My Hero Acedamia - Blog Posts

So I saw this on Pinterest... And my buddy was like what if all of those were condoms-

So of course I had to draw it

I literally find this shit to be the funniest thing ever.

Sneak peak @ The Bearer of The Sun God !

The Bearer Of The Sun God

Abused! Katsuki x Sunshine! Izuku where Katsuki will do anything to ignore the fact that he is deeply not okay, even if it means pushing away everyone in his life.

Very Moon x Sun vibes

Chapter names might change, this is still a pretty rough idea, but I thought it might be fun to put this out there.

If you've seen my posts about Code: Glycerine, that's what this is currently turning into, though it's changed a lot, but the main scene I wanted to write for that oneshot will be in this chapter fic!

I'll keep updating you guys on the progress!

please someone help. Im drowning in school work but all I can focus on is my fics. And the worst part is I can't finish any of them, I keep wanting to write NEW ONES. ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜ ) what is wrong with me. That being said! I think i'm gonna start a new one! At this point pierce is probably 75% done but... I need to go back and fix a lot of it and trim it down, its at about 27K words but I feel a lot of it is filler... I just started writing the scene that inspired the whole thing if that tells you anything. Fish is the second thing that i've mainly been working on ... its gonna be a chapter fic (which I have such a bad time with... I always end up abandoning them, fingers crossed I don't this time.) And Glycerine... I might just add it to fish bc it's the same premise or at least the main scene I wanted to write. Would you guys like if I posted what I have so far knowing i'd probably never finish it (And remember, it's a ROUGH draft) ?

Side note ... What's with the complete lack of Abused! Katsuki fics? Like idk... that just scratches my brain. I've seen Forged By Nitroglycerine and Spite but idk ... I want to read it but idk how I feel about a Katsuki/Izuku/Shoto relationship. Do you have any other recs? I'll probably end up giving in and reading it.

anyone else thing Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga's new song Dying With A Smile is so BKDK coded??

I said this to a friend of mine and they just laughed, am I crazy or??

I wanna make a fic based on the song. It would take place after the war, into their second year (Iz keeps One For All) and they get hit by a quirk that shows them their worst fear (shiggy coming back) and as they think they're dying on the battlefield, they confess their feelings, not being able to bear dying without confessing. Eventually the quirk wears off and they realize their still at Ground Beta doing a training exercise.

What do you think? Any input is welcome :)

code: fish

the final sneak peak at the fics i'm working on rn! Vote on my other post for which fic you want me to focus on!

This is gonna be a longer oneshot and will go into darker themes/have graphic depictions of violence.

Deku!

The shout pierced the dense fog clouding Katsuki’s mind. His head throbbed, the sound ricocheting in his skull like a hammer against steel. He groaned low, the weight of his consciousness dragging him down as if he were swimming in tar.

“Tch. Looks like he’s finally awake,” a low, gravelly voice muttered somewhere to his right.

Where the hell am I? Katsuki’s head lolled slightly to the side, the blindfold pressing uncomfortably against his temple. His body felt leaden, like every muscle had been wrung out and left to rot. His wrists stung against the bite of cold metal cuffs, the ache deep and dull.

Then it hit him. The training camp. The League of Villains. And his own goddamned failure. He’d let himself get taken—kidnapped—like some weak-ass extra.

Fuck.

A white-hot wave of anger flared in his chest, threatening to swallow him whole. How the hell had he been so careless? He clenched his teeth, forcing the self-loathing down before it could spiral. Get your fucking head in the game. You’re Bakugo Katsuki. You don’t lose to these bastards.

The room was silent, save for the faint hum of electricity in the air. The kind of silence that wasn’t really silent—the distant groan of pipes, the shuffle of boots on concrete, the faint drip-drip-drip of water somewhere behind him. Katsuki focused on it, letting the rhythm ground him as his mind clawed its way through the haze.

“Oh no! He’s asleep!” The same voice now pitched unnaturally high, broke the quiet. It grated, like nails on a chalkboard.

What the fuck? Katsuki frowned beneath the blindfold. What the hell is this guy on?

He tried to lift his head, but it felt like someone had poured molten lead into his skull. His limbs were heavy, the ache settling into his bones. The restraints dug into his wrists as he gave an experimental tug. No give. Perfect.

“Dabi, release his restraints,” another voice rasped. It was scratchy like its owner had swallowed gravel, but calm—too calm, like someone who could slit your throat without blinking.

There was a shuffle of movement, boots scuffing against the floor, followed by a lazy, “Huh?”

A beat of silence, then Dabi spoke again. “This guy’s gonna fight, you know.”

Damn straight. Katsuki bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to stay still, to listen, to think.

“It’s fine. We need to treat him like an equal since we’re scouting him.”

Scouting? Katsuki’s breath hitched, and the fog in his brain cleared in an instant. The fuck do they mean, scouting me?

“Besides, you can tell if you’ll win or not if you fight in this situation, right, U.A. student?”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened, his pulse roaring in his ears. I always fucking win.

The mantra was sharp, a jagged edge he clung to as a lifeline. But the familiar, acidic voice in the back of his mind—the one that always whispered when things got too quiet—was already stirring. Win at what? You're barely holding it together. You’re not worth more than the trash these guys probably dragged you through.

Focus. Katsuki forced the thought away, burying it deep under a layer of practiced anger. He inhaled, long and slow, forcing his senses to sharpen. There were at least three of them—the gravelly voice, the low one, Dabi, and that screechy idiot who was already on Katsuki’s nerves and would probably be the first to go down.

“Twice, you do it,” Dabi, ordered.

“What, me? No way!” The shrill voice, Twice, protested with the energy of someone who talked just to fill silence.

“Do it,” Dabi didn’t snap, not exactly, but the weight in his voice made it clear he wasn’t in the mood to argue.

Katsuki counted the bodies in the room again. Three. Maybe more. This isn’t shit. Easy, right? He bit the inside of his cheek, the copper tang grounding him in reality.

“Man…” Twice mumbled as he shuffled closer. Katsuki tracked his movements, the sound of his boots on concrete reverberating faintly. If these restraints were anything but metal, he’d already be halfway through this idiot and on to the next. But these bastards weren’t completely brain-dead.

And then, from across the room, a new voice spoke—smooth, unsettlingly polite, and entirely out of place in this grimy pit.

“I apologize for using such forceful methods,” the voice said, measured and composed, each word as deliberate as a knife being drawn. “But please understand, we are not just a mob trying to commit petty crimes. We didn’t kidnap you by accident.”

Katsuki’s head snapped toward the sound, or as much as it could with the weight of exhaustion pulling at him. He barely had time to process the words before Twice was in his space, close enough that Katsuki could hear the rustle of fabric and feel the faintest hint of body heat.

The blindfold ripped away, dragging a few strands of hair with it. Katsuki bit back any wince, keeping his expression flat and defiant. Pain was a distraction. And now? Now he had visuals.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and what he saw didn’t improve his mood. Twice stood in front of him, looking like someone who had either wandered out of a BDSM convention or decided to cosplay as a half-assed, monochrome Spider-Man. Black and gray leotard, face fully obscured. No identifying features there.

Katsuki’s gaze darted past him, cataloging the room with a precision born of combat. An emo, a goddamn lizard, some dude with fish-lips, a schoolgirl, a creepy magician wannabe… and that bastard Shigaraki.

His stomach turned. Definitely way more than three villains.

Twice crouched at his feet, his gloved hands fumbling with the restraints. Katsuki’s fingers twitched, the instinct to lash out barely restrained by the knowledge that it’d accomplish nothing in this moment.

What would All Might do?

Across the room, Shigaraki straightened, his silhouette a shadowy smear against the faint glow of a flickering light bulb. The stupid hand mask perched on his face like a trophy of bad decisions.

“Even though our situations differ,” Shigaraki began, his voice scratchy yet calm, his words soaked in barely restrained disdain, “everyone here has been restricted. Suffered. Because of people… rules… and heroes.”

He moved closer, slow and deliberate, each step deliberate like he was daring Katsuki to react. The sound of his boots echoed, adding to the oppressive atmosphere.

Good. Now come closer, asshole. I dare you.

Twice knelt at Katsuki’s feet, his gloved hands fumbling with the last restraint. His muttering was an incessant hum, words blending together into nonsense Katsuki didn’t bother to decipher. Every muscle in Katsuki’s body coiled tight, ready to spring the moment he had even an inch of freedom. The final shackle clattered to the floor, the sound bouncing off the cold, damp walls.

“I’m sure you also–”

Twice barely had time to blink before Katsuki’s foot connected with his face. The impact was sharp, a satisfying crack that sent the masked villain sprawling. Katsuki didn’t hesitate, launching himself backward to create space as the chair he’d been strapped to crashed against the wall with a deafening clatter.

The room erupted in chaos.

Twice groaned on the ground, clutching his face, his voice muffled behind the mask. Katsuki’s red eyes darted toward Shigaraki, who flinched, his skeletal fingers twitching with anticipation. 

But Katsuki wasn’t close enough yet, dammit.

Next time.

