#we are a Solid chunk through

[sachermorte]

so the thing about english is that people think it's so divorced from other germanic languages based on like. words. I've even heard people try to insist that english is a romance language. because of that whole messy business in 1066 with out-of-wedlock willy and his band of naughty normans. and now a good chunk of the vocabulary is french or whatever and they're prestigious so not using them makes you sound like a rube and this and that and the other

and yes william the conqueror will never be safe from me. I will have my revenge on him. he fucked up a perfectly good germanic language is what he did. this will be me in hell

but the thing is that most words in, say, german do have a one to one english equivalent. not all hope is lost, for those who still dare to see it. it's just that you 1066pilled normancels aren't looking in the right place

dog (en) ≠ der Hund (de) but der Hund (de) -> hound (en)

look with your special eyes. that one was easier. not all of them are this intuitive because of semantic narrowing and broadening and waltzing and hokey-pokeying and whatever else. I'll give you a few more

animal (en) ≠ das Tier (de)

aha! you think. I've got him on the ropes now.

but then

das Tier (de) -> deer (en)

nooooo!! you whine and cry in gay baby jail. the consonants are different!!! listen to me. listen, I say, putting both my hands on your shoulder. /t/and /d/ are the same sound. you just put your voice behind one of them.

nooooooooo!! you wail. deer are animals but not all animals are deer!!! listen to me. LISTEN. they used to be. animals used to be deer. that's just what we called them. it was a long time ago. it was a weird time in all our lives. it's okay.

let's try for a verb this time

to die (en) ≠ sterben (de) but sterben (de) -> to starve

same principle with the consonants, we're just changing a stop (where we completely stop the airflow and then let it through) for a fricative (where we still let some air go through. idk where it's going. maybe to its job or something.)

to starve used to mean generally to die, not just to die of malnourishment. we do that a lot. we take one word for a lot of things and make it mean one thing. or take one word for one thing and make it mean a lot of things. this is common and normal.

"okay but roland," you say, suddenly coming up with an argument. "what about tree? trees are super common. I don't think we'd fuck around too much with that. the german word is baum! what about THAT?"

"when did you learn german?" I ask, but then decide it isn't relevant right at this very moment. but fine.

tree (en) ≠ der Baum (de) but der Baum (de) -> beam (en)

beam??? you ask incredulously. beam???? BEAM?????? you continue with the same tone and cadence of captain holt from brooklyn 99.

yes. beam. like the evil beams from my eye I'm going to hit you with if you don't stop shouting.

but the vowels!!! you howl.

listen. listen to me. the vowels mean nothing. absolutely nothing. they're fluid like water. it got raised in english.

"WHAT DOES RAISED MEAN"

it doesn't matter right now. they were raised better than you, at least. stop shouting. open your eyes and see what god has given you. they're the same word.

"they're NOT the same word. they mean different things!"

we've been over this. they didn't used to. a beam was (and is) a long solid piece of wood. much like the long solid piece of wood I showed your mother last night.

FAQ:

Q: could english be some kind of germanic-romance hybrid?

A: do you become a sexy thing from the black lagoon just because you dressed up as one for halloween? english may have gotten a lot of vocabulary from norman french, but its history and syntax are distinctly germanic. that's what we base these things on.

Q: okay but what does it matter? this doesn't actually affect my day to day life

A: you come into my house? you come into my house, the house of an autistic man living in vienna austria and studying english linguistics and you ask me what does it matter? sit back down. I was going to let you go but now I have powerpoints to show you

Q: you're stupid and wrong and gay and a bad person

A: I know it's you, Willy

[bloomzone]

ALRIGHT, let’s keep it REAL for a second. You know the drill—you're on your phone, thinking, "I'll just scroll for a minute," but then one TikTok turns into 20, and before you know it, you’ve wasted an hour or two, and your to-do list is still staring at you, untouched. We’ve all been there. You didn’t even mean to procrastinate, but somehow, scrolling has become your default LIKE UR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. Now you’re sitting there, realizing you’ve literally accomplished nothing, and you’re feeling the pressure creeping up. The guilt sets in, and suddenly the task seems way bigger than it actually is. It’s like time got stolen from you, but the problem is, you let it happen. And that’s okay—we’ve all been there, but let’s talk about how we can stop this cycle and get back on track.So how do we actually break this HABIT and get YOUR SHIT TOGETHER ? First, time-blocking is a solid strategy. HEAR ME OUT Don’t think you need to study for hours straight. Start small—set a timer for 20-30 minutes where you focus only on your homework, then take a 5-10 minute break. You’ll be surprised how much you can get done in those short bursts, and the breaks will keep you from feeling burned out. NEEEXT get your phone out of your face SERIOUSLY, put THAT SHIT it in another room or at least out of reach while you’re working the temptation to check social media is too strong, and if you don’t see it, you won’t even remember it’s there. Also, let’s be honest, a lot of us scroll because we’re avoiding something. So, try this: break your tasks into super small chunks. Instead of saying “I need to finish this whole chapter,” say “I’ll do the first page, then the next,” and slowly build from there. Turn off notifications, too. If you know a text or Instagram notification is going to pull you away from your work, MUTE THAT SHIT ! Your friends and memes can wait. And finally, remember YOUR FUCKING DREAMS UR GOAAALS LIKE GUUURL U WANT TO BE A RICH WORK FOR IIIIT ..When you're tempted to procrastinate, think about why you're putting in the work. Whether it’s to feel less stressed or to actually enjoy your weekends because you’ve gotten stuff done, reminding yourself of your end goal helps you push through the urge to scroll. So yeah, it’s not about being perfect—just about taking small steps every day. You don’t need to be working 24/7, but get focused when you need to, and trust me, you’ll see the difference !

© bᥣoom >⁠.⁠<

[unteriors]

I assume you’ve probably answered this before, but what exactly is the underlying politics of this blog? I don’t quite understand the connection between neoliberal capitalism and pictures of desolate housing listings.

Thanks if you take the time to reply! -anon

We live in a bizarre intermediate period where capitalism appears to be eating itself. I originally came across the Gramsci quote in the header via Noam Chomsky in 2015/2016, when he was using it to refer to the pre-Trump lunacy that was taking over the Republican Party. In the US, this seems to have been a sort of cancerous outgrowth of decades of austerity and privatisation and deregulation that began with the end of Bretton Woods and took off in earnest in the 80s under Reagan. Similar processes have been at work to varying degrees across much of the world, throbbing occasionally with particular enthusiasm depending on the elected government, abating temporarily during other periods of Third Way-ite labour stagnation. Housing is at the core of these recent historical trends, and of the relationship between the government and its citizens. I don't know if it could exactly be called the main driving factor, but it plays an enormous role in how we work, how we form relationships, and how we interface with society generally. I remember reading a quote from a conservative politician in the UK in the 80s, responding to a question about why they didn't build more public housing to address the growing homelessness problem; he said something to the effect of 'that would just breed another generation of Labour voters.' I think the cannier politicians (and business leaders) are very aware of their capacity to shape our lives through housing like this.

A similar process has been at work in my country since World War II. We had a succession of two very good Labor Prime Ministers during the 1940s: John Curtin and Ben Chifley. They developed our version of the vast postwar public housing programs that most Western countries had. This provided stable, affordable (or often just free) housing for a huge chunk of the population who wouldn't have had access to it before the war. After Chifley, a conservative government under Robert Menzies came to power in a wave of anti-communist hysteria. Menzies appealed directly to a class of the population which he called the 'forgotten people': people in the middle strata of society who, in his characterisation, didn't get involved in trade unions or radical political organisations, didn't protest, and just wanted to get on with their lives in an apolitical solitude. In reality, this was less of a class of people that already existed and more one he set out to proactively create. He did this, in part, by altering the public housing scheme to give the baby boomers the right to buy the property the government had given them. This entrenched home ownership and, arguably, introduced a level of scarcity to the public housing stock in the long-run, and set the groundwork for later government support of housing as a financial asset, guaranteed to appreciate. It also, in a way, helped create that class of 'quiet' Australian: a solid middle 75-80% of the population that could be guaranteed a comfortable, suburban lifestyle, within an apolitical bubble quietly guaranteed by interventions into the economy by the government and regulation of the housing market in their favour. Over the years, this proportion of the population has gradually decreased, more markedly so since the overt financialisation of housing under John Howard in the early 2000s, and it's fallen off a cliff since COVID.

There's a tradition in art that I've been interested in for a while which involves broadening creative fields (in artmaking or criticism) through direct engagement with fields of work, of machine production, of lived experience or other symptoms of the oppressive political reality we live under (realism in the Linda Nochlin sense). You see it in the controversy around Courbet's paintings of manual workers, much of Andy Warhol's work and general contempt for the art world (his silkscreens of graphic photos of car crashes he found in the newspaper stand out to me), or more recently some of the controversy that came from Tracey Emin's installations. More broadly, there's something to be said about the conscious effort to make transparent and use aesthetically the machine behind the reproduction, or distribution, or amplification, etc., of art. The use of feedback in music seem to me to be an example of this. To use a couple of examples of a period of music I'm particularly interested in, grunge is one example, but so are reggae sound systems which use custom-made valve amps that give an enormous low-end to vinyls they would play, to the point of using the records as instruments to create a sort of rumbling distortion (Jah Shaka's sessions seem to have premediated alternative rock, operating on parallel tracks). These forms of creative production seem to organically emerge from the detritus of industrialisation, and seem to respond to its alienation and atomisation of human relations. I'm interested in breaking the functionality of illegitimate systems. At uni I took a series of photographs of the backs of shops. There was something comforting in identifying how a commercial entity wanted to be presented visually, and then representing it in the exact opposite way. Similarly, though I don't know if this could be considered an art project, I like an incompetent realtor. The aesthetic qualities of a real estate listing that completely fails in its intended purpose can be quite rich, in some ways liberating. An enormous amount of imagery is generated by the institutional machinery of commercial institutions, much of it ephemeral. If you rescue some visual artifacts from this increasingly engorged flood and look at them against their intended purpose you get a little window into the broader world, where advertising agencies and algorithms and real estate agents and SEI specialists, etc., aren't constantly grabbing your face and forcing you to look at the most boring and monetisable parts of the visual world. You have the opportunity to experience fear, hate, genuine nostalgia and melancholy, various other complex passionate experiences inaccessible in the neoliberal digital machine perversion of visual culture and creative experience.

This is a kind of a roundabout way of answering your question. Maybe part of my motivation has something to do with the relationship between art and work. If you reject the art as some higher, privileged category interpretation (i.e. this is just a photograph, but this other photograph is Art), then the boundaries of what constitutes art, or what can be read as art, are pretty porous. The machinery of industrialisation and capitalism took away the ability of people working in home workshops to have some control and creative involvement in their own working lives and turned them into atomised, specialised machine parts at the mercy of their employers and the market. The parts of work that could be considered contiguous with what we call art have been severed. Art and artists have suffered the same effects; contemporary artists seem to me not that different from other independent professionals. If you go to a dentist's office on Cambridge Street in Perth they'll often have a brochure with a blurb about their history and their mission as medical professionals, etc., on the front counter, and by the same token every artist in an exhibition is taught to provide their own little didactic overview of their niche interests, mostly independent from deeper, shared commitments (lumped together like a sack of potatoes, per Marx). I feel it makes sense to reach back out into other parts of the economy force art into them.

[mortalityplays]

Forgive me if I'm mistaking you for another person, but I remember you speaking at multiple points on the unsustainability of free social media services (I think especially in response to the cohost collapse?), and I'm curious on what your thoughts on bluesky are so far. I'm not an expert on the subject, but from what I've read previously it seemed like they were on track to be financially sustainable, but I don't know if the recent floods of users has thrown those projections off. Sorry if I'm mixing you up with someone else on my timeline, in that case just ignore me.

bluesky will almost certainly follow the same trajectory of monetisation => bloat => enshittification => decline as every other major platform built on venture capital and user hoarding. it's a terrible model that only works in the short term as a mirage for attracting funding and making founders look good for a year or two before they sell.

you can see the same effect in the decline of all the subscription box services that came into vogue just before covid: they feel great to use for as long as the initial injection of venture funding lasts, because the purpose of that funding at that stage is to attract users and impress the next round of funders with how pleasant/intuitive/efficient/ethical/good value the service is. that's the stage where they're handing out freebies and bowling over influencers, and every ingredient in the box is fresh and high quality and locally sourced. wow what a good deal, what a great system!!! why hasn't anyone done this before? the answer is because it's unsustainable by design. they rack up good reviews, sign on a billion new users, attract new funding from a bunch of much more credulous investors, and then gut all of the expensive parts. portions get smaller, ingredients get worse, packaging gets flimsier, prices go up, freebies turn into "5% off your first 9 boxes when you invite 3 friends", and customer service vanishes.

with social media (and platforms like discord) the logic is the same, it's just a little less glaringly obvious to the end user because they're not coming home to leaking packages of rancid chicken on the doorstep. bluesky has an advantage over tiny operations like cohost because it was founded by a billionaire making a point for the sake of his own image. it got a really significant chunk of startup funding, and the owner had existing connections and rep in the space to attract more. That's why it has survived the goldrush period, why it still feels good to use, and why users who have been burned so many times before are finally accepting it as a stable, reliable option. It's still in its venture capital honeymoon phase where the only thing worth spending money on is making the service attractive to users.

