#which I don’t think will work because I need to save a pov for after something happens

[kirisclangen]

Larchpaw

She/her, 8 moons, cis molly

[tsurugis]

My mother in law finished my first book in the trilogy I’m writing and I’m dead because she loves it skjndjkdhidj she read the last hundred fifty pages in nearly one sitting and said it’s the strongest part of the book but that it’s well worth how “slow” the beginning is because by the time shit starts going down you really know the characters well I’m dead. she’s weird as hell about books and it’s not her genre but I live with her and I know she wouldn’t be able to fake liking it she can be mean as hell pfpflkjf

[daddyslilchickenfingers2]

KINKTOBER (reuploaded)

Pegging (Matt)

Request: none but yall begged for me to bring it back lmao

Warnings: pegging obviously, sub!matt, best friends, bi reader, fingering(male), dual pleasure strap on, use of vibrator, slight edging, use of matty, mommy kink, whiny!matt, 0.2 seconds of matt sucking the strap, i think that’s all, lmk if i missed anything!

A/N: sorry this is a few days late, i’ve been super busy. tomorrow will be posted on time

Y/n’s pov

I was in the kitchen working on my MacBook when my best friend Matt came in and sat across from me. “Hey Matt.” I greeted him without looking up from my computer screen. “Um hi Y/n/n. Can I uh ask you like a really weird and personal question?” he asked. I was a bit confused but nonetheless nodded in agreement, “Sure I guess…” I said while clicking save and closed my laptop to give him my full attention. “I uh- I can’t ask you here, can we go to my room?” he stated nervously, only adding to my confusion.

We got into his room and Matt closed the door behind him, “So you know how you’re bi?” “Oh really, I am? I had no idea!” I replied sarcastically. “Not funny, but like you’re bi, obviously. I um, uh I-I know you have a strap-on…” he stuttered and trailed off. “If your question is why do I have it, I’m going to hit you for being dumb.” I joked, making Matt squirm uncomfortably, “Have you ever, you know, used it on a guy before?” he inquired nervously. “No… Why do you want to know about my sex life you weirdo?” I was suddenly getting a bit flustered because how the hell does Matt know I have a strap-on in the first place and why is he asking me about what I do with it?

“I- uh- I really like y-you and I have um- a fantasy involving you a-and I really want you to do it. Please don’t get mad.” he stated in a rushed tone, stuttering over a few words. I was beyond confused and a bit shocked, “That’s not how I expected this conversation to go. Um, okay, wow- what’s um… what’s this fantasy?” I asked curiously. Matt started to nervously pick at his nails and chew on his lip, avoiding eye contact with me as his cheeks turned pink. “Would you please dom me?” he asked, “And peg me…” he added, saying it so quietly that I almost didn’t hear him.

“What!? Matt are you sure? It’s probably gonna hurt, I’ve-I’ve never done that before. I’ve only ever used it to fuck a girls pussy.” I replied flustered and just as nervous as Matt. He finally looked at me with pleading eyes, “Please? I have lube and I’ve fingered myself before. I’ll be a good boy and listen, I promise!” he begged me. Looking at his face, I reluctantly agreed “I uh- okay, we can try it. I’m just scared I’m going to hurt you.” I told him softly. “You won’t hurt me, it’ll just be uncomfortable at first. I really want this, I’ve thought about it since we were 17. Can we do it tonight? Chris and Nick are going over to a friend’s house.” Matt said quickly, clearly excited that I agreed.

“Sure I guess, but I’m gonna want foreplay beforehand. And I’m probably gonna want to kiss you, like a lot.” I laughed as Matt’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink again. He started looking down again nervously “Can I kiss you right now?” he asked softly, instead of answering I just tilted his head up and captured his lips in a short but sweet kiss. “Mhm, thank you.” he blurted out after, as I got up and made my way to the door. I sent him a wink before going to my own room where I pulled out my strap-on, which happened to be one for dual pleasure, meaning there was a vibrating dildo that went into me as well.

Even though it had already been cleaned after the last time I used it, I decided to clean it again anyway. I also decided I needed to ask Matt another question so I texted him to come to my room. I laid out a few sets of lingerie, that basically cover nothing, on my bed, but I wanted Matt to pick one anyway. “Um what did you need my help with?” he asked as he stepped into my room, closing the door. “I want you to pick which one you want me to wear tonight.” I said while pulling him over to my bed to look at what I had picked out. I stopped when I noticed Matt kept trying to cover his crotch with his hands, instantly knowing he was hard. “Are you hard right now Matty?” I teased, causing him to blush deeply.

“Only a little bit. I didn’t touch myself, I promise! I-I do have a vibrator in m-my ass though but it’s not on. I just wanted to edge myself so I could cum more later, ‘m sorry I didn’t a-ask.” he stuttered out, extremely flustered. “Do you have the remote?” I questioned as he was eyeing this one black set, which was mostly just straps. “Yes, and I want this one it’s really sexy.” he blurted out before blushing heavily. The one he picked out was a black leather bra and panties set with a grater belt, the bra was basically just an outline of one as it had nothing covering my tits. It did hold my them up nicely though, just like the panties, which were crotchless, and the garter made my ass look good.

“Can I have control of the vibrator until tonight? You think you can handle that without cumming?” I inquired, wanting to know how far I could take things with him. Matt dug into his pocket before pulling out the remote and handed it to me with an embarrassed smile. “I think I can as long as it’s not on 24/7.” he told me as he grabbed my hand and started nervously playing with the few rings I had on my fingers. “Can I ask you a serious question?” I asked Matt, resulting in him nodding. “I’m not judging you, I just want to know, but you don’t have to answer if you feel uncomfortable. Why do you want to be pegged so badly and like having things up your ass? I don’t care if you are, but are you like gay or bi?” I questioned, causing him to drop my hand.

Matt’s face turned a bright red and he had to clear his throat a couple of times before speaking. “N-No, I’m not gay or bi, I don’t find men attractive. I was just young and experimenting one day and figured out how to stimulate my prostate. I wanna get pegged because I’ve seen it on pornhub and it looks really hot.” he said softly. “Plus you’re someone I trust and if I’m being honest, you’re really attractive and you domming me would be the hottest fucking thing in the world to me.” he added, blushing heavily. “Noted. Thanks Matty, that’s all I needed.” I smiled at him before Nick conveniently called for him. This was the perfect time to start teasing him with the vibrator.

After putting the other two lingerie sets away, I walked out to the kitchen, pretending to go back to working on my laptop. I watched as Matt sat down next to Nick on the couch, pulling the small remote out of my pocket I pressed the + button, turning it on to 1, making Matt’s breath hitch a little. He looked up at me with pleading eyes to stop as he was talking to Nick but I turned it up again to 3, making him squirm a bit. “Matt, are you okay? You look uncomfortable and you’re not paying attention.” Nick asked, genuinely concerned.

Matt’s pov

I regret giving Y/n the remote to the vibrator now because I didn’t think she’d turn it on when I was talking to my fucking brother. I was fine when it was on level 1 but when she turned it up to 3 my brain went a bit foggy, I zoned out a little bit until Nick put his hand on my shoulder. “Matt, are you okay? You look uncomfortable and you’re not paying attention.” he asked, I quickly came up with an excuse. “Yeah I’m fine, my head just hurts a bit.” I lied, looking at Y/n and silently asking her to turn it off, which luckily for me, she did. After talking to Nick, I walked over to her, “Please don’t turn it on when I’m talking to my brother!” I pleaded, but that just made her turn it up to 5 while smirking.

“But doesn’t it feel good Matty?” she asked, I let out a whimper and nodded before walking back to the living room. This went on for the next two hours or so until Nick and Chris left, my boxers were soaked with precum and my dick was so hard. I was laying on my bed and I swear I almost came in my pants when Y/n walked in. She was wearing the lingerie set I picked out along with the strap-on, which was black and matched the set perfectly. The strap-on was definitely smaller than my dick, maybe 5 or 6 inches max, but that was good because I don’t think I could take one that’s upwards of 7 inches.

I started squirming as Y/n stood above me, looking down at me and telling me to get undressed. She already had me take the vibrator out like 15 minutes ago, not that it really mattered. “You’re already being such a good boy for me Matty.” she praised, making me whine a bit as her eyes raked over my body. “I’m ready for you to dom me.” I confessed, causing her to stop staring at my body and smile at me. “Where’s your lube at?” she asked me but I just got it for her instead, “Thank you handsome, can you lay on the bed for me?” she asked sweetly, knowing I was a bit nervous to get pegged and have sex with her in general.

Y/n’s pov

I know Matt said he wanted me to dom him, but I could visibly tell he was anxious and nervous so I was trying to be as gentle as I could with him. “Matty, if it’s too much or it hurts too bad let me know and we’ll stop and cuddle okay?” I said while moving some hair out of his eyes. “I promise I’ll say something.” he replied, “What do you wanna start with first babe?” I asked him, wanting to do things his way. “I want to makeout with you.” he giggled, I hovered over Matt and we started kissing slowly at first, then we started full-on making out. I was sucking on Matt’s tongue and he was letting out the prettiest whiny moans as I ran my hands up and down his sides.

Experimentally, I started ghosting my hands across his nipples, loving the whimper it pulled from him. I pulled back for just a second, “Does that feel good baby?” I questioned while rubbing my thumbs over his nipples before rolling them between my thumb and index finger. “Yeah but please more!” he whined, not making too much sense, “Please what baby? What do you want me to do?” I asked as I kissed all over his chest. “Want you to just peg me already. I’m ready mommy.” Matt squirmed. His eyes opened widely when he realized what he just said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mea-“ he started before I cut him off with a kiss.

“Don’t be impatient baby, mommy will fuck you when she’s ready.” I said sternly as I moved towards his aching cock. I discreetly turned my vibrator onto 2, not high enough to make me cum but just enough to get me more wet. His cock was already covered and dripping with precum, “This really gets you worked up, doesn’t it?” I teased as I grabbed the lube. I squeezed some onto my fingers and circled his puckered hole before slowly slipping one in. “Two fingers please, I can take it.” he whined, I added a second finger and Matt was right, he could indeed take it.

I started scissoring his hole opened before adding some more lube and a third finger causing Matt to whimper. “Too much?” I asked, not wanting to hurt him, “N-No just so full.” he panted out in response. I fingered Matt for a few more minutes until he grabbed my wrist and stopped me. “I-I think I’m ready mommy.” he said, looking up at me with those innocent blue eyes. “Are you sure?” I asked as I pulled my fingers out, wiping the rest of the lube off on my thigh. “Really sure, can- can I get it wet with my mouth and control your vibrator, please?” Matt asked nervously.

I handed him the remote and stood up, Matt quickly turned my toy up to 5 which caused me to squirm before he got on his knees. “You look good on your knees baby.” I complimented, making him blush heavily. “How do I um you know, suck dick?” Matt asked, his last two words barely above a whisper. “Well I’m not going to feel anything so you can just do whatever.” I explained, Matt nodded and started to suck on it lightly for a minute as I looked down at him.

He whined and stopped sucking, “I can’t wait, just use lube because I need it now!” he complained, desperately trying not to touch himself. “Okay, get back on the bed for me then.” I said while stroking the side of his face. Once Matt got back on the bed, I put some lube around his hole and onto the strap. “It might hurt baby, so tell me if you need to stop.” “Okay Y/n, please I need you so bad!” he whined. I placed the tip at Matt’s entrance and slowly pushed it in about half way.

Matt let out a choked sob as his hands tightly clenched the sheets and his face held a look of discomfort. “It’s okay Matty, you’re okay.” I soothed him, “P-Put the rest in.” he whimpered. I pushed in the rest of the way before stilling my movements again, not wanting to go too fast. Matt being the sneaky little shit he is, decided to turn my vibrator up to 7, I let out a loud moan as he did so. “Please move.” he groaned quietly, I started pumping at a slow pace as he started to groan a bit.

Even though I was feeling so much pleasure from the vibrator and I wanted nothing more than to start pounding into Matt, I stopped myself because I didn’t want to hurt him. “F-Faster mommy!” he loudly whined, I sped up my movements just a little bit, loving Matt’s whimpers and moans, “Feel good baby?” I panted out. “More! Need more!” he cried out, grabbing onto my shoulders, “Want me to go faster or harder?” I asked, wanting to clarify what he wanted.

“Both, please! Feels so goo—“ he cut himself off with an extremely loud moan as I started fucking into him rougher. “RIGHT THERE! FUCK MOMMY, D-DO THAT AGAIN!” he begged, bending his knees and putting his feet flat on the bed to arch his back more. Even with all the pleasure Matt was experiencing, he was still thinking about me, he turned up my vibrator to 10 which caused me to also join in on his loud moaning.

“Right here Matty? Is that where it feels good?” I asked breathlessly, “Yes! Yes! Please touch my cock, please! Please!” he needily moaned. I started rubbing his cock in rhythm with my thrust as we were both getting closer to the edge. “A-Are you close mommy?” “Very close baby, I just want you to cum first.” I told Matt, speeding up all my movements. “Choke me! Choke me tightly so I can please cum!” he whimpered.

I used my left hand to choke him and a couple seconds later, Matt was painting both our stomachs white with copious amounts of cum, cause me to cum as well and pulled out a him. “M-Matt, vibrator!” I cried for him to turn it off as I was getting overstimulated, “Sorry, sorry.” he apologized out of breath and turned it off my vibrator as I collapsed next to him on my back as we caught our breath.

I took off the strap and I was honestly just going to put it on the floor because I was too tired to clean it right now but Matt took it from me. He licked all my cum off the vibrating side before he put it on the floor and scooped his cum off of me. Matt stuck his fingers in his mouth to taste himself and moaned when I moved to lick the rest of his cum off his body. “You were such a good boy Matty, you did so well.” I praised him as I kissed his neck, sucking a minimal amount of hickies into the skin.

“Thank you Y/n/n, felt so good.” Matt blushed as I stood up to go take another shower “C’mon let’s go get cleaned up real quick.” I said while helping Matt up. I grabbed my clothes and strap-on as well as a pair of socks, boxers and a tshirt for Matt before we went to my room to take a quick shower. When we got out and got dressed we looked at the time to see Nick and Chris would be home soon. As to not be sus, we sat in the living to watch a movie and Matt was now extra clingy.

I’m not complaining, I think it’s cute, I enjoyed it. Matt had his head on my shoulder and I had an arm wrapped around his shoulders. I was playing with his hair when Nick and Chris walked back in and thankfully neither of them said anything. They probably just chalked it up to Matt feeling anxious about something and I comforted him. Both boys simply just plopped down on the couch to watch the movie with us until we all called it a night, Matt ended up sleeping in my room.

All work is subject to copyright

©Daddyschickenfingers 2024

Do not steal, use, or reupload my work

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[skelswritingcorner]

POV: You got kidnapped by Decepticons, and you're also on your period

(If you're wondering if you saw this before, you probably did! Tumblr's just being wonky and didn't show it, so I'm reuploading it)

Cast (of the TF characters): Skywarp, Thundercracker, Shockwave, Megatron, Soundwave, Rumble, Frenzy, Jazz, Prowl, Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Blaster, and a bit of Lazerbeak at the end

Synopsis: You’re on your period, and took a pretty strong painkiller before you went to class so you could focus without curling into fetal position from the pain. However, you didn’t think that you’d be kidnapped by alien robots. Luckily, you were using a cup. However, the painkiller is starting to wear off while you’re captive, and you’re hoping that you can be saved fast. Ideally, without these alien robots seeing you cough up endometrium.

A/N: I made the heights based more on G1 Transformers. I like the big bois, and g/t (mostly because I’m barely 5'2 but that’s irrelevant), but Rumble does not deserve to be 21 feet tall. He and Frenzy should be tiny menaces. Also, I think the size difference between the reader character and Blaster is more than enough. Also, this isn’t really for any specific Transformers continuity or series, more of my own headcanons if anything. Also, if you want to ask about the reader character, use the name Lorelei. Also, my endometriosis is not in my lungs, I just thought "Hey, do you know what would really fuckin suck?" and gave poor Lorelei endometrium in the lungs.

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Menstruation, Endometriosis, Anatomical words for reproductive organs, Kidnapping, Vulgar Language, mentions of medical neglect.

You woke up dreading the day. According to the tracker, your period starts today, which is bad because the cramps get severe enough that you’d be bedridden if you didn’t have your painkillers, and also because you had class today. College life and all. At least today was Saturday, so it was only one three-hour class.

Going to the bathroom first, you checked your underwear for any signs of blood. There was only a bit of blood, but if you didn’t act quickly the bloodfall would begin. You grabbed one of your menstrual cups, folding it then pushing it in through your vulva. When it was in place, you used some toilet paper to wipe some of the discharge and blood off your fingers, flushed, then washed your hands.

You felt a cough coming up. Grabbing a tissue, you coughed into it. There was a bit of what looked like blood from where you coughed. If this was your first time, you would’ve panicked. However, you knew it was the stupid endometrium in your lungs because of your stupid endometriosis. Better pack some extra tissues, maybe buy some from the convenience store on your way to class.

Going into the shared space, you noticed a bag with a note. Must’ve been one of your roommates. The note had your name on it, so you decided to read it.

Y/N, I got you a snack. You mentioned in the group chat that your period starts today. I don’t know if you’re supposed to eat something with your painkillers, so I got you one of your favorite snacks just in case. Toodles! - Emily

It was chocolate covered pretzels. You took the bag, grabbed a beverage from the fridge and went back to your room to grab your medication before eating. It’s best to take it now, so your cramps don’t get so severe that you end up curled up in fetal position sobbing from pain once it fully starts.

After eating in the common room, you went back to change into your clothes. Fortunately, you didn’t share a room with anyone, so you could change in your room. You picked out an oversized black band tee and blood red sweatpants after putting on a tank top. If you weren’t on your period you would’ve picked something that looked a little cuter or fashionable, you don’t want to ruin those clothes if you need to cough up blood. You don’t know if hydrogen peroxide works that well with the materials.

Besides, most people that know you can easily predict whether or not you woke up feeling good based on how styled you look. If you’re wearing something more styled, with multiple layers and accessories, you’re likely in a more positive mood. If you’re not, either you’re on your period or doing something that requires some dirty work.

You packed your messenger bag with the things you needed: stationary, wallet, charger with power bank, tissues, a plastic zipper bag in case you can’t throw any bloodied tissues at the current moment, a small hammer, the tools that tech people carry, extra menstrual cup in a 3D-printed cube container that requires the opening to be twisted to get to it, a spray bottle of hydrogen peroxide, the usual things.

Luckily for you, all you had was a single class that only lasted two hours today. No rehearsals for the color guard, since the field is still wet from yesterday’s downpour. Maybe you’ll do some sketches after class.

Putting your shoes on, you left your dorm room and walked to your class. You made sure that your dormitory was close to the main campus, given your medical problems. Unlike yesterday, it was a gentle sprinkle of water, so you didn’t rush yourself. Class was in half an hour anyway.

Walking into the lecture hall, there was only one other person. You sat at a seat closest to the door, and turned to the other student. Like clockwork, you both got out your phones, pointed a finger at each other, and took a picture. Neither of you know each other's names, yet the bond is indescribable. Bonding through mutual goofiness without a single word exchanged. After that, a few more classmates came in, and once the clock hit noon the lecture began.

♢♢♢

After class ended, you packed up your things. Before you could get up, someone tapped on your shoulder.

Turning around, you saw one of your classmates with a furrowed brow. “Do you know about the recent sightings of alien robots?”

You shook your head, “I haven’t checked the news.”

“You haven’t heard anything?! They were spotted really close to campus two days ago. It looked like a bird, but obviously no birds nearby are that large! Be careful out there, hopefully nobody gets abducted.” She waved goodbye and sped out the room.

The alien robots are something you’ve heard about only in passing. Your roommates have mentioned them before, one of them took a picture that was so bad in quality you thought it was fake. Why are they going near a college, out of all places? There’s no local government facilities or anything that you think would interest them. Except for the telescope the astronomy majors use. They might be curious about that. It’s not related to your major though, so hopefully they won’t try taking you.

Walking out of the building, you decided to walk around a bit. It was nice, the sun wasn’t too harsh, the drizzle stopped, and there were basically no people around. Your painkiller should last a few more hours, so you have time to chill and walk slowly.

You couldn’t enjoy the scenery for long. You should’ve realized why you didn’t see anyone, not with that giant robot who almost crushed you, and is now looking down at you.

The creature was massive, quadruple your size at the very least. Black, purple, and annoyed.

“Who… are you?” you took a step back, ready to zoom away at any moment. They didn’t answer you, though, only grabbing you. Before you could react, you saw a bright purple light consume your vision, and you closed your eyes so your retinas wouldn’t burn.

♢♢♢

When the light was no longer visible, you were somewhere you didn’t recognize. The walls were metal, and there were more… people? Whatever they were, but they were looking at you. One looked identical to the one holding you, but almost entirely blue. An all-purple robot with a single yellow eye stared down at you, emotionless.

“I found one. I barely saw anyone at the location.” the one holding you said.

“Strange,” the blue one pondered, “shouldn’t there have been more of these squishies at that place?”

You wanted to retort so bad, but you also knew that the moment you start speaking you might cough. And honestly? What goes on in your body is none of their business. It’s Saturday, you thought to yourself, no shit there’s barely anyone there.

“Hey, tiny squishy!” the blue one put his face close to yours, “Tell us how we can access that telescope!”

You sighed in defeat. “I don’t know, I’ve never been to the building it’s in.” Well, that was a half-lie. You have been to the science building, just not the room the telescope was inside of.

“You WHAT?!” Oh, they’re annoyed.

At this point, you were pissed. You wanted to get away before the pain gets you, and you started getting snippy, “I dunno, maybe you should’ve asked before kidnapping me BECAUSE MY MAJOR DOES NOT INVOLVE THE FUCKING TELESCOPE! My major is in tech AND NOT ASTRONOMY!”

There is a cough coming up. Wriggling an arm out from the giant hand grasping you, you coughed into the crook of your elbow. Blood, as per usual during shark week. For you, that is.

“What is that red thing that came out of her intake?!” The blue one’s blood red eyes widened.

“Do we have anyone who knows how to fix organics?” the one holding you asked.

You yelled, “I’M FINE! This is normal for me, at least my painkillers are in effect!”

“Coughing internal liquids is abnormal for any being.” The purple one with the yellow eye spoke. “Thundercracker, inform Lord Megatron at once.”

The blue one ran out of the room. That one was Thundercracker, from what you could tell.

“Put them on the table, Skywarp. I’ll check their systems.” the one with the yellow eye ordered. The hand gripping you plopped you unceremoniously onto the table, leading you to cough yet again.

When you got up, you noticed the blood you coughed up on the table. Guess you gotta clean that. Opening your bag, you got out the hydrogen peroxide spray and a few tissues. It was a familiar procedure; spray the bloodied surface, and then clean it.

“What even is that?” Skywarp asked.

“Hydrogen peroxide. It’s used to clean blood off things, including clothing. I’d use a paper towel, but all I have are tissues.” you replied.

A hand held your face, opening your mouth and pressing your tongue down with their thumb. The one-eyed robot tilted your head up, and observed.

“No anomaly in the intake pipe. Finding the anomaly might require an invasive approach or scans.” they removed their hand from you.

Oh hell no. If this was an OBGYN, you’d be fine with it. However, you are not, and giant robots probing your lungs and uterus and just anywhere inside you is the last thing you want happening.

“Absolutely NOT!” you yelled, “I’m not letting you do that to me! Just bring me back to campus before my painkillers wear off!”

“I don’t think I’ll allow that.” Wait, who the fuck said that?

“Lord Megatron!” Skywarp turned around, bowing down at a gray figure. You could see the red glow of their eyes from where you stood.

“So, this is the one you found. She’s smaller than Soundwave’s cassettes.” Great. Just great. They’re calling you small. “She will do just fine, even if she’s not the one we hoped for.”

“How in Cybertron can this squishy help us if she’s never been to the building that the telescope is in?” Thundercracker asked.

“You. You’re a student of the university, correct?” Megatron asked, looking at you.

“Yes?” you replied, unsure of what the gray robot was going to ask you to do.

“Good, good. Then you should be able to get to it for us.”

Pardon?! “I’m one of the tech majors, if I just walk into the building and go to where the telescope is, the staff will find it suspicious!” you protested, “The only time I’ve even been in the science building is when I was being shown around campus, and we never went into the room that the telescope is inside of! If I’m to go in that room, I’m going to need to explain to the department head as to why I need to go in there.”

“Along with that,” you glared at Megatron, “I want to know exactly why you want access to the telescope.”

Skywarp huffed, “Why would we tell you about that?”

“Because y’all kidnapped me! If you want me to cooperate, you need a damn good explanation.”

“It’s rather simple. If you humans have access to such technology, wouldn’t we be curious about how it works? Such technology would be useful to our cause.” Megatron explained, and you hated the condescending tone he was using. It reminded you of the times you’ve been to the hospital, begging for an answer to all the pain and too-heavy bleeding only to be spoken down to like a toddler. Claiming that what you experienced was normal when it very much was not.

You sighed, “Fine. If you want my assistance, I will only help you if you follow a few basic rules. Do not damage any part of the school campus, try to abduct anyone else, or even think of trying to destroy the telescope. If you violate these rules, I will not help you any further. I will lecture all of you about your behavior without hesitation if you do that.”