The high-pitched whining from Twice was already drilling into Katsuki’s skull, fueling his simmering rage. He didn’t even think—he charged. His right fist was cocked back, and with what little sweat he could muster from his battered body, he ignited an explosion that rattled the room.

Twice slammed into the brick wall with a sickening thud, his groan echoing through the haze of smoke and debris. Somewhere behind him, Shigaraki staggered, the force of the blast knocking the hand-mask clean off his face. Katsuki caught the flicker of disbelief in Shigaraki’s dull eyes as they landed on the mask lying pathetically on the floor.

“Shigaraki!” A voice shouted, sharp with alarm. Katsuki couldn’t tell who it was, nor did he care.

He straightened, his stance radiating defiance as he slipped effortlessly into his tough-guy persona. His chest heaved, every muscle in his body thrumming with adrenaline. His trademark scowl deepened, the edges of his lips curling into that feral grin he’d practiced a hundred times over—the one he could never get to look like All Mights.

“I listened to your endless, pointless talking,” he spat, his voice low and venomous. 

He made a show of wiping dust from his cheek, his eyes narrowing into slits as he fixed his glare on the group of villains. “Idiots like you can’t get to the point, so you talk and talk. Basically, you mean ‘We wanna harass people, so please join us,’ right?”

He sneered, letting his words hang in the air as he took a slow step forward, daring them to react.

“Don’t bother.”

The group tensed, their varied expressions ranging from anger to incredulity. Katsuki could feel their hesitation, their uncertainty. It only made his grin widen, even if it didn’t have the same gleaming optimism as All Might’s.

“I want to win like All Might,” he declared, his voice rising with an unshakable conviction that burned in his chest. “No matter what anyone says, that will never fucking change!”

He spat the words with venom, his feral grin twisting into something more vicious. Katsuki stood his ground, daring any one of them to take the first step. His heart pounded, the weight of his declaration settling over the room like a storm.

Bring it.

Code: Glycerine

Since I put up a poll for the fic i'm gonna focus on, I thought I’d go ahead and share some excerpts from the two fics I haven’t shared anything from yet!

The one for code:fish will come soon! Here's my spin on bring your parents to school day ! (This will focus on darker themes/have graphic depictions of violence)

“Students! Don’t forget that this upcoming Tuesday is Bring-Your-Parents-to-School Day! Attendance is required for all parents unless otherwise excused by me—your principal! Thank you for joining me in upholding this exciting new tradition, one that I’m sure will become a cherished event for years to come. That concludes today’s announcements. And remember—PLUS ULTRA!”

The tinny buzz of the PA system died with a click, leaving the room eerily still. Katsuki clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to let out a very loud, very public groan. Of course, this was Nezu’s latest bright idea—one of his many elaborate ploys to salvage UA’s battered reputation.

“Bring-Your-Parents-to-School-Day.”

God. The words alone made him feel like throwing something. Ever since UA’s reputation took a nosedive, thanks to villains treating students like appetizers at an all-you-can-eat buffet, Nezu had been working overtime to make the school seem invincible again. Rebuilding UA’s prestige wasn’t just his mission—it was an obsession. 

And this latest stunt? 

A PR exercise wrapped up in a neat little bow of so-called "parent-child bonding.” How typical.

The official excuse was painfully wholesome: It’s a chance for parents to see firsthand the amazing young heroes their children are blossoming into!

Gross.

Parents. 

At UA. 

Watching him and his classmates. 

Katsuki could already hear the awkward murmurs, see the invasive camera flashes, feel the judgment of it all—and he hated it with every fiber of his being. More specifically, he hated the thought of her coming.

Mitsuki Bakugo.

He had stumbled across the announcement a week ago, pinned to some dumb school newsletter in the common area. His brain had barely managed to register the words before his vision tunneled, his ears ringing. By the time the red haze cleared, he’d bolted back to his room, slammed the door, and let the freak-out commence.

He cranked the volume on his speakers to near-apocalyptic levels, and drowned the world in thrashing guitars and drumbeats sharp enough to shred his spiraling thoughts. Normally, he liked his music calculated and refined—classical pieces that let him sort through his mess of a brain. 

But anything involving Mitsuki Bakugo required chaos.

The music—mostly heavy rock and screamo, the angriest stuff he could find—did what it could. It wasn’t perfect. It couldn’t be. Memories and dread crawled out of the deepest, ugliest corners of his mind, uninvited. Mitsuki, cutting him down with one snide comment after another. Mitsuki, yelling with her wine glass in hand. Mitsuki, dismissing every shred of effort he’d poured into himself as if it didn’t even matter. But most prevalent was memories of that night. 

It always circled back to Mitsuki.

And that was when Iida had materialized.

Like some sort of overzealous apparition, Iida barged into Katsuki’s rapidly imploding bubble, clearly summoned by the earth-rattling music reverberating through the walls. “Bakugo!” he had shouted, surly gesturing wildly like a poorly done marathon runner impersonation. His muffled voice barely cut through the sonic onslaught, and honestly, Katsuki hadn’t even tried to make sense of it. Not because he didn’t care—well, okay, mostly because he didn’t care—but also because his mind was far too busy spiraling into every worst-case scenario this whole parent day debacle might bring.

When Katsuki ignored him, Iida made the bold (and stupid) decision to enter the room. He didn’t just crack the door open to be annoying—no, the idiot strode in like this was some life-or-death safety drill and not Katsuki’s business. Katsuki whirled to face him, armed and ready to fling a biting remark. But then came the kicker, the absolute icing on the catastrophe cake:

“Bakugo… have you been.. crying?”

It hit like a sucker punch to the gut.

Katsuki froze, the flames of indignation choking him in his chest. Crying? Since when the hell did he cry? Never. And why the hell would he be crying now? Sure, his chest might’ve been tight and his breathing a little uneven, but that was just because—because of… well, anything else, okay?

The nerve. The audacity.

Katsuki reverted back to his middle school self.

“You think I cry? Are you fucking stupid? Were you dropped on your fucking head as a baby?” Katsuki barked, cutting through both the blaring music and Iida’s holier-than-thou concern. 

He shoved past the taller boy, fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Get the fuck out of my room before I blow your stupid ass glasses off your fucking face!”

And so, Iida had left, likely muttering something self-righteous under his breath about boundaries or proper coping mechanisms. 

Katsuki didn’t care. 

Not about him, not about his classmates, and sure as hell not about this stupid Bring-Your-Parents day.

decide for me :)

which fanfic should I focus on most? (all oneshots and all BKDK)

code: glycerine revolves around "bring-your-parents-to-school-day" (~25% completed)

code: pierce revolves around Katsuki getting piercings and being forced to do a photoshoot (~50% completed)

code: fish is about the time Katsuki was kidnapped (longer and will take a while to finish. (needs to be restarted))

i’ve been in an art slump for a while now.. so here’s an old work in progress.

genuinely curious, who’s your fav mha character?

sneak peak at a fic i'm writing !

inspired by the fact that I just want to write something where Katsuki has piercings and every freaking time I start to write one... somehow the piercings get removed... or I just don't know how to add them without saying

HEY UA! BAKUGO KATSUKI HAS piercings.

and thats not the exact ~vibe~ i'm going for.

so this is my attempt so far. (it doesnt even get to the part where they are mentioned, smh)

i give most of my fics 'code names' while writing them and then decide on the name at the end, so for now this is: pierce. obvi somethings will probably be changed when i'm done with the fic.

enjoy :)

The slam of a door reverberated through the entire dorm, shaking walls and rattling picture frames. 

Every head in the common room turned toward the source, but they didn’t need to see who it was to know. Only one member of Class 1-A possessed the strength—and sheer rage—to shake the whole damn building.

Kirishima glanced up from the couch, a knowing smirk already forming. 

“Mido, looks like you’re up,” he said, his voice laced with amused sympathy.

Izuku let out a groan that was equal parts exhaustion and resignation, dragging a hand down his face. 

Ever since he and Katsuki had worked out their… extensive history and rekindled a somewhat volatile but undeniable friendship, the rest of Class 1-A had taken to calling him the “Katsuki Whisperer.” 

The nickname stuck like super glue. 

And while Izuku secretly found a strange pride in his ability to calm the explosive blonde, it also meant he got stuck with handling him whenever the grenade went live.

Case in point: Katsuki had apparently gone nuclear. Again.

“I dunno, Kiri,” Izuku muttered. “I don’t think I can do much this time.”

“You’ve got the magic touch!” Mina chirped from across the room, grinning over her can of soda. “Just give him that voice. You know, the soft one.”

“Yeah, the calming one,” Kirishima added, his grin widening.

Izuku groaned again, louder this time. He could already feel the heat rising to his face.

The faint but unmistakable sound of blaring music began filtering down the hallway, growing louder with each passing second. Izuku’s shoulders tensed as he recognized the song.

“♫ EVERYTHING IS FUCKED, EVERYBODY SUCKS. YOU DON’T KNOW WHY, BUT YOU WANNA JUSTIFY RIPPIN’ SOMEONE’S HEAD OFF ♫”

“Yeah… definitely not going up there,” Izuku shouted over the sudden blast of Break Stuff.