What I expect we will see next, with another mass influx of users from twitter and new funding from a rogue's gallery of tech venture sickos led by Blockchain Capital is a strong ramp up into monetising that userbase. They've already been pretty forthright about how they plan to do this, and I think it's a solid roadmap of how Bluesky will bloat and decay over the next few years:

this is a huge lol. don't worry, we're not going to hyperfinancialize the social experience through NFTs. the thing even crypto freaks started feigning amnesia about a year ago. real "our health conscious sodas are 100% arsenic free" messaging here. They know perfectly well that rubes users are suspicious of their typical 5 dimensional tech finance chess games and are patting our hands about last week's bogeymen so nobody worries too hard about whatever 'decentralised developer ecosystem' just happens to be helmed by a bunch of crypto guys. this definitely means something good and based and not a google-like single sign on user data harvesting operation.

This is the same shit that's currently rotting the floorboards of discord. Bluntly, there is no way to run a platform on this scale without gating functionality behind paid services. Discord has been squeezing free-tier file uploads and call quality etc. down steadily and cranking up subscription costs over the last year or two, throwing in chaff like animated avatar frames to try and justify the user cost. They're also doing the same misdirection thing again here, pointing to Thing We All Hate to deflect from thing we might not like very much when they do it. Booo elon booo we all hate elon!!! wait how do we feel about subscription models again,

watch out for this to kill porn on bsky like it has killed porn on every other social platform 👍 boooo we hate elon boooo stupid idiot and his 'everything app' booooo wait why do you need my tax information, what's that about mastercard,

Look, we are all aware social media is a money pit. Let's not forget dorsey was looking to sell twitter in the first place, long before elon's very public plunge into total online derangement. Subscription services are not going to plug the hole, so we are gradually going to see more and more spaghetti thrown at the wall while early funders shuffle cards and do their pyramid scheme bit bringing in stupider and stupider investments. this is the window in which bluesky will be temporarily worth using for us, for the idiot public, the poorly rendered crowd jpegs in the background of their venture capital MOBA. it's in their interests to slow and pad the decline as much as possible, because that is how they get maximally paid.

Given the scale of the money involved, and dorsey's weird ego investment, I think bluesky will probably manage a controlled drift for a good few years before it gets really bloated and painful. and by then we will all be so used to the *checks notes* decentralised developer ecosystem that we'll just be posting through it, watching another generation of columnists call another collapsing platform 'their beloved hellsite' and passing around that meme about not getting out of our chairs no sir until idk we all get on a fediverse neurolink alternative to stick it to the elongated muskrat and our brains pop peacefully in our sleep. which I guess is the closest thing to viability any social media platform can achieve.

anyway diogenes the cynic is also on bluesky

[ddejavvu]

omg tyler owens x shy!reader where they got separated (in a storm or whatever you’d like) and reader is usually so hesitant on public PDA but tyler got hurt and the team is shocked to see reader freaking out over him and he’s just being so gentle and calm

feel free to change whatever 🫶🏼💕 thank you for putting the imagination into words so well!!!

Aftermath - Tyler Owens x Reader

come participate in tyler owens night !

You're typically less obnoxious about your relationship with Tyler Owens in front of his mass of fans, but Tyler isn't typically bleeding from a head wound, so today is different all-around.

One of the windows of his truck had broken, shattered and disappeared into the mass of swirling winds and debris, and an unfortunately sharp chunk of the mess had slashed Tyler across the forehead, leaving an open gash in its wake. Long but thankfully shallow, the cut drips deceptively copious amounts of blood down his face, and your fingers desperately try clearing it away.

"Baby, baby, I'm okay." He vows, keeping his voice low even though it's shaking. Perhaps his adrenaline junkie habits do have a ceiling.

"You're not okay," Your voice wobbles as if you yourself had been in the twister, instead of watching on his live stream as his head was cut open, "That- that thing could have hit your eye, it was so- so close, or it could have hit-" You devolve into deep, choking sobs, one that rip gasps from your throat and leave your heart pounding.

"Breathe." Tyler prompts you, taking your face in his shaking hands the way you're holding his, "Breathe. It didn't go through my eye. It went through my forehead, and it's just a little thing. It's gonna heal up just fine- just need some stitches. And I'll get the window fixed tomorrow, before anything else. 'Cause-" He breaks off, voice still shaky and hollow, "That's- that shouldn't have happened. My truck's supposed to be stronger than that."

"If it happens again," You fret, voice slowly strengthening as you muscle down your aching sobs, "If-"

"No, it's not- it's not gonna happen again." Tyler's hands squeeze your face gently, providing comforting pressure as he holds you steadily against him, "I'll test it myself. I'll- I'll bash the windows with a hammer or somethin', and- and make sure they won't break."

"Don't bash your windows with a hammer," You laugh, and it's a wet, barely-there sound, "That's- that sounds dangerous. And expensive."

"Okay." He nods, and you stare at each other in reverie, one coming off of the high of near-mortality and the other sponging away grief that had already taken up residence over the heart. Tyler is alive, he's injured but he's alive, and you'll reinforce the truck with solid steel if you have to, just to be sure a stray chunk of debris doesn't shatter the window again.

"Can- can you take a little break?" You ask Tyler, and you're not doing it on purpose, but you're pretty sure your eyes are stuck in puppy-mode, and it must be lethal, "I don't want you going back into a storm for- for, I dunno, a few weeks maybe. I just- let your head heal first, please?"

"Alright. Yeah, a- a break sounds nice," Tyler admits, grinning absently at you. You wonder if his body is out of its fight-or-flight response yet, "Maybe even a month? We'll see how the channel does, 'make sure we don't lose too much of an audience. We can pay the bills until then."

"Thank you," You breathe, inches away from Tyler's face as you drink him in, and you're unsure whether you're thanking him for stepping down and playing it safe, or whether you're thanking the universe for sparing him by an inch.

"Mm-hm," He nods, and you really can't tell whether he's talking to you or the universe either. Maybe a transcendent mix of both, but as long as there's still air in his lungs and fire in his eyes, you don't care too much about the details.

[chuwenjie]

Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse comes out later today so I wanted to write a post reflecting on my journey and experience working on this movie. So many people have supported me through this and I am so thankful to each and every one of you!

Text version of this post under the cut:

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse comes out tonight. It feels really weird to be typing that out right now. I worked on the movie as a visdev artist for the last 2.5 years, from 2020 to 2023. Long post incoming.

There are a lot of reasons why I'd consider this film to be one of the most ambitious animated films to ever be made. As artists, we were asked to push ourselves far beyond our comfort zones and do things that had never been done before in animation.

Every time we reached a point where most people would say "this must possibly be as creative and weird as it gets," our entire team of artists and animators would smash right through the ceiling. The driving direction for the visuals of the film was to push the limits of every single frame; to challenge audience expectations and make something truly original.

The best thing about this film was that there wasn't a single boring day working on this movie. The hardest thing about this film was also that there wasn't a single boring day working on this movie.

There were times while working on this where the imposter syndrome hit me hard. This was my first big movie, and what a hell of a first movie to get thrust into.

I came in only a few years out of school with absolutely no idea what the hell I was doing. I constantly feared that someone had made a mistake in bringing me onto this film, and I was going to let everyone down. There was a solid chunk of those 2.5 years where I wasn't sure if animation was the right path for me.

If there's anything I could tell my past self it would be this: there are so many people who love you and believe in you. There will be a time when you get to stand on the other side of it, look back on everything and see how far you came.

I'm still working on self-acceptance every day (it will be a lifelong struggle, I'm sure), but I'm glad I didn't give up on myself. I'm proud of myself and my contributions to this film, and I'm certain that this movie will continue to change and shape the animation landscape just as the first one did. That's truly a special feeling to have been a part of. I am so incredibly grateful to every single person who helped me along this journey.

Here come the thanks:

To the ENTIRE visdev & art crew- it's been an honor getting to work alongside each and every one of you. My jaw is literally still on the floor from seeing your incredible talent day after day.

I want to thank Tiffany and Felicia especially for being there for me through tough times- I admire and respect you both so much as artists, and even better than that, my life is greatly enriched for being able to call you my friends.

Thank you Patrick and Dean for taking chances on me, teaching me so much about art and what I'm capable of, and encouraging me along the way. To Aymeric, your art is one of the reasons I initially became interested in animation and you have been one of the kindest & most empathetic mentors I could ever have asked for.

I want to thank my wonderful parents for believing in me always and raising me into the person I am today: everything I do in life is to make you proud. To my brother Andrew who is perpetually awake at 3 AM when I need someone to talk to- thank you for always picking up the phone and making me laugh.

And finally to my partner Luke for making me grilled cheeses on all of the difficult days, for never getting sick of me even when all I would ever talk about was work, and for patiently and steadfastly loving me throughout this entire thing. I don't think I could've done it without you.

Starting tomorrow I will begin posting and sharing some of the art I made for this movie; I'm looking forward to sharing some of my personal favorites with you. I hope each and every one of you enjoys Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse when it hits theaters later today!

[hollowed-theory-hall]

We don't talk enough about Ron's mean streak

Like, I saw a lot of people talk about how funny Ron is (which is true, he's genuinely one of the funnier characters in the series), how loyal he is when it counts, he's brave as hell, and he is really smart, just not book smart. But what I don't see talked about enough (maybe it's just me though), is Ron Weasley's mean streak.

I talked about how Harry most definitely has what it takes to be a Slytherin, can be scary, and is willing to kill when push comes to shove. I also mentioned Hermione's ruthlessness, but I didn't discuss Ron's mean streak which is a joy when I see it crop up in the book. When it comes up, it always reminds me of the twins, and I feel like that's where Ron got it from.

So I'm just going to bring up a few quotes I had in my notes showing Ron's mean streak, I'm sure I missed some from the earlier books, but I find it a fun aspect of his character.

Snape cried: “Expelliarmus!” There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor. Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. “Do you think he’s all right?” she squealed through her fingers. “Who cares?” said Harry and Ron together.

(CoS, 178)

This type of reaction is seen with Ron pretty often. He really doesn't care when someone he dislikes is hurt or injured and he is very vocal about it. He and Harry kinda share this trait, as seen above.

Later in the other quotes I bring up, I show that Hermione is the one usually playing morality police for Ron and Harry even if she herself isn't as innocent as she likes to act.

He raised Ron’s Spellotaped wand high over his head and yelled, “Obliviate!” The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. Harry flung his arms over his head and ran, slipping over the coils of snake skin, out of the way of great chunks of tunnel ceiling that were thundering to the floor. Next moment, he was standing alone, gazing at a solid wall of broken rock. “Ron!” he shouted. “Are you okay? Ron!” “I’m here!” came Ron’s muffled voice from behind the rockfall. “I’m okay — this git’s not, though — he got blasted by the wand —” There was a dull thud and a loud “ow!” It sounded as though Ron had just kicked Lockhart in the shins.

(CoS, 280)

I love this, Lockhart explodes the cave, obliviates himself, and Ron's reaction is to kick him in the shins. I don't know, I just find it hilarious.

“Don’t talk to me,” Ron said quietly to Harry and Hermione as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened. “Why not?” said Hermione in surprise. “Because I want to fix that in my memory forever,” said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. “Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret . . .” Harry and Hermione both laughed, and Hermione began doling beef casserole onto each of their plates. “He could have really hurt Malfoy, though,” she said. “It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it —” “Hermione!” said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, “you’re ruining the best moment of my life!”

(GoF, 207)

Here you see Hermione the morality police crop up, but I'm talking about Ron here.

Hermione is definitely right in that Draco could've been seriously hurt, but Ron is just glad he saw Malfoy suffering. Actually, in the scene before it, Ron was the one who wanted to curse Malfoy and was held back by Harry and Hermione (as well as in the eat slugs situation in CoS), like, with as much as Harry calls Draco his nemesis, it really feels like Ron is the one that hates Draco and thinks of him as his nemesis.

“She’s an awful woman [Umbridge],” said Hermione in a small voice. “Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in . . . we’ve got to do something about her.” “I suggested poison,” said Ron grimly.

(OotP, 324)

I love you, Ron.

This is one of my favorite quotes for him. Hermione shuts down the poison idea, but I think they should've given it a shot, I think it could've been fun.

