’s not pretend we don’t know these students, Eraserhead. Midoriya and Bakugo aren’t simply passively following instructions today. They’re testing something, and likely themselves in the process. As for what role we play in this…” He tapped his clawed finger against the edge of his chair, his smile widening. “I suspect we’ll both figure that out soon enough.”

Aizawa grunted, resisting the urge to rub his temples. 

He turned back to the monitors.

Onscreen, Midoriya stopped near a debris pile, scanning his surroundings before stepping carefully over a beam. He looked entirely in character—focused, determined, and professional. But when he raised a hand to adjust his earpiece again, Aizawa caught the faint flicker of his lips. Midoriya wasn’t muttering. 

He was smiling.

“Damn it, Midoriya,” Aizawa muttered under his breath. “What are you up to?”

As he watched the team’s movements unfold, that nagging suspicion at the back of his mind grew louder. Midoriya’s perfect civilian rescue. Bakugo’s deliberate nonchalance. Mineta, so far removed from them both, struggling through the simulation with none of his usual sly enthusiasm.

Aizawa’s gaze lingered on Bakugo’s monitor again. 

Unlike Midoriya, Katsuki wasn’t wired—or at least not obviously so. 

But his actions were just as deliberate, his shoulders braced with a level of tension that suggested he wasn’t simply navigating obstacles. He wasn’t just playing along with the exercise; he was waiting.

For what?

Aizawa straightened, eyes narrowing as he toggled between feeds. “Nezu,” he said abruptly, his voice tight.

“Yes, Aizawa?” Nezu replied, his tone infuriatingly calm.

“If those two idiots get themselves into trouble,” Aizawa muttered darkly, “you’re cleaning up the mess.”

Nezu’s chuckle filled the room, soft but unsettling. “Oh, I think you underestimate them. Or perhaps,” he mused, “they’re about to prove just how much they’ve learned under your careful watch.”

Aizawa clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the screens rather than letting Nezu’s cryptic smile burrow further under his skin. Whatever was about to unfold, Aizawa couldn’t let himself be caught off-guard. 

His job now was to observe—and to act if things spiraled out of control.

It wasn’t entirely unusual for Bakugo and Midoriya to work together these days. 

Over the past year, the two had grown closer—so close, in fact, that Aizawa had to remind them of dorm rules more than once. No visitors after 10 pm wasn’t just a guideline. Yet even with this newfound camaraderie, Bakugo and Midoriya couldn’t help but bicker and snipe at one another whenever they worked side-by-side. 

Competitiveness was ingrained in both of them, and that tension always made itself known, usually in the form of near-catastrophic attempts to one-up each other.

But today? Nothing. Not a single argument.

Instead, Bakugo had stayed curiously silent, letting Kirishima and Todoroki take the lead. Midoriya, meanwhile, had helped Jirou but done little else to assert himself or rack up points. 

They weren’t competing. 

They weren’t leading. 

They were waiting.

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed as Kirishima and Todoroki spotted Tsuyu in the area ahead. The boys shouted her name, waving her over, and sprinted off together to assist her. The scene played out like any other standard rescue exercise—quick coordination and teamwork, executed well.

But Bakugo stayed behind.

He didn’t call out or follow after them. 

Instead, his sharp gaze trailed after his teammates for only a moment before he turned and headed in the opposite direction. Aizawa’s lips thinned as he watched Bakugo raise a hand to his ear, tapping it in what was now an infuriatingly familiar gesture.

So he is wired.... What the hell are they saying to each other?

Aizawa strained to make out even a snippet of dialogue, but nothing came through clearly. Whatever frequency Bakugo and Midoriya were on was too subtle, too private. For the first time in a long while, Aizawa cursed the limitations of UA’s surveillance equipment.

Bakugo veered further off-course, moving toward Midoriya’s team’s designated zone. His posture was deliberate, his strides tense but measured, like a predator zeroing in on its target.

Aizawa leaned in closer, his chest tightening. 

Then it clicked. Bakugo wasn’t heading toward Midoriya. He was heading for…

Mineta.

Aizawa sat bolt upright, his eyes darting between the monitors.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

The uneasy puzzle pieces fell into place, each sharper and more damning than the last. Of course this had to do with Mineta. Who else could incite such focus from both Bakugo and Midoriya? And if Bakugo had set his sights on that little sleazebag, there was no telling what might happen.

If Bakugo laid so much as a hand on Mineta, Aizawa would have no way to shield him from the fallout, no matter how much he may want to.

He was an undeniably talented student, but if Bakugo’s temper flared too far…

The history with Mineta gnawed at Aizawa’s thoughts, bitter and maddening. 

He’d wanted that problem student gone since year one, but powerful parents and politics tied his hands at every turn. And the one loophole Aizawa used to deal with students who showed no promise—his infamous expulsion policy—was more complex than people realized.

Yes, he expelled students. 

Entire classes, if necessary. But it wasn’t an immediate game over, as the rumors claimed. Expelled students could reapply to UA if they passed provisional courses elsewhere. It was a system meant to teach resilience and inspire improvement.

But Aizawa couldn’t risk that with Mineta. 

The thought of giving him another shot—another chance to slither through the cracks—was unbearable. He rather him be under his watch so he could step in when needed.

But, if Bakugo was heading for Mineta, there could only be one reason.

Perhaps Aizawa hadn’t been paying as much attention to the boy as he should have.

Aizawa’s mind flickered back to a recent homeroom discussion. 

Kirishima, always casual and cheerful, had mentioned something offhand about Bakugo comforting Mina in the common room. Aizawa had assumed it was a poorly executed joke, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Bakugo knew something more. 

Maybe Mina had told him something.

If Bakugo had found out that Mineta had harassed Mina—or worse—Aizawa had no doubt what the hot-headed teen’s first instinct would be. Bakugo would want revenge, plain and simple.

But this couldn’t be about revenge alone. Not with Midoriya involved. The boy was too calculating, too careful with everyone in Class 2-A to allow anything reckless.

Midoriya wouldn’t let Bakugo take it too far. Would he?

Aizawa’s eyes flicked to Nezu, still calm and poised, sipping his tea as though the world wasn’t moments away from detonation. “You’re awfully quiet,” Aizawa said sharply.

“Oh, I have my suspicions about what will happen next,” Nezu replied, his tone airy. “Don’t you?”

“You knew,” Aizawa muttered, his frustration boiling just beneath the surface. “About Mineta. About what they’re planning.”

Nezu’s smile remained enigmatic. “I know a great many things, Aizawa. But sometimes, it’s best to let things… evolve organically. Besides,” he added, tilting his cup slightly, “I suspect this particular situation will resolve itself soon enough. Don’t you agree?”

Aizawa turned away, biting down on his retort. He had to trust the boys—had to believe Midoriya wouldn’t let Bakugo cross the line. But doubt gnawed at the back of his mind.

What if Bakugo had already decided there was no line?

What if Midoriya decided Mineta deserved what was coming?

Aizawa forced himself to stay seated, his fists clenching. His role wasn’t to intervene unless absolutely necessary. 

For now, he had to watch.

Aizawa’s gaze locked onto the screen as Bakugo caught up to Mineta, who—predictably—hadn’t been doing anything remotely useful. 

While the rest of the class threw themselves into the exercise, Mineta was meandering around the outskirts of Ground Beta, fiddling with his costume and occasionally glancing toward the tents as though scoping something out.

Typical.

As Bakugo approached, his strides deliberate but unhurried, Aizawa noticed a change. 

The explosive blond had been quieter than usual all day, his movements restrained, his temper suspiciously reined in. Now, though, it was as if a switch flipped. Bakugo slipped on the mask he wore so effortlessly—the one that screamed “arrogant hothead.” His body language shifted; he cracked his neck and his knuckles, the picture of someone spoiling for a fight.

Aizawa’s brow furrowed. 

Bakugo could weaponize emotions when he wanted, switching personas to suit the moment with unsettling ease. The boy had always had layers, but this level of controlled transformation was… alarming. 

