#no sick flips and explosions

[gabelew]

Some more NieR #10, this time from LO stage. I'm kind of sad I didn't get to do the genga for all of it (iirc there was a schedule conflict) but I saw that they kept most of my animation in the finished episode! Which is always nice ( 〃▽〃)

[tteokdoroki]

brats & bows katsuki bakugou ── ᡣ𐭩 ˙ ̟🩰 !!

⋆˙ᝰ about! katsuki lets you wrap a bow around his pretty throat and boss him around… or at least try to.

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. nsfw, smut. characters aged up to 20s, light!choking, size kink, switch dynamics, unprotected sex, bows for bondage, fem!reader, pro hero!bakugou.

ok ok… convincing bakugou to let you wrap a pink bow around his neck.

riding him slow and steady, your cunt milking him with every clench and his cock spurting little streams of precum deep inside every time it spasms. you sink down on him so slow he think he might die from your tortuous pace. bakugou knows he can take over at any minute, there’s a strength in his body no other human could possibly match. it would be easy for him to flip you over and pound you to putty into the couch. he is a pro hero after all…but he really does like this. he loves the feel of your hand reaching back to wrap around his thick throat and dance along the silk ribbon you’d begged to tie there.

your fingers are so small that they hardly can’t even fit around around him entirely… but he feels the heat of your palm through the pink material and the burning sensation of lust that you pass onto him. katsuki adores your sweet little attempt at choking him while choking back your own heavy tears, hiccuping while you throw your hips back and forth so that his tip never leaves your sweet spot. lewd squelching sounds echo throughout the room, needy whines like a lamb bleating at its slaughter tack themselves to your swollen lips and slide through katsuki’s eardrums like dangerous molten molasses.

something about you crying for him, drooling on him drives the blonde insane and makes it hard for him to hold back — he almost feels sorry for you. his precious little cry baby. he knows he’s a little sick for it.

katsuki likes that you think you’re in control when you’re on top of him and in his lap. using him like your own personal fuck toy — but he knows you’re frustrated, itching for the explosive man to touch your clit, to stick his fingers in your mouth and press down on your tongue or better yet kiss you. your sweaty back to his sweltering chest, his shallow breathing coasting along your bare shoulders makes it worse. katsuki looking so pretty beneath you with a dainty bow secured around his neck to only pisses you off more.

you’d fought tooth and nail to put it on him, grinned like a Cheshire Cat when the blonde whimpered and twitched at the soft sensation of the ribbon around his neck — only just restricting his air ways. you thought that you’d have him under your spell, maybe begging to fuck you while you used him for your own orgasms.

but this is katsuki, and he’s just as bratty as you are. so, if you were going to be in charge, he’d let you. he’d make you work for it — a little bit of pink ribbon wasn’t going to make him submit to you that easily.

and therefore… he does nothing, lets you throw your ass back on his throbbing dick as it drips between your sticky thighs and he thinks he’s still got you under control. that is, until you reach grasp at the soft ends of his ribbon and use it to lug him forward with all your might, startling the cocky blonde.

it’s like a switch has been flipped inside of you, being kept on the edge because your boyfriend won’t fuck you to prove a point has you pent up and desperate. “don’t just sit there, kats,” you snarl in frustration between heavy breaths, sloppy pussy squeezing around the pulsating veins that decorate katsuki bakugou’s, cubby, aching dick. “be useful for once. fuck me. make me feel good.”

from this position, you can’t see the way his black pupils blow wide and swallow the red in his eyes like spilt ink. but your head tips back and to side, just enough to capture his cherry bitten lips in a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. you lap into his mouth like a dog having her first taste of water, tasting his flavour and the sweat on his lips. every kiss l is mismatched, rough and messy but your bodies and their movements harmonise like no other — rolling against one another, your cunt never letting go of his swollen cock that fills you up oh so well.

your tone had said it all and it’s all bakugou really needed to let loose, his hips kicking up at the sound of your voice, rough with arousal and deepened with desire. finally, his calloused hands map their way over to your front, the pads of his fingers etching the letters of his name onto your puffy clit while others leave their mark on your hips — holding you in place to take his cock. the blonde loves it all, the way your back arches from his chest and the way your mewls turn to breathless growls when you lose your cool and pull the ends of the pretty bow so hard that his eyes glaze over, his brain goes fuzzy and he can’t stop thrusting up into like his life depends on it.

sweat beads on his brow and against katsuki’s hairline like a crown made of pearls or an angel’s halo much unlike the devilish act the two of you are committing right now. the competing wax and waning of your bodies sends a shiver down his spine — when you slam yourself down onto his seedy girth, katsuki bucks into you, slender hips and sweaty ass rising from the bed to grind his precum into your sluice walls.

maybe katsuki isn’t always in control, even when he thinks he is. maybe your big wet eyes and gushing pushy have more of a grip on him than he thinks…after all, you did manage to convince him to put the bow on after all.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

no words needed

words: 1.1k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, established relationship, rough-ish sex (like not really by tumblr standards lol), lingerie

you admire yourself in the mirror, turning around to make sure every strap is in place across your back.

it's not quite your two year anniversary with rafe, it's about a week away, but when you got the lingerie in the mail, you couldn't wait to put it on and surprise him with it.

you take a sip of water as you meander around the upstairs, waiting for your boyfriend to return home.

the second you hear the door open, you rush back into your bedroom, placing yourself on the edge of the bed, back pin straight and chest pushed forward, showing off your barely covered chest, nipples poking through the lace.

you can hear rafes heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, not immediately calling out for you like he normally does. it's the first sign that something is wrong.

“rafey-” you pout when he comes into the doorway, his large figure taking up most of the space, a scowl on his face, hands clenched tight in fists.

“im-im sorry.” you shake your head, trying to cover yourself the best you can. “clearly you had a bad day at work and this was stupid of me-”

rafe cuts you off, suddenly tearing off his jacket and stomping the rest of the way to you. you can feel his scowl still on his face as he kisses you, hot and hard.

his hands begin to explore, not gentle, gliding touches, but grabs and squeezes, feeling up your chest before dropping down to your ass.

you gasp when he delivers a sudden smack to your bum, but rafe just uses your open mouth as an opportunity to plunge his tongue between your lips.

rafe doesn't need to use his words for you to know what he needs at this moment. work clearly sucked, or maybe something happened with barry or his sister. you'll talk about it later. use your words to comfort him, but right now, what he needs is to seek relief in your body.

rafe pulls away from your lips, leaving you panting. he pauses for just a moment, allowing you to blink up at him, a look of pure innocence on your face opposed to his firm set brow and down turned lips.

after that moment is over, rafe begins to move quickly again, flipping you over and pushing you down face first onto the bed.

your pretty lace thong is quickly torn away, rafes large palms pushing your thighs open, viewing both your holes.

“you have while i get undressed to prepare yourself.” it's the first words rafe has spoken since you got home.

you hear him begin to undress, unbuttoning his shirt as your hand reaches down. the shirt falls to the floor as you begin to rub your clit, getting yourself wet and ready for him as he takes his belt off next.

you're significantly wetter once the last of rafes clothes have been discarded as he lines up behind him, pulling your ass right to the edge of the bed so he can remain standing, the tall mattress at a perfect height for him as his cock runs through your folds just twice before pressing against your entrance.

rafe is usually soft and sweet in this moment, slowly pushing in, pressing kisses to your skin as he tells you how good you feel, but he is not his usual self today. he plunges his cock into you in one quick motion, immediately setting a fast pace as his hips begin to thrust.

“oh fuck!” you squeal out, gripping onto the bedsheets with both hands, crying out as he obliterates you, going as deep into your cunt as your body allows.

rafe grips onto your ass, squeezing it and using your plump flesh as a hold on your body as he ravages you, focused completely on getting his sick feelings out, to put him in a better mood, a mood that allows him to kiss you gently goodnight and hold you while you sleep.

usually just looking at you would calm rafe down, but all the shit going wrong with his dealing with barry has overwhelmed him to the point of explosion.

rafe chases that relief in your pussy, grunting aggressively as he tries to move even faster, sweat dripping down his front, cresting the peak of his chest before dribbling down the contours of his abs.

rafes hands move to your thighs, lifting them up as you fall forward onto your face, moaning into the mattress as rafe groans out, your pussy feeling even tighter around his cock at this angle.

one of rafes hands runs lower down your thigh until it reaches your white knee sock, pulling the fabric back until it thwacks back against your skin, a smirk on his face.

his perfect girl, always understanding and strong, the only reason you've lasted the two years with rafe. and now, dressed up just for him.

rafe slows his hips momentarily, bending down to press a kiss between your shoulder blades. “thank you.” he manages to whisper, voice sounding vulnerable even to his ears, but it doesn't last for long as he straightens back out and picks up the pace.

you know you're close, but you're determined to hold out until rafe cums, needing your body to stay pliable and ready for however long he needs to get every drop of anger out.

rafes hands are squeezing your thighs so tightly they're sure to leave bruises in the morning. bruises that will cause your friends to giggle when you're tanning by the pool and the old ladies at the country club to gasp and whisper to each other when you don your short tennis skirt.

you don't need rafe to warn you that he's close, you can feel the way his cock begins to swell inside of your cunt, pushing further against your walls, that he's about to burst.

you allow your own orgasm to breech, screaming and moaning rafes names into the sheets as your pussy clenches around his cock.

rafe swears he sees stars from how hard his orgasm hits, body folding over yours as he cums, putting as much weight as he can into holding you down, flooding you with cum.

you both remain still as your highs work through your body until rafe slumps against you and rolls to the side.

you take another minute before picking your head up, realizing rafes eyes are closed, looking far more peaceful than when he entered.

“wanna talk about it?” you ask softly.

“in the morning.” rafe mumbles. 

you watch his face, the way his pink lips are slightly parted as he breathes, the perfect slope of his nose, his tanned skin and defined cheekbones.

“we should take a bath.” rafe says, making you blink and realize his eyes are now open, staring at you expectantly.

“yeah, sure.” you nod. “whatever you want.”

rafe gets up slowly, but not before pausing to press a soft kiss against your lips. “seriously.” he whispers. “thank you.”

you smile up at him, no words needed.

[dearharriet]

Sunday-Side-Up; James Potter 🍳

summary: you’re worried on the morning after a hookup with your friend, james

word count: 2.3K

warnings: pg-13 smut, sexually implicit content, fem!r, beefy/gym!james, pre-relationship, getting together, hurt/comfort(ish), fluff

note: this is technically an addition to sunday, another gym!james fic that I wrote, but u can read it as a standalone if u wish! u can find the request here

An egg simmers and pops in the buttery pan on the stove, mirroring your calamitous heart. It’s all you can look at. A rogue explosion of butter lands on the skin of your hand, but you hardly even flinch, just staring and staring at the pristine yolk in its sea of bubbling white.

Back in your room, harbored by your stuffed animals and rumpled sheets, is your good friend, James. Though you aren’t sure if you could call him as such anymore, considering the less-than-friendly activities you’d partaken in the night before.

How had you let yourself cave like that?

Outside, the sun is calmly rising, paying no mind to your frivolous human thoughts. It scores over the trees surrounding your apartment and lands sharp and warm on your cheeks. You ignore it as best you can, putting all the early energy you have into protecting the little sun you’re cooking.

Your attraction for James was never much of a secret, nor was his for you, but you always assumed there was nothing to be done about it. He’s one of your best friends and most coveted confidants, and losing him includes losing the other two of him, too. It was a silent agreement, you thought.

Until last night, of course, when he’d finally broken and asked to kiss you over a box of takeout.

“I really can’t stand to be alone with you and sit on opposite sides of the couch and pretend that that’s normal,” said James, one hand fisted over his knee. “I feel I’ve gone mad, a bit, trying to dance around this.”

You’d have liked to say you found that a little bit dramatic, but you felt the same way. Being with James was like walking on eggshells, sometimes. Even though you felt quite at home with him, there were still boundaries to maintain. You constantly had to double back, to reel yourself in before you said something too flirty or touched him longer than was necessary. It was exhausting and disappointing. You were tired of being disappointed.

So upon your permission, James had followed you to your room, and he hadn’t held back.

You can’t say you regret it, but you’re certainly worrying. There’s reasons you had boundaries in place, reasons that both you and James resisted the magnetism that pulls you together, and they’re all in the wind now.

If you lost James, lost your friendship…

Carried away with emotions, you push at your fried egg too hard, shaking the buoyant yolk out of its membrane.

“No,” you whine, gripping the offending spatula in your hand. It’s all you can do to watch the yolk seep over the crispy whites surrounding it, spilling onto the hot pan with a sizzle.

“What’s a’matter?”

Your eyes whip over to the kitchen entryway, finding James in a sick state of undress, a pair of boxers low on his hips and glasses crooked where they perch on his nose. Like he’d gotten up to find you before getting dressed, hardly remembering he’d need glasses to do so.

You tell yourself you’re projecting, returning your greedy gaze to the sad situation on the stove. James’ broad chest and muscled thighs creep into the back of your mind for safekeeping anyway.

He comes up behind you, peering easily over your shoulder to gauge what the problem is.

“I broke the yolk,” you tell him, as if it’s not obvious.

James grunts darkly, as if to agree that this is a very grave occurrence. Still, his voice is as comforting as it is gravelly when he responds.

“Well, flip that one and it can be mine. I don’t like sunny-side.”

Turning to glance up at him, you frown. “I thought you did?” You could swear you’ve seen him eat his eggs that way before.

Lips pursing in a shy almost-smile, James relents. “Well, yes, I do. But not strictly. I’ll eat whatever—‘specially if you make it.”

You turn your frown back to the pan, saying nothing. James takes the moment of silence to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his bare chest. The sleep shirt you’d thrown on feels thinner than the broken yolk membrane, letting all of James’ warmth strike you right in the heart. It’s almost too much for you to handle.

Correction, it is too much for you to handle.

Reaching down, you peel James’ hands off of your torso, wincing the whole way through. He backs off, easily taking the hint, but when you glance his way he looks befuddled.

“Um.” James averts his gaze to the floor, clearly knocked down by your rejection. “Have I misread something?”

“No, I’m sorry, I—“

You sigh, realizing this discussion needs more attention than you currently have to spare. In quick movements, you flick the stove burner off and move the pan to one that’s not hot, and then you turn your full effect on James.

Standing in front of you, undressed and muscled and reproachful, James looks embarrassed beyond measure.

“It’s nothing you did, James, I just—I’m not sure last night should’ve happened, is all.”

Picking at your lips worriedly, you await his response, but it’s nothing like you expect. You thought he’d turn sly or charming, convince you that it was worthwhile. James’ eyes blow wide and concerned instead.

“You didn’t want to?” The dread in his voice is thick, knocking you back with the sheer force of it. You almost reach out to comfort him, but think better of it.

“James, of course I did, yes. I wanted to.”

James’ broad shoulders relax from their anxious hunch, but his guarded posture still remains.

“What, then? You didn’t enjoy it?”

You huff. “No, James. Will you stop putting words into my mouth? Of course I enjoyed it, it was—“

You pause, trying to describe exactly how it was, but then shake the entire thought off, realizing you’re getting sidelined. James looks hesitantly amused at your clear flush, the short reminiscing enough to fluster you.

“It doesn’t matter,” you assert. “We can’t do it again.”

“We can’t?” James asks, but it sounds more like a challenge.

“No, we can’t. It’d be irresponsible. There’s a reason we held off on this, and you know it.”

“I know why I held off,” says James, and he’s stepping closer, to your dismay. “Why did you, sweetness?”

Your heart lodges in your throat, set off by his name calling and proximity. Bum pressing back against the counter, you suspect the only way to ward James off now is with a long, pointy stick, threateningly waved back and forth.

“Because,” you start, mouth dry, “it would ruin our friendship.”

A laugh booms forth from James’ throat, making you dizzy. You can’t help but watch his chest shake with it, his boxer elastic slipping ever-so-slightly lower, revealing more coarse hair and golden skin.

“Well,” James says, calling your attention back to his face, “I should hope so. I don’t want to be your friend, love. I thought I made that clear last night.”

You open your mouth and then shut it again. This time, you don’t redirect your thoughts as they amble back to the way James touched you last night, to the overwhelming sensation of finally having him, of being had.

James’ hands find purchase on the counter behind you, caging you between his arms, and you’re sure he knows exactly where your mind’s gone.

“Is that what you want, hm?” he asks, voice rasping with pure desire. “To be friends?”

You swallow. James’ heady scent is spilling over you in waves, which you typically have no trouble with, but you're not prepared for your smells to waft off of him, too. One night in your bed and he’s covered in you, head to toe. You can’t deny how much you enjoy the thought.

He’s so fit. It’s all you can think about with his tanned chest in front of your face, his big arms skimming yours. You know James likes the gym, but you never expected him to look like this.

Now that you’ve touched him, it’s like a dam broke inside you for good. It’s all too easy to reach for him, brushing light fingertips over his soft stomach and his v-line, the happy trail that’s bewitched you.

Finally, your hands push up, up, up his chest, over his pecs and shoulders until you’re looking into his expectant gaze. Had he said something?

“No,” you mumble, voice distracted. “No, I don’t want to be friends.” An incredulous laugh escapes you. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” James repeats, grinning like a child with candy.

You run your hands down his front again, intoxicated with the feel of him under your fingers.

“I guess I’m just a little worried about how this will change things,” you tell him, anchoring yourself to his waist. Pulling him closer.

“It doesn’t have to change anything, if we don’t want it to.”

That makes you smile a bit, his talking about the two of you like a pair, a unit. Still, it’s misguided.

“That’s a bit naive, don’t you think? I mean, something’s changed.” You make a point to emphasize the state you’re both in, the proximity.

James grins wickedly. “Well, that’s the good stuff, love. I only meant we don’t have to tell Remus or Sirius, at least until we’re ready. We don’t even have to go on dates, if you don’t want. We can just be like really, really good friends.”

This simultaneously makes you want to laugh and cry. Your expression settles on what is probably pensive, or indistinguishable.

“I’d want to go on dates…,” you mumble, suddenly feeling very bashful.

James’ whole demeanor seems to flip on its head. Before, he was feigning casualty, like he’d be down for anything. Now he’s all business, locked in on you.

“Yeah?” James asks, his voice unbearably tender. His hands abandon the counter for your hips, kneading the soft skin hidden under your sleep shirt.

“Yeah,” you confirm, breathless. “James, I want this to be more than sex.”

Brows furrowing, James levels you with a curious look.

“Is that what this is about? You think I only want to shag you?”

Embarrassed, you start to shrink away from his examining eyes, only to remember he has you cornered. You settle for the alternative and shove your face into the crook of his neck, groaning.

“Don’t tease me about this, James. Not this.”

“Not teasing, lovely, no. I only want to understand.” James' hand takes up in your hair, spinning it around his fingers and releasing it again and again. His voice is a calm wash now, quiet and raspy. “Is that what had you so worried?”

Reluctantly, you nod as best you can without braining yourself on his jaw or yanking your hair in his grip. James clicks his tongue.

“Can I have a look at you?”

His hand encourages your head back carefully, until his hazel eyes have yours pinned under them, like moths under a kitchen glass. Your face fits between his palms, hot-cheeked and sensitive, hoping he’ll say something to make you feel like less of a fool.

“D’you know why I didn’t try to do this before?” James doesn’t let you answer, bulldozing right through with a nervous sort of energy. “It’s ‘cause I knew I didn’t deserve you. I mean—what?”

You can’t stop your laugh. You’re doubled over into James’ shoulder again, laughing like a prick while he’s trying to be vulnerable with you, but honestly, could you blame yourself?

“What are you talking about, ‘not deserving’ me? You’re so bizarre.” You pull back from him, rosy and amused. Despite being made fun of, James seems to be in light spirits, smiling along with you.

“What’s so bizarre about it? You’re gorgeous and funny and good for me and I don’t deserve it.” He shrugs. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“I’m good for you, am I?” you repeat oddly, feeling admittedly tingly and giddy from his admission.

“Well, yeah, love. You make me happy.” James’ voice drops a decibel, dangerously sweet and whispered close to your lips. “Even when you’re laughing at me while I tear my chest apart to make you feel better.”

That only makes you laugh again, and this time James presses his smiling mouth over yours.

You soak in his kiss, coaxing his bed-warm body as close to yours as possible until you’re two sides of the same coin. James pushes his hands further up the back of your shirt, relishing in the expanse of bare skin there, and you take his bottom lip between your teeth in response.

Heaving a sound between a laugh and a moan, James takes his bitten mouth down your throat, laving over marks he’d left mere hours before.

You tilt your head, happy to give him more access, only to find your sorry abandoned egg where you’d left it.

“Oh, we forgot about breakfast,” you stress, reaching for the stove with no real purpose. James catches your hand to bring back to your scene together.

“Forget about it,” he mumbles into your skin, “I’ll cook you som’thin later. Right now I want you back in bed.”

You hum, easily agreeing, though you can’t help your other needs, even as James hikes your legs up and around his waist.

“A sunny side egg, please? With jam on toast?”

Laughing into your mouth, James walks you both out of the kitchen blindly.

“Yeah, pretty girl, whatever you want.”

He aims for another kiss, hot and barreling fast around the corner into carnal, but you pull back one more time before he can get carried away.

“And James?”

“Yeah?”

You can’t believe how handsome and strong he is, or that his strength and good looks are quickly becoming yours to enjoy. Splaying a wide hand over his cheek, you make sure he catches the full weight of your next statement, sweetly murmured into his reddened lips.

“You make me happy, too.”

James’ responding smile outshines the rising sun.

+

thank you for reading! xx

masterlist

[m1ngkis]

hi love can i get a real nasty yunho smut. like where he just devours you cause you look so good ?? hmm i have no other specifics except its real nasty and yunho is very dominant. and the reader is an obedient sub! thank you love . like make it filthyyyyy

Dom!Yunho x Reader (18+ request)

A/N: You guys I had flu this last week so I apologize for taking so long with requests but this sickness really had me by the throat. Anyhow I’m backkk.

NO MINOR ZONE YALL KNOW

Masterlist

It wasn’t like you had gotten dressed up and done a full face of makeup or anything. You had gotten home from work and practically somersaulted into the shower to wash the grime off of your skin.

You’d come out of the steamed bathroom with your towel wrapped and skin damp when you saw that look in Yunho’s eyes.

“What?” Your eyebrow arched as you walked past him sitting at the edge of the bed.

“You look like heaven.”

“Oh please.” You roll your eyes at him and make your way to his drawers, picking out a shirt.

“I’m serious.” His tone sends a shiver down your damp spine as you feel his eyes burning holes through you, his head already filled with disgusting fantasies. “Get over here. Let me touch you.”

Knowing you couldn’t deny him, you tossed the shirt back in the drawer and made slow steps towards him, dramatically swaying your hips with every move and making him chuckle.

Once in arms reach, he pulled you by the cotton towel to stand in between his legs.

Your arms settled around his neck as his hands tugged the towel loose, the material falling away and exposing your body to the cool air.

“Fuck” was all he managed before he buried his face in your neck, sucking at the skin in a way that made you arch, your hands flying to his hair.

“Yunho~” You whined, the sound like sweet honey in his ears.

His hands felt huge, his frame beneath you thick and strong as he pulled you into his lap. Instinctively, your hips roll against his.

“Just like that sweet girl, rubbing yourself off on me.” he said, grinning as he looks at you slowly slipping into a pleasure haze. The perfect toy to play with. “Does it feel good baby? Grinding on my cock?” He taunts with an experimental thrust.

“Yes” Feeling his hands grip and squeeze your hips, guiding your movements, a slick path formed on his groin from your arousal.

“Bet, I can get you to cum just like this? You gonna cum for me baby?”

As if he had summoned it himself, you found your head nodding as a wave of tightness swept through your system, an explosion that made your spine stiffen, arching into his mouth as a cry left your lips.

“Good girl” he whispered, his fingers on you chin, pulling your mouth to his, hungrily claiming your lips against his own. “Want more?”

“I want to see you..”

With a smile, he braces his hands on your thighs and flips you to lay on the bed so he can strip his clothes.

He makes quick work of the layers, practically ripping them off and tossing them away until he is bare and the sight of his cock makes you drool.

A blush creeps up his neck and around his ears as you get into one of your favorite positions, your head hanging off the edge of the bed as you hold your legs open, eyes closed, mouth wide and waiting.

“That’s my girl.” He groans, stroking his length and guiding it in your mouth, deep and hoarse as he cradles your neck, his grip strong, not forcing you but guiding your mouth, encouraging you to take him deeper, deep enough to choke as thick fingers probe your soaked folds as you half cough around his length, saliva dribbling from your lips.

“Messy” he hums, his hand cracking across your clit as he assaults your throat, There’s no finesse in his touch, smearing your slick across your folds, catching your clit and running fingers down, spreading wetness around your hole, clenching tight around nothing.

“Look at that pretty pussy..such a greedy little thing aren’t you?” He teases, slapping at your clit until you’re moaning around his cock, spit sliding down your cheeks as your lips stretch to accommodate him.

Suddenly, he pulls out of you allowing you to (barely) breathe as he maneuvers your body against the bed, laid out like a goddess in need of worship.

“So pretty. How’d I get lucky with you huh?”

Words are a thing of the past for you and he knows it. A cheesy smile sticks to his face as he pulls your limbs every which way until you lay on your side, one leg over his shoulder. You’re still hazy when he presses a kiss to your cheek and slides home, your heat instantly enveloping his cock and molding to perfection.