“But what if the Autobots start the fight?”

“I’ll lecture them too. Don’t fucking try me.” You countered. It’s been a long time already, you can feel the pain creeping up to a painful level. After grabbing another tissue from your bag, you coughed up more blood.

You need to get back to your dorm soon, if the painkillers fully wear off you don’t know how you can escape.

“Now, I’d like to return to campus before my painkillers wear off. Can you please bring me back?” you tried your best to be polite, but right now you’re starting to get desperate. It must have been an hour at the very least, and you need to get back before you’re paralyzed by pain.

“Not so fast, young lady. We never got your name, and based on what Thundercracker said, I’d rather have you be under supervision.” Megatron turned to the purple robot, “Shockwave, bring her to your lab and prepare the scanners. I’ll leave her in your hands.”

Oh no. Oh no no no no NO. That’s the last thing you want happening.

♢♢♢

A group of Autobots were on the campus, talking to various humans.

“I was looking outside the window during lab. This purple and black robot picked someone up, turned into a purple light and just… disappeared with them!” a tall brunet said, gesturing to the spot the abduction happened.

Prowl frowned. He knew it was Skywarp, no other Decepticon had that ability. He’ll have to inform Optimus Prime once he finished speaking to who he was speaking to.

“Do you know the student who was kidnapped?” Optimus Prime asked the young blonde-haired woman standing in front of him.

“Yes. Y/N L/N is my roommate. I know that today she’s starting her cycle, which for her is incredibly painful. She needs to take pretty intense painkillers so she can function during this. I didn’t see her before I left for work, but I made sure to get her a snack so that she could eat something when she got up before I left.”

“What is that cycle? Is this something that organic life experiences?” He asked.

She tapped on her phone for a bit before looking back up at the Autobot leader, “All animals with a uterus and ovaries have an ovarian cycle, in order to prepare for a potential pregnancy,” she showed the diagram on her phone’s screen, “the uterus creates a lining, which sheds if a pregnancy doesn’t happen in a period called menstruation, or just a period, for humans. This lining is called endometrium. This lining, however, can end up outside the uterus, and in rare cases can go all the way up to the brain. This is called endometriosis, and is what Y/N has and what causes her the intense pain.”

“For her, there is endometrium in her lungs. She coughs it out during her period sometimes.”

Ratchet approached the two. “You mention that, and earlier the painkiller she takes. How long ago was that?”

The woman checked the time, “About five hours ago, based on the time she usually wakes up on this day of the week.”

“And when does it wear off?”

She paused. “After six hours, she’s back to regular unmedicated pain.”

Optimus got up. “Thank you, Miss Emily. We will find her as soon as we can.”

“Can I come with you? I don’t know how willing Y/N is going to be while she’s in pain around strangers.” Emily asked, “I’ll do my best to stay out of danger, and keep close.”

Ratchet grimaced, “It’s going to be dangerous. I doubt we have any weapons that you can use, if you can even hold them.”

“I understand your sentiment, old friend. However, she has a point. I doubt that Y/N will be pleased to have more Cybertronians trying to take her. Especially if she’s in terrible pain.”

Sighing in defeat, Ratchet turned to Emily, “Fine. We’ll bring her along.”

♢♢♢

Before you could protest, Shockwave grabbed you and started walking away. You thrashed in his hand, trying to wriggle out to run away and hide. Your efforts, however, bore no fruit, and only made Shockwave hold you tighter.

He put you in some kind of container, too tall for you to climb out.

“Soundwave, can you come to my lab with Rumble and Frenzy? Lord Megatron requested me to do scans of the human Skywarp found. She’s being difficult, I need those two to restrain her so I can do the scans without her attempting an escape.”

“Understood.” a voice was heard, likely coming from Shockwave.

After some time, a cobalt blue figure walked into the lab. They were the same size as Shockwave. Two significantly smaller figures followed them in tow; one purple, one black.

“So,” the blue one looked at you, “this is the human?”

“Yes.” Shockwave replied, grabbing you and putting you on some kind of table. They removed your bag, so you couldn’t grab a hammer and thwack anyone even if you tried.

“Rumble, Frenzy, restrain the human so we can do the scans.” The blue one ordered. The small figures jumped onto the table, grabbing your limbs and pushing them into the table. Honestly? That’s pretty painful. You tried to fight, kick, anything, but their grip was unrelenting.

“Stop wiggling, fleshy!” one of them tightened their grip.

Some kind of scanner descended to your chest, stopping a few centimeters above you. It whirred to life, and a red light shone onto your chest. It shifted around, scanning from your chest to your pelvis. After a few minutes, the light turned off.

“Peculiar.” Shockwave stated.

“Is this what human internals look like? How strange.” The cobalt one tilted their head, then looked at you.

“Rumble, Frenzy, release.” They ordered, and the two robots holding you by the limbs released you. However, you couldn’t run, as Shockwave grabbed you. The change from laying down to being vertical made you feel the menstrual blood leak out of your cervix, sending shivers down your spine.

“Do you even know what you’re trying to look for? There’s nothing that you can base it on!” you yelled.

“Intuition.” Shockwave rebutted, putting you back in the container. Jarred once again.

The pain creeps up once more. The whole restraining debacle distracted you for some time, but now you realized that the medication is almost out. In a few minutes, you’ll be in fetal position from the pain. Even breathing is a struggle.

Alarms.

“Autobots infiltrated the base, I repeat, Autobots have infiltrated the base.” the announcement rang.

Shockwave and the others left, leaving you alone. This was your chance. Opening up your bag, you grabbed a hammer. Can you even break the glass? Might as well find out.

Walking to one of the corners, you slammed the hammer. A crack formed, and you continued to slam and slam and slam until a large enough opening was made. You walked out of it after putting your hammer away. After going to the side opposite the hole, you dropped and rolled onto the floor. It was time to run and find a small enough place to hide.

You ran out of the lab, zooming through the halls to find somewhere small. Somewhere you could fit and they could not. After a few minutes of running, you found a small slit in the wall that you could just barely squeeze into, so you went in it. It took some time, and your chest especially was squashed, but the slit went to a tiny area, where the slit was the only exit. Curling up into a corner, you waited. The slit is too short for the two who restrained you to fit anyway.

You heard fighting and yelling approaching you. From where you were, they couldn’t see you. After a bit of time, it quieted down.

Voices.

“We haven’t seen the missing person at all. Where could she be, Prowl?” one asked.

“Who knows? Y/N might be trapped somewhere.”

They know your name. Why do they know your name? You didn’t tell any of them your name.

Unless… they’re a rescue party? Moving was a struggle for you, the pain was getting too much. You doubt you could speak right now either.

“Wait. That tear in the wall. Could she be in there?” the voice pondered, getting closer to where you were.

“I’m checkin’ it. Emily’s with Blaster ‘n’ Wheeljack, right? If Y/N’s here, contact them.”

They know Emily? Your roommate? Well, that complicates things.

A large black finger entered the slit, widening it just a tiny bit. “Hey! Are you in there?” they asked. All you could do is whimper in reply.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here!” they promised.

“Jazz, I contacted them. They should arrive in a moment.”

More footsteps.

“We’re here!” a familiar voice trilled. They are indeed talking about that Emily, the one who is your roommate. Both of you are enrolled in the university’s STEM program, so you have a few classes together. You’re both part of the color guard as well, which is pretty well known for the futuristic masks that the marching band wears as well.

“Do you think you can fit through that? I mean, Jazz, he made it bigger, but it still looks small.” An unfamiliar voice asked.

“If Y/N can fit it, I can.” Emily said, and you heard her step in through the slit.

“That bad?” Emily asked. You turned to her and gave her the stink eye.

“Hey! STEM girlies gotta stick together, y’know? Stop giving me that look.” Emily retorted.

She took out your painkillers from her bag. “I hope yain’t mad about me yoinking your painkillers, I knew that by the time you were found the meds would’ve fully worn off and you’d need to take them again. Here,” she gave you the bottle. You did your best to remove the lid, took one, and swallowed it dry. Ideally, you would’ve had something to drink since it tastes absolutely horrible, but eh.

You put your painkiller bottle in your bag. Emily grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up to your feet, “C’mon, up at it. Let’s get back.” Both of you walked toward the slit, and left the hiding spot.

There were four of the alien robots. They all had blue eyes, unlike the ones who abducted you.

“Prime, we got ‘er!” The one with a blue visor and black hands said. “We’re gonna get ‘em back now.”

“I’ll hold them.” A red robot said.

Emily introduced them, “The red one’s Blaster, the one with the two trapezoids where his ears should be is Wheeljack, the cop car lookin’ guy with the red eyebrows is Prowl, and the one with the visor is Jazz. They’re all good dudes, even if Prowl’s grumpier than my pawpaw.”

“Don’t call me old.” Prowl growled.

“How old are you again? You’re a peepaw in my eyes.” you could hear Emily’s smirk, it made you chuckle.

“At least she sounds better!” Jazz jokes, “At Prowl’s expense, that is.”

“Shockwave’s lab is nearby. I’ll catch up to all of you later, I think there’s something there that might be useful.” Wheeljack stated.

“Alright. Don’t get killed, Wheeljack.” Prowl ordered, and Wheeljack ran to the lab you escaped from.

Blaster brought a hand to you and Emily, “Well? Hop on, I won’t bite.” Emily brought you to his hand, and he brought you to one of his shoulders and put Emily on the one opposite you.

“Let’s go.” And so, the five of you left. You gripped onto one of Blaster’s neck cables, mostly for reassurance on your part. The bouncing of Blaster zooming made you bounce a little bit, but you knew he was trying not to make you two bounce too much.

♢♢♢

After you got on the small ship, you were met with a few other of the Autobots. The tallest of them was red and blue, with windows on his chest. Next to him was a mostly white with orangish red accents.

“Good, you found her.” The blue one said, smiling.

“Optimus, should I look at her? They might’ve injured her.” The red and white one asked. You coughed into your elbow again, and let go of Blaster’s neck cable.

“Y/N’s not injured from what I can tell, Ratchet. I was able to give her the painkiller.” Emily told the Autobot.

“Which tastes AWFUL.” you added.

“Right. I forgor, sowwy.” and now Emily is UwUing. Great. That’s usually reserved for when color guard practice happens, or when she pops into the band room to bring you and the other brass members some cursed snack that the store she works at sells. Usually with some kind of beverage for you. Emily may be cursed, but she’s an awesome friend and roommate. You remember the time she recorded you and several other brass members doing a reenactment of I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys. She’s a champ when she wants to be.

“Well, since you coughed up some endometrium, I’m going to take a little sample.” Ratchet grabbed some kind of scalpel, grasping your arm and using it to scrape some of that sweet sweet lung endometrium.

“I’ll ask Perceptor to look at it.” Ratchet walked away.

“Where’s Wheeljack?” Optimus asked.

“Went to look in Shockwave’s lab, I think he should be here around…”

The doors opened, and footsteps ran inside and the door closed.

“Now.” Prowl finished.

“Wheeljack, what did you find?” Optimus asked, with everyone turning to the Autobot.

“Well, there was a clear container that was broken in the corner. Guess that’s where Y/N was put. Along with that,” he showed a hologram, likely the result of the scans, “I noticed this on the screen.”

Optimus approached, looking at it. “Show this to Ratchet once he gets back.”

“We should bring these two back. I’ll inform the authorities that Y/N was found, and has sustained no injuries.” Optimus ordered.

“Jazz, navigate the ship to the university.” Optimus ordered, letting Jazz leave to the cockpit.

After a few more orders, and Blaster placing you and Emily down on the floor, the both of you were left with Prowl.

“Miss L/N, I have a question for you.”

“What’s the question?” you asked.

“Is there any way to reduce the pain, or how long it lasts without your medication?” Prowl asked.

You’d answer, but that involves telling Prowl about sex. And, to be perfectly honest, fucking anyone you barely know is a turn-off to you, especially a giant alien robot that is literally thrice your size. You do not feel fuckable right now, try again later when you’re not bleeding from the cervix and lungs my dude. Do they even have penises? Well, they could use their fingers… No, don’t be horny, Y/N. Are you still ovulating? That likely explains the fact that you actually considered explaining sex and possibly… let’s stop that thought.

“Well, heat can help a little bit.” Good save, Emily. Good save. “It all depends on the person, though.”

“Also, Jazz and Blaster wanted me to ask you this, but what is this… trombone suicide thing Emily mentioned?” Ah. Emily snitched to Prowl.

“It’s a very complex move involving multiple brass instruments, usually trumpets or trombones. If you turn the wrong way, you’ll either bonk trombones or smack your fellow brassist in the face. There’s also the trumpet suicide, sousaphone suicide, and I’m trying to figure out how to do it for the color guard. Also, you’re playing the instrument while doing this.” you explained.

Prowl sighed, most likely in relief, “It isn’t literal, at the very least. That’s a relief.”

After a few more questions, and fortunately sex did not come up during that time, Optimus came back.

“We’ve arrived, let’s get these two back.” Optimus announced.

Walking with him and Prowl, you got tackled by one of your band mates. A good chunk of the brass section and color guard were there.

“Glad you’re back, Y/N!” the one who tackled you said, helping you get up.

After some time, and a little bit of discussion, you and Emily left to go back to the dorm with the others. The sun was setting, and the events of today left you tired and having menstrual munchies. Hopefully you won’t have to deal with the alien robots again.

A mechanical bird observed from a lamppost, watching the two figures enter the building. Even though the Decepticons failed to keep the student from the Autobots, there was still an opportunity to use her. Once they were fully gone, the black and red robot flew away.

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! I have a character in the anime world, Boku No Hero Academia who’s had a prosthetic eye since the age of three years old. Right now, he’s 15, turning 16, and gets a prosthetic arm later on in the story—I wanted to ask if these things are okay?

-he often jokes that he’s “turning into a robot” (he does this when he loses his arm)

- When he DOES get a prosthetic arm, Mikumo finds it odd and kind of tedious to use. He figures he can just use his telekinesis to move things around that he can’t reach but that in and of itself makes him sick so his friends are often like “hey, you should wear this” and he’s annoyed but does so specifically when he can’t do things on his own. Since this IS a fighting anime, he does end up wearing it for fights rather than everyday mundane tasks but I’m not sure if that’s okay or not?

-With his eye, after losing it during a training exercise, he doesn’t end up getting a new one and doesn’t seem to care very much. He still has an eyepatch over it because of protection though. My main concern was that I had only figured out the prosthetic eye thing after publishing chapter one and wanted to ask if it’s possible for the eye to appear glossy / and or for the person to close their eye shut alongside the other one? I don’t particularly mention that his eye is any different than a normal one but I’m unsure if that would confuse readers when I write him doing normal stuff with one eyed vision or not? Would he have been used to seeing with one eye that it doesn’t bother him?

- With his prosthetic arm, he learns how to do things with one limb but uses the prosthetic for fighting and fighting only, or just fighting and SOME mundane tasks but he doesn’t exactly like leaving it on all the time, hence why he almost never uses it save for the specific thing mentioned. Is that falling into any tropes?

Hello, I'll try to go point by point. Standard disclaimer that we don't have amputee mods or mods with ocular prosthetics, take everything with a grain of salt.

Robot joke: Yeah, disabled people do that joke, I've heard it IRL a few times.

Prosthetic arm: I'd have to guess that it would be more of a hindrance than help? Depends on amputation level, perhaps. But either way that's a chunk of metal that is heavy and tiring to use, you might as well get a metal socket to hit other people with, genuinely seems more practical and easier to control. Especially if he doesn't have time for a bunch of occupational therapy and just wants to go back to fighting stuff.

Prosthetics eye: how does he lose it? I only ever heard of people losing their prosthetic eye in water with strong current, otherwise I think it would be hard since it's in the person's eye socket and all, you have to get your fingers in there to take it out. Out of curiosity, if it's a result of school activity, will they repay him the cost of his prosthetic? I don't know how Japanese insurance nor law works but in the US a prosthetic eye is 2000$+, if he's 15 his parents would probably kill him for just losing it like that. Not to mention that it would probably feel like losing a part of his body if he has been using it consistently for so long - it doesn't mean he has to want it back ASAP and worry himself sick, but he will need an adjustment period for "oh yeah I don't have that anymore" to actually click.

Technically a prosthetic eye can look in any way since the appearance/colors are just cosmetic, but the "glassy look" is generally associated with glass eyes, which just aren't really a thing anymore. Most prosthetics are acrylic and look exactly like the other eye, you really can't tell which is which (on people who have only one prosthesis) in my experience.

The biggest (and usually only) visual difference is the lacking movement of the prosthetic when compared to the other eye. But in terms of POV writing, 99% of people's first thought will be strabismus rather than a prosthetic eye.

If his prosthetic eye is fit properly he should have no problems with his eyelids, including closing and winking or whatnot. This however will change when he ditches it for an eyepatch as the eyelids will lose their shape. He might have problems using a prosthetic eye later if he just goes with a bare socket and not even a conformer (another thing his parents would probably worry about if he has been using a prosthesis for the past 13 years).

He would have probably gotten used to his monocular vision by that point, he spent his essentially whole life like that. I was born with impaired depth perception and well, I don't know anything else, it's just normal to me. Even if he did have to do some things differently, I don't think he would consider it as "bothering" him, that'd be just how he learned to do it in the first place.

Prosthetic arm again: I can mostly refer you to that post in our pinned about writing characters with an upper limb prosthesis. The thing is, if he's below the elbow, he probably really doesn't need it outside some specific activities that he could have a specialized prosthetic for (there's not that many of these activities). If he doesn't have a residual limb (or has an extremely short one), he is almost definitely not using a prosthetic since it's incredibly hard to control and weighs a ton, two things that don't really help while fighting. He can still kick ass without a prosthetic or even using his residual limb (though I wouldn't recommend punching with the limb if he has a through-bone amputation, it would hurt him more than whoever he was punching). I know that in media every arm amputee is suddenly helpless and immediately loses once they don't have their prosthetic, but that's just the "perfect magic prosthesis/disability as a superpower" BS again. A lot of completely able-bodied characters use one arm in combat, whether they use a gun or a one-handed blade or something else. It's completely possible to fight with one arm.

To figure out if it falls into tropes, you need to research how realistic it would be. He's not wearing his prosthesis 24/7 which is good, but when does he wear it? If it's while [performing activity A], try googling how amputees with the same level of amputation (!) do it. There are articles and Q&As and YouTube instruction videos about everything now - see if real life amputees actually need a prosthesis to [perform activity A]. It could be that he would need it, that he wouldn't at all, or that he wouldn't need it per se but it would speed the process up or whatever. If the conclusion is "yeah he would need it", then it's realistic and not a trope; and if he wouldn't need it, then you now know how he would actually do it. You can also alternatively look at similar resources for people with hemiplegia since it's a more common disability and some or a lot of it might apply to your character as well.

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[unovaascollectionoftrinkets]

The Wonder Duo Takes Down Grape Juice

Minoru Mineta messed up big time.

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

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

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

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

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

Katsuki Bakugou was in a damn good mood. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he was feeling generous.

Probably not.

(Most definitely.)

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

What the actual fuck is this?

At first, Katsuki’s brain went to villains. 

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

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

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

Pinky—Mina-fucking-Ashido—was crying.

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

Katsuki froze. 

This didn’t compute. 

Mina didn’t cry.

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

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

This wasn’t that.

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

Did it make him good at this kind of shit? 

Hell no. 

Did he care enough about Mina to try? 

Hell yes.

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

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

Her face was a mess. 

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

Where was her usual vibrance? 

Her light?

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

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

He wasn’t joking. Not even a little. 

The words were more fact than question. 

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

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

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

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

Finally, her voice came, quiet and broken.

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

The name hit like a bomb detonating in his head.

Mineta. 

Of fucking course it was Mineta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that was the thing—those moments always passed. 

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

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

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

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

This was going to end here.

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

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

He hated this. 

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

But he’d always been like this. 

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

But for Mina’s sake, he had to try.

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

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

Not while he was around.

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

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

Was this what they called patience? 

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

She sniffled softly, and his mind raced. 

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

What do people do when someone’s crying? 

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

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

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

Well, fuck it. Worth a shot.

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

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

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

It seemed to work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the nudge she needed, apparently. 

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

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

Yeah. That bastard was fucking dead.

His mind immediately spun with possibilities. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lucky?” she rasped, barely audible.

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

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

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

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

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

But for now, it was something. 

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

And Katsuki would make damn sure it burned.

Katsuki stayed with her longer than he intended. 

He didn’t say much—didn’t need to. 

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

Still, progress was progress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Kats…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, what kind of—”

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

Silence. Then—soft, deadly serious:

“I’ll be there in five.”

Perfect. 

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

And Deku was the perfect partner in crime.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

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

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

But honestly? 

It was Blasty who’d really done it.

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

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

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

Something good.

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

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

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

As expected, she found the usual suspects already there.

One of them being Katsuki. 

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

She glanced his way as she crossed the room. 

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

Then he made a gesture—subtle and deliberate.

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

This was colder. Controlled.

And far more terrifying.

Its message was clear: Mineta had been dealt with.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The corner of her mouth quirked upward despite herself.

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

Still, whatever amusement she felt was short-lived.

 The door opened again, and in walked Midoriya.

Mina tensed immediately.

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

Not today. Today, he was …different.

His steps were slow, purposeful. 

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

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

He looked... dangerous.

Then it happened.

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

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

Izuku didn’t say a word. 

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

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

This was bad.

Katsuki and Izuku working together? 

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

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

Well…

Almost.

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

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

Her stomach tightened. 

What the hell are you two planning?

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

For her.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The air changed the moment they arrived at Ground Beta.

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

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

Aizawa, as usual, kept things brief. 

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

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

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

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

“Ah, perfect timing,” Aizawa muttered.

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

Principal Nezu.

Of all days…

Nezu’s appearance immediately heightened her unease. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She barely kept herself from groaning aloud. 

This wasn’t good. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A smattering of murmurs rippled through the group. 

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

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

Mina nodded along as he read off the teams. 

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

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

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

Izuku, Denki, and Minoru?

Her brows furrowed as the trio was announced. 

Could that be a coincidence? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever they had planned was going down now.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aizawa didn’t trust that smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first phase of the exercise unfolded with methodical precision. 

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

But one team deviated. 

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

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

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

That last part hung in the air. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” the principal replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The way Nezu lingered just inside the doorway was strange. 

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

But this was different. 

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

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

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

Aizawa frowned. 

Now this is weird. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of tweaks are you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aizawa didn’t like the sound of that. 

“Who?”

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

That got a rise out of Aizawa. “And?”

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

That was unusual, to put it mildly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too normal.

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

Aizawa leaned forward as Midoriya headed toward his assigned area. 

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

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

Izuku knelt in front of her, calm and composed. 

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

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

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

Something about the encounter nagged at Aizawa.

Midoriya tapped his ear, a subtle but unmistakable gesture. 

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

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

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

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. Plan?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I did not ask.”

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

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

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

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

“For who, exactly?”

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

Aizawa grunted, resisting the urge to rub his temples. 

He turned back to the monitors.

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

He was smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

For what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But today? Nothing. Not a single argument.

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

They weren’t competing. 

They weren’t leading. 

They were waiting.

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

But Bakugo stayed behind.

He didn’t call out or follow after them. 

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

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

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

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

Aizawa leaned in closer, his chest tightening. 

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

Mineta.

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

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, he expelled students. 

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

But Aizawa couldn’t risk that with Mineta. 

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe Mina had told him something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if Bakugo had already decided there was no line?

What if Midoriya decided Mineta deserved what was coming?

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

For now, he had to watch.

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

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

Typical.

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

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

Aizawa’s brow furrowed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The comment hit like a firecracker. 

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

But Bakugo surprised him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aizawa switched his gaze to the feed showing Midoriya. 

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

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

They’d orchestrated this. 

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

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Stupid fucking Bakugo.

Perfect in every way except for that attitude.

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

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

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

Ugh, whatever.

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

Especially the girls. 

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

And Midoriya? What the hell was up with him?

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

It was disgusting.

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

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

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

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

This wasn’t such a bad gig. 

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

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

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

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

His gaze shifted to the far right. 

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

Perfect.

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

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

Nothing.

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

This was his moment. 

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

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

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

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

He stepped closer.

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

Whoever it was, they looked vulnerable—helpless even.

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

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

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

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

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

A creak.

Mineta froze, his words caught mid-sentence.

It was faint, subtle. 

A sound that shouldn’t have mattered—but in that charged moment, it echoed like a gunshot. His head jerked up, and his eyes flickered to the tent flap, which seemed to tremble just slightly as though disturbed by a breeze. 

But there was no wind.

He glanced nervously back at the figure on the cot, licking his lips again to hide the dryness creeping into his mouth. His throat felt tight now, his initial excitement beginning to sour at the edges. But he wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t stop. 

You’ve come this far, Minoru.

With more hesitation than he wanted to admit, he leaned down over the figure. His voice dropped lower, quieter.

“Hey, you awake?” he whispered. His heart raced in anticipation, his nerves buzzing in conflict with his darker urges.

The figure didn’t answer, didn’t so much as shift.

Mineta grinned, a sick sort of relief rushing through him. 

Even better.