“Oh, come on, Mido! He wouldn’t actually rip your head off!” Kirishima said, though his words lacked any real conviction.

“♫ NO HUMAN CONTACT, AND IF YOU INTERACT, YOUR LIFE IS ON CONTRACT ♫”

“Not helping!” Izuku snapped.

“♫ YOUR BEST BET IS TO STAY AWAY, MOTHERFUCKER! ♫”

The chorus hit like an explosion, and Izuku couldn’t help but cringe. 

If that song was playing, Katsuki was definitely in a mood. There wasn’t a chance in hell anyone was talking him down—not without risking life, limb, and possibly the structural integrity of Heights Alliance.

“Come on!” Mina pressed. She cupped her hands around her mouth and affected a dramatic falsetto. “Just hit him with the classic Hey, Kacchan~ If you don’t explode Heights Alliance, I’ll give you a big fat wet ki—”

Blackwhip shot out of Izuku faster than a lightning bolt, clamping over Mina’s mouth before she could finish.

“Don’t even say it!” Izuku yelped, his face and ears turning a mortified shade of pink. He shot a glare at the fifth user in his head. Thanks for the reflexes, really.

Mina pried the tendrils off her mouth, laughing so hard she had to grip the couch for balance. “Oh, come on, you’re blushing! That’s adorable! You know it works.”

“It’s not—it’s not like that!” Izuku stammered, his voice rising an octave as he flailed his arms in protest. “And even if it was—which it isn’t—it wouldn’t work this time.”

“Why not?” Kirishima asked, looking genuinely puzzled. “You’re the Katsuki Whisperer, man! What could he be that mad about?”

Izuku sighed heavily, glancing toward the stairwell. He could tell them, but… nah. 

Some truths were better kept under wraps. Especially because he didn’t want Katsuki to find out he was the one who let the cat out of the bag.

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!

Hear me yap

Tomura's backstory - the bystander effect

Almost a year ago, i did a paper about bystander effect for my language class. I told my teammate about the idea to be added to the list that we can choose.

While i was researching about the topic, i realized that Tomura's situation when he was still Tenko in the streets is a prime example of it in anime that i've watched (and i watched so little anime so take it with a grain of salt).

Like- people were literally bypassing him, an injured child in the street who's barefoot, scarred, and has blood on his hands. He's 6. And people aren't atleast a little bit concerned for him?? Like at the very least call the police or sumn if ur busy.

But ig that's the whole point isn't it? People are so used to the heroes that they truly believed that they'll instantly be there if someone's in trouble.

I think that his past is one of the most tragic ones cause it's so easily preventable, unlike the rest. Toga, Spinner, Dabi, and Twice's backstory was a long time coming as the rise of the quirkist beliefs and the want for a child with stronger quirks.

I guess you can say Tomura's backstory is also a long time coming with Nana giving up Kotaru in the orphanage, but Tenko still wants to be a hero. If anybody, anybody at all saved him that night, he could've become a hero.

Ik that it's obvious, i just wanna talk about it for a bit.

BBY TOMURA PRECIOUS BBY TENKO ‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬

Explanation of Species -

The LOV as ponies

I decided to make Tomura as a pegasus instead of the usual unicorn or earth pony cause.. honestly I have no clue, I made these in the dead of night so I don't remember other than me liking them. Also, I like the idea that Tenko, Hana, and Kotaru are all pegasi because of Nana's gene. With Tenko's destructive magic "leaking" from his body, creating decay.

Decay is a magic that's supposed to be owned by a unicorn and yet it manifested on a pegasi foal. I headcannoned that it's because of the influence of OFA on Nana's gene. Her bloodline becomes more easily convinced to let something change, as in while normally powerful unicorn magic are reserved for unicorns only, this gene cause the whole bloodline to become more resesive to magic, no matter what it was, so it leaked from the vessel, from the body.

Kurogiri is pretty self-explanatory, a unicorn with a warp gate magic. It's a combination of his old magic, where he can create and walk on clouds, with teleportation magic, creating the solid portal.

Spinner is a hybrid, of sorts, of a stallion and a dragon. While the both of them loves him. The world? Not so much..

Toga is an "unholy" offspring of wicked creatures, while it's not her fault, she had suffered from it. Her mixed gene of a changeling and a bat pony messed up her desire, so instead of her feeling the need to feed from love like normal changelings, it instead got changed with blood, though the attraction is still there.

I feel like, for Twice, his magic of duplications or double took a toll on his mind. Basically? Like Pinkie Pie in "Too Many Pinkies" but it took a dark turn like it did in MHA canon.

Some sketches I created for the LOV as ponies. As you can see, I didn't do anything with Spinner, Compress, and Twice cause I was legit struggling on how to design them lol

Is aizawa still himself? Is he still permitted to teach at the school?

Hmm, no

Aizawa still considers himself a human being and conducts classes, he is too dangerous for others, which is why the director of Nezu arranged for him a "fake class" in which Aizawa is being held.

Aizawa realizes that his body is changing, but he doesn't want to believe it. It was before the incident "M.E.D.U.Z.A."

The "M.E.D.U.Z.A" incident occurred in the evening. After all the students had finished classes, Aizawa climbed into the ventilation and watched two students from class A-1 and B-1.

After that, the bodies of Monoma Neito and Mina Ashido were found in the ventilation with signs of suffocation and wounds similar to paper cuts.

@anartisicandautisticstararcher

Ask Aizawa monster!

Ask me (Verian) and Aizawa questions or something!

Hi guys!

“Ashes and New Beginnings”

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Genre: Action / Romance / Angst / Fluff

TW: Mild violence, pregnancy, labor scene, emotional vulnerability

---

The mission was never supposed to go this far south.

You were only a few weeks away from your due date—not ideal for fieldwork, but you were stubborn. You could still move, still fight, and no one dared to argue when you gave that look. Not even him.

“Stay behind me,” Dabi had warned with a voice like low fire, his back shielding yours as the Pro Heroes ambushed the warehouse. “You shouldn’t have come. You know that, right?”

You smirked, placing a hand on your swollen belly. “You think I’d let you run off without me? Nice try, hotshot.”

He didn’t smile—Dabi rarely did—but the way his eyes flickered toward you said everything. He hated this. Hated seeing you like this, vulnerable and too close to danger. Hated that he couldn’t stop you… because he knew if it were him in your shoes, he wouldn’t stay behind either.

The fight erupted fast. Flames, explosions, quirks flashing in the dark. You held your own as long as you could—until it hit.

Pain.

A sudden, sharp contraction that stole the breath from your lungs. You dropped to your knees behind the crates, gripping your abdomen with a shaky gasp.

No. Not now.

“Dabi!” your voice cracked, loud enough to pierce the chaos. He turned instantly, the moment burned into memory—his eyes wide, horror dawning.

You're in labor.

Everything else vanished for him. Enemies, plans, strategy—none of it mattered anymore. He bolted to your side, catching you as you doubled over, another wave of pain tearing through you.

“You weren’t supposed to—shit—okay, okay, breathe,” he muttered, voice unsteady for once, panic creeping into every word. “You’re early. Damn it.”

“I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

He lifted you easily, cradling you against his chest, heat rolling off his skin protectively. His own flames flared wildly around him, forming a vicious barrier between you and the heroes advancing.

“She’s out. She’s done. You come any closer, I burn you all to ash,” Dabi snarled.

One look in his eyes, and none of them dared take a step.

He carried you out through the smoke and ruin like a man possessed, whispering ragged reassurances as your contractions got closer, sharper, more intense. He’d never been so afraid in his life—and he’d never felt something burn hotter than the love he felt for you right then.

---

Awesome—let’s go with Parts 2 and 3: a mix of chaotic, emotional, and a bit romantic. Dabi ends up having to deliver the baby himself at a hideout. Here's the continuation:

---

The hideout was a dump—abandoned, half-burnt, and barely standing—but it was the only place close enough. Dabi kicked the door open, cursing under his breath as he laid you down on a grimy mattress. Your face was pale, sweat clinging to your forehead, eyes dazed from pain.

“This isn’t happening,” you gasped, gripping his coat with trembling fingers. “I can’t—I don’t know what to—”

“Hey. Look at me,” he said, voice sharp but trembling. “You’re doing this. You’re strong. You’ve always been. I’ve seen you tear through enemies like nothing. This? This is nothing compared to what you’ve survived.”

You nodded, tears sliding down your cheeks, your body wracked with another contraction.

Dabi ripped off his coat and laid it beneath you. He moved like someone on autopilot—heating up a towel with his flames to sterilize it, searching the place for clean-ish water and supplies.

He had no idea what he was doing. He was a villain, not a midwife. But watching you suffer? Listening to your cries of pain and fear? That broke something in him.

“I got you, baby. Just breathe for me. I’m right here.”

He knelt between your legs, your body shaking violently, and whispered every comforting word he could think of—even though his own hands trembled like hell.

And then he saw it.

“Oh, shit. I see the head.”