A shaky “F-Fuck~” escapes his lips as his breathing starts to tremble against your skin. “I love you… you know that?”

You nod your head as he cradles your cheek. “Good.”

You almost question why he even asked but when he begins to slam in and out of you roughly, withdrawing almost completely and burying himself back inside you, it clicks and you begin to fight for your sanity.

The way he has you angled makes him rub against you deeper than ever, your eyes getting lost in the back of your head as he sends you reeling.

He grunts with every thrust, teeth clenched tight as if to hold himself back.

“Yunho! Please!” You find yourself squealing as his tip nudges that spot that makes your toes curl.

“Yes pretty girl..Taking my cock so good. Such a good girl for daddy.”

The word Daddy slipping from his mouth while he slams into you sends you into a frenzy and short circuits your brain.

You go limp, allowing him to take you however he wants as he fucks you through your orgasm, your head swimming with pleasure. You can feel him throbbing inside you, trying to last every second.

“Fuck daddy! Cum inside me, please! I need it!” He feel him falter as he starts to succumb to his pleasure, thrusting deep once, twice more before collapsing on top of you.

“We’re gonna need another shower.”

[thebunnednun]

"EAT YER SOUP!"

Pairing: Aged up!ProHero!Husband!Katsuki Bakugou x Pro hero!Wife!Reader

Warning: MDNI!!! Extreme Flirting , Wc: Long like his truama+, No ageless blogs!

Synopsis: A snowball fight escalates into a dramatic battle for the icy throne between the, "Snow Empress," and the, "Demon King," of class 1a and ending with you becoming sick and Katsuki taking care of his sweet little Wife.

Tons of romantic flirting, promises of fun and sexy times awaits. Reader has a quirk.

Ya like Jane Austen? You'll love this.

Part 1 of 2.

It started as a perfectly normal winter day in Japan. 

The sky stretched in a crystal-clear blue, and sunlight sparkled against the untouched snow. Flakes glistened on branches like delicate diamonds, the world hushed in its frosted beauty. 

That kind of morning that invited peace.

A gentle hush blanketed the streets of Japan the night before, dusting the city with a sparkling white coat. The air was crisp, biting just enough to paint cheeks red and send puffs of visible breath floating upwards. 

It was the perfect snow day.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” 

Until it wasn’t.

“AAAAHHHH!” screamed Kaminari as he sprinted through the snow, his voice piercing the calm like an air raid siren. His arms flailed wildly, chunks of snow falling off his jacket from the barrage he’d just endured.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” Katsuki roared behind him, hurling an impressively compact snowball with the same intensity he brought to his explosive attacks. The snowball rocketed through the air, narrowly missing Kaminari’s head and splattering against a tree, sending icy fragments flying.

“NAH UAH!” Kaminari retorted, ducking behind a bench and scrambling to build his own ammunition.

Nearby, Midoriya stood knee-deep in snow, earnestly explaining to Iida and Uraraka, “Cold hands are actually a sign that your body is conserving heat by prioritizing your core temperature. So technically—”

“OOF!” Midoriya’s lecture was cut off as a snowball, courtesy of a snickering Ashido, struck him square in the face.

“LESS TALK MORE SNOW!” she cackled, darting away before he could retaliate.

A chorus of laughter and shouting filled the park, blending with the crunch of boots on snow and the occasional thud of snowballs finding their targets.

On the far end of the park, Sero's voice carried faintly over the chaos as he leaned against a tree next to you. He tilted his head slightly and murmured, “Let it go~ Let it goooo~” with the faintest hint of a smirk, his breath forming little clouds as he sang.

"I think that's a slur."

You snorted, burying your face in your scarf to muffle your laughter. Shoto's deadpan humor was one of your favorite things about him, and it was especially hilarious when contrasted against the madness unfolding below.

“Can I eat this?” Kirishima’s voice rang out as he held up what looked like a vaguely yellowish chunk of snow.

“DID YOU KNOW THAT THE ICICLES ON THE ROOF ARE ACTUALLY BIRD SHIT?” Danki yelled, pointing upward at a row of sparkling icicles hanging off a pavilion roof.

“Can we please go inside yet?” Jirou groaned from where she was crouched under the monkey bars, hugging her knees and shivering. Momo, who was hanging upside down, quickly dropped down and pulled the other girl into her large scarf before snuggling into her arms. 

“IMA MAKE A SNOWMAN!” Toru cheered, already gathering snow with surprising precision for someone who was completely invisible.

“DO A FLIP!” someone (C0ough Ojiro) shouted as Kaminari attempted to leap off a swing mid-arc. He landed in a heap, sending snow flying everywhere, but popped back up grinning like a maniac.

“Lemme see what you have?”

“AN ICE BALL!” Shoji declared, holding up what was essentially a solid block of ice.

“NO!” came multiple voices in unison as everyone collectively backed away from the six-armed giant.

The graduated class of 1-A, with the addition of Shinsou, had descended upon the local park after a public conference. It was supposed to be a quick reprieve—a moment to unwind after the formalities of hero work. Instead, it had turned into a full-blown festival of youthful chaos.

Even though you were technically pro heroes now, snow days were snow days. All your training, responsibilities, and public personas had been left behind at the press conference you’d attended earlier. 

Now, the entirety of Freedom Park was taken over and transformed into your personal winter wonderland.

From your hiding place on a small hill overlooking the park, you could see it all. Beside you, Shoto stands with his usual stoic expression, though his lips twitch slightly at the edges—a telltale sign he was enjoying himself more than he let on. His arms were crossed, and a small puff of steam rose from his cup of hot tea.

Your husband, however, was not enjoying a quiet moment. 

He was right in the thick of it. 

Katsuki had declared the snowball fight a competition, and chaos erupted the second the words left his mouth. He was now locked in a fierce battle with Kirishima and Kaminari, his explosions muted by the snow but still sending white powder flying in every direction.

“Think they’ll make it out alive?” you mused, your breath visible in the cold air.

“Unlikely,” Shoto replied dryly, taking a sip from his cup.

Katsuki was in full-on “competitive mode,” hurling snowballs with pinpoint accuracy and barking at anyone who dared challenge him. Midoriya, recovering from Ashido’s sneak attack, was now carefully constructing a snow fort with Iida and Uraraka, his freckled face glowing with determination.

Jirou and Momo had teamed up to create a meticulously designed igloo, complete with a functional entrance, while Dark Shadow—unsurprisingly—kept trying to sneak inside and was promptly shoved out each time by a disgruntled Tokoyami.

Down below, Toru and Ojiro had joined forces to create what looked like an impenetrable igloo wall, complete with a moat of shoveled snow. Tsu and Ochako were working together to stockpile snowballs inside, while Shinsou lazily leaned against the structure, occasionally lobbing snowballs with eerily good accuracy.

On the playground, Sero had finally managed to climb the slide and was now using his tape to lasso snowballs midair and fling them back toward their throwers. Mina retaliated by sliding down the other side, a trail of snow cascading behind her.

"Do you think we should join them?" you asked Shoto, brushing stray snow from your gloves.

"I’m perfectly content here," he replied, though his gaze lingered on the group with something that almost resembled longing.

“Come on, Sho,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “Where’s your sense of fun?”

He glanced at you, his mismatched eyes softening. “I think I left it down there.”

You laughed, the sound bright against the winter air. Below, Katsuki let out a triumphant roar as he finally tackled Kaminari into a snowdrift, only for Kirishima to leap on him a second later. The three dissolved into a pile of wrestling, laughing chaos.

“Alright,” you said, standing and brushing snow from your coat. “If you won’t come willingly, I guess I’ll just have to drag you into it.” Before Shoto could protest, you grabbed a handful of snow and flung it at him, hitting him square in the chest. He blinked in surprise, his tea sloshing slightly in its cup.

“Really?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Really,” you replied, already gathering another snowball.

With a flick of his wrist, Shoto melted the snow in your hand before it could leave your palm.

“Cheater!”

“You started it,” he said, setting his cup down and rolling up his sleeves.

Then, a soft crunch of snow behind you drew your attention. Turning your head, you saw three familiar figures trudging up the slope, snow clinging to their boots and the hems of their coats.

Sato, Aoyama, and Koda approached cautiously, their eyes darting to the chaos below as if they feared an ambush. Aoyama had a dramatic pout, and Koda’s wide-eyed expression screamed relief at finding refuge. Sato, meanwhile, was carrying what looked like a small stash of baked goods wrapped in foil.

“Is it safe here?” Aoyama asked dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as if the mere trek had been a perilous journey. You straightened up and waved your hands in an exaggerated gesture of benevolence. 

“I grant you sanctuary! You are safe here, under my protection.”

The three of them paused, exchanged looks, and then simultaneously bowed low, their motions filled with mock reverence. Shoto was back to cradling his cup of tea, steam curling upward as he quietly enjoyed the relative peace of your hiding spot. You, on the other hand, had your elbows resting on your knees, watching the battlefield with an amused grin as if it were the most entertaining show you'd ever seen.

“Thank you, our good queen, for granting us shelter in your realm,” Sato intoned, his voice deep and formal. “It is an honor to bask in your light,” Aoyama added, his usual sparkle exaggerated as he tossed imaginary stardust. Koda, always soft-spoken, simply bowed and nodded in agreement.

Beside you, Shoto muttered under his breath, “You’re lucky they indulge this,” as he raised his teacup again.Ignoring him, you turned back to the newcomers, gesturing for them to sit in the snowy clearing near you. 

“How fares the battlefield below, my loyal subjects?”

Aoyama huffed dramatically, brushing non-existent dirt from his coat. “Your husband, the Demon King Bakugou, is terrorizing the realm with his fiery wrath.” Sato chuckled and added, “He’s like a one-man army down there. Izuku’s holed up in the fort with everyone, trying to rally the troops into some kind of defense strategy with Momo.”

Koda nodded shyly. “It’s… chaotic. But Midoryia is trying his best.” Before you could respond, a new voice called out from behind.

“Is this the neutral party gathering place?”

Turning, you saw Iida climbing the hill, his hands chopping the air in his usual commanding way. His scarf flapped in the breeze, giving him an almost heroic silhouette against the snowy horizon.

“Yes, it is,” you replied with a playful flourish, gesturing to the group now gathered in your little haven.

Iida seemed pleased with the answer, nodding briskly before sitting down next to Sato, who offered him a pastry.

“We’ve got quite the party now,” Sato said, counting the group. “A priest,” he gestured to Iida, “a prince,” he motioned toward Shoto, who raised an eyebrow, “a pied piper,” he nodded at Koda, who blushed, “and of course, our queen.”

“And I’m more than happy to have a knight,” you said, pointing to Aoyama, who struck a dazzling pose, “and a baker’s man,” you finished with a grin toward Sato.

The group chuckled, settling into the cozy camaraderie of your impromptu sanctuary.

From the hill, you all looked down to see Bakugou standing alone in the center of the snowy battlefield. His scarf whipped behind him as he shouted at the rest of the class, who were safely ensconced in their snow-igloo “castle” that was once the playground.

“YOU COWARDS! I DON’T NEED HELP TO TAKE YOU SHIT HEADS DOWN!”

Kirishima stood a few feet behind him, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling nervously as he watched his best friend fume.

On the battlements of the “castle,” Izuku stood high, with Sero and Kaminari holding him up on their shoulders. His hands were cupped around his mouth as he called out, 

“Kacchan, you don’t have to do this! We can resolve this peacefully!”

“SHUT UP, IZUKU! I’M NOT NEGOTIATING WITH SNOWBALL-BUILDING WEAKLINGS!”

The entire group inside the fort shouted back at him, jeering and pelting snowballs from their windows.

Kirishima, glancing nervously between Katsuki and the fort, caught sight of you on the hill. He gave a small wave, his breath visible in the cold air. You returned the wave with an exaggerated beckoning motion, grinning as he hesitated, looking over his shoulder at Katsuki, who was now too focused on his ranting to notice.

Slowly, Kirishima began backing away, one step at a time, until he turned and jogged toward the wooded edge of the park. It took a minute, but eventually, he emerged through the trees and into your clearing. His face was flushed from the cold, his red hair dusted with snow.

“Welcome, gentle giant,” you said with a grin, spreading your arms in greeting.

Kirishima blinked, confused. “Gentle huh?”

“They’ve been speaking in medieval this whole time,” Shoto clarified, sipping his tea.

“Oh, got it,” Kirishima said, nodding along. Then, getting into the spirit of things, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Snow Empress, I have come to petition you. Please, you must put a stop to the war and end the tyranny of your Demon King husband!”

The group erupted into laughter, and you gave an exaggerated sigh, waving a hand over the battlefield below. “Rise, noble knight. Let us discuss how best to restore peace to this snowy realm.”

You leaned forward, your eyes flickering toward the tree line as a faint rustling sound reached your ears. The soft crunch of snow was almost inaudible against the backdrop of distant laughter and shouting, but your instincts told you someone was approaching. Squinting, you caught a glimpse of dark hair and a familiar, lanky frame blending into the shadows of a nearby tree.

“Shinsou,” you murmured, just loud enough for Shoto to catch.

He followed your gaze, his calm demeanor unchanging as he stood. Without a word, he picked up Sato’s hand and pressed the warm cup into it before standing. The shift in his posture was subtle but deliberate, his usually casual stance now sharp and ready. With a smooth motion, he conjured a spear of glimmering, jagged ice in his hand. It shimmered in the weak sunlight, its edges dangerously sharp.

Shoto leveled the spear toward the tree, his voice carrying the weight of playful authority. 

“Speak now, you unfaithful spy. Be ye friend or foe?”

There was a beat of silence, and then Shinsou stepped out from behind the tree with his hands raised in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Friend, obviously,” he drawled, his tone as dry as the winter air.

“Prove it,” Shoto demanded, his voice still even but with an edge of humor.

Shinsou rolled his eyes, stepping closer to the group. “What do you want me to do? Pledge my undying loyalty to the Snow Empress and her ragtag court?”

“That would be a start,” you chimed in, leaning back on your hands with a wide grin.

Shinsou sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he came to stand in front of you. 

“Fine. Your Majesty,” he said with exaggerated sarcasm, dropping into an over-the-top bow. “I, your humble servant, humbly request refuge in your domain. I swear my allegiance, provided I’m not dragged into whatever insanity your husband is stirring up down there.”

The group burst into laughter, Shoto letting his ice spear dissipate into harmless mist.

“Accepted,” you declared, clapping your hands together. “Welcome to the court, Sir Shinsou.”

Kirishima grinned, clapping Shinsou on the shoulder. “Glad to have you, man. We’re building quite the crew up here.”

Shinsou smirked, crossing his arms as he glanced around the group. “I see that. You’ve got the whole medieval RPG party vibe going on. Who’s who?”

Iida adjusted his scarf, sitting up straighter. “I am the priest, of course.”

“And I’m the prince,” Shoto added flatly, picking his teacup back up from Sato’s hands.

“I’m the baker,” Sato said, holding up his stash of pastries as proof.

“A knight,” Aoyama declared with a dazzling pose.

“And I’m the gentle giant,” Kirishima said with a laugh, flexing one arm for emphasis.

Koda, ever the quiet one, raised a hand sheepishly. “Pied Piper,” he said softly.

Shinsou raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “And you?” he asked, nodding at you.

You sat up straighter, lifting an imaginary crown from your head and adjusting it with exaggerated elegance. “I, of course, am the Snow Empress. Ruler of this humble hill and keeper of peace… unless my husband starts throwing snow grenades again.”

The group chuckled, but Shinsou tilted his head, squinting down at the chaos below. Bakugou was still yelling, now aggressively chucking snowballs at the castle fort while Izuku continued shouting at him from the top.

“Speaking of him,” Shinsou muttered, “Should we be worried about whatever he’s planning? Because he looks like he’s about to storm the gates.”

Everyone turned to look, and sure enough, Bakugou was gathering what could only be described as a truly absurd number of snowballs into a pile. His face was alight with pure determination, Kirishima’s absence completely unnoticed as he muttered something under his breath.

“Oh no,” you said with a laugh, resting your chin on your hands. “That’s the face he makes when he’s about to go all out.”

“Should we intervene?” Kirishima asked, scratching the back of his neck.

Shoto sipped his tea, completely unbothered. “Why bother? This is clearly a battle he’s destined to lose. Let him tire himself out.”

Shinsou snorted. “You’re a great wife, Todoroki. Truly.”

“Thank you,” Shoto deadpanned, raising his cup slightly in acknowledgment.

The group laughed again, the tension breaking as the scene below unfolded in increasingly ridiculous fashion.

As the chaos raged on below, you watched from the hilltop, shaking your head in amusement. The snow was littered with fallen comrades—friends lying dramatically in the snow, groaning in mock agony after being taken out by Katsuki’s relentless barrage of snowballs. Only Momo and Izuku remained standing.

Momo stood near the castle fort, her shield gleaming with a fresh layer of ice as she crouched behind it. Beside her, two makeshift snowball launchers she had crafted were firing at irregular intervals, their mechanisms clicking rhythmically as they pelted Katsuki with precision shots.

Izuku, on the other hand, was darting around like a green blur, popping out from snowbanks and behind trees to lob snowballs at Bakugou, whose maniacal laughter echoed across the park. Katsuki was clearly in his element, his scarf trailing behind him like a warrior’s cape as he dodged and countered every attack.

“He’s… actually enjoying this,” Shinsou remarked, his voice dripping with disbelief.

“Of course, he is,” you sighed. “This is practically a sport to him.”

“Should we go down there and stop him before he actually hurts someone?” Kirishima asked, glancing nervously at the fort.

“Yes,” came the unanimous response from your little group.

You groaned, standing up and brushing snow off your coat. “Fine. Do me the honor of escorting me, would you?”

Shoto smirked faintly, already summoning a fresh array of glistening ice spears for the group. The sharp tips caught the light as he handed them out one by one. “Try not to poke yourselves,” he said dryly, tucking one under his arm before offering you his free hand.

You took it, looping your arm through his as if this was some kind of formal procession. Shinsou bowed mockingly in front of you, one hand sweeping across his chest in an exaggerated gesture.

“Allow me to go ahead, Your Majesty,” he said with a smirk. “As your loyal valet, of course.”

“Of course,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

And so, with your odd little court in tow, you began your descent down the hill. The snow crunched beneath your boots as your group trudged down the slope, trying their best to maintain some semblance of dignity while navigating the uneven terrain. It was difficult not to laugh at the sight of everyone’s exaggerated steps, their knees and hips moving far too much in their attempt not to slip.

“Make way, make way!” Sato bellowed, his voice booming as if he were announcing royalty.

You suppressed a laugh, glancing at Shinsou. “Do your job, or you’ll meet the business end of Shoto’s spear,” you teased.

Shinsou smirked and straightened his posture, raising his voice as he called out, 

“Behold! The Snow Empress has arrived to grant mercy and bring peace to the lands!”

The battlefield froze—literally and figuratively. Katsuki paused mid-throw, his arm cocked back with a snowball the size of a melon in his hand. Izuku stumbled out from behind a tree, his breath coming in puffs of steam as he blinked in confusion. Even Momo peeked out from behind her shield, her brow furrowing as she tried to process what was happening.

“THE EMPRESS!” 

Mina suddenly dropped to her knees in the snow, throwing her hands up dramatically. 

“All hail the Snow Empress!”

Denki immediately followed suit, kneeling beside her and clasping his hands together as if in prayer. “Long live the Empress!” he shouted, his voice filled with mock reverence. The two scrambled to get behind you, their voices overlapping as they began to sing your praises. 

“So wise! So powerful! So benevolent!”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep a straight face. The theatrics were absurd, but there was a certain charm to it all.

Before you could respond, you felt a tug on your arm. Turning, you saw Toru standing beside you, her usually invisible form now outlined by a layer of snow clinging to her jacket and pants. Her hands, however, were bare, and you noticed her fingers were an alarming ice cold.

Without hesitation, you slid off your gloves and gently pulled them onto her hands. “Here,” you said softly, tugging the cuffs to make sure they fit snugly. “Keep these on.”

“Thanks,” Toru murmured, her voice grateful as she flexed her fingers inside the gloves.

Behind you, Sero muttered something under his breath in Spanish, his tone exasperated. “Coño, esto es ridículo,” he said, shaking his head as he trudged through the snow to join the growing group behind you. Shinsou, undeterred by the growing absurdity of the situation, continued his proclamation. 

“The Snow Empress has arrived to bestow mercy upon you all! Bow before her, lest you face her icy wrath!”

The battlefield fell silent once more, all eyes turning to you. Katsuki’s face was a picture of disbelief, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at the spectacle. Izuku, still catching his breath, looked like he was torn between laughing and taking the situation seriously.

“What the hell is this?!” Katsuki finally exploded, his voice echoing across the park. “You’ve gotta be shitting me!”

Shoto leaned in close, his voice low and amused. “Your move, Empress.”

You straighten your posture, tilting your chin up as you surveyed the battlefield. “Enough,” you called out, your voice carrying over the snow. “This war has gone on long enough. Lay down your snowballs and return to your forts. Peace shall reign across these lands once more.”

Mina and Denki immediately burst into cheers, clapping and shouting in agreement. The rest of the class, however, seemed less convinced, their eyes darting between you and Katsuki.

“Like hell I’m stopping!” Katsuki roared, hurling his massive snowball straight into the sky. “This ain’t over until I say it’s over!”

The snowball came crashing down—right onto Katsuki’s own head, exploding in a puff of powder. The entire park erupted into laughter, and even you couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across your face.

“Well,” you said, turning to Shoto. “I guess that settles it.”

Shinsou smirked, “Peace restored, Empress.”

Another snowball came flying through the air in a graceful arc, landing squarely on Katsuki’s head and bursting into a puff of icy powder. The battlefield went quiet for a moment, stunned, before laughter erupted from all sides—except for Katsuki.

His head snapped toward Momo, whose snowball launchers were still smoking from their recent assault. Her chin was lifted, her expression regal and utterly unapologetic. 

“For disrespecting my Empress,” she declared, stepping forward with the grace of a knight sworn to protect her queen.

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“You’re dead, Ponytail.”

Before anyone could blink, Katsuki lunged forward, snatching Shinsou up by the scarf like a sack of potatoes. The poor boy let out a choked gasp, flailing slightly as Katsuki dragged him upward.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Izuku shouted, darting forward with surprising speed. He grabbed Shinsou by the arm and yanked him back with all his might, prying him out of Katsuki’s grip. 

“What the hell, Deku?!” Katsuki snarled, spinning around to face him.

Izuku held Shinsou protectively behind him, his freckled face scrunched in determination. “You can’t just attack people! We’re supposed to be having fun!”

“Fun?! This is fun!” Katsuki bellowed, gesturing wildly to the chaos around them.

Meanwhile, you strolled down the hill with all the grace of royalty, Shoto still at your side with his ice spear glinting in the sunlight. “Lady Yaoyorozu,” you greeted warmly, inclining your head toward Momo as if the chaos around you didn’t exist. Momo turned to you, lowering herself into an elegant curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice laced with pride.

Katsuki froze mid-rant, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward you and your entourage. His gaze darted between your serene expression, Shoto’s protective stance, and the full squad of Class 1-A members following in your wake. His lip curled into a sneer.

“What the hell are you all doing?” he demanded.

You tilted your head, offering him a faint, knowing smile. 

“Hello, Consort.”

The title clearly caught him off guard. Katsuki blinked, his mouth opening as if to respond, but no words came out. You didn’t give him the chance to recover, turning your attention back to Momo.

“Lady Yaoyorozu,” you said again, your tone warm but firm. “What troubles you so? Is it this unruly rogue disturbing the peace of our lands?” Katsuki’s eyes widened slightly, and he pointed an accusatory finger at you. 

“Oi! Are you ignoring me?!”

You didn’t even glance his way, your focus remaining solely on Momo. Behind you, Shoto leaned closer to Shinsou and Izuku, his voice low. “She’s decided she’s the Snow Empress,” he explained matter-of-factly.

Shinsou shrugged. “It just sort of… happened,” he added, his smirk growing wider.

Izuku blinked a few times, taking in the scene—the exaggerated bows, the medieval speech, the mock battle—and nodded with a small smile. “Got it,” he said simply, falling seamlessly into the act.

Just then, Kirishima emerged from behind a snowbank, jogging up to your group and skidding to a stop in front of you. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head deeply. “My Snow Empress,” he said dramatically, his voice tinged with desperation. “I cannot bear the cruel treatment of my master any longer. May I reside with you permanently instead?”

The rest of the class burst into laughter at his declaration, but Kirishima held his bow, waiting for your response.

“What the hell, Shitty Hair?!” Katsuki barked, his confusion and irritation growing by the second.

You raised a hand, gesturing for Kirishima to rise. “Gentle giant, you are always welcome in my court,” you said graciously, earning a grin and a playful wink from him.

Katsuki threw his hands in the air. “Okay, seriously, what the hell is going on?!”

You turned to him at last, your expression calm but commanding. “We are here to grant peace to these lands,” you said, your tone firm, “Or to destroy you, should you refuse to fall in line.”

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of snow crunching under Katsuki’s boots as he took a step forward. His lips twitched into a smirk. 

“Destroy me, huh?”