It would've been cathartic for them at least.

“You take Remedial Potions?” asked Zacharias Smith superciliously, having cornered Harry in the entrance hall after lunch. “Good Lord, you must be terrible, Snape doesn’t usually give extra lessons, does he?” As Smith strode away in an annoyingly buoyant fashion, Ron glared after him. “Shall I jinx him? I can still get him from here,” he said, raising his wand and taking aim between Smith’s shoulder blades. “Forget it,” said Harry dismally. “It’s what everyone’s going to think, isn’t it? That I’m really stup —”

(OotP, 528)

I love how Ron always has Harry's back and is ready to fight anyone (including Sirius who he thought was a mass murderer when he was 13 with a broken leg) for Harry's sake. It's a real vibe the Golden Trio has that they're just ready to drop everything and curse out anyone for each other's sake. They are just so protective of each other and I love this for them, how they are all just each other's people, yk.

It's also another example of how Ron is the one of the trio that offers violence as the answer the most often.

“Reparo!” said Hermione quickly, mending Ron’s cup with a wave of her wand. “That’s all very well, but what if Montague’s permanently injured?” “Who cares?” said Ron irritably, while his teacup stood drunkenly again, trembling violently at the knees. “Montague shouldn’t have tried to take all those points from Gryffindor, should he? If you want to worry about anyone, Hermione, worry about me!”

(OotP, 679)

Again Ron doesn't care for the injury of people who he considers deserving.

“Madam Pomfrey says she’s just in shock,” whispered Hermione. “Sulking, more like,” said Ginny. “Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this,” said Ron, and with his tongue he made soft clip-clopping noises. Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking wildly around.

(OotP, 849)

Like, regardless of whether Umbridge was SAed or not (for the record, I don't think she was) it's not a nice thing to do. Umbridge is awful, but this is Ron literally spreading salt on the wound. but like I mentioned above, she's in the "deserving it" category.

“will you stop pretending to be asleep when Lavender comes to see you? She’s driving me mad as well.” “Oh,” said Ron, looking sheepish. “Yeah. All right.” “If you don’t want to go out with her anymore, just tell her,” said Harry.

(HBP, 411)

That is honestly so mean. Like, I'm not Lavender's biggest fan, I find her annoying, but she's a teenage girl in her maybe first relationship and she did nothing really wrong. I feel truly sorry for her for how Ron treated her, it wasn't really her fault. It's just mean that he pretends to sleep instead of talking to her.

“Same as he wanted at Christmas,” shrugged Harry. “Wanted me to give him inside information on Dumbledore and be the Ministry’s new poster boy.” Ron seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then he said loudly to Hermione, “Look, let me go back and hit Percy!” “No,” she said firmly, grabbing his arm. “It’ll make me feel better!”

(HBP, 650)

Like, this is peak sibling behavior, but as I mentioned earlier, Ron tends to want to resort to violence more often than Harry and Hermione do (especially in the earlier books, as Harry does grow angrier after Sirius' death). He is usually the one to bring violence up, and I find it an interesting aspect of his character.

And Ron is correct in the fact hitting Percy would make him feel better. Not saying if it's the right thing to do, but Ron really would experience it as satisfying because Percy would deserve it in his mind.

“What are we going to do with them?” Ron whispered to Harry through the dark; then, even more quietly, “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.” Hermione shuddered and took a step backward. Harry shook his head.

(DH, 167)

As I mentioned in one of the Harry posts, Harry is calling the shots, but Ron is the one who offered to kill the Death Eaters. He put that idea on the table. He was relieved when Harry said they shouldn't kill them, but if Harry said it'd be better if they killed them — Ron would've backed him up and done it, while Hermione might've preferred to pretend it wasn't happening.

“That treacherous old bleeder.” Ron panted, emerging from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and throwing it to Harry. “Hermione you’re a genius, a total genius. I can’t believe we got out of that.” “Cave Inimicum. . . Didn’t I say it was an Erumpent horn, didn’t I tell him? And now his house has been blown apart!” “Serves him right,” said Ron, examining his torn jeans and the cuts to his legs, “What’d you reckon they’ll do to him?” “Oh I hope they don’t kill him!” groaned Hermione, “That’s why I wanted the Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn’t been lying!”

(DH, 424)

Again, Ron not caring/enjoying when people who deserve it suffer. Xenophilius wanted to help them, he tried to persuade them not to come into his home at first so he wouldn't give them in, he tried so hard even though the Death Eaters had his daughter! Harry rightly feels bad for Xenophilius and Luna, it's easy to understand why he did what he did.

Hermione and Harry hope he is fine, but Ron is the one who thinks he has it coming. That he deserves to have his house blown up for betraying them, regardless of his reasoning.

I think Ron is the most black-and-white in his thoughts about people among the trio. There are those who deserve anything that comes to them and those who don't. Specific circumstances and context don't really play a part in what bad people deserve coming to them.

I don't know, I just find this interesting.

Harry has the compassion to understand people, even ones who harmed him or the people he cares about, he is capable of forgiving Voldemort and never really hated Draco.

Hermione is pretty black-and-white in her view of people, having the people she trusts and those she doesn't. She trusts Snape because he's an authority figure trusted by Dumbledore (and Hermione is the one who is truly Dumbledore's woman true and true in the books). Her view on people has less to do with their actions, but who they are endorsed by. She is compassionate to Xenophilius because he's Luna's dad, and Luna is good, therefore, she wouldn't love someone who is bad.

Ron is black-and-white in how he sees people in a very different way than Hermione. He looks at actions, and if you do anything to try and harm him or people he cares about, you get on the shit list. Getting out of Ron's shit list is probably not easy, he doesn't strike me as one who forgives easily and readily the way Harry does, but he does forgive. Like actions can get you on his shit list, actions can get you out. But once a person is on the shit list, they deserve any harm that comes their way.

But Ron is really loyal, and there are people he loves who are basically immune from going on the shit list (like his family, yes, even Percy. While he wants to hit him, I don't believe Ron ever really wished death on Percy). And there is just something interesting about Ron, with his mean streak and everything, being the glue that holds the trio together. Like, in Deathly Hallows once he leaves, Harry and Hermione barely talk to each other, they are barely friends without Ron there.

I don't know, I just love Ron. I love how he is loyal, and friendship glue, but has just as much of a mean streak to him as Harry and Hermione can pull. I just feel like he's sometimes left out of the discussion of how ruthless Harry and Hermione could be. Like, it's true, both of them can be ruthless, but don't leave Ron out. He can be ruthless and actually offers violence as a solution more often than Harry or Hermione do.

[thebunnednun]

"EAT YER SOUP!"

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

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

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

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

Ya like Jane Austen? You'll love this.

Part 1 of 2.

It started as a perfectly normal winter day in Japan. 

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

That kind of morning that invited peace.

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

It was the perfect snow day.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” 

Until it wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I think that's a slur."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lemme see what you have?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was right in the thick of it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cheater!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this the neutral party gathering place?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima blinked, confused. “Gentle huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“THE EMPRESS!” 

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

“All hail the Snow Empress!”

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

“So wise! So powerful! So benevolent!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shinsou smirked, “Peace restored, Empress.”

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

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

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

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“You’re dead, Ponytail.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello, Consort.”

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

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

“Oi! Are you ignoring me?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Destroy me, huh?”

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

“Tch. How distasteful.”

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

“I know right?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Back up.”

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

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

“Let’s settle this, shall we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bro, he probably just wants dark shadow!”

“SHH, let him have this!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get your lady back Bakugou!”

“Kaminari!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not a chance, Empress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And make me proud."

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

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

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

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

Iida raised his hand high, the signal for silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, the sky shifted.

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

Your face blanched.

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

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

"Always," Momo replied, her tone clipped.

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

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

But it was too late.

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

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

Iida stepped forward, raising his arm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It got quiet as shit for a moment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yo, Kiri! Get over here!"

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

"Eijirou, don’t—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hell yeah! Unbreakable for life!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duel!”

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

Well, no one, actually.

The arena had fallen silent. 

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

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

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

And that was exactly what you needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the perfect clash of opposing forces.

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

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

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

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

“Tokoyami and Dark Shadow are out!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t wait for it. 

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

But that wasn’t going to stop you.

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

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

Suddenly, your back was warm—almost too warm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Victory was almost within reach. 

Almost. 

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

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

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

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

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

It was enough.

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

And that’s when you pounced.

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

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

And then—chaos.

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

 An 'acid' snowball. 

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

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

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

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

“COLD! COLD!”

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

But the chaos didn’t stop. 

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

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

But then, the worst happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was all too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too bad it’s also your folly.”

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

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

The arrogant bastard.

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

“Ahem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But now, it was personal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They had your back. You had theirs.

So….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The only one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Starting with you, his pretty little Empress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something felt... off. 

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

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

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

The group erupted in protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The group collectively gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a long pause, you nodded. Decision made.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My word is final.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He really does look like a king. 

Too bad about the attitude, though.

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

“As you wish, my Empress.”

Behind you, the bleachers devolve into chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

“I shall not go easy on thee.”

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

“Duel!”

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

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

A collective groan erupts from the bleachers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like hell I’ll forfeit.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re toast, Empress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oooooooh!” Denki howls. “Burn!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crowd gasps.

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

"Hey, are you okay—"

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

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

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

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

"KATSUKI, YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!"

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

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

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

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

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

“Not in a thousand years, Your Majesty.”

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

Without another word, you begin to strip.

And the crowd collectively loses their minds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“GET HIS ASS! GET HIS ASS!”

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

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

But you don’t care. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t notice at first, but Katsuki does—how the falling snow catches in your hair, shimmering like tiny crystals. Water droplets bead on your skin, snowflakes make a home along your arms and cheeks, making you look as if you’ve been carved out of ice and fire. 

His chest tightens, and for a brief moment, the fight fades into the background.

Katsuki inhales deeply, his voice soft and thoughtful as he mutters in his sharp, ancient tongue, 

“Mine Empress fair, thou look like you were made to be held... pressed against me, your head resting against my heart... my hand running through those locks of yours… my beautiful maiden.”

The way he says it, low and intimate, makes your breath hitch despite yourself. You blink up at him, stunned for just a moment before snapping back to reality.

“You think flattery will spare you, consort?” you sneer, your tone sharp. “You’ve terrorized good innocent people for too long. For that, you will be punished.”

Katsuki leans closer, his grin growing devilish. His voice drops to a teasing whisper, his warm lips brushing against your ear. 

“And what cruel punishment could a good, heavenly Empress like you give to me?”

You smirk, your tone laced with mischief. “Wouldn’t you love to find out?” you whisper back, your lips barely moving. Before Katsuki can react, you pivot sharply, twisting out of his grasp. His hand snaps out instinctively, but instead of grabbing you, all he catches is your cherry red robe.

And then you’re gone.

The entire crowd falls silent, stunned. Katsuki stands there, holding the robe, his head darting left and right as he searches for you. The tension is palpable, the air electric with suspense.

“Where did she go?” Ochako whispers, her eyes wide.

“Is this allowed?” Aoyama asks dramatically, clutching his chest.

“I… I don’t know!” Iida stammers, adjusting his glasses as he frantically flips through the makeshift rulebook Momo made for the snowball fight. Katsuki’s jaw tightens, his crimson eyes scanning the snowy battlefield. He clutches the robe tightly in his fist, his teeth gritted in frustration. 

“Where the hell are you, princess?”

The crowd begins murmuring, the students on the edge of their seats as they wait for your next move. Katsuki, however, stays frozen in place, his expression shifting ever so slightly. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—annoyance, yes, but also amusement. Maybe even admiration.

 Because as much as it drives him insane… he can’t help but respect the hell out of your strategy.

“Over here!~”

The teasing lilt in your voice draws Katsuki’s attention, and he spins around just in time to be met with—WHAM—a fist full of snow straight to the face.

The crowd collectively gasps, then bursts into laughter and cheers. “She got him!” Kirishima exclaims, doubling over with a hand on his stomach. Toru claps her hands together, barely holding herself up against Ojiro, who’s in tears from laughing too hard.

Katsuki stumbles back, snow dripping from his face as his sharp, vermillion eyes blaze with fury. “Oi, you little shit!” he roars, wiping his face as he surveys the battlefield for you.

But you’re gone.

“WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GO?!” His voice echoes across the snow-covered grounds as he prowls, his breath coming out in visible puffs against the freezing air.

Unbeknownst to him, you’ve already begun your plan. While the snowfall earlier had seemed like a clever defensive trick, it was all part of a bigger setup. Every flurry you summoned, every foot of snow that blanketed the field—it was a battlefield crafted just for you.

The Bakugou household might have been a force of raw fire and explosive might, but your family? You were the master of snow and ice, the complete opposite of Touya’s raging flames. Where he burned, you moved with coldness. And now, you were ready to pull your ultimate move—one inspired by none other than Kakashi-sensei himself.