---

You screamed—raw, powerful, primal. And Dabi didn’t flinch. He caught your child in his scarred hands like something sacred, eyes wide with disbelief. His flames were nowhere to be seen now—just his soft breath, ragged and stunned as he wrapped the baby up in his shirt.

“It’s a girl,” he said hoarsely, his voice cracking in a way you’d never heard before.

You sobbed, partly from exhaustion, partly from overwhelming love—for the little life in his arms, and for the man kneeling beside you, the same man everyone called a monster.

Dabi leaned over and pressed his forehead to yours, his hand still shaking as he held the baby close.

“She’s got your nose,” he whispered. “Poor kid.”

You laughed weakly, grabbing his collar and pulling him into a kiss, your lips warm against his even in your drained state.

“Thanks for not setting the place on fire,” you murmured.

He chuckled. “I thought about it. But she’s kinda worth not burning the world down for.”

You looked up at him, your breath catching—not from pain this time, but from love.

“I want to name her Aiko,” you said softly.

Dabi blinked. “Love, huh?”

You nodded. He swallowed hard.

“Yeah… she’s got plenty of that now.”

---

Hours passed. You were asleep now—finally resting after everything your body had just been through. Your breath was even, your face peaceful in the dull light filtering through the cracked hideout window.

Dabi sat in the far corner, silent, still, cradling Aiko in his arms.

She was so small.

He held her like she was made of glass, terrified to even breathe too hard. His fingers—burnt, stitched, ruined—looked wrong against her smooth, perfect skin. But she didn’t seem to mind. She just blinked up at him, curious and calm.

“You’re not scared of me, huh?” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

She blinked again.

He gave a shaky laugh. “You will be. When you’re older. When they tell you stories about Dabi the killer. The villain. The monster.”

His smile faltered. His hands tightened around the blanket.

“But your mom… she’ll tell you the truth. She always sees the truth. Even when I couldn’t.”

Aiko squirmed and let out a tiny squeaky noise. Dabi instinctively rocked her—something he’d seen in movies, not something he’d ever practiced.

“Yeah, I know. Life’s gonna be rough. You’re a villain’s kid. Maybe a hero’s too, if she has anything to say about it.”

His voice dropped lower. “But I’m gonna protect you. You hear me?”

A single tear slid down his cheek—he hadn’t cried in years. Not for himself. Not even for his past.

But this was different.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever done right.”

Aiko yawned, stretched her hand out, and wrapped her tiny fingers around one of his.

And in that moment, for the first time in forever… Dabi felt warm.

Not from his fire.

From her.

---

“Alright, what the actual hell is that?”

Twice was the first one through the door, tripping over his own feet as he pointed at the bundle in Dabi’s arms like it was a bomb. Toga peeked over his shoulder, wide-eyed and covered in someone else’s blood.

“Is that a baby? Did you kidnap a baby? Oh my god, Dabi, I love her already—wait, did you steal her?”

Dabi gave them both a withering look, eyes dark and tired, but there was no anger—just exhaustion.

“She’s mine,” he said simply.

Silence.

Shigaraki looked up from scratching his neck raw in the corner, narrowing his eyes. Spinner froze mid-sip of his canned drink. Compress blinked like someone in a stage play who forgot their line.

“…Yours?” Shigaraki repeated slowly, voice dry. “As in—you made that?”

“Yeah,” Dabi replied, glancing down at the little girl dozing in his arms. “With her.” He nodded toward the back room where you were still recovering.

Toga’s eyes widened like saucers. “You had a baby with the pretty girl with the knives?!”

“Yep.”

“I ship it.”

Twice clapped dramatically. “Dabi’s a dad! Oh god, we’re all going to die. In a cute way.”

Shigaraki stared at the baby like she was some kind of ticking time bomb. “Can it explode?”

“No,” Dabi growled.

“…yet,” Shigaraki muttered, turning away.

Toga was already at his side, peeking at Aiko with genuine awe. “She’s so tiny. You think she’ll have your quirk?”

“Hope not,” Dabi muttered. “Not mine.”

Spinner walked over, scratching his head. “So… does this mean you're, like, settling down? Changing diapers between missions?”

Dabi scoffed. “Hardly. I still burn people for a living. I just… go home after now.”

And weirdly, none of them argued. None of them mocked him. In fact, a strange sort of hush fell over the room—a rare peace.

Toga pulled out her knife and declared, “If anyone tries to hurt her, I’ll gut them.”

Dabi looked up, eyes soft. “Thanks.”

The League didn’t understand much about love or family. But they did understand loyalty. And chaos. And revenge. So protecting a tiny, flame-born baby girl?

That… they could get behind

---

It was 3:14 a.m.

Dabi sat cross-legged on the floor of the hideout, shirtless, hair sticking up in every direction, dark circles under his eyes even darker than usual. Aiko was screaming like the world was ending, her tiny face bright red, and her little fists flailing like she was throwing punches at fate itself.

He stared at her. Then at the diaper. Then back at her.

“…I’ve blown up buildings with less stress than this.”

You groaned from the cot behind him, too sore and sleep-deprived to move. “You said you had it,” you mumbled.

“I did have it. Then she peed in my eye.”

Another wail came from Aiko, and Dabi winced like someone had shoved a knife in his ribs.

“Alright, alright, damn, we’re doing this.”

He opened a fresh diaper like it was an enemy he was about to fight. He glanced at the old one, holding it between two fingers like it might explode. “You’re lucky I love you, you little gremlin.”

You snorted.

After a solid three minutes of muttering threats at the diaper, several almost burns, and at least one moment where he looked genuinely afraid of baby wipes, Dabi somehow managed to get the new one on—crooked, but on.

Aiko immediately stopped crying.

She looked up at him with big, innocent eyes, hiccupped… and smiled.

He froze.

And for the first time in a long, long time… he smiled back.

“Okay. That was almost worth the trauma.”

He picked her up carefully, resting her tiny head against his chest. She nuzzled into his warm skin, calm now, soothed by the steady beat of his heart and the low hum of his fire.

“You’re gonna wreck me, aren’t you?” he whispered.

She gave a sleepy sigh.

“…Good. I probably deserve it.”

---

Dabi was dozing on the couch, shirtless, as usual. Aiko was perched on his chest like a sleepy little loaf, fists curled, head tucked under his jaw.

It was peaceful. Soft crackling from the fireplace. Your gentle humming in the background as you cleaned up.

And then—CHOMP.

“OW—what the hell!?”

Dabi sat up with a startled yelp, eyes wide, clutching his neck. Aiko blinked at him, innocent as ever… mouth smeared with drool and the tiniest red mark forming on his collarbone.

You leaned over, squinting.

“Is that… a hickey?”

Dabi stared at the baby. Then at you. Then back at the baby.

“She just—bit me. And sucked on my skin like some tiny mosquito demon.”

You lost it, laughing so hard you nearly dropped the bottle in your hand. “You got your first dad hickey. Officially initiated.”

“I burn people for fun, and this is what takes me out?”

Just then, Toga popped her head into the room—saw the mark on his neck and immediately let out a wolf whistle.

“Well, well, Dabi! Didn’t know you were into neck stuff.”

“It’s from the baby,” he growled.

“Sure it is,” she sang, winking.

By the time the rest of the League caught wind, rumors had spread.

Twice: “Dabi’s into bite play confirmed.”

Shigaraki: “Ew. Stop breeding.”

Spinner: “Should we get her teething rings or garlic and holy water?”

Dabi groaned, covering the mark with his hand.

But later that night, when it was just the three of you again, he looked at it in the mirror. The little bruise, round and oddly perfect. It hurt like hell.

And somehow… he loved it.

“She’s already leaving scars,” he muttered, tracing the spot with a smile. “Just like her mom.”

---

It started small.

You were feeding Aiko one afternoon—just you, her, and the peaceful hum of the hideout. You offered her a spoonful of mashed carrots with the usual sweet smile.

“Here comes the airplane—”

She stared at you. Then slapped the spoon clean out of your hand.

“…Excuse me?”

From the other room, Dabi laughed. “That’s my girl.”

You glared. “Don’t encourage her.”

But it only got worse.

Later that day, you tried again—with applesauce this time.

“No, Aiko. We don’t throw food.”

Aiko looked you dead in the eye and mumbled something that sounded a lot like:

“Sh’t.”

You froze.

“…What did you just say?”

From the couch, Dabi shouted, “What did she say?!”

“She said your favorite word.”

Dabi came striding in, picking her up with this massive, proud smirk on his face. “No way. Say it again, squirt.”

Aiko grinned. “Sh’t.”

You palmed your face. “Dabi, stop smiling.”

“I’m not! I’m—okay yeah, I am. But c’mon, listen to the attitude on her. She's feral.”

“Oh my god.”

It didn’t stop there.

By the end of the week, she had a whole little sass vocabulary going:

Glares when someone touches her snacks.

Mimics Dabi’s sighs perfectly.

Says “bruh” when her bottle falls.

And, most dangerously of all—the eye roll.

Toga was obsessed.

“She’s a tiny Dabi! But cuter. And less murder-y.”