Katsuki tilted his head slightly, adopting a mockingly regal posture. “A queen,” he began, his voice suddenly shifting into Shakespearean tones, “Surrounding herself with such… characters of the court?” 

“Tch. How distasteful.”

Behind you, Denki leaned over to Mina, whispering, “Yo, who knew he’d be this good at this?”

“I know right?!”

You tugged Shoto and Shinsou closer, gesturing to them each in turn. “This is my assassin,” you said, nodding toward Shinsou, who grinned wickedly. “And this is the crown prince.”

Shoto gave a subtle nod, his expression cool and composed.

“And I,” Momo interjected, stepping forward proudly, “am the Countess, as well as your Empress’s blacksmith and weaponsmith.”

Katsuki snorted, crossing his arms. “Oh, so everyone’s got a role now, huh? Doesn’t matter.”

Without warning, he hurled a snowball at you. It soared through the air, fast and sharp—but it never reached its target. Shoto moved before you could react, a wave of heat rolling off him as he melted the snowball mid-flight, leaving nothing but a puff of steam in its place. You sighed, your expression hardening as you took a step forward. 

“Everyone,” you said calmly, your voice steady but firm, 

“Back up.”

Your entourage obeyed immediately, retreating to a safe distance. Only Katsuki remained, his fiery gaze locked onto yours.

“Now then,” you said, leveling him with a cool, unwavering stare. 

“Let’s settle this, shall we?”

The icy chill of the battlefield buzzed with anticipation as the royal drama unfolded. Iida, ever the voice of reason and order, stepped forward with Shoji at his side. Both carried an air of solemnity as they began organizing the chaotic mass of Class 1-A into spectators. Iida raised his hands dramatically, gesturing toward the abandoned benches and bleachers that bordered the snowy grounds.

“Citizens of this most noble kingdom!” Iida declared, his voice booming with authority. 

“Make haste to the arena’s viewing galleries, where you shall bear witness to history in the making. For this day shall determine the fate of the lands!”

Shoji nodded in agreement, his multiple arms gently guiding classmates toward their seats. As the crowd shuffled toward the bleachers, Sato emerged like an unexpected hero, carrying bags of freshly baked goods wrapped in foil. He moved through the gathered students like a medieval vendor at a festival, handing out warm treats to the eager onlookers.

“Bread for the people!” Kaminari called out gleefully, munching on a cookie.

“Enough sugar, Kami,” Jirou quipped, nudging him with her elbow. “You’ll get too hyper and end up in the lake again.”

The class settled in with murmurs of excitement, laughter, and nervous whispers about what was to come. Meanwhile, you stood proudly at the edge of the field, the snow crunching lightly under your light pink juicy couture snow boots as you surveyed the scene with the regal air of a ruler. Shoto and Shinsou flanked you on either side, their faces composed and determined, while Momo and Izuku stood a step behind you, ready to act as reinforcements.

Katsuki was a stark contrast, prowling like a tiger among his chosen knights. He yanked Kirishima forward, the red-haired boy wearing a theatrical expression of sorrow and betrayal.

“My Empress!” Kirishima called out mournfully, dropping to his knees as Katsuki tugged at the back of his scarf like a leash. “Forgive me, for I must serve this tyrant!”

You gave Kirishima a soft, reassuring smile. “Fear not, my gentle knight,” you said with unwavering confidence. “I shall free you from his chains.”

Katsuki scoffed, rolling his eyes but clearly enjoying the absurdity of it all. “Shut up, Shit locks,” he barked, dragging Kirishima backward like a misbehaving dog.

To everyone’s surprise, Katsuki then turned and gestured for Tokoyami to join his ranks. The brooding bird-like student strode forward, his cape billowing behind him as if he were summoned by some ancient force.

“Darkness always sides with the Demon King,” Tokoyami intoned ominously, taking his place beside Katsuki.

“Bro, he probably just wants dark shadow!”

“SHH, let him have this!”

“And glitter too, apparently,” Jirou whispered as Aoyama sauntered forward next, blowing a dramatic kiss to the crowd. Mina followed closely behind, her usual bubbly energy subdued as she adopted a determined, warrior-like posture. Katsuki pulled his team into a tight huddle, whispering strategies with a ferocity that only he could muster. His hands moved animatedly, pointing to you and your entourage as he outlined his battle plan.

“Do you think he’s plotting something crazy?” Shinsou asked, raising a brow.

“Probably,” Izuku muttered, his green eyes narrowing in thought. “But we’ll be ready.”

You turned to face your team, gathering them into a huddle of your own. Momo adjusted the strap of her snowball launcher, Shoto stood tall with his ice spear at the ready, and Shinsou smirked as if the whole thing was a game he was destined to win. In his hands two very sharp ice daggers twirled between his fingers. 

“They’re formidable,” Shoto said, his tone even. “Are you confident we can win?”

You straightened your posture, meeting their gazes with unshakable resolve. “Of course. Katsuki may be my legal husband outside of this game, and within these snowy lands, he’s just another challenger. I have never backed down from a challenge.”

Momo smiled at your conviction, nodding firmly. “We’re with you, your Majesty.”

Before anyone could speak further, Iida’s commanding voice called your attention. He stood at the center of the field with Shoji, their figures outlined against the stark white snow.

“Attention, noble combatants!” Iida announced, his arms raised high. 

“The terms of this duel have been decided. There shall be three rounds: The initial fight between the seconds of the royal couple, an all-out brawl lasting five minutes, and then a three-minute duel between any remaining champions. Finally, the Demon King and the Heavenly Snow Empress shall face one another to decide the future of the kingdom of freedom!”

A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd, and you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the title Iida had bestowed upon you. Raising your hands to the spectators, you addressed them with a voice that carried authority and warmth. 

“My loyal subjects, do not fear. I have never failed you before, and I shall not start now. Today, we shall emerge victorious, and peace shall reign across these lands once more!”

The crowd erupted in cheers, though Katsuki’s sharp laugh cut through the noise like a blade. He stepped forward, his expression both mocking and strangely alluring as he spoke in flawless Shakespearean tones.

“A queen so bold, yet so blind to the strength of her adversary,” he said, his voice low and resonant. 

“Know this, my sweet Empress—thy reign shall end beneath my hand, and these lands shall bow to me.”

Your breath hitched for the briefest moment, not because of his words, but because of how dangerously captivating his voice sounded when laced with such romantic intensity. Yards away, someone let out a low whistle. 

“Get your lady back Bakugou!”

“Kaminari!” 

“What?! He’s like, roguishly charming!”

Iida stepped between you and Katsuki, raising his hands for silence. 

“Before this battle begins, let us seek absolution for our sins,” he said solemnly, scooping up powdered snow and tossing it over both parties like ceremonial dust. Shoji then folded his hands together in prayer. 

“May the heavens forgive ye for the carnage that is to come, and may the gates of paradise open should any noble soul perish this day.”

You dipped your head respectfully, bowing to him. “Thank you, kind Sir’s.”

Turning back to Katsuki, you met his fierce gaze with a calm, regal smile. “This is your final chance to surrender,” you said, your tone measured.

Katsuki smirked, a flicker of something polite—almost gentlemanly—crossing his features before his fiery resolve returned. 

“Not a chance, Empress.”

You shrugged with the elegance befitting your title, swishing your cape as you returned to your huddle. 

“Very well,” you said. “Let us give them a show they shall never forget.”

The air between the snowy battlefield and the bleachers seemed to grow colder as the first round of the duel began to take shape. You stood at the edge of your small gathering, Shinsou at your right, Momo adjusting her gloves, and Izuku scanning Katsuki's team like he was already calculating every possible move they could make.

You gestured to Shoto with a graceful wave of your hand, summoning him forward. "Shoto, you are my champion for this duel."

Shoto inclined his head, his expression stoic yet calm. "Understood."

Katsuki’s team shifted in the snow, and you expected Kirishima to step forward with his usual gusto. But instead, Katsuki raised a hand, silencing his team as he nodded toward Tokoyami.

The dark feathered avian boy emerged from the group with a theatrical flourish of his cape, his crimson eyes gleaming beneath his shadowed cowl. "The Demon King has chosen me as his sword for this battle," Tokoyami intoned, his voice deep and resonant.

You raised a brow in mild surprise, glancing back at Shinsou. He leaned toward you, his voice low and steady. "Want me to pull him out early? It’d be easy enough to get him to surrender with one word."

You shook your head, a small smile curling at your lips. "No, let Shoto handle this. He’s more than capable."

Though you were confident, you still decided to walk Shoto to the field. His calm presence beside you was a comfort, and you felt the eyes of everyone watching as the two of you descended the short incline to the center of the battlefield. The snow crunched lightly beneath your boots, and Shoto adjusted his spear as he awaited the start of the duel.

As you reached the middle, you turned your attention to Tokoyami. 

"A good morrow to you, noble knight," you greeted him warmly, your tone light yet regal.

Tokoyami dipped his head in acknowledgment, but before he could respond, Dark Shadow peeked out from beneath his cape, chirping an enthusiastic, "Good morning!"

You smiled softly, pulling the white muff from your hands and extending it toward them. "For you," you said, your voice gentle. "The winds are bitter today, and even the bravest shadows deserve warmth."

Tokoyami’s eyes widened slightly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He hesitated for a moment before accepting the muff with a small bow of his head. "You honor me, Your Grace," he murmured, his tone more reverent than usual.

Dark Shadow chirped again, clutching the muff with his tiny claws. "Thank you, Empress! So soft!"

You waved to the little shadow with a soft laugh, but the moment was interrupted by Katsuki’s loud, impatient snarl from the sidelines.

"Get on with it already!" he barked, his fiery glare fixed on you like a wolf eyeing its prey.

You turned your head slightly, meeting Katsuki’s scowl with a serene, knowing smile. Then, without a word, you turned back to Shoto and adjusted the scarf around his neck. Your fingers lingered for a moment, ensuring it was snug enough to block out the cold.

"Be careful," you murmured, your voice quiet enough that only he could hear.

Shoto’s mismatched eyes softened as he met your gaze. 

"I shall. I will always return home to you, my Empress."

Your heart gave a small flutter at the sincerity in his voice. You placed your hands on his shoulders for a brief moment before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Then go," you said softly. 

"And make me proud."

Shoto gave a small nod, his expression composed as he stepped forward to take his place on the field. He glanced back at you once, bowing his head in respect, before focusing his attention entirely on Tokoyami.

The snowy winds picked up slightly, carrying with them the faint murmur of the crowd. The atmosphere was electric, the tension palpable as the two combatants squared off, awaiting Iida’s signal to begin.

You stepped back to your side of the battlefield, your eyes never leaving Shoto as he readied himself for the duel. Katsuki’s snarling and Tokoyami’s calm resolve couldn’t shake your confidence in him.

From the bleachers, Kaminari’s voice rang out, breaking the tension for just a moment. "Man, this is better than any reality show I’ve ever watched!" "Shh!" Ochako hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

Iida raised his hand high, the signal for silence. 

"Champions of the court, prepare yourselves! May this duel be fought with honor and skill!"

The field fell silent as the match was about to begin. You clasped your hands together in front of you, your breath steady as you watched Shoto take his first step forward. The duel was about to begin, and the stakes had never felt higher.

The tension crackled like static as Shoto and Tokoyami squared off, the snowy expanse their battlefield. Shoto stepped forward, his ice trailing in sleek streaks beneath his boots, his breath visible in the biting air. Tokoyami's cape billowed behind him, and Dark Shadow hovered at his shoulder, glowing faintly with excitement.

Shoto opened with a swift strike, slamming his right hand to the ground as an intricate wave of jagged ice spread like wildfire. The ice surged toward Tokoyami, who leaped into the air, Dark Shadow carrying him higher before darting down with a spiraling lunge. Shoto sidestepped just in time, his expression calm, and retaliated by summoning a narrow pillar of ice, forcing Tokoyami to twist midair to avoid the collision.

"You’ve gotten faster," Shoto said, his tone measured as he straightened and swept a hand through his bangs.

"And you've grown more ruthless," Tokoyami countered, a faint smirk tugging at his beak.

They clashed again, Shoto releasing precise bursts of fire to counter Dark Shadow's quick strikes. The battlefield was a swirl of elements, ice shards glittering in the air as flames danced in vibrant contrast. Dark Shadow maneuvered expertly, keeping Shoto on the defensive, while Tokoyami stayed grounded, orchestrating each move like a seasoned tactician.

But then, the sky shifted.

Dark clouds rolled in without warning, blotting out the pale sun. The light dimmed until the snow-covered ground seemed to glow faintly beneath the oppressive grey. A chilling wind swept through, and the first clap of thunder rumbled low and ominous.

Your face blanched.

From across the field, Katsuki stood with his arms crossed, an all-too-familiar wicked grin stretched across his face. He lifted a hand and gave you a slow, mocking wave, his ruby eyes gleaming with unspoken mischief.

"He's up to something," Shinsou muttered behind you, his gaze narrowing on Katsuki.

"Always," Momo replied, her tone clipped.

On the field, Dark Shadow’s power seemed to swell under the shrouded sky. His form expanded, his strikes faster and heavier, and Tokoyami's confidence grew visibly as the battlefield became his domain. Shoto struggled to keep up, his ice slowing under the relentless onslaught.

You shouted from the sidelines, "Shoto, fall back! Reset!"

But it was too late.

As Shoto stepped back to reposition himself, his foot slipped on a patch of black ice—slick and near invisible against the snow. His eyes widened in alarm as his balance wavered, and before he could recover, Dark Shadow struck. A sweeping blow knocked Shoto clean off his feet, sending him sprawling onto his back with a sharp thud.

The field went still for a moment, and then the collective gasp of the crowd broke the silence.

Iida stepped forward, raising his arm. 

"The first point goes to the Demon King, Bakugou!"

Cries and murmurs erupted from the crowd as you and Izuku rushed onto the field. Tokoyami extended a hand to Shoto, helping him to his feet with a small bow.

"Thank you for the honorable match," Tokoyami said solemnly.

Shoto dipped his head in return, brushing snow off his side. "And you as well."

You reached Shoto’s side, your hands instinctively going to his left arm as Izuku took his right. Shoto winced slightly but managed a faint smirk.

"I’m fine," he muttered, his voice low. "Though I think I’m going to feel a bump on my rump later."

You couldn’t help but laugh, and Izuku joined in, his face lighting up with a grin. "At least you’re still in good spirits," Izuku said, his hand steady on Shoto’s elbow. As you guided Shoto back to your group, Momo crossed her arms, her brow furrowed. "He had to have planned this," she said, glancing toward Katsuki, who was still smirking like a wolf who had just cornered its prey.

"He definitely planned this," Shinsou agreed. "He’s got a hard  energy, and that storm? Yeah, he summoned that somehow."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "Please. Katsuki may be many things, but a sorcerer is not one of them. That role already belongs to Tokoyami."

"Easy for you to say," Shinsou shot back, a teasing lilt to his tone. "He snaps his jaw at everyone but you."

Before you could respond, Shoto, still catching his breath, added with a faint chuckle, "The rogue's not wrong."

You raised a brow at them both, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. 

"That’s because Katsuki bites me—with affection. And for the record, I rather enjoy it."

It got quiet as shit for a moment. 

Momo’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing slightly as she pressed a hand to her forehead. 

"I will pray for you," she said with dramatic sincerity.

"Thank you," you replied, your tone light as you patted her shoulder.

Turning your attention back to Shoto, you gave him a once-over. "Do you need to sit this one out? No shame in resting." Shoto straightened, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms. "Nonsense. I’m fine," he insisted, his voice steady. "Though I might borrow some of those stretches Izuku taught me from his time in the hospital."

As Shoto began his stretches, you exchanged a glance with the green boy, both of you shaking your heads fondly. Katsuki’s voice called out from across the field, pulling your attention back to him. His grin was wider now, his eyes gleaming with anticipation for the next round.

Your group gathered under the makeshift wall you’d fashioned out of leftover ice blocks to shield everyone from the oncoming snow, the strategic discussion kicked off in earnest. Shinsou leaned casually against one of the abandoned snow boulders, his arms crossed as he surveyed the field. Izuku knelt in the snow, furiously sketching plans in the frost with his gloved hand while Shoto quietly stretched beside him, his focus sharpening with each deliberate movement. You stood at the center, glancing between everyone as ideas were tossed around, your hands tucked into your muff for warmth.

"We need to be careful," Shinsou started, his eyes narrowing as he gestured toward Katsuki’s team. "Bakugou’s got Kirishima and Mina—his heavy hitters—and the storm storm boosted Dark Shadow. They’re not playing around."

Izuku nodded, his breath puffing in the cold air. "He’ll send Mina in next. Her acid can cut through ice, and she’s quick enough to avoid fire attacks. Shoto, you’ll need to anticipate her movements."

Shoto flexed his fingers, the faint crackle of frost forming over his glove. "I can handle Mina," he said calmly. "But we need to anticipate her pairing with Kirishima. If he rushes in to cover her, it could get messy."

"We’ll counter with teamwork," you interjected, nodding toward Shinsou. "Shinsou, if you can neutralize Kirishima early with your quirk, we’ll have a better chance at overwhelming Mina. Momo, you’re my backup. Izuku, you’ll provide distraction."

"Understood," Shinsou said, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "I’ll make sure Kirishima’s too distracted to even touch you, Empress."

Before you could reply, a voice called out from the bleachers.

"Lady Momo! Would you find your way over here!" Jirou’s voice rang out, cutting through the strategy meeting. Momo blinked, glancing between you and the bleachers where Jirou was waving enthusiastically. 

"Excuse me, your grace. I’ll be right back," she promised, smoothing her scarf as she headed toward Jirou. Denki, lounging lazily next to Jirou with a mischievous grin on his face, piped up. "Mo, can you make us a drink machine please? I’m parched."

Momo hesitated for a moment, then nodded with a small smile. "Of course," she said, summoning her quirk. With a graceful sweep of her back, she produced a small vending machine stocked with hot drinks to warm everyone’s spirits.

"Yes! Hot cocoa and coffee! You’re the best!" Denki cheered, bounding over to the machine as the rest of the crowd gathered around it. Sato, ever the gentleman, stepped forward with a wrapped pound cake. "For strength," he said warmly, handing the cake to Momo.

"Thank you, dear baker," Momo said graciously, her cheeks dusted with pink from the attention.

Jirou, meanwhile, fidgeted nervously with something in her hand, her usually cool demeanor cracking under the weight of her shyness. "Uh, Mo…" she began, her voice barely audible over the chatter.

Momo tilted her head, her expression curious. "Yes, Song bird?"

Jirou swallowed hard before thrusting a small ring toward her, her ears turning a deep crimson. "This is for you," she mumbled, not meeting Momo’s gaze.

Momo’s eyes widened as she accepted a grass ring, turning it over in her hand. It was simple but beautiful, clearly something Jirou had poured her heart into. "Jirou…this is lovely," Momo said softly, her voice laced with genuine gratitude.

Jirou ducked her head, scratching the back of her neck. "It’s nothing fancy. Just…a token, you know?"

Momo smiled warmly, slipping the ring onto her finger. "It’s perfect," she said sincerely, her words making Jirou’s ears twitch in delight. Not far off, Denki waved frantically at Kirishima, who was standing with Katsuki’s group. 

"Yo, Kiri! Get over here!"

Kirishima hesitated, glancing at Katsuki, who immediately narrowed his eyes. 

"Eijirou, don’t—"

But before Katsuki could grab him, Kirishima dashed over to Denki with a wild grin.

Denki, ever the joker, handed Kirishima a frozen leaf, his grin widening. "For you, bro. A token of our undying friendship." Kirishima let out a bark of laughter, clutching the frozen leaf dramatically. "This is priceless, man. I’ll treasure it forever!"

The two of them laughed, their playful camaraderie drawing amused glances from the others. Katsuki, meanwhile, stood in the distance, arms crossed and a vein twitching in his temple as he watched his "troops" scatter.

You turned back to your group, shaking your head with a wry smile. "Katsuki’s team is falling apart already," you said, your tone light.

Shinsou smirked, adjusting his scarf. "Don’t let your guard down. He’s still got something up his sleeve. Demon King or not, Bakugou isn’t one to go down easy."

"True," Shoto agreed, finishing his stretches. "But we’re ready for him. Let’s stick to the plan."

With that, the group reconvened, ready to face the next round with renewed determination. The snow continued to fall, but the fire of competition burned bright in everyone’s eyes.

The air felt thick with anticipation as Iida and Shoji stepped back onto the field, their figures slicing through the thickening snowflakes. Shoji's stoic presence commanded attention, while Iida’s precise and authoritative voice cut through the murmur of the crowd like a bell.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today for the second round of this glorious battle!" 

Iida boomed, his voice almost as powerful as his actions, his eyes scanning the arena to make sure everyone was ready. 

“Prepare yourselves, for the clash of champions approaches! Remember, once you leave the designated battlefield or stray out of sight, you will be disqualified!” 

His words were clear, punctuated by the intensity of his gaze, ensuring everyone understood the weight of the rules. Shoji, ever silent, stood beside him, nodding to affirm the severity of Iida's command.

As the snow began to fall heavier, the swirling white mist seemed to grow darker under the ominous clouds overhead. It was almost as though the weather itself was becoming a reflection of the battle's rising stakes. Momo, ever the strategist, quickly set to work, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a pristine white snow machine, its steady hum filling the chilly air, and began to prepare several pairs of goggles for Shinsou, Izuku, and Shoto. 

The winter storm wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, and her foresight to protect their eyes was invaluable.

You stood there, taking a deep breath as you cracked your fingers, the gentle pop of your knuckles cutting through the crisp air. There was no hesitation in your movements now. You adjusted the scarfs and hats of your team, ensuring everyone was warm enough but still able to move freely. It was all about balance—warmth for defense, flexibility for offense.

Shoto, standing to your side, took a moment to channel his ice quirk, focusing intently as he exhaled. He then reached out, quickly warming everyone’s hands with a gentle, controlled burst of warmth, the icy chill of the air evaporating in seconds. 

"Hold these carefully," he instructed, his voice steady and reassuring. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he created an ice spear—perfectly sculpted and sharp, designed for precision. "For defense, if needed." He handed it to Izuku, who nodded gratefully. A moment later, Shoto repeated the process, crafting a set of sleek ice knives and daggers for Shinsou, who flexed his fingers eagerly, preparing to fight with these new tools in his hands.

You flexed your own fingers in the cold air, feeling the familiar coolness spread through your limbs. Each of your movements was deliberate, the quiet assurance of a seasoned fighter beginning to hum beneath your skin. You couldn’t afford to hesitate—not today. Your eyes moved across the battlefield, seeking your opponent. 

And there, at the other end, you saw him— your husband.

Katsuki was standing tall, his back straight, an aura of confidence and something darker surrounding him. 

His presence loomed over the battlefield like a storm waiting to break. Katsuki was a force of nature, radiating an intensity that made the very ground beneath him tremble. His eyes gleamed with that familiar, wild spark as he whispered orders to his team—Kirishima, Mina, Tokoyami, and Ayoma. They nodded in unison, readying themselves for the fray, their resolve evident.

As you watched them, Katsuki’s gaze locked onto yours. His lips curled into a sly grin, the wicked glint in his eyes darkening the already grim atmosphere. He tilted his head, his hand gesturing in the air as he called out to you. 

“Ah, Snow Empress, thou art so keen to play the game, but canst thou withstand the fury of the storm I’ve summoned?” 

His words were mocking yet full of a strange affection, a reminder of the playful tension between you two.

You smirked, deciding that now was the time to make the rules even more entertaining. 

“Very well, my subjects,” you called out to the crowd, your voice as clear as the ringing of a bell, 

“Forsooth, from this moment forth, let it be known that all shall speak only in the tongue of Shakespeare or the nobility of old! All who dare speak otherwise shall forfeit their honor!” 

You threw a wink toward your team, the playful gleam in your eyes urging them to play along.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the energy shifting as your command rippled through the battlefield like wildfire. Everyone—heroes, and onlookers alike—grinned and laughed, slipping into their medieval personas with exaggerated flair. 

Momo held her head high, the elegance of a lady-in-waiting that could kill ya on full display as she adjusted her shield. Shoto cracked his neck and stretched, his eyes narrowing as he embraced the upcoming challenge with the calm composure of a knight prepared for battle. Izuku grinned, adjusting his scarf with the quiet dignity of a prince, while Shinsou’s smirk was that of a cunning strategist, ready to outwit any foe.

Katsuki, not one to be outdone, shook his head with a low chuckle. 

“Very well, thy ‘Empress,’” he called back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“If it pleases thee, I shall meet thee on the battlefield, but know that I shall not be so merciful as to take pity on those who dare cross me.” He gestured to his team, and they stepped forward, each one standing tall and proud, fitting the roles they had now taken on.

"Now, for the first round," Iida announced once more, stepping forward, his voice firm but tinged with excitement. "I shall now call forth the leaders to announce their fighters for this duel!" His hand waved toward you, the leader of your group, signaling for you to begin.

You took a deep breath and stepped forward, your back straight, your presence commanding. 

“I present to thee, my loyal knights and comrades, the fairest of them all—Momo Yaoyorozu, the Shield Maiden, who shall defend us with unwavering strength!” Momo stepped forward with a graceful flourish, her shield held high, and the crowd cheered for her.