He made a mental note: Bakugo Katsuki might require closer attention in the future.

On the screen, Bakugo’s voice rang out, sharp and unapologetically crass. “Oi! Fuck face!”

Aizawa couldn’t suppress a dry thought. What a poet.

Mineta, startled, turned abruptly. He hadn’t even noticed Bakugo’s approach, and his expression immediately twisted into a mix of irritation and unease.

“What the hell do you want?” Mineta shot back, his voice as slimy as ever, though it wavered just slightly under Bakugo’s intensity.

“You find any civilians yet?” Bakugo’s tone dripped with venom, a dangerous grin playing at the edge of his lips. “Or are you too busy jacking off like the useless shit you are?”

Mineta flinched, his gaze darting nervously around the mock disaster zone as if checking for an audience. “Tch! I’ll have you know I’ve helped so many girls already!” he snapped, his bravado ringing false. Then, under his breath—but loud enough for Bakugo to hear—he muttered, “Probably touched more than you...”

The comment hit like a firecracker. 

Aizawa could see Bakugo’s jaw tighten, the smallest twitch betraying the restraint beneath his controlled mask. His shoulders stiffened, and for half a second, Aizawa thought he might snap right then and there.

But Bakugo surprised him. 

Instead of exploding, he rolled his eyes in exaggerated irritation and waved a dismissive hand. “What the fuck ever,” he growled, his voice almost casual. “If you actually wanna stop being a fucking waste of space for five seconds, go check the goddamn rescue tents.”

Mineta frowned, his face twisting in confusion. “Why the hell would I do that? Isn’t that what the recovery bots are for?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bakugo shot back, sarcasm lacing every word, “but just ’cause they say this is a rescue drill doesn’t mean it’s safe, dipshit. What if there’s a second wave of villains or some shit? Someone needs to check the tents. Make sure none of the dumbasses pretending to be injured are actually hurting themselves lying there, waiting for you losers to get your asses in gear.”

Mineta blinked, still clearly processing Bakugo’s aggressive tirade. “And why aren’t you doing it?”

“Because I’m not you,” Bakugo snapped, his expression hardening. “Do I look like someone who’s gonna wipe some moron’s nose while there’s still people out there waiting for me to fucking save them? Nah. That’s your job, ‘hero.’”

The last word dripped with enough sarcasm to fill a river.

Mineta puffed up, clearly desperate to salvage what little pride he had left. “Fine,” he spat. “But don’t come crying to me when you miss out on your big moment, Bakugo.”

Bakugo snorted. “Don’t care. Just get your slimy ass moving before I kick it there myself.”

Mineta grumbled something incoherent before reluctantly turning and shuffling toward the rescue tents. Bakugo stood still for a moment, watching him leave with a look Aizawa recognized all too well—contempt barely leashed beneath calculated calm.

The moment Mineta disappeared into the rubble-strewn corridors, Bakugo tapped his earpiece again. Aizawa, sitting bolt upright, caught the faintest trace of his voice as he muttered into the receiver.

“He’s heading there now. Keep an eye out.”

Aizawa switched his gaze to the feed showing Midoriya. 

Izuku stood a fair distance from the tents, casually pacing near a pile of mock debris. His demeanor was calm, but there was an intensity in his eyes, a focus that suggested he was prepared for what came next.

Something about the precision of it all—the choreography between Bakugo and Midoriya—sent a chill up Aizawa’s spine. 

They’d orchestrated this. 

Mineta wasn’t just being sent to the rescue tents; he was being herded.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Stupid fucking Bakugo.

Perfect in every way except for that attitude.

Minoru scowled as he trudged along, fists clenched at his sides. 

Who did Bakugo think he was, anyway? Strutting around like he owned the place, like he was UA’s golden boy. Sure, he was strong, but he wasn’t that great. Hell, all Bakugo really had going for him were those stupid muscles. 

And the stupid hair. And maybe the stupid, perfect aim with every explosion.

Ugh, whatever.

What really pissed Minoru off was how everyone else ate it up. 

Especially the girls. 

Oh, he wasn’t dumb—he’d seen Ashido giggle around Bakugo more times than he could count (he wasn’t even that funny), glancing at him from the corner of her eye like he was some kind of Greek god. And Uraraka? Don’t even get him started on her. She couldn’t go two seconds without sneaking a look at Bakugo, practically drooling anytime he stretched or rolled up his sleeves.

And Midoriya? What the hell was up with him?

It wasn’t enough that he was an annoyingly goody-goody, but he followed Bakugo around like some kind of lovesick puppy. They’d gone from fighting like mortal enemies to some weird… bromance… or whatever. 

It was disgusting.

Minoru scuffed the ground with his foot, kicking up a cloud of dust and glaring at nothing in particular. His bad mood only made the heat from the exercise feel worse.

Still, as much as he hated Bakugo’s guts, the blonde had pointed him toward the rescue tents, and now that he was thinking about it…

Smokin’ hot babes as damsels in distress? Sign me up.

His lips curled into a sly grin as he abandoned any lingering anger. 

This wasn’t such a bad gig. 

The other guys were off running themselves ragged through Ground Beta, and here he was—free to “check in” on the ladies, play the concerned hero, and maybe get a little closer to the people who mattered most. The girls were so into heroes—real heroes—someone confident and assertive, not meek and awkward like Midoriya or fake-tough like Bakugo.

Minoru hummed to himself as he approached the line of tents. 

His unease was fully replaced by giddy anticipation, his steps lighter now. His beady eyes scanned the area as he walked, making note of every detail. Most of the tents were clustered toward the far left side, where he spotted a few faint shadows moving through the fabric. 

That was definitely where most of the girls were—and definitely worth checking out later.

His gaze shifted to the far right. 

One tent stood off on its own, smaller, quieter. The opening flap was closed, and no movement came from inside. But the faint outline of a body could be seen lying on the cot, just barely visible through the fabric.

Perfect.

Mineta’s heart thumped in his chest, a thrill running up his spine. 

He darted a quick glance over his shoulder. The coast was clear—none of the other guys were around. He even scanned the rubble-strewn area beyond the tents, just in case some nosy asshole tried to ruin his fun. 

Nothing.

He crept toward the tent, a sly grin plastered across his face. 

This was his moment. 

Stupid Bakugo thought he could boss him around? Well, Minoru was the one winning here.

Reaching the tent, he pulled back the fabric covering the entrance, just enough to peek inside. The dim light outside barely filtered in, casting long shadows across the space. It was dark—too dark to make out much detail—but the figure on the cot was unmistakable. Someone was lying there, facing away, a blanket pulled up over their shoulders.

The grin on his face widened. This is too good.

He stepped inside, letting the flap fall back into place behind him. The quiet rustle of the fabric seemed to echo in the still air, but Mineta ignored it. His attention was locked on the person lying before him.

He stepped closer.

His gaze flicked down, noting the bandages wrapped around the figure’s arm and the splint on their leg. 

Whoever it was, they looked vulnerable—helpless even.

His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to reach out. He took another step forward, leaning in closer, close enough now to hear the soft sound of breathing from the figure on the cot. His own breath hitched in his throat. This wasn’t just any rescue—it was practically a dream scenario.

He crouched slightly, his voice dropping into what he must have thought was smooth, but was nothing more than a clumsy mix of feigned confidence and sleaze.

“Hey there,” he murmured, his voice oozing faux charm. “Looks like you’re all alone. Lucky for you, Minoru Mineta is here.”

The figure didn’t move, didn’t react. Their stillness fed his delusions, twisting the scene further in his mind.

“Now, let’s see that smokin’ hot bod—”

A creak.

Mineta froze, his words caught mid-sentence.

It was faint, subtle. 

A sound that shouldn’t have mattered—but in that charged moment, it echoed like a gunshot. His head jerked up, and his eyes flickered to the tent flap, which seemed to tremble just slightly as though disturbed by a breeze. 