Twice tried teaching her to say “Boom, baby!” after every fart. It worked. Too well.

Shigaraki banned her from the meeting room after she threw a pacifier at him mid-rant.

Dabi? He was beaming the entire time.

“Kid’s got fire,” he said proudly, arms crossed, scarred lip curled in a grin. “Just like her old man.”

You gave him a side-eye. “If she starts setting stuff on fire next week, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal.”

(You both secretly loved it.)

---

It was raining.

Not the hard, violent kind that matched Dabi’s mood—just a steady drizzle outside the hideout, mist curling over cracked windows. You were curled up with a blanket, half-asleep, watching Aiko crawl around the dusty floor, babbling nonsense to herself.

Dabi leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, just watching her. He did that a lot these days—quiet, present in a way he never used to be.

Aiko picked up one of his gloves from the floor. Turned it over in her hands. Dropped it. Then looked up at him.

And said it.

“Dada.”

Silence.

The rain didn’t stop. The wind didn’t pause. But something in Dabi broke.

You sat up instantly. “Wait—did she just—?”

He didn’t move. His face had gone still, unreadable. Only his eyes gave it away—wide, full of something between shock and something too tender to name.

Aiko smiled at him like it was no big deal.

“Dada.”

Dabi walked over slowly. Dropped to his knees in front of her. She touched his cheek—right where the staples met burned skin—and giggled.

“Dada.”

He laughed. Just once. Rough, soft, stunned.

“Yeah, kid,” he whispered. His voice cracked. “That’s me.”

He pulled her close—not tight, just enough to tuck his chin over her tiny head.

You watched from the couch, a hand over your mouth, heart about to explode.

He’d been called a lot of things.

Villain. Monster. Traitor. Burner. Killer.

But Dada?

That one might’ve saved him.

---

The night was quieter than usual. The storm outside had finally slowed to a gentle patter, and the hideout was filled with nothing but the occasional crackling from the fireplace. The warmth of the flames danced across the walls, casting shadows as Dabi sat on the couch, Aiko nestled against him.

She was asleep now, her small chest rising and falling in that peaceful rhythm that made even the toughest villains pause. Dabi’s hand rested lightly on her back, the familiar weight of responsibility and love settling in his bones.

You were asleep in the other room, exhausted from the day’s chaos, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Dabi had nothing but time.

His eyes traced the small curve of Aiko’s face—so serene, so full of life. She was perfect. His daughter. His kid. The word felt foreign on his tongue, but so right.

He hadn't realized how much he needed this—this quiet, this peace, this tiny human who somehow softened everything he’d built himself into.

Carefully, Dabi let his fingers run through Aiko’s soft hair. He didn’t even think about it—he just did it. A tender motion, a simple gesture he could barely believe he was capable of.

Then, he started humming.

It was the song you always hummed to her when she was fussy, the tune that seemed to calm her every time. A melody so soft, so gentle, it made him forget the past for a moment and just exist in the now.

Aiko stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her little hand gripping the edge of his shirt as she snuggled closer. The soft sound of her breath filled the room, the night settling in deeper.

Dabi kept humming. His voice was low and unsteady, like a fire that only flickered, but in that moment, it was full of warmth—like he was finally allowing himself to feel everything he’d kept buried for so long.

He wasn’t a perfect father. Hell, he didn’t even know if he was a good one. But right now, as Aiko slept soundly in his arms, her tiny body rising and falling with each breath, he felt something he hadn’t in years—something like peace.

Aiko shifted again, this time her tiny mouth curling into a soft smile in her sleep, as if she felt the rhythm of his heart. He kissed the top of her head, his voice barely a whisper.

“I love you, kid.”

He said it so quietly, like it was something sacred, something only meant for her to hear.

And maybe she did. Maybe she always would.

"Operation: Loopy"

You were a strong, independent aspiring hero. You’d faced villains, explosions, and Bakugo’s screaming. But none of that prepared you for the wildest opponent yet…

…a wisdom tooth extraction.

You blinked awake, mouth stuffed with gauze, brain foggy, and vision blurry. The fluorescent lights above you hummed like a villain’s theme music. Was this Tartarus?

“She lives!” a dramatic voice shouted. That was—oh god—Denki Kaminari, filming you on his phone.

“GET THAT CAMERA OUTTA MY EYE SOCKET!” you bellowed. Or at least, you thought you bellowed. It came out more like: “Geff dat camma outta my faysalkit.”

Mina popped into view, laughing hysterically. “Girl, you sound like you’re summoning demons!”

You tried to sit up. “Iz dis… is dis my quirk? Am I… a duck?”

“Honestly? Maybe,” said Kirishima, gently pushing you back down. “You’re being super unbreakable right now, though. Respect.”

You squinted at him. “You got… rocks for skin. Are you okay? Like emotionally?”

“Wow, even under anesthesia, she checks in on us,” Tsuyu said calmly from the foot of the bed. “That’s kinda sweet.”

“I love all of you,” you mumbled dramatically, reaching for Todoroki’s face. “Especially you, Mr. Ice-and-Fire Cream Sandwich…”

“…I’m gonna pretend that was a compliment,” Todoroki muttered, letting you poke his cheek with your numb finger.

Bakugo, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, muttered, “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. She’s a disaster.”

You gasped. “You take that back, Kacchan! I’m a beautiful disaster.”

The gauze puff in your mouth fell out mid-monologue and Denki nearly dropped his phone laughing. “We’re keeping that. That's going in the group chat AND your graduation video.”

Finally, the nurse arrived to check on you, only for you to gasp and shout, “WAIT. AM I STILL A DUCK?!”

“No, sweetie. You're not a duck.”

“...Disappointing.”

Question would you do a class 1-b of the explosive love or is it truly over? (my lungs have been full of laughter from it all)

Explosive Love: Part 7 – Class 1-B’s Babysitting Disaster

A/n, I added jiro bc, why not🫡

Pairing: Kirishima x Fem!Reader

Featuring: Class 1-B and Their Unique Babysitting Experience

Genre: Chaos, Crack Comedy, Baby Gas Wars

Summary: After hearing about the legendary struggles of Class 1-A, Class 1-B believes they can handle things way better. They don’t need a plan—just confidence. Spoiler: They were wrong. Very, very wrong.

---

“We’ve got this!”

Kendo, confident as ever, waved her hand as she stared at the baby in Kirishima’s arms. “Class 1-B doesn’t need a fancy strategy. We’re heroes in training. This is nothing!”

Tetsutetsu pumped his fist in the air. “Yeah! We’re tough enough to handle anything!”

“You guys sure about this?” you asked, looking at your baby, who was already cooing and glaring in their direction.

“Totally! We’ve got teamwork! We’ve got brains!” Kendo grinned, a little too widely. “Let’s do this!”

Kirishima turned to you and whispered, “Should we warn them?”

You shook your head. “Let them learn the hard way. We survived this chaos. They will, too.”

---

T+5 Minutes:

The plan was simple: Kendo would handle the baby while the others prepared snacks and games.

“Alright, little one!” Kendo smiled down at the baby. “Ready for a fun day?”

The baby gurgled and farted.

“Hmm,” Kendo raised an eyebrow, but she pressed on. “That’s a little... unexpected. No biggie, though.”

PFFFT.

The others exchanged nervous glances.

“That was... powerful,” Ibara murmured.

Kendo, ever the optimist, ignored the baby’s warning signs and decided to try a gentle lullaby. “Hush little baby...”

PHBRRRTT.

Kendo paused, her smile faltering.

“That one had vibration,” Ibara noted, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay,” Kendo said, trying to keep her cool. “Maybe she’s just gassy. No big deal. Just... relax.”

---

T+12 Minutes:

The whole team was huddled in the living room now. Kendo was still holding the baby, though the team had taken up defensive positions.

Manga began sketching diagrams of escape routes. “I think we need a plan B... and C... and maybe D.”

Tetsutetsu, trying to impress, stood by with a bottle of milk. “Maybe this will help calm her down! I’ve got this!”

The baby eyed him suspiciously.

PFFFT.

Tetsutetsu jumped back like he’d been hit by a rocket. “WHAT THE HELL?!” he yelped, clutching the bottle like a shield.

Kendo sighed. “Okay. So, we’re not handling this as smoothly as I thought.”

---

T+22 Minutes:

Jurota was in charge of distracting the baby with toys while Kendo attempted a strategic diaper change.

“Jurota, you’ve got this, right?” Kendo asked, holding up a toy rattle. “She’s really into sound, so just—”

Before she could finish, the baby farted again. This time, it was a long one.

Jurota, who had been holding the rattle, dropped it and quickly backed away.

“I didn’t sign up for this! I thought it was just a normal baby!” Jurota cried, his face pale.

“I swear she’s aiming for me,” Tetsutetsu shouted from behind the couch. “I feel the pressure!”

---

T+35 Minutes:

The room was now a war zone.

Kendo, the ever-hopeful leader, was sweating. “We need to regroup,” she muttered. “We need... We need a strategic intervention!”

The baby, sensing weakness, let loose.