“Next, my steadfast companion and warrior of ice, Shoto Todoroki, the Prince of Winter, who shall freeze or burn all who dare stand in his way!” Shoto nodded, his expression serene, his ice quirk flickering at the edges of his gloves as he prepared.

“Following him, the courageous and noble Izuku Midoriya, the rightful ruler and crown alchemist, whose strength lies not only in his body, but in his heart!” Izuku puffed out his chest and stepped forward with a humble but determined nod, his eyes locked on Katsuki’s team.

The hard blush on his freckled cheeks was really cute too!

“Lastly, I present to thee, the silent but deadly strategist, Hitoshi Shinsou, the Knight of Minds, who will outwit and outmaneuver our foes with unparalleled cunning!” Shinsou tipped his head to the crowd, a faint smirk crossing his lips as he surveyed the battlefield.

The crowd roared their approval, the tension building. Then, as if sensing the end of the ceremony, Iida turned toward Katsuki, his voice steady. 

“And now, the Demon King’s chosen warriors!”

Katsuki suddenly stepped forward, raising a hand to silence the crowd. His crimson gaze glinted with mischief, and you instantly knew he was about to do something dramatic. The gathered subjects fell silent, their attention fully on him, though a few stifled giggles at his tone. Katsuki stood tall, arms crossed, as though he were the rightful ruler of this realm.

“Kirishima!” he bellowed, pointing at his best friend with a flourish. “A giant most unbreakable, a stalwart wall of strength and valor! He who doth stand firm against the tides of battle, red as the blood of our enemies!” Kirishima puffed up his chest, throwing up a fist and beaming. 

“Hell yeah! Unbreakable for life!”

Katsuki gave him a curt nod before moving on, his tone growing sharper. “Mina! A rogue mage whose swiftness and guile make her a tempest upon the battlefield! Behold, the Acid Assassin, she whose strike is deadly and unseen!” Mina twirled in place, striking a dramatic pose and blowing a kiss to the crowd. “All in a day’s work!”

Next, Katsuki turned his piercing gaze to Aoyama, whose sparkles practically blinded everyone. Katsuki gestured grandly. “And lo, we have Aoyama! The Starblade of our forces, a radiant beacon of distraction—or destruction! Doth he not shine bright?”

Aoyama struck a dazzling pose, winking as sparkles trailed from his finger guns. “Mais oui! Magnifique!”

“And now,” Katsuki continued, his tone dropping into something darker, “Tokoyami and his loyal beast, Dark Shadow! The vanguard of the night, wielding shadows as their blade! Fear them, for they are the abyss that swallows the unwary whole!”

Tokoyami inclined his head solemnly, his expression as stoic as ever. Dark Shadow, however, roared with glee. Katsuki paused, surveying his ‘warriors’ with an expression of exaggerated pride. 

“Together, these warriors, chosen by the Demon King himself, shall strike terror into the hearts of all who oppose us! Now rise, my army, and let us seize victory!”

His declaration was met with an eruption of cheers, laughter, and a few scattered claps. Mina leaned over to whisper loudly, “You really got into that, huh?”

“Shut it!” Katsuki snapped, though his ears were faintly red.

You clapped your hands together, grinning at him. “See? I told you the tongue of old worked.”

Katsuki shot you a warning glare, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a smirk. 

“Yes, Yes. Do not become so reliant, Snow Empress.”

Before you could counter, Iida  boomed, his voice almost as powerful as his actions, his eyes scanning the arena to make sure everyone was ready. 

“Prepare yourselves, for the clash of champions approaches! Remember, once you leave the designated battlefield or stray out of sight, you will be disqualified!” 

His words were clear, punctuated by the intensity of his gaze, ensuring everyone understood the weight of the rules. Shoji, ever silent, stood beside him, nodding to affirm the severity of Iida's command.

As the snow began to fall heavier, the swirling white mist seemed to grow darker under the ominous clouds overhead. It was almost as though the weather itself was becoming a reflection of the battle's rising stakes.

You stood there, taking a deep breath as you cracked your fingers, the gentle pop of your knuckles cutting through the crisp air. There was no hesitation in your movements now. As you watched them, Katsuki’s gaze locked onto yours. His lips curled into a sly grin, the wicked glint in his eyes darkening the already grim atmosphere. He tilted his head, his hand gesturing in the air as he called out to you. 

“Ah, my love, thou art so keen to play the game, but canst thou withstand the fury of the storm I’ve summoned?” His words were mocking yet full of a strange affection, a reminder of the playful tension between you two.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the energy shifting as your command rippled through the battlefield like wildfire. Everyone—heroes, friends, and onlookers alike—grinned and laughed, slipping into their medieval personas with exaggerated flair. 

Momo held her head high, the elegance of a lady-in-waiting on full display as she adjusted her shield. Shoto cracked his neck and stretched, his eyes narrowing as he embraced the upcoming challenge with the calm composure of a knight prepared for battle. Izuku grinned, adjusting his scarf with the quiet dignity of a prince, while Shinsou’s smirk was that of a cunning strategist, ready to outwit any foe. 

Katsuki, not one to be outdone, shook his head with a low chuckle. 

“Very well, soft ‘Empress,’” he called back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“If it pleases thee, I shall meet thee on the battlefield, but know that I shall not be so merciful as to take pity on those who dare cross me.” He gestured to his team, and they stepped forward, each one standing tall and proud, fitting the roles they had now taken on.

Kirishima rolled his shoulders, a fiery grin on his face as he pounded his fists together, ready to charge in as the fearless knight. Mina adjusted her scarf with a mischievous smirk, her energy electric like a rogue poised for action. Aoyama struck a dazzling pose, his wrap billowing dramatically as he declared victory in the stars. Tokoyami stood cloaked in shadow, Dark Shadow hovering menacingly beside him, both ready to unleash chaos. Katsuki cracked his knuckles, his smirk sharp and commanding, the Demon King prepared to lead his warriors into glorious battle.

The crowd roared their approval, the tension building. Then, as if sensing the end of the ceremony, Iida turned toward Katsuki, his voice steady. 

Iida nodded once, satisfied. "Now, prepare yourselves!" he called. “The duel shall begin in earnest! Fighters, take your stations!”

With a final, powerful declaration, Shoji’s voice rang out across the field. 

“Duel!”

And with that, the battle began. The snow swirled around y’all, the heavy clouds casting a dark shadow over the arena. A storm was coming, but which side would emerge victorious? 

Well, no one, actually.

The arena had fallen silent. 

No one moved; no one breathed. Each team stood poised, studying their opponents, calculating the first strike. Snow swirled lazily in the wind above, a quiet lull before the chaos of battle. There was something almost poetic in the stillness, the tension thick in the air, as if the entire world held its breath, waiting for someone to make the first move.

Then, like a lightning strike, a dagger soared through the air, glinting dangerously in the pale light. But before anyone could react, a sizzling hiss filled the air. Mina's acid quirk melted the dagger into a puddle before it could even hit its mark. A soft chuckle escaped from Shinsou's lips as he looked at Mina, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

You could see it. He was proud of her—she had passed his test, keeping her cool and handling the first attack with ease. She didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. 

And that was exactly what you needed.

A breathless moment of stillness passed, before it shattered like glass. 

Without warning, Katsuki lunged forward, his hands crackling with raw energy, determination burning in his eyes. "Don’t just stand there, ya bastards!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the snowstorm as he charged.

"Go!" You shouted, the command ringing in the cold air. Your team sprang into action.

You raised your hands high, the motion slow, deliberate. The snow above began to thicken and churn, swirling in an ominous vortex. With a forceful thrust of your arms, you brought the snowstorm down in a violent gust. It crashed against Katsuki and his team with the force of a winter avalanche, enveloping them in thick, stinging snow. The gusts were so powerful that even their shouts were muffled by the weight of the blizzard.

Katsuki's voice cut through the white-out, full of frustration and defiance. "Tch, don’t think you’ve won yet!" He gritted his teeth as the snow blanketed him, his body tense. The wind howled around him, and with a growl, he surged forward, pushing through the frozen mist. 

But as he moved, you were already behind him, the flick of your wrist sending a barrage of snowballs hurtling through the air. The impact was sharp, freezing. Katsuki flinched, his body jerked back for a second as the cold splattered over him, but he quickly recovered, his fiery spirit refusing to be subdued.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Kirishima pop up in front of you, his grin wide, the determination in his eyes matching the fierce storm around you. Before he could even close the gap, Momo was there, tackling him with surprising strength, her shield ready to defend against whatever he might throw her way.

Meanwhile, Shoto, Izuku and Katsuki were locked in an intense battle, their powers colliding in a brilliant spectacle of ice and fire. The arena seemed to tremble with every strike, their wills clashing like titans. Sparks flew in all directions as their abilities pressed against each other—Katsuki’s explosions against Shoto’s chilling cold. 

It was the perfect clash of opposing forces.

Shinsou was already in motion, his eyes gleaming with concentration. He darted across the battlefield, his mind working at full speed as he engaged Tokoyami. Dark Shadow surged from the shadows, an eerie presence that seemed to grow with every move, but Shinsou was a step ahead. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade, and Tokoyami hesitated, a momentary lapse in his focus.

In that second of distraction, Shinsou made his move. He darted in, grabbing the bird mans arm and quickly binding Tokoyami’s legs with the power of his mind, and before Dark Shadow could react, Shinsou knocked him hard towards the bleachers. The force sent him tumbling, landing unceremoniously with a loud thud. The crowd gasped as Tokoyami was caught mid-air by Sato, who grinned sheepishly and offered him some crumble cake as a peace offering.

Iida’s voice rang out from the sidelines, booming through the cold air. 

“Point for her heavenly majesty!” His words hung in the air for a moment before he continued, 

“Tokoyami and Dark Shadow are out!”

The game was already in full swing, but you knew that victory wasn’t just about power—it was about timing, strategy, and the willingness to push your limits. And you could feel that in the air now. The momentum was shifting, but the battle was far from over.

As the chaos swirled around you, you suddenly felt the silence of the battlefield grow heavy. You could see Katsuki on the other side, and his narrowed gaze momentarily locked onto yours. He’d backed Shoto into a corner near a park bench, the two of them still locked in an intense exchange. His hand was raised, ready to strike again, but you didn’t let him get the chance.

Without hesitation, you threw a snowball, watching as it sailed across the distance. It smacked into Katsuki’s back with a hard thud. He froze for a split second, stunned by the unexpected attack, and then slowly turned, his eyes locking onto you.

There was no warning, no hesitation in his expression—just that familiar, dangerous grin. 

You blew him a kiss from across the battlefield, a playful challenge in your eyes.

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, a silent promise passing between you two—a promise that this battle was far from over. You could see his mind working, calculating, anticipating your next move. But you were already ahead of him.

The battlefield felt like a chaotic blur of movement, where every step, every breath was calculated, and yet, in a moment, it could all come undone. The air was thick with snowflakes swirling violently in the storm you’d summoned, and the ground beneath your feet trembled as each battle raged on. It was a dance of powers—ice, fire, acid, explosions, and the hum of quirk energy that filled the air. And you were right in the heart of it, pulling the strings, making sure your team was always in motion, always ready to strike.

You darted through the snow, your steps light but purposeful, and spotted Shinsou across the way. He was exchanging blows with Tokoyami and Dark Shadow earlier, but now he caught your eye. His face was focused, serious, as he gauged the chaos around him. You nodded once, then called out, your voice carrying over the battlefield.

“Shinsou! Hypnotize Ayoma! Get him to blind Kirishima—quickly! We need expel him from the equation!” You barely finished the sentence before Shinsou, his eyes narrowing in understanding, was already off, darting through the snowstorm. You watched as he weaved through the chaos, heading straight for Ayoma with an almost predatory grace.

“Understood,” he called back without breaking stride. A moment later, Shinsou was by Ayoma’s side, whispering words that made the young man pause in his actions. Ayoma seemed hesitant for a second, but the weight of Shinsou’s orders was clear, and with a nod, Ayoma positioned himself just out of Kirishima’s line of sight.

You didn’t wait for it. 

The moment Shinsou made his move, you turned your attention back to Kirishima, who was still thrashing wildly in the middle of the battlefield, locked in combat with Momo. His energy was almost contagious, and you could feel it radiating off him. 

But that wasn’t going to stop you.

“Momo!” you shouted, your voice urgent, and you could see her turn to you, her shield held tight in her hands, her face a mask of concentration. "Prepare yourself!” You didn’t wait for a response—this was a battle of seconds.

With a quick leap, you soared through the air, the snow beneath you spraying into the air in a flurry. You aimed for Kirishima’s back, the one spot you had to use. The moment your hands landed on his broad shoulders, you grasped hold with all your strength, feeling his muscles tense beneath you as he bucked and kicked like a wild ram, trying to dislodge you. His movements were wild, fierce, but you held on, knowing that you had only one chance to do this.

Suddenly, your back was warm—almost too warm. 

And as you held tight, you suddenly felt something too hot to ignore searing through your coat. A gasp left your lips, and you tore away your outer layer in instinct, ripping the coat off your body as you quickly tried to get clear.

You didn’t even have time to think before you caught sight of Momo beside you. Without a second’s hesitation, you yanked her with you, pulling her from the chaos of the battle as you ran, using your ice powers to craft a thick, towering wall of snow between you and the opposition.

The snow wall rose swiftly, but you didn’t stop to admire your work. You spun around to face your pursuers, your breath coming out in sharp, misty gasps. And that’s when you saw her—Mina, smoke flickering at her fingertips, her eyes wide with concern as she sprinted to Kirishima’s side.

“No! I’m sorry!” Mina shouted, her voice full of urgency as she pushed past the snow and flames that licked at her heels. “Lord Bakugou ordered me to save him—!” She didn’t finish her sentence, the heat from her quirk licking dangerously close to Kirishima as you watched in disbelief.

Kirishima's stance softened as he looked back to you. His broad, garnet eyes scanned you for any sign of harm. "You alright my Lady?" he called, his voice softer now, the fierceness of the fight fading as he saw the concern on your face.

You gave him a nod, trying to brush off the burning sensation from your back. 

“I’m fine, gentle Kirishima! Just—uh, just a little singed,” you said, a little breathless as you tossed your burned coat toward the bleachers, hoping to distance yourself from the now-burning fabric.

Koda, ever the curious soul, shot his hand out to catch the falling coat, but just as his fingers brushed against the cloth, a realization hit him. He hesitated, his eyes growing wide. “Uh... wait, this is—” he began, looking down at the now-scorched garment in his hands.

Before anyone could react, Denki pulled him back, his face contorted with alarm. “Nope! Nope, nope, nope!” He backed up quickly, eyes wide as he realized the acid from Mina’s quirk was still lingering on the fabric.

The entire scene seemed to pause at that moment. The tension on the battlefield was palpable, and the fleeting second that passed felt like eternity. Koda quickly dropped the coat, and everyone held their breath, watching as it settled onto the ground, untouched by further flame or explosion.

Meanwhile, Momo gave you a concerned look, her brow furrowed, her shield still tightly held in her hands. “Are you really alright? That... looked like it hurt,” she said, her voice soft but laden with worry.

You waved her off with a chuckle, trying to shake off the sting in your back. “I’m fine, really. Just... a little more heat than I expected.” You could still feel the burn, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the battle that was still very much in motion.

The tension in the air was thick, like the weight of a storm waiting to break. The snowstorm, which had been both your weapon and shield, continued to swirl, but now it was becoming a frenzy, a storm of your own making, as you pushed your powers to their limits.

Momo's machines roared to life again, but this time, they were in overdrive. She'd instructed them to go wild, and they did. Snow blasted out in sheets, slamming down on Katsuki and Kirishima. The two of them were taken by surprise, caught in the avalanche of ice and snow that left them momentarily disoriented. This was the chance you’d been waiting for.

“Now!” you shouted to Momo, who was already dashing ahead, her own speed unmatched as she leapt through the chaos with the grace of a seasoned fighter.

You followed close behind, your breath heavy with determination as you surged forward, your heart pounding in time with each step. You could see Kirishima, trapped in the snowstorm, still fighting to regain his bearings. 

Without hesitation, you launched yourself toward him again, leaping onto his back as you had before. But this time, there was no hesitation. You slid your hands underneath his shirt, sending a blast of freezing cold through him.

His entire body stiffened at the sudden chill, his muscles tensing under your touch. Kirishima let out a surprised grunt, but you held firm, your grip tight on his torso. You could feel the heat radiating from his body trying to fight against the ice creeping through him, and it was a momentary advantage that you seized with all the strength you had.

But before you could even enjoy the victory, Mina surged forward, her body ablaze with her acidic flames. 

The heat was unbearable, and she quickly melted away Momo’s defenses, turning her shield into nothing but puddles of melted plastic. With a swift move, Mina knocked Momo out of the bounds, sending her sprawling across the field.

Iida immediately called out the disqualification, his voice cutting through the noise like a referee blowing the final whistle. But the sound was barely heard over the roar of Kirishima as he whipped you off his back with a violent toss, sending you flying through the air.

You landed with a soft thud, a laugh escaping your lips as you pushed yourself back to your feet. “Good  show, Kirishima!” you called, a smile crossing your face.

Shoto seized the opportunity. Without missing a beat, he froze Kirishima’s legs, locking the red giant in place just as you had hoped. The icy spikes burst from the ground, wrapping around Kirishima’s lower half, and he froze mid-step.

But just as things seemed to be tipping in your favor, Izuku appeared, charging in from the side, his kick landing squarely in Kirishima’s chest. The force of the blow sent the redhead flying out, and Shoji called out the announcement, marking him as out.

Victory was almost within reach. 

Almost. 

Kirishima wasn’t out at all. With a mighty roar, the red giant broke free of the ice restraints, charging at you with a renewed fury. You could see the raw power in his eyes, his muscles tense, his every movement an unstoppable force. He was coming at you like a freight train, but you weren’t ready to back down—not yet.

Izuku, ever the strategist, had already broken off, turning his attention back to Katsuki, who was still in the middle of his attack. You yelled at Shoto. “Go with him!” you ordered, knowing it would take both of them to handle the dynamo of explosions that was Katsuki.

Shoto nodded, his expression serious as he sprinted off in the direction of Izuku. You turned to face the rapidly advancing Kirishima, the snowstorm around you beginning to feel like a blur. But you had a back up plan.

You dashed over to a cluster of ice blocks, the snow swirling around you as you summoned even more. “Make haste!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the chaos as Kirishima drew nearer. The icy wall rose up between you and him, but you didn’t wait for him to approach. You launched yourself over the barrier, using the ice to propel yourself upward and forward.

At that exact moment, you saw Shinsou and Ayoma pop up, just as planned. Ayoma blinked his dazzling, intense light at Kirishima, blinding him for just a second. 

It was enough.

Kirishima stopped in his tracks, his vision clouded, and that was all Shinsou needed. “Blink for me,” Shinsou’s voice was calm but firm, his quirk taking immediate effect. Ayoma’s eyes glazed over for a moment as Shinsou’s control over him took hold. He blinked, just as Shinsou had commanded. 

And that’s when you pounced.

With one fluid motion, you grabbed Kirishima’s legs, pulling him down to the ground. It was only a momentary distraction, but it was enough for Shinsou to fully take control of him.

Kirishima, now under Shinsou’s influence, turned and began charging at Katsuki, completely unaware of his previous actions. Katsuki watched in stunned silence as his teammate barreled toward him, confusion flashing in his eyes.

And then—chaos.

Izuku’s scream sliced through the air like a knife, panic rising in your chest as you whipped around. The scene unfolded with startling speed—Mina, a wicked grin on her face, had launched a new form of attack,

 An 'acid' snowball. 

It exploded against Izuku with a sickening hiss, the acid beginning to eat through his costume. His face twisted in pain, and you wasted no time.

"Shinsou!" you shouted, urgency in your voice. "Escort Ayoma out of bounds to cease his suffering!" 

You barely heard his affirmative as you surged toward Izuku, the snow beneath you crunching with each step. You summoned a blast of cold, freezing the acid in Mina’s hands just before she could hurl another attack.

With a quick movement, you gathered the power to throw a snowball, launching it at Mina's neck. The impact was immediate, and she stumbled back, her face a mix of surprise and anger as she fell to the ground. You rushed to Izuku’s side, grabbing one of her arms, your hands quick and efficient as you pulled her off him and began to freeze her. 

“COLD! COLD!”

Izuku, gasping for breath, stumbled to his feet as together, you pulled Mina out of bounds, just as Iida’s voice echoed through the arena, calling her out.

But the chaos didn’t stop. 

The moment you thought the danger had passed, you turned to see Katsuki and Kirishima locked in a violent struggle, their power struggling against each other. Shoto, doing his best to keep the situation from escalating into something worse, was struggling to hold the two back. You felt the ground rumble beneath you as explosions punctuated the scene.

"Lighten the fall!" you barked, directing your focus on the storm that had been your ally. You felt the snow above soften, the weight of it lifting just enough for you to see clearly once more.

But then, the worst happened.

Mina, not fully subdued, was back on her feet faster than you expected. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she threw a punch straight into Izuku’s chest, knocking the air out of him. Before you could react, she kicked him hard, sending him sprawling over the line, her victory a sharp contrast to the tenderness you’d felt just moments ago.

You screamed in desperation, reaching out for Izuku’s hand as he slid past the boundary, calling out to you with a voice full of pain and determination. 

"Empress!" he yelled, his eyes locked onto yours as his hand nearly brushed against yours.

But before you could make the distance, strong arms wrapped around your waist, dragging you backward. 

Kicking and struggling against the hold, you twisted in Shinsou’s grip, realizing what he was doing. He pulled you back, his voice stern in your ear. 

“You know the penalty,” he reminded you with a hint of reprimand. “Touching someone out of bounds is probably against the rules.”

Iida was already marching over, his stern gaze focused on you both. He called out, marking Mina and Izuku as out, his voice the final nail in the coffin.

Izuku, though clearly shocked, didn’t stay down for long. He was helped up by Sato, a supportive hand on his shoulder. Mina, apologetic, rushed over, her face full of remorse as she helped him stand. Izuku, ever the optimist, smiled despite the bruises and the burns, and began gushing about her hand-to-hand combat skills. 

“That was insane, Mina! I didn’t even see that coming!” he said, his enthusiasm infectious as they walked together toward Ochako and Tsu for bandages.

You turned back to the battle, feeling the tight knot of concern twisting in your gut. Shoji’s voice rang out, announcing the final two minutes of the match.

You bolted forward, not willing to let the others fall apart now.

You and Shinsou arrive just in time to see Katsuki about to launch his next attack, his eyes narrowed and focused solely on Shoto, ready to unleash another explosive blast. Your heart pounded in your chest as you rushed forward, throwing yourself between Shoto and the impending danger. 

With a desperate surge, you snatched Shoto out of harm's way, pulling him hard against your chest and leaping out of the blast radius just as the explosion rang out. The shockwave reverberated through your body as the ground beneath you cracked from the force of the blast.

You felt the heat of the explosion wash over you, a fleeting burn that you barely noticed compared to the adrenaline coursing through your veins. For a split second, you thought you'd managed to save him, but the momentary sense of victory was short-lived.

The next turn of events, however, was something none of you could have anticipated.

Kirishima, still locked in battle with Shinsou’s mental command, stopped dead in his tracks. His muscles, usually so full of life, tensed. He blinked, as though shaking off a haze, but then, instead of obeying Shinsou's command, his body began to harden with alarming speed. You barely had time to react before his massive hand shot out and grabbed you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

“Sorry,” Kirishima whispered, his voice surprisingly gentle as his hardened grip clamped down around your torso. You barely had time to register his words before you were jerked through the air, the speed and force of his movements making your stomach drop, breaking your hold on Shoto.

Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening too late. “Kirishima!” you gasped, trying to wriggle free, but his hold on you was unbreakable.

And then, to your horror, you saw Shoto—falling, caught in the full force of Katsuki’s explosion.

The blast hit Shoto directly, and you watched in helpless agony as the explosion engulfed him. The sheer heat of the attack made the air shimmer, the snow around you turning into steam. For a heartbeat, everything went still.

Katsuki’s eyes locked on you, and in that moment, everything fell silent. 

You had lost your grip on Shoto, a momentary lapse as you realized just how badly the situation had shifted. 

It was all too late.

Kirishima’s hold on you tightened, and the chaos of the battlefield blurred around you, the future uncertain as you were forced to watch the disaster unfolding before you.

The frigid air burned your lungs as the weight of the moment pressed down on you. Your anger, a burning fire beneath the ice-cold surface of the snow-covered battlefield, surged within you, pulsing with the urgency of a thousand untold stories. Kirishima’s grip on you was tight, unrelenting, but in that instant, you knew it would break.

With a defiant twist, you threw your head back, the motion swift and desperate, your skull colliding with his nose. A sickening crack echoed in the silence of the snow-dusted park. He staggered back with a grunt, releasing you just as you summoned the ice, the chill of your power freezing his form, encasing him in a wall of solid frost that captured him effortlessly.

The snow around you seemed to hold its breath as you dropped to your knees, the cold biting at your skin as you cradled Shoto's head in your lap. The weight of him against you, so familiar, so loved, made your heart ache. His breathing was shallow at first, ragged from the blast, but you could feel the steady thrum of his pulse, the warmth of his skin beneath your hand.