“Looking for me, husband~?” you call out from another direction, but this time Katsuki doesn’t turn around. He stays rooted, glancing sharply from side to side.

“’m not falling for that shit again!” he growls, squaring his shoulders and keeping his guard up.

That’s when you strike.

You burst up from beneath a snowbank behind him, a chunk of leftover ice from Shoto’s earlier handiwork in your hands. With a grunt, you hurl it directly at him, landing a satisfying CRACK against his sexy back.

“GAH—!” Katsuki stumbles forward, spinning around just in time to see you dive back into the snow, vanishing once more like a winter ghost.

The bleachers erupt in chaos. “SHE’S A GENIUS!” Denki howls, nearly toppling over.

“She’s insane!” Momo gasps, clutching her chest, though the admiration in her voice is clear.

“She planned this from the beginning,” Shinsou mutters with a sly grin, his eyes glued to the battlefield.

“I wouldn’t want to fight her in a blizzard,” Kirishima laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head.

Katsuki growls under his breath, his frustration mounting as he stalks the field, searching for any sign of you. But the snow is your playground, and he’s a visitor in your domain. You pop up again, this time pelting him with smaller chunks of snow and ice. Katsuki raises an arm to shield himself, barking curses as he tries to locate your next hiding spot.

“Stand still, damn it!”

“Why would I do that?” you tease, your voice echoing from every direction as you continue to throw. “You’re not fast enough to catch me, consort.”

Katsuki’s patience snaps. He’s really fucking tired of that title. “Alright, that’s it—NO MORE GAMES!” He slams his fist into the ground, the force of the impact sending snow flying in every direction.

But it’s too late. The battlefield is yours, and Katsuki’s steps grow heavier with every move he makes, his frustration boiling over as he tries—and fails—to anticipate your next strike.

You grin, your breath visible as you whisper to yourself, “This is gonna be good.”

Katsuki turns just in time to see you leap out of the snow, charging toward him with a chunk of ice in hand. 

And this time, you’re aiming straight for the crown.

Iida’s voice rings out over the snowy battlefield, his words clear and commanding,

 “Both combatants are now permitted to use their quirks!”

The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and gasps, and you immediately dive back under the snow, disappearing before Katsuki can even react.

“Cowardice!” Katsuki bellows, his palms sparking with fiery explosions. The heat from his blasts instantly begins melting the snow around him, leaving patches of wet, slushy ground in his wake. “You think you can just keep hiding from me?!”

You know better, though. It doesn’t matter how much snow he melts—it’s still freezing. The moisture left behind immediately starts to refreeze, creating an icy battlefield that plays right into your hands. As Katsuki stomps around, you begin tunneling through the snow, heading toward the old “castle” structure that had been built earlier.

You’re focused on your path, moving swiftly and efficiently, but then you hear him—his voice is lower now, quieter, almost… teasing.

“Y’know, you can’t run forever, Empress,” Katsuki calls out, his tone dripping with a strange mix of irritation and amusement.

You pause, just for a moment, your ears perking up.

“Where’d all that big talk go, huh?” he continues, pacing the battlefield with slow, deliberate steps. 

“What happened to ‘punishing me,’ hah? You gonna stay under there forever like some scared little rabbit?”

Your lips twitch into a smirk, but you stay silent, continuing to carve your icy path.

Katsuki’s voice grows softer, almost a purr now, and the change sends a strange thrill down your spine. 

“C’mon, Princess. Don’t tell me you’re too shy to come out and play with me.”

‘Oh, he’s trying to bait me now.’

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips. Unfortunately, the sound echoes through the snow tunnel, and you freeze, cursing under your breath.

“Oh? Did I hear a laugh?” Katsuki’s voice is sharper now, and you can practically hear the smirk on his face. 

“You think this is funny, huh? You gonna giggle when I drag your little ass outta there?”

You bite your lip, your heart racing as you tunnel faster. The “castle” is just up ahead, and you’re almost there when you hear him again, closer this time.

“You’re lucky I think you’re cute, or I’d already have blown your little snow fort to pieces,” he says casually, like it’s just another fact of life.

You stop dead in your tracks, your eyes widening as heat rises to your cheeks. Did he just—

“Yeah, you heard me,” Katsuki says, his tone smug. “What? You thought I didn’t notice? You’re out here all icy and badass, but you think I don’t see how pretty you look with snow in your hair?”

You groan softly, covering your face with one hand as you try to collect yourself. 

‘Focus, focus! Don’t let him get in your head!’

You erupt from the snow with the precision of a predator, smashing a massive chunk of ice into Katsuki’s chest. The impact sends him sprawling onto the ground, a startled growl escaping his lips. The crowd gasps as you waste no time dashing toward the igloo-like structure that had been built earlier.

The moment you slip inside, the world grows quieter. 

The walls of the makeshift igloo muffle the shouts of your friends outside, leaving you surrounded by a tense, eerie silence. It’s surprisingly spacious inside, though the scattered playground equipment—jungle gyms, swings, and slides—creates a chaotic maze of obstacles.

You dart through the labyrinth, your breath visible in the frigid air as you scramble to find a good hiding spot. Finally, you spot a large tube at the far end of the igloo and slide inside, pressing your body against the cold plastic. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as you try to steady your breathing, willing yourself to stay calm. You can hear him now. Katsuki’s boots crunch against the frozen ground as he steps inside the igloo, his movements slow and deliberate. He’s not rushing—he doesn’t need to. 

You’re trapped in here with him, and he knows it.

“Empress,~” he calls out, his voice low and smooth, laced with that dangerous, teasing edge. He switches to the old tongue, the words rolling off his tongue like silk. “Ya cornered yourself. What now, hmm?”

You press your lips together, holding your breath as his voice echoes through the space. The way he says your title, the way he draws it out—it’s almost hypnotic, and you hate how easily it gets under your skin.

“Running away again? Not very queenly of you,” Katsuki taunts, his footsteps crunching closer. “

Yer making this too easy. You know I’m gonna find you, right? There’s nowhere to hide.”

His tone grows sweeter, more dangerous, and you can practically feel the smirk on his face.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll make sure to keep you warm once I catch you. Wouldn’t want you freezing to death before I can claim my prize.”

You clench your fists, trying to ignore the way his words send a shiver down your spine. ‘Focus,’ you tell yourself. ‘He’s just trying to mess with you. Don’t let him get in your head.’

The sound of his boots grows louder, closer. He’s circling now, like a predator stalking its prey, and your heart pounds in your chest.

“You know,” he muses, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “I like this game. Just you and me, no audience, no rules.” He pauses, and you hear him chuckle softly. “I wonder how long you can keep hiding before you slip up. Or maybe…” 

“You want me to catch you?”

You grit your teeth, the heat rising to your cheeks as his words sink in. The nerve of him—assuming you’d want to lose this on purpose! You shake your head, determined to prove him wrong.

The tube feels colder against your back as you lie completely still, hoping the darkness hides you well enough. He’ll have to crawl through a maze of equipment to get to you, and with his broad shoulders and sheer size, it’ll slow him down. At least, that’s what you’re banking on.

“C’mon, Empress,” Katsuki calls out again, his voice closer now. “You can’t hide forever. Make it easy on yourself and come out.”

The sound of his boots stops suddenly, and the silence is deafening. You hold your breath, straining to listen for any sign of movement. Then, softly, he speaks again, his tone dripping with mockery and amusement. 

“What’s the matter? Afraid of what’ll happen when I catch you?”

You can’t help but smirk despite yourself. ‘Afraid?’ Not a chance. If anything, he should be afraid of what you’ve got planned next. 

You’re lying in the tube, heart pounding in your chest as you wait. You had calculated every possible move he might make. The bottom. Of course, he’d come from the bottom. But the plan falters spectacularly when a pair of strong, warm hands grab you—from above.

“Gotcha, Empress!” 

@willnetries, I passed out like 12 times but your food is ready! <33

Part 2 is right here

This was my first time trying to write the whole of class 1a into a fic and I need to lay down.

I DON'T OWN THE IMAGES!!!!

My requests are free and open.

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz,

Master lists in question: Katsuki's Sugar baby, Katsuki's Ex who secretly had his baby

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more Katsuki, Aizawa, and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too.

You can also tip me a coffee if you want. (Just made it, so excited! \(≧▽≦)/ <33)

Remember: Comments and likes, they really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ -Angie

[doumadono]

✨ SINFUL SUNDAY BITCHES ✨

Can we get some villain Bakugo corrupting pro hero reader?

Warnings: smut w/o plot, non-con elements, rough smut, pussy fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, fem prohero!reader, villain!Bakugo, semi-public, a bit of humiliation and degradation?, Bakugo being sardonic, a little of power play, forced orgasm

A/N: this request got the second highest number of votes during another Sinful Sunday poll I held. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA

The night was cloaked in darkness, the moon a mere sliver in the sky, casting a faint glow over the bustling city below. Neon lights flickered, casting eerie glows on the wet pavement. The quiet murmur of the city was interrupted by distant sirens, a reminder of the ever-present danger lurking in the shadows.

You were a pro hero, dedicated and unwavering in your resolve to protect the citizens of Musutafu. You stood atop a high-rise building, your heart pounding in your chest as you scanned the streets for any sign of the notorious villain who had been wreaking havoc recently. Katsuki Bakugo, once a promising hero-in-training, had taken a dark turn, abandoning his dreams of heroism to embrace a path of destruction and chaos. 

Your mission tonight was clear: apprehend Bakugo and bring him to justice. But as you stood there, the cold wind biting at your skin through your costume, you couldn't shake the unease that settled in your stomach. Bakugo was known for his explosive temper and unparalleled strength, and you had a feeling this encounter would be anything but easy.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion echoed through the night, shaking the building beneath your feet. You spun around, your eyes wide as you spotted the source of the blast: a plume of smoke rising from a nearby warehouse. Without hesitation, you leapt from the rooftop, and  made your way towards the chaos.

As you approached the warehouse, you could see the flicker of flames licking at the sky, the acrid scent of burning metal and debris filling your nostrils. You landed gracefully, your boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. The warehouse was in ruins, chunks of concrete and twisted metal scattered around the area. And in the midst of the destruction, standing amidst the flames like a demon from the depths of hell, was no one else but Katsuki Bakugo.

He turned to face you, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he recognized you. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look who decided to show up. A little late to the party, aren't we?"

You clenched your fists, your eyes narrowing as you met his gaze. "Bakugo," you spat, taking a defensive stance. "I won't let you continue this reign of terror. This ends tonight. I'm taking you in."

Bakugo laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that sent shivers down your spine. "You really think you can take me down, princess? You're welcome to try, but I promise you, it's not going to end the way you think."

With a sudden burst of speed, Bakugo closed the distance between you, his hand shooting out to grab your wrist. 

You reacted on instinct, twisting away and aiming a punch at his midsection, but he was faster. His grip tightened, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent you crashing to the ground, his body pinning yours.

"You're so predictable," he sneered, his breath hot against your ear. "Always playing by the rules, always so righteous. But you know what, sweetheart? That shit doesn't matter anymore. In this world, power is the only thing that counts."

You struggled beneath him, your heart racing as you tried to free yourself from his grasp. “Let. Me. Go.” 

But Bakugo's strength was overwhelming, his body a solid wall of muscle and raw power. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke, his voice a low, seductive whisper. "Tell me, little heroine," he murmured, his free hand trailing down your side, "Have you ever wondered what it's like to let go? To stop fighting and just give in?"

You gasped, your body reacting to his touch despite your determination to resist. "Stop," you pleaded, your voice trembling. "This isn't you. You're not a monster. Your mind is just clouded."

He chuckled darkly, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of your costume, teasing the sensitive skin of your tummy. "Oh, but it is me," he said, his eyes burning with a twisted kind of desire. "And deep down, I think you like it. I think you want it."

With a swift motion, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his dominance overwhelming. 

You fought against the pull, but the intensity of his touch, the raw passion he exuded, was intoxicating. 

His hands roamed your body, setting your nerves alight with every touch. "Feel that?" he murmured against your lips. "That's the real you, begging to be unleashed."

Your resolve wavered, the lines between right and wrong blurring in the heat of the moment. "Bakugo, stop," you pleaded, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Stop?" he taunted, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. "You don't want me to stop, princess. You want to see just how far this can go."

You knew you should resist, should fight with everything you had, but you simply couldn’t.

Bakugo's lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he continued to speak, his voice a low, hypnotic growl. "Give in, heroine," he urged, his hand moving lower, tracing the curve of your hip. "Let me show you what real power feels like."

You bit your lip, an unwanted moan escaping your lips as his hand found its way between your legs, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against the fabric of your costume on your crotch. 