PFFFT

PBRRRRTTT

PBBT-TSSSSSS...

Kendo held her hands up. “Okay! We need a team effort! Shoji, you try distracting her with your extra arms. Ibara, you handle the snacks. Jurota, keep it together!”

Ibara carefully arranged some snacks. “I don’t think snacks are going to help this situation.”

“I’m gonna pass out,” Jurota groaned. “Is she cursed? Is this a curse?!”

Meanwhile, Jiro was completely overwhelmed. “Guys, I don’t have a soundproof speaker for this level of... chaos.”

Manga finally gave up and wrote: “Subject: baby. Threat Level: Explosive.”

---

T+45 Minutes:

Kendo had lost all hope.

“I’m sorry, I was too optimistic,” she muttered.

The baby looked up at her with big, innocent eyes and let out one final, massive fart.

Everyone in the room flinched.

“THAT’S IT! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” Tetsutetsu yelled, running toward the door. “THIS IS HELL!”

“We... we didn’t even try the baby wipes,” Kendo said softly, defeated.

---

Final Tally:

Kendo: Crushed by baby gas.

Tetsutetsu: Traumatized and refuses to even look at a bottle.

Manga: Analyzed the situation, concluded they had all made a terrible mistake.

Shoji: Vowed never to babysit again.

Jurota: Physically and emotionally drained.

Ibara: Retired from all babysitting duties.

Jiro: Still recovering from the sonic levels of flatulence.

Momo: Watching from the sidelines, unaffected, with a notebook full of new inventions for future diaper duty.

---

When you and Kirishima returned, you found Class 1-B sprawled on the floor, completely broken.

Kendo weakly raised a hand. “She’s... a powerhouse.”

“She’s a menace,” Tetsutetsu whimpered.

“And we’re never doing this again,” Manga finished, his face still pale.

The baby, in your arms, giggled.

Kirishima smiled warmly, “Good job, everyone! It’s a learning experience!”

You nodded. “Yeah, let’s never do this again.”

“Attack of the Morning Hair: Y/N vs. Gravity”

Or: The Day Her Hair Committed a War Crime

---

It started like any other peaceful morning in the UA dorms. Birds were chirping. Kaminari was already screaming because he shocked himself trying to toast bread. The usual.

Then came her.

The common room door swung open with the force of divine judgment, and in stumbled Y/N — half-asleep, wearing oversized socks, a hoodie that probably wasn’t hers (possibly Aizawa’s??), and…

Her. Hair.

Complete chaos.

Her bangs were standing completely straight up, like they’d seen something horrifying and never recovered. The rest of her long hair was sticking out in every direction, defying physics like it had just fought off a tornado and won.

It wasn’t just messy.

It was sentient.

Sero spat out his cereal. “WHAT IN THE—are you okay?!”

Y/N blinked, bleary-eyed, gripping a mug with nothing in it.

“…No.”

Bakugo actually paused mid-toast-chewing. “The hell happened to you?”

“I slept wrong.”

“That’s not sleep. That’s a spiritual possession,” Jirou muttered, genuinely concerned.

Todoroki tilted his head. “Is it supposed to… be like that?”

Y/N scratched her head, making it worse. A piece of hair slapped her in the face. “I don’t know. It was normal last night. Then I woke up and looked in the mirror and it was like—”

She held up her mug like a Shakespearean actor.

“—I HAVE SEEN THINGS. I HAVE BEEN THROUGH BATTLES.”

Mina was wheezing. “Girl, your bangs are standing straighter than Iida’s moral compass.”

“I thought it was a bird nest at first,” Kaminari whispered to Kirishima. “I almost offered her sunflower seeds.”

Midoriya approached gently, like she might explode. “D-Do you want help detangling it?”

“I think it’s sentient now,” Y/N muttered. “If you touch it, it might bite.”

“I bet Present Mic’s hair bowed in respect when it saw yours,” Sero added.

Y/N slowly turned her head, her bangs refusing to move like a stiff wind couldn’t touch them. “They said if your hair touches the ceiling, it’s good luck.”

Momo was trying not to laugh but failed. “What ceiling? You’ve breached airspace. You’re legally an aircraft.”

Then—Midnight walked in.

She stopped in her tracks. Stared. Then, with the most serious voice she could manage:

“…You look like the final boss of a shampoo commercial gone wrong.”

Y/N raised one eyebrow. “Or the main character of an edgy anime where my quirk is just being really dramatic.”

“Name it,” Kaminari begged. “Name the anime.”

“‘Frizz: The Reckoning.’”

Bakugo started laughing so hard he had to turn around. “I take it back. You’re not a villain. You’re just unholy.”

“Should I put it in a bun?” Y/N asked, attempting to gather the chaos.

“No,” Todoroki said immediately. “You should document this. Scientists need to study it.”

---

One Hour Later…

Her hair was finally tamed with the combined effort of Momo’s entire salon set, six clips, three bobby pins, and a prayer.

But the legend lived on.

A photo of “Morning Y/N” became the new meme in Class 1-A’s group chat, complete with captions like:

“Quirk: Bedhead Beast Mode”

“Power level: Over 9000 follicles of fury”

“Local teen scares away villains with sheer hair volume”

“Bakugo’s explosions fear HER now”

---

The End…?

(Or is the hair still out there… waiting… rising again at the next 7AM wakeup call?)

"Secret’s Out"

Edgeshot prided himself on precision—both in the field and in life. He had slipped in and out of the hospital with the skill only the #4 Pro Hero could muster, careful not to attract attention. The media didn’t know. The commission didn’t know. Not even his closest colleagues.

And that’s how he liked it.

This was his peace—his sanctuary with you and your newborn son. And he wasn’t ready to share that with the chaos of the hero world.

Unfortunately, fate—and Present Mic’s big mouth—had other plans.

---

It started innocently enough. A casual patrol meeting at the agency. The usual crew—Endeavor, Mirko, Best Jeanist, Hawks, and of course, Present Mic—sat around the table throwing back caffeine like it was oxygen.

Edgeshot stood at the edge, arms folded, face unreadable as always. Calm. Controlled.

Until Hawks strolled in late, twirling a familiar beanie in his hand.

"Yo, Shinya," Hawks said with a smirk, holding up the tiny gray hat with a small embroidered duck. "You, uh, drop this?"

Time stopped.

Edgeshot's eyes flicked to the beanie. His son’s beanie.

"...Where did you get that?" he asked, voice perfectly flat.

"I was flying by the hospital yesterday. Saw a nurse wave it around outside the window. Said someone left it. Had a tag inside that said ‘Shin Jr.’," Hawks said with an exaggerated shrug. "Figured it was a sidekick or... surprise, surprise?"

The room went silent.

Then:

"No way," Mirko laughed, sitting up straight. "Edgeshot has a baby?!"

Best Jeanist narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Hmm... That would explain the recent increase in tactical leave. And the softer demeanor."

"You’ve been smiling lately," Endeavor grumbled, clearly offended by the idea of anyone having joy.

Present Mic practically leapt out of his chair. "OH MY GOD, SHINYA'S A DAD?!" he howled. "WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME?!"

Edgeshot, surrounded and betrayed by a single forgotten beanie, let out a long sigh through his nose.

"...Yes," he said quietly. "I have a son. His name is Ren. And I’d prefer to keep it private."

The teasing exploded instantly.

"Uncle Jeanist has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?" Jeanist mused.

"I CALL GODMOTHER!" Mirko yelled, punching the air.

"Does he have wings like me?" Hawks teased, tossing the beanie back.

Present Mic was already brainstorming a baby shower playlist.

Edgeshot stared into the middle distance, wondering if he could sew his vocal cords into a noose.

---

Later that night, he returned home, your baby curled peacefully on his chest as he recounted the day’s chaos.

"They know now," he murmured to you, gently stroking your son’s head.

You laughed softly, brushing hair from his face. "You knew they’d find out eventually."

"I was hoping for at least six months," he said with mock despair. "Now Jeanist’s talking about matching denim for toddlers."

You snorted. "Better than Endeavor suggesting fireproof diapers."

He smiled—soft and small—and leaned his head against yours. In the background, your son stirred and sighed, clutching the edge of Edgeshot’s hero cape like it was his whole world.

Let them tease. Let them laugh.

Because now they knew exactly what he was fighting for.

"Coughing Crisis: A Heroic Interruption"

It was one of those days at U.A. High.

Everyone was gathered in the common room, the mood grim. Aizawa had just finished debriefing the students on a potential new threat—some villain group with a name so edgy it sounded like they were formed in a Hot Topic parking lot.

All Might stood solemnly, arms crossed. "This is no joke. The League of Villains may be making a comeback."

Bakugo scowled. "Tch. Let 'em try. I'll blow 'em to hell."

Midoriya was furiously scribbling notes, mumbling strategy ideas. Todoroki looked like he was calculating the villain’s power levels with sheer brainwaves. Even Kaminari was managing to look serious for once.

Then, just as the room hit peak intensity—

"KHHHHHHHHHH–KAHHHHHHHH–HHHKHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Everyone's heads whipped around.