His hand hovered, shaking slightly as it reached toward the blanket. His heart pounded in his ears as his fingers grazed the fabric, gripping it lightly. Slowly, he began to peel it back—just enough to reveal a shoulder, smooth and bandaged beneath the dim light seeping into the tent.

The breath he released was almost a shudder, an involuntary sound that made him feel both powerful and pathetic in the same moment. “See?” he murmured. “No need to be shy. I can make you feel good all over–”

The creak came again, louder this time, accompanied by a subtle thud.

Mineta whipped his head around, his pulse spiking. “Who’s there?” he demanded, the false bravado in his voice doing nothing to mask the note of panic creeping in.

Nothing answered but the silence.

He exhaled shakily, sweat collecting at the nape of his neck. His eyes darted back to the figure on the cot. But now, the once vulnerable scene felt different. Mineta glanced at the cot again, trying to steady himself. 

It was fine. 

He was overreacting. 

Nothing was happening. 

This was his moment, dammit, and no stupid creaking sound was going to ruin it.

Gathering the last of his fleeting courage, he leaned in one final time, this time reaching for the figure’s shoulder. He grinned nervously, almost giggling to himself to shake off the discomfort.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re nice and safe…” he started, his voice trembling just slightly as his hand inched closer.

But before he could touch the shoulder, a shadow passed across the tent flap. It wasn’t subtle this time, and the flap rustled faintly, as if someone had just shifted outside.

“Who’s there?!” he barked, spinning around with a sudden burst of fear. His voice cracked, his confidence now utterly drained.

The flap slowly moved, pulling to the side. The moment stretched endlessly as two silhouettes emerged in the dim light.

The first figure stepped inside, and Mineta’s blood ran cold. Green eyes sharp and deliberate, their usual kindness absent, stared him down. Midoriya’s voice was anything but soft, but the intensity behind it made Mineta’s knees weak.

“Mineta,” Midoriya said calmly. “What are you doing?”

Mineta’s stomach plummeted, his hand retreating from the cot as if burned. “I—I—nothing!” he stammered. “What are you—why are you here?!”

A second shadow appeared at the entrance, and the flap slammed shut behind it with a loud thwap. Bakugo stood there, arms crossed, his glare icy and dangerous. When he spoke, his voice was low, but every word was a threat.

“Yeah, what the fuck are you doing?” Bakugo said, his lips curling into a snarl. 

The unease curdling in Mineta’s chest turned to dread. 

Something about their presence, their stillness, wasn’t right.

This wasn’t happenstance.

This was a setup.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Izuku had felt a lot of things when Kacchan told him what had happened to Mina.

Shock, at first—a sharp jolt of disbelief that crackled through his mind, fleeting but visceral. It wasn’t that he doubted Kacchan’s words. No, not for a second. Katsuki’s anger, the fire behind every word he spat, left no room for questioning. 

But Mineta? He’d always been a sleaze, sure, but this?

Then came the nausea. 

A hollow, twisting pit in his stomach that made it hard to breathe. 

Izuku could see it clearly in his mind, even though Katsuki hadn’t given him details, refused to—Mina’s tears, her humiliation, her pain. She was one of the kindest, strongest people Izuku knew. 

And someone they trusted had done this to her.

The nausea gave way to anger—a flood, burning and suffocating, roaring so loudly in his head that for a moment, it drowned out Kacchan’s voice entirely.

“Deku! Damn it, listen to me!”

Izuku barely registered the hands gripping his shoulders, squeezing tightly enough to anchor him but not enough to hurt. He was already half-standing, ready to storm out of the dorm, ready to find Mineta, ready to call it “combat training” and make the consequences worth it.

“Izuku, stop!”

Kacchan’s voice cut through the haze like a thunderclap. 

Izuku blinked, realizing his fists were clenched, trembling with the effort of holding himself in place. Katsuki’s face swam into focus.

Katsuki.

His fingers dug into Izuku’s shoulders harder, like he was trying to anchor him in place. 

“You think I don’t wanna rip that sick bastard apart?! You think I don’t wanna make him wish he never fucking existed?!”

The room felt electric, like their rage was about to tear the walls apart. But even in his explosive fury, Izuku caught something underneath Kacchan’s voice—something that made him pause.

“And yeah, I wanna beat his shitty little face till it’s fucking unrecognizable,” Katsuki continued, his words slicing through the air, brutal and vicious, every syllable dripping with raw hatred. “But what the hell do we get outta that? Huh? What the fuck does pounding his disgusting ass into the ground do except get us expelled?”

Izuku opened his mouth to argue, his chest still heaving, but Katsuki cut him off, shoving him back toward the edge of the bed.

“No. I’m serious, nerd. Think about it.” Katsuki’s voice wavered for just a second—just long enough for Izuku to notice. 

His blazing red eyes, usually so filled with stubborn arrogance, had a crack in them now. Not weakness, not even uncertainty—just… desperation.

Katsuki pressed his hands flat against Izuku’s chest, forcing him down just enough that his green-haired companion had no choice but to stay. His lips curled into a snarl as he leaned in closer, lowering his voice, though it didn’t lose an ounce of its venom.

“I don’t just wanna kick him out of class, Deku,” Katsuki hissed. “I want more. I want this little bastard fucking gone. Expelled. Stripped of that half-ass provisional license like the fraud he is. Blacklisted from every single damn hero school in the country. He doesn’t deserve to be here, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve to call himself a fucking hero.”

Izuku blinked, his heart pounding harder, but this time for a different reason. 

The red that had clouded his vision began to ebb slightly, and Katsuki’s words cut through his spiraling thoughts.

Katsuki wasn’t just angry—he was furious. 

Furious in a way Izuku hadn’t seen since they were kids. 

But beneath that fury was something deeper, something unspoken and raw. Katsuki’s hands trembled, his grip tight enough to bruise, but the edges of his anger weren’t just burning—they were controlled. 

Calculated.

“And if it were up to me,” Katsuki said, his voice dropping even lower, almost to a whisper, “I’d get that fucker behind bars. That’s what I really want. But we can’t do any of that if you go running off half-cocked, breaking his shitty nose, or blowing your damn cover.” His lips pulled back in a snarl, his sharp teeth glinting like a wolf warning off its prey. “Think, nerd. For once in your damn life, use that big fucking brain of yours before you get us both fucking expelled.”

Izuku stared at him, his breath catching in his throat. Katsuki was furious, seething with a barely contained rage that was like a dam about to burst—but he wasn’t letting it break. 

Not yet.

“Kacchan…” Izuku said, his voice trembling slightly. His anger began to mix with shame and guilt for his rashness.

“Deku,” Katsuki’s voice was razor-sharp, his hands gripping Izuku’s shoulders with an intensity that left no room for argument. “You don’t get to call the shots on this one. You’re with me, got it? We’re taking this bastard down the right way—clean, airtight, so there’s no way he can squirm out of it. And if that doesn’t work...” Katsuki leaned in, his crimson eyes blazing with unfiltered fury. 

“Trust me—I’ll be the first in line to smash that motherfucker’s face in.”

The room fell silent, except for the sound of their heavy breathing.

Katsuki stepped back slightly, his shoulders still tense, but his grip loosening. 

He gestured for Izuku to sit on the bed, and when Izuku finally did, Katsuki followed, flopping down beside him and running his hands through his hair. For a moment, the rage that had filled the room felt muted, but not gone.

“You know what she said to me?” Katsuki muttered suddenly, his voice quieter, though the tension was still there. He didn’t wait for Izuku to answer. “She said she thought she’d done something wrong. Thought it was her fault.”

Izuku froze, his heart sinking.

“And all I could think was, how the hell did I not see it? How the fuck did we not see it?” Katsuki’s teeth clenched as he looked away, his voice thick with frustration.

Izuku didn’t know what to say. 

But he knew one thing with absolute certainty.

“I’m with you, Kacchan,” he said softly, but firmly. “We’ll do this the right way. Together.”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed, and for just a second, he nodded. The fire in his eyes flared again, but this time it burned with focus and purpose.

And from that moment on, they both knew Mineta’s time was running out.

Katsuki and Izuku stayed in Katsuki’s room for hours, the passage of time marked only by the soft glow of their laptop screens and the persistent rustle of papers as they shifted through UA’s rules and guidelines. Both were determined to find the perfect loopholes and safeguards to ensure their plan couldn’t be dismissed—or worse, backfire on them. 

If they had any chance of getting Mineta expelled, they had to leave no room for error.

“Izuku.” Katsuki’s sharp voice broke through the silence. Izuku looked up from his laptop to see Katsuki adjusting his reading glasses—a detail that might have seemed funny under less dire circumstances. “Page 84. Code of Conduct and shit.”

Izuku reached for the printed copy of UA’s Student Handbook between them, flipping through the worn pages until he landed on the one Katsuki referenced. His eyes skimmed the section Katsuki had highlighted with an aggressive stab of yellow marker.

‘Students engaging in predatory behavior, harassment, or violations of physical boundaries will face immediate disciplinary action pending an investigation. Consequences may include suspension, expulsion, and loss of provisional hero licensing.’

“This,” Katsuki said, jabbing the passage on Izuku’s screen. “This is the fucker’s exit ticket.”

Izuku nodded, his fingers flying across his keyboard as he typed out notes, cross-referencing disciplinary precedents they’d found buried in UA’s old case records. 

“It’s clear, but vague enough that we’ll need proof. The kind of proof that sticks.” He frowned, clicking through a tab that summarized one of UA’s more public disciplinary hearings. “This investigation protocol… it puts a lot on the school’s discretion. If we’re not careful, it’ll just come down to a word-against-word situation. Mineta’s parents will use his connections to muddle it or force the school to show leniency.”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki spat, shoving his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “If the rat thinks there’s even one hole in this fuckin’ thing, it’s over.”

The floor around them had transformed into chaos. 

Loose papers covered every corner, overlapping in a collage of scribbled notes and printed records. Each of their laptops boasted at least twenty open tabs, ranging from UA’s student code of conduct to Provisional Hero Licensing Board guidelines, and a few hazy legal PDFs that Izuku was fairly sure Katsuki had downloaded from… questionable sources.

The thing about them, though—once they were on the same page, nothing stopped them.

Izuku reached for his coffee, barely glancing at Katsuki as he murmured, “We need Nezu.”

The silence stretched for a moment before Katsuki growled, “How the fuck are we gonna get Nezu if we can’t tell him shit? We tell him what we’re doing, he reports it. They passed their time for action; we’re doing this on our own.”

“Not exactly,” Izuku countered, his tone calm but determined. 

He clicked through a few tabs before swiveling his laptop toward Katsuki. “We don’t have to tell Nezu anything directly. Just… give him a hypothetical scenario based on safety.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, his red eyes gleaming with skepticism. “The rat’s not dumb, nerd. He’d see through that in ten fuckin’ seconds.”

“He might,” Izuku admitted, scratching at the back of his neck, “but knowing Nezu? He wouldn’t stop us. He’d probably love it. Go crazy for it even.”

Katsuki’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because it’s me,” Izuku said simply. “You know he eats this kind of thing up. I go in with a perfectly constructed plan about implementing safety into training exercises, something about gender dynamics and security protocols—he’ll practically trip over himself to make it happen.”

“Tch. Why the fuck not me?” Katsuki challenged, leaning back on his elbows with a scowl. “You saying I ain’t capable?”

Izuku rolled his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Kacchan, you know I think you’re capable.” His voice softened, good-natured despite their grim task. “But let’s be honest. You don’t exactly have the best track record with Nezu.”

“Fucking Captain Obvious, reporting for duty.” Katsuki clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. “Not my damn fault the rat thought a fucking muzzle was necessary ‘cause I wanted a fair fight back in first year.”

Izuku winced. Touchy subject. Very touchy subject.

Katsuki shoved his chair back, running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to calm himself. “I swear to god, after we’re done with this creep, the rat’s next. Better yet—the fucking Hero Commission. Burn the whole goddamn system to the ground.”

Izuku sat quietly, his chest tightening at Katsuki’s words. He understood the anger more than most would. It wasn’t just about the medal—or even the humiliation. 

It was about what it symbolized. 

Katsuki was always fighting to be taken seriously, to prove himself on his own terms, but that moment had cemented for him that the system didn’t care about fairness. 

It cared about control.

And even though Katsuki’s fury was justified, it would need to wait. Focus on Mineta first, Izuku reminded himself, because even though Katsuki’s fire was unshakable, it burned in too many directions at once.

“Kacchan,” Izuku said softly, his tone both soothing and firm.

Katsuki snapped his gaze toward him, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s a good idea,” Izuku continued, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, almost imperceptibly. “Taking down the system that let that kind of thing happen. But we need to focus. One problem at a time. Let’s deal with him first.”

Katsuki scoffed, shaking his head, but the sharpness in his glare dulled just slightly. “Fine. But don’t think I’m letting this shit slide forever, nerd. I’m keeping score.”

“I know,” Izuku said, his voice steady. 

And he meant it. 

Because in a lot of ways, Katsuki was right.

That was a fight for later, though. 

For now, Izuku filed the thought away in the back of his mind. Because as much as Mineta was a problem, the system that protected him—the rules that would resist their every attempt to remove him—that was bigger. 

The anger that boiled just beneath the surface of Katsuki’s voice wasn’t gone, but he let out a long, sharp breath through his nose. “You go schmooze the rodent, then. But I’m writing the fucking outline. Got it?”

“Deal.” Izuku smiled faintly, but it faded quickly as his gaze swept over the tangled mess of notes and screens surrounding them.

If they pulled this off, there’d be no turning back. No plea for leniency. 

No second chances. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Izuku took a deep breath before knocking on the polished cedar door. 

His hand was steady, but only just. 

He knew this conversation was crucial—it had to be flawless. If he showed even a fraction of the simmering anger boiling beneath his skin, it could unravel everything.

A moment later, a bright, chipper voice answered from within. “Come in, young Midoriya!”

Izuku entered, his expression carefully measured, the picture of professionalism despite the emotions clawing at his chest. 

Principal Nezu’s office, as always, felt like an elegant fortress of intellect. The soft glow of lamps bathed the room in warm light, reflecting off shelves packed with books and meticulously organized files. Nezu himself sat behind his massive oak desk, reclining slightly in his chair, his ever-present smile etched across his face.

“Ah, welcome,” Nezu said, gesturing for Izuku to take a seat. “What brings you here today? I assume it’s something… intriguing, given your usual habit of addressing matters directly with Mr. Aizawa.”

Izuku gave a polite bow before settling into one of the plush armchairs, its comfort doing little to relax the tension winding through his muscles. 

“Thank you for meeting with me, Principal Nezu.”

Nezu waved a paw. “Oh, no thanks necessary. Conversations with you are always a delight.” His dark eyes sparkled with curiosity, glinting as if he could already sense something unusual brewing.

Izuku met his gaze with quiet resolve. “I had some… observations about the way our rescue training is structured, and I was hoping to discuss possible adjustments.”

Nezu tilted his head, his smile widening slightly. “Adjustments? Do tell. What sort of observations, and what adjustments would you suggest?”

Izuku inhaled deeply, steadying himself as he began. “As you know, the upcoming rescue exercise focuses on civilians requiring immediate medical assistance and evacuation under simulated emergency conditions.”

Nezu nodded. “Correct, a standard but effective training protocol.”

Izuku’s green eyes sharpened imperceptibly. “Yes, but I was wondering if we could take it a step further—one that prioritizes an additional layer of safety for everyone involved.”

“Safety?” Nezu echoed, leaning forward, his paws clasping beneath his chin. His intrigue was palpable now.

“Yes.” Izuku tapped a finger lightly against his thigh, projecting an air of analytical calm. “UA has always prioritized not only teaching combat skills but also fostering teamwork and ensuring the well-being of students, correct? Especially in high-stress scenarios like rescues?”

“Quite so,” Nezu replied smoothly. “That is at the core of our mission.”

Izuku nodded, his expression unreadable but composed. 

“I started reviewing the school’s guidelines and historical protocols after our most recent drills and noticed some areas where extra precautions could be beneficial—specifically regarding the dynamics within training simulations.”

Nezu’s eyes gleamed with interest, though the corners of his smile twitched slightly upward, as though he already suspected where this was going. “Ah, you mean the matter of interpersonal interactions during drills. Am I correct?”

Izuku’s lips pressed together for a fraction of a second, a flicker of his frustration slipping through before he smothered it. “Yes,” he said smoothly, carefully steering his tone. “Group training exercises, especially mixed-gender ones, have a tendency to create vulnerabilities that might not be immediately apparent. The physical proximity required during rescues could, hypothetically, create unnecessary complications—or risks—if the boundaries aren’t properly defined.”

Nezu tilted his head again, his ever-present smile turning just slightly sharper. “Hypothetically?”

Izuku’s fingers twitched against the chair, his control straining as anger threatened to crack his otherwise polished demeanor. 

He inhaled sharply, allowing just enough fire to simmer beneath his words to press the point. “Hypothetically, yes. But knowing you, Principal Nezu, I’m sure you’d agree that preparing for every contingency—even the most unlikely—is always in UA’s best interest. Isn’t that why you’ve designed so many exercises that balance unpredictability and safety?”

“Why, thank you, Midoriya,” Nezu replied, his tone a mix of amusement and intrigue. “I do pride myself on that balance. So, what is it exactly you’re proposing?”

Izuku straightened, meeting Nezu’s gaze head-on. 

“Gender-split teams for this particular exercise,” Izuku explained, his voice calm and measured. “The rescue simulation would proceed as planned, but with one key adjustment. For ease of organization—and to account for certain… sensitivities—the boys would handle one segment of the task, while the girls focus on another.”

As he spoke, Izuku slid a neatly printed document across the desk toward Nezu. The paper outlined the proposed changes in precise detail, complete with a breakdown of the newly arranged teams.

“These team assignments are based on past performance and demonstrated efficiency,” Izuku continued confidently, gesturing to the paper. “They should provide the best possible results for this scenario.”

Nezu’s sharp eyes scanned the document, his smile widening ever so slightly.

Nezu chuckled softly, but there was a weight behind the sound. “Interesting. And you believe this adjustment would improve the training outcomes?”

“Absolutely,” Izuku said firmly. “It ensures the drill remains focused on the exercise’s objectives while minimizing the risk of… distractions.”

Nezu’s dark eyes lingered on him for a long moment, sharp and calculating. “A well-constructed argument. You’re a natural strategist, young Midoriya.”

Izuku’s chest tightened at the praise, but he forced himself to remain calm. 

He couldn’t let on how much was at stake—not yet. 

“Thank you, Principal Nezu. I’ve also been thinking about ways to enhance safety protocols further, particularly for unsupervised zones like the rescue tents. Would you consider integrating remote monitoring systems for areas where students might be isolated?”

“Oh, how ambitious,” Nezu remarked, steepling his paws. “And a reasonable precaution, certainly.”

Izuku leaned forward slightly. “I know you always encourage us to think outside the box, Principal Nezu.”

Nezu’s sharp ears twitched at that last statement, a faint glimmer of knowing passing through his expression. 

For a fraction of a second, it was as though the principal could see everything—every thread Izuku was weaving. But, to Izuku’s relief, Nezu simply nodded, his smile widening once more.

“Very well, Midoriya. I’ll approve the changes. Let’s see how this plays out, shall we?”

Izuku nodded, bowing slightly before standing to leave.

“Midoriya,” Nezu called just before he left. Izuku turned.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Nezu said, his eyes glittering with something unreadable, “if there were anything else you’d like me to observe during the upcoming drill, now would be the time to mention it.”

Izuku’s lips quirked into the faintest smile. “Nothing comes to mind, sir. But if anything arises, I trust you’ll know exactly what to do.”

Nezu chuckled, waving a paw. “Oh, I most certainly will. Good day, Midoriya.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

It took everything in Katsuki not to slam an explosion right into the bastard’s face. His hands twitched at his sides, tiny sparks crackling from his palms, betraying the volcanic rage bubbling just beneath the surface. 

Every instinct screamed for him to teach Mineta a lesson he’d never forget, but he didn’t move. 

Because as much as he wanted to break Mineta apart right here and now, both he and Deku knew it wasn’t enough. Words—no matter how laced with sleaze—could always be twisted. The bastard could backpedal, turn the narrative, make himself look like a concerned, if slightly misguided, classmate. 

It wouldn’t stick. 

They needed proof.

So, Katsuki forced himself to hold back. 

Something he’d had far too much practice with these past few days. Every second felt like someone was driving a stake deeper into his chest. He clenched his fists tighter, forcing his nails into his palms to ground himself.

The plan was for him to stay outside, to let Deku go in first, smooth-talking and subtle as always, and only step in if the bastard needed to be restrained. But the moment he saw Mineta’s slimeball grin—saw where his disgusting eyes had been lingering—he couldn’t stop himself. 

His feet carried him into the tent before his brain could catch up.

It wasn’t even like he was entirely in control anymore. 

His body was coiled so tightly, his rage barely contained, that it felt like he was walking a tightrope in a storm. And the wind was only getting stronger.

“Kacchan,” Deku said sharply, his voice calm but weighted. 

It was a warning Katsuki knew all too well. 

Deku’s hand came up and pressed lightly against his chest, not pushing him, but grounding him—an old gesture, familiar, like muscle memory. Katsuki’s jaw clenched, and he froze in place, though his glare was still locked on Mineta.

“Relax, Kacchan,” Deku said, his tone deliberately steady, smooth like polished steel. “He’s just taking care of the wounded. Just like you asked… Right, Mineta?”

The weight of the question dropped into the room like a stone.

Mineta flinched, his gaze darting nervously between the two of them. Sweat glistened on his temple, and his laugh came out thin and wheezy. “Y-yeah! Exactly! Nothing more, you know? Just… helping. I mean, what kind of hero wouldn’t? Ha-ha…”

Deku smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes narrowing just enough to look thoughtful but not suspicious, the way he always did when carefully peeling apart someone’s excuses, thread by thread. His hand stayed firmly pressed against Katsuki’s chest, a subtle but effective barrier between Mineta and the powder keg that was moments from detonating.

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” Deku said, his tone perfectly even, almost… warm. But not too warm. Just enough to put Mineta slightly at ease.

Behind him, Katsuki bristled, a low growl simmering in the back of his throat. Deku didn’t need to look back to know the effort it took for him to stay restrained. Kacchan, don’t push it. We’re close.

Deku better fucking hurry this shit up.

“Kacchan was just concerned, that’s all,” Deku continued, keeping his tone casual and just a little playful. “You know how he gets—blows things way out of proportion. He heard some… disturbing things, and I told him, ‘No way that’s true.’” He laughed, light and airy, as though the very idea of those rumors had been absurd to him. “Mineta’s a good friend of mine. I wasn’t going to let him badmouth a good friend like that.”

He delivered the last line with an inflection so sincere that it took Katsuki everything not to roll his eyes. 

Damn nerd’s too fucking good at this. Mineta visibly began to relax, his shoulders dropping as some of the tension in his body ebbed away.

Deku kept his smile in place, even as his insides coiled tighter. 

He was lying through his teeth, every word revolting to him, but he couldn’t afford to let his disgust slip through. 

This had to work.

“You wouldn’t mind clearing things up for him, right?” Deku said, his gaze flicking to Mineta with just enough of a plea to seem convincing. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold him back otherwise…”

His hand on Katsuki’s chest pressed lightly—not enough to restrain him, but enough to sell the act.

Mineta blinked, his head tilting in confusion as his eyes darted between the two of them. His gaze lingered for a second too long on Deku, searching his expression for any hint of suspicion and finding none. 

The smile was steady. 

The warmth in Deku’s voice was convincing. 

It was working.

“Oh, y-yeah,” Mineta stammered, his voice shaky but losing some of its edge. “Sure, sure! You know me, I wouldn’t… you know, I’d never—”

“Exactly,” Deku said, cutting in smoothly before Mineta could trip over himself. “I mean, come on, you’ve always been good with the girls, right? Helpful. Friendly. Not like what Kacchan said—he thinks you’ve been…” He paused, glancing back at Katsuki as if searching for the right words. “Let’s just say, less than respectful with Mina.”

The shift in tone was so subtle it was almost imperceptible. Deku still smiled, his voice still friendly, but the words landed like tiny knives, buried just beneath the surface.

Mineta froze, his breath hitching. “Mina?” he echoed weakly.

“Mm-hmm,” Deku hummed, tilting his head slightly, his expression never faltering. “Kacchan said he saw her upset in the common room the other night. Crying, actually. And, well… he overheard something about you.”

Mineta’s eyes widened, his pupils shrinking. “What—what are you saying?!”

“I’m saying,” Deku said softly, leaning in just a fraction, “that if you didn’t do anything wrong, you’d have no problem explaining yourself. Because I know Kacchan’s wrong about this. Aren’t you, Kacchan?”

Behind him, Katsuki scoffed, the sound low and biting, his jaw tight as his hands flexed at his sides. 

It took every ounce of his control not to close the distance and plant his fist in the little creep’s face. Sparks crackled faintly at his palms, begging to be let loose, but he clenched his fists tighter and breathed through his nose.

This was the plan. 

The outline he wrote. 

All he had to do was play his part—aggressive enough to sell it, but not enough to send Mineta scrambling off to Aizawa before they could wring the truth out of him.

Katsuki glanced at Deku, who was already deep in character. 