But there was no wind.

He glanced nervously back at the figure on the cot, licking his lips again to hide the dryness creeping into his mouth. His throat felt tight now, his initial excitement beginning to sour at the edges. But he wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t stop. 

You’ve come this far, Minoru.

With more hesitation than he wanted to admit, he leaned down over the figure. His voice dropped lower, quieter.

“Hey, you awake?” he whispered. His heart raced in anticipation, his nerves buzzing in conflict with his darker urges.

The figure didn’t answer, didn’t so much as shift.

Mineta grinned, a sick sort of relief rushing through him. 

Even better.

His hand hovered, shaking slightly as it reached toward the blanket. His heart pounded in his ears as his fingers grazed the fabric, gripping it lightly. Slowly, he began to peel it back—just enough to reveal a shoulder, smooth and bandaged beneath the dim light seeping into the tent.

The breath he released was almost a shudder, an involuntary sound that made him feel both powerful and pathetic in the same moment. “See?” he murmured. “No need to be shy. I can make you feel good all over–”

The creak came again, louder this time, accompanied by a subtle thud.

Mineta whipped his head around, his pulse spiking. “Who’s there?” he demanded, the false bravado in his voice doing nothing to mask the note of panic creeping in.

Nothing answered but the silence.

He exhaled shakily, sweat collecting at the nape of his neck. His eyes darted back to the figure on the cot. But now, the once vulnerable scene felt different. Mineta glanced at the cot again, trying to steady himself. 

It was fine. 

He was overreacting. 

Nothing was happening. 

This was his moment, dammit, and no stupid creaking sound was going to ruin it.

Gathering the last of his fleeting courage, he leaned in one final time, this time reaching for the figure’s shoulder. He grinned nervously, almost giggling to himself to shake off the discomfort.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re nice and safe…” he started, his voice trembling just slightly as his hand inched closer.

But before he could touch the shoulder, a shadow passed across the tent flap. It wasn’t subtle this time, and the flap rustled faintly, as if someone had just shifted outside.

“Who’s there?!” he barked, spinning around with a sudden burst of fear. His voice cracked, his confidence now utterly drained.

The flap slowly moved, pulling to the side. The moment stretched endlessly as two silhouettes emerged in the dim light.

The first figure stepped inside, and Mineta’s blood ran cold. Green eyes sharp and deliberate, their usual kindness absent, stared him down. Midoriya’s voice was anything but soft, but the intensity behind it made Mineta’s knees weak.

“Mineta,” Midoriya said calmly. “What are you doing?”

Mineta’s stomach plummeted, his hand retreating from the cot as if burned. “I—I—nothing!” he stammered. “What are you—why are you here?!”

A second shadow appeared at the entrance, and the flap slammed shut behind it with a loud thwap. Bakugo stood there, arms crossed, his glare icy and dangerous. When he spoke, his voice was low, but every word was a threat.

“Yeah, what the fuck are you doing?” Bakugo said, his lips curling into a snarl. 

The unease curdling in Mineta’s chest turned to dread. 

Something about their presence, their stillness, wasn’t right.

This wasn’t happenstance.

This was a setup.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Izuku had felt a lot of things when Kacchan told him what had happened to Mina.

Shock, at first—a sharp jolt of disbelief that crackled through his mind, fleeting but visceral. It wasn’t that he doubted Kacchan’s words. No, not for a second. Katsuki’s anger, the fire behind every word he spat, left no room for questioning. 

But Mineta? He’d always been a sleaze, sure, but this?

Then came the nausea. 

A hollow, twisting pit in his stomach that made it hard to breathe. 

Izuku could see it clearly in his mind, even though Katsuki hadn’t given him details, refused to—Mina’s tears, her humiliation, her pain. She was one of the kindest, strongest people Izuku knew. 

And someone they trusted had done this to her.

The nausea gave way to anger—a flood, burning and suffocating, roaring so loudly in his head that for a moment, it drowned out Kacchan’s voice entirely.

“Deku! Damn it, listen to me!”

Izuku barely registered the hands gripping his shoulders, squeezing tightly enough to anchor him but not enough to hurt. He was already half-standing, ready to storm out of the dorm, ready to find Mineta, ready to call it “combat training” and make the consequences worth it.

“Izuku, stop!”

Kacchan’s voice cut through the haze like a thunderclap. 

Izuku blinked, realizing his fists were clenched, trembling with the effort of holding himself in place. Katsuki’s face swam into focus.

Katsuki.

His fingers dug into Izuku’s shoulders harder, like he was trying to anchor him in place. 

“You think I don’t wanna rip that sick bastard apart?! You think I don’t wanna make him wish he never fucking existed?!”

The room felt electric, like their rage was about to tear the walls apart. But even in his explosive fury, Izuku caught something underneath Kacchan’s voice—something that made him pause.

“And yeah, I wanna beat his shitty little face till it’s fucking unrecognizable,” Katsuki continued, his words slicing through the air, brutal and vicious, every syllable dripping with raw hatred. “But what the hell do we get outta that? Huh? What the fuck does pounding his disgusting ass into the ground do except get us expelled?”

Izuku opened his mouth to argue, his chest still heaving, but Katsuki cut him off, shoving him back toward the edge of the bed.

“No. I’m serious, nerd. Think about it.” Katsuki’s voice wavered for just a second—just long enough for Izuku to notice. 

His blazing red eyes, usually so filled with stubborn arrogance, had a crack in them now. Not weakness, not even uncertainty—just… desperation.

Katsuki pressed his hands flat against Izuku’s chest, forcing him down just enough that his green-haired companion had no choice but to stay. His lips curled into a snarl as he leaned in closer, lowering his voice, though it didn’t lose an ounce of its venom.

“I don’t just wanna kick him out of class, Deku,” Katsuki hissed. “I want more. I want this little bastard fucking gone. Expelled. Stripped of that half-ass provisional license like the fraud he is. Blacklisted from every single damn hero school in the country. He doesn’t deserve to be here, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve to call himself a fucking hero.”

Izuku blinked, his heart pounding harder, but this time for a different reason. 

The red that had clouded his vision began to ebb slightly, and Katsuki’s words cut through his spiraling thoughts.

Katsuki wasn’t just angry—he was furious. 

Furious in a way Izuku hadn’t seen since they were kids. 

But beneath that fury was something deeper, something unspoken and raw. Katsuki’s hands trembled, his grip tight enough to bruise, but the edges of his anger weren’t just burning—they were controlled. 

Calculated.

“And if it were up to me,” Katsuki said, his voice dropping even lower, almost to a whisper, “I’d get that fucker behind bars. That’s what I really want. But we can’t do any of that if you go running off half-cocked, breaking his shitty nose, or blowing your damn cover.” His lips pulled back in a snarl, his sharp teeth glinting like a wolf warning off its prey. “Think, nerd. For once in your damn life, use that big fucking brain of yours before you get us both fucking expelled.”

Izuku stared at him, his breath catching in his throat. Katsuki was furious, seething with a barely contained rage that was like a dam about to burst—but he wasn’t letting it break. 

Not yet.

“Kacchan…” Izuku said, his voice trembling slightly. His anger began to mix with shame and guilt for his rashness.

“Deku,” Katsuki’s voice was razor-sharp, his hands gripping Izuku’s shoulders with an intensity that left no room for argument. “You don’t get to call the shots on this one. You’re with me, got it? We’re taking this bastard down the right way—clean, airtight, so there’s no way he can squirm out of it. And if that doesn’t work...” Katsuki leaned in, his crimson eyes blazing with unfiltered fury. 

“Trust me—I’ll be the first in line to smash that motherfucker’s face in.”

The room fell silent, except for the sound of their heavy breathing.

Katsuki stepped back slightly, his shoulders still tense, but his grip loosening. 

He gestured for Izuku to sit on the bed, and when Izuku finally did, Katsuki followed, flopping down beside him and running his hands through his hair. For a moment, the rage that had filled the room felt muted, but not gone.