It was you. Red-faced. Eyes wide. Wheezing. Coughing. Dying, possibly.

"OH MY GOD SHE’S CHOKING!" Mina screamed, knocking over a chair in her rush.

"I'm not trained for this!" Kaminari panicked, spinning in a circle like a confused Roomba.

Bakugo: "SOMEONE GET HER A DAMN WATER BEFORE SHE ASPHYXIATES AND DIES IN THE MIDDLE OF A STRATEGY BRIEFING!"

Midoriya already had a water bottle in your mouth and was nervously patting your back with the intensity of a malfunctioning massage chair. "Are you okay?! Do you need—wait, what's your quirk again? Can it fix this?! No, wait, that's not how lungs work—"

"I—I just—" you gasped between coughs, one hand in the air like you were accepting an Oscar. "I inhaled a chip wrong."

There was silence. Like, dead silence.

Then Kirishima, voice full of genuine awe: "Damn. She really said 'crunch' and almost flatlined."

Bakugo facepalmed so hard it echoed. "We're out here trying to save the world and this extra’s getting taken down by a Lays."

All Might turned away and coughed into his hand to hide his laugh. It didn’t work. Present Mic wasn’t even hiding it—he was already on the floor, crying.

You gave a thumbs up with one hand, the other still clutching your water bottle like it was your emotional support beverage. "Still alive. Kinda."

Todoroki blinked. “That was the most dramatic thing I’ve seen all week. And I watched Bakugo punch a microwave.”

“IT SHORT-CIRCUITED FIRST!” Bakugo yelled.

---

And from that day forward, every time there was a serious meeting, someone made sure to have water on hand.

You, the girl who lived through The Chip Incident, had earned your spot among heroes.

But also maybe needed to chew more carefully.

''Sticky Situations and Stone Walls"

In the prestigious halls of U.A. High, Minoru Mineta was infamous for two things: his questionable morals and his Quirk, Pop Off. Most students had learned to keep him at arm's length—some, a full hallway away. But what nobody expected was for him to have a twin brother.

Enter Mamoru Mineta—tall, stone-faced, and emotionally impenetrable. His Quirk, Stonewall, allowed him to generate massive slabs of concrete-like armor around his body, making him a literal and metaphorical brick wall. He walked into Class 1-B without a word, instantly drawing attention. Not for being flashy—but because of how normal he was.

Rumors flew.

“Wait, he’s Mineta’s twin?!”

“Are we sure? Maybe he’s just cursed to look like him.”

“Plot twist: Mineta is the evil twin.”

Unlike Minoru, Mamoru didn’t chase girls—he didn’t chase anything. He followed the rules. He trained harder than anyone. He rarely spoke, but when he did, it hit like a punch to the gut—blunt, honest, and painfully grounded.

Minoru hated him.

Well, kind of.

Okay, not really.

Because despite the endless teasing, the girls fawning over Mamoru, the constant comparisons—Mamoru always had his back. He never joined the others in mocking Minoru. In fact, he defended him. Quietly. Behind the scenes.

One day, when Mineta got caught peeking again and was nearly expelled, Mamoru stepped in.

“He’s stupid, not evil,” he said calmly to Aizawa. “Let me handle it.”

Aizawa blinked. “You want to vouch for him?”

Mamoru nodded. “He’s my idiot. I’ll keep him in check.”

And he did. Kinda. Sorta.

There was something oddly wholesome about seeing the two walk side-by-side: one a walking disaster with grapes for hair, the other a towering fortress of chill. They bickered like fire and ice. But when a villain attacked and Mamoru took a hit to shield his brother, something shifted.

Minoru realized: his brother wasn’t trying to change him.

He was just trying to protect him.

“So We’re Just Gonna Pretend That Didn’t Happen?”

Or: The Morning After Y/N’s Brain Went Rated R in HD

---

The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. The UA dorm was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Suspiciously peaceful.

Y/N strolled into the kitchen in fuzzy socks and a shirt that said “Unbothered. Hydrated. Inappropriate.”

The moment she entered, everyone fell silent.

Mina sipped her smoothie too fast and choked. Kaminari avoided eye contact like she was a tax collector. Momo looked like she had spent the night praying.

Iida actually stood up and saluted her.

Y/N blinked. “...Why do you all look like I committed war crimes?”

“You did,” Jirou said, deadpan.

“You said things,” added Uraraka, blushing furiously.

Y/N grinned. “What, I spoke truth. That movie scene was art. Michelangelo could never.”

“YOU CALLED HIM THE ‘BUFFET OF SIN’,” Kaminari yelled, dramatically flopping on the table.

“‘Marriott of Sin,’ actually,” she corrected. “Don’t misquote my genius.”

Bakugo entered the room, took one look at her, and immediately U-turned out.

“Ohhh no you don’t!” Y/N called after him. “You ran from the boat scene like it personally attacked you!”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!”

“He’s flustered,” Kirishima whispered.

“‘Flustered’ is generous. Man’s one more spicy scene away from spontaneously combusting.”

Aizawa entered mid-sentence, wearing sunglasses and carrying two coffees.

“If any of you say the word ‘buffet’ today, I’m deducting hero points.”

Y/N raised a hand. “Does it count if it’s in context—”

“NO.”

---

Later That Day – In Class

Todoroki turned to Y/N quietly.

“…You said that if your partner doesn’t make you ‘reconsider religion’—what did that mean?”

Everyone around them stopped breathing.

Y/N turned slowly, sipped her water like it was tea, and said:

“It means, Shoto… that there’s a type of intimacy that feels like you got spiritually suplexed by an angel. And you ascend a little. Like… you see your ancestors clapping.”

Todoroki nodded seriously. “That sounds… intense.”

“It’s the goal, my guy.”

“Is that a normal expectation?”

“For me? Absolutely. If I’m not crying and making dolphin noises, what are we even doing?”

From behind them, Jirou whispered, “I need a therapist and a new school.”

---

Lunch Time – Revenge Plots & Regrets

Bakugo finally confronted her while they were eating lunch.

“You just had to run your mouth, didn’t you?”

Y/N blinked innocently. “I run my mouth all the time. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“In front of everyone?! While the screen was still fogged up?!”

“Would you rather I waited until after the credits and did a full analysis?”

He glared. “If I ever hear the word ‘spine is decorative’ again—”

“Say it and I’ll Venmo you $5.”

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!”

“I’m an agent of chaos with a subscription to bad decisions.”

Kirishima whispered to Denki, “Honestly, she’s terrifying.”

“...Lowkey kinda hot though?”

“DUDE.”

---

Bonus: Present Mic found out later and just yelled,

“YEAHHHHH!! YOU’RE SPEAKING FROM THE HEART, BABY!”

Midnight has officially claimed Y/N as her “spirit child.”

---

To be continued… if Class 1-A survives her mouth.

“Y/N vs. The Filter (Spoiler: There Is None)”

or: That Time Y/N Roasted the Entire Class Before Lunch

---

It started during homeroom.

Y/N had walked into class, late (again), sipping a suspiciously large energy drink and wearing two mismatched socks and a hoodie that definitely wasn’t hers.

“Morning,” she muttered, plopping into her seat.

Silence.

Aizawa raised a brow. “Y/N. Why are you late?”

Y/N blinked. “Because society.”

“…Try again.”

“Because my alarm went off, and I just didn’t respect it.”

“…One more time.”

“I stopped to watch a pigeon fight a squirrel. It felt important.”

Aizawa sighed. “Whatever. Sit down.”

“Oh, I am sitting,” she said, then looked around the room. “And judging.”

Everyone turned to her.

That was when it began.

---

THE NO-FILTER MONOLOGUE

“Denki, you have the fashion sense of a confused lemon. I love you, but why are you wearing two necklaces? Are you dating yourself?”

“Bakugo, I mean this with love — you scream like a dying vacuum cleaner and somehow still pull.”

“Iida, why do you run like someone poured espresso in your engine oil?”

“Todoroki. King. You look like you glitch in real life. Like I stare at you too long and forget my PIN number.”

“Ochako, I adore you, but you sneeze like a cartoon bunny and it freaks me out every time.”

“Sero’s elbows scare me.”

“Sato has main character energy but like, from a sports anime that got canceled too early.”

“Jirou’s music taste makes me feel like I’m about to be stabbed in an emotionally fulfilling way.”

“Momo, your brain is terrifying. I feel like you could invent a murder weapon out of boba tea.”

“Aoyama blinds me once a week. That’s an HR issue.”

“Mina’s energy gives off 'first one to die in a zombie movie but make it iconic.'”

Kirishima: “What about me?”

“You’re too pure. If you ever turn evil, we’re all screwed. You’d kill us and apologize mid-swing.”

Midnight walked in halfway through this and said, “Oh? What’s going on here?”

Y/N turned slowly. “Hi. Love the outfit. You look like if dominatrix Barbie became a pro hero.”

Midnight choked.

Present Mic entered with a coffee and blinked. “Vibe feels chaotic in here. What’d I miss?”

Y/N pointed at him with no hesitation. “You sound like an auctioneer possessed by dubstep.”