You traced the lines of his face gently, your fingertips brushing against the coolness of his skin. Those eyes—the ones you cherished so deeply, the ones that had once glimmered with quiet confidence, now hazy with the remnants of the explosion—fluttered open, meeting your gaze. His lips parted, a soft apology escaping him, but you stopped him with a gentle shush, pressing your forehead to his.

"You fought bravely for me, Shoto," you whispered, the words a soothing balm for his troubled heart. "You did everything right. You acted with honor. Unlike him."

You raised your gaze to Katsuki, who was sitting comfortably encased in ice, seemingly unaffected by the trap you had set for him. He smirked at you, his posture arrogant, almost smug as he crossed his arms. He let out a low, mocking laugh and spoke in harsh tones, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Always the hero, aren’t you? Always coming to the rescue of your baby brother.” 

“Too bad it’s also your folly.”

The bite in his words made your blood run cold, and you glared at him, the ice beneath you crackling as your anger surged again, sharper this time. You weren’t going to let him insult your honor—or your love for Shoto.

You snapped your fingers, the sharp sound echoing in the otherwise still park, and in an instant, Hitoshi’s ice dagger was flying through the air. It sliced through the air like lightning, the sharp edge meeting Katsuki’s cheek, leaving a thin red line where the ice scraped him, a symbol of his defiance. He winced but didn’t flinch—his smirk remained, 

The arrogant bastard.

"That is enough chatter out of you," you growled, your voice a low and dangerous hum in the cold, snowy air.

“Ahem.”

The sound was unexpected, pulling your attention away from the frozen scene in front of you. You turned, your gaze shifting to the newcomers. Sero, Sato, and Ayoma, standing nearby. Their expressions were a mixture of concern, admiration, and caution. They’d arrived just in time, but you didn’t have time to waste.

You gently untied your scarf from your neck, the fabric soft against your fingertips as you wrapped it around Shoto’s hands, tying it carefully to keep them warm. You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering for a moment as you whispered a prayer for his safety.

"Go," you urged, your voice soft but firm, your hands brushing his hair back as you sent him off with a nod.

Shoto, still groggy but steady enough to stand, gave you one last look of gratitude before he left, aided by the boys. They would get him to safety, out of the bounds of the match, and you knew they’d protect him with everything they had.

As you rose to your feet, the park around you seemed to shrink in the distance. The snow had begun to fall heavier now, a soft flurry that blurred the world into a hazy vision of white and grey. The sky was still overcast, casting a dim light over the whole scene. The landscape was a blur of snow-covered trees, frozen ponds, and the distant sounds of muffled movement as your classmates struggled to recover from the chaos of the battle.

The weight of the moment settled over you. This had started as a game. A simple rivalry. 

But now, it was personal.

You held yourself tall, letting your posture straighten, the regal air of an empress seeping into your very bones. Your heart beats with a dangerous resolve, the fire inside you burning brighter than the frozen landscape around you. You weren’t just fighting for your people anymore. You were fighting for everything they Shoto stood for, for the honor that Katsuki had long forgotten.

The battlefield was quiet for a heartbeat. The snow was falling steadily now, covering the ground, coating the trees, and obscuring everything in the pale grey wash of winter. The world felt cold, detached, and far away, but your mind was focused on one thing.

You were going to teach your husband a lesson. One he would never forget.

And as you raised your chin high, meeting the eyes of the one who had insulted your family, you whispered, “This ends now.”

The tension in the air hung heavy as Iida’s voice rang out, cutting through the cold silence that had enveloped the field. 

"Time!" he declared, his voice firm, authoritative, and final. 

"The battle is over. This match ends in a draw."

A chorus of boo’s erupted from the bleachers, the sounds echoing through the snow-filled park. Disappointment rippled through the group, the heat of the battle fading into the quiet aftermath. You took a deep breath, your eyes flicking briefly to Kirishima, who stood there, stiff as a statue, waiting for any sign of acknowledgment. You didn’t give him the satisfaction. Your eyes slid past him, the coldness of your expression unwavering as you walked towards your subjects, your loyal comrades.

Your footsteps crunched through the snow as you moved, the sight of everyone huddled together, chatting and laughing, warming your heart despite the chill in the air. They were no longer pretending to be the war-torn soldiers they once were, the echoes of the ‘snow war’ finally starting to fade. They were simply friends again, a family bound by shared experiences and memories. You smiled softly at the scene, grateful for the laughter, the relief, and the camaraderie that filled the space.

But Kirishima’s voice broke through, his tone full of regret and pleading. “Empress,” he called out, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. “I—I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean it. I—”

You turned away from him without a word, ignoring his attempt to make amends, your attention fully on the group ahead. Denki, ever the cheeky one, chimed in from the side, his voice as playful as always, though laced with a dramatic flair. "He should be tried for treason!" he declared, his hand making an exaggerated gesture in the air. 

“For the insult to our royal honor! To her excellency!”

The air between the group seemed to lighten with his words, the tension of the battle slipping into a more playful, almost medieval atmosphere. Hitoshi, standing slightly apart from the group, his eyes never leaving Katsuki as he stood isolated, spoke up, his voice teasing, but with a hint of insight. 

“He kinda looks lonely over there, doesn’t he?” His words were playful, but there was an undercurrent of truth. Katsuki was still encased in ice, looking almost pitiful in his defeat, as if the heat of his explosions couldn’t thaw the chill in his heart.

You glanced over to where Katsuki stood, his arms crossed, his smirk gone. His icy demeanor seemed almost self-imposed as he watched you, and for a brief moment, you felt a flicker of sympathy. But you quickly squashed it, the fire of your pride burning hotter.

“It’s his own doing,” you muttered under your breath, the words harsh but necessary, your gaze hardening as you turned back to your friends, to your family.

A soft voice called your name from behind, pulling your attention. You turned to see Shoto sitting up from where he had been lying in the snow with Izuku and Mina. His usual calm demeanor was evident, though a playful grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “It’s alright, Sis,” he said, the hint of teasing in his voice. 

“It was all just dramatics. I’m fine.”

Izuku, who had been sitting beside him, gave a thumbs up with a grin. Mina, her usual fiery self, looked at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Just a little bit of extra flair for the show.” She waved it off, clearly not bothered by the near explosion she’d witnessed.

The sound of their laughter was like music to your ears, and you couldn’t help but smile, the weight of the battle lifting from your shoulders. Shoto was indeed fine. No lasting harm done. Just the theatrics of the moment, designed to add some spice to the otherwise quiet end.

You walked towards them, your stride confident and regal, the snow beneath your boots crunching as you made your way. “I should’ve known better,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Always the dramatics with you all.”

Kirishima, still standing off to the side, looked on in silence, but his eyes softened as he watched you approach the others. His words of apology still hung in the air, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything just yet. Instead, you joined your friends, your subjects, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could truly relax, basking in their warmth and joy.

They had your back. You had theirs.

So….

“Oh, do not look so downtrodden,” you say with a teasing smile, reaching out to Kirishima. Before he can fully process your words, you wrap your arms around the big guy and pull him into a playful hug, leaning back slightly to sway him with you. His eyes widen in surprise, but the relief washing over his face is immediate. 

“All is forgiven, Sir Kirishima,” you add warmly, patting his shoulder for emphasis.

The air shifts instantly, the tension melting like the snow under the bright sun. The rest of the group cheers and hollers, clapping and laughing at the display of forgiveness. Denki pumps his fist in the air, shouting something about, “Cheers for the Empress’s heart,” while Mina dramatically wipes an imaginary tear. Even Hitoshi offers a faint smirk, twirling one of the remaining ice daggers in his hand before letting it fall harmlessly to the ground.

The joyful noise quiets as Momo raises a hand, her posture as graceful as ever despite the chill. She’s still wrapped up with Jirou, who looks equally intrigued by what’s to come. 

“My lady,” Momo begins, her voice carrying a regal tone that matches the medieval atmosphere you’ve all conjured. 

“What shall you do when you face off against your husband?”

You pause, tilting your head thoughtfully. The group leans in, their breath visible in the frosty air as they await your response. Then, as if struck by inspiration, you grin widely, the kind of grin that hints at mischief.  “Momo,” you say, your voice rich with excitement, 

“Would you tailor me a cherry red robe? I have a plot stewing.”

The circle tightens as everyone huddles together, their curiosity piqued. The snow crunches softly beneath your boots as you step closer to Momo, who nods in acknowledgment, already mentally sketching out the design. Whispered plans ripple through the group like a shared secret, the buzz of excitement building. Even Shoto, still lounging in the snow next to Izuku and Mina, leans in with interest, his dual-toned eyes gleaming with intrigue.

While you’re immersed in your plotting, Katsuki moves.

The ice encasing him begins to shift subtly. Unbeknownst to anyone, he’s been melting the interior into warm water for some time now, the heat from his palms steadily eating away at his frozen prison. With a sharp crack, the last layer shatters, and he steps out, steam rising from his skin as if he were a fiery god emerging from the snow.

Katsuki doesn’t announce himself, nor does he storm over to disrupt your plans. 

Instead, he stands there, watching the scene before him. The corners of his mouth tug downward into a slight frown, but the emotion behind it isn’t anger—it’s something more subdued, almost wistful. He folds his arms across his chest, his crimson eyes locked on you.

He tells himself it doesn’t bother him. The group huddled around you, the way they gravitate toward your leadership, the way they laugh so freely in your presence—it’s fine. He doesn’t need their approval or attention. But…

Katsuki’s gaze softens slightly, lingering on you. He watches the way you smile, the way you effortlessly bring everyone together, your laughter bright and contagious even in the freezing cold. He remembers the first time he saw that smile, in this very park, no less. It was below -28°C that night, the bitter chill biting at every inch of exposed skin. UA’s curfew was long past, but you had both braved the icy weather, sitting side by side on the old swings. He hadn’t cared about the snow then, or the cold. 

All he could think about was how beautiful you looked, your cheeks flushed from the chill, your eyes alight with wonder as you gazed up at the night sky.

Katsuki hadn’t been looking at the stars that night. He’d been looking at you. That was the moment he’d known—you were it for him. 

The only one.

So yeah, it actually stung a little to see you so engrossed with the rest of the class while he stood off to the side. It hurts more than he’d like to admit to be excluded, to feel like the outsider when he is yours. And the cut on his face from Hitoshi’s ice dagger? 

That wasn’t just a sting; it was an insult. 

But he wasn’t about to say any of that.

Instead, he smirked to himself, his trademark cocky grin returning as his crimson eyes gleamed with a familiar spark. If you wanted to band together with these extras and plot against him, fine. Let them have their moment. He’d remind you who your true loyalty was with soon enough.

His smirk deepened as he thought about you—his wife, his empress. 

The woman who always made sure he wore that he was bundled up in this kind of weather, even when he grumbled about it. The woman who fussed over him endlessly, whether it was over a scraped hand or a missed meal, despite his protests and rough words. 

The queen who knew exactly how he liked his coffee—strong, no sugar—and made it for him every morning without fail, just because she wanted him to start his day right. The princess who listened to his rants, no matter how long or loud, and never made him feel like he was too much to handle. The peach who could calm the storm inside him with a single touch, a soft word, or that crooked smile of hers that he swore could knock him out harder than any villain ever could.

The lady who laughed at his terrible jokes—because yes, he did have a sense of humor, damn it—and never let him forget that he was more than just a hero. The one who made their house feel like home, filling it with warmth, love, and a softness he never knew he needed until she was there. The person who always saw the best in him, even when he was too stubborn to see it in himself, and somehow made him want to be better every single day.

And perhaps most importantly, the woman who loved him fiercely, unconditionally, and with a depth that left him breathless. The one who made him believe that he deserved all of it—her care, her warmth, her love—even on the days when he doubted himself the most. The spirit who somehow made freezing winter days feel warm and bright just by existing in them, her presence chasing away the bitter chill like the sun breaking through the clouds.

The girl who somehow made his heart feel safe and warm and light just by being here.

Katsuki glanced down at the snow beneath his boots, kicking at it absentmindedly. 

Whatever. If you wanted a war, you’d get one. Katsuki shoved his hands into his pockets, letting the warm steam rise around him. The icy chill in the air didn’t faze him—not when he was already planning how to make you all pay.

Starting with you, his pretty little Empress.

The air seemed to grow colder as you walked to the battlefield, the silk robe Momo had tailored for you brushing against your skin with every step. The snow beneath your feet was pristine now, smooth and unmarred by the chaos of earlier battles. You had taken care to clear the clouds overhead, leaving a serene blue sky in their place. Only Momo and Jirou’s icy igloo castle remained standing, its frosty walls gleaming like a beacon of past victories.

Momo sipped her hot chocolate leisurely, watching you with a quiet smile of encouragement as you excused yourself from the huddle and walked toward the battle lines. Katsuki’s whistle broke the quiet, sharp and appreciative, and then he smirked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Fair empress, thou art so radiant that thy very presence doth make this battle folly. I pray thee, surrender now, and let me claim you as my prize.”

You turned to face him with a raised brow, your expression the perfect balance of disdain and amusement. 

“Thyn words are wasted, husband, for no empress would yield to the likes of thee.” Your voice carried the commanding tone of royalty, each syllable precise and biting.

Katsuki chuckled darkly, shaking his head in amusement. His crimson eyes never left you as he leaned against the hilt of his snow-covered “blade”. Upon closer inspection, it seemed to be the spear Shoto dropped when he was blasted. 

Shoji drew a new line in the snow, and Iida stood between you both like a proper officiant, clipboard in hand. “Are you both ready to begin?” Iida asked, his usual formality unwavering despite the growing tension. You tilted your head, your gaze locking onto Katsuki’s. 

Something felt... off. 

His posture was confident, his smirk as cocky as ever, but his eyes—they betrayed him. They always did. Katsuki could lie to the entire world, but not to you. Never you. The faint flicker of vulnerability was there, hidden behind his usual bravado. You frowned as he broke eye contact, addressing Iida and the rest of your friends instead.

“In truth, I doth understand thy devotion to her grace,” Katsuki said, his voice deep and steady as he slipped fully into the role. He gestured toward you dramatically, his grin sharp. 

“Thy sweet, dear little Empress hath ensnared you all with her charms, as she hath me. I’ll not hold it against thee—nay, if thou dost beg now for my forgiveness, I’ll make thyn executions swift and merciful.”

The group erupted in protest.

Denki was the first to shout, “We will never follow you, demon king!” But the moment Katsuki’s growl rumbled out, Denki vanished behind Mina and Sero with a yelp. Shoto rose from where he had been resting beside Izuku, his mismatched eyes blazing with defiance. 

“We will never bow to you, Katsuki,” he declared, his voice cold as the snow beneath him.

Izuku stepped forward as well, his usual stammer gone. “Our loyalty lies with her grace, the heavenly Snow Empress of the High Court.”

Hitoshi smirked, crossing his arms. “Mother of Snowflakes, Maker of Blizzards, Survivor of the Grotesque Demon King. That’s who we follow.”

You blinked, confusion flickering across your face at the growing list of titles. “Hey!” you shouted at Hitoshi, your glare directed at him for the jab. He simply shrugged, unbothered.

Katsuki, however, took it all in stride. His gaze darkened as he looked at the group, his smirk vanishing into something far more dangerous. 

That murderous glint in his eye promised retribution for their insults.

Before the tension could fully settle, you bent down and grabbed a handful of snow. With a quick flick of your wrist, you sent it flying at Hitoshi, catching him square in the nose and sending him sprawling into the snow. “Watch thy tongue, knave,” you said, unable to hold back the grin tugging at your lips.

Iida cleared his throat loudly, trying to regain control. “As I was saying—the rules for the final match—”

Katsuki raised a hand, cutting him off. “I’ve got a request,” he said. His voice was sharp but calm, drawing everyone’s attention.

You tilted your head, curious and slightly wary. “Speak, consort,” you said with a flick of your hand.

Katsuki smirked, but there was steel behind it. “Whoever wins this final match wins overall,” he said. 

“Forget the first two matches—this one decides everythin’.”

The group collectively gasped.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, and you turned to him fully, your silk robe swaying with the motion. 

“Stop thy jesting,” you said, your tone sharp but tinged with concern.

“’m not the jester, dearest” he replied, his voice low and serious. He cast a pointed look at Denki and Sero, who immediately looked like they wanted to melt into the snow.

“Please, my lady, no!” Toru’s voice rang out, pleading and full of panic.

The others quickly joined in, their voices overlapping as they begged you to refuse. Even Iida and Shoji looked uneasy, though neither spoke against Katsuki directly.

Iida stepped forward hesitantly. “You already have one loss under your belt, my lady. There is no need to risk it all. The final match would have required a duel regardless—”

You tune him out, your mind swirling. You weren’t thinking of strategy, of the group’s loyalty or morale. This wasn’t about the game anymore. You looked at Katsuki, really looked at him. The vulnerability you had seen earlier was still there, faint but undeniable. It wasn’t just about winning for him—this was personal.

After a long pause, you nodded. Decision made.

“I will accept his highness’s petition,” you said, your voice steady. “But only on one condition.”

Katsuki steps closer, his boots crunching in the freshly smoothed snow, his sharp crimson eyes narrowing as he studies you. The rest of the “kingdom” leans in, their collective breaths held as you clear your throat and raise your arms with an air of finality.

“If I am to accept thy terms,” you begin, your voice echoing across the snowy battlefield, “Thou must spare all my people. Thou art to show them nothing but love, compassion, and genuine kindness for the rest of thy days. Shouldst thou falter, I shall take thy life in the dead of night and rule the kingdom myself.”

The entire arena erupts in gasps, the bleachers breaking into a cacophony of cries. Shoji practically stumbles forward, his usual composure gone. 

“My lady, dost thou know the gravity of thy words?!”

Shoto’s voice rises in desperation, icy and steady despite the panic in his eyes. “My empress, no! You cannot!” Even Tsu clutches her hot chocolate so tightly that it nearly spills, her eyes wide with disbelief. Koda squeaks so loud it scars off a family of squirrels. Izuku drops his head, murmuring prayers under his breath, his hands clasped tightly.

“Silence!” you snap, your voice cutting through the chaos with regal authority. 

“My word is final.”

Katsuki’s smirk falters slightly, his brow furrowing as he watches you. You can see the wheels turning in his head, his cocky demeanor giving way to a rare moment of genuine thoughtfulness. For a long moment, he puzzles over your words, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and rasping.

“You would trade your freedom for these simple fools?”

You don’t hesitate. You step closer to him, your silk robe sweeping behind you as you close the gap between you. Tilting your chin up, you meet his sharp gaze with a terrifying calm.

“I would give my life for theirs any day,” you spit, your voice venomous and unyielding. 

For a moment, you consider spitting on the ground at his feet for emphasis, but you stop yourself, sensing something deeper beneath Katsuki’s cold exterior.

He stares at you, his expression unreadable, the sharpness in his features almost unbearable to look at up close. His spiky blond hair catches the sunlight, soft despite the chaos it mirrors, and his vermillion eyes are a storm of emotions—anger, admiration, and something else he’ll never admit out loud. His scarred cheek and strong jawline add to the kingly aura he exudes, a mixture of untamed power and raw, undeniable charisma.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a pang of… something as you took him in. He is your husband after all! The dangerous smile tugging at his lips, the high cheekbones and soft dimples that only you knew how to find, the sharp canine teeth that gleamed whenever he smirked. Even his hard, lean frame in that winter hero uniform screamed dominance and control.

He really does look like a king. 

Too bad about the attitude, though.

Katsuki smiles at last, slow and deliberate, as if savoring your defiance. He nods in acceptance, his voice dripping with amusement. 

“As you wish, my Empress.”

Behind you, the bleachers devolve into chaos.

“NO!” Denki wails dramatically before fainting into Mina’s arms. She barely has time to hold him up before Ojirou and Kida rush in to keep them both from toppling over.

“Whip his ass!” Ochako shouts, her voice filled with determination, though her expression is one of sheer panic. “Fight Queenie! Show him what it means to defy the Snow Empress!” Kirishima yells, his large fists shaking in the air.

You keep your head held high, unmoved by their cries, your focus entirely on Katsuki. His confidence radiates off him like heat, and as much as you hate to admit it, it’s a little intoxicating.

“Thy pride shall be thy undoing,” you say with finality, stepping back to your side of the field.

“Make thy peace, lovely woman,” Katsuki replies, his voice carrying a dark promise. 

“I shall not go easy on thee.”

As Shoji raises his hand to mark the start of the match, you stand tall, refusing to let him see the effect his presence has on you. You’re ready. For your people, for your pride, for the thrill of reminding him just who he’s dealing with.

“Duel!”

With a flourish of energy as you leap back, landing gracefully in the snow, your silk robe catching the light as it fans out behind you. Katsuki shifts into a firm fighting stance, his sharp eyes locking onto you like a predator sizing up its prey. His smirk grows wider, and you can practically feel his ego radiating off him.

Before either of you can make a move, Shoji raises his hands and declares, “No quirks may be used in the first few minutes. Only bare strength and wit!”

A collective groan erupts from the bleachers.

“Come on, Shoji!” Denki shouts, arms flailing. “What’s the point if we can’t see some explosions or ice blasts?”

“Yeah, we’re here for the chaos!” Mina adds, stomping her feet.

Shoji crosses all four of his arms and shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to see anyone else getting hurt. This rule stands.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, suppressing a smirk as Katsuki’s confident expression briefly falters. He tongues the inside of his cheek in frustration before throwing a scowl toward Shoji.

“That is stupid!” Katsuki snarls. “If I can’t use my quirk, what’s the point?”

Iida steps in, adjusting his glasses with an air of finality. “If you are dissatisfied with the rules, you are welcome to forfeit, King Bakugo.”

Katsuki growls, his eyes narrowing into slits as the veins in his neck bulge. 

“Like hell I’ll forfeit.”

You take advantage of the distraction, darting to a pre-prepared stash of snowballs you’d hidden behind Momo and Jirou’s old igloo. Shoji’s rule was perfect for your plan. You grab snowballs packed with pinecones, leaves, sticks, and whatever debris you could find earlier, a devious smile playing on your lips.

Katsuki turns back just as your first volley of snowballs comes flying.

“What the hell?!” he shouts, dodging the first two but getting nailed in the chest by the third. He looks down at the mess of snow and pine needles on his uniform and growls. “You think you’re clever, huh?”

You tilt your head and smirk. “I don’t think. I know.~”

Katsuki scoffs, grabbing handfuls of snow to form his own ammunition. 

“You’re toast, Empress.”

You both make a mad dash to some of Momo’s abandoned snowball machines, the sleek contraption already primed and waiting for a fight. Katsuki immediately starts shoveling snow into the top, his movements aggressive and efficient, while you mirror him on the other side.

“I’ll beseech you points for cunning,” Katsuki grumbles as he works.

“Save your compliments, consort,” you retort, setting your machine to full blast. “You shall require them for your surrender speech.”

The machine whirs to life, snowballs firing out with rapid precision. The battlefield transforms into a chaotic war zone as snowballs fly in every direction, scattering snow and debris across the once-pristine field.

“Thou art no match for my brilliance!” Katsuki taunts in his overly dramatic Shakespearean, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he loads more snow.

“Thy words are as empty as thyn head!” you snap back in your own exaggerated dialect, tossing a particularly well-packed snowball his way. It hits his chin, and the crowd erupts in laughter and cheers.

“Oooooooh!” Denki howls. “Burn!”

“Did you hear that? She’s ruthless!” Mina shouts, clutching Kirishima’s arm as they watch in awe.

You throw a smug look over your shoulder at the crowd, your hands never pausing in their work. 

“I thank thee, my loyal subjects. Thy support warms mine icy heart.”

“Focus, woman!” Katsuki shouts, catching you off guard as a snowball hits you square in the buttcheek.

“Hey!” you protest, brushing snow off your robe. “Thou art supposed to respect thy Empress!”

“Respect this!” he snaps, launching three snowballs in quick succession.

Katsuki doesn't notice as you subtly switch to the snowballs with shards of ice embedded within. While he’s busy loading his snowball machine, you line up your aim, every muscle in your body taut with anticipation. You throw with precision, and the snowball smacks him square in the face, exploding in a satisfying burst of icy snow.

The crowd gasps.

Katsuki freezes, his head tilting slightly as he wipes at his face. For a moment, you panic. 

"Hey, are you okay—"

“Don’t,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. He looks up, a sinister smirk spreading across his face. 

Before you can react, Katsuki barrels forward, closing the gap between you with shocking speed. The crowd erupts into chaos as he grabs you around the waist, hoisting you effortlessly into the air.

“Katsuki!” you shriek, flailing your arms as he pins you close.

“Ya wanna play dirty?” he snarls, his voice dripping with amusement as he shoves a handful of snow down the back of your uniform. The icy shock hits your spine, and you let out an ear-piercing squeal. 

"KATSUKI, YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!"

Your reflexes kick in, and you kick him square in the stomach with enough force to send him flying back a few meters. He lands in the snow, skidding just before reaching the edge of the battlefield.

“I-I almost declared you out of bounds!” Iida calls out, his hand raised in warning.

Katsuki just snarls, shaking the snow from his hair before sprinting back to the center. But you’ve already retreated to the edge of the battlefield, where your friends are crowded around, watching the scene unfold.

“Oi, little Empress!” Katsuki calls out, his voice teasing and mocking as he points a finger at you. “Had enough yet? Ready to forfeit and admit I’m the true ruler?”