“You know what she said to me?” Katsuki muttered suddenly, his voice quieter, though the tension was still there. He didn’t wait for Izuku to answer. “She said she thought she’d done something wrong. Thought it was her fault.”

Izuku froze, his heart sinking.

“And all I could think was, how the hell did I not see it? How the fuck did we not see it?” Katsuki’s teeth clenched as he looked away, his voice thick with frustration.

Izuku didn’t know what to say. 

But he knew one thing with absolute certainty.

“I’m with you, Kacchan,” he said softly, but firmly. “We’ll do this the right way. Together.”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed, and for just a second, he nodded. The fire in his eyes flared again, but this time it burned with focus and purpose.

And from that moment on, they both knew Mineta’s time was running out.

Katsuki and Izuku stayed in Katsuki’s room for hours, the passage of time marked only by the soft glow of their laptop screens and the persistent rustle of papers as they shifted through UA’s rules and guidelines. Both were determined to find the perfect loopholes and safeguards to ensure their plan couldn’t be dismissed—or worse, backfire on them. 

If they had any chance of getting Mineta expelled, they had to leave no room for error.

“Izuku.” Katsuki’s sharp voice broke through the silence. Izuku looked up from his laptop to see Katsuki adjusting his reading glasses—a detail that might have seemed funny under less dire circumstances. “Page 84. Code of Conduct and shit.”

Izuku reached for the printed copy of UA’s Student Handbook between them, flipping through the worn pages until he landed on the one Katsuki referenced. His eyes skimmed the section Katsuki had highlighted with an aggressive stab of yellow marker.

‘Students engaging in predatory behavior, harassment, or violations of physical boundaries will face immediate disciplinary action pending an investigation. Consequences may include suspension, expulsion, and loss of provisional hero licensing.’

“This,” Katsuki said, jabbing the passage on Izuku’s screen. “This is the fucker’s exit ticket.”

Izuku nodded, his fingers flying across his keyboard as he typed out notes, cross-referencing disciplinary precedents they’d found buried in UA’s old case records. 

“It’s clear, but vague enough that we’ll need proof. The kind of proof that sticks.” He frowned, clicking through a tab that summarized one of UA’s more public disciplinary hearings. “This investigation protocol… it puts a lot on the school’s discretion. If we’re not careful, it’ll just come down to a word-against-word situation. Mineta’s parents will use his connections to muddle it or force the school to show leniency.”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki spat, shoving his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “If the rat thinks there’s even one hole in this fuckin’ thing, it’s over.”

The floor around them had transformed into chaos. 

Loose papers covered every corner, overlapping in a collage of scribbled notes and printed records. Each of their laptops boasted at least twenty open tabs, ranging from UA’s student code of conduct to Provisional Hero Licensing Board guidelines, and a few hazy legal PDFs that Izuku was fairly sure Katsuki had downloaded from… questionable sources.

The thing about them, though—once they were on the same page, nothing stopped them.

Izuku reached for his coffee, barely glancing at Katsuki as he murmured, “We need Nezu.”

The silence stretched for a moment before Katsuki growled, “How the fuck are we gonna get Nezu if we can’t tell him shit? We tell him what we’re doing, he reports it. They passed their time for action; we’re doing this on our own.”

“Not exactly,” Izuku countered, his tone calm but determined. 

He clicked through a few tabs before swiveling his laptop toward Katsuki. “We don’t have to tell Nezu anything directly. Just… give him a hypothetical scenario based on safety.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, his red eyes gleaming with skepticism. “The rat’s not dumb, nerd. He’d see through that in ten fuckin’ seconds.”

“He might,” Izuku admitted, scratching at the back of his neck, “but knowing Nezu? He wouldn’t stop us. He’d probably love it. Go crazy for it even.”

Katsuki’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because it’s me,” Izuku said simply. “You know he eats this kind of thing up. I go in with a perfectly constructed plan about implementing safety into training exercises, something about gender dynamics and security protocols—he’ll practically trip over himself to make it happen.”

“Tch. Why the fuck not me?” Katsuki challenged, leaning back on his elbows with a scowl. “You saying I ain’t capable?”

Izuku rolled his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Kacchan, you know I think you’re capable.” His voice softened, good-natured despite their grim task. “But let’s be honest. You don’t exactly have the best track record with Nezu.”

“Fucking Captain Obvious, reporting for duty.” Katsuki clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. “Not my damn fault the rat thought a fucking muzzle was necessary ‘cause I wanted a fair fight back in first year.”

Izuku winced. Touchy subject. Very touchy subject.

Katsuki shoved his chair back, running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to calm himself. “I swear to god, after we’re done with this creep, the rat’s next. Better yet—the fucking Hero Commission. Burn the whole goddamn system to the ground.”

Izuku sat quietly, his chest tightening at Katsuki’s words. He understood the anger more than most would. It wasn’t just about the medal—or even the humiliation. 

It was about what it symbolized. 

Katsuki was always fighting to be taken seriously, to prove himself on his own terms, but that moment had cemented for him that the system didn’t care about fairness. 

It cared about control.

And even though Katsuki’s fury was justified, it would need to wait. Focus on Mineta first, Izuku reminded himself, because even though Katsuki’s fire was unshakable, it burned in too many directions at once.

“Kacchan,” Izuku said softly, his tone both soothing and firm.

Katsuki snapped his gaze toward him, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s a good idea,” Izuku continued, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, almost imperceptibly. “Taking down the system that let that kind of thing happen. But we need to focus. One problem at a time. Let’s deal with him first.”

Katsuki scoffed, shaking his head, but the sharpness in his glare dulled just slightly. “Fine. But don’t think I’m letting this shit slide forever, nerd. I’m keeping score.”

“I know,” Izuku said, his voice steady. 

And he meant it. 

Because in a lot of ways, Katsuki was right.

That was a fight for later, though. 

For now, Izuku filed the thought away in the back of his mind. Because as much as Mineta was a problem, the system that protected him—the rules that would resist their every attempt to remove him—that was bigger. 

The anger that boiled just beneath the surface of Katsuki’s voice wasn’t gone, but he let out a long, sharp breath through his nose. “You go schmooze the rodent, then. But I’m writing the fucking outline. Got it?”

“Deal.” Izuku smiled faintly, but it faded quickly as his gaze swept over the tangled mess of notes and screens surrounding them.

If they pulled this off, there’d be no turning back. No plea for leniency. 

No second chances. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Izuku took a deep breath before knocking on the polished cedar door. 

His hand was steady, but only just. 

He knew this conversation was crucial—it had to be flawless. If he showed even a fraction of the simmering anger boiling beneath his skin, it could unravel everything.

A moment later, a bright, chipper voice answered from within. “Come in, young Midoriya!”

Izuku entered, his expression carefully measured, the picture of professionalism despite the emotions clawing at his chest. 

Principal Nezu’s office, as always, felt like an elegant fortress of intellect. The soft glow of lamps bathed the room in warm light, reflecting off shelves packed with books and meticulously organized files. Nezu himself sat behind his massive oak desk, reclining slightly in his chair, his ever-present smile etched across his face.

“Ah, welcome,” Nezu said, gesturing for Izuku to take a seat. “What brings you here today? I assume it’s something… intriguing, given your usual habit of addressing matters directly with Mr. Aizawa.”

Izuku gave a polite bow before settling into one of the plush armchairs, its comfort doing little to relax the tension winding through his muscles. 

“Thank you for meeting with me, Principal Nezu.”

Nezu waved a paw. “Oh, no thanks necessary. Conversations with you are always a delight.” His dark eyes sparkled with curiosity, glinting as if he could already sense something unusual brewing.

Izuku met his gaze with quiet resolve. “I had some… observations about the way our rescue training is structured, and I was hoping to discuss possible adjustments.”

Nezu tilted his head, his smile widening slightly. “Adjustments? Do tell. What sort of observations, and what adjustments would you suggest?”