Flawless, as usual. Deku was the picture of calm, his smile faint but disarming, his voice even and light. If Katsuki messed this up, he would be the one who ruined everything. And there was no fucking way he’d let that happen.

“Tch.” Katsuki growled, narrowing his eyes at Mineta. “I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

Deku smiled at him, the expression soft but just pointed enough for Mineta to notice. Katsuki returned a quick scowl but stayed planted, simmering in the tension as Deku turned back to their target.

“See?” Deku said, his tone soothing. “Just tell us what happened. I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”

Mineta visibly relaxed, his chest lifting as he exhaled shakily. He looked at Deku—too trusting, too kind Deku. That’s how everyone saw him. Always forgiving, always giving people the benefit of the doubt. The kind of person who would rein someone like Katsuki in, keep him from going too far.

What a joke.

Katsuki almost grinned at the thought. 

Everyone said Deku was the Katsuki Whisperer™, the one person who could “control” him. 

Bullshit. 

Katsuki wasn’t controlled by anyone. Deku didn’t rein him in—he steered him. Pointed him in the right direction. Without him, Katsuki would’ve burned a lot more bridges. But controlled? 

No fucking way.

Mineta nodded eagerly, seizing the lifeline Deku dangled in front of him. “Yeah! A misunderstanding! That’s all this is!”

“So…” Deku tilted his head slightly, his green eyes sharp but his smile still soft. “Do you mind explaining it for us? You know how Kacchan gets if he doesn’t have all the facts.”

Katsuki let out another growl, this one intentionally rougher, rolling his shoulders for good measure. Sparks hissed faintly as he crossed his arms and glared at Mineta. “Better make it good, you slimy little fuck.”

Mineta flinched, then looked back at Deku, his expression pleading. 

Deku just held up his hand in a familiar calming gesture, as though asking Katsuki to stand down. It was all part of the illusion.

Mineta licked his lips nervously, glancing between them. “Uh, sure! Yeah, of course. No problem at all…” He laughed, a shaky, high-pitched sound. “It’s just, you know… Mina’s kind of sensitive, you know? I think she might’ve taken something the wrong way.”

Deku’s expression didn’t change. His voice stayed soft. Friendly. “Taken what the wrong way, exactly?”

Mineta hesitated, shifting nervously on his feet. “Well, you know, girls… They get, uh, emotional. You compliment them, and they think you’re trying to, uh…” He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “You know how it is.”

“No,” Deku said gently, shaking his head. “I don’t think I do. What did you say to her, Mineta?”

Mineta froze, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the right words—or an escape. He laughed again, weaker this time. “It wasn’t anything bad! Just, you know, her hero costume is tight, and—”

“Her costume?” Deku echoed softly, his voice smooth as ice. He tilted his head again, feigning innocent curiosity. “What about her costume?”

Mineta winced, his laughter trailing off into silence. “I just… I said something about how it looked, you know? Like… how it fits her. She took it the wrong way, though! I wasn’t being creepy or anything!”

Katsuki took a step forward, his lip curling into a snarl, and Mineta practically stumbled backward. Deku raised a hand quickly, pressing it firmly against Katsuki’s chest again.

“Let him talk, Kacchan,” Deku said softly, his voice carrying a quiet warning.

Katsuki glared down at him, but stayed put, his entire body a coil of tension, ready to snap. “Fine,” Katsuki growled through clenched teeth.

“Go on,” Deku said, turning his gaze back to Mineta. “What else did you say to her?”

Mineta’s eyes darted wildly, panic flashing across his face. He tried to laugh again, but it died in his throat. “Nothing! Just—just a joke! You know, guys joke all the time!”

“A joke?” Deku repeated, tilting his head again, his faint smile returning. “What kind of joke?”

“I, uh… I said…” Mineta’s voice faltered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I said that maybe she shouldn’t get mad if… if someone wanted to touch her or something.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy.

Katsuki let out a low snarl, and this time Deku didn’t press back as much. The anger that simmered under Deku’s calm facade began to flicker, though his voice stayed steady.

“You said what?”

“It was a joke!” Mineta said quickly, throwing his hands up in defense. “I swear! Just a joke! She freaked out over nothing!”

“Over nothing,” Deku echoed softly, his tone calm, but his sharp green eyes betrayed his disgust. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as if he’d already decided Mineta wasn’t worth his energy.

The tension in the tent thickened, the air suffocating. Mineta’s frantic gaze darted between the two of them, his sweat-drenched face pale with growing realization. 

He’d said too much, and he knew it.

Katsuki had had enough.

Finally pushing past Deku, Katsuki advanced, his movements slow and deliberate, each step heavy like the growl of a predator closing in on cornered prey. The air around him seemed to crackle with energy, his sweat sparking faintly at his palms, though he kept his hands in check.

“Kacchan,” Deku murmured, but Katsuki didn’t even look back. 

This was his moment now.

Mineta staggered backward instinctively as Katsuki loomed closer, his broad shoulders and wild glare towering over the smaller boy. Mineta’s back hit the edge of the tent, the fabric fluttering faintly as he stumbled further from the exit. Katsuki didn’t let up, his every movement designed to corner and intimidate.

“See, that’s not what Mina told me,” Katsuki began, his voice low and venomous. His grin was razor-sharp, the kind that promised pain. “I heard a very, very different story. Wanna explain why?”

Mineta’s breath hitched as Katsuki leaned in closer, his words slow and deliberate, each one carrying the weight of his anger.

“She said you were in the girls’ bathroom,” Katsuki snarled, his voice dropping even lower, the venom turning to pure steel. “Somewhere you know you shouldn’t fucking be. And she said you were taking pictures of her. Commenting on her goddamn body.”

Mineta shook his head rapidly, his entire body trembling. “N-no! That’s not—”

Katsuki’s palm slammed against the side of the tent next to Mineta’s head, sparks flying just inches from his face. Mineta yelped, his words cutting off instantly as the sharp scent of ozone filled the air.

“Oh, I’m not done,” Katsuki hissed, his eyes narrowing further. “She said when she wouldn’t ‘have fun’ with you, you had the fucking audacity to blackmail her. Blackmail her!” His voice rose, every word sharper and louder than the last. “Threatened to send those pictures around unless she gave you what you wanted.”

Mineta’s knees buckled slightly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

“So yeah,” Katsuki barked, the sparks in his hands intensifying. He held his palms low, careful not to let them get too close. His quirk was volatile, and he knew the teachers wouldn’t let him off for even the smallest slip right now. 

He forced himself to stay in control, his teeth grinding as he leaned in so close their noses almost touched. “I’m a little fucking confused, so please—fucking explain.”

“I—I didn’t—” Mineta stammered, his voice breaking as he tried to find an escape. “I didn’t mean it like that! It was a joke! Just a stupid joke, that’s all!”

Katsuki scoffed, pulling back slightly only to laugh—low, bitter, and devoid of humor. “A joke, huh? You call that a joke?!”

“I—” Mineta began, but Katsuki didn’t let him finish.

“What the fuck even makes you think you can talk to her—or anyone—like that?!” Katsuki’s voice was a growl now, barely restrained, his body practically vibrating with rage. “You think you’re untouchable, huh? Think you can hide behind your slimy little bullshit forever?”

“I swear, I didn’t mean it!” Mineta wailed, his voice cracking. “I wasn’t gonna send the pictures—I didn’t even keep them! I deleted them!”

The words tumbled out before Mineta could stop himself, his panic overriding any sense of self-preservation. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what he’d just admitted.

Katsuki froze for half a second, his body going completely still. Then he moved, his fist clenching as he raised it, sparks flying wildly now. “You fucking piece of—”

“Bakugo.”

The sharp, commanding voice sliced through the tension like a whip.

Katsuki whipped his head around, and there, standing at the entrance to the tent, was Aizawa. His dark eyes bore into Katsuki with unyielding authority, his scarf already unwinding from his neck, prepared to stop him if necessary. Behind him, Principal Nezu stood silently, his expression unreadable but his sharp eyes watching everything with quiet intensity.

“Step back,” Aizawa ordered, his voice calm but firm.

For a moment, it looked like Katsuki wouldn’t. 

His entire body was still coiled, his fist trembling as the sparks in his hand refused to dissipate.

“Katsuki,” Deku said softly, stepping forward now. His hand touched Katsuki’s shoulder, grounding him. “We got what we needed.”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed, his eyes locked on Mineta, who was now practically sliding down the side of the tent, his legs barely holding him up. 

For a long, agonizing second, Katsuki didn’t move.

Then, with a sharp exhale, he dropped his fist and stepped back, his movements jerky but restrained. He turned his head, muttering through gritted teeth. “This shit isn’t over.”

Aizawa’s eyes flicked to Mineta, who was shaking like a leaf, then back to Katsuki. “Out. Now.”

Katsuki let out a frustrated growl but obeyed, storming out of the tent. Deku followed, pausing only long enough to glance back at Mineta with a look that promised his own reckoning.

As they disappeared into the rubble-strewn field, Nezu tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint, curious smile. “Well,” he said softly, “it seems there’s quite a bit to discuss.”

Aizawa said nothing, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to Mineta.

Aizawa took in a deep breath, his fingers twitching faintly at his sides as he fought to maintain his composure. The final threads of the boys’ plan were falling into place in his mind, each detail weaving a picture that was as impressive as it was concerning.

They had planned this down to the last detail.

And for what? Because two students believed their teachers weren’t capable of dealing with the mess that was Mineta Minoru.

That realization stung more than he cared to admit.

I’ll be beating myself up for this one for a while.

The weight of responsibility hung heavy on him, but there wasn’t time for self-recrimination—not now. 

Right now, there were more immediate matters to address.

“Phone,” Aizawa said, holding his hand out toward Mineta, his voice steady but firm.

Mineta’s head shot up, his wide, tear-filled eyes darting frantically between Aizawa and Nezu. “Y-you guys don’t have the r-right to take my phone!” he stammered, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline.

“Oh, on the contrary!” Principal Nezu piped up, his chipper tone jarring against the tension in the room. His sharp teeth glinted as he smiled, his small frame practically bouncing with energy. “In the UA Code of Conduct, it clearly states that if there is reason to suspect a student’s phone contains incriminating evidence—particularly anything that could compromise the safety or privacy of others—we have the right to examine it!”

Mineta paled, his grip on the phone tightening.

Nezu continued, his voice almost sing-song. “Of course, this rule is usually applied to cases of potential leaks of school-sensitive information… but I’d say it fits this situation quite nicely, wouldn’t you, Aizawa?” He cast a sly glance at the teacher, his eyes glittering with understanding. “Though I suspect this was an intentional detail, wasn’t it?”

Aizawa didn’t respond, pinching the bridge of his nose instead. He could already feel the grey hairs multiplying. “Mineta. Phone. Now.”

The command was calm, but the edge in Aizawa’s tone left no room for argument.

Mineta hesitated for a long moment, trembling as his fingers hovered over the phone. Finally, with a small, choked sound of defeat, he handed it over, his hand shaking as Aizawa took it.

“Nezu,” Aizawa said, sliding the phone into his pocket. “Take him to your office. I need to speak to the other problem students.”

Nezu tilted his head, his grin widening. “Oh, of course. Come along, young Mineta. Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

Mineta let out a small whimper as Nezu practically dragged him out of the tent, his tiny paws gripping the boy’s scruff with surprising strength.

Once the two were gone, Aizawa exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders before stepping out of the tent.

The air outside was heavy with tension, the kind that settled in your chest and refused to let go. 

The exercise had come to a standstill, the students frozen in place as the weight of what had happened began to sink in.

Mina stood near the wreckage, her shoulders trembling as she clung to Katsuki, tears streaking her face. Katsuki’s arms were firm around her, his glare aimed at nothing in particular but carrying the same murderous edge as before. His protective stance was as fierce as his rage, his entire body taut as if ready to spring into action at any moment.

Nearby, Izuku stood with Jirou, his voice low as he spoke to her. Jirou nodded solemnly, her expression tight with worry but resolute.

Aizawa’s eyes scanned the scene before him, taking in every detail. He motioned for Kirishima, who had been hovering close to Katsuki and Mina, concern etched across his face.

“Kirishima,” Aizawa said, his tone softening just slightly. “I trust you’re capable of helping Mina?”

The redhead nodded instantly, his usual enthusiasm muted but his resolve clear. “Yeah. I’ve got her.”

“Good.” Aizawa patted Kirishima’s shoulder once before turning his attention to Katsuki and Izuku.

 “You two. With me.”

Aizawa directed them back into the tent, pulling the flap closed behind him to allow for privacy. 

The tension in the air shifted slightly as the chaos outside was muted, leaving only the three of them in the dimly lit space. Katsuki still carried the sharp edge of his anger, though he was visibly more controlled now. Izuku, in contrast, had a quiet intensity about him—calm, but watchful.

What they had done was reckless. It was dangerous. But it was also brilliant.

Aizawa took a moment to study them, his sharp eyes flicking between the two. 

They were a fascinating duo—opposites in so many ways, yet when aligned, a force to be reckoned with. It was clear now: every step of this had been deliberate, every move calculated to perfection, and yet… they’d gone behind his back to pull it off. The sting of that realization lingered, but he had to admit: he was impressed.

“Sit,” Aizawa said, motioning to the nearby crates.

The boys obeyed without hesitation, though Katsuki sat with a defiant slump, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Izuku perched on the edge of his crate, his posture open but alert.

Aizawa folded his arms, his sharp gaze flicking between them. 

“So, Midoriya,” he began, his tone steady but tinged with curiosity, “any other parts of your plan I should be aware of?”

Izuku glanced at Katsuki, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a small, knowing smile. “Aizawa-sensei,” he said with a quiet chuckle, “I thought you were sharper than that. All of this was Kacchan’s plan. Every detail.”

Aizawa blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His brow furrowed as he looked at Katsuki, who didn’t flinch under his gaze.

“This was your plan, Bakugo?” Aizawa asked, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief.

Katsuki scowled, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—pride. “Damn right it was.”

Aizawa’s mind raced.

Of course, Katsuki had always been smart—sharp and analytical in combat. But his strategies usually centered around raw power and brute force. This, however, was something else entirely. 

This was precise. 

Controlled.

“Well,” Aizawa said slowly, his voice measured, “it seems I’ve underestimated you both.” He paused, his gaze returning to Izuku. “That being said, this was incredibly dangerous. Do you realize how easily this could have gone sideways?”

Izuku nodded, meeting Aizawa’s eyes without hesitation. 

“We accounted for that, Sensei,” he said, his voice steady. “Everything we did stayed within UA’s guidelines. We reviewed the Code of Conduct, disciplinary precedents, and emergency protocols. And we made sure no one else was involved or put in harm’s way.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue.

“I told Jirou to keep the girls together,” Izuku explained. “That way, no one would be isolated, and they’d be safe from Mineta. The injured civilian in the tent wasn’t a person—it was a weighted CPR dummy. Realistic enough to fool him, but completely harmless.”

Aizawa leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. “And the exercise itself? What about the premise?”

Izuku’s expression didn’t falter. “We stuck to the objective. The exercise was about rescuing civilians from a simulated threat. That’s exactly what we did, though not simulated. We rescued the girls—from Mineta.”

For a moment, Aizawa was silent, processing the weight of Izuku’s words. 

They treated him like a villain.

“And Mineta?” Aizawa asked.

Katsuki leaned forward now, his sharp glare cutting through the air. “We trapped the fucker fair and square,” he said bluntly. “Got him to spill his disgusting guts without anyone else getting hurt. And yeah, I got in his face, but I didn’t fucking touch him.”

“That brings me to my next point,” Aizawa said, his voice tightening. “You were too rough, Bakugo. The way you cornered him, the sparks on your hands—it could have easily been seen as aggression.”

Katsuki scoffed, but his tone was surprisingly even as he responded. “The sparks weren’t me being ‘aggressive,’ Sensei. That’s just my quirk.”

Aizawa frowned, tilting his head slightly. “Explain.”

Katsuki exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “My sweat builds up naturally. It’s not something I can turn off. If I let it sit too long, it gets dangerous. My gauntlets are for storing it so it doesn’t go off randomly, but when I don’t have them, I have to spark it off manually. Controlled sparks are the only way to burn it off without leaving a mess—or blowing shit up.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re saying the sparks weren’t intentional?”

“Exactly,” Katsuki said, leaning back again.

 “It’s maintenance, not aggression. If I wipe it off somewhere, it’ll turn into a fucking bomb. The slightest friction might make it go off. You didn’t know that because you didn’t ask. Everyone’s too busy patting me on the back for my ‘control’ to actually figure out what I deal with.”

Aizawa felt a pang of guilt at Katsuki’s words. 

He prided himself on knowing his students—on understanding not just their strengths but the challenges they faced. 

And yet, this was something he hadn’t known.

“You’re right,” Aizawa admitted, his voice quieter now. “I should have asked.”

Katsuki shrugged, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Whatever. Just figured you should know before you accuse me of losing it.”

Aizawa sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You two… You’re a pain in my ass. But I’m proud of you.”

Both boys looked up at him, their expressions shifting—Katsuki’s eyes narrowing with begrudging acceptance, Izuku’s softening into quiet gratitude.

“This plan of yours,” Aizawa said, glancing between them, “was smart. Reckless, but smart. You thought of everything. Even this conversation, I’m guessing.”

Izuku smiled faintly. “Well, we figured you’d want answers.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki added, smirking. “And we knew you’d lecture. It’s your thing.”

Aizawa let out a tired laugh, shaking his head. “Get out of here. Both of you. And stay out of trouble.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, without another word, the two boys stood and left the tent.

As the flap closed behind them, Aizawa allowed himself a small, weary smile. 

These kids… They’ll be incredible heroes someday.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Back in the staffroom that evening, Aizawa sat at his desk, a stack of paperwork in front of him. Nezu had left after handing over Mineta’s phone, his parting words hanging in Aizawa’s mind:

"You’ve raised some remarkable students, Aizawa. Their loyalty to one another is inspiring… even if their methods are a bit unorthodox."

Aizawa sighed, rubbing his temples. 

There was truth in that, as much as he hated to admit it. His students had shown initiative and strength, but it had come at a cost—a cost he should’ve prevented.

They were students, they didnt need to deal with this.

Going forward, things would have to change.

First, he needed to ensure that every student felt safe coming to him or any teacher with concerns. 

The gap in trust that had formed between him and his class was unacceptable. He’d talk to them—individually and as a group—to rebuild that trust and make it clear they didn’t have to handle these kinds of problems alone.

Second, UA’s policies would need to be revisited. 

If Mineta had been able to skate by for this long without proper action being taken, then something in the system was broken. Aizawa would make sure it was fixed.

And lastly, he needed to do better. 

To be better. 

Katsuki’s explanation of his quirk had been a stark reminder that even he, as someone who prided himself on knowing his students, didn’t always dig deep enough.

“You didn’t ask.”

That simple statement cut deeper than he expected. He’d been quick to praise Katsuki for his control but never thought to ask how he maintained it. 

How many other details had he missed?

He had always assumed the sparking palms were an intimidation tactic, but now, he and Midoriya’s relationship made a bit more sense.

Aizawa leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the small corkboard pinned with photos of his class. 

They stared back at him—young, bright, and full of potential. Each one of them carried their own burdens, their own struggles. It was his job to notice those, to support them, and to guide them.

Mineta was gone, and the girls were safe. That was a victory, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to ensure nothing like this ever happened again.

For Mina. For Katsuki and Izuku. For all of them.

Tomorrow, he’d talk to the class. 

He’d explain what happened in as much detail as he could, balancing transparency with discretion. He’d apologize for his oversight and make it clear that their safety—physical, mental, and emotional—was his priority.

And he’d thank them, too.

Because as reckless as they had been, Katsuki and Izuku had reminded him of what mattered most: these kids, this team, and the unwavering bond they shared.

As Aizawa turned off the lights and left the staffroom, he felt a faint glimmer of hope. His students had already proven their strength and resilience. 

Now, it was his turn to do the same.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

the epilogue

Formal Announcement from U.A. High School XXX-XX24

It is with great disappointment that we inform the UA community of the immediate expulsion of Mineta Minoru from the Heroics Department, Class 2-A, for gross misconduct that violates the principles and ethical standards upheld by our institution.

An internal investigation revealed a pattern of behavior that endangered the safety, privacy, and dignity of multiple students. Evidence collected during this investigation has been shared with law enforcement, and pending legal charges are under review.

UA prioritizes the safety and well-being of all its students, and we will not tolerate actions that compromise their physical or emotional security. Moving forward, additional measures will be implemented to ensure incidents of this nature cannot happen again.

We remain committed to fostering an environment where all students feel safe, supported, and respected.

Signed, Principal Nezu U.A. High School ______________________________________________________________ congrats if you made it this far!

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [9/…]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“And I know no one will save me, I just need someone to kiss.

Give me one good honest kiss and I’ll be alright.”

— Mitski, “Nobody”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  In which there is lost affections, mentions of the past, and re-bonding over a bath. Unshared thoughts and feelings of regret return from years of negligence, and whereas some aspects remain buried, others have a chance to resurface from the depths.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, dual-pov (though primarily Buggy's), Buggy being a simp, implications of Buggy being a horny simp

A/N: AND HERE WE ARE! FINALLY, AFTER SO MANY WEEKS, THE NEW CHAPTER IS UP! Seriously, I want to thank you all for your immense patience and support. As I mentioned in a previous post, work has been hectic as hell and I know I wrote that this chapter would hopefully be finished last week, but life took its toll. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter, though I myself have mixed feelings about it.

INCLUDES SOME SELF-MADE SKETCHES AT THE BOTTOM, so you’re warned

The sun warms your face as you breathe in the fresh scent of the sea. You’re lounging on deck, hands folded behind your head and feet hanging over the railings in a rather peculiar position, but you’re perfectly content.

Luffy benched you for the rest of the voyage to Arlong Park, a decision you initially found insulting to no short degree. Well, maybe benched is not the right term to use, but more like “I don’t want you to die, and I think you need to relax this once”.

You had argued that no, you’re fine and the love bites Arlong left you are nothing compared to the marks Mihawk left on Zoro, and he’s still up and about as usual.

But Luffy is firm about his decision, and what the Captain says goes.

So, here you are, enjoying some quiet all while letting your wounds heal, and it seems that nothing can hope to put an end to this ambiance that is—

“HEY! THERE ‘YA ARE!”

…. You spoke too soon. Way too soon.

A shadow falls over your face like a curtain and blocks the view of the sun. A shadow belonging to - you make a lucky guess - a severed head that’s been talking for way longer than a severed head typically should, in your experience.

You open one lazy eye to pinpoint the exact perpetrator and see a bright red dot staring down at you from Usopp’s grip.

Buggy winks at you, making those mildly irritating clink-clink noises.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Usopp grumbles. “You take him! He’s annoying and keeps telling me my nose is too long!”

“Because it is, you shidiot!”

“It’s average!”

“That’s what your mom said!”

“You keep my mom’s name out of your mouth, you psychotic, fucking—!”

“Be quiet.”

Both the clown and the slingshot simultaneously shut their mouths before things have a chance to escalate on a non-verbal scale, and you take this as a sign that your break is officially over and buried ten feet under.

Stretching your arms out loud enough to pop a few vertebrae, you shift to lean your back against the railing and give both boys an unimpressed look-over, like a disappointed mother having caught both of her children in the act of something. “It’s too early for you to be making a ruckus.”

“It’s 11 am,” Usopp points out.

“Still too early.” Deciding that you’d rather not deal with this with more effort than you’re willing to spend, you return to your previous position. “Leave the head, or don’t. Just let me rest.”

“Fine by me.”

With a thud and an “OW FUCK!”, Usopp unceremoniously drops the clown and forgoes his Buggy-sitting duties to do whatever he wants to do, leaving you to pick up the slack.

A string of curses flow from Buggy’s mouth, which you only vaguely pay attention to. There was something along the lines of “Long-nosed asshat,” and “Right on the nose”, but you abandon all interest in favor of feeling the sun on your cheek.

“So…” you hear him jump a little closer. “Alone at last.”

You don’t answer.

“What? Don’t give me that! I thought we were good!”

You remain selectively mute.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me! I don’t like it!”

“You survived it for twenty years. I’m sure you can stand it for a few more minutes.”

“…. Seriously?”

“Mhmm.”

You don’t know what possesses him, but he keeps quiet for most of the next thirty minutes, and you take the time to continue basking in the sun. 

It’s a luxury you can rarely afford, and you’ll be damned if it gets ruined now or all time, least of all by him. You’re not going to even open the can of worms that is last night’s events, so you lock it in a chest to be dug up for another day. 

Not now. It won't be that long until you reach Arlong Park, and shit will go down. This might be the only chance you get to replenish your strength and gods do you need it now more than ever.

"… Hey?” Buggy starts.

You let him decide whether to perceive your silence as an opening or a locked door.

“I’m bored.”

“Tough.”

“Can’t we do something else?”

“We could fish. Your head might serve as a good bait.” Despite yourself, your lip tugs a little in what is supposed to be a halfway smirk. The image of Buggy dangling above the shark-infested waters from a hook to his bandana would be an entertaining sight to behold.

He swallows audibly. “Was that a joke?”

“Keep bothering me and we’ll find out soon enough.”

“C’mon! Don’t be like that! Seriously, I’m bored! Ain’t much you can do when you’re just a head… except to give one, but that’s beside the point.”