The sensation was overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and resistance that made your head spin. "Bakugo," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Don’t touch me."

He smiled against your skin, his fingers gently slapping your crotch. "Stop it," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck to your collarbone. "Don’t be such a prude. We both know you like being used. You whores all do.”

And in that moment, as your body responded to his touch, you realized that you were powerless to resist him. Katsuki Bakugo, the villain you had sworn to stop, was slowly and resolutely tearing down all of your defenses, pulling you into his dark, dangerous world.

"You think you can resist me?" he taunted, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "I know you feel it too. That darkness inside you, begging to be set free."

"Bakugo, this isn't right," you protested, shaking your head abruptly.

His smirk widened, a feral glint in his eyes. "Right or wrong doesn't matter now. All that matters is what you want. And I know you want this."

Before you could respond, his lips crashed against yours again, the kiss possessive. 

You tried to fight it once again, but failed. "Bakugo," you gasped when he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Say my name again," he demanded, his voice rough with need. "I want to hear you beg for it."

The command in his tone sent a jolt of primal desire through you, your body betraying your resolve. "Katsuki," you whispered, the name a plea on your lips.

He growled in approval, his hands sliding under your uniform again, fingers tracing the curves of your body. "That's it. Don’t be shy, princess."

In one swift motion, he tore at your clothes, the fabric yielding to his strength. 

The cool night air kissed your exposed skin, but the heat radiating from Bakugo's body kept you warm. 

His touch was relentless, every caress igniting a fire that burned through you. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "So eager, so willing. I knew you had it in you. Haha, you just can’t wait to have a villain cock in your cunt."

You gasped as his hands found their way to your panties, his touch both demanding and expertly skilled. 

He captured your lips again, the kiss deep and consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"Bakugo, please," you whimpered after breaking the kiss, the need in your voice undeniable.

He chuckled darkly, his eyes flashing with triumph. "That's what I wanted to hear." With a swift, practiced motion, he lifted you like you weighed nothing, like you were nothing but a rag doll, pressing you against the rough brick wall of the warehouse. 

The sensation of the cool brick against your exposed skin made you whimper. Your breath hitched, your resolve wavering under his piercing stare. "Bakugo, this isn't —"

"Oh, shut the fuck up finally," he interrupted, his lips crashing down on yours to silence you. He smirked against your lips, his fingers tracing teasing circles over the middle of your panties. "You're already so fucking wet for me," he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I knew you wanted this, little one."

He quickly tugged your panties down your legs, and without thinking much, you helped him take them off completely. A gasp escaped your lips as he pushed a finger inside you, the intrusion both shocking and exhilarating. He finger fucked you while licking the pulse point on your neck with the tip of his tongue, wet trail of his saliva painting your throat. He soon added another digit.

"Bakugo," you moaned, the sound of his name a plea on your lips.

"That's right," he growled, his fingers moving faster, deeper, each thrust stroking all the right places deep within you. "Let me hear you beg for it."

"Bakugo, please," you whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate for more. Even though it all felt wrong and he was only humiliating you.

His smirk widened, a feral gleam in his eyes. "Good little heroine," he murmured, adding another finger, the sensation overwhelming. "Feel that? That's me owning you." His fingers moved with relentless precision, hitting all of the sweet, spongy spots. His calloused thumb brushed over your clit at the same time.

Bakugo cupped your face with his other hand in a mockery of intimacy, his rough digits surprisingly gentle against your skin. His eyelids fluttered closed as he leaned in, the warmth of his breath hitting your cheek as he sniffed you. "Fuck," he murmured, almost to himself, "I could get used to this." 

You smelled so good, sweet and soft and clean — a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded him daily. It had been so long since he had been this close to a woman, and never one who was willing. The scent of you, the feel of your skin against his, it was intoxicating, a drug he hadn't realized he craved.

Bakugo kissed you again while fingering your tight pussy, the sloppy, wet noises so lewd that, involuntarily, you became wetter than before. 

You hated how your body reacted. 

His tongue swept over the inside of your mouth, invasive and brutal. He gripped you forcefully, his face pushing you deeper into the strained hold. 

You had never been kissed like this before.

Bakugo finally pulled his fingers out of you and dropped to his knees, hitching one of your legs up over his shoulder. The velvety skin of your inner thigh looked so delicious that he nuzzled against the bare area and latched onto it, sucking until he was sure you'd have a mark in a few minutes. The rich, feminine scent of your pussy was inches away from him, intoxicating and irresistible. Bakugo's eyes darkened with desire as he inhaled deeply, dying to make you cum in his needy mouth. Without hesitation, he leaned in, his hot breath ghosting over your slick folds before his tongue darted out, tasting you for the first time. The sensation was electric, his mouth working expertly, eager to draw out every moan, every shiver of pleasure from you. He latched onto your clit, sucking and flicking with a fervor that made your knees weak, his grip on your leg tightening to keep you steady. "Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice sending jolts of pleasure through your body. He was relentless, devouring you with a hunger that left you breathless.

“B-Bakugo…”

A sound you’d never heard yourself make before forced its way out of your mouth as Bakugo ate you out in earnest, his tongue rubbing against your clit in a stuttering rhythm that gave you no time to catch your breath. You wanted him to stop. And at the same time, you never wanted him to stop. Your hands twitched as you fought the impulse to fist them in the villain’s hair and pin him down between your trembling thighs. His tongue felt so, so good against your pussy. You had never been with a man who was that skilled in pleasuring a woman.

Bakugo curled one arm around your thigh, pulling his face away from your cunny just long enough to push his fingers back into your drenched hole, angling his palm to grind the heel of his hand roughly over your clit. The harsh, rough texture after the warm, wet softness of his tongue was enough to push you over the edge. You cried out your orgasm, your pussy clenching onto Bakugo's fingers as he worked them in and out of you.

"Fuck, that’s it, you little, pathetic whore, cum for me now or I'll have to blow your fucking useless head out," he growled, his voice vibrating through you as he rubbed the bulge tenting in his pants roughly with his free hand. His eyes were dark with desire, watching you come undone. Bakugo groaned, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh, before attaching his mouth to your pussy again. He drank in all of your juices, his tongue lapping up every drop of your essence as if he couldn’t get enough.  

You just came on the tongue of a villain. 

Bakugo looked up at you, a smirk playing on his lips, his chin glistening with your release. "You taste even better than I imagined," he said, his voice low and rough. 

Your legs felt weak, barely able to support you as the reality of what had just happened sank in. You felt oh so humiliated, but a part of you couldn't ignore the raw, undeniable pleasure that Bakugo had drawn from you.

He got back to his feet, and whispered against your ear. "Admit that you want me to fuck you right here, right now."

"Yes," you breathed, the word a desperate plea.

He didn't need any more encouragement. With a growl, he freed himself from his fitted combat pants, his cock sprung up free, resting proudly against his toned abdomen; the aggressive, red tip leaking precum from its slit. He positioned himself at your slimy entrance, the anticipation almost too much to bear. "You're mine," he declared, his voice thick with possessive hunger. “You’re nothing but a tiny hole I’m going to use however I please. You’re fucking nothing but a piece of meat.”

With a powerful thrust, he entered you, the sensation tearing a gasp from your lips. The feeling of him inside you, filling you completely, was intoxicating. He moved with a fierce rhythm, his heavy balls slapping against your pussy with every rough thrust he delivered. He yanked one of your legs up, wrapping it around his hips to find the better angle.

He could hardly think of anything aside from the soft, hot, wet cunt wrapped so tightly around his dick. It consumed his every thought, his every desire. He wanted to live inside your pussy, to fuck your warmth every day, every minute. The feeling of fucking you raw was the best he had felt in months, a primal satisfaction that eclipsed everything else.

"Bakugo," you moaned, your hands clinging to his shoulders for support.

"That's right," he growled, his pace relentless as he hardly squeezed your boob through your sports bra. "Scream my name. Let everyone know who you belong to."

“K-Katsuki!”

The world around you dissolved into a haze of pleasure and desire, the only reality was the feeling of Bakugo claiming you, possessing you completely. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you to meet his thrusts, his breath hot against your skin.

The warehouse was a chaos of fire and smoke, the heat from the flames slowly licking at your skin, but the inferno around you was nothing compared to the blaze between you and Bakugo. The firelight cast an eerie glow over his face, highlighting the intense, almost feral desire in his eyes.

“Such a good whore, taking my cock in her tight little pussy so fucking well,” Bakugo praised, licking a stripe of your neck, growling lowly into your ear.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you, each thrust pushing you harder against the wall. The rough brick scraped your back.

Every nerve ending was on fire, the sensation of him inside you overwhelming. 

"That's it," he growled, his pace increasing, the friction of his body against yours driving you wild. ���That’s it, whore.”

You gasped at the insult, your leg tightening around his hips, pulling him deeper.

He angled his hips, hitting the sweetest spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes with the tip of his massive cock. "Right there," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "I can feel you clenching around me. That’s a good, little heroic whore.”

You nodded frantically, your breath coming in ragged gasps whenever the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. 

"Bakugo!" you screamed, raking your nails along his shoulders even though they were still covered by the upper part of his gear.

He swirled two fingers against your clit after slipping the hand that had cupped your boob earlier down to your slick pussy. 

You mewled like a kitten at the unexpected stimulation, and he laughed rudely.

"Fuck, that's it," he groaned, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself as deep inside you as possible, his cock pulsing and swelling as he came, filling you with his hot, thick release. “Fuck, take it, take it all, bitch.”

Your climax built rapidly as well. Your body tensed, the coil of pleasure tightening until it finally snapped when he came inside of you. With a cry of his name, you shattered, the pleasure overwhelming, consuming you utterly for the second time this evening. Your body convulsed around him, your pussy clenching and milking his veiny cock as he continued to pound into you. “Bakugo!”

“That’s it, little one, that’s it,” Bakugo cooed, his thrust sloppy until he stopped moving. He held you there for a moment. The slurping sound that reverberated in the air as his cock partially left your drenched pussy was obscene. Equally obscene was the cloudy trail of mixed white and clear fluid that connected your pussy and the head of his cock until he pulled away fully. His rough hands were still gripping your hips as he watched with a wry grin how his cum dribbled out of your abused pussy.

"You're fucking mine," he whispered, his voice a rough promise. "There's no place you could possibly hide from me," he whispered. "I'll find you anywhere, little heroine. You are mine, and no one else, nor any other thing, will ever change that."

When clouds of primal lust faded away, clearing your mind a little, the humiliation hit you like a heavy hammer, threatening to crush you under its weight. You fought the urge to cry, the stress and fear coursing through you like a tidal wave. You couldn't tear up like a baby in front of him, couldn't show any sign of weakness. Even though you already did.

Frantically, you looked around for your panties, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to improve the upper part of your hero costume that was practically torn in half. But before you could find them, his low, mocking laugh reached your ears. You raised your head slowly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, as you saw him toying with them in his hand, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You looking for these?" he taunted, holding them just out of reach. "You should know better by now. Everything that touches you belongs to me too." He sniffed your panties, and then theatrically licked the damp spot in the middle with his tongue, making you shudder involuntarily. His grin widened at your reaction, a cruel satisfaction evident in his eyes. After wiping his cock with your panties, he tucked them into the pocket of his pants, adjusting his trousers shortly after with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. "I'll keep these as a little souvenir," he announced.

Bakugo took a step closer to you, his presence overwhelming as he helped you adjust your own pants. "Now, go," he whispered, his voice low and commanding. "Run to them and tell them that not only did you fail to stop and capture the infamous villain, but also moaned like a cheap whore when his cock was buried to the hilt in your wet pussy. I'm super curious about their reaction."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you nodded numbly, unable to form a proper sentence after you pulled up what was left of your hero pants. You turned around and walked away with a shaky step as you prepared to face the consequences of your failure.

[thewertsearch]

GT: Well ive thought about it. GT: Even went downstairs to check the great vaulty doodad. GT: And predictably the infernal contraption is nowhere to be found. TT: Well yeah, Jake. TT: That's sort of the point. TT: Thrill of the hunt and all.

Ok, I think I get what's going on here.

Jake's Dreambot is probably the last remaining source of uranium on the entire island, and the AR is turning its retrieval into a game of hide-and-seek.

I'm not sure why Jake hadn't already retrieved this particular chunk of uranium, especially since he has no use for the robot himself. Maybe he was keeping it operational for sentimental reasons?

TT: I thought you liked to manicure the image of a dude who shits his pants over a good adventure. […] GT: I mean i wouldnt put it in a way like that or come out against a solid policy of clean trousers. But yes adventure is awesome. GT: I just prefer the idea of adventures which i can actually win.

Jake's picturing a LIVING GRANDSON SMACKDOWN - and, frankly, so am I. That robot's being piloted by an absurdly advanced AI, and I'm pretty sure Jake doesn't have any combat experience.