Izuku inhaled deeply, steadying himself as he began. “As you know, the upcoming rescue exercise focuses on civilians requiring immediate medical assistance and evacuation under simulated emergency conditions.”

Nezu nodded. “Correct, a standard but effective training protocol.”

Izuku’s green eyes sharpened imperceptibly. “Yes, but I was wondering if we could take it a step further—one that prioritizes an additional layer of safety for everyone involved.”

“Safety?” Nezu echoed, leaning forward, his paws clasping beneath his chin. His intrigue was palpable now.

“Yes.” Izuku tapped a finger lightly against his thigh, projecting an air of analytical calm. “UA has always prioritized not only teaching combat skills but also fostering teamwork and ensuring the well-being of students, correct? Especially in high-stress scenarios like rescues?”

“Quite so,” Nezu replied smoothly. “That is at the core of our mission.”

Izuku nodded, his expression unreadable but composed. 

“I started reviewing the school’s guidelines and historical protocols after our most recent drills and noticed some areas where extra precautions could be beneficial—specifically regarding the dynamics within training simulations.”

Nezu’s eyes gleamed with interest, though the corners of his smile twitched slightly upward, as though he already suspected where this was going. “Ah, you mean the matter of interpersonal interactions during drills. Am I correct?”

Izuku’s lips pressed together for a fraction of a second, a flicker of his frustration slipping through before he smothered it. “Yes,” he said smoothly, carefully steering his tone. “Group training exercises, especially mixed-gender ones, have a tendency to create vulnerabilities that might not be immediately apparent. The physical proximity required during rescues could, hypothetically, create unnecessary complications—or risks—if the boundaries aren’t properly defined.”

Nezu tilted his head again, his ever-present smile turning just slightly sharper. “Hypothetically?”

Izuku’s fingers twitched against the chair, his control straining as anger threatened to crack his otherwise polished demeanor. 

He inhaled sharply, allowing just enough fire to simmer beneath his words to press the point. “Hypothetically, yes. But knowing you, Principal Nezu, I’m sure you’d agree that preparing for every contingency—even the most unlikely—is always in UA’s best interest. Isn’t that why you’ve designed so many exercises that balance unpredictability and safety?”

“Why, thank you, Midoriya,” Nezu replied, his tone a mix of amusement and intrigue. “I do pride myself on that balance. So, what is it exactly you’re proposing?”

Izuku straightened, meeting Nezu’s gaze head-on. 

“Gender-split teams for this particular exercise,” Izuku explained, his voice calm and measured. “The rescue simulation would proceed as planned, but with one key adjustment. For ease of organization—and to account for certain… sensitivities—the boys would handle one segment of the task, while the girls focus on another.”

As he spoke, Izuku slid a neatly printed document across the desk toward Nezu. The paper outlined the proposed changes in precise detail, complete with a breakdown of the newly arranged teams.

“These team assignments are based on past performance and demonstrated efficiency,” Izuku continued confidently, gesturing to the paper. “They should provide the best possible results for this scenario.”

Nezu’s sharp eyes scanned the document, his smile widening ever so slightly.

Nezu chuckled softly, but there was a weight behind the sound. “Interesting. And you believe this adjustment would improve the training outcomes?”

“Absolutely,” Izuku said firmly. “It ensures the drill remains focused on the exercise’s objectives while minimizing the risk of… distractions.”

Nezu’s dark eyes lingered on him for a long moment, sharp and calculating. “A well-constructed argument. You’re a natural strategist, young Midoriya.”

Izuku’s chest tightened at the praise, but he forced himself to remain calm. 

He couldn’t let on how much was at stake—not yet. 

“Thank you, Principal Nezu. I’ve also been thinking about ways to enhance safety protocols further, particularly for unsupervised zones like the rescue tents. Would you consider integrating remote monitoring systems for areas where students might be isolated?”

“Oh, how ambitious,” Nezu remarked, steepling his paws. “And a reasonable precaution, certainly.”

Izuku leaned forward slightly. “I know you always encourage us to think outside the box, Principal Nezu.”

Nezu’s sharp ears twitched at that last statement, a faint glimmer of knowing passing through his expression. 

For a fraction of a second, it was as though the principal could see everything—every thread Izuku was weaving. But, to Izuku’s relief, Nezu simply nodded, his smile widening once more.

“Very well, Midoriya. I’ll approve the changes. Let’s see how this plays out, shall we?”

Izuku nodded, bowing slightly before standing to leave.

“Midoriya,” Nezu called just before he left. Izuku turned.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Nezu said, his eyes glittering with something unreadable, “if there were anything else you’d like me to observe during the upcoming drill, now would be the time to mention it.”

Izuku’s lips quirked into the faintest smile. “Nothing comes to mind, sir. But if anything arises, I trust you’ll know exactly what to do.”

Nezu chuckled, waving a paw. “Oh, I most certainly will. Good day, Midoriya.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

It took everything in Katsuki not to slam an explosion right into the bastard’s face. His hands twitched at his sides, tiny sparks crackling from his palms, betraying the volcanic rage bubbling just beneath the surface. 

Every instinct screamed for him to teach Mineta a lesson he’d never forget, but he didn’t move. 

Because as much as he wanted to break Mineta apart right here and now, both he and Deku knew it wasn’t enough. Words—no matter how laced with sleaze—could always be twisted. The bastard could backpedal, turn the narrative, make himself look like a concerned, if slightly misguided, classmate. 

It wouldn’t stick. 

They needed proof.

So, Katsuki forced himself to hold back. 

Something he’d had far too much practice with these past few days. Every second felt like someone was driving a stake deeper into his chest. He clenched his fists tighter, forcing his nails into his palms to ground himself.

The plan was for him to stay outside, to let Deku go in first, smooth-talking and subtle as always, and only step in if the bastard needed to be restrained. But the moment he saw Mineta’s slimeball grin—saw where his disgusting eyes had been lingering—he couldn’t stop himself. 

His feet carried him into the tent before his brain could catch up.

It wasn’t even like he was entirely in control anymore. 

His body was coiled so tightly, his rage barely contained, that it felt like he was walking a tightrope in a storm. And the wind was only getting stronger.

“Kacchan,” Deku said sharply, his voice calm but weighted. 

It was a warning Katsuki knew all too well. 

Deku’s hand came up and pressed lightly against his chest, not pushing him, but grounding him—an old gesture, familiar, like muscle memory. Katsuki’s jaw clenched, and he froze in place, though his glare was still locked on Mineta.

“Relax, Kacchan,” Deku said, his tone deliberately steady, smooth like polished steel. “He’s just taking care of the wounded. Just like you asked… Right, Mineta?”

The weight of the question dropped into the room like a stone.

Mineta flinched, his gaze darting nervously between the two of them. Sweat glistened on his temple, and his laugh came out thin and wheezy. “Y-yeah! Exactly! Nothing more, you know? Just… helping. I mean, what kind of hero wouldn’t? Ha-ha…”

Deku smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes narrowing just enough to look thoughtful but not suspicious, the way he always did when carefully peeling apart someone’s excuses, thread by thread. His hand stayed firmly pressed against Katsuki’s chest, a subtle but effective barrier between Mineta and the powder keg that was moments from detonating.

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” Deku said, his tone perfectly even, almost… warm. But not too warm. Just enough to put Mineta slightly at ease.

Behind him, Katsuki bristled, a low growl simmering in the back of his throat. Deku didn’t need to look back to know the effort it took for him to stay restrained. Kacchan, don’t push it. We’re close.

Deku better fucking hurry this shit up.

“Kacchan was just concerned, that’s all,” Deku continued, keeping his tone casual and just a little playful. “You know how he gets—blows things way out of proportion. He heard some… disturbing things, and I told him, ‘No way that’s true.’” He laughed, light and airy, as though the very idea of those rumors had been absurd to him. “Mineta’s a good friend of mine. I wasn’t going to let him badmouth a good friend like that.”