Too much detailing, you think. He wants entertainment of any kind; you want peace and quiet. What to do and how to kill two birds with one stone? You open one eye and let it drift over to Buggy, who in turn is staring intently at you. 

In the sun, you make out every detail of his rugged face. His make-up’s almost wiped completely off the skin, with only remnants of the red lipstick and blue diamonds vaguely in place. His stubbles have grown slightly, given the lack of access to a barber, and if you get close enough, he probably stinks of—

A lightbulb goes off in your head. A devious one, blinking to every corner of your brain. 

Despite what anyone thinks, you’re not above being petty.

With a push, you sit up and glance over at him. “Anything?” 

Buggy raises his eyebrows and nods desperately. “Yeah! Anything! As long as I ain’t got to sit here doing naught-shit, I’m game!”

You turn to him, put each of your hands to the edges of his jaw, and lift him a little closer to you. Whether from the sun or just him alone, he’s warm and soft under your digits.

“Alright,” is all you say.

Buggy beams much like the bulb in your head, and a loud bark of laughter erupts from his mouth. You almost pity him, pity him for being oblivious to what’s to come.

But it needs to be done.

There’s no other way around it and he’s had it coming. He deserves this, you tell yourself. He deserves every inch of ruthlessness you can offer, and you’ll deliver.

————

Buggy blanches, lips wobbling in horror as he slowly glances up at you. Betrayal fills his bright-blue eyes and, for the first time since Orange Town, he sees you as the beast you both know you are. 

He’s afraid.

He’s afraid of you.

He knows you can be vindictive; he knows you can be brutal, but in all the time he’s known you, he’s never perceived you as cruel.

Maybe it’s time for him to reassess that thought.

“No,” he whispers softly. “No, please.”

Your face is blank, and cold, and he doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the light or not, but there’s a shadow across your face that darkens everything but your eyes. Those bright eyes he used to hold in such high regard.

“You want my forgiveness,” you state calmly as you gradually lower him to his demise. “You have to earn it.

“Please, anything but this. I’ll do anything other than this!”

But his pleas earn no mercy from you. He wiggles in your grasp like a fish out of water, and as much as he tries to beg and move and free himself, your hold is iron incarnate.

Buggy lets out an ear-curdling scream the moment he feels the water under his neck.

“NOOOOO!”

————

Honestly, how childish, you think as you begin to soak him in the basin you procured from the kitchens. He hisses like a cat as you pour the water over his head, rinsing his hair. Try as he might, he cannot escape your grasp. 

It’s not even deep enough to reach his chin, and still, he acts like it’s acid he’s been thrown into.

But you’re determined, this has to be done.

“Oh, quit whining” you chastise, getting drops of water your way with all his scuttling. “You need this.”

“You’re gonna drown me!” he accuses.

“It’s soap and water, and it’s not even that deep.”

“You say that now, sure! But the moment you let go, plop! Oh, there goes Buggy the Clown! Taken from this world too early!”

You roll your eyes. “I’m holding you up, you’re not going to drown. Now, stop acting like a child.”

Buggy is restless and continues to thrash around for a good ten seconds more before finally relenting, a look of sour disapproval on his face. It’s so caricatured and animated that it threatens to make a suppressed chuckle leave your throat.

He still looks the same when he’s mad.

Now that he’s finally calm, you lower him so that the edge of his neck finally stands on the bottom of the basin. Then, you soak a rag and raise it towards his face.

Buggy flinches. “Can you …. Eh… leave the face?”

“There’s hardly anything there anymore, and it’ll irritate your skin if you leave it on for too long.”

“I think I can tell you what irritates me or not, like this bird bath for instance, thank you very much.” He scowls and edges further away from the wet rag. “Seriously, just leave it.”

“I’ll reapply the make-up.”

“… What?”

When you first boarded the Merry, you happened to find some leftover make-up hidden away in one of the shelves. It was strange, considering how the boat was freshly built, and imagined that one of the builders had taken some personal liberty in the large space before the project was finished.

For whatever reason, you didn’t throw it out, though you didn’t use it yourself.

If it can get him to accept the fact that he needs a wash, you’re willing to do it.

“I’ll put on your make-up if I can wash off what you currently have,” you clarify. “Deal?”

Buggy goes quiet, and his eyes widen slightly, but not out of horror or dread. It’s more like … when you catch the sight of something unexpected; a delayed reaction that stirs feelings you have yet to decipher. 

Finally, after some internal debates with himself, Buggy nods. “Fuckin’ fine then,” he utters, and despite the crudeness of his words, they’re lenient.

Content, you gently place your free hand to his left to keep him stable and use the other one to carefully drag the rag across his stained cheek. 

Buggy watches you intently through the process, never taking his eyes off you unless you’re wiping off the painted diamonds on his eyes. Your hands, for once, are soft to the touch. They’re soft for him, as though a single misplaced touch might shatter him like glass.

He used to be acquainted with the soft touches long before the cold and brutal ones. Soft fingers that pinched his cheeks as you helped apply the paint over his face. 

Soft touches against his arm when he was feeling particular for some reason, whether it was good or bad.

Your fingers intertwined with his’ as you came to terms with your captain’s death, sitting by the edge of the docks as the rain poured from above. It was cold, he was freezing, and too close to the waters for his comfort, but he wanted nothing more than to sit in the rain with you and share the heat from your fingers.

Even after everything, you’re still capable of reserving those touches for him.

After wiping the makeup completely off him, you raise the cup and fill it with water. “Close your eyes.”

He doesn’t want to, but he does and feels the water rushing down like the rain on those docks.

When he’s finally finished, you fish him up from the basin and put him down atop a soft towel on the table. Like a cat, he instinctively shakes off the residue of water, only to find you already raising a new towel towards him.

He stops moving, and you takes this as your cue to continue. You’re attentive, he notices. You wipe his face first, then his ears, then his hair. You dry it and scratch his scalp at the same time through the fabric, and he instinctively leans against your touch.

This is … nice.

“When did you cut your hair?” You ask out of the blue as you continue to dry him, making sure to leave no spot too humid.

He almost failed to catch onto your words with how at ease he is. “Hmmm?”

“You used to have long hair before,” you elaborate. “Why did you cut it?”

“…. Too much of a hassle to maintain,” he answers after some thought. “It’s hard to find the time to take care of it.”

“… I see.”

The truth is, he cut it right after he left. Not particularly clean either. You know that feeling you get when you feel like you’re losing control, and ridding yourself of any additional weight seems to relieve it? 

Well, that’s what Buggy did.

He cut it with a pair of rusty scissors, severing chunks at a time — some bigger than others — until all he was left with was pieces sticking out to each side like a madman.

It didn’t help though. It didn’t make him feel any lighter from the weight on his chest. From that gnawing feeling.

Still, he maintained the habit and got better with practice. It became more of a practical thing with time; he was a busy man, and he could do well with fewer things to get in his eyes, but it never eased the pain.

But feeling the tips of your fingers lightly graze his hair, however, he feels more relieved than he’s done in the last twenty years.

After a few minutes, you remove the towel and give him a neutral one-over. It’s the first time you’ve seen him as an adult without any of that makeup, and you’re reminded of just how much he’s changed, but also how he’s not.

Even after all this time, it’s still Buggy.

Buggy sees you watching him, and he can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious now that your eyes are on him without his usual armor.

But you don’t comment on it, nor show any surprise in any sense of the word. There are times when he hates your face, not because of anything superficial, but because you make it so damn challenging for him to figure out what goes in that brain of yours. He’s reminded of how you were when you were younger, how lifeless you used to be, and it feels like you’ve regressed to that state.

Another thing to add to the shitlist of things he’s regretful about.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something when the door suddenly bursts open. Buggy jumps whereas you merely look over your shoulder to spot Zoro standing there, his eyes narrowed between you and the clown.

Buggy frowns.

“Zoro,” you speak plainly, as if you failed to notice his annoyance towards the spectacle presented before him. “Is there anything?”

“The hell is this?” His eyes flicker between you and Buggy like it’s the worst show on earth. “What’s going on?”

“He reeked,” you explain. “I have merely been rectifying it for the sake of our noses.”

Buggy wants to argue with the statement that No, he fucking doesn’t, but he suppresses it for the sake of figuring out where this conversation’s headed.

“Since when do we make it a habit of bathing prisoners?” Zoro asks, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

“Since when have we had prisoners?” You counter.

The swordsman scoffs. “The clown’s needed upstairs in ten.”

“Sure.”

“I’m right here, you know?”

Zoro gives him a nasty look and nothing more before heading back out the door, shutting it with a forceful thud.

“Why do you even stick around with these nobodies?!” Buggy questions. “They can’t navigate for shit, they have no sense of preservation, and they suck at fighting!”

You shift back to raise a knowing eyebrow at him. “They defeated you, didn’t they?”

“That’s—! … I was outnumbered, it wasn’t a fair fight!”

“No fights are fair in the life of piracy,” you point out. 

He bites the inside of his cheek. “All I’m saying is, you’re too powerful to be with these losers. You could join my crew! Think about it! We’d be unstoppable!”

“You mean, join the same people who locked me up and whose asses I subsequently kicked?” 

“Exactly! Don’t worry, they’ll get over it! Once they see how awesome you are, they’ll accept you with open ar—!”

“I decline.”

Buggy pauses, his enthusiasm promptly vanishing and getting replaced with bitter disappointment. “You’re not even going to consider it?”

“Why would I?” You wipe away a descending drop from his right eye. “I have no interest in joining another crew.”

“You say that, and yet here you are with these losers.”

“I was never going to stay permanently.” 

He pauses. “You weren’t?”

“I’m here for Luffy, and once I’ve decided that he can hold his own weight above the waters, I’ll leave.”

“… Where will you go? After, then?”

It takes you a moment to answer, like you don’t know the answer yourself quite yet. Your hand stills for a moment before resuming with the task at hand.

“Who knows?” You shrug. “The sea is my home. I’ve missed it, so I will remain where the waves pull me.”

That won’t do on its own. Stay with me. Buggy wants to ask, and if he had knees, he’d ask on them. Come with me. Be with me. You won’t have to be an official member of his crew; you don’t have to bend to him. You just have to stay. 

Stay with him.

That’s all he’ll ask.

Stay with him until he has the opportunity to figure out a way to make it up to you. 

Stay with him so he can compensate for the twenty years you suffered in each other’s absences.

Just stay.

“Hey.” He’s surprised by his own initiative. “Why’d you even leave your crew and stick your feet on land if you love the sea so much?”

You raise an eyebrow in question.

“I mean, you were Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, for crying out loud! You used to be legendary!” He proclaims, almost saddened by your apparent dismissal of your previous title. “You had fame, berries, a reputation that preceded everyone! Everyone feared you! Why’d you ditch all of that? Because of that rubbery prick? Because of Shanks?”

“Is that really what you want to ask me?”

“Yeah!”

You sigh through your nose and put the towel down to recline in your chair. “I didn’t become a Captain because that’s what I wanted. I became a Captain because it provided an outlet.”

“An outlet? For fucking what?”

It takes you a few seconds to finally reach a suitable response. 

“Anger,” you admit calmly, your arms crossing over your chest as the words stir on your tongue. They must taste bitter. “I was angry, and it festered every day, churning into a poisonous substance in my body. Being a captain with a crew, I could take it out on whoever I wanted. Pirate, marine, unruly crew member, it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.”

It makes sense now, he thinks, the reputation you’ve garnered over the years. Beware the Beast in the East, people would chant in passing towns and harbors, like you were a ghost story. Her eyes were like swords, and her hands were twice as sharp.

There wasn’t a single place where blood didn’t paint your steps.

He never met you while you were a captain; he didn’t want to, couldn’t find it in himself to pop by even once. Still, he kept your poster hidden in the dark depths of the chest in his quarters, if only for acrimonious reminiscence. He would spend some drunken nights doing nothing but staring at it, and it was like he could feel your rage seep through the ink on the page and scorch his fingers. A reminder of what he did.

Now, looking at you and comparing you to the poster, he fails to see the resemblance. He doubts he could’ve spotted it had you reunited earlier on. Captain Cross-Hairs was sharp around the edges, with pecks of blood on her cheeks and fresh scars on her face.

He licks his lips in deliberation. “You were pissed… because of what?”

Because of me?

“I don’t know.” He watches your chest expand with your breath, mesmerized simply by watching you commit to living. There used to be a time when you didn’t. “I didn’t care about money or power. I didn’t care for much of anything, except to purge that rage from my body. I fought, and I killed. It helped, for a time; I felt satisfied, but after a while, you grow bored of eating the same meal.”

When he looked at you when you were younger, he imagined he saw the scorching sun. Burning and bright and enlightening. 

You were … everything, but he never imagined that the same fire that used to mesmerize him would burn a thousand ships in his absence. 

But he was a boy back then. He’s older now, more experienced in the ways of life, he knows better.

He knows enough.

"But the boy," you say with a certain gentleness in your voice that does not evade his notice. "He's good."

"He's weak," Buggy scoffs, feeling his belly fill with sour smoke. He recognizes the feeling. It's the feeling he got when he watched Shanks talk to you that night by the fire. The same feeling he got when he watched you stay with Shanks that day. 

"He's defeated every opponent he's come across."

"Didn't beat Arlong, though." Buggy points out with a smidgen of childish pride and smirks. "Got his ass handed to him real good if I remember correctly."

You look back at him in that narrow way you usually reserve for him when he's crossed a line, and he can already tell he fucked up.

"I watched him grow, Buggy.” You say firmly. “I was there for all of it. I watched him learn, I watched him fight, I watched him leave land. He’s not like us — he doesn’t waste time on regret. He’ll become better than we ever were.”

Buggy glowers but doesn’t say anything else, insisting on letting your words simmer in his brain until he can find the will to let them go.

You procure something from the drawers and it’s only when he looks down that he realizes it’s the make-up. With gentle hands, you lift him and place him in your lap, the brush already blue and ready.

“I’m not here to talk about what used to be,” you say. “Now hold still.”

The diamonds across his eyes come first, the brushing makes his face tickle and it’s only by sheer willpower alone that he manages to refrain from staring at you. 

“Takes us back,” he whispers and closes his eyes so that you can finish. “Doesn’t it?”

He hears something akin to a chortle that doesn’t quite reach your throat, but he considers it a small win.

“You looked a mess,” you answer. “A child could’ve done a better job than I did.”

“Wasn’t bad for your first try, though.”

Except that it was. It was pretty bad. Your hands were shaking, and you held your breath like you were afraid of making a mistake. By the time you were finished, he looked like a canvas painted by a child, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that.

He used to think that it was strange. You were skilled at nearly everything you committed yourself to, without even trying. 

When he thinks back on it, maybe it wasn’t skill; maybe it was just an ingrained fear of failure that drove you to become the best at what you did.

Then again, your worst could never be the worst in his eyes.

You finish his eyes, and when he looks up at you, he sees the same determination and focus in your eyes as he did that day. It’s the same look you have when you’re targeting something, be it an enemy or a point of interest. It’s always the same.

And he can’t look away.

You move onto the crossbones next, and he’s happy he won’t have to close his eyes for this one. He’s not certain you can pull off his iconic look, but he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.

After all, you strive for perfection. He doubts this will be an exception.

Get it? Perfection and except— You know what? Nevermind.

He can feel your attention in every stroke of the brush, feel the white paint glisten on his skin before it dries. Your warmth lingers like burning embers, he feels like getting too close will burn him, yet he wants nothing more than blisters upon his skin.

He looks at you, looks into your focused eyes, and he feels … something tightening, back where his body is. It could be his stomach, his head… other places, but he can’t tell. Arlong’s been busy abusing his body long enough that he can’t differentiate between a kick or a punch anymore.

But this isn’t Arlong.

It’s you.

He can handle a tight body if it’s because of you.

When he was young, and his body began to work in the way of a man, he would sometimes wake up and feel sweaty and … stiff. He knew enough to know what it was, to know what caused it, but he didn’t know how to approach the situation.

He knew the source of his frustrations. He knew how to alleviate them, but he didn’t. He respected you far too much to ever dare cross the threshold. He figured that simply talking to you, simply holding your hand, and being at your side would be enough. He would be content with just that.

But he watched you … develop. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He imagined feeling your flesh under his digits. The softness across your chest and hips. The warm skin. 

He looks at you now, sees the scars peeking from under your shirt, on your face, and he wants to feel the rough edges. 

Buggy gulps and he’s rather happy now that the rest of his body is not attached to him. He’s lost enough dignity as it is.

“And now, the mouth.”

Yes, he wants to touch that t—

You take the lipstick, and in a straight line, smear it across his mouth in a way that snaps him out of his thoughts. He can feel the warmth emitting from your thumb as you finish his face, and it takes him half a mind not to—

“Done.”

Disappointment lingers in the clown’s visage, and even when you present him a mirror and see the identical likeness to his wanted posters, it does not alleviate the feeling. For what it's worth, he's impressed with how far your make-up-applying skills have reached since last time. 

It's perfect.

But it means you’re done, and the nobodies require his flashy expertise to get Miss Ginger back. 

You dump the discolored water out and put the rest of the equipment away, and he feels his head weigh another ten pounds at so. He somewhat hopes it would; maybe it would be heavy enough that you wouldn’t bother carrying him up the deck?

… Oh, who is he kidding? It’s you. You won’t have any trouble in that department even if he were to weigh as much as a boulder. Ten boulders, even.

To his surprise, instead of reaching for him, you lounge back into your seat and nonchalantly cross your arms and ankles. He’s confused. Weren’t you going to go up with him already?

“If Zoro needs you, he can get you himself.”

That’s what you’ll leave it be like. He, freshly washed, dried, and painted. You, just casually sitting like you have no urgency to get back to the world.

“He’ll be pissed at you,” Buggy warns. “And probably threaten to throw you into the sea.”

You shrug, your eyes already closed, giving him no indication whatsoever that you’re particularly concerned with the veryscary swordsman. He grins with all his teeth on show.

Unfortunately, the green-haired asshole turns up not even five minutes later. All but ripping the clown by the roots of his hair and taking him away like a sack of flour. Buggy spews curses and threats, but they all fall on deaf ears.

It’s only when he’s positioned on deck that he’s finally free of his torment, if only for an hour or two. He begrudgingly instructs the long-nosed slingshot where to sail, adding a few creative insults along the way. Hey, it’s not Buggy’s fault they’re too easy to rile up.

“Is that long nose compensating for something?”

To which he earned a slap to the back of his head. From whom, he doesn’t know, but he’ll take his victories in whatever light weight they come in.

After a while, he shifts his head to eject another insult to the slingshot when he sees that you’re standing a few feet away, your arms crossed while leaning against the railing; eyes closed but face focused and attentive.

He cuts his verbal daggers down a notch.

It gets late, the sky darkens, and one after another, the crew members resign to their chambers save for the slingshot, who still insists on going for a while longer. Him, and you, surprisingly enough. 

You stay, for all of it; neither complaining nor muttering a sound. 

You're stoically positioned on the sidelines, hardly moving at all. He would've died if he'd been standing in the same position for more than one hour, but you endured a total of six without a shiver or a strain. Like a soldier in the rain. A monk in a temple of thorns. 

A beast in an empty forest, lonesome in its hunger, yet content with what content remains buried in its stomach for the time being.

Long-nosed slingshot finally calls it a night and withdraws from the steering wheel with his hands outreached for the head. Before his dirty fingers can hope to graze the magnificent head that is Buggy's, you stretch your arm out like a shield between them.

"I'll take him."

Slingshot snorts. "Really? You want to?"

"Do you want to?"

With his hands raised in mock surrender, Slingshot relents. "... Fine, be my guest."

With a nod, you take the head and retire back to your chamber on the ship. Buggy yawns in your arms, tired, but satisfied with the warmth embracing him. Your steps feel like waves with each one you take, nudging him further and further toward the edge of sleep. Only unadulterated stubbornness keeps him awake.

It darkens for a moment. When he rouses back, he feels softness underneath him. A pillow of sorts, not comforting enough to offer him sleep, but enough to keep him relaxed.

He nudges around, like a fish in a small bowl, only to find that he's not on the table, nor in a barrel, nor a bag. The surface beneath him is made of fabric, and swings with his movements. 

He's in a hammock.

More precisely, your hammock.

“Sleep.” He hears your command. 

He finally locates you, seated by the window of your cabin with your palm under your chin, staring out into the darkened ocean.

He turns, voice diluted with drowsiness. “You too…”

“Soon.”

“Now," he almost whines.

The look you give him is not any different from the kind you usually provide, but it lacks the usual undertone of annoyance. He can tell you're tired, even if you're refusing to show it. The shadows under your eyes stand out more prominently, even in the dimmed candlelight. 

With an inaudible sigh, you stand and while he expects you to move towards the hammock, he's disappointed to see you aiming towards the door instead.

"H-Hey, where are you going?"

"The kitchens," you respond. "You can sleep here for the night; I'll take the couch."

"That's not necessary!" He wiggles so that he can look at you from over the edge of the hammock, careful as not to fall from the height. A thought dawns over him, one that makes his cheeks feel warm. "We- We can share! I don't take a lot of space!"

"You still take up too much of it."

"Are you calling me fat?!"

He's almost insulted when you don't answer to contradict his assumption, yet despite the innate urge to defend his honor and spew shit at you, he decides to let it slide.

"C'mon! I promise I'll behave," he tries again. "You'll hardly notice me. Those couches suck balls anyway, so why not?"

He watches you give it some thought for probably a good two minutes. He expects you'll decline his proposition, finding that your own pride weighs more than the need for decent sleep. 

Then, you lower your shoulders in defeat and make your way over to the hammock. "Scoot over."

He obliges rather excitedly, and when he wiggles back a bit too much to make space, he can feel gravity threaten to drop him on the other side of the hammock. Before it gets to that point, you grab him by the side of his face and hold him until you can lift yourself and lay down. 

Only then do you lay him down, on the right side of your abdomen. He's mindful of the wounds that have yet to heal there, so he tries not to invade too much. Still, he can't deny, he's quite comfortable. Very comfortable. 

He's the most comfortable he's been in a long time - twenty years.

He surpasses the urge to push closer to you, share your warmth, and elects to look up at the ceiling instead.

"Hope you don't snore," he jokes, only to have a yawn follow promptly behind.

"I don't snore," you answer, deadpan. "Now go to sleep."

He's not convinced, but he doesn't comment on it. This peace hangs by a thread, and he'll be damned if it's cut short now of all times. He shuts his eyes, and in his dreams, he's presented with the sun on the blue skies above.

He feels warm all over.

----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat, @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @fanshavegottensotoxic, @fluffybunnyu, @sirenmelody23

(If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

(Additionally, some sketches of how I imagine Cross-Hairs to look like while I’m writing.)

[minustwofingers]

exoplanet p.6 (ellie’s journals)

summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf

warnings: a significantly different writing voice! this is going to be a very different vibe from the other chapters since i had to write it as i imagine ellie would (which is a lot different than i do). slight nsfw content (mdni), language, mentions of violence/gore, angst, ellie’s pov is actually really depressing

a/n: soooo i know it’s been almost 3 months...and i’m really sorry about that! a lot of stuff happened in my life and i kind of fell off writing for quite some time. but i finish series, so i’m going to get through exoplanet in its entirety so i can finally give you all closure. some preliminary notes: know that these are modeled after how i imagine ellie would journal if she did journal this much. canonically she didn’t do that much writing that follows a narrative like it does here. i think it’s honestly a little ooc for her to be emotionally responsible enough to talk out her feelings, but given that there’s no other way to tell her side of the story (save for legit rewriting it from her perspective, which would take another 6 months or so and be horrifically repetitive), i decided to just suck it up and write it. i’m sorry if it sounds awkward, since she definitely doesn’t write in a voice that i have much experience with. the next chapter will be better!

word count: 5.5k

tags~ @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl​ @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28

(i haven’t updated this yet bc my tags aren’t working)

a special special SPECIAL thanks to both @roarriita and @elliesflower​ for being soooo sexy and betaing for me. you both are so wonderful and helped me sm in feeling good enough to post this :)

without further ado, enjoy ellie’s journals!

January 20th, 2038

Today’s been…fucking…

I don’t even know where to start. I don’t get why this sort of shit always happens to me. First it was being bit and somehow surviving. Then it was getting carted off across the country. And now some girl basically falls out of the sky, claiming that she comes from some sort of paradise up North?

I’ll spare the immediate details. I don’t think I’ll forget the basic stuff—her name, the way she looked clutching at her knees in the clearing and shaking. That stupid shirt she had on and that expensive scarf.

I still want to believe that she’s just a liar who happened to get lucky with running into us, but even without Joel vouching for her story, I don’t think I’d ever be able to buy that she’d been living in the same world as us. I’ve never met someone without scars before. I didn’t know that there were people out there who didn’t have marked up arms and faces. Or people without calluses. Did you know that hands can be totally smooth?

Anyway. Tommy says that he’ll try and reach out across the contacts he has. Joel has her living right down the hall from me in the meantime, so now I have to share my bathroom. Hopefully the Terranovan authorities are good at finding people. She takes so fucking long to shower. It’s a wonder the whole compound still has hot water.