Winning, in this case, is shorthand for 'waiting for the AR to take pity on you'.

TT: It seems there is a 76.10395784% chance you are pussying out on me. Are you pussying out on me, Jake?

Now, to be fair, that one would only work if Jake had agreed to this challenge beforehand. After all, you can't pussy out of something you never pussied into.

GT: It seems it seems it seems!!! GT: It seems there is a million percent chance that you say it seems way too much and do it just to sound more like a lame robot from a movie and also probably just to piss me off! […] TT: Have you ever stopped to think that while I may be bound to processes inside the glasses of a real and incredibly cool guy, my algorithms in cognitive totality comprise a conscious entity not far short of the experiential and emotional complexity of a human being? GT: Oh malarkey. GT: YOU ARE A TIN CAN. ROBOTS DONT HAVE FEELINGS.

Jake, it's been sixty seconds since you complained about him pretending not to have feelings.

TT: I do have feelings. And you're shitting on them. TT: It sucks. GT: Oh. GT: Um. GT: Im sorry then if thats the case.

Well, that's something, at least - but I don't think Jake really understands why the AR is offended, so I'm worried it's just going to happen again in their next argument.

How long has the Responder existed for, anyway? Jake seems familiar with his schtick, so he's probably not brand-new - but at the same time, Jake's surprised apology makes it sound like the AR has only recently started to express feelings.

Maybe the AR has existed for years, but hasn't been sentient for years. Like, it really did just start as a primitive response script, but Bro kept uploading more of his personality onto it, until it slowly began to think and feel. Fascinating idea, I have to say.

GT: It can just be difficult to drum up sympathy for a program that presents itself as an impostor so often. GT: Maybe if you werent so ready to insist you were the genuine article all the time? Or didnt make it so confusing for me… GT: I think it would be best if we henceforth treated you as a totally distinct… uh… THING from my buddy.

Hey, it's not like the AR can stop imitating Bro. Even if he wanted to have his own identity, he's currently bound to the response script of someone else's Pesterchum account. When he talks, he's forced to do it through Bro's handle.

All evidence points to the Responder being a thinking, feeling being with his own inner world - which makes it a little ethically dubious to force him to be Bro's secretary. The guy shouldn't be treated as a bargain-bin Bro, the same way that Davesprite wasn't a backup Dave. We all saw how that ended, and it sure wasn't pretty.

[fickle-tiction]

The Scientific Method

“Don’t tell me you’re ticklish?!” “Well now, that seems like wishful thinking.” "No way, are you crying/begging?"

"Clark!" Bruce barked, his body jerking away without his consent and sending his hips crashing into the workbench in front of him. Everything in him was screaming at him to try to sink through the floor, even as he turned to face Clark with a glare that has sent plenty of men running. He kept his blush at bay through sheer stubbornness. He would not help Clark by embarrassing himself any further.

"Bruce." Clark breathed, a Cheshire cat grin slowly stretching over his face. His hand was still hovering midair, where moments ago he bad reached out a hand to steady Bruce as he prepared to slip by him. He was utterly caught off guard by the gasp and flinch combo that it caused. "Don't tell me you're ticklish..?!" He said slowly, as new pathways formed in his brain, mapping out all the possibilities this discovery just opened up.

"Okay, I won't." Bruce huffed, making sure to knock shoulders with Clark as he stalked past him. Well. That had been the plan, anyway. Unsurprisingly, he was stopped by the solid wall of muscle that was Clark Kent's chest.

"Not so fast." Clark was meeting Bruce's every attempt to get around him with a simple side-step to keep him backed up to the table. "I have a hypothesis. What kind of scientist would I be if I didn't run some tests?"

Bruce glared at the cocky smirk Clark was throwing his way. He was suddenly regretting his earlier refusal to come upstairs for dinner, informing Clark that he was running an experiment and it would be a waste if he didn't run his labs and test out his hypothesis. Of course, Bruce being Bruce, he spoke to Clark like he was 4 years old when he said all of this, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

"One that doesn't get a chunk of kryptonite shoved into a very painful orifice."

"B, I love it when you talk dirty to me."

The indignity of Clark getting the last word was almost worse than the utter humiliation Bruce felt when a shriek left his mouth without his permission. It sounded somewhat like "Clark" and somewhat like a banshee.

"My hypothesis is that Bruce Wayne, The Dark Knight, Terror of Gotham, is secretly a ticklish softy." Clark had to raise his voice to be heard over the strangled laughter pouring out of Bruce, and the clatter of equipment on the table that was being jostled by his violent squirming.

"i'm go-hohoho-ing to fucking ki-hihihihihi-ll you." Bruce was doing his best to growl through what seemed like endless waves of laughter. Clark's arms were wrapped around his middle, one hand squeezing up and down his flank as the fingers on his other hand gently scratched any surface they could reach.

"Test number one: complete." Clark eased up on his tickling, allowing Bruce to catch his breath. It did nothing to slow the wild hammering of his heart, but he wasn't struggling against Clark's loose hold, so he figured it was more out of embarrassment than it was fear or discomfort. "Your sides are ticklish." He informed Bruce, smirking at the growl rumbling in his chest.

"Great. Are we done here?"

"What's the rush? You seemed to want to take your time earlier."

"That was important-"

"So is this. Diana's going to want to know if you have a human side after-all."

Bruce's response was once again cut off as one of Clark's hands migrated to stomach, fingers gently prodding into the muscles there.

"Test number Two: Does the Batman have a ticklish tummy?" Clark laughed in delight when Bruce's ears instantly burned red.

"This. Is. So. Childish." Bruce said through gritted teeth, refusing to let the laughter flow as he struggled against the arm wrapped around his torso and holding him in place.

"Maybe if I introduce a new variable." Clark pretended like he was talking to himself, but it was very much said to mess with Bruce. He yanked Bruce's shirt out of the waistband of his pants, smirking when Bruce cursed lowly and flexed his stomach muscles as Clark's hand made contact with his bare skin. "Yes, this should do." Clark mused, reveling in the muffled laughter already coming from Bruce before he even began moving his fingers.

"You're such a di-hihihihihihi-ck." Bruce laughed, trying a new tactic by burrowing his body backwards into Clark's chest. Naturally, that just made it easier for Clark's fingers to roam across his stomach, making a quick detour into the caverns of his bellybutton and spending some time there when Bruce squeaked.

"Wow." Clark laughed, mercifully giving Bruce a break after a few seconds of that treatment. "I didn't know you could make that noise, B."

"I am going to drown you in a pool of liquified kryptonite." The fact that he was practically boneless as he leaned back against Clark's chest when there was nothing keeping him there took some of the heat out of his words.

"Test number Two: Complete. The Batman does indeed have a ticklish tummy." Clark's laugh was cut short by the elbow jabbing sharply into his gut. "If you wanted to do a third test, you just had to ask. No need to get violent." Clark's arms once again wrapped around Bruce's torso so he couldn't leave, and Bruce was kicking himself for not pulling away when he had the chance.

"Now where to perform a third test." Clark hummed, resting his chin on Bruce's shoulder as he scanned his friend's body. His feet would be the obvious next choice, but he was enjoying having Bruce pulled flush to his chest, and more than that it seemed like Bruce didn't mind the position either. He didn't want to go and spoil it by laying him out on the floor to torment his feet. That just seemed cruel.

"How about I run a test on you, so we can compare data?" Bruce suggested, testing the strength of Clark's deceivingly loose hold. Unsurprinsingly the arms around him did not budge.

"Well now, that seems like wishful thinking." Clark huffed out a laugh, breath tickling over Bruce's neck and sending the taller man lurching away with a gasp. "Oh?" He asked, chest filled with glee as a blush quickly appeared on Bruce's neck and continued onto his cheeks.

"No." This was the first time Bruce sounded serious, which Clark deduced meant it was a well-known spot. "Clark." He already sounded like he was trying to hold his laughter at bay, and Clark had yet to do anything but tighten his arms around Bruce's waist so he couldn't slip away.

"Bruce? Anything you want to tell me before I run my final test?" This was said into the side of Bruce's neck, setting off an immediate bout of squirming and high-pitch sounds that the dark knight could not keep in despite his closed mouth.

"I will give you a million dollars to forget this ever happened."

"Well now my curiosity is piqued." Bruce was doing his best to knock Clark's face away using his own head, his body squirming at the feeling of Clark's lips just barely ghosting over the delicate skin of his neck. "How does the whole playboy thing work, if people can't even touch your neck?" This was emphasized by Clark suddenly freeing up one of his hands to drag a single finger down the other side of Bruce's neck. Bruce shouted, nervous laughter bursting out of him for a second before he got it somewhat under control.

"They usually take the money." He was still too proud to admit he didn't let his guard down like this in front of most people, thus they never got a chance to see this side of him. (The rare times someone did tickle him, whether on purpose or by accident, they didn't have the ability to hold him down and make him take it. And, wow, he would be exploring his feelings about this later. Alone.)

Clark purposefully laughed into Bruce's neck, and then laughed some more at the giggles Bruce had no choice but to let out. "You know I have to do this, right?" He was still speaking directly into Bruce's neck, and Bruce's sanity was hanging on by a thread.

"Do wh-hahahaha-what?" Bruce asked, knowing he probably would not like the answer. Or, even worse, he would like it and would have to address those feelings, at least to himself.

"Something tells me no one has ever done this to you before." And if Clark was right then he was in for a real treat. "I'm so happy I could be your first, B."

This whole thing with Clark getting the last word was really starting to grate on Bruce's nerves. He could not dwell on it though, because Clark's lips were suddenly on his neck and he was blowing hard, lips vibrating against his sensitive nerve endings. This was it. After 20+ years of being Batman, Bruce was finally going to die in the line of battle (because this meant war, Clark.)

"StopStopStopStopStopStopStop" Bruce chanted, wild laughter bursting out of him. He was trying to fold in half to escape the endless raspberry, but Clark's arms were stubbornly holding him up. Bruce's eyes were squeezed shut, and he could feel something wet running down his face. He shrieked when he felt fingers dancing along his collarbone on the opposite side of his neck, and it felt like the nervous laughter bubbling out of him would never end. "Cla-hahahaha-rk ple-hehe-please please!"

Clark had paused to draw a breath he didn't need, knowing the anticipation of it would mess with Bruce even more. He stopped when he noticed the tears gathering in the corners of Bruce's eyes, a few having leaked down across his cheeks. "Are you crying?" He asked, arms immediately letting go of their hold on Bruce's torso.

"Shut up." Bruce muttered, no real heat in his words as he wiped at his eyes, staring at the salty liquid on his fingers. He felt his face grow impossibly hotter at the realization that he had in fact been crying, albeit unknowingly.

"Did I go too far?" Clark seemed to shrink in on himself, no part of his body touching Bruce's as the other man quickly gained control over his breathing again. "It was just..so unexpected. I didn't mean to.." He trailed off, suddenly embarrassed at the state he left Bruce in.

Bruce's cheeks were still dusted with pink, there were tears still gathering in the corners of his eyes, the front of his shirt had been unceremoniously yanked out of his pants and left untucked, and his hair had fallen out of it's carefully tousled style. He looked wrecked, for lack of a better term. He also looked confused at the sudden loss of arms around his torso. And why did Clark look like a kicked puppy?

Bruce stared at Clark in silence, taking in the nervous expression on the other man's face. His arms were drawn in close to his sides, back slightly hunched as though he were trying to make himself appear smaller. The uncertainty and guilt were written clearly on his face. It was clear that the "no-touching" signals Bruce usually threw off were causing him to think he overstepped. The embarrassing accidental tears and begging probably didn't help.

"Have you drawn your conclusion?" Bruce asked, voice a bit scratchy due to the unexpected and unusual amount of laughter.

"I--look, I'm sorry. I got carried away, but I can forget this ever happened."

Bruce raised a single eyebrow at that. "It's too late for that." Clark seemed to hunch in on himself even more. Bruce ran a hand through his hair to attempt a quick fix before sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning casually against the workbench. "The money's off the table. You blew it." An easy smile appeared on his face as Clark uncurled himself at the playful tone.

"You're not...mad?"

"Oh, if you ever touch my neck again I will find a way to kill you." Bruce said it so matter-of-fact that Clark couldn't help the surprised laugh that slipped out.

"Noted." Clark would definitely be tickling his neck again, and they both knew it. Bruce all but gave him permission to do so. "Stomach and sides are fine, though?" He teased, taking a step closer with his hand outstretched.

Bruce's muscles tensed up, but he remained leaning against the desk for appearances sake. "Not if you want to keep that hand."