He delivered the last line with an inflection so sincere that it took Katsuki everything not to roll his eyes. 

Damn nerd’s too fucking good at this. Mineta visibly began to relax, his shoulders dropping as some of the tension in his body ebbed away.

Deku kept his smile in place, even as his insides coiled tighter. 

He was lying through his teeth, every word revolting to him, but he couldn’t afford to let his disgust slip through. 

This had to work.

“You wouldn’t mind clearing things up for him, right?” Deku said, his gaze flicking to Mineta with just enough of a plea to seem convincing. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold him back otherwise…”

His hand on Katsuki’s chest pressed lightly—not enough to restrain him, but enough to sell the act.

Mineta blinked, his head tilting in confusion as his eyes darted between the two of them. His gaze lingered for a second too long on Deku, searching his expression for any hint of suspicion and finding none. 

The smile was steady. 

The warmth in Deku’s voice was convincing. 

It was working.

“Oh, y-yeah,” Mineta stammered, his voice shaky but losing some of its edge. “Sure, sure! You know me, I wouldn’t… you know, I’d never—”

“Exactly,” Deku said, cutting in smoothly before Mineta could trip over himself. “I mean, come on, you’ve always been good with the girls, right? Helpful. Friendly. Not like what Kacchan said—he thinks you’ve been…” He paused, glancing back at Katsuki as if searching for the right words. “Let’s just say, less than respectful with Mina.”

The shift in tone was so subtle it was almost imperceptible. Deku still smiled, his voice still friendly, but the words landed like tiny knives, buried just beneath the surface.

Mineta froze, his breath hitching. “Mina?” he echoed weakly.

“Mm-hmm,” Deku hummed, tilting his head slightly, his expression never faltering. “Kacchan said he saw her upset in the common room the other night. Crying, actually. And, well… he overheard something about you.”

Mineta’s eyes widened, his pupils shrinking. “What—what are you saying?!”

“I’m saying,” Deku said softly, leaning in just a fraction, “that if you didn’t do anything wrong, you’d have no problem explaining yourself. Because I know Kacchan’s wrong about this. Aren’t you, Kacchan?”

Behind him, Katsuki scoffed, the sound low and biting, his jaw tight as his hands flexed at his sides. 

It took every ounce of his control not to close the distance and plant his fist in the little creep’s face. Sparks crackled faintly at his palms, begging to be let loose, but he clenched his fists tighter and breathed through his nose.

This was the plan. 

The outline he wrote. 

All he had to do was play his part—aggressive enough to sell it, but not enough to send Mineta scrambling off to Aizawa before they could wring the truth out of him.

Katsuki glanced at Deku, who was already deep in character. 

Flawless, as usual. Deku was the picture of calm, his smile faint but disarming, his voice even and light. If Katsuki messed this up, he would be the one who ruined everything. And there was no fucking way he’d let that happen.

“Tch.” Katsuki growled, narrowing his eyes at Mineta. “I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

Deku smiled at him, the expression soft but just pointed enough for Mineta to notice. Katsuki returned a quick scowl but stayed planted, simmering in the tension as Deku turned back to their target.

“See?” Deku said, his tone soothing. “Just tell us what happened. I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”

Mineta visibly relaxed, his chest lifting as he exhaled shakily. He looked at Deku—too trusting, too kind Deku. That’s how everyone saw him. Always forgiving, always giving people the benefit of the doubt. The kind of person who would rein someone like Katsuki in, keep him from going too far.

What a joke.

Katsuki almost grinned at the thought. 

Everyone said Deku was the Katsuki Whisperer™, the one person who could “control” him. 

Bullshit. 

Katsuki wasn’t controlled by anyone. Deku didn’t rein him in—he steered him. Pointed him in the right direction. Without him, Katsuki would’ve burned a lot more bridges. But controlled? 

No fucking way.

Mineta nodded eagerly, seizing the lifeline Deku dangled in front of him. “Yeah! A misunderstanding! That’s all this is!”

“So…” Deku tilted his head slightly, his green eyes sharp but his smile still soft. “Do you mind explaining it for us? You know how Kacchan gets if he doesn’t have all the facts.”

Katsuki let out another growl, this one intentionally rougher, rolling his shoulders for good measure. Sparks hissed faintly as he crossed his arms and glared at Mineta. “Better make it good, you slimy little fuck.”

Mineta flinched, then looked back at Deku, his expression pleading. 

Deku just held up his hand in a familiar calming gesture, as though asking Katsuki to stand down. It was all part of the illusion.

Mineta licked his lips nervously, glancing between them. “Uh, sure! Yeah, of course. No problem at all…” He laughed, a shaky, high-pitched sound. “It’s just, you know… Mina’s kind of sensitive, you know? I think she might’ve taken something the wrong way.”

Deku’s expression didn’t change. His voice stayed soft. Friendly. “Taken what the wrong way, exactly?”

Mineta hesitated, shifting nervously on his feet. “Well, you know, girls… They get, uh, emotional. You compliment them, and they think you’re trying to, uh…” He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “You know how it is.”

“No,” Deku said gently, shaking his head. “I don’t think I do. What did you say to her, Mineta?”

Mineta froze, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the right words—or an escape. He laughed again, weaker this time. “It wasn’t anything bad! Just, you know, her hero costume is tight, and—”

“Her costume?” Deku echoed softly, his voice smooth as ice. He tilted his head again, feigning innocent curiosity. “What about her costume?”

Mineta winced, his laughter trailing off into silence. “I just… I said something about how it looked, you know? Like… how it fits her. She took it the wrong way, though! I wasn’t being creepy or anything!”

Katsuki took a step forward, his lip curling into a snarl, and Mineta practically stumbled backward. Deku raised a hand quickly, pressing it firmly against Katsuki’s chest again.

“Let him talk, Kacchan,” Deku said softly, his voice carrying a quiet warning.

Katsuki glared down at him, but stayed put, his entire body a coil of tension, ready to snap. “Fine,” Katsuki growled through clenched teeth.

“Go on,” Deku said, turning his gaze back to Mineta. “What else did you say to her?”

Mineta’s eyes darted wildly, panic flashing across his face. He tried to laugh again, but it died in his throat. “Nothing! Just—just a joke! You know, guys joke all the time!”

“A joke?” Deku repeated, tilting his head again, his faint smile returning. “What kind of joke?”

“I, uh… I said…” Mineta’s voice faltered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I said that maybe she shouldn’t get mad if… if someone wanted to touch her or something.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy.

Katsuki let out a low snarl, and this time Deku didn’t press back as much. The anger that simmered under Deku’s calm facade began to flicker, though his voice stayed steady.

“You said what?”

“It was a joke!” Mineta said quickly, throwing his hands up in defense. “I swear! Just a joke! She freaked out over nothing!”

“Over nothing,” Deku echoed softly, his tone calm, but his sharp green eyes betrayed his disgust. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as if he’d already decided Mineta wasn’t worth his energy.

The tension in the tent thickened, the air suffocating. Mineta’s frantic gaze darted between the two of them, his sweat-drenched face pale with growing realization. 

He’d said too much, and he knew it.

Katsuki had had enough.

Finally pushing past Deku, Katsuki advanced, his movements slow and deliberate, each step heavy like the growl of a predator closing in on cornered prey. The air around him seemed to crackle with energy, his sweat sparking faintly at his palms, though he kept his hands in check.

“Kacchan,” Deku murmured, but Katsuki didn’t even look back. 

This was his moment now.

Mineta staggered backward instinctively as Katsuki loomed closer, his broad shoulders and wild glare towering over the smaller boy. Mineta’s back hit the edge of the tent, the fabric fluttering faintly as he stumbled further from the exit. Katsuki didn’t let up, his every movement designed to corner and intimidate.

“See, that’s not what Mina told me,” Katsuki began, his voice low and venomous. His grin was razor-sharp, the kind that promised pain. “I heard a very, very different story. Wanna explain why?”