[One page of drawings follows: Dina smiling in the snow on her horse, Joel playing his guitar]

January 25th, 2038

Maria says that they’re thinking about breeding Shimmer soon. I know she told me because that means I’ll need to ride another horse for a little until she recovers and I know that we need another generation of foals, but it still made me cringe for Shimmer’s sake. She’s too free-spirited to be a mother. She doesn’t deserve that.

I went stargazing last night. It was pretty. Lots of shooting stars. I ran into the girl while I was coming back from the meadow. She gave me a weird look, and I could tell she wanted to ask me where I’d been but kept her mouth shut. Sometimes I regret dropping off that bag of clothes. I really fucking liked that gray sweatshirt, actually. I’m not even joking. It looks weird to see it on someone else.

[Half a page of drawing follows of the night sky with labeled constellations]

February 5th, 2038

Long time no see. I’ve been pretty busy with patrols and helping Maria with securing the walls. Joel made me try some of that coffee that our new house guest brought. It was just as awful as I remembered, but he seemed happy. So one point for the space girl. I guess.

Dina’s been hanging around more. She just broke up with Jessie (yes, again). She swears that it’s for good this time, but I’m not so sure. She also talks a lot about Y/N and what little detail she’s gathered about her life back in Terranova. I thought teasing her by asking her if she had a crush on Y/N would make her talk less about it, but it just made things worse.

I miss when things were normal.

[One page of drawings follows: one of Shimmer in cross-ties, another of a girl’s face, half-finished with the face scribbled out]

February 12th, 2038

Today I’m sad. I’m in bed with that book about astronomy that Joel nabbed for me on patrol a while ago and there’s a section I wanted to read that’s completely waterlogged. It shouldn't be a surprise. It’s decades old and has survived through an apocalypse. Normally things like this don’t bug me much because I’m so used to it. Half of my Savage Starlight collection is damaged. I don’t think I’ll ever find the first book to actually complete the series, and that’s okay, because I’ve never expected anything more. But now that I know that there’s a world out there where I’d never have problems like this, stuff like this hurts. It’s so stupid. I’m lucky to be alive. Compared to what’s left of the world population, I live a much cushier life than most. But for the first time in a while, I’m wishing for more.  

“Greed is the enemy of happiness” is what Maria would say if I ever said this kind of shit out loud. But is it really? Or is it just realizing what life can be?

[Half a page of a drawing of the solar system, with each planet labeled]

February 22nd, 2038

Maria let me pick the sire for Shimmer’s foal. It felt kind of gross, to be honest. I asked Maria if there was any way for Shimmer to choose and I was only sort of joking, but she just laughed anyway and patted my back. I won’t have to worry about finding a new horse for another two seasons or so, she told me. It’ll be weird not having her for a little.

She also told me that there was still no word from anyone who knew anything about Terranova. She said this to me in this placating voice, like she thought that I was going to punch a hole in the wall or something after hearing it. That seems to be common when it comes to people talking about Y/N and me. I don’t know why so many people think I don’t like her staying with us.

I don’t, by the way. Let me be clear. But I mostly feel indifferent about her now. She doesn’t bother me as much anymore, not since she started getting out of the house. I think she might be helping in the gardens, but I’ve never actually asked. We don’t talk a whole ton. I don’t think she likes me all that much.

[A drawing of Shimmer’s head poking over her stall door that takes up one page]

March 2nd, 2038

Today was finally our first nice day of the year. I would’ve enjoyed it more if the bird that lives in the tree outside my window hadn’t blown me out of bed at 4 in the fucking morning. I’m exhausted now. It’s been a long day. Joel says I need to take Y/N out on patrol soon. Why, I have no idea. Maybe he just wants me to actually befriend her or something, and I do nothing but patrols now. He can’t possibly expect her to be a good patrol partner.

Thankfully, I checked the logs when I came back. The route he wants me to cover with her has been the quietest all season. I doubt we’ll run into anything. If we do, I’ll probably be able to handle it. Hopefully.

[Half a page of doodles, mostly of nature and wildlife with the exception of a half-finished doodle of an arm clad in a fabric that drapes like silk and a hand with polished nails]

March 3rd, 2038

Many surprising things were learned today. I can’t believe it’s illegal to be gay in Terranova. Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just—out of all the things they could be bothered by, it’s that? Really?

March 12th, 2038

I haven’t been good at journaling recently. I don’t really want to talk about why. You know why.

[Six pages of drawings, with many unfinished doodles of Y/N—including but not limited to her on her horse, her reading on the couch, and one with her sitting in what is a very loose interpretation of a classroom, taking notes]

March 13th, 2038

I will feel more normal tomorrow. Hopefully.

[Two pages of drawings, all of Y/N. One is her bent over a book, the other is her smiling up at you]

March 14th, 2038

I did something really stupid. I think I should probably just document this here so I don’t accidentally drunkenly spill it all out to Dina at the next bonfire. This is so embarrassing. I don’t get why I feel this way. It’s so stupid, you know? To feel anything towards someone who’s so…I don’t know. Different.

She gives me the weirdest looks sometimes. I can’t tell what they mean. It feels like she’s judging me. And why wouldn’t she be? I bet all the girls she spends her time around back home are just like her—perfect, orderly, pretty, proper. The day before I took her patrolling she gawked at the shorts I was wearing. It was borderline offensive. Actually, fuck that. It wasn’t borderline. It was offensive. You don’t just stare at people like that. She should know that.

Anyway, I invited her over to my room last night. Normal, right? Because we’ve been doing that a little since I took her on patrol, by the way. I’m not sure if I mentioned that before. But this time I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m…I don’t know. Creepy? Strange? Scary? She told me that she thought I was intimidating. And then I called her “untouched”, like how some old-timer devout Christian wackjob or whatever would describe virginity. It was so fucking weird of me. I don’t know what got into me, but she kept doing this thing where she kicked my foot with hers or touched my knee and it just threw me off. It took me forever to fall asleep last night—I kept replaying what I’d said to her, especially how I’d told her that she wouldn’t have made it if she were me like I was some sort of hardcore survivalist. I think I embarrassed her. I’m never doing anything like this again. I’m going to be dead sober every time I see her from now on.

I’ll stop talking about that. Y/N did come back after I’d made a fool of myself and showed me her collection of movies, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. I haven’t watched any movies since I was with Cat. When we first started dating, I’d invite her over and she’d sit right where Y/N did last night. I’m trying to not think of the implications, because it’s space girl, and she’s going home sometime soon.

[Three pages of drawings follow—some nature drawings of ferns and moths, others of Y/N with wet hair, her knees tucked up to her chin like she’d been in Ellie’s bed that night]

March 19th, 2038

It’s the Spring Equinox. That’s the first thing Y/N told me this morning when she saw me in the kitchen this morning. She gave me a mini lecture on what that meant for the planet’s axis tilt and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I already knew, since she seemed really excited to tell me.

I made a horrible discovery yesterday, by the way. Maria came up to me and told me that Tommy had decided to reach out to some of his other buddies up North to see if they had any connections to Terranova, and for the first time, I felt myself hoping that it wouldn’t work.

It’s awful. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. Even in Jackson, where things are comparatively much better than the rest of the world, there’s risk. Just this winter, one family had to be kicked out when they were found hiding an infected son. No one here is completely safe, just safer. I shouldn’t be selfish. Y/N needs to go where she’s meant to be, where there’s no chance of infection or invasion. I’ll be fine. I just need to get over whatever this is.

Speaking of her, I need to go get her to tell her that we’re heading out on patrol in just a few minutes. Fingers crossed she doesn’t accidentally shoot me, but Joel swore up and down that she knows how to handle a gun now. Sure. Haha.

I’m back. It’s the middle of the night and she only just left my room. I don’t know how much detail I need to go into—chances are I won’t forget this. But for bookkeeping purposes: patrol did not go so hot. I had to give her stitches without any local anesthesia. I’ve never given stitches to anyone nearly in my lap before. I was really nervous, too. I don’t think I’ve ever had to focus so much on keeping my hands steady when it came to stitching someone up before, not even with Joel.

I’m starting to think that maybe I was wrong about thinking that she didn’t like me. I still can’t tell exactly what she thinks of me, and I know that it’s a really bad fucking idea to be entertaining thoughts like these, but tonight she did something that made me reconsider. She got under the covers with me, and instead of moving away to keep us from touching, she rested her head next to mine on the pillow.

I hope she couldn’t hear how much my heart was racing. People can’t hear that kind of stuff, right? Even if they’re close?

I’m being ridiculous. There’s no way she—No. She doesn’t see me like that.

March 21st, 2038

She rested her head on my shoulder today. I don’t know what to think of it. If she was normal and grew up like the rest of us did, I would know exactly what to think. But she’s not normal, and it’s not fair of me to treat her like she is. Maybe this is, like, a culturally acceptable thing back from where she grew up. Maybe rich people just cuddle each other all the time. I wouldn’t fucking know, and unfortunately no one in this godforsaken town can help, because there’s a distinct lack of what Maria calls the “bourgeoisie”. They’re all either dead or back where Y/N grew up, doing whatever rich snobs do.

Even if it is normal for her, I feel like I can’t stop analyzing everything she does. She seems more nervous around me than she does anyone else, but she lingers like she can’t help herself. I’ve noticed that she stumbles over her words and touches me much more than is really necessary. Or at least I think she does—maybe I’m just imagining things.

But even if it means what I think it does, I can’t let myself think like this. It’s not fair to her. No one deserves to live here if they have the choice. At least the people out here know how to handle it. She doesn’t, and I don’t want her to turn into the type of person who does.

When I stitched her up and teased her about being weak and sensitive, I think she thought I was insulting her. I try not to think about it, but if I let myself wallow too much, I’ll wonder what kind of person I’d be if I wasn’t so jaded. Maybe I’d draw more, or read more, or write more. Maybe I’d be an easier person to love. I didn’t get to choose how I turned out. It just happened to me.

So if she has the choice, I’m going to do everything I can to help her make the right one. I don’t want her to be like this.

March 29th, 2038

I had a dream about Riley last night. I haven’t had one of those in years, not since I was traveling with Joel. We were back in the mall, and Riley had just turned the lights on as a surprise. I had this feeling then, like I was being given a second chance. That I could set things straight and do what was right. I woke up before I could insist that we leave.

[A drawing takes up half of the next page. It’s a crude depiction of the mall Riley turned in.]

April 4th, 2038

It’s the middle of the night again. I can’t sleep. I’m so disappointed with myself about what I did tonight with Y/N. At the time, it seemed like a really good idea. She likes me back, apparently. I was right about everything that I wrote about earlier, I guess. But it certainly doesn’t feel like I thought it would.

It’s not like there’s no part of me that isn’t thrilled that she feels the same way. That’s why I gave in and slept with her. But even when she told me how she felt, even before I completely lost my self-control, something heavy was already hanging over me. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. I don’t know. What I do know is that this can’t last. I can’t make this good for her like I want to. She needs to go back, and she needs to be able to feel like she can make that choice without feeling like she’s leaving anything good behind.

I’m not a spiritual person. but even so, I can’t help but feel like that dream of Riley was a sign. This is my second chance. I’m not going to fuck it up this time. I’ve already been an accomplice of so much suffering. Y/N is going home, and I’ll never see her again when she does. That’s that.

It took all I had left in me in the end to kick her out. She looked so hurt, and the fact that she tried to hide it made it even worse. I wish I could tell her why this can’t work, but I don’t think she’d understand.

[A drawing of Y/N kissing Ellie’s palm follows, her hair slightly mussed]

April 6th, 2038

I need to stop making rash decisions like knocking on her door late at night and asking her to come over. I really don’t know what’s gotten into me, because whenever I see her now, I can’t help but freeze up. Like last night, when she kissed me and touched my face and told me she thought I was a good person. I panicked and told her—well, nevermind. I don’t really want to repeat it here. It was mean, but I didn’t know what else I could do to get her to stop.

She was already tearing up by the time she left. I had to sit down and breathe deeply for a few minutes before I was sure I wasn’t going to be sick. I don’t really think I want to write more about this right now. It just makes me sad how unfair this all is. Of course the one time after Cat that I meet someone I really like it just has to be in one of the cruelest scenarios possible. I just have no idea what to do.

[Five pages of drawings follow of Y/N in bed, her head tilted back against the pillow, her eye’s half lidded, and her mouth slightly agape. Ellie redraws this multiple times, x-ing out parts that don’t seem quite right]

April 10th, 2038

I know this is none of my business, but she’s been spending a lot of time with Dina lately. She nearly got herself killed getting a gift for me with Dina yesterday, which feels like some sort of especially cruel joke. The universe isn’t being very fucking subtle right now.

If what I’m worried about is right, at least Dina has the option to come with her up North. She’d test negative.

April 20th, 2038

I would really like it if I could have one short break from the misery that’s my life right now. I turned 20 yesterday, accidentally introduced Y/N to my ex, proceeded to get much drunker than I meant to, completely fell off my rocker and asked Y/N to stay the night, and then discovered this morning that not only has Terranova found Y/N but that my strategy of keeping Y/N at arm’s length completely failed.

She wants me to come with her, and she’s threatening to stay here otherwise. I did the only thing that I could think to do and snapped at her.

I’m so tired of this. I hate having to act like I don’t care. This is the third time now that I’ve had to say something nasty to her to keep her from getting too close. I just want to get in bed and sleep until she leaves and I can pretend like nothing ever happened and that everything is normal.

[One page of drawings of Y/N passed out in her bed and Y/N grinning while holding a lopsided cake]

April 28th, 2038

I know I haven’t been writing much again. Sorry about that. I just can’t bear to think about my life right now. I know I should be relieved—this is what I wanted. I wanted her to go where it’s best for her.

But there’s still that selfish part of me that keeps me up at night. Y/N is going to leave this place never knowing how I feel about her. Logically, that should be what I want. This way I won’t need to say a real goodbye. I know I won’t need to now, since she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. It’s really fucking immature of me to be so hurt by what she must think of me now, but I can’t stop.

I wonder how long it will take for me to stop feeling sad about this. I’ve never had to process anything like this where there’s nothing I can do. With Riley and Sam, I at least got to heal from the knowledge that I was going to help make the vaccine to save the world. But losing Y/N just because of where we come from is totally meaningless. I can go forward knowing that I made it easy for her to make the right decision, but that only goes so far.

I don’t know how I’m going to handle this. I’m going to practically live with Dina so I don’t need to be alone for the first few weeks.

I wish May 8th would just come already so she can go away and I can get on with my life.

May 1st, 2038

Things have changed some. Joel cornered me in the kitchen last night and told me that I needed to grow up and just appreciate the rest of the time I had left with Y/N. I was going to agree and try to walk past him, but he stopped me and told me that he needed me to escort Y/N. I guess he’s right. She can’t go alone, and Joel and Tommy are getting a little too old for week-long expeditions into the wilderness.

He also told me that I need to apologize to her and make things right, saying shit like I’d regret it forever if things ended between us like this. I don’t want to admit it, but I think he’s right. When I told him that she’d originally threatened to stay if I didn’t go with her, he blinked, hard. Then he told me that he had an idea.

I’m faking it. I’m telling her that I’m going, even though I’m going to leave her when she gets picked up. I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off. When I told her in the meadow last night, she was so happy. I know it’s really sappy and cliche to say this, but I felt my heart shatter, bit by bit. I’m not a very good liar, not to people who are important to me. But I suppose I’ve been lying to her all this time, kicking her out of my room and telling her that I didn’t want anything more with her.

I can do this, I think. I have to do this, or else she might threaten to stay, and I don’t think I have it in me to be cruel again. Not to her. I guess I’ll just trick myself into feeling like I’m actually coming with her, like we have a chance of actually being together. I don’t know. We’ll see.

[One drawing of Y/N laying down in the meadow that takes up half a page]

May 3rd, 2038

It’s easier than I expected. Y/N sleeps over in my room at night, and if I don’t think too hard about it, I can pretend like things will always be like this.

I’m getting to be such a sap, though. I almost broke down in the bathroom today while I was getting ready. It was over the stupidest thing—a toothpaste bottle. Y/N always folds it so neatly, making a perfect, tight spiral of plastic near the end. It used to really bother me when I first had to share with her (because who does that—it’s weird and doesn’t do anything since she doesn’t manage to squeeze out the extra in the bottom anyways), but the thought of throwing it out when it finally emptied and having to find another one that’ll never be folded again hit me and suddenly I was counting my inhales and exhales. I don’t really give a shit about toothpaste. It’s just that it was the moment that I realized that she’s really going to be gone soon, you know? Slowly but surely, the evidence of her stay here will be wiped away and replaced. Someday I’ll forget all the little details about her.

She’s knocking on my door. I need to stop being so depressed and go see her before she picks up that something’s wrong.

[One small doodle of Y/N smiling and rolling her eyes while brushing her teeth]

May 6th, 2038

Dina’s coming now. Y/N told me this morning after she went to say goodbye. I feel really shitty about this. I guess I should tell her that I’m not going now, because this way Y/N needs to go home to get Dina the help she needs, but I just can’t bring myself to. I’ll have to escort both of them to the pickup spot anyway since Dina’s weaker now that she’s pregnant, and the thought of having to spend a full week with Y/N after she knew I lied to her makes my skin crawl. I can’t tell who I’m trying to protect by doing this—me or her. Maybe both.

I’m losing my two favorite people here, and they don’t even know it yet. But this is the best option. This is my chance to finally do some good in the world.

May 7th, 2038

I’m about to go stargazing with Y/N for the last time. I don’t think I’ll be writing in here again until I get back. I don’t want to risk losing this while I’m out in case something crazy happens. Which it probably will, but I canonically happen to be really good at living when shit hits the fan. Also—I don’t imagine Y/N to be a particularly nosy person, but if she ever came across this and thought it was a book or something, it would make things really awkward. So, you’re staying tucked carefully under my bed until I come back later this month.

I don’t know how to handle this sort of goodbye. I don’t really know how to handle any sort of goodbye, I guess, but at least I’ve been through them before. I may not do it well, but I know how to live when people I love die. But this isn’t like that. No one is dying (hopefully), and more importantly, I know it’s a goodbye this time. I see it coming on the horizon and I can’t even tell anyone about it. How does anyone deal with that? How does anyone cope?

Y/N’s knocking on my door now. I need to go before I start thinking even more and do something stupid like start crying or whatever.

I’ll be back in about two weeks.

June 1st, 2038

Sorry for not writing. It’s been pretty shitty, actually. It took me 5 extra days to get home because some scavengers gave me trouble. I hardly slept for most of them. I ran out of ammo about 4 days out and had to use my knife for everything I ran into until I was able to raid the cabinets of this abandoned cabin. Nearly got taken out by a clicker, too. It was not fun. It was especially not fun because I was not feeling super great to begin with, for obvious reasons.

Things haven’t gotten any better since getting back to Jackson. Y/N didn’t take her stupid Exoplanetary Systems textbook and now I’m struggling with whether or not I should throw it out. The rational side of me says to keep it because it was published after the outbreak and probably contains updated information that isn’t anywhere else. The rest of me doesn’t even want to look at the stars anymore because it reminds me of her.

It’s really hard not to blame her for ruining everything. I can’t go out and ride my own horse without thinking about the first time we went on patrol together and she dropped my gun and nearly killed one of us. And I can’t even relax in my own home, because I’ve spent almost every night with her since March in my bed. Sometimes when I hear a creak in the middle of the night I assume it’s her walking down to the bathroom or getting water until it hits me again that she’s never coming back.

I know I’m being melodramatic. There are many other worse problems I could be having right now. But I don’t even have my best friend anymore. I wonder if Dina and Y/N are angry with me for lying. I wonder if they’re settling in okay. I hope that Y/N manages to fix whatever her research was and that Dina gets better.

[Twenty pages of drawings of Y/N and Dina together. Some are snippets of them on their expedition to the pickup site. Others are pictures of Y/N and Dina walking around with smiles on their faces in what looks to be a city]

June 21st, 2038

It’s been over a month since I’ve last seen her. I had a breakdown while getting ready for bed when I realized that I didn’t remember what her voice sounded like anymore.

[Ten pages of half-finished drawings, each with its face scribbled over]

June 28th, 2038

I don’t think I really remember what she looks like—not exactly. I’ve been trying to draw her because I’m still in the habit of making decisions that are definitely not good for my mental state. I just can’t do it, and it isn’t for the lack of trying. Every time I get to her eyes I keep drawing something that looks wrong, but I can never tell why. I compare it to my earlier drawings of her from when we first met and it feels like meeting her for the first time again.

Joel says it’ll pass and that he’s proud of me for doing the right thing. Jessie and I have been hanging out more. Even if he won’t admit it, I can tell he’s miserable without Dina. But he understands why she had to go—just like how I feel about Y/N. And Dina too, of course. Jackson feels like a ghost town without her.

July 17th, 2038

I haven’t been writing or drawing in here for a while, I know. I was going to just go ahead and start a new journal—you know the one that Maria gave me for Christmas with the dark blue cover—but it didn’t feel right to just stop without explaining. Otherwise I’ll feel like an asshole for wasting so much paper.

I don’t want to move on from what happened with Y/N and Dina. I really don’t, but I don't think I have a choice. If I keep going on like this, I’ll never be able to live normally again. I’m just sick and tired of being sad all of the time. So I’m not going to write here anymore. I don’t think it’s realistic for me to forget all about it, because I don’t want to forget her. Not really. But I guess if I want to get better, I’ll need something different. So, here’s that. The beginning of my fresh start. “Fresh start” and you call me overdramatic!! haha. Y/N was here!

(You left this on your nightstand. I promise I didn’t read too much. I opened it because I thought it was your sketchbook. I’m going to put this back since I hear you walking down the hall now.)

ok as an aside my blog is broken so my stuff isn’t notifying people when i tag/showing up on dashes or in tags. please reblog if you’re comfortable so people can actually find this! thank you!

final a/n: i totally get it if this wasn’t quite your cup of tea this time—i just really wanted to iron out ellie’s pov before their reunion in the end. which is happening and not a spoiler because i have always promised a hea! this was a change in pace for the story and i promise you that the next chapter will be more normal/align more with my normal writing style. i have also changed my mind (probably) and have decided to stick with writing an epilogue! so two more chapters are coming before this is totally over. thank you so much for waiting and being so patient! i love you all dearly ok bye bye now

[gwyns]

“Gwynriel’s know Gwyn cannot carry a book on her own. She needs to piggyback on Nesta’s relevance to even have half a decent storyline and the overarching plot.”

I don’t think any Gwynriel has ever said that Gwyn will be getting her own book. I think most of us have said that Gwyn will have the other pov in Azriel’s book, similar to Cassian in Nesta’s book. Gwyn does have a decent enough storyline and potential plot if you would actually read the scenes that she is in (I’ve actually seen some e/riel’s say that when Gwyn appears they skip the page). Gwyn became the first one to cut the ribbon and become a Valkyrie; she won the Blood Rite and became the first non-Illyrian to do so; there have been many theories on her possibly being connected to Gwydion or possibly finding Narben since acosf came out; she hasn’t left the library but we know that she wants to; she feels unworthy of using her invoking stone; accepting that her sisters death wasn’t her fault; overcoming her trauma and healing; Autumn Court heritage (possibly a Vanserra); whatever is going on with Merrill and the research to other worlds; things we found out from hofas, like the Prison being connected to Nesta, and Gwyn (Emerie also) are her friends and Pegasus used to roam there and we know the Pegasi loved Gwyn the most; Ramiel with the Asteri/daglan, the black monolith at the top, Enalius.

Gwyn definitely has main character energy, it’s just some people don’t want to see the potential. And after hofas, I do believe that it’s Azriel’s that is next (of course it could end up being Elain’s or the novella). Say the next book is Azriel’s and obviously he is the main character with the first pov; Nesta played a big role in hofas, but I don’t think Sarah will give her another book or let her have the other pov, I think it will go to Gwyn since she’s a Valkyrie and connected to Nesta, so this way we can get more information. I really don’t think that the Valkyrie plot line is over.

And wasn’t Sarah originally going to have Nessian’s book be about an Illyrian rebellion or disarray happening in Illyria but scrapped it? Perhaps she’s saving it for Azriel since we know how he feels about that place/his people (similar to how Bryce feels about the fae) and given what we got from hofas (truth teller/Ramiel/Enalius), and it will also tie in the Valkyries, because honestly, I don’t think the males in Illyria are too happy with three women, two of which aren’t Illyrian, participating in the Blood Rite and winning.

and nesta had to "piggyback" off of feyre's relevance, what's their point? that's how spinoffs work

gwyn has heaps of potential as a main character, they're just SO insecure about it, it's plain as day in every word they write. that's why they have to get online to write think pieces about their hatred and downplay gwyn's significance since no one ever taught them how to properly deal with their emotions. basically, they're making it everyone else's problem

i've been here since the dawn of time and have never once seen a gwynriel say gwyn would be the actual mc of a book, we've always theorized about how she, her storyline and her abilities could compliment an az centric story. e/riels know this but they don't have anything proper to cry over so they ignore it and lie, much like they do with the actual books lol

agreed. i feel like hofas only reinforced that the valkyrie plot is far from over, all the connections nesta had with bryce and the dusk court. i definitely think that'll be the valkyries base or something. as much as i love nesta, i feel the same. i don't think she'll get another book or have a centric pov again (obviously this can change), so who is the next character most connected to the valkyries? who helped reform them? who did research on them and was the first to cut the ribbon? who, alongside emerie ANOTHER founding valkyrie, was one of the first females to win the blood rite? the same blood rite that's a sacred illyrian tradition that is connected to azriel, the other acotar character that took center stage in hofas, personally? hmmm... seems like miss janet has quite the coincidence on her hands here!

yup! sjm set up an illyrian rebellion in acofas, showed us that acosf snippet where nessian were going to the illyrian mountains and everyone (rightfully) assumed they were going to deal with that. but years passed and acosf finally came out and the rebellion is just... on the back burner for now? the leader of it was killed quietly off page and now the story centers on the dread trove and valkyrie training but we are still told that another rebellion is brewing. it's clear to me, and many others, that sjm changed her plans a tiiiiny bit and decided to have azriel deal with this plotline. i, for one, am excited to see how sjm handles it!