“THANK you,” he grinned. “Finally, someone sees it.”

Aizawa, rubbing his temples: “Y/N, what is wrong with you today?”

She sipped her drink. “I had four hours of sleep and a can of something called ‘Monster Lightning Rage X-TREME.’ I can see sound now.”

Bakugo slammed his desk. “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!”

Y/N turned calmly. “Genetics and unresolved trauma.”

---

Later, in the dorms…

“Do you regret anything you said today?” Uraraka asked.

Y/N paused. “Not even a little.”

“Not even the elbow comment?”

“I meant what I said, Sero’s elbows look like they have side quests.”

Sero: “You know what? Fair.”

---

To Be Continued…

“Chronicles of Chaos: Y/N Edition”

Or: That Time UA Regretted Letting Her Out of the Infirmary

---

1. The Great Kitchen Fire (That Technically Wasn’t Her Fault)

It started with a simple craving: pancakes.

It ended with the fire alarm going off, Sato screaming, and Y/N standing on the kitchen counter fanning smoke with a cutting board.

“I said I knew what I was doing!” she yelled over the alarm.

“You poured orange juice in the pan instead of oil!” Sato cried.

“I was improvising! It’s called culinary jazz!”

The microwave exploded.

Present Mic kicked the door open in his pajamas. “WHO SUMMONED ME WITH CHAOS?”

“I DIDN’T EVEN GET TO FLIP ONE,” Y/N wailed.

---

2. The Invisible Wall Incident

Hatsume had been testing a new tech that projected invisible energy barriers.

Y/N, naturally, ran into it face-first with the force of a charging rhino.

“OW. WHY IS THE AIR HARD?!”

“You walked into the new prototype,” Hatsume said cheerfully.

“You should’ve put up a sign!”

“It’s INVISIBLE.”

“I’m suing you for emotional damage and nose betrayal.”

The class watched her dramatically slide down the force field like a tragic soap opera character, leaving behind a forehead print on the invisible wall.

---

3. That Time She Thought a Villain Was a Cosplayer

It was during a field trip.

Y/N wandered off. (Again.)

She came across a guy in a full villain outfit, mask and all, standing ominously in an alley.

“Ooh, your cosplay is AMAZING,” she said, circling him. “Is this original? Or based on some underground manga?”

The villain, confused, hesitated. “Uh… I’m robbing a store.”

“WOW, dedication to the bit!”

“I literally just set a building on fire.”

“You’re really selling it! I can’t even tell if you’re method acting or—WAIT, IS THAT A REAL KNIFE?!”

She came back five minutes later, singed and out of breath.

“Okay so plot twist, that was not a Comic Con side quest.”

---

4. Her Deep, Emotional War With the UA Vending Machine

She was one yen short.

Just. One.

Y/N smacked the machine. Sweet. Nothing.

She begged. It ignored her.

She yelled, “I HAVE SUFFERED FOR THIS SNACK, GIVE ME MY SALTY JUSTICE!”

Bakugo walked by, slapped the machine once, and it coughed out not only her chips, but a second bonus bag.

“I loosened it for you,” Y/N muttered.

Bakugo didn’t even stop walking. “You’re pathetic.”

“I’M THE PEOPLE’S CHAMPION,” she shouted after him, holding both chip bags above her head like trophies.

---

5. The Time She Tried to “Train” the Dorm’s Pet Turtle

Someone brought a turtle back to the dorms. Bad decision. Y/N decided it had “hero potential.”

She built it a cape out of a sock, taped on a cardboard mask, and named it “Shellshock.”

“Today, we conquer the common room,” she whispered to it dramatically.

She tried to make it do laps in the sink.

It turned around and pooped on her hand.

“This is betrayal,” she whispered, looking into its eyes.

Shellshock blinked. Unbothered. Unapologetic.

---

6. Late Night Philosophy (A.K.A. Sleep-Deprived Chaos)

2:39 AM. She wandered into the lounge in fuzzy slippers, wrapped in a blanket, holding a spoon.

Not eating. Just holding it.

“Do you think All Might ever stubbed his toe in his buff form and cried in his skinny form so no one would know?” she asked Kaminari.

“...Go to sleep.”

“Do frogs know they’re frogs?”

“Y/N.”

“Do we all technically taste like chicken?”

“Y/N, PLEASE.”

"Needles & Nonsense"

Summary: Reader’s stubbornness kicks back in, and the adults are not having it

The hospital room was too white.

The walls. The sheets. The buzzing light. It all made your skin crawl. Even worse was the IV line in your arm—a clear tube taped down to your skin like some parasite, slowly dripping fluids into your veins like you were a broken plant.

You glared at it like it had personally insulted you.

You had been stable for two days. That’s what they said. “Stable,” whatever that meant. You still felt like garbage. You couldn’t walk more than five feet without your knees giving out. But that was beside the point.

The point was the IV.

Disgusting. Cold. Invasive. You hated how it felt inside your arm, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. Every few hours a nurse would come by and adjust the bag, and you had to just sit there like a helpless child. It made your skin crawl. You weren’t even scared of needles, not really—it was the being plugged in part that made your chest tight.

And honestly?

You were done.

You looked toward the door. No nurses. No heroes. The hallway was quiet. Probably lunchtime.

You glanced down at your arm.

“This is a terrible idea,” you muttered under your breath.

Then you yanked the IV out.

It came free with a squelch and a tiny spurt of blood, and you slapped your hand over it with a hiss. “Ow, ow, ow—grossgrossgross—”

A few drops of saline hit the sheets as the IV line swung freely like a limp vine. You shoved it aside like it was cursed, pressing a tissue to your bleeding arm.

You felt instantly better.

But the second you relaxed, the door opened.

“…What the hell are you doing?” Aizawa’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

You flinched.

“I was—uh,” you started, hiding the bloody tissue behind your back. “Nothing?”

He strode over in three long steps, eyes scanning the scene. The IV was dangling. The bandage was slipping. Your arm was still dripping faintly.

“You pulled it out?!” he barked.

You winced. “It felt gross, okay?! I’m not a science experiment—!”

“You’re a hospital patient,” Aizawa snapped, grabbing a clean cloth and pressing it to your arm. “This is here to keep you alive. You don’t get to decide to sabotage your care because it’s ‘gross.’”

“I didn’t sabotage anything!” you protested. “I’m just—ugh—it’s my body, let me have some say!”

“You lost that say when you let your body fall apart,” he shot back.

You went quiet.

Aizawa immediately regretted his words. His eyes softened, and his voice dropped. “…I didn’t mean it like that.”

But the silence between you stretched like a cracked window.

“I just…” you said after a while, voice small. “It made me feel like I wasn’t even in control anymore. Like everyone’s poking me and watching me and I’m not even—me anymore.”

Aizawa let out a slow breath. “Okay. Okay. I get it.”

You blinked. “You do?”

“I do,” he nodded. “But that doesn’t change the fact that this is still serious. You need those fluids.”

“…What if I drink more instead?” you offered weakly. “Like, a million electrolytes. And juice. And water. I’ll turn into a human Capri Sun.”

Aizawa gave you the driest look known to man.

“I’m being reasonable,” you added.

“You ripped a needle out of your arm.”

“...Emotionally reasonable, then.”

Before he could reply, the door burst open.

Midnight stormed in, Recovery Girl behind her.

“What happened? The monitor started freaking out—oh my god, what did you do?!” Midnight gasped.

“She pulled out her IV,” Aizawa said, tone flat.

Recovery Girl looked like she might combust on the spot. “You what?!”

“It felt gross!” you shouted, holding your arm like a wounded kitten.

Midnight clutched her head. “You’ve been in this hospital for two days and already started acting like an escaped gremlin.”

You huffed. “I wasn’t escaping. I was... asserting autonomy.”

Aizawa held up the bloody cloth. “With blood loss.”

Recovery Girl marched over and sat you up straighter with surprising strength. “If you do that again, I will have someone sit on you. Understood?”

“...Kinky,” you mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Mmhm.”

Midnight crossed her arms. “Do you hate the needle part or the ‘hooked up to something’ part?”

“…Both,” you admitted. “But mostly the hooked up part. It’s like I’m a USB stick.”

Recovery Girl pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. We’ll switch you to oral hydration and supplements if your blood pressure stabilizes over the next 12 hours. One more dip and you’re getting a double IV.”

You shivered. “Fine. Deal. Oral hydration or death.”

Midnight raised an eyebrow. “Dramatic much?”

“You’re literally talking to someone who steam-bleeds and passed out running down a hallway,” you said, deadpan. “Dramatic is my brand.”

Aizawa exhaled. “I’m too tired for this.”

“I’m tired, you’re just tired of me,” you teased.

He didn’t even crack a smile.

Midnight walked over and ruffled your hair. “Let’s just try to keep the holes in your arm where they belong, yeah?”

You nodded. “No promises.”

“Reader.”

“Okay, okay—I’ll be good. Kind of. Mostly. I’ll aim for like... 70%.”

Midnight looked at Aizawa. “That’s the best we’re gonna get.”

Aizawa just rubbed his temples again.