Mineta’s breath hitched as Katsuki leaned in closer, his words slow and deliberate, each one carrying the weight of his anger.

“She said you were in the girls’ bathroom,” Katsuki snarled, his voice dropping even lower, the venom turning to pure steel. “Somewhere you know you shouldn’t fucking be. And she said you were taking pictures of her. Commenting on her goddamn body.”

Mineta shook his head rapidly, his entire body trembling. “N-no! That’s not—”

Katsuki’s palm slammed against the side of the tent next to Mineta’s head, sparks flying just inches from his face. Mineta yelped, his words cutting off instantly as the sharp scent of ozone filled the air.

“Oh, I’m not done,” Katsuki hissed, his eyes narrowing further. “She said when she wouldn’t ‘have fun’ with you, you had the fucking audacity to blackmail her. Blackmail her!” His voice rose, every word sharper and louder than the last. “Threatened to send those pictures around unless she gave you what you wanted.”

Mineta’s knees buckled slightly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

“So yeah,” Katsuki barked, the sparks in his hands intensifying. He held his palms low, careful not to let them get too close. His quirk was volatile, and he knew the teachers wouldn’t let him off for even the smallest slip right now. 

He forced himself to stay in control, his teeth grinding as he leaned in so close their noses almost touched. “I’m a little fucking confused, so please—fucking explain.”

“I—I didn’t—” Mineta stammered, his voice breaking as he tried to find an escape. “I didn’t mean it like that! It was a joke! Just a stupid joke, that’s all!”

Katsuki scoffed, pulling back slightly only to laugh—low, bitter, and devoid of humor. “A joke, huh? You call that a joke?!”

“I—” Mineta began, but Katsuki didn’t let him finish.

“What the fuck even makes you think you can talk to her—or anyone—like that?!” Katsuki’s voice was a growl now, barely restrained, his body practically vibrating with rage. “You think you’re untouchable, huh? Think you can hide behind your slimy little bullshit forever?”

“I swear, I didn’t mean it!” Mineta wailed, his voice cracking. “I wasn’t gonna send the pictures—I didn’t even keep them! I deleted them!”

The words tumbled out before Mineta could stop himself, his panic overriding any sense of self-preservation. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what he’d just admitted.

Katsuki froze for half a second, his body going completely still. Then he moved, his fist clenching as he raised it, sparks flying wildly now. “You fucking piece of—”

“Bakugo.”

The sharp, commanding voice sliced through the tension like a whip.

Katsuki whipped his head around, and there, standing at the entrance to the tent, was Aizawa. His dark eyes bore into Katsuki with unyielding authority, his scarf already unwinding from his neck, prepared to stop him if necessary. Behind him, Principal Nezu stood silently, his expression unreadable but his sharp eyes watching everything with quiet intensity.

“Step back,” Aizawa ordered, his voice calm but firm.

For a moment, it looked like Katsuki wouldn’t. 

His entire body was still coiled, his fist trembling as the sparks in his hand refused to dissipate.

“Katsuki,” Deku said softly, stepping forward now. His hand touched Katsuki’s shoulder, grounding him. “We got what we needed.”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed, his eyes locked on Mineta, who was now practically sliding down the side of the tent, his legs barely holding him up. 

For a long, agonizing second, Katsuki didn’t move.

Then, with a sharp exhale, he dropped his fist and stepped back, his movements jerky but restrained. He turned his head, muttering through gritted teeth. “This shit isn’t over.”

Aizawa’s eyes flicked to Mineta, who was shaking like a leaf, then back to Katsuki. “Out. Now.”

Katsuki let out a frustrated growl but obeyed, storming out of the tent. Deku followed, pausing only long enough to glance back at Mineta with a look that promised his own reckoning.

As they disappeared into the rubble-strewn field, Nezu tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint, curious smile. “Well,” he said softly, “it seems there’s quite a bit to discuss.”

Aizawa said nothing, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to Mineta.

Aizawa took in a deep breath, his fingers twitching faintly at his sides as he fought to maintain his composure. The final threads of the boys’ plan were falling into place in his mind, each detail weaving a picture that was as impressive as it was concerning.

They had planned this down to the last detail.

And for what? Because two students believed their teachers weren’t capable of dealing with the mess that was Mineta Minoru.

That realization stung more than he cared to admit.

I’ll be beating myself up for this one for a while.

The weight of responsibility hung heavy on him, but there wasn’t time for self-recrimination—not now. 

Right now, there were more immediate matters to address.

“Phone,” Aizawa said, holding his hand out toward Mineta, his voice steady but firm.

Mineta’s head shot up, his wide, tear-filled eyes darting frantically between Aizawa and Nezu. “Y-you guys don’t have the r-right to take my phone!” he stammered, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline.

“Oh, on the contrary!” Principal Nezu piped up, his chipper tone jarring against the tension in the room. His sharp teeth glinted as he smiled, his small frame practically bouncing with energy. “In the UA Code of Conduct, it clearly states that if there is reason to suspect a student’s phone contains incriminating evidence—particularly anything that could compromise the safety or privacy of others—we have the right to examine it!”

Mineta paled, his grip on the phone tightening.

Nezu continued, his voice almost sing-song. “Of course, this rule is usually applied to cases of potential leaks of school-sensitive information… but I’d say it fits this situation quite nicely, wouldn’t you, Aizawa?” He cast a sly glance at the teacher, his eyes glittering with understanding. “Though I suspect this was an intentional detail, wasn’t it?”

Aizawa didn’t respond, pinching the bridge of his nose instead. He could already feel the grey hairs multiplying. “Mineta. Phone. Now.”

The command was calm, but the edge in Aizawa’s tone left no room for argument.

Mineta hesitated for a long moment, trembling as his fingers hovered over the phone. Finally, with a small, choked sound of defeat, he handed it over, his hand shaking as Aizawa took it.

“Nezu,” Aizawa said, sliding the phone into his pocket. “Take him to your office. I need to speak to the other problem students.”

Nezu tilted his head, his grin widening. “Oh, of course. Come along, young Mineta. Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

Mineta let out a small whimper as Nezu practically dragged him out of the tent, his tiny paws gripping the boy’s scruff with surprising strength.

Once the two were gone, Aizawa exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders before stepping out of the tent.

The air outside was heavy with tension, the kind that settled in your chest and refused to let go. 

The exercise had come to a standstill, the students frozen in place as the weight of what had happened began to sink in.

Mina stood near the wreckage, her shoulders trembling as she clung to Katsuki, tears streaking her face. Katsuki’s arms were firm around her, his glare aimed at nothing in particular but carrying the same murderous edge as before. His protective stance was as fierce as his rage, his entire body taut as if ready to spring into action at any moment.

Nearby, Izuku stood with Jirou, his voice low as he spoke to her. Jirou nodded solemnly, her expression tight with worry but resolute.

Aizawa’s eyes scanned the scene before him, taking in every detail. He motioned for Kirishima, who had been hovering close to Katsuki and Mina, concern etched across his face.

“Kirishima,” Aizawa said, his tone softening just slightly. “I trust you’re capable of helping Mina?”

The redhead nodded instantly, his usual enthusiasm muted but his resolve clear. “Yeah. I’ve got her.”

“Good.” Aizawa patted Kirishima’s shoulder once before turning his attention to Katsuki and Izuku.

 “You two. With me.”

Aizawa directed them back into the tent, pulling the flap closed behind him to allow for privacy. 

The tension in the air shifted slightly as the chaos outside was muted, leaving only the three of them in the dimly lit space. Katsuki still carried the sharp edge of his anger, though he was visibly more controlled now. Izuku, in contrast, had a quiet intensity about him—calm, but watchful.

What they had done was reckless. It was dangerous. But it was also brilliant.

Aizawa took a moment to study them, his sharp eyes flicking between the two. 