[twstbookclub]

Tickled Pink, But It's a Skill Issue

Summary: Idia is anything but thrilled at the soulmate mark on his wrist. After meeting his soulmate on one sunny day though, he's having second thoughts. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender Neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa 🦋 Tags: Comedy, Slight Angst, Romance, Fluff, Soulmate AU, Minor Swearing, Idia Gamer Speak, The Absolute Cringelord that is Idia Shroud, and Minor Book 6 spoilers

Word Count: 1,218

Idia Shroud stared at the words tattooed on his wrist with a grimace. Throughout his eighteen years of living, it still baffled him that the words he was born with cursed with, more like it were four words that made him want to shrink from embarrassment. Anyone else might have wondered about their soulmate once they saw their mark, but Idia might as well die from cringe.

“Your hair is pretty,” he muttered, shuddering. Really? Idia would rather have anything—anything, really—for a soulmate mark. What kind of soulmate’s first words to him would be about his hair, an untamed trail of flames and emotion? Emotions that made it obvious to anyone that he’s either angry or embarrassed? Emotions bearing impossible dreams, brutally crushed during his childhood? Idia would rather his soulmate curse or insult him for how much of a shut-in he is. If he was going to take the L and spend the rest of his life with this one person, at least make it believable.

Must be a normie hopeless romantic, Idia thought as he tapped and typed on his holographic screens. The type who dreams of a knight who saves them from a dragon for an RPG quest. Just like those prissy, trash-tier snobs at RSA. Just like a cliché romance plot in a B movie.

Idia knew he shouldn’t think of his soulmate like this before even meeting them. People his age already found their soulmates at this point. Couples holding hands in the park, sharing a drink in the restaurant booth, and all of the typical, mushy, lovey-dovey things people in love do. Well, people that aren’t the Shroud family. With how robotic they are, Idia doubts if the Shroud pair ever fell in love. He didn’t care to know about how his parents found each other. Even if he was curious as a kid, his parents never gave him the time of the day. Not when they were too busy to even look at their children who were going to inherit the fate of the Shrouds.

A faint crackle made Idia glance at the lock trailing down his shoulder. The orange tips of his hair shone like the beginning of twilight in his room, which was Idia’s cue to calm down. He huffed, subconsciously typing more aggressively than usual, and willed himself to forget his feelings. The thought of his soulmate always worked him up, or was it his parents?

“Who cares? I need to log in and do my dailies. I don’t want to break my log-in streak just because of this.”

Idia spent another evening in his room with nothing but his games, shoving ridiculous sentiment aside and waiting for Ortho to come back from class.

The next day was supposed to be ordinary, bleak, uneventful. Idia only went outside the comfort of his room to grab the newest video games and manga he ordered. Classes should’ve kept every NRC student busy. He could’ve slipped in and out of daylight without anyone noticing him.

“Your hair is pretty.”

Why is the Ramshackle Prefect here? Better yet, why did the universe give him a soulmate that was always surrounded by drama? Is he the main character of some sick comedy? Are the gods making fun of him at this point?

Idia Shroud, a stuttering coward in the crowd and a callous bastard behind the monitor, wanted to disappear right then and there. The tips of his hair flickered between fiery red and hot pink. His amber irises switched from the Prefect’s eyes, the cobblestone of Main Street, the Lord of the Underworld’s statue, and back to the Prefect’s eyes before he remembered that he shouldn’t be looking at them in the first place.

Maybe Idia should’ve worked on that drone to grab his deliveries for him. Maybe he could’ve avoided this outcome. Then again, if he couldn’t avoid his fate of being stuck as the Watchman, Idia could never run away from this even if he tried to.

He knew your name. Everyone does. You were the infamous magicless student in Night Raven College. You always found yourself in troublesome situations and with the SSR Epic Troublemakers. Riddle Rosehearts? Leona Kingscholar? Azul Ashengrotto? Does he need to list more of them to get the point across?

More importantly, you’re his soulmate. You. His. Idia’s mind was on the verge of a shutdown until he remembered that he should reply to you instead of standing like a spooked cat drenched in the rain.

“What’s a normie like you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be in class with the monster kitty?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why was his literal default being an asshole? His soulmate is standing not more than a meter in front of him, and he called them a normie. Brilliant. Can’t he level up his Charm stat just this once? Is he seriously having a skill issue right now?

While Idia was handling an internal battle with himself, you raised a brow. Oh no. He’s done it. Here comes the insult, the slap, the animosity he’s familiar with.

Except, you weren’t all those things.

“Did you just call me a normie?” You laughed, crossing your arms and grinning. The sound echoed in his ears, rattled his mind, and stole his every thought. Suddenly, Idia wanted to hear more of it. Honestly, this entire scenario feels like it was ripped out of a dating sim. This was getting into dangerous territory.

Idia’s hands hovered over his chest as he watched the magicless prefect. His shoulders visibly relaxed, but his fists clenched ‘til his knuckles turned ghostly pale. Well, that’s a first.

You kept going, undeterred by his insult, “It’s none of your business. I just wanted to say your hair’s pretty. Shouldn’t you be in class?”

You… didn’t know him. Idia didn’t know whether he should collapse from relief or cry about how invisible he was to you. Is this what it felt like to be a forgettable side character in a Triple-A game? Since when did it matter what you thought of him? Since when did he decide that you calling his hair pretty wasn’t cringe? Since when did his hair glow bright pink?

“Nevermind. I don’t have time for this.” You shook your head and walked around him. Idia almost grabbed your wrist out of instinct. As if this scene was straight out of a shoujo manga where the main character tries to reach out to her love interest before confessing. His hand shot back to his chest as if he was burned.

Oh great Seven, he’s turning into a walking cliché at the sight of his soulmate.

Idia’s heart jumped into his throat when you looked back at him with a knowing smirk. One that he knows will damn him for the rest of his life just because he wanted to get his video games and manga. Idia wanted to die on the spot at what you told him next.

“Look, you’re hot and all, but seriously? Pro tip: don’t insult your soulmate on sight. Make a better first impression next time, alright?”

Oh.

Oh.

Idia will make damn sure that he finishes that drone before he sees you again. Otherwise, he’ll combust on the spot and the pink flames will be screaming his infatuation for you.

[mooncello]

What a fun Sunday so far. ⚡ thank you for the tags @bookish-bogwitch (LOVE seeing some of your writing process), @shrekgogurt (still haven't recovered from ch 13 of ikabikam in the best way possible), @emeryhall (happy anniversary!) & @you-remind-me-of-the-babe (anguished Baz is such a vibe fr).

For today's update:

Enter Niall & Dev.

Truly one of the most unexpected delights of writing this fic has been the insistence of Niall and Dev to show up and take a prominent role in the story. I adore them. I adore them as individual characters, and I love who they are for Baz.

Here's a little from chapter 2 of lost boys. This chapter will publish next week! I'm traveling this week, so I'll post once I'm back.

Under the cut because of length. It's a 30+ sentence Sunday, y'all.

Baz POV, 16 yo, year 12 (school).

Towards the end of lunch, I hear a familiar booming laugh across the canteen. I figure I have two minutes until impact. I tuck my sketchbook and pencils away and twist the lid back onto my thermos of tea. “Just a head’s up,” I say to Niall, who is still contently working away, “we’re about to be interrupted by the demon of chaos hims—” “Bazza!” There’s the solid thump of a hand against my shoulder and the dramatic collapse of tall, muscular limbs into the seat beside me. “My favourite nerd. How’s it going, cuz?” Dev flashes his white, perfect teeth at me before snatching my remaining bourbon biscuit. His fingernails are painted turquoise today, his dark hair is swept away from his face, and he’s wearing eyeliner. The bastard looks amazing. Despite being cousins, we never really hung out as kids. Always kept to different social circles. Which is to say Dev constantly had a roving pack of friends, and I had nobody (save for the lost boys in my dreams). But when I got outed this past spring, Dev decided to take a more active presence in my life. He even convinced me to join the football team with him. He’s charismatic and popular in his own way, and so unabashedly and loudly himself that even the nastiest bullies don’t bother him. It's been nice, having Dev in my life. Even though it means I now deal with his chaotic, abrasive personality all the goddamn time. “Dev, this is Niall.” I make a small sweeping motion to the boy across from us. Dev raises his chin in greeting. “New kid. Hey.” Niall smiles faintly. He looks rather disoriented. Possibly awestruck. I don’t blame him. Dev tends to have that effect on people. I’m almost envious of it. Another smack hits my upper arm. “Did’ya hear about practice this afternoon? Thirty minutes later than usual.” “Yes, I received the same team-wide notification, Dev, thank you.” Dev is now peering at Niall’s drawing tablet without shame, while continuing to talk to me. “A bunch of us are getting ice cream after the match on Friday. Wanna join?” “That’s a very solid maybe,” I tell him in a tone that communicates I’d rather eat grass laced with slug poison. I like playing on the pitch, but I’m not about to huff dairy with a bunch of footballer lads. “Great.” Dev stands, all six feet of him, and squeezes my top knot. I sigh and bat his hand away. Clearly I need to have another conversation with him about acceptable physical contact. “See you at practice then. Nice meeting you, Niall.” He’s off in a swirl of flair and overpriced body spray. “Sorry about him,” I murmur to Niall. I really hope he’s not scared off.

hellos & tags! xoxo

@thewholelemon, @best--dress, @facewithoutheart, @cutestkilla, @whatevertheweather, @artsyunderstudy, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @fatalfangirl, @youarenevertooold, @raenestee, @orange-peony, @ileadacharmedlife, @nightimedreamersworld, @rimeswithpurple, @iamamythologicalcreature, @shemakesmeforget & @arthurkko (your merwolves ... still thinking about your merwolves)

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 23 “Smells Like Sheet”[Episode List]

Due to a cliché, Tim and the-gassy-as-usual Dave have to share a bed. Who could possibly know what's gonna happen next... though it may involve a dutch oven that's for sure.

POV: Tim

Smells Like Sheet

“Tim Slade and Dave Maning, right?” the receptionist kindly asked.

The hotel hall around us was way too… glittery for my standards, but that’s what happens when Dave asks you to join him for a business trip. Well, not really a business trip, but rather a rather some kind of celebration for a milestone that The Company he works for reached, and given that it was also thanks to him, he was invited to this very special dinner. However, it wasn’t as fancy or formal as the location may suggest, as Dave’s boss did tell everyone that they could let one friend or partner join the night: after all, it was a party.

My bro usually hates going to “parties” planned by The Company but since this celebration in particular was an important event, which also could lead to yet another promotion, me, our other friends and Dana (his girlfriend) basically forced him to go.

What I didn’t expect is that I’d be the one joining him instead of Dana. This happened for 2 reasons:

Reason 1: Dana was busy with her own job and couldn’t join his boyfriend even if she wanted to but, just like him, she too hates this kind of events (they’re really made for each other, huh? Can’t say I disagree however…).

Reason 2: Dave actually wanted to introduce me to his boss because they’re looking for someone with video-making skills to film something for them, maybe some kind of motivational video that corporations love to do.

So here we are, the receptionist of this fancy hotel handing us the key to our room.

“Here you go: Room 669”

“Heh. Ni-Nice” both me and Dave said, because our brains stopped working at the same time.

The receptionist pretended he didn’t hear a thing, thankfully.

We then walked through the fancy hall and took the elevator, just the two of us. We didn’t have any luggage with us, since it was just for one night, so our backpacks were enough.

“So silent…” Dave said.

“What?” I asked.

“This elevator. I can hear my own heart beating. I’m impressed.”

I stared at him, his tall figure, wearing a grey shirt and pair of black jeans. My mind immediately went to one time we took an elevator ride together and immediately stopped him before he could do anything uncalled for.

“Dude, have mercy. There’s other people who’s gonna need this elevator.”

Dave was standing next to me and turned to me, sporting a puzzled expression. He seemed confused by my words, I could tell he wasn’t being sarcastic or anything, maybe.

“What? What do you mean?”

Right. It’s not like people always thinks about farts… not that I do, believe it or not. 

I felt very embarrassed to be honest.

“S-sorry. I just thought… y-you know…” 

“Ok… you’re stuttering like an idiot…” he said. “so I’m pretty sure you thought I was going to break the silence with one of my farts, right?” the way he asked it so casually was already oddly… hot for me, but also reassuring.

“Yes.” I simply replied, hating the elevator for how long it was taking to reach our destination. “I’m sorry. But believe me, I was telling you this because I don’t want people to choke on your gas.”

He leaned towards me a bit. “Unless it’s you, right?” he whispered, the bastard.

“Shut up!” I said, as he laughed like a jerk.

Once again, silence. Dave being chill around me makes me stutter more than his blasts.

However, after like 10 seconds, I decided to break the silence instead.

“You were totally going to far-“

“Yes” he cut me off “I was totally going to destroy this elevator but you, of all people, stopped me.”

We both laughed like idiots and the doors opened. Indeed, people stepped inside as we left. They don’t know that I probably saved their nostrils, I’m the unsung hero of their story.

—

We reached our room mere seconds later. We stepped inside, but not before both me and Dave could once again go “Ni-nice” at the same time the moment we saw our room number hanging on the door. This is gonna be a thing for the next few ours so brace yourself, readers.

The room was exactly as you may expect: big, fancy, with all the comforts and more, big windows and a nice view on the city, and a queen-size bed in the middle. I almost felt out of place: it truly looks like a perfect room for an actual couple.

And no, weirdly enough the queen bed didn’t make me nervous: both me and Dave knew it was gonna happen so I already had my awkward phase back at home. My friend is chill and he doesn’t care about sharing the bed with a gay man like me, plus it already happened sometime ago anyway.

All of those doubts always sound so silly when I stop and remember how I spend way too much time with my face planted into my friend’s farting ass, courtesy of his skills and the fact that in his own non-kinky way he enjoys making sure that almost none of his farts go to waste. Well, none except the one he started ripping as I opened my backpack and sat on the bed, his way to assert dominance every time we go into a hotel room. Loud, long and proud, around 7 seconds long, so basically a medium-sized one for Dave’s standards. 

My bro raised his left hand and pointed his index finger up as the fart ended on a high note, as if he was conducting his own rip like it was an orchestra. As the blast ended, he just stared at me with a silly smile, something that he’d always do even before he found out about my kink: he’s just your average gassy friend, can’t do anything about that.

“So…” I tried to ignore the scent that reached my nose. “What’s the plan for tonight?” I asked.

“First thing first, we gotta take a shower. Not together at the same time I’m afraid. You can go first.”

“You can join me if you want…” I said, winking at him as I went into the bathroom.

“D-don’t make me horny dude!” he jokingly replied.

—

I was drying my hair by the bed while Dave took a shower (it was his turn). As I said, while it wasn’t the fancy night one might except, we kind of had to look really good, me especially, because Dave’s boss is a fine guy, but also one of those “first impression is best impression” dudes. I mean, the shower was obvious, but me going as far as making sure my hair look great, while normally I wouldn’t even use a comb, is telling.

I heard, or rather, didn’t hear the shower anymore so I knew Dave was done. What I did hear however was his ass being talky tonight, exploding in a thunderous, wet post-shower rip that easily surpassed the hair dryer’s notably loud sound. I didn’t properly see Dave ripping ass, but the fact that I could hear it so clearly was yet another proof of his incredible skills. He didn’t even comment on it, I mean it’s not like every time he farts we have to acknowledge my kink, when even I sometimes just ignore it.

“I hope you heard that, honey.” 

I heard the bastard say from the bathroom.

Yes, I sometimes just ignore it… until Dave makes sure I don’t.

—-

Finally we were ready to leave. The Company held this important dinner basically downstairs, in the hotel’s restaurant. They basically booked the entire place so we could eat, drink and just hang out together, talking about business in a surprisingly relaxing and chill environment. This was reflected in our clothes, as they were formal-ish but not, you know, wedding-tier. Dave was wearing a white shirt, sleeves pulled up, black jeans and black sneakers. I was basically dressed the same, only my shirt was grey.

“Nice. You almost look fuckable tonight.” my friend told me, as he sprayed some last bits of deodorant around us.

“I was gonna tell you the same.” 

“Well... we are in room 669 you know...” he winked at me and then headed for the door.

(Ni-Nice!)

—

Dinner was pretty good and varied, they really spared no expenses, especially considering how The Company even paid for everyone’s rooms (not that there were many guests, but still). There was meat, vegetables and even some vegan options on the menu. Both me and Dave liked the idea of trying a bit of everything, while most of the other work colleagues went for a pure carnivore approach. Alcohol was beer or wine, or both, but better not mix things up. 

Dave’s boss sometimes proposed a toast blabbering about how The Company is actually one big family… before laughing at his own overused figure of speech: he was cynical yes, but I can respect his self-awareness and lack of no-nonsense speeches about how “we’re all in this together” when we all know this isn’t true.

It all went pretty well: food was great, most of my friend’s colleagues were pretty cool I guess, and after talking for like 30 minutes, the boss simply told me to send him my portfolio, no strings attached or anything. 

Honestly I had more fun than I was expecting. Almost everything was free and everyone, whether it was a facade or not, was very nice to us, so honestly I can’t complain, only appreciate this fancy-ish night.

—

At around 2:00 AM, Dave and I got back to our room (Ni-Nice!), announcing our entrance with Dave letting out a loud belch that I’m sure tasted like the dessert. The dinner at the hotel restaurant was pretty straight-forward so once we were done eating and drinking, we had like 2 more hours of casual chatting and more drinking. There was music but it’s not like the place turned into a disco for us.

We weren’t really tired nor drunk, just a bit tipsy. We clumsily removed our shoes and collapsed on the bed. I turned the TV on and we just casually mindlessly watched it while checking our phones.

Being a queen size bed, Dave was obviously lying next to me, to my left: he was shirtless, sporting a pretty good body figure, no actual ribs but pecs were there. Given how much we ate and drank tonight, he also looked slightly bloated. His black jeans were in fact pretty loose as he untied his belt once we got back into the room. Covering his feet, a kind of out-of-place but weirdly cute pair of purple socks with a butterfly pattern on it.

We finally could talk about the night we just had, The Company itself, and most importantly make not very polite comments about a co-worker Dave particularly despises for how fake he is, one of those people ready to throw you under a bus even if that means he can get something as worthless a pat on the back by the boss.

“Your boss however” I said “really surprised me. He looks pretty chill. I think I might even enjoy working for him, about the video and all you know.”

“Yeah.” my friend remarked. “I mean he still IS the boss don’t let that fool you, but he is quite honest at least.”

 “I’ll keep that in mind when I’ll get to make the video… if he wants me to do it of course.”

“Did you send him your portfolio?”

“I just did actually. I had it zipped on my phone.”

Dave gently punched my shoulder in approval, because we’re really mature men.

“Well done bro.” he said. “I guess we gotta celebrate.”

“Yeah… with fireworks and all.” I said, sarcastically, while checking my phone.

Dave laughed. “I can help with that.”

My friend completely misinterpreted what I said and decided to showoff his well-known skills. He leaned just a bit on his side, pointing his black-denim ass towards my side of the bed, raised his right leg and let it rip. Loud, thunderous and as powerful as they come, Dave’s fart (arguably the first of a long series) almost activated my fight or flight response as I wasn’t really expecting it this time. However, it was as loud as a firework display going off in our room. The more the fart kept going, the more he raised his long leg, effectively adjusting the sound and the tone of the fart, going from lower to higher pitched. 

After I took a good look of his denim ass, I then turned directly to him: he was visibly pushing one out, with a smirk drawn on his face; he looked back at me and smiled, winking at me as the fart still echoed in the room, easily surpassing the sounds coming from the TV, which could very well be set on mute at this point.

This wasn't an elevator, so no way I was gonna stop him this time.

The already long and impressive 15 seconds fart ended with a series of 4 loud toots, which sounded a bit more difficult to properly push out, judging by Dave’s facial expressions; but still, my friend still managed to do it effortlessly, once again showing off this impressive talent. Furthermore, and this goes without saying, the stench hit my face pretty soon, as an invisible gas cloud engulfed our bed. I could basically tell what Dave had for dinner without even taking a deep whiff.

Finally, my friend’s ass went silent. Dave adjusted his position and laid down normally next to me, laughing.

“Dude” I said, trying not to laugh myself “I didn’t mean that kind of fireworks.” 

Dave was visibly puzzled, but amused. I thought he was messing with me but apparently he did misinterpret my words for real.

“Ahah I’m sorry man.” he apologized. “Well it’s not like you mind anyway, don’t you?” 

I just remained silent in front of the truth, doing my best to focus on my phone instead, but Dave obviously wasn’t done, as another loud fart erupted, making the entire bed shake.

I was horny as hell, but I just didn’t know how to act while the second blast was being ripped next to me. I wanted to plant my face into his ass but I didn’t want to take advantage of my friend being so chill about my kink. Plus it’s not like he doesn’t fart in my face; in fact, I’d even say that he facefarts me way too often!

The fart was just as loud as the previous one, if not louder. It was all natural, powered by the dinner we had and the gallons of alcohol he ingested. The smell was there, but Dave’s main treat for me was his ability to rip such long and loud farts so often: he will never cease to amaze me.

12 seconds, a bit shorter than the first one, but still a sight to sore eye… and nose, mostly.

“Alright. I’m gonna get ready to sleep.” he casually said, as he left the bed. “You can still watch the TV if you want, just don’t watch anything too loud.”

I snapped back to reality. “You have the audacity to tell me not to be loud?” 

He laughed, knowing exactly what I was referring to.

“But that’s fine, I’m too tired anyway.” 

We both changed at the same time, slipping into something more comfortable, which consisted in a generic white shirt and sweatpants, for me at least. The room was warm enough so Dave slept shirtless and only wore a pair of black boxers brief, a boxer that, just like his socks, did sport a silly pattern, this time with stars.

I went to brush my teeth and then slipped under the blankets, with my friend joining mere minutes later.

“Goodnight bro.” he said, clapping his hands 2 times, hoping the lights would magically turn off.

Surprisingly enough, the lights did turn off, truly a fancy hotel!

“No fucking way.” we both said, as if we witnessed something that happens once in a lifetime.

They didn’t exactly turn off however, but rather went dim, so I could still kind of see what’s going on. It was dark enough to sleep however, as both me and my bro prefer to sleep in darkness.

Now I felt truly tired, so I rested my head on the pillow and closed my eyes.

As expected, however, my friend wasn’t done talking; well, his ass certainly wasn’t.

I felt its vibrations immediately, as a muffled powerful rip made the bed shake. 

“Still?” I said, pretending to be as annoyed as I could.

“Shhh.” Dave cut me off, his index finger up, basically inviting me to listen to what his butt had to say.

Indeed, the ass was very talk and the fart was indeed impressive, deep-sounding and, well, manly. Despite being muffled, I could perfectly hear it. Fortunately, the stench was trapped under the blankets, like a bed-sized tuna can. My gassy friend knew it, so the bastard, with a deft movement, pullet the blanket all over me, trapping me in the metaphorical tuna can. 

Now I could hear and feel the flatulence properly, as Dave slightly lifted his ass a bit to ease the blast out, which was still going by the way. It felt like my friend trapped me in a queen-sized cage with a wild, roaring beast. The stench also hit me like a truck and every breathe I took made me taste what we had for dinner again. I tried to move, to get out, but Dave had a firm grip on the blanket covering me and he made sure I inhaled every particle of gas he was ripping.

The dutch oven maneuver knows no mercy...

18 seconds and the long fart was finally done. My friend simply laughed but still didn’t let me go.

“If you can handle my boss, I’m sure you can handle... this.” he joked.

Another loud fart erupted, this time "short", 4 seconds, but one of the loudest of the night so far.

In the dark of the dimly-lit room and under the blanket, I could still see his boxer-clad ass, hugging his butt tightly, a very thin layer of fabric enduring incredibly powerful blasts. I'm surprised he didn't tear a hole through his underwear with such raw, powerful farts!

It’s like he knew I was staring, because he moved closer to me, his ass now touching my leg, dangerously close to where my crotch is. 

Now I was the one shaking under Dave’s power, as my friend started farting on me. The fart being ripped so close to my boner was a surreal experience and I felt like my dick was gonna blow, as if it was being struck by an earthquake that it couldn’t endure. Loud, long and proud, my bro’s farts never disappoint. Whether kinks are involved or not, one can only bow to such incredible skills.

My friend still kept me under the blanket as he filled the bed with poisonous gas. I started to cough, which only made Dave laugh like a jerk in response.