You smirk, sticking your tongue out at him and blowing a loud raspberry. 

“Not in a thousand years, Your Majesty.”

Then you turn to Shoto, who stands near the edge with a curious expression. “Sho, come here for a second,” you call sweetly. Shoto tilts his head but obliges, walking over without hesitation. You lean close and whisper something in his ear, and his eyes widen slightly before narrowing in understanding.

Without another word, you begin to strip.

And the crowd collectively loses their minds.

“W-What is she doing?!” Tokoyami yelps, his face turning bright red as he averts his gaze.

“Damn, girl!” Mina cheers, clapping her hands.

Shoto quickly creates a sheet of ice to block the view of your more modest friends, while you stand confidently in nothing but your all-purpose sports bra and boy shorts. Momo rushes over, holding the silk robe she’d made you as a shield for privacy.

“Is this really necessary?” she whispers, her face flushed as she averts her gaze.

“Trust me,” you say, giving her a wink.

Even Shinsou, typically unimpressed by theatrics, lets out a low whistle of appreciation. “Well, that’s one way to make a statement.”

Shoto, ever the protective sibling, freezes Shinsou’s face and Katsuki’s feet in place for a few moments, just long enough to give you a head start. You blow him a quick kiss as thanks before sprinting back to the battlefield at full speed.

“WHAT IS SHE DOING?!” Sato shouts, his voice tinged with panic. Boy so scared that he dropped his croissants. “She’s going to freeze out there!” Aoyama adds, clutching his face in horror. Iida shakes his head. “The rules are the rules. I cannot intervene!” Meanwhile, Ochako and Tsu are chanting loudly, 

“GET HIS ASS! GET HIS ASS!”

Momo, Jirou, and Koda standing off to the side, are clasping their hands together in silent prayer. “Please let this plan work,” Jirou whispers, her eyes wide with worry. Katsuki finally breaks free of the ice binding his feet, his sharp gaze locking onto you as you charge toward him. His expression is a mix of confusion, irritation, and—if you squint hard enough—just the faintest trace of admiration.

“She’s officially lost it,” he mutters under his breath as you close the distance.

But you don’t care. 

You’re all in now, and Katsuki Bakugou is about to find out exactly why you’re the reigning snowball champion. Shoji clears his throat and raises his voice, signaling the resumption of the fight. 

“Combatants! The match shall continue! Hand-to-hand combat is now permitted!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, and you stride confidently back toward Katsuki, your breath misting in the frigid air. Snow crunches beneath your bare feet, and you notice Katsuki watching you with a peculiar intensity.

“Giving up on snowballs, little empress?” he taunts, his smirk as sharp as the cold wind. “What’s the plan now? Slap me to death?” You roll your eyes, closing the distance between you. “Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you, consort?” you fire back, the word dripping with disdain.

The second you’re close enough, you lunge, aiming a swift jab toward his ribs. Katsuki dodges with ease, his movements quick and fluid, and counters with a block that sends a shiver up your arm.

“Hand-to-hand, right?” he mutters, his grin widening. “Finally, somethin’ fun.”

You grit your teeth, throwing a quick combination of punches and kicks. Katsuki meets every move with a calculated deflection, his hand grazing your wrist as he pushes your arm aside. His eyes glint with something unreadable as his gaze locks onto yours, his smirk fading slightly.

You don’t notice at first, but Katsuki does—how the falling snow catches in your hair, shimmering like tiny crystals. Water droplets bead on your skin, snowflakes make a home along your arms and cheeks, making you look as if you’ve been carved out of ice and fire. 

His chest tightens, and for a brief moment, the fight fades into the background.

Katsuki inhales deeply, his voice soft and thoughtful as he mutters in his sharp, ancient tongue, 

“Mine Empress fair, thou look like you were made to be held... pressed against me, your head resting against my heart... my hand running through those locks of yours… my beautiful maiden.”

The way he says it, low and intimate, makes your breath hitch despite yourself. You blink up at him, stunned for just a moment before snapping back to reality.

“You think flattery will spare you, consort?” you sneer, your tone sharp. “You’ve terrorized good innocent people for too long. For that, you will be punished.”

Katsuki leans closer, his grin growing devilish. His voice drops to a teasing whisper, his warm lips brushing against your ear. 

“And what cruel punishment could a good, heavenly Empress like you give to me?”

You smirk, your tone laced with mischief. “Wouldn’t you love to find out?” you whisper back, your lips barely moving. Before Katsuki can react, you pivot sharply, twisting out of his grasp. His hand snaps out instinctively, but instead of grabbing you, all he catches is your cherry red robe.

And then you’re gone.

The entire crowd falls silent, stunned. Katsuki stands there, holding the robe, his head darting left and right as he searches for you. The tension is palpable, the air electric with suspense.

“Where did she go?” Ochako whispers, her eyes wide.

“Is this allowed?” Aoyama asks dramatically, clutching his chest.

“I… I don’t know!” Iida stammers, adjusting his glasses as he frantically flips through the makeshift rulebook Momo made for the snowball fight. Katsuki’s jaw tightens, his crimson eyes scanning the snowy battlefield. He clutches the robe tightly in his fist, his teeth gritted in frustration. 

“Where the hell are you, princess?”

The crowd begins murmuring, the students on the edge of their seats as they wait for your next move. Katsuki, however, stays frozen in place, his expression shifting ever so slightly. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—annoyance, yes, but also amusement. Maybe even admiration.

 Because as much as it drives him insane… he can’t help but respect the hell out of your strategy.

“Over here!~”

The teasing lilt in your voice draws Katsuki’s attention, and he spins around just in time to be met with—WHAM—a fist full of snow straight to the face.

The crowd collectively gasps, then bursts into laughter and cheers. “She got him!” Kirishima exclaims, doubling over with a hand on his stomach. Toru claps her hands together, barely holding herself up against Ojiro, who’s in tears from laughing too hard.

Katsuki stumbles back, snow dripping from his face as his sharp, vermillion eyes blaze with fury. “Oi, you little shit!” he roars, wiping his face as he surveys the battlefield for you.

But you’re gone.

“WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GO?!” His voice echoes across the snow-covered grounds as he prowls, his breath coming out in visible puffs against the freezing air.

Unbeknownst to him, you’ve already begun your plan. While the snowfall earlier had seemed like a clever defensive trick, it was all part of a bigger setup. Every flurry you summoned, every foot of snow that blanketed the field—it was a battlefield crafted just for you.

The Bakugou household might have been a force of raw fire and explosive might, but your family? You were the master of snow and ice, the complete opposite of Touya’s raging flames. Where he burned, you moved with coldness. And now, you were ready to pull your ultimate move—one inspired by none other than Kakashi-sensei himself.

“Looking for me, husband~?” you call out from another direction, but this time Katsuki doesn’t turn around. He stays rooted, glancing sharply from side to side.

“’m not falling for that shit again!” he growls, squaring his shoulders and keeping his guard up.

That’s when you strike.

You burst up from beneath a snowbank behind him, a chunk of leftover ice from Shoto’s earlier handiwork in your hands. With a grunt, you hurl it directly at him, landing a satisfying CRACK against his sexy back.

“GAH—!” Katsuki stumbles forward, spinning around just in time to see you dive back into the snow, vanishing once more like a winter ghost.

The bleachers erupt in chaos. “SHE’S A GENIUS!” Denki howls, nearly toppling over.

“She’s insane!” Momo gasps, clutching her chest, though the admiration in her voice is clear.

“She planned this from the beginning,” Shinsou mutters with a sly grin, his eyes glued to the battlefield.

“I wouldn’t want to fight her in a blizzard,” Kirishima laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head.

Katsuki growls under his breath, his frustration mounting as he stalks the field, searching for any sign of you. But the snow is your playground, and he’s a visitor in your domain. You pop up again, this time pelting him with smaller chunks of snow and ice. Katsuki raises an arm to shield himself, barking curses as he tries to locate your next hiding spot.

“Stand still, damn it!”

“Why would I do that?” you tease, your voice echoing from every direction as you continue to throw. “You’re not fast enough to catch me, consort.”

Katsuki’s patience snaps. He’s really fucking tired of that title. “Alright, that’s it—NO MORE GAMES!” He slams his fist into the ground, the force of the impact sending snow flying in every direction.

But it’s too late. The battlefield is yours, and Katsuki’s steps grow heavier with every move he makes, his frustration boiling over as he tries—and fails—to anticipate your next strike.

You grin, your breath visible as you whisper to yourself, “This is gonna be good.”

Katsuki turns just in time to see you leap out of the snow, charging toward him with a chunk of ice in hand. 

And this time, you’re aiming straight for the crown.

Iida’s voice rings out over the snowy battlefield, his words clear and commanding,

 “Both combatants are now permitted to use their quirks!”

The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and gasps, and you immediately dive back under the snow, disappearing before Katsuki can even react.

“Cowardice!” Katsuki bellows, his palms sparking with fiery explosions. The heat from his blasts instantly begins melting the snow around him, leaving patches of wet, slushy ground in his wake. “You think you can just keep hiding from me?!”

You know better, though. It doesn’t matter how much snow he melts—it’s still freezing. The moisture left behind immediately starts to refreeze, creating an icy battlefield that plays right into your hands. As Katsuki stomps around, you begin tunneling through the snow, heading toward the old “castle” structure that had been built earlier.

You’re focused on your path, moving swiftly and efficiently, but then you hear him—his voice is lower now, quieter, almost… teasing.

“Y’know, you can’t run forever, Empress,” Katsuki calls out, his tone dripping with a strange mix of irritation and amusement.

You pause, just for a moment, your ears perking up.

“Where’d all that big talk go, huh?” he continues, pacing the battlefield with slow, deliberate steps. 

“What happened to ‘punishing me,’ hah? You gonna stay under there forever like some scared little rabbit?”

Your lips twitch into a smirk, but you stay silent, continuing to carve your icy path.

Katsuki’s voice grows softer, almost a purr now, and the change sends a strange thrill down your spine. 

“C’mon, Princess. Don’t tell me you’re too shy to come out and play with me.”

‘Oh, he’s trying to bait me now.’

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips. Unfortunately, the sound echoes through the snow tunnel, and you freeze, cursing under your breath.

“Oh? Did I hear a laugh?” Katsuki’s voice is sharper now, and you can practically hear the smirk on his face. 

“You think this is funny, huh? You gonna giggle when I drag your little ass outta there?”

You bite your lip, your heart racing as you tunnel faster. The “castle” is just up ahead, and you’re almost there when you hear him again, closer this time.

“You’re lucky I think you’re cute, or I’d already have blown your little snow fort to pieces,” he says casually, like it’s just another fact of life.

You stop dead in your tracks, your eyes widening as heat rises to your cheeks. Did he just—

“Yeah, you heard me,” Katsuki says, his tone smug. “What? You thought I didn’t notice? You’re out here all icy and badass, but you think I don’t see how pretty you look with snow in your hair?”

You groan softly, covering your face with one hand as you try to collect yourself. 

‘Focus, focus! Don’t let him get in your head!’

You erupt from the snow with the precision of a predator, smashing a massive chunk of ice into Katsuki’s chest. The impact sends him sprawling onto the ground, a startled growl escaping his lips. The crowd gasps as you waste no time dashing toward the igloo-like structure that had been built earlier.

The moment you slip inside, the world grows quieter. 

The walls of the makeshift igloo muffle the shouts of your friends outside, leaving you surrounded by a tense, eerie silence. It’s surprisingly spacious inside, though the scattered playground equipment—jungle gyms, swings, and slides—creates a chaotic maze of obstacles.

You dart through the labyrinth, your breath visible in the frigid air as you scramble to find a good hiding spot. Finally, you spot a large tube at the far end of the igloo and slide inside, pressing your body against the cold plastic. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as you try to steady your breathing, willing yourself to stay calm. You can hear him now. Katsuki’s boots crunch against the frozen ground as he steps inside the igloo, his movements slow and deliberate. He’s not rushing—he doesn’t need to. 

You’re trapped in here with him, and he knows it.

“Empress,~” he calls out, his voice low and smooth, laced with that dangerous, teasing edge. He switches to the old tongue, the words rolling off his tongue like silk. “Ya cornered yourself. What now, hmm?”

You press your lips together, holding your breath as his voice echoes through the space. The way he says your title, the way he draws it out—it’s almost hypnotic, and you hate how easily it gets under your skin.

“Running away again? Not very queenly of you,” Katsuki taunts, his footsteps crunching closer. “

Yer making this too easy. You know I’m gonna find you, right? There’s nowhere to hide.”

His tone grows sweeter, more dangerous, and you can practically feel the smirk on his face.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll make sure to keep you warm once I catch you. Wouldn’t want you freezing to death before I can claim my prize.”

You clench your fists, trying to ignore the way his words send a shiver down your spine. ‘Focus,’ you tell yourself. ‘He’s just trying to mess with you. Don’t let him get in your head.’

The sound of his boots grows louder, closer. He’s circling now, like a predator stalking its prey, and your heart pounds in your chest.

“You know,” he muses, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “I like this game. Just you and me, no audience, no rules.” He pauses, and you hear him chuckle softly. “I wonder how long you can keep hiding before you slip up. Or maybe…” 

“You want me to catch you?”

You grit your teeth, the heat rising to your cheeks as his words sink in. The nerve of him—assuming you’d want to lose this on purpose! You shake your head, determined to prove him wrong.

The tube feels colder against your back as you lie completely still, hoping the darkness hides you well enough. He’ll have to crawl through a maze of equipment to get to you, and with his broad shoulders and sheer size, it’ll slow him down. At least, that’s what you’re banking on.

“C’mon, Empress,” Katsuki calls out again, his voice closer now. “You can’t hide forever. Make it easy on yourself and come out.”

The sound of his boots stops suddenly, and the silence is deafening. You hold your breath, straining to listen for any sign of movement. Then, softly, he speaks again, his tone dripping with mockery and amusement. 

“What’s the matter? Afraid of what’ll happen when I catch you?”

You can’t help but smirk despite yourself. ‘Afraid?’ Not a chance. If anything, he should be afraid of what you’ve got planned next. 

You’re lying in the tube, heart pounding in your chest as you wait. You had calculated every possible move he might make. The bottom. Of course, he’d come from the bottom. But the plan falters spectacularly when a pair of strong, warm hands grab you—from above.

“Gotcha, Empress!” 

@willnetries, I passed out like 12 times but your food is ready! <33

Part 2 is right here

This was my first time trying to write the whole of class 1a into a fic and I need to lay down.

I DON'T OWN THE IMAGES!!!!

My requests are free and open.

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz,

Master lists in question: Katsuki's Sugar baby, Katsuki's Ex who secretly had his baby

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more Katsuki, Aizawa, and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too.

You can also tip me a coffee if you want. (Just made it, so excited! \(≧▽≦)/ <33)

Remember: Comments and likes, they really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ -Angie

[luvrodite]

lover, be good to me. jason todd [3.4k]

synopsis. in the third summer of your love, you get sick.

cw. gn!reader, sickfic, mental health issues, descriptions of weight fluctuation, angst, hurt/comfort. medication. this one is a bit heavy so please exercise discretion. written from the perspective of chronic illness but nothing is specified beyond discussion of mental health symptoms.

There’s a ghost that lives in your home.

This thing lives between you and Jason, a haunting in every room, a presence you can’t not feel. You feel its baleful eyes on you in dreams and upon waking, strongest in the winter, when the East Coast chill sinks its teeth into your arms hard enough to reach bone. 

It goes like this: sometime in the third summer of your love, you get sick. There isn’t anything to point to what it is exactly, only that one June morning you don’t get out of bed. It’s nothing until it is, the next several weeks spent making a home in the four walls of your shared bedroom. 

A flip switches seemingly overnight, and you’re further from your lover than you’ve ever been. 

Jason - and the part of you that knows better, dormant now, buried beneath the rubble - watches in mute horror as you bring yourself to ruin. The desire to be good, the control you’ve held over yourself, slips free of your grasp in seconds. Invisible threads are picked at until you’re frayed at the ends and your beloved home, this reprieve the two of you had as good as built from the ground up, falls victim to it. 

You pick fights. You slam doors and hide in the bathroom for hours on end. You want to scream yourself hoarse, your fingers itching for violence, longing to shatter something if only to give life to this sickness that lives in you, as if by breaking, you’ll cast it out. The exorcism does not come, but a cloying feeling sits beneath your skin, strangling, blood sitting stagnant in your veins and rotting. 

There are moments of clarity, when you lift your head from the haze and the gravity of all you’ve done barrels into you like a freight train. Those do not last long, invisible hands pulling you back under before you can correct your course. It's as though you take the backseat, replaced by something entirely that takes the controls, watching in mute horror as you destroy everything around you.

Jason gives it back just as good but even then, even in the anger, there’s something else in his eyes. You catalogue it, feeling as though your very soul has split – it’s the you from before that weeps at this, reaching out for your lover in prostration, begging for forgiveness. The being that lives in you now, volatile, ever shifting like a burning flame, burns too bright to feel shame. He is there, and he loves you – enough to bear the brunt of your pain, apparently. Shards of shrapnel, your anger is explosive and shatters everything in its wake. It cares not for sentiment, for history and love. You hurt, and it is blinding. 

The doctor’s appointment is booked far later than it ought to be, after weeks of tumultuousness that have left a dour cover over your home, seeping through the cracks in the walls and into the surrounding apartments. Your neighbours must loathe you. You’re too detached, too selfish to care.

The night before is the most clear headed you’ve felt all month, haze lifting as if to show you – look what you’ve done, look at all you’ve wrought. The devastation floors you, the grief you’ve caused to the one you love most curdles your blood and you weep in Jason’s arms. Knelt before him, you press your wet face into his lap. 

I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll try to be better, I’m sorry. 

You can barely breathe through your tears, broken hearted, sure you must be dying. Has anyone ever felt such grief, you wonder, and the thought is immediately followed by a tidal wave of self loathing. Selfish, so focused on your own misgivings. This is no way to live.

He tells you he loves you and it feels like a kindness you don’t deserve. Too good a man for you, an exhaustion from the last month lines his features. The thought terrifies you, that you’ve veered too close to the precipice of forever splintering him, that under your hand he knows other, less gentle things. Yours has not been a peaceful love as of late, and you wonder if this will be the straw that breaks his back.

In the waiting room, his hand finds yours. A good man, one you do not deserve. He doesn’t let go. Not when your name is called, not when you tell your doctor what’s been happening.

You hope, foolish, desperate thing that you are, that they’ll offer a quick fix. It’s laughable, but the soft turn of the doctor’s gaze makes your stomach twist. So begins the year of doctor’s visits.

You become very familiar with waiting rooms, sterile rooms and the low buzz of the news channel playing on TVs, pale walls and water coolers, paper cups shredded in your lap. 

The first shrink you talk to is, at first, the answer to all your problems – Jason balks at it, in the beginning, and you hear him muttering to his brother on the phone but he doesn’t breathe a word of it to you. If it helps you, that’s all that matters. The man listens. He understands how hard things are and how your hurt is poisoning you. He makes the right noises and his cardigan lends him an air of sincerity, brown eyes framed by thick glasses that in the glare of the light feel kind, almost like kinship.

You’re desperate for a solution, even if it means taking the prescription pills that after about a week, leave you with hands that shake violently anytime you raise them, shedding too much weight, way too fast. The insomnia comes next, and then the pills that are meant to fix that. Orange, smaller than the nail on your little finger. The tremors do not go away, but in settles a new drowsiness, bringing with it vivid dreams that feel terrifyingly lifelike. You wake in a sheen of sweat to the already awake gaze of your boyfriend, eyes wide and wary, hands finding yours in the dark, whispering reassurances when you cry again. 

How many tears have you spent this year, and how many have you subjected him to?

His kindness feels like a balm over your jagged edges, and you shake your head when he first tentatively suggests that the medicine isn’t working. You’re determined to stick to your vow. You love him, you need to get better. You can’t keep living like this, can’t do the fits of rage, can’t do the mood changes. You can’t keep hurting the both of you.

Still, sleep evades you, a cruel thing dancing out of reach even when you’re told to double down on the dose. The dreams only worsen, virulent hues of fluorescent greens and red, blood and viscera on your hands. 

It feels like a condemnation when Jason mutters one night, after you’ve woken from yet another dream, body stiff with fright and reaching out for him, less hesitant now in the face of your tears, “This isn’t working.”

Bitterly, you find you can’t argue with him. Worse, you’ve shelled out a horrifying amount of money simply to vent to a yes-man. The pills are disposed of in the morning and another appointment scheduled.

Back in the waiting rooms, back to discussing other, not-shrink options, Jason’s hand finds yours once more. You watch the news, watch tired parents wrangle their sick children, watch the colourful plastic toys. 

“I hate this,” you whisper, leaning into his side. 

You’ve been unwell for a month and then some, by now. The waiting room feels like a taunt – you are sick, you are suffering. The sickness festering in you, the rot you can’t explain, makes you feel smaller than ever, frail in a way you haven’t known before. 

Before, you used to like that Jason was so much bigger than you, that he could protect you. This, though, he cannot save you from, a fact you’re sure frustrates him just as much as your weakness does you. There is the anger, of course, but there is also fear. What is to become of you now? Your life, through your failing health, has been torn from you. You feel robbed, feel a distinctly you-shaped loss in your frame that leaves you teetering on a precipice. How quickly things had taken a turn, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Jason sighs, turning to press his mouth against your hairline. “I know. I know, baby.”

You’re sent off with forms for another blood test. Maybe it’s something different, and there burns a beacon of hope. It is also entirely possible you’ll spend another six months on medication that doesn’t work. 

You don’t care for this. There is a hopelessness and vulnerability to feeling sick that you do not care for, catching sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror and doctor’s office scales and fluctuating weight – you begin to turn your head away from the numbers at this point like you're being stuck by a needle, meeting your lover’s eye while the doctor takes his notes and finding comfort in teal irises, in the small grin he gives you when you’ve done something he thinks to be brave. You don’t care for any of it, but you must. For him. 

He hasn’t breathed a word of contention to you – a good man – but you know it weighs on him. You’ve woken once or twice in the night to find him watching over you, something in his eyes like he fears you’ll slip away, a hand always in yours, or holding you close to him. 

Guilt, ever-cutting, roils in your stomach. The anger cedes these days to make way for it, and your eyes burn, shame becoming a familiar friend.

“I’ve put you through the wringer, haven’t I?” you whisper on one of these nights. He blinks, unaware you’ve woken, and it speaks to how tired he must be that he’d not noticed, too lost in his thoughts to feel your eyes on him.

He cradles your jaw tenderly with one hand, kissing your temple. “No more than I’ve worried you.”

It’s true that you’ve faced your own set of troubles with him. Still, it feels distinctly different – his anger had been the product of fear, a genuine terror at the thought of letting you get too close. There’s decay in you, one you aren’t sure has entirely left, despite your placidity these days. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologise and he narrows his eyes, but you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “You’re a good man.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he grumbles. “Obviously I’m going to fuckin’ look after you.”

Do I deserve it? You think.

“Wish you’d let me do the same for you,” you whisper, instead. It’s a truth you’ve often spoken, but feels like a lie in this moment, a deflection of your feelings. Guilt, once more, settles on your tongue, cloying against your tastebuds.

He kisses you sweetly, and you wonder if he can taste it. Something in the slant of his lips tells you he knows. How could he not? Once, twice, he brushes his mouth over yours. Chaste, loving. “Just get better. Then, maybe. I’ll consider it.”

Your eyes burn, fear like the tide, washing in once more. “What if–” your breath hitches, a lump forming in your throat.

“What?” His voice is soft, encouraging.

“What if it isn’t–if I don’t–” you can’t make out the words. The pad of his fingers brush over your lips.

“You will,” Jason whispers, voice thick. His eyes are bright in the dark, you realise, horrifyingly, sapphires covered in a sheen of liquid. “You will, ‘cause you promised me. And I’m holding you to it.”

You hear it for what it is – I’m here. I’m here and I’m not letting go of you. Don’t let go of me.

He’s asked for so little. Good men are rare to find in Gotham and you’ve got the best of them. You reach up and clutch his wrist, hands turning until your fingers slot comfortably between each other. 

“Okay,” you tell him, and you know he knows. I’m going to get better. 

The diagnosis comes eventually. In your relief, there is also bitterness. Another step forward, it still feels entirely too late. It should have come before, you think. Before you’d taken a sledgehammer to your love, before you’d fractured yourself and Jason from the inside out, before you’d put scars where there had been none, invisible lacerations lining the walls of your chest.

The medication – pills, pills, always pills – is difficult to adjust to at first. It leaves you short of breath, and more anxious, reaching for Jason to ground you. You cry a lot and though it isn’t anything new, there’s a misery in Jason’s eyes that only makes you weep more. You want to be okay again. You want to smile at him without the weight of all you’ve done, without knowing you’ve made him cry when he thinks you’re asleep, tears bleeding silently into the space of the pillowcase above your head. You want to go back so bad it makes your hands shake.

You lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Jason, on his side, brushes a finger over the swell of your cheek.

“Can I say something.”

You hum, sliding your eyes over to him. He gives you a tentative smile - the barest quirk of his lips. 

“Maybe I’m being hopeful, I don’t know,” he mutters, eyes tracing the slope of your nose. “Tell me to shut up if I start talking too much.”