Clark let it drop...for now. "To answer your question; yes. I did reach my conclusion. I have to amend my hypothesis, though." Clark smirked at Bruce's enquiring sound. "You are extremely ticklish." Bruce grunted at that, his trademark scowling making a reappearance. "And a big softy."

"I think you're the first person to ever call me that." Bruce mused, slapping Clark's hand away when he stretched a finger out towards his neck.

"I made you cry from tickling and you forgave me a minute later." Clark was delighted to see a pink dusting gracing Bruce's ears and cheeks again.

"I wasn't crying." Bruce scoffed. "My eyes were watering from the unexpected sensation of...whatever that was."

"The raspberry?" Clark asked, amusement written clear on his face.

"The--" Bruce stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry, partly to explain it, but mostly to make Clark laugh.

"Oh, this is the start of something special, B." Clark sighed, clapping Bruce on the shoulder. "I take back my earlier statement." Bruce resisted the urge to shrug Clark's hand off his shoulder. "I have not yet reached a conclusion. This question requires further research."

That got Bruce moving. He stood up straight, hands coming out of his pockets as he put a few feet of space between them. "Alfred will kill us if we're late for dinner."

"Dinner was 2 hours ago." Clark informed a genuinely surprised-looking Bruce. He really did lose all track of time when he was working. "Anyway, my research was incomplete. I can't determine if you're ticklish without testing all available variables."

"I could just tell you." Bruce offered, hastily taking a few steps back when Clark slowly started advancing on him.

"That would be corrupted data. You're biased. I need to run my own experiments." Clark put on a small burst of speed to deposit Bruce onto the couch he and Diana bullied him into putting into the cave.

"What are you--CLark! Leave my shoes alone!" Clark was sitting on Bruce's shins, slowly untying his laces and slipping his shoes off his feet.

"It's for Science, B! Now tell me, on a scale of your sides to your neck, where does this land."

Bruce's cursing and muffled laughter echoed off the walls of the cave.

[theknittingoracle]

I'm dying! I love it! Oh no! The girls! @ae-neon , @eudaimonia83 , @lorcanisdabest , @kateduchessofdolittle

Effloresce snippet

Whatever they were doing, they’d been out there all night- warrior’s sworn to her family, recklessly pulled from one nation to another- they were there on the ground, absolutely motionless. Had held the same positions for so long she could see dew, gathering across the folding shape of a battalions worth of wings. Weakness, it was pure weakness to wish Cassian with her, but Nesta felt it. Longed to turn from this newest disaster, whatever it was, see his eyes bright despite everything. There had never been room for weakness in her life. Nesta dropped her skirt, velvet settling audible on the grass, stopped before the only member of this party whose name she knew. She’d learn them all- she would, hated that she had not already. “Captain.” He did not look up. Move, those great verdigris wings drawn down so tight Nesta would have expected entrapment were they anywhere else. “It has been my honor,” Koram announced, fist over his heart white-knuckled, “To serve your house, my lady.” “It has been our honor to call you Archeron,” Nesta’s mouth answered, numb. Ritual and rote. When no reply came, she continued. “We do not penalize contracts broken. Not for this. If you wish to leave and join the rallying of the army in the mountains. To”- Clear, distinct, Kali, a full arms length of constant presence away, sucked in a breath. From above, it was easy to see the muscle, jumping on Koram’s jaw. “We would die here, Lady Archeron. With some honor left.” It took too long, seconds, to understand it was a plea. A genuine question of mercy. Nesta shook her head. “No one is dying. No one else. You never have to go back to the Night Court’s armies, as far as I’m concerned.” No wind, no air, no answers, until Kali risked that closer step, not even the beads of her braids chiming together. “Lady Archeron, if I may?” Her head hurt. Her heart, her throat, her damned leg- it hurt to stand here and it infuriated her not to know what the hell was happening. Nesta seized her dragging dress again. “Yes, this way.” It was no comfort, to breathe in rosy mist, the transplanted green scent of a hundred continental plants in a garden her grandmother had never gotten to see. “What are they doing?” Surprise looked cataclysmic on the older woman’s face, starker for the rippling tattoos along her hairline. “Waiting to die.” The books had left out too much. “Why?” Kali blinked, and after a moment, settled into a posture Nesta hatefully could not fail to recognize as familiar, three seconds of motion away from Cassian’s formal salute. “They lost two of their charges, my lady. Two girls.”

[stevesgother]

Can you write some Steve angst please and thank you 🙏🏽 🙏🏽🙏🏽

Pairing - Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

WC - 869

Warnings - hurt/no comfort, ANGST, arguing, depictions of a breakup, Steve not knowing how to cope apparently, cursing,

this one is heavily inspired by ‘merry christmas, please don’t call’ by bleachers, a little shorter because i think i’m forgetting how to write angst?? This is y’alls fault for making me write so much cute fluff all the time

Maybe it was the lack of a healthy depiction of love in his childhood. Maybe it was the fact that his first and only relationship before you were tumultuous. Whatever the case, Steve Harrington couldn’t seem to get a grasp on how to love; how to be loved.

It wasn’t, however, for a lack of trying. Steve loved you– more than he loved Nancy, more than he loved himself, more than he’s ever loved anyone. Maybe that was the problem.

That’s how he ended up spending his first Christmas in two years alone on his couch in four-day old clothes with unwashed hair, drowning in a hell of his own creation. About three miles in the opposite direction, on the other side of town, you were doing not unlike him. In your shared bedroom– a space that once brought you tranquility and peace, surrounded by the remnants of the person you loved– you lay under copious layers of blankets and quilts where you had remained for a little under a week. Soaking your cotton pillowcase with salty tears.

–

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, I mean if I– if I did something or– or there's someone else that’s fine but please, would you just tell me?” You plead, eyes watery, to a stone-faced Steve. You can’t understand, after everything, where this is all coming from.

“I just feel like this is the best decision for us right now,” he whispers, running a hand through limp hair– exasperated from telling you this exact thing for the fourth time in the last hour.

“Why, Steve?” You push.

That’s what finally breaks his resolve. He had tried to let you down slowly– to lay your heart on the ground with gentle hands that wouldn’t shatter it to pieces– but he didn’t know if he could stand to look at your face twisted with such sorrow anymore. Being stabbed would’ve felt easier.

“Because! All we do is fight! And I know it’s my fault, I know you deserve better. I’m– Christ– I’m doing this for you!” His hands tremble when they gesture at you.

“Bullshit, Steve! If you were doing this for me then you would stay and fight for us. You don’t give a fuck about how I feel– don’t I get to have some sort of say in this?!”

He shoots you a warning glance, “Don’t.”

Without another word or a single thing packed, Steve grabbed his keys from the top of the dresser and slammed the door behind him. There was no attempt to beg for him to stay– you knew hours ago that he wouldn’t. With your back against the wall, you sank slowly to your knees, sobbing into your hands.

That night and every night since, you lied in bed alone. The space where Steve used to be, cold and barren. You reach for him in the space between consciousness and sleep, always expecting him to be there– solid and warm– like he had been every night for the last two years.

–

Now four o’clock, your parents had brought you your gifts earlier in the morning. They sat stationary under the unlit tree you and Steve had decorated together, mere days before he tore your relationship apart. Leaving the safety of your bedroom felt like a death by a thousand cuts– there wasn’t an inch of space in your apartment that didn’t remind you of him.

Your gaze landed on the neatly wrapped box in the corner of your shared closet. Images of Steve– alone in his big, empty childhood home– conjured in your mind and left a sour taste in your mouth.

Despite the weather being below freezing, you didn’t bother letting your car run before closing yourself inside and throwing it in reverse. The gift sat beside you in the passenger seat like a chunk of lead the entire trek to Steve's house– heavy with things unsaid and loose ends.

His car was sitting idly in the driveway when you arrived, as you expected it would be. As quietly as possible, not even bothering to close the driver’s side door behind you, you approached his front door and set the gift down on the stone porch.

Standing in front of his fridge, staring blankly at the contents inside and trying to will himself to be able to stomach any of it, he hears the unmistakable sound of his doorbell ringing. His first thought is that it’s Robin, or one of the kids– but then unsure of how they would’ve gotten here. He trudges to the French doors, in no hurry to see who’s on the other side of them.

But when he opens the door, all that awaits is a small, festive box with a bow and a note placed carefully on top.

Steve recognizes the elegant stroke of your cursive handwriting immediately, and it hits him like a ton of bricks to the sternum.

‘Merry Christmas, please don’t call.’

divider credit @cafekitsune

[lsunstreakerl]

fmf rico pov! the ambush, and his return to the castle. 2.3k, mentions of blood and violence (mostly in the first chunk)

Rico staggers back, the wet slide of his sword loud in his ears as he yanks it out of the man below him. It smells like death, and there's the sharp tang of copper in his mouth. His armor has been sliced through, right arm dangling uselessly as he readjusts his grip on his sword hilt in his left.

There are dying men surrounding them— some are Rico's, but most belong to the ambush party, who'd surrounded them in an instant in the dead of night.

His lip curls as he steps over another corpse. His men are regrouping, starting to clump together again, and he's absentmindedly counting, trying to get a feel for the numbers.

It's slimmer than he'd like. His arm is throbbing, and there's blood dripping off of his fingers, skin slick and hot under his twisted armor. He lifts his voice in a hoarse shout.

"Has anyone seen Saddik?"

Dennis makes his way over to him, eyes weary behind his helmet.

"No sign of him or his King's Guard."

There's a sinking feeling in Rico's chest, fingers gripping tight at his sword hilt. Saddik wouldn't dare, he's not brave enough to risk Rico's real ire by attacking the castle.

A younger soldier runs up, armor mudstained with streaks of blood splattered at the chestplate.

"Your Highness! There's old convoy tracks, back in the direction we came from."

His eyes are wild and frantic, running on adrenaline and not much else, and Rico feels the sink in his stomach catch ablaze, burning inside of him.

He raises his voice for them all to listen.

"We move out now! I've asked a lot from you all, but we're not finished yet. Saddik is on his way to the castle, to your families, your spouses and children!"

He can see the same fire igniting in the eyes of his men, their posture straightening as they meet his eyes. He lifts his chin, mouth set in a hard line.

"Treat the wounded on the way. We're leaving."

Rico turns, meaning to speak to Dennis as he hears a sharp gasp from behind him, a strangled shout of his name—

The arrow knocks the wind out of him, sending him straight to the ground. He barely manages to catch himself on his good arm, staring disbelievingly at the arrow shaft sticking out of his chest.

There's immediate return fire from his archers, and he only vaguely hears Dennis commanding soldiers to secure a perimeter before his mentor drops down by his face.

He hears the soft clank of Dennis' helmet hitting the ground, catching his eye.

He's pressing his hands to the wound— Rico understands battlefield aid, knows that it's a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, the same way he knows it's futile. No one can survive an arrow to the heart, not even him.

The pain still hasn't hit. He takes in a ragged breath, surprised to find that it isn't wet with blood. His lungs are still filling with air, his heart is still beating, and—

Dennis' brow furrows.

"You're not bleeding."

Rico watches the panic start to leave his eyes, replaced by amazement as he tugs at the straps of his breastplate, pulling it off. He gets a solid grip on the arrow shaft before he yanks it out, and Rico still doesn't feel any pain.

The point of the arrow is jagged, designed to inflict certain death, but there's silvery fibers caught in the hooks. He lifts his good hand to his chest, fingers trembling as he finds the square tucked over his heart.

Max's good luck charm— the small square of silvery hide, unfamiliar to Rico in its appearance. It's torn, threads dragged out of place by the arrow impact, but the back of it, the side that's been pressed against Rico's skin, warmed by his heart...

The arrow hadn't even pierced all the way through. He stares at it in disbelief, the tiny slip of hide that has most certainly saved his life.

Dennis is staring at it as well, looking back up at Rico.

"Did he know?"

Rico's voice comes out hoarse, eyes still locked on the hide. Dennis touches the edge of it near reverently, still holding the arrow.

"He must have."

Rico remembers Max giving it to him— it'd be impossible not to, he's mulled over the interaction nearly every moment he's been awake since it happened. Max's carefully neutral face, eyes determined as his slim fingers had slipped under his breastplate, tucking the hide close to him. The brush of his hands against Rico's chest, the way his hair had fallen over his forehead when he'd looked up at him after—

He couldn't possibly think of anything else.

The men have been gossiping about Max for most of the trip, and Dennis had mentioned offhand that it seemed out of character for the northern culture, but Rico had refused to remove it to inspect it. Max had been so careful about the placement, full lips pouting in concentration as he'd adjusted it beneath the breastplate.

If he'd somehow known— if this was why he'd done it—

Rico squeezes his eyes shut, flooded with a rush of gratefulness so raw he feels suffocated by it.

Dennis shakes his head with an incredulous laugh, patting Rico on his good shoulder.

"Hell of a consort you've got there, lad. Up you get, don't let those poor men keep thinking you're dead."