They were a fascinating duo—opposites in so many ways, yet when aligned, a force to be reckoned with. It was clear now: every step of this had been deliberate, every move calculated to perfection, and yet… they’d gone behind his back to pull it off. The sting of that realization lingered, but he had to admit: he was impressed.

“Sit,” Aizawa said, motioning to the nearby crates.

The boys obeyed without hesitation, though Katsuki sat with a defiant slump, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Izuku perched on the edge of his crate, his posture open but alert.

Aizawa folded his arms, his sharp gaze flicking between them. 

“So, Midoriya,” he began, his tone steady but tinged with curiosity, “any other parts of your plan I should be aware of?”

Izuku glanced at Katsuki, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a small, knowing smile. “Aizawa-sensei,” he said with a quiet chuckle, “I thought you were sharper than that. All of this was Kacchan’s plan. Every detail.”

Aizawa blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His brow furrowed as he looked at Katsuki, who didn’t flinch under his gaze.

“This was your plan, Bakugo?” Aizawa asked, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief.

Katsuki scowled, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—pride. “Damn right it was.”

Aizawa’s mind raced.

Of course, Katsuki had always been smart—sharp and analytical in combat. But his strategies usually centered around raw power and brute force. This, however, was something else entirely. 

This was precise. 

Controlled.

“Well,” Aizawa said slowly, his voice measured, “it seems I’ve underestimated you both.” He paused, his gaze returning to Izuku. “That being said, this was incredibly dangerous. Do you realize how easily this could have gone sideways?”

Izuku nodded, meeting Aizawa’s eyes without hesitation. 

“We accounted for that, Sensei,” he said, his voice steady. “Everything we did stayed within UA’s guidelines. We reviewed the Code of Conduct, disciplinary precedents, and emergency protocols. And we made sure no one else was involved or put in harm’s way.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue.

“I told Jirou to keep the girls together,” Izuku explained. “That way, no one would be isolated, and they’d be safe from Mineta. The injured civilian in the tent wasn’t a person—it was a weighted CPR dummy. Realistic enough to fool him, but completely harmless.”

Aizawa leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. “And the exercise itself? What about the premise?”

Izuku’s expression didn’t falter. “We stuck to the objective. The exercise was about rescuing civilians from a simulated threat. That’s exactly what we did, though not simulated. We rescued the girls—from Mineta.”

For a moment, Aizawa was silent, processing the weight of Izuku’s words. 

They treated him like a villain.

“And Mineta?” Aizawa asked.

Katsuki leaned forward now, his sharp glare cutting through the air. “We trapped the fucker fair and square,” he said bluntly. “Got him to spill his disgusting guts without anyone else getting hurt. And yeah, I got in his face, but I didn’t fucking touch him.”

“That brings me to my next point,” Aizawa said, his voice tightening. “You were too rough, Bakugo. The way you cornered him, the sparks on your hands—it could have easily been seen as aggression.”

Katsuki scoffed, but his tone was surprisingly even as he responded. “The sparks weren’t me being ‘aggressive,’ Sensei. That’s just my quirk.”

Aizawa frowned, tilting his head slightly. “Explain.”

Katsuki exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “My sweat builds up naturally. It’s not something I can turn off. If I let it sit too long, it gets dangerous. My gauntlets are for storing it so it doesn’t go off randomly, but when I don’t have them, I have to spark it off manually. Controlled sparks are the only way to burn it off without leaving a mess—or blowing shit up.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re saying the sparks weren’t intentional?”

“Exactly,” Katsuki said, leaning back again.

 “It’s maintenance, not aggression. If I wipe it off somewhere, it’ll turn into a fucking bomb. The slightest friction might make it go off. You didn’t know that because you didn’t ask. Everyone’s too busy patting me on the back for my ‘control’ to actually figure out what I deal with.”

Aizawa felt a pang of guilt at Katsuki’s words. 

He prided himself on knowing his students—on understanding not just their strengths but the challenges they faced. 

And yet, this was something he hadn’t known.

“You’re right,” Aizawa admitted, his voice quieter now. “I should have asked.”

Katsuki shrugged, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Whatever. Just figured you should know before you accuse me of losing it.”

Aizawa sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You two… You’re a pain in my ass. But I’m proud of you.”

Both boys looked up at him, their expressions shifting—Katsuki’s eyes narrowing with begrudging acceptance, Izuku’s softening into quiet gratitude.

“This plan of yours,” Aizawa said, glancing between them, “was smart. Reckless, but smart. You thought of everything. Even this conversation, I’m guessing.”

Izuku smiled faintly. “Well, we figured you’d want answers.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki added, smirking. “And we knew you’d lecture. It’s your thing.”

Aizawa let out a tired laugh, shaking his head. “Get out of here. Both of you. And stay out of trouble.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, without another word, the two boys stood and left the tent.

As the flap closed behind them, Aizawa allowed himself a small, weary smile. 

These kids… They’ll be incredible heroes someday.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Back in the staffroom that evening, Aizawa sat at his desk, a stack of paperwork in front of him. Nezu had left after handing over Mineta’s phone, his parting words hanging in Aizawa’s mind:

"You’ve raised some remarkable students, Aizawa. Their loyalty to one another is inspiring… even if their methods are a bit unorthodox."

Aizawa sighed, rubbing his temples. 

There was truth in that, as much as he hated to admit it. His students had shown initiative and strength, but it had come at a cost—a cost he should’ve prevented.

They were students, they didnt need to deal with this.

Going forward, things would have to change.

First, he needed to ensure that every student felt safe coming to him or any teacher with concerns. 

The gap in trust that had formed between him and his class was unacceptable. He’d talk to them—individually and as a group—to rebuild that trust and make it clear they didn’t have to handle these kinds of problems alone.

Second, UA’s policies would need to be revisited. 

If Mineta had been able to skate by for this long without proper action being taken, then something in the system was broken. Aizawa would make sure it was fixed.

And lastly, he needed to do better. 

To be better. 

Katsuki’s explanation of his quirk had been a stark reminder that even he, as someone who prided himself on knowing his students, didn’t always dig deep enough.

“You didn’t ask.”

That simple statement cut deeper than he expected. He’d been quick to praise Katsuki for his control but never thought to ask how he maintained it. 

How many other details had he missed?

He had always assumed the sparking palms were an intimidation tactic, but now, he and Midoriya’s relationship made a bit more sense.

Aizawa leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the small corkboard pinned with photos of his class. 

They stared back at him—young, bright, and full of potential. Each one of them carried their own burdens, their own struggles. It was his job to notice those, to support them, and to guide them.

Mineta was gone, and the girls were safe. That was a victory, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to ensure nothing like this ever happened again.

For Mina. For Katsuki and Izuku. For all of them.

Tomorrow, he’d talk to the class. 

He’d explain what happened in as much detail as he could, balancing transparency with discretion. He’d apologize for his oversight and make it clear that their safety—physical, mental, and emotional—was his priority.

And he’d thank them, too.

Because as reckless as they had been, Katsuki and Izuku had reminded him of what mattered most: these kids, this team, and the unwavering bond they shared.

As Aizawa turned off the lights and left the staffroom, he felt a faint glimmer of hope. His students had already proven their strength and resilience. 

Now, it was his turn to do the same.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

the epilogue

Formal Announcement from U.A. High School XXX-XX24

It is with great disappointment that we inform the UA community of the immediate expulsion of Mineta Minoru from the Heroics Department, Class 2-A, for gross misconduct that violates the principles and ethical standards upheld by our institution.

An internal investigation revealed a pattern of behavior that endangered the safety, privacy, and dignity of multiple students. Evidence collected during this investigation has been shared with law enforcement, and pending legal charges are under review.

UA prioritizes the safety and well-being of all its students, and we will not tolerate actions that compromise their physical or emotional security. Moving forward, additional measures will be implemented to ensure incidents of this nature cannot happen again.

We remain committed to fostering an environment where all students feel safe, supported, and respected.

Signed, Principal Nezu U.A. High School ______________________________________________________________ congrats if you made it this far!