This bashfulness makes you laugh a little. It’s so much like before, and you ache for it. For a moment, you can pretend nothing bad has happened, that the two of you are just in love and home. 

(You wonder if you will always be reaching for before. If you’ll ever get it back, if you’ll always long for it. You wonder if Jason does too.)

“What?” you breathe out.

“Think the meds are working.”

Your breathing shallows and you blink at Jason. Hope is a fickle thing, and it feels tremulous, dancing just before your fingers, as if coaxing you to reach out. You trust him more than anyone in the world, but you’re scared to hope. “What?”

His knuckle brushes over your cheek. “You don’t look as tired.”

You avert your eyes. “Maybe I’m just sleeping better.” Tell me. I’m selfish, I know, but tell me I’m doing better. I need to hear it from you.

He shakes his head, and you quietly marvel at the bloom of pleasure in his face, a contentment you haven’t seen in months in the crease around his eyes. “It’s not that.”

The doctor confirms this when you go back a few weeks later and Jason, so like himself for a brief moment, meets your eyes over the man’s head and mouths, I told you. You bite back a grin, still wary, barely out of the woods. 

“You’ve gained weight,” the doctor says when he gets you on the scale, and he sounds so pleased the sound shoots straight through to your heart, flintstone striking a light, kindling hope for the first time in months. You look down to the numbers flashing back at you, to your lover – but he’s already watching you, eyes creased in silent pleasure. 

You are the last to accept this tentative beginning to peace, to healing, but he waits for you at the threshold, hand outstretched. 

There is no tangible evidence of the destruction you’ve wrought in your home but it lingers, even as you begin the slow crawl out of the woods. You see it in the lines of your lover’s face. There are corners of the room you cannot bear to look at for the first few months following your appointment, too reminiscent of words you’d bellowed in a rage induced haze, captive to your own body. 

This history is one too fresh, too tender to accept just yet, wounds still pink and raw. You cannot face yourself yet. There is too much to do, too much work to do, too much at stake to jeapordise if you slip and fall now.

But Jason is a good man. Much better than you think you deserve – but he’s said the same about you, so perhaps…just maybe…you think it might even out. 

He doesn’t shy away from the worst bits of you, the ugliness you’ve bared to him does not run him off, not like how you flinch from it. You made a promise. I’m holding you to it. He’s hard to shake off, but you don’t want him to. You’re thankful, even, for the dog teeth he’s sunken into your forearm, bound together in blood.

There is grief in beginning to heal. 

Perhaps heal is not the right word, and yet there is no other for this, overcoming the last few months feels like it ought to be called healing. But this is a forever thing. You will know this deficiency for the rest of your life, will know doctor’s appointments and bloodwork – strictly cautionary, we need to make sure the dose is right so we can adjust it accordingly. 

There is grief in finding your footing. It lingers, the horror of falling victim to a biological response – that your mind should so easily be lost, it feels indicative of something greater, a weakness you need to cut out at the root. Jason shakes his head when you voice this one night – you are only ever honest like this under the cover of darkness, sleep softened and gentle enough to be frank with him. 

“You’re not weak.” He says this with love in his voice, but a thread of steel weaves through his words. “Don’t fucking say that. You’re here. That counts for a fucking lot.”

He tugs you closer and you feel it again, that fear that grips his heart. Like you might dissolve in his arms in the middle of the night. 

“I feel better–than before,” you tell him, peering up at him, eyes burning. You press a hand to your heart. “But I still feel it. It’s still here.”

He presses his forehead against yours. “I know.”

And you suppose he would know. “Is it gonna be like this forever?”

He takes a moment to think, and you have to tuck yourself into his neck to hide your tears. Raw – this year has left you raw. You’ve spent a fountain of tears, but they’re yet to run out. You find solace in the hollow of his throat; if you could, you think you would attach yourself there permanently.

“Yes, but no.” You make a questioning noise and he smooths a hand down your back. “‘S gonna be different, now. Not always going to be bad, or good, just – different.”

“Different.” The word fits oddly in your mouth, and whether it’s the late hour or your grief, you can’t make sense of it. He shudders out a breath, weary, and you press closer.

“Yeah,” he whispers into your hair. 

“I just–” you swallow with some difficulty, a lump in your throat. What is there to say that you haven’t already? “I hate this.”

His lips twitch into a tired, sympathetic grin. “I know, baby.”

Silence follows his words, where you mull over all that there is to say, sorting through the jumble of words in your head. You shift until there’s a little room between the two of you, looking up at him.

“Hey.”

He hums, and you feel his hand raise from your back to cup the back of your neck, thumb sweeping over your nape gently. 

“I’m gonna –” your breath hitches, stumbling over the words. “I’m gonna be good, I’ll – I’ll be better. I promise.”

And he knows you’re not talking about your health. This is a forever thing, after all. Your words point to the hidden cracks in the walls, the foundation of your home and heart – I’ll be better. 

Tourmaline eyes crack open a little wider to look at you, tired, but hopeful. “I know, baby. We’ll be alright.”

Ah. Of course he knows. You grin tremulously up at him and press forward to smudge a kiss against his jaw, breathing your promise once more against his skin, hoping it takes root. 

Jason waits at the threshold of your new normal, arm outstretched, knowing you’d join him eventually. He’d known, of course he had – every inch of your soul was his. He holds his hand out. 

Out of the woods, you take it.

fin.

this fic has been in my drafts since 2022 and it always felt too vulnerable to write and finish. like there needed to be a big ceremony about it. this fic is incredibly personal to me, and i always thought i had to be 'ready' to finally finish it, whatever 'ready' means. but it's a sunday night and the semester begins tomorrow, and i'm writing this in bed listening to whatever my spotify plays for me. i'm not sure if this will make sense to anyone but i hope it makes you feel something regardless.

this is a love letter to myself first and foremost, because i'm no longer afraid of reopening an old wound!! i carry her with me always and i love her and i'm taking care of her. i love her and i love you.

[rottenpumpkin13]

I kinda want to see the trilogy get completed now. We've heard from Sephiroth and Genesis, but what are some unhinged things that Angeal has said?

(Also, happy holidays :))

Angeal's brand of unhinged quotes is just him slowly losing his battle with sanity, composure and kindness towards his peers.

• "Genesis, I swear to the goddess who is sick of your shit, if you set ONE more thing ablaze for your 'artistic vision,' I'm going to make a fire extinguisher well acquainted with your ass, you dramatic matchstick."

• "Hey Sephiroth, here's a wild concept: That 7-foot sword isn't a can opener. I know basic tools are beneath your godlike intellect, but if you keep stabbing soda cans and then calling the resulting explosion a 'miscalculation,' I'm going to flip you upside down and use your head as A MOP."

• "You don't need 'organic, cruelty-free, ethically sourced' quinoa, Zack. You're going to drown it in hot sauce and eat it standing over the sink like usual anyway."

• *When asked why he has two mugs on his desk* "One says 'World's Best Mentor,' and the other says 'Please Kill Me.' Which one I use depends on the day."

• "To whoever dried their socks in the microwave: Congratulations! You've discovered how to make maintenance cry AND prove evolution can go backwards."

• "Sometimes I think about putting in a transfer request to literally anywhere else, but then I remember they'd probably still find a way to forward Zack to me."

Angeal: WHAT IS THIS? Zack: My secret snack stash! Angeal: WHY IS THERE CHALK IN HERE?

• "DO NOT. TOUCH. MY AIR-FRYER."

• "To whoever stuffed a whole turkey in the microwave, congratulations on finding yet another way to prove SOLDIER enhancement doesn't affect common sense."

• "Guys, I just mopped these floors. Now there's muddy boot prints all over it! Is basic hygiene too advanced for your enhanced brains, or do you just enjoy making my life hell?"

• "I saw a 20 gil candle today labeled 'smells like the ocean.' For that price, I better hear seagulls, taste saltwater, and feel sand in my ass."

• "Sephiroth, for someone who can sense danger, you sure don't sense when you're making the cadets cry by standing silently behind them in the elevator."

• *To Sephiroth and Genesis* "How do you two destroy a Wutai stronghold in thirty minutes, but take three hours to fold a basket of laundry? Is that like a skill of some kind?"

• "These mission reports read like a teenager's diary. 'And then I heroically swooped in'. Genesis, no the fuck you did not. I was there. You tripped over your own coat."

[raps-hellion]

six of crows in pjo:

kaz brekker — son of mercury (roman)

powers:

ability to manipulate locks, deadbolts, touch/face identification on devices, etc. can also correctly guess pin numbers, security questions, captchas, etc.

money is drawn to him — loose change, wallets, credit cards, etc. he can also create small amounts of legitimate-looking counterfeit currency from any country from a provided example.

is gifted at persuasion and deception, and can haggle/bargain effectively to achieve his desired outcome.

inej ghafa — daughter of nemesis (roman)

powers:

opponents are also similarly injured when attacking/striking her (ie. arrow ricochets back into its shooter, sword shatters and cuts its wielder, etc.). the severity of the retributive attack is always equal to what inej receives initially

ability to alter someone's luck/fortune — can change good luck to bad and vice-versa, but only if they deserve it

always has perfect balance, whether it be in battle, on a high-wire, upside-down in a handstand, etc.

jesper fahey — son of apollo (greek)

powers:

perfect aim when shooting a firearm, bow, crossbow, slingshot, etc.

can put curses in the form of disease or sickness on his ammunition. whoever is shot will be plagued by the disease until the sun sets

can 'see' into the immediate future for certain minor outcomes (he would describe it as more of a 'divine hunch'), such as in blackjack, three card monty, roulette, rolling a dice, flipping a coin, etc.

nina zenik — daughter of hecate (greek)

powers:

can manipulate the mist to cast glamours/illusions upon people to make them appear different and trick both mortal and non-mortals alike

has the innate ability for magic and can cast any spell she's capable of; the power and effectiveness of the spell depends on her confidence and health

can control and summon certain types of dead, such as spirits, ghosts, or souls of the damned (necrokinesis)

matthias helvar — son of mars (roman)

powers:

higher stamina, speed, and strength than the average demigod. has faster reflexes and can dodge/parry otherwise lethal attacks that would kill/injure anyone else.

able to perfectly wield any weapon he chooses.

can bond and commune with wolves, mars's sacred animal.

wylan van eck — son of hephaestus (greek)

powers:

can create small sparks and explosions with his hands like lit gunpowder or firecrackers/fireworks

can detonate explosives such as grenades, landmines, bombs etc. from a range of 1500-2000 feet by reaching out through a form of telekinesis and triggering them. can similarly disarm any explosive

innate understanding of mechanics and electronics.

[topazy]

Tomorrow’s promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon × reader, Rick Grimes × sister reader

Warnings: Violence, swearing

Chapter: 5.02

After being taken from the train car along with Rick, Bob, and Glenn, Daryl’s hands were zip-tied by their hands and feet and forcefully lined up in front of a drainage pipe. The sounds of flesh being sliced combined with terrified screams were enough to bring tears of fear to Daryl’s eyes. They witnessed three men being bludgeoned and having their throats slit before an explosion went off nearby, causing the building to shake and distracting the butchers long enough for Rich to free himself and kill them.

Daryl rips the rag from his mouth as Rick frees his hands. “What is this place? Slaughterhouse?”

“A human slaughterhouse,” Glenn mumbles.

Daryl gets to his feet and then helps Bob up. “These sick bastards have Jace. We need to find him.”

Rick steps in front of him, preventing him from rushing out the door leading outside. “I want to find him as much as you do, but we need to be smart about this. We need weapons. Can’t fight them off with nothing.”

Begrudgingly, Daryl nods in agreement. He couldn’t lose them, not again.

“Was anybody else taken?” Glenn asks quietly while they make their way to another room.

“I don’t think so—” Daryl enters the room they keep butchery equipment in first and instinctively covers his mouth. “Holy shit.”

The smell of death fills the room, and hooks with human limbs hung from the ceiling. A lump forms in the back of Rick’s throat. “You cross any of these people, you kill them. Don’t hesitate; they won’t.”

“They’ve got Jace,” Daryl’s voice cracks. “These sick fucks have him. We need to get the kid and get back to the rest of our people now.”

—

Bile hits the back of your throat when you find the room Jace is being kept in. He was on the ground underneath a flipped-over crib, preventing him from crawling away. Which was a blessing considering a walker was restrained to the wall next to where he was.

The blonde woman from earlier was sitting on the floor sobbing, rubbing at a bit mark on her ankle. You could hear gunfire and screams coming through her radio, but she was ignoring it.

Quietly you pick up the bloodied bat from the door and swing it, bashing the girl across the face before she has the chance to shoot you; she screams in pain but drops her weapon. You take the gun she dropped and run to the wall and stab the walker that’s chained up in the head, then use the outside of a jacket you found in the hallway to soak up some of its blood.

“You’ll never make it out,” she sobs. “None of us will!”

You flip the crib off Jace and pick him up; once he’s in your arms, you’re reminded that Judith wasn’t with Rick when he arrived. “Mommy’s here; it’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

While trying to short Jace underneath your top to make sure the blood from the jacket doesn’t touch his skin, you keep one eye on the blonde and almost pity her. If she wasn’t part of Terminus, you would have either tried to save her or given her a mercy kill; instead, you were leaving her to turn.

—

Your heart thuds in your chest as multiple footsteps get closer as you stand frozen on the concrete staircase at the building's fire escape. You were stuck; you couldn’t go any further up because the asshole running this place was on the roof shooting at walkers, or so you heard on the radio, meaning you had no choice but to go down.

Please don’t cry. Jace, please don’t cry. It was a miracle you made it this far; the inside of the building was slowly starting to fill with walkers, and your makeshift weapon was becoming blunt, and soon it wouldn’t be sharp enough to stab them in the head with.

The people walking below whisper, but the closer they get, the more clear their conversation becomes. “We go in pairs to clear each room; nobody is left behind.”

You lean over the banister and look down. “Rick?”

“Lil?” Both Rick and Glenn pop their heads over the bannister and look up at you surprised. “We came to find—”

The door on the top floor creaks open, and instinctively you step backwards out of the line of sight of anyone looking down. It was Gareth, and it sounded like he was reloading a weapon. Doing your best to try and remain calm, you press your back against the wall and carefully take one step at a time, trying desperately to reach your brother without making any noise.

Holding Jace with one hand, you use the other to keep hold of the handrail. You continue to make your way down until you come face to face with someone coming upstairs, Daryl.

The look on his face melts your heart.

Silently, Daryl cups your cheek while looking at Jace, and you could see the relief in his blue eyes.

—

When you make it outside, you stay with Rick and Carl to pick off walkers while Glenn and Bob go to the train car to let the rest of your people out. The smoke from the burning terminus was now thick and making it harder to breathe and see; the loud noise had attracted a horde of walkers, which were swarming the gardens of the building now that the community's fence was down.

What the hell happened?

“Shit, they’ve spotted us!” Daryl yells and pushes you behind him. “On the roof!”

The three of you take shelter behind a car as bullets fly in your direction. Jace’s cries are drowned out by the sound of gunshots hitting off the car and screams as zombies pile up on a woman, tearing her from limb to limb.

“Lily, this way! We’ll cover you!”

Trusting Rosita, you wave for your brother and Daryl to follow, “Come on!”

You race across the garden until you meet her at a barbed wire fence; there was a small part of the fence dipped in the middle with a thick rug over. You spot your nephew on the other side already, “Carl! Take him.”

Rosita and Abraham fight off a handful of walkers while you hand Jace over to Carl. As soon as you’re no longer holding Jace, Daryl practically throws you over the fence and then jumps over behind you.

Rosita, Abraham, and Rick climb over the fence right after. Catching your breath, you smile watching Rick reunite with Carl and Jace; you meet your brother's eye and tear up. He didn’t need to say it out loud; Judith was gone.

You look from them to Daryl and frown; in the daylight, his black eye looks so much worse. You throw your arms around him and bury your face into his neck, “I don’t ever want to lose you again.”

[sschizoid]

Hello again :3 idk if you did something like this in the past (sorry if you did I'm new to the blog :( ) but you ever did the tulpar crew in an AU they survive the crash? Like how their lives are going now?

tbh I've actually never really thought about it! but I'm up for the challenge ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

--

curly

(ignoring the fact that in a realistic setting, his injuries would have most definitely killed him) when rescued, he's got hypothermia, sepsis, blast lung, as well as a laundry list of other complications. it's a miracle he's even alive. his burns are treated through a series of xenographs

he's deaf, as the explosion ruptured his eardrums, and his vocal chords have been effectively fried, so after a series of surgeries and physical/speech therapies, he's left only able to communicate with an eye-tracker until his laryngeal burns are eventually healed. even then, his voice remains scratchy and rough

he's not the man he once was. he has a particularly rough time adjusting to and accepting his new life, as well as dealing with extensive pain and trauma from the crash, but his support system is incredibly strong. he eventually comes to terms with his situation and becomes an ambassador for talking about workplace negligence and the importance of mental health awareness

and he blames himself for everything

jimmy

when initially rescued, everyone is in so much shock that nobody thinks to even mention him being the catalyst of just absolutely everything. but once the shock wears off and people start talking, his deeds are soon brought to light, and he is promptly sent to a maximum-security psychiatric hospital for an indefinite amount of time. he is never charged or held criminally responsible for his crimes on the grounds of insanity

he feels nothing. after months on the ship, his body, mind, and emotions being in absolute overdrive, he can't even find it in himself to feel anger anymore. to feel guilt. to feel anything. its as if a switch has been flipped, and all he hears is a perpetual ringing in his ears as the underlying thought echos that he should have aimed the gun higher

anya

after a lengthy court battle with extensive news coverage, her and the rest of the crew are individually awarded with a hefty sum of compensation due to physical and emotional damages. she's able to take a deep breath, knowing that the medical bills she had from getting her stomach pumped were easily covered, as well as her utilities and rent, for awhile

she miscarries from a combination of stress, malnutrition, and of course, her overdose. her emotions are... well, she doesn't really know what to feel. part of her feels relief, obviously, but the other feels a sick sort of grief that she cannot understand. to cope with these emotions, she finds an online support system for those who have gone through similar experiences as well as a therapist, and curates an environment for healing/moving forward

after taking a few months to herself, healing and spending time with loves ones, she eventually finds the drive to head back to nursing school. while there, she meets a girl whom she grows to be very close with, one who almost loves her cat as much as she does

swansea

just absolutely numb and jaded in every sense of the way. it takes a great deal of effort for him to open up regarding not only the head trauma, but the mental trauma as well. his family eventually drills it into his thick skull that being vulnerable around the people you love isn't weak, and in fact, its one of the bravest things you can do. putting his pride aside, he learns mindfulness, how to open up, and how to accept the help people want to give to him

he has frequent nightmares, mostly revolving what he did to daisuke, but his dog sleeps at the foot of his bed and is quick to wake him up with a few licks to the hand when he's displaying frantic behaviors. after awhile, the two of them finally meet up, and daisuke ensures swansea that he did what he thought was right. and he forgives him

spends a lot more time outside these days. goes on walks, travels with his wife, even has his coffee on the patio instead of somewhere like his desk or couch. he finds that his memory isn't the best anymore, but when he can, he remembers to appreciate the little things in life

daisuke

it all feels like a dream, really. one moment, he's floating through clouds and running through a river, the next, he's awake. in a hospital, and everything hurts. he wakes up with his family at his side, as well as gifts, bouquets of flowers and balloon arrangements. his mother feels guilty beyond belief. daisuke tells her it's not her fault and that he loves her

the surgeons did a pretty bang-up job at patching him back together, the only real evidence of his physical trauma being a faint diagonal divide between his eyes after he's fully healed. he's not quite as symmetrical as he once was, but he says the scar makes him look 'rugged'. he actually hates it, but keeps that to himself

takes a break from the workforce and goes to college, but actually stays in the field of electrical engineering. its what he's found himself to be good at, and passes his introductory classes with relative ease, thanks to the knowledge swansea drilled into him

--

this one actually took me a long time to piece together as I tried to make it as realistic as possible. hope you enjoy!

[multiheadcanons]

INTER-TEAM RELATIONS I THINK ABOUT A LOT

soldier squared: these two on the same team make a lethal, effective duo. it’s the brutal battle sense of the original with the blanket of rage on the outside now. it’s like all the blu soldier has to do is hold the braincell and tell the red soldier what to do, and in return the red soldier will keep the flame lit under his ass, and together they’re going to absolutely destroy everything in their path. not to mention, because they’re the same person, they get along just fine. it’s not even an issue. their senses of humor are the same, their mindsets are similar, and they are just quite the pair together. most would think they’re a nightmare to everyone except the demomen. but truthfully, with the blu soldier serving as a conscience, the red soldier feels much more complete and mentally competent with his twin there. and that’s really how he sees the blu soldier. that’s his twin and his twin keeps his head on straight. and on the flip side, the blu soldier can relax. the stick has been removed from his ass. he has a personality off the field. they are great together, and the more they’re around each other, the stranger they feel when they’re not.

medic/heavy: the red medic is guiltily fascinated with the blu heavy. he is dedicated to his heavy, make no mistake about that, but the man’s counterpart is… interesting. it’s almost everything he wished he had in his own heavy, until he remembers he was the one who removed it from the man in the first place. eternally good natured, and open to violence. not even violence, open to immediate, explosive action. he appreciates the time his heavy takes to consider things before making a decision and taking action. he wishes he took less time. the blu heavy is equally fascinated with the red medic, with much less guilt attached to his curiosity. the doctor catches his eye. the doctor’s excitement is palpable as he takes the man on, all the way up until he deftly disappears from sight as he’s grazing death, or until his own medic chases the red donned doctor away, or kills him outright. he also finds it funny how mad his own doctor gets. how possessive he becomes. the storm brewing in his eyes are beautiful, he thinks. he knows his doctor does not find it nearly as funny. he knows it destroys him to be placed, once again, underneath his creator. it makes him better in battle.

medic/heavy: the blu medic has thrown himself at the red heavy many times for many things. for care, for death, for touch, for pain. he’s begged the man to forsake his own medic and make him feel something. heavy is not interested at all. he has an innate understanding that his doctor, twisted and hurtful as he may be, is the only man who could even remotely understand him. his doctor has had his own hands elbow deep in his chest. the man’s literally cradled his heart in his hands. complimented it. kissed it gently as he placed it back where it was meant to be. the doctor’s counterpart could simply never take his place. though, watching his doctor eagerly run in to fight his counterpart makes him sick; especially as the doctor’s counterpart kneels at his feet and begs for him. he can’t help but wonder if his doctor actually hates him. if he’s bound by blood to a man who derives pleasure from tormenting him. but at the end of the day, none of that matters, either. these are the way the cards fell. the blu medic is an enemy, and should not be so comfortable to approach him in close quarters without an intent to kill; much less submit to him; even less so beg him to forsake the man who holds both of their lives in his hands. but heavy does not attack him. something about the doctor’s face causes hesitation. it will get them killed one of these days.

engineer/medic: ah, the originals. as much as the red medic and engineer simply don’t get along, these two get along famously! two horrifically intelligent, disturbingly light hearted men who carry the secrets of the world together in their minds. they are gods walking amongst their creations, in the garden planted by their own hand. and they’ll live to see it flourish. maybe. of course, they both have their own ulterior motives for doing what they do, but they don’t question themselves nor each other about the plans brewing in each other’s heads. they just make sure to stay out of each other’s way with it. they have similar, morbid senses of humor. medic worries about engie’s notable decline in energy and willpower since the surgery. urges the texan to indulge in any impulse that may strike him. as much as he knows he could probably go to his own engineer to indulge himself in bad ideas, that engineer isn’t… dell. dell likes him. they laugh together. they don’t argue… often. dell tells the doctor that he’s not making things up, that engineer doesn’t like him at all. but he does.

sniper/scout: real game grumps energy, and they are color coded correctly. i don’t think their respective teammates are the correct version of weird to get along like these two get along. the red sniper is too reserved and awkward in social settings to keep up with scout, and scout doesn’t slow down for anyone, and the blu scout isn’t nearly as social as his counterpart, nor do they have the same style of humor to really play off of each other like these two can. they’re idiots together, and can bring the energy in a room from 0-1,000,000,000 in minutes. they’re laughing so hard at what they’re saying that everyone is enthralled in what they’re talking about. they’re besties. fuck off during battle to chat. then they kill each other. scout has ABSOLUTELY gotten sniper with updog and ligma.

[pickyourpoisonandevolve]

Stars in Her Eyes, Part 2

Part 1 here

*reads old decrepit spell book* “if you write the trauma in the fic, maybe it will fix it in post” hmm yes of course of course.

More of whatever the hell this is turning out to be. I looooove Price and I waaaaaannnttt him to fix me and you and all of us together. The worms in my brain won’t leave until it happens!

—

“Well, you’re cleared for field duty.”

“Hooray.” A listless response.

A huff from the nurse. As she cleaned up, she paused. “I know I’m generally pissing in the wind when I say this, but maybe a woman will believe me this time. Take care of… whatever’s on your mind. The head trauma, the noise, the explosions, it wears you down. You don’t need old demons eating away at what’s left.”

As you got up from the chair you paused. “What do you mean? I’m fine, I’m clear, right?”

“The, wait, shit hold on maybe I’m wrong. You’re the one with the concussion, reports of hallucinations in the field.” She said, flipping through your chart. “Yeah, reported by your captain. May want to ask him about it before you—“ A click of the door closing. “—go back out there. I don’t know why I thought this would go any different.” She muttered to herself, getting ready for the next patient.