This one fart lasted around 9 seconds, but even though the ass was done talking, Dave still kept me under there, making my nostrils burn. He wasn’t directly farting in my face, but somehow this felt worse, stench-wise. There really was no way the gas could get out of that gas chamber made of blankets and I struggled to breathe. 

Now my bro showed off by ripping a quick series of loud, short toots, probably yet another big fart that he’s trying to rip in small doses, further proof of how “crafty” he could be when it came to fart-control.

“You know what…” he said, as the fart stopped.

I could feel he letting the blanket go, so I could easily get out of that gas chamber… but I didn’t want to, because I’m a mess and I wanted to see what Dave had in store for me for this torture.

He adjusted his position and, making sure my head was still under the blankets, he turned his whole long body around, wrapping his legs around my chest and face, fully planting his boxer-clad ass on my cheek. Oh, the pattern was made of hearts, not stars, how peculiar...

I instinctively sniffed and obviously the ass was warm and raunchy, given how much my friend has been farting. However, that wasn’t enough, as I felt him push, resuming the previous fart where it left off, this time however ripping it all at once, not in small doses like before. I just accepted it, I was basically Dave’s fart slave at this point and I didn’t mind. I just appreciated how chill he was, feeling like I was living the most beautiful dream (and nightmare, somehow).

The fart stopped after about 11 seconds.

As my face was completely planted in my friend’s ass, I even struggled to speak.

“I mean… we are in room 669 after all.” I said, trying to make an obvious joke.

I could hear Dave appreciate my dry sense of humor. “Ni-Nice.” he laughed, and then treated me with another quick blast which truly tested my eardrums, other than my nostrils.

Finally, it looked like he was done, as he laid next to me like a normal person. He even lifted the blanket, because I was too horny to do anything apparently. In the dimly-lit room, I could still see his usual smirk as he stared at me, amused by how much of a weirdo I am… or rather by how weirdos we both are in a way.

In terms of stench, the situation outside of that gas chamber wasn’t that different, but it was probably because my nostrils absorbed so much gas that it was impossible for me to sniff anything else, for a while at least.

“You still have to buy us beers though.” Dave said. “This doesn’t count as a celebration.”

“You sure?” I promptly replied. “I did hear the fireworks.”

“Yeah.” he said. “And you sure smell like one.” he cackled.

He then turned his back to me and went to sleep, wishing me goodnight as if he didn’t just rip tons of farts in the face of someone who has a fart kink. As usual, I wanted to thank him, but ironically enough he seemed more annoyed by me being thankful than my fetish, so I just relaxed, trying to ignore my massive boner, and went to sleep myself.

A couple of hours ago, Dave’s boss asked me what are some of my strengths: if “being able to endure my straight bro’s powerful farts” is considered a legit strength, then I’m gonna be CEO of The Company by next week.

End of Episode 23

[alieinthemorning]

Always Here [Miya Atsumu]

Content: Established Relationship, Married Couple, Depression, Familial Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None

Header: @/tsumoos

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

Miya Atsumu was a strong man. Not only was he strong physically (which he had to be as the MSBY Black Jackals Setter), but he was also strong emotionally for you. When you had bad days, he was there to support you. When you could barely keep your head above water, arms failing against the tides, he grabbed your hand, and pulled you back in. Saving you for yourself. However, he wasn’t the strongest. No one was. And although you also extended your hands out to him, sometimes he needed a second pair.

“Samu…” You hated to bother him on his day off, but some things were worth it.

“I’m on my way—” You heard shuffling on the other side of the line. “Has he said anything to ya?”

You sighed, bottom lip wobbling. “No, and that’s what’s worrying me the most. He just came home crying—I don't even think he noticed that he was.”

“…Okay, stay on the line with me, will ya?” You knew that he only asked because you yourself were on the verge of collapse.

Osamu was such a good brother to the both of you. You pocketed your phone as the urge to fiddle with your wedding band became stronger. You don’t know what you’d do with Osamu to keep the both of you afloat, but you also felt terrible for always needing him to help you. If you were a better person, then—

“Talk to me. I can hear ya overthinkin’ from here.”

“…sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I understand what yer going through. Anyway, lemme tell ya about a costumer I had yesterday—” And then he changed the subject just like that.

You chatted with him until he knocked at your door. He looked the same as always with that black cap, and deadpan expression, but his gaze was full of worry, already looking you over. And seeing him…made you break down. You bit your lip hard as you rushed him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. His arms immediately wrapped around your frame.

“It’s okay. I’m here now—for the both of ya.”

“I know…thank you, Osamu.”

He pulled you back, a grimace on his face. “Ew. Don’t call me by my name like that—It’s weird.”

You chuckled, despite the tears that were still freshly rolling down your cheeks. “Sorry, Samu.”

“He in the bedroom?” He asked as he fully pulled away from you. You nodded, and he entered your home, heading that way.

You shut and locked the door behind him, then made your way to the bathroom. You took a little extra time to compose yourself (as well as wash your tear stained face) before joining the two of them.

They were on the floor, backs against the bed with their heads peeking over the top. Samu was on the far side, closer to the wall, and when you joined them, Tsumu was in the middle of the both of you. The twins were shoulder to shoulder, so you dropped your head on Tsumu’s other shoulder. A firm way to let him know that you were there—the both of you were.

And after a few moments, his body relaxed, and he sighed.

“Thanks.”

But he didn’t tell either of you what was troubling him. And you’d just have to leave him be, and hope that next time he would open up to the two of you.

Because no matter what, the two of you would always be here for him.

Digs up a plot, so that I can push that we're only 5 followers away from the 750 follower event (and if we reach it before Valentine's Day then it can be Valentine's Day themed aka fluffy)

Anyway, that aside, I really love these two. I also love expressing big, strong men's vulnerabilities, and letting them know that regardless, they're loved. :3c

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[astarionslittlejuicebox]

The Promise of Eternity (Part 11)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: The reader helped Astarion ascend and became his spawn. After saving the world from the Elder brain and it’s destruction, the reader and Astarion set out to take on the world together. While he promised to never forget the gifts the reader has given him, Astarion has seemed to have changed his attitude towards the reader in the last century…. After someone breaks one of  Astarion’s rules, how will this affect the reader’s fate?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: potential for minor spoilers, suggestive themes, language, mentions of death, mentions of blood, abusive relationship, mention of slavery

Word Count: 827

Imagine Series

Side Notes: 

This imagine series takes place 200 years after the events of Baldur’s Gate 3.  Everything you read in here is a story from my mind outside of the original BG3 character Astarion.

In this imagine series, Astarion is a bit more unemotionally unavailable, and this series will follow the decisions and consequences of that change. This is not canonically accepted and it is just an idea I’ve had in my head! (I do believe Astarion might truly care for the reader after Ascension, but that is open to individual interpretation.)

In this series, TAV is mildly based on my first character I played in BG3; she is a drow and I will make references to her in her background and knowledge as well. I do apologize that it is not 100% your own imagine, but the name for TAV is up to you as well as anything else that I can think of leaving to you, the reader, to decide.

I appreciate everyone who reads the imagines and this series, and I hope you enjoy the story!

Astarion POV

I watched as she pulled her hand gently out of my grasp and pulled a bottle from her satchel, then bit her bottom lip between her fanged teeth for a split second.

“This is the antidote for the charming wine they’ve been giving you. I don’t have much other than this one bottle because there wasn’t much of your blood left in the vial.” She reached into the bag again and pulled out a vial with a small amount of thick red liquid sloshing slightly within the glass. I stared at the drow in front of me with amazement, which she returned with a look of confusion. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Her question was hushed and spoke with a tone of embarrassment in her words. My hand raised itself to gently caress her face; the drow’s eyes filled with clear liquid that poured slowly over as she leaned into my touch but never broke eye contact with me.

“You still continue to amaze me.” The words rolled off of my tongue as I stood in front of the drow who has loved me despite every thing I have put her through. Looking at the bottle of antidote in her hand, I knew that the vulnerable spawn years ago had placed his trust in the right person when he held that dagger to her throat. “How long should the antidote work?”

“I believe the wine only stays in your system for about a couple of days or so from what I could gather in the short amount of time studying the concoction. The antidote should work about the same.” Her honeyed voice filled my chest with joy as I wrapped my hands around hers.

“Will the antidote still work if I consume the wine after drinking the antidote, or does it work like antivenom?” Her eyes scrunched with thought before she shook her head.

“It works like an antivemon--you need to ingest the venom first before you can use antivenom.” My head nodded in understanding before I stepped closer to the drow, placing myself between her legs. Her eyes darted every so slightly as she studied my face, searching for something unknown to me. “You’re in danger though, and I’m afraid we don’t have much time to prepare for what is to come. Ahriman is set on killing you for revenge on his daughter’s death. Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Perhaps during my time under the grimy thumb of Cazador, but I have not done such behaviors since you helped me ascend, my treasure.” Her eyes gave me a knowing look as she sighed heavily.

“I forget that people have no idea all of the shit you had to deal with so many centuries ago.” A smile found its way to my lips as she spoke. This woman had a true heart of gold, and I most definitely did not deserve to have the hold on it that I had. Sadness crept its way into my heart as I reflected on the feelings of loneliness and sadness I experienced during the whirlwind of memories (TAV’s name) shared with me moments ago.

I felt all of those feelings during my enslavement by Cazador, yet (TAV’s name) held on hope that I truly loved her. The thought must’ve made a frown come to my face because the drow in front of me caressed my face with a loving hand.

“I know that look. You need not to worry about the past, my love.” (TAV’s name) gave me a breathtaking smile, but she reminded me of another emotion she had unknowingly shared with me: her hunger.

“When was the last time you fed, my darling?” I asked in a low voice, which caused surprise to flash on the drow’s face for a brief moment before her face twisted to a look of embarrassment. If she had still be living, I know her ash blue cheeks would’ve turned to an ash purple.

“I may not have fed since you tasked me with finding the blood thief.” She bit her lip before she sheepishly replied to my question, and my eyes widened with surprise. It may have been a couple of centuries since I was a spawn, but I do remember the hunger pains vividly. For a brief moment, I thought about fussing at her, but another devilish thought crossed my mind.

She deserves a reward--especially after all the shit she’s put up with for the last century. Grasping her hands firmly, I pulled her to stand on her feet. Confusion etched into the drow’s perfectly sculpted brows, but she obeyed nonetheless as I led her inside my bedchambers.

“Go start you a warm bath, my dearest treasure.” I didn’t look at her as I walked to the doors and locked them. I didn’t want that damn fae to interrupt us and ruin the sweet reward that my treasure had no idea she was about to receive.

[filmofhybe]

Chapter 9 - the one that dated him?

> pairing : Nishimura Riki x Female Reader

> genre : college student AU! , Pool Lifeguard AU! , smau , fluff

> warnings : SLOW BURN!! , swearing , bad humor jokes , kys jokes (die etc) , kissing , semi verbal bullying (no violence) , reader! injuring herself by accident , missing parent figure

> chapter synopsis : As break has ended, all student are finally back to school once again, which also means some new faces. Including Isabelle.

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comment or reblog to ask be on the series taglist.

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( I also just want to mention that this series is kinda slow burn, so if your not into slow burn or plot lines that can take a bit to develop than this story is probably not your cup of tea. But I do recommend checking out my other works if you want, enjoy!! )

Word count - 462

“oh my gosh intak just pick a shoe? It isn’t a fashion show.” Everyone was standing outside the boys dorm right now, all because Intak can’t pick his shoes because apparently his fit needed to be “sandwiched”.  This would be a understatement right now because the school meeting at the hall would be ten times more important than some stupid shoe.

 

“Gosh I’m done let’s go!” Intak stumbles out of the door before locking it as the group walk towards the hall, chatting about what they should have at the restaurant after the meeting. The hall was crowed with people, with familiar faces all around once again. Lots of people went up to the group for a reunion hug and catching up. Y/n was distracted over Niki’s text, saying he would be waiting for her around the very back corner of the hall with his friends. Maybe I should go check?..

“Guys I’ll be back in a few. Please save me a seat.” y/n informed before stepping away from the group and walking towards the back corner of the hall. As she continues to walk towards the back, she sees a tall boy with black and blonde hair, wearing a loose plaid shirt and baggy stylish jeans. He was in a group, y/n assume it was his other six friends. She quickly walked towards him and tapped on his shoulder, which caused him to turn around.

“Omg hi y/n!” Niki heart was beating so fast, what do you mean this would be their proper first talk in real life? Y/n wearing that white strap top with a beige skirt and white platform but is still shorter than himself made him go feral. “Hi Niki! I’m doing well is nice to finally and actually talk to you.” Y/n chuckled before greeting the others until she saw the new girl. Wait isn’t she-

 “Oh this is Isabelle. One of my childhood friends And Isabelle, this is y/n.” Niki introduced. That’s when your mind clicked. Isabelle. You know who she is, the girl who got with the guy you used to like, all because she was pretty but also because she spread a really disgusting rumor about you, which made everyone dislike you.

 “Well don’t be so rude and greet me?” Her voice made you cringe so badly that you didn’t say much before shaking her hand with a firm grip. You can tell the boys feel the tension between you both. They have never seen you greet someone without a smile.

 "Well, is nice meeting you. I think it is my time to go. I’ll see you soon.” You said as you left, anger was building up inside of you. Because now you have to deal with another problem when you already have ninety-nine.

Niki’s POV:

When y/n left, the tension between everyone thickens. “Ugh how rude is she..” Isabelle said. But no one makes a remark about it. “Well me and Jay are gonna sit down now I’ll see you all later.” Sunghoon said before walking towards y/n group of friends. The others nodded as they follow on another.

“Do they not like me or something?”

“I just think they are tired. Is okay I’ll sit with you..”

“Aww your the best Riki let’s go!”

series taglist : @surefornext @spilled-coffee-cup @haechansgf @txtistheloml@skepvids @syuuji @oshakyao @haechansbbg @en-happiness

© filmofhybe on tumblr — do not copy , translate or share.

[dr-abitat-blog]

Day 28: "I didn't think the wound was that bad..."

@ailesswhumptober

T/W: Multiple whumpees, caged, muzzled, lycanthrope, bear-trap, infection

Harvey (POV) and Lyall belong to @whumpsmith

I had really been looking forward to this camping trip. All summer long I had been so excited about getting out into the beautiful forest and exploring all the wonderful plants and wildlife with my friends and Mom. It was meant to be fun, adventurous and a time for us all to enjoy ourselves. That’s what Mom had said.

…but that’s not what happened. Well, it started off well enough with all of us setting up our tents, telling ghost stories by the fire and canoeing on the river — but that’s when it all went wrong. Somehow our boat got swept away and we ended up completely lost away from the others. With no shelter, we had to make our own. Luckily, I was a big help with that! Well, Cassie and Lyall said I was. With the way my family lived — and considering my secret ‘nature’ — I had easily been able to find us a cave to shelter in, berries to eat and I’d even gone hunting and caught us some food! Sin had tried to join me with her own ability to shapeshift, so I got to teach her a few lycanthrope tricks — but that was where I went wrong. I thought there were no other people around, but there were. They saw us in our wolf forms and then the next day…they took Sin and Lyall away. They must have thought Lyall was me, because they were hunters. They talked about selling them. Just hearing them talk and wave their big metal guns around…i-it was horrible.

And it was my fault.

Cassie told me it wasn’t. Even with her own fear, she told me it would be fine, that we’d get them back. That’s what supers did — and it was just the two of us alone. Lyall and Sin needed us and I had to be brave to help save my friends, just like a real hero. After all, we’re a pack — and the pack always protects each other, no matter what.

That’s why we’re here right now, crouching just meters away from their lone cabin in the depths of the forest. We’d managed to track them down after finding and threatening one of the hunters, which left three of them between us and our friends. Even now I still don’t know exactly how we’re going to beat them, but Cassie is clever and strong — she’s like a leader. I trust her.

“When I give the signal, I need you to sneak around to the back and get them out,” she tells me quietly, “I’ll keep those guys busy in the meantime. Just…whatever happens, don’t get caught.”

“I won’t,” I answer back, sending her as confident a nod as I can. “You be careful too, Cassie. These guys are really bad — m-maybe they work with the aliens.”

I catch the briefest flicker of…something across her face as I bring up the aliens that kidnapped me over a year ago. The aliens that kept hurting me and experimenting on me, keeping me in a cage away from my family—

“Maybe...but one thing’s for sure — it’s our job to kick bad guy butt, right?”

“Y-yeah, especially anyone that hurts our friends!” 

I can’t help it as my tails wags ever so slightly in passionate agreement. “Alright. I’ll go round the back. See you in a bit?”

She leans over to give me a quick hug. Her black hair tickles my cheek as she withdraws again, taking her position near the front of the cabin. With her in place, I scamper over to the back and shoot a thumbs up at Cassie. Responding with a small whistle, she uses her powers to launch a rock at the nearest window, whilst I hurry in through the unlocked door towards the back. The sounds of the hunters’ yelling and storming out to the front immediately sounds out, accompanied by the faint cries coming from the very back. I waste no time in bounding over there, temporarily changing enough to smash open the door with the force of my paws. One hunter waits inside for me — and right behind him is—! “Hmmv?!”

…our friends, Lyall and Sin. Both of them have been crammed into horrible barred cages, chains keeping their wrists cruelly cuffed to the bars. I see the fresh purple bruises on Lyall’s face and the tears still wet on Sin’s white cheeks, both of them wearing a horrible leather muzzle strapped tightly over their mouths, as if to stop them biting. I almost shudder at the thought of how it should have been me in Lyall’s cage, with the muzzle over my mouth — but the hunter is already raising his weapon.

“S-stay back, Wolfie!” He holds a small stun gun out threateningly. It only takes a menacing loud growl and a sharp swipe of my paw to knock the thing from his hands. A few moments later I have him pressed to the floor, begging for me not to kill him as he scrabbles desperately for freedom. Just like Mom taught me, I take a bite out of his ankle — just enough to make sure he won’t follow us — before turning my attention to our wide-eyed friends. Sin is closest, so I pull the door off her cage first, yanking it off with all of my strength and doing the same to Lyall’s. Grabbing the keys from the nearby hook, I unlock the chains around Sin’s and Lyall’s wrists, hearing their quiet sobs of relief as the chains clatter to the ground. Fingers will be more useful on the muzzle straps than paws, so I change back to my human form, crouching down to get the horrible muzzle off of Sin’s mouth. Cassie hurries inside a moment later and quickly does the same for Lyall.

“H-hang on, Sin — nngh — sorry these are fiddly. Did they hurt you?”

She draws in a shaky breath as she shakes her head, gasping as I finally get the muzzle off her.

“Nmmgh—ah! H-Harv…”

Tears fill her eyes as she half-hugs me. “I-I will be fine, are you—”

“Don’t worry, we’re okay—Cassie, did you get—”

“No, thankfully. I can’t say the same for them though,” she adds with a tiny smirk, “There you go, Lyall — can you stand?” “Nngh, th-think so…” The smaller boy leans against her a little for support, whilst I allow Sin to hold my hand so I can pull her to her feet. “L-let’s just get out of here already.”

“Yeah, we need to find Mom and the others,” I agree, “but we need to move quickly!” Despite the tired and abused state of our friends, we make good progress out of the cabin, starting back towards the forests, holding onto each for—

“There! They’re over there! GET THEM!”

I shoot a terrified glance over my shoulder, eyes widening in horror. The hunters are back on their feet, spreading out to give chase, like prey—!

“Oh God—come on, stick together, hurry!” Cassie hurriedly leads us away. We scramble through the trees, desperately trying to avoid them, keeping to the paths, stumbling along as fast as we—

“AGH!” My hackles — well, the hairs on the back of my neck — shoot up at Sin’s familiar panicked shriek.

“S-Sin?!” Even in my human form I throw myself onto all fours, backtracking down the previous path. I immediately spot her bright red hair being tossed about frantically as she struggles and pulls against the metal teeth biting into her ankle. I instantly recognise it from my lessons with Annika.

“Wh-what happened?!”

Cassie and Lyall are close behind me. All four of us drop down next to her. I pale a little, especially as the blood matches her hair as it drips down her ankle.

“Th-that’s a hunter’s trap — a bear trap! It’s got her!”

“Not if we can get her out! Harv, give me a hand!” It takes a lot of pulling and prying at the trap to free her foot from its clutches. The entire time the hunters are getting closer, gaining on us. The leaves crunch under their boots. A few gunshots even sound, as if to scare us out of hiding.

“Come out come out wherever you are~”

I hold back a frightened whimper, instead focusing on helping Sin twist out of the trap.

“I-it’s okay, Sin, you’ll be okay. We’ve got you — c-come on!”

She’s in a lot of pain. I can tell that instantly — but she puts on a brave face as always and bites through it. Finally, the trap opens with a sickening squelch, allowing her to writhe out. Her pained cries tear at my chest, my ears falling down as I squeeze her hand, trying to comfort her. “Th-that’s it, we’re okay, we’re all going to be okay — r-right, Cassie?” “I…y-yeah. We’ll be just fine, Harv.”

Her voice shakes ever so slightly despite her confident stance, especially at the sound of another gunshot. “W-we need to keep going. I’ve got Lyall — can you take Sin?”

“Of course I can. I-I’ll carry her on my back!” “Nngh — th-thanks, Harv…”

“Don’t thank me yet, the bad guys are still close — hang on, it might get hairy.”

Closing my eyes, I allow myself to change once again, assuming my wolf form to make it easier for Sin to ride on my back. Her fingers rest against my fur, clinging to it like a lifeline for support as I quickly patter after Cassie and Lyall. I lose track of how long we’re stuck in that forest, or how long we limp and run to get away from our pursuers. My heart is pounding the entire time. Fear spikes through me every second — just like back with the aliens — but eventually…we make it out. We lose the hunters and we find the same cave we took shelter in on the first night. By now, the sun is already starting to set. Even my legs start to shake.from exhaustion as I sink down to the ground.

“W-we made it,” I pant, starting to change back, “Now all we have to do is find where everyone else went right?”

Cassie nods to me tiredly, although the relief is clear on her face as she helps Lyall sit down.

“No telling where they could be,” he murmurs, running a hand over his face. “And something tells me those guys won’t give up easily. Th-they talked about selling us on, about the things they would do to us—”

“W-well they won’t be doing that now! You and Sin are all safe and—Sin?” I suddenly notice…how quiet she is. 

O-oh no…

Getting a bad feeling, I quickly shuffle over to her, noting the sweat beading her forehead and the way she shivers on the ground.

“C-cold…”

“D-don’t worry, you’ll be—”

I cut myself off as I finally get a better look at her foot. Scarlet streams out from the now open wound. A few small particles glint from inside of it, trapped, clear liquid seeping out from the glistening layers of exposed flesh. A panicked howl escapes me.

“Oh no—C-Cassie!” “Harvey what—o-oh crap.”

She covers her mouth, dropping to her knees beside me as she takes in the state of Sin’s bloody injury. “I-it looks infected…”

Oh no, that’s bad — isn’t it?

“I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

Cassie just stares at it, gritting her teeth.

“Harvey, we need to dress it—Harvey!”

“I-I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not your fault — but we need to clean it now before she gets sick.  Can you find something?” “I-I’ll try!” I don’t waste another second as I scamper away. My nose is put to immediate use, sniffling around for any plants or supplies that could be used to help cover her wound. It takes a good few minutes, but I finally find some sturdy leaves to use as a makeshift dressing, as well as some of our spare drinking water to clean it. As I bring the items to Cassie, she sets to work in using them on Sin, gently soothing her pained murmurs.

“Shhh, it’s okay. Y-you’re doing great, Sin.”

“Nngh…I-I want to go home…”

“Y-yeah, me too. I want Mom.”

I can’t help but sniffle faintly as I curl my tail around myself in shame. “I-I’m sorry. I should have realised something was wrong.”

In response, Cassie starts…gently stroking my head. Her eyes are soft and teary behind her glasses.

“D-don’t say that, Harv. You — you’ve been so brave today. You helped get them out — without you I…I-I don’t think we’d have made it.”

Me…brave? I can only stare at her in disbelief, a few tears stinging my eyes.

“You…y-you really think so?”

“Definitely,” Cassie nods with no hesitation, “We’re so lucky to have you with us, Harv.”

For the first time all day, I manage an encouraging smile, closing my eyes and leaning into Cassie’s gentle strokes.

“Th-thanks, Cass.”

“Anytime — although the temperature will start dropping soon.”

“Yeah, we’ll need some firewood or something,” Lyall coughs from the other side of the cave, “Unless we want to freeze our asses off out here.”

Tilting my head in his direction, I bear my teeth into a confident smile.

“I’m on it.”

Working quickly, I gather just enough logs for us to make a fire. Once it’s flickering away, the four of us huddle around it for warmth, staring up at the beautiful starry sky outside of our cave. The whole time I keep my ears alert, listening out for the faintest howl that might be from Mom. I hear nothing all night, even when the fire is put out and we snuggle up to sleep. By that time my confidence is fading quickly. Sin is becoming a little drowsy and feverish,  Lyall is absolutely exhausted and Cassie’s eyes are filled with helpless tears.

If we don’t get out of here soon then Sin will get sicker. We could all get sick — a-and then the hunters might catch up — and then—th-then…

 Similar tears soon crawl down my own face as I close my eyes for an unsettled night, no doubt to be plagued by nightmares of the aliens.

P-please find us soon, Mom.