—

You thought that was a dream. You were SURE that was a dream. Shit shit shit. No fucking wonder they came to see you so often. Gaz brought flowers from all of them. Soap brought cookies and his loud mouth. Ghost brought complaints from the nurses, saying he “lingered too much” and “wanted reports that didn’t belong to him”. Price however brought nothing. Radio silence there.

You made it back to barracks a little before dinner. A shower and refresh from everything. Sneaking into the shared break room, angling to see if anyone was mad, worried, feeling… wrong about you. You’ll fix it. The last thing you wanted was them thinking you weren’t anything less than capable. Surely you weren’t perfect after this. But capable. That was achievable.

“Oi, look who’s back amongst the livin’!” Soap jumped up first and came to check you out. As rough and tumble as he was, he put the breaks on, opting for grabbing you by the shoulders instead of picking you up. “Thought we scrambled you somethin’ fierce this time.” He said, grabbing your chin and giving you a once over.

Huffing, you slapped arms away and composed yourself. You did offer a smile as you smoothed out your shirt. “Morphine cures all wounds, cognitive and otherwise.”

“So I heard.” Gaz’s voice behind you, alongside Ghost as they entered. His smile could stop traffic you thought to yourself. “Thanks for the flowers.” You said quietly. “Anytime.” He replied, gently rubbing a thumb across your knuckles.

Ghost took a big, typical stoic stance against the counter, arms crossed. Eyes big and soft for you. Oh. He’s worried? That never happens, you thought, a needle of panic through your chest. A big, warm hand on your shoulder. “Price wants you in his office when you can. Glad you’re back.” The tail end was more of a rumble than words.

The panic bloomed as three sets of eyes stayed on you. Too much, you thought. Too much care, too much consideration. You were the one who was supposed to worry, not them. You fussed with your nails, looking down. “Thanks for the help, guys. I’m, I’m sorry.”

“We’re a team, it’s what we do. Now go, he’s waiting.” Ghost demanded.

—

You shook your ankle absentmindedly. Sitting on the couch in his office. The same sick feeling in your throat and nerves as the principals office. He waved you in, cigar in hand, on a phone call with papers and documents strewn around. Life didn’t stop for him, you thought. You took to staring at the back of a framed photo, disassociating about who could be on the other side, listening to the drone of his voice. A loved one? A sibling? No, he never talked about brothers or sisters. It’s warm in here. Smells like him. Maybe you would too when you left. Maybe he—

“Sergeant.”

A gasp left your chest as your eyes refocused. Just silence, now. A cigar now crushed in the ashtray, the last hurrah of smoke and scent and spice wafted in the air. Relatable, you thought.

You cleared your throat. “You wanted to see me, sir.”

His eyes roamed over you. Again. And again. Like he was lost in his own thoughts. “You back with us?” He finally grunted.

“More or less.”

He stood up, a little too quickly. Made your heart beat a little too loudly in your ears. Made you feel like you were in the dark room again. The fear and the unknown smothering everything. “I’m sorry about the mission, it was my fault, I wasn’t there, I wasn’t—“

A raised hand. The rambling died in your throat as he made his way over to you. Two bourbons poured, one placed in your hands. A seat taken next to you. The crystal tumbler cool in your hand. A gift for his 10th year in the SAS. Back to the silence.

You two had always navigated the silence together. Normally it was more comforting than this. A quiet nod of understanding in a debrief. A roll of the eyes in a meeting. Notifying that there were enemies in the area on missions. He always knew you better than you knew yourself it seemed. That’s why he was the captain. He did this for everyone. Didn’t he?

The hassle of talking about it, this, whatever this was, never reared its head. Rules, optics, whatever the excuse was. But he knew. What you were. What he was. A lit candle in your dark room. One you held with both hands when the dark was too much. Whispering and praying it would stay this time. A prayer to a deaf god, you thought.

Maybe not so deaf after all. He swirled his glass in his hands, staring straight ahead. “I didn’t throw you away. I need you to know that. More were coming, I needed you elsewhere.”

A grip in your chest. A swallow of your drink. “I know. I was distracted on the mission, I know that, but I had it handled, I should have been there to have your back.” You rushed out.

You feel a hand in your hairline, and for a moment, you’re back in that room. Half a room. Humming, praying to your deaf God. “I’m sorry about your head.” He rumbled out. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not as much as you leaving.”

A broken sound comes from him as you close your eyes and finish your drink.

A flurry of motion. Your glass taken from your hand, his arms bringing you in, fighting, grunting, till stillness as he pins you on your back, holding your cheek in his palm. It’s been too long since he’s seen your stars.

“Tell me about the song.”

“No.”

“It can be an order if you want.”

“No.”

“… please.” His resolve breaks and you see desperation in his face. “Jesus, let me fucking take care of you like you deserve, tell me about the bloody song.”

“It was someone else’s mom.” You say, returning his gaze, tears flowing freely now. “You read my fucking report. Home was shit. So were the parents. It was another girl, she, she hurt herself playing. Her mom came over and sang the song to her. If, if I hurt myself, I just got another be—“ a hiccup shakes your chest. “I sing it to myself since… no one did it for me.”

Price expected something like this, but his heartbreak took him by surprise. The tear that rolled off of his nose onto your face broke the spell, his hands now wiping away the tears and the pain. And for the first time, you let him. You let him see it all. His candle now a fire in your dark room. With any luck he’ll burn it all fucking down, you hope.

[yousaydisco]

THIS GOT SUPER LONG WHOOPS

I can't stop thinking about this post (TL;DR it is about how Kim's life is almost as sad as Harry's due to how he has lived his entire life as horribly repressed, not allowing himself the freedom of his own silliness which is why he is such a good pairing for Harry, since they are both silly) and I started thinking about thoughts

specifically how this knowledge would fit into a swap AU

like a lot of other people here, I really like a swap AU and I think it allows for a fun way to flip each character on its head and examine a Harry who is more cleaned up vs a Kim who is more of a disaster, and how Harry would fit taking a more patient role to a Kim that lost his memory. But! A problem I have with a lot of swap AU's is that Kim just. . . would never be allowed to be a disaster like Harry is.

If Kim was like Harry, who was brilliant and highly capable and basically the perfect detective except for substance abuse problems, explosive personality, narcissistic traits (looking at you, Superstar), and overall impossible to control, he would get fired. He wouldn't be given 500 chances like Harry (presumably) has. So in his swap AU, Kim is still his highly controlled self and Harry is slightly less of a disaster. Enough so that he doesn't drink himself to amnesia at the start of the case, but he is still a mess dealing with all his stuff.

So how did Kim lose his memory? Probably a car accident. Had to get dragged out of his precious Kineema and its completely totaled, he was hold up at the Whirling-In-Rags as he healed and woke up with just. No memory.

And no reason to repress anything anymore.

Some scenes:

Harry arrived at the crime scene days late because he was avoiding work to get drunk, which is also why Jean Vic isn't with him either because he's sick of babysitting him so when he gets to the Whirling and hears that the other officer hasn't been picking up the slack and instead is horribly injured he's like. Fuck!

Kim doesn't remember shit. Not about him, not about the world, but after some time wandering behind Harry all dazed and confused he finally sees Harry's car and GASPS and rushes over. He examines this thing top to bottom and spouts off trivia facts a mile a minute at Harry, who is just standing there like 'I thought this guy had brain damage' but he listens. So patiently.

He eventually does have to stop him though. He says its for the case, but it's really when Kim starts looking at the interior and he doesn't want him to see the mess in there. Or how badly he's taking care of the car.

Harry isn't sure why he's suddenly so insecure about being seen as messy in front of his guy. Whatever.

During the field autopsy Harry, who is horribly hungover, still throws up. Kim still comforts him by rubbing his back, probably went ahead and pull his hair away from Harry's face, and then pats around his pockets for the handkerchief.

Kim gets an inkling of a feeling that he's missing something (his notebook, though he doesn't know that yet) but Harry doesn't notice what is going on in Kim's head yet, when he probably normally would, because his highly highly repressed bi-sexuality is rearing his head because there is this guy just casually touching him lovingly and he can't think.

(Kim probably also lost his gun and badge, it fell out of his jacket when he was being dragged from the car, but Harry told him that in their first conversation. He wouldn't know that Kim is also missing a notebook)

Kim is also putting in all his effort into the field autopsy. He's like, I'm a cop? Okay, let's solve this!

When Harry suggests that Kim get on his shoulders to get the hanged man down he's like, hmm you look strong enough to carry me alright let's try that, and Harry barely has time to register that this guy called him STRONG LOOKING before Kim is climbing on him and he has to try and appear COMPLETLY 100% STRAIGHT.

He succeeds, but mostly because Kim is too focused on getting the corpse down. If he looked at Harry's face it would be very obvious.

But the actual autopsy = Kim probably approaches it mostly fearless. And he's trying to be really observant to make up for his eyesight not being all that great, and he's probably talking out loud about everything since he can't write it down. But it would still be Harry who noticed the bullet. Kim probably compliments Harry on his ability to see it and, again, Harry loses it a little bit.

Kim's interactions with Cuno and Cunoesse helps him unpack a few sense memories of going undercover with juvenile delinquents and he thinks the best way to talk to them is to relate to them. Somehow. All he can remember his trivia facts about Pinball and the best strategies to get a high school, and in between his lecture on it he sometimes breaks into rants about how Pinball sucks actually, and he hates it, and it makes him feel bad for reasons he doesn't know.

Harry tries to make Kim seem less weird by throwing in facts about Contact Mike.

More than anything it just baffles Cuno and Cunoesse.

When Kim hears that "Welcome to Revachol" for the first time he doesn't remember that its racist, but he does know how it makes him feel, so he's instantly pissed off. Harry, who is overall a good guy but has absolutely said racist stuff while drunk and probably the day before, goes off as well and stands up to the racist so Kim doesn't do something WORSE and get in trouble. It's not that Harry is socially aware enough that has a white guy he can get away with more stuff, he wants Kim to like him.

You know how at the end of day briefing in the game has Harry calling Kim so cool, and it feels like that is the moment where Kim is really endured to Harry? In this AU, Kim will say something like hey. We should hang out once the case is over. And Harry, who has a whole thing about feeling like he's terrible and horribly unlikeable and just wants someone to see him as a mess worthy of their time rather than just a fucked up person, finally admits to himself that he cannot repress this anymore and he might have a crush on this super cool weirdo.

(that doesn't mean Harry feels any better about himself, really. He's now just convinced that he has to Fix Himself Completely overnight so that he can actually help this guy regain his memories.)

(OH ACTUALLY! No, Harry doesn't want to help Kim regain his memories. He's not going to actively try and stop it if it happens, but he will secretly hope that he never remembers the world in case they met while Harry was blackout drunk and Kim won't like him anymore.)

A scene where Kim fiddles with Harry's radio and it starts playing disco. He can't help but let out an audible "ew." before switching it to Speedfreaks. Harry is offended to his CORE and they have a playful but still loud/heated argument about music.

THE BOARD GAME SCENE! Harry still gets Suzerainty and when he starts popping out the cardboard pieces Kim just SNATCHES it out of his hands. No apology. And he's having such an obvious blast just poking out the pieces and then taking out every part of the board game so he can see all the components (classic autism moment) that Harry impulsively (classic ADHD moment) buys multiple more board games just to give Kim more fun little pieces to poke out. And Kim loves it, and Harry thinks "I'm winning at making friends. I'm going to win a prize at making friends and the prize will be a friend :)"

They do eventually find Kim's badge and gun and Harry is very happy at that, but Kim is still like. Hmm. Something is missing.

When he finds his notebook he's just. SO HAPPY! He thinks its like being reunited with a friend. Probably hugs it/clutches it tight to his chest. But when he opens it he's like "god damn my handwriting is awful."

Harry asks to read it, mostly joking around, fully ready to steal it when Kim isn't looking, except Kim just. Hands it over. And doesn't stop Harry from reading it. And of course Harry does.

Kim doesn't really KNOW about homophobia so he probably just. Says gay shit all the time. And Harry can't deal with it. The scene with the smoker on the balcony is still really funny but it's less of Harry having a bi-panic moment (he still has elements of it though) but when Kim starts flirting back in earnest Harry is just. Jealous out of his mind. Puts a stop to it ASAP he's like "OKAY WE WILL TALK TO YOU LATER. ACTUALLY ONLY I WILL TALK TO YOU LATER. KIM LET'S GO!"

When Jean comes into the picture and starts arguing with/berating Harry, he's about ready to turn it into an all out brawl right there in the cafeteria, but Kim is like "HEY! You ass! He's been very helpful this whole time! Just because he's a drunk and he smells bad doesn't mean shit!"

Harry has heart eyes.

The tribunal has the injuries reversed, Kim gets shot and Harry gets the concussion and needs to keep Kim alive. Harry, who has been trying to sober up during the case for Kim's sake, takes speed to allow him to stay up to monitor Kim's health and as soon as Kim wakes up he's like "great! fantastic!" and passes the fuck out.

The whole thing with the Phasmid is the first time where Harry nerds out over something and not Kim. And Kim listens. And Harry probably cries because like, it's something he's allowed to like that isn't related to WORK and someone actually cares about what he is like when he isn't DETECTING and it helps him feel like a person rather than the Superstar Cop.

(Right after his rant on cryptids, Kim goes on a tangent about his cool camera and tells Harry every little thing about it and they just. Nerd out together).

[jayofolympus-writes]

More from my pile of unposted works.

Soap has fallen in love with someone who will never want him back

Soap's head was pounding when he woke up and rolled out of bed. He hadn't drank that much in a long time, and he was paying for it now. His only consolation was that Gaz had been just as drunk as he was, and likely wasn't in any better shape now.

Ghost was a fucking godsend, already in the shared kitchen fixing up a fry up, even if he was radiating smugness without even having to turn around to look at Soap.

"So, when should I expect to get a save the date?" Ghost asked, plating up the bacon into a nice big pile that Soap was looking forward to scarfing down once he'd done something about his mouth feeling like he'd been eating sand.

It wasn't until he was gulping down water that Ghost's words registered, and Soap choked, spluttering water all over the counter.

"Fuck sake, keep it away from the fucking food," Ghost grumbled, moving to shield the plates with his body. "Trust you to be able to drown drinking a fucking glass of water."

Soap gave him the finger, unable to give a better response than that while he was still struggling to breathe.

"The fuck d'ye mean 'save the date'?" he demanded, once he had stopped choking.

Ghost just nodded to the notebook sitting ominously in the middle of the table. Soap could tell he was grinning under his mask, and decided to approach the notebook with the appropriate level of caution; treating it like an unidentified explosive that was rigged to blow. He still wasn't prepared for what he found inside.

Flicking through the pages, hazy memories trickled back into reach, fuzzy at the edges and tilted a little to the side, but clear enough to cause his cheeks to redden with embarrassment. Gaz had been bemoaning his lack of love life, the way all his cousins seemed to be getting married these days, and the fact that his mother was now hounding him for news of a relationship, and Soap had offered to marry him, forgetting in his drunkenness that he was meant to be keeping his crush to himself.

"Fuck," he hissed, looking at the sketches depicting himself in a kilt and Gaz carrying a bouquet. It appeared they were sharing Price and Ghost as their best men, and on the next page he'd clearly begun attempting to design rings.

The notebook needed to be burned.

He turned, intending to grab the nearest lighter and take the thing outside to hide the evidence of his shame, and nearly ran right into Gaz himself, emerging from the spare room.

"Oh my god, I can't believe we actually planned a wedding last night," Gaz laughed, snatching the notebook from him to flip through it, grinning. "Thank fuck I fell asleep before I could hit send, 'cause I tried to text my mum and tell her I was getting married."

Soap forced out a laugh, though it came out higher and more panicked than he intended. He needed to get the notebook back so he could burn it and they could all move on and pretend it had never happened. He needed to change his name and move to Mexico, really. Rudy would surely help him hide, maybe even set him up with a new identity. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid as to put it all down on paper like that, not when plausible deniability had gotten him this far.

"Shit, Soap, for as shit faced as we were, these drawings are still fucking sick," Gaz said, inspecting one of the pages more closely. "I can barely draw stick figures when I'm sober, fucking hell."

Soap forced another laugh, getting desperate. Ghost turned to look at him, picking up his - far too obvious - distress signals.

"Right, food's up," Ghost announced, pulling the pan off the hob and sliding the last fried egg onto a plate. "I'm going for a smoke before I eat. Johnny?"

Soap nodded, so frantically that he felt like one of those stupid bobblehead things. "Yeah, sounds good," he said, his voice weak as he clutched at the merciful exit he'd been offered. "Leave some bacon for us, yeah?" he called to Gaz, already fleeing out the door.

Ghost caught up with him outside and silently offered his pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"You know, last night I thought you just wanted to suck his dick," he noted, watching Soap far more intently than he'd like. "You really do want to marry him though don't you? You're fucked."

Soap didn't even try to deny it. He really was fucked. Gaz thought it was all some big joke, but he was going to figure it out sooner or later, and then Soap would... Well, at best, he'd be embarrassed and everything would be very awkward until he could get over it and move on. Considering how long he'd been hiding his feelings for Gaz, though, he didn't think he'd be getting over it any time soon. Would Gaz ever be able to look at him the same way after? It would make him uncomfortable, Soap was sure, to know that someone he worked so closely with, someone he was around almost all the time, had been creeping on him.

"Shit, you're not just fucked, Johnny," Ghost hissed, his eyes pitying. "You're already breaking your fucking heart over him."

Soap just shrugged. He could hardly help it; Gaz was beautiful, inside and out, with a sharp mind and a smile like sunshine. He was kind in a way that Soap had never been, and funny, and Soap loved him. It was hard not to.

"Doesn't really matter, does it?" he said, giving Ghost a sad smile. "Not like it's ever gonna happen. I'll get over it, ye jist need tae keep me from doin' anythin' stupid until then."

Ghost sighed. "How the fuck did I end up in the middle of this?"

That got a real laugh from Soap, and he felt steady enough to go back inside and face Gaz again, hopefully without giving himself away.

[muffintonic]

So, I watched Sonic 3 today.

I wish they would have continued on from the growth of Sonic calling Tom and Maddie his parents from the end of Sonic 2. Also in that vein, I want Knuckles to call Sonic and Tails by their names at least even if he's not at the point of calling Tom and Maddie his parents, too (he did at least call Maddie by her name in the Blu-Ray Drone Home short, so calling her by Sonic's nickname in this movie was a step back)

Continuity error spotted: at the end of Sonic 1, they moved Sonic's stuff from his cave to his new room in the attic, so the cave should have been empty or they should have mentioned offhandedly that they had to leave some stuff behind because it wouldn't fit or it was too damaged or something

It's been a few YEARS since Sonic was discovered (per Ivo's comment about trying to get him for years + Tom and Maddie talking about the busy past few years)??! I knew at the beginning of Sonic 2 Ivo had said it'd been 243 days in "portobello purgatory," but, wow, it's been a while between 1 and 3. That explains why they're all so close to Tom and Maddie's heights at the end of the movie's group camping shot....they're growing up. :') Though it also begs the question how old they are now--Sonic couldn't have been any younger than 4 years old to remember Longclaw/10 years passed since she died and the events of Sonic 1 happened, so that would mean he's 16 now since it's plural years??? I guess older ages than what they are in the games would suit them...or at least Knuckles with his 40-year-old-man voice

Sonic 3 takes place in 2024: confirmed

In Sonic 2, Tom and Maddie were worried about Sonic tackling stuff on his own because he was a kid and needed to grow up more--did that change because a few years have passed, or because he has his own "team" now? I know there was a timeskip between Sonic 2 and 3 (and Walters acknowledged at the end of Sonic 2 that Sonic was on their side), but I feel like G.U.N. having Team Sonic on call was a surprise--it wasn't even mentioned in the Knuckles series or anything.

At the end of Sonic 1, Maddie mentioned to Sonic that he had to go to bed early because it was a school night. Does Sonic 3 take place during summer vacation (since the weather is nice enough for camping)? I want to see these kids in school, dangit!

I don't like how Tom and Maddie act together in this movie. Tom says through his puppet that he should leave her...Tom makes eyes at the projection of the military lady...Maddie sucker punches Tom in response and he looks very much in pain... Not a healthy dynamic anymore :(

Why is Gerald alive. He is 110 years old and still moving and grooving like nothing?

So....SCU!Shadow just....straight-up wants revenge on all of humanity? Without any amnesia making him more malleable to committing planet-wide genocide?? They were torturing him with dreams of Maria's death for 50 years straight??????? He and Gerald were totally fine with ultimately being caught in the explosion, too?????????????????? How is this movie still PG

Shadow's change of heart did not feel appropriate. After 50 years of torture and being fine with the idea of nuking the planet, a single flashback would not change his mind. At least in Sonic 2, we see Knuckles gradually realizing Robotnik isn't that great of a person and how Sonic's values are good--Knuckles also wasn't TRAPPED IN A MIND PRISON FOR FIFTY YEARS STRAIGHT.

SCU!Shadow was discovered instead of created, so doesn't that make him not the "ultimate lifeform" anymore since he doesn't have a purpose? Maria isn't even sick in this version (which I think hampered any reasoning for her being at the base, especially in such top-secret areas). I guess the Biolizard doesn't exist, either? At least completely flipping his backstory to make him on Earth wanting to see the stars instead of the reverse makes sense. They didn't even explain his inhibitor rings, but he still took them off for a power boost at the end... Do the Black Arms exist???? Does The End or the Ancients???? Why DOES he look like Sonic if he wasn't modelled off his prophecy mural?

Why is SCU!Knuckles scared of ghosts if, per the Knuckles series, he regularly sees the ghost of his dead tribe leader?

Knuckles was BEST. BOY. in this movie!!!!!!!!!! Every scene he was in was perfect!!!!!!!! He knows about Pokémon! His "Don't do this!" was so wrenching, good lord. TT-TT Then he stands down?!! Then he SAVES SONIC AND TAILS FROM BEING BURNED UP IN THE EARTH'S ATMOSPHERE?!!!

Why did they leave Knuckles behind in the ark when it was actively going to explode??? He gave his last ring to Tails, so what was the plan for him??? Also, why didn't Knuckles bring Ivo with him when he leapt out? Could he not find him in time, did he think it was fine to leave him to die since he was their enemy, or did he not think of it?

Is Eggman really dead in the SCU now? I don't see how that would stick, but also how would he survive? Shadow surviving is more reasonable since he was in Super mode at the time of the explosion, and fits with the reveal of him having actually survived in his game

Glad Stone finally got thrown a bone! Though I wonder what he'll do now...

Sonic and Shadow should have gone blind staring at the sun like that, pffff

I just realized Tails is the only one in the SCU so far without a tragic backstory. Like, from Sonic 2, he kept his original backstory of just being made fun of for his tails, which is nowhere near the level of "my adoptive mom got killed in tribal warfare/my entire tribe was massacred in tribal warfare/my adoptive sister was gunned down by the government." We haven't even had any flashbacks for Tails...very strange

I know they probably amped up the wacky humor aspects for this movie to offset the body count (Maria, Commander Walters, Gerald, Ivo, Shadow-ish), but it really fell flat for me (the one-liners were still pretty good, but the comedy scenes were always too much). I rewatched Sonic 1 & 2 yesterday to prep for 3, and I was laughing throughout both of them. They could have leaned more into the seriousness of the content like the masterpiece that was Kung Fu Panda 2

The SCU is now facing the Steven Universe Problem: the stakes are too high for regular shenanigans. Sonic 2 was perfect because everything was still personal and surrounding the ultimate plotline of Sonic integrating into familial life on Earth, but now things are too big. We already had Maddie and Tom abandoned at the beginning of the movie, and they felt forced into the plot compared to the smooth fusion of the A and B plot of the Sonic 2 wedding (the location of the Master Emerald even happened to be within visible distance of the wedding site) and left almost immediately after Tom got wrecked (also, why did Tom have a broken arm instead of broken ribs or something after getting socked square in the trunk by Shadow?). I really hope they have more family stuff going on in Sonic 4, otherwise they're going to make Tom and Maddie feel completely irrelevant

I knew the Knuckles series was canon, but it still pained me extremely to see Wade being appointed the guardian of the Master Emerald because I hate him

Minor nitpick: Tom should have mentioned his brothers in Sonic 2 when he was saying he wanted Sonic to have a team/wingmen. The reveal that he has brothers seems out of left field since we're three movies in and we just found that out

AMY CONFIRMED! How is Metal Sonic a thing if Ivo is dead, though? Why did they not just have her be the catalyst for Shadow remembering his real promise to Maria like she was originally? They introduced both Tails and Knuckles in Sonic 2, so why did they save her for Sonic 4 and make Shadow's backstory so weird instead?

Keanu Reaves did a much better job with Shadow's voice than the current, sneering Batman wannabe one from the games

Overall, the movie felt a bit disjointed, fell back into Sonic 1's trap of telling instead of showing (particularly the heart-to-hearts), and left me with more questions than answers. 7/10 on my first watch (Sonic 1 = 8/10 told instead of showed and had some bad acting from the humans; Sonic 2 = 9/10 hilarious, but needed more Knuckles and the pivonka scene dragged a bit; Knuckles series = 3/10 desperately needed more Knuckles)