Rico keeps the hide clenched tight in his hand as he gets to his feet, half supported by Dennis.

The fight isn't over yet.

------

The fight is over.

The castle is recovering by the time they finally drag the convey back home. There's repairs being made to the walls, and there's a general air of unease in the surrounding villages, but it's only when they get closer that Rico can still see his flags flying high.

Karim is waiting at the gate, and Rico doesn't waste a single moment swinging off of his horse, arm wrapped in a haphazard sling.

"Karim! What—"

His advisor interrupts him, one hand held out placatingly.

"Saddik is dead. We lost a few soldiers here, but we were prepared."

Rico pauses, confused.

"What do you mean, you were prepared? We didn't even realize it was a bait and switch until we got ambushed."

Karim shifts on his feet.

"You should come inside. You need that arm taken care of, and there's a few things we need to discuss."

Rico follows him slowly back into the castle, eyes darting around across several faces, the marks of battle in the corridors. There's still a familiar face he hasn't spotted yet.

He stops in his tracks, refusing to budge until Karim looks back at him.

"Karim... where's Max?"

His advisor is silent for a moment too long, and Rico feels his heart drop out of his chest, splattering on the ground somewhere by his feet, overwhelming despair creeping up on him, crawling down his throat.

Not Max. Not when he's only just met him, not when he hasn't had the opportunity to get to know him, his beautiful, sharp minded consort.

Anything but Max.

It must show on his face, because Karim steps forward quickly, resting a hand lightly across his forearm.

"He's not dead, Rico. He's alive, hey— are you listening to me? Max is alive."

The air returns to his lungs all at once, and Rico presses his hand over his heart, hot pressure building at his eyes. The crushing despair and failure retreats, lingering at the edge of his senses instead of strangling his heart.

Karim winces apologetically.

"I should have worded that better."

Rico blows out a breath, trying to regain his footing. He still feels off kilter, gripping Karim's wrist for support.

"Yes, you should have."

He's guided upstairs back into his room, and while Max's door is latched shut, he can see Joris standing guard outside of it. The knight looks exhausted, but he's still alert, eyes tracking them both as they make their way to Rico's door. He dips his head respectfully at Rico.

"Your Highness... I'm glad to see you home."

The pain in his arm is incessant, but Rico gives him a weak smile. Karim helps him undress and slip into the bath, and Rico waits patiently while the apothecary cleans and bandages his arm.

It's clear Karim isn't willing to start the discussion, so Rico sighs, waiting for the apothecary to leave before asking.

"What happened, Karim?"

His advisor settles on the ground cross legged, dropping his head onto his palm. He's clearly exhausted as well, bags under his eyes.

"Saddik took a team of soldiers through the cave systems. They came up in two spots— a bulk of them just outside the castle, and Saddik somehow got inside the castle."

Rico lowers his head, shame and vicious anger roiling inside of him. It has to have been the catacombs, the tunnels under the castle he and Saddik used to explore together.

That they've been used against him, to violate the safety of his home...

Karim clears his throat softly.

"None of the villages near the first group suffered any casualties. They were evacuated the night before to a safer location. we had a temporary outpost with knights near their location, and it went... far better than it could have. As for Saddik—"

Rico looks up at him, watching Karim drum his fingers against the floor.

"He was killed. I know he was your friend, at some point, but..."

Rico shakes his head, conflicting emotions in his chest.

"I would have done it myself, if I'd seen him. We stopped being friends a very long time ago, Karim."

He knew Saddik, once, and it's why he hesitates before he asks his next question. Saddik had been the most difficult opponent Rico had ever faced, a fearsome conqueror in his own right.

"How many people died bringing him down?"

Unexpectedly, Karim snorts. He flashes a quick grin at Rico, shaking his head with a soft laugh.

"None. Max killed him."

Rico blinks, stunned.

"My Max?"

"Yes, the Prince Consort. He's currently recovering from his own wounds at the moment."

There's a thousand questions circling in his mind, but the medicine from the apothecary is starting to sink in, and the knowledge that Saddik is dead, that Max is alive— that the two things are hand in hand— he feels weary down to his very bones.

Karim helps him change into something more comfortable, carefully tidying up his room.

"Rest, Your Highness. We can discuss details tomorrow, and the apothecary is keeping Max asleep while he heals. You should take the opportunity to heal as well."

He thanks his advisor, head leaning back into his pillows. Karim shuts the door behind him, and he attempts to fall asleep, but it's a struggle.

Every stray wind outside, every creak in the floorboards— he's paranoid, deeply afraid that someone might still be inside the castle.

That they might get to Max.

He sighs, giving up on his fitful attempt at sleep as he shuffles out of bed, draping a heavy blanket across his shoulders.

Willem tilts his head curiously when Rico steps into the hallway, raising an eyebrow when he reaches for Max's door.

"He won't be awake, Your Highness. The apothecary is keeping him asleep— has been since the battle."

Rico nods slowly in acknowledgment, heart heavy as he pushes the door open, slipping inside. The lights are flickering on the walls, and Max is in the middle of his bed.

His hair is bright against the dark pillowcase, skin even paler than usual. Rico carefully sits at the edge of the bed, good hand hovering for a moment before he lays it gently at the side of his face, thumb resting on his cheekbone.

A few of the soldiers had admitted they couldn't quite see it, but Rico isn't sure how anyone could miss Max's beauty. It had stunned him, the first time he'd seen his consort.

Max is all sharp angles, a product of a harsher environment than the kingdom proper, and it shows. His eyes had immediately captivated him with their intensity, and Rico hasn't been able to look away since.

He has long, slim legs, and Rico hasn't had the opportunity to really look at him underneath the layers of fabric, but he has a sneaking suspicion Max isn't quite as broad as he presents himself.

Rico smooths his thumb over a shallow scrape on Max's cheek, eyes flicking down to his mouth. Even in sleep he seems stuck in a half pout, one hand tucked under the pillow.

He takes a moment to simply count Max's breaths, dipping his head down and pressing his lips softly to his temple.

His consort is endearingly shy, and Rico regrets needing to have left him alone so soon after they'd met. He'll remedy that once they're both better healed— show Max the prettier spots in the kingdom, the blooming flowers in the gardens during the spring, the warm pastries in the village market in the mornings.

Max reminds him of winter. Endless nights, sharp chill nipping at his heels, the crunch of frost under his boots. Rico wants to see what he looks like in the spring, when he thaws. Wants to see the soft pink across his cheeks and ears, wants to see him smile— he's full of want.

His older sister had enjoyed gardening. It's a fond memory from his childhood, listening to her discuss all the important things he no longer remembers. He hadn't understood it at the time— they had gardeners, there was no need for her to do it herself, getting her hands dirty— but he thinks he might understand it now.

She'd had a flower she was particularly proud of, and Rico remembers her laboring over it for months on end. He'd been sad when it hadn't bloomed, until she'd explained that some flowers didn't bloom often, and that the one she was tending to only bloomed once.

Max reminds him of that flower, frozen and guarded. Rico doesn't mind being patient, letting him find his own way to him. They have their entire lives ahead of them, and he wants the years to be good, to be strong.

They need a solid foundation, one that they build off of trust.

He closes his eyes, lashes brushing against Max's hair.

Maybe, eventually, it will be built off of love as well.

[boundinparchment]

Blasphemous Rumors - X

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year. A marriage of convenience. Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.” Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality. Slow burn. Semi-enemies to lovers. Available on AO3 here.

Your head was swimming between the careless Agent who wasted your money with their rant and the sudden shift in your schedule, hand on your back included. 

It was protocol to rotate a year’s worth of documents down to the Archives for storage to make room for new budget records up in the main office.  The Archives were, while safe, notoriously difficult to navigate.  That, combined with having to identify and locate several boxes per calendar year for the Harbinger who had one of the highest volumes of expenses was a frustration you sympathized with.  The Agent was careless enough to describe the layout and the security measures as if they were common knowledge.

Perhaps they assumed you were already aware, given your elevated status.  What a moron.

And now, you were walking out of your office with Lord Dottore’s hand on your back.  A distinct gesture.  The man was meticulous, purposeful.  He never did anything without reason, without a drive.

He would be the death of you.

The elevator rides to the depths of the Palace were taken in relative silence but you could feel the cogs in his head turning next to you, cranking along with the wires and pulleys.  There was little reason for you to be in his workshops.  The last time you’d gone down, it was to make a point that he could not just leave the wedding details to you entirely.  His domain was otherwise a place you made an effort to avoid.

Once you were finally on solid ground again, you followed Lord Dottore through a series of corridors lined with hissing pipes.  The air warmed as you passed through the facility doors and into his facilities proper.

It was quieter than you recalled from your last visit, fewer people and even fewer machines.  The budget for the Nod Krai facilities and the expedition to Sumeru accounted for a good chunk of the expenses over the last few years (and no doubt the lack of present equipment).  You were led to the office you recalled standing in, justifying the need for a ring and that he at least pretend to try.  Just as before, it was free of dust, everything in its place.  The piles of papers and stacks of books were, for now, less of a hazard than the last time you saw them.  A Segment’s boredom, no doubt.

“Presumably, the move to Nod Krai is going according to plan?” you ventured.

“One of many details we will need to unravel if we are to accomplish our combined goals.  A better solution will be needed to address the matter of property,” Dottore replied.  “However, that is not at the top of the agenda, dorogáya moya.”

The pet name dug under your skin every time you heard it.  Undoubtedly, he knew it did.  It may have been wiser to have held your tongue at your wedding reception about the double meaning but now you had no choice but to deal with the consequences of his small victory.

Your husband gestured for you to sit but you shook your head.  “I spend half of my day in a chair, I’ll stand.”

You felt a hand on your left shoulder and you flinched, unaware of another presence.  There was a faint pressure downward, urging you to comply, pushing harder until your knees cooperated and your bottom met the seat with a thump.  The hand remained on your shoulder, fingers curled ever so slightly to resemble the claw of a raven.

“I’m afraid it wasn’t a question, dear wife ,” came the response from behind you, a mockery of the voice of the man before you.

You never had much business with Omega, except for when he stood in for the Harbinger during your meetings or for rehearsals and suit alterations.  Despite how similar he looked to the original, the oldest Segment’s presence was akin to walking into a public place before opening hours.  Everything seemed normal but there was a vacancy about him that always unsettled you.

Another hand on your right, this one brushing gloved knuckles across your cheek, was as cold as ice.  You had not picked up any footsteps whatsoever from either Segment, but they were not capable of appearing out of thin air.  How had you not noticed their footfalls?  Or was it that they were already in the room and you’d simply failed to spot them?

Either way, you were slipping.  Again.

“Ease up, Omega.  She came of her own volition, as she usually does.”

You felt a hearty chuckle and out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of a distinctly patterned mask.  This one always appeared as though he belonged as a masquerade party, in your opinion.  More often than not, his receipts were splattered with what you could only assume was blood, if not oil.  You kept your face impassive as your behind met the seat and both hands remained on your shoulders. 

Something about the last quip made your husband’s fist clench and although the lighting was poor, you swore you saw the tips of his ears turn darker.

“Zeta, you would do well to keep your mouth shut,” Lord Dottore said, jaw tense.

Blood thrummed in your ears as you tried to piece together what, exactly, would lead to him taking this approach with you.  It wasn’t just about the sham of a marriage you two were playing at, it couldn’t have been.  Otherwise, he would have left it until later.  Another topic over a game of chess for the two of you, alone.  

Your stomach sank.

With everything since your return to the Palace, you’d neglected how easily you let slip what should have gone to Pantalone first.  So disarmed by sunlight and sweets, you’d tried to buy yourself time for an answer only to give him the truth.  Your eye for patterns and spotting abnormalities and asking questions far above your pay grade, all tools of your trade, betrayed you.  Why hadn’t you kept it to yourself?

A man like the Second Harbinger never forgot the details.

Instead of speaking, your husband opened a folder and laid out documents in front of you.  Your working record.  Copies of your parents bankruptcy documents and loan letters.  Reports from Agents with dates on which you recalled harrowing visits full of arguments.  A shining recommendation that praised your skills with numbers and efficiencies with analysis and deadlines.

None of it was new and in fact, you were surprised to see such things now.  You’d been forthcoming and truthful, almost to a fault.

But what conclusion had he come to?

“Your silence is far louder than you give it credit for,” Omega crooned, fingers digging into your shoulder.  “Surely we didn’t marry a complete dolt after all?”

“You like your dramatic tension, my lord, but I cannot answer an unspoken question,” you replied, staring at the man behind the desk.  “And I don’t recall agreeing to an interrogation.”

Lord Dottore stood and traced his fingers over the surface of his desk, picking up one of the pieces of evidence in the process.  He stopped after rounding the desk and standing in front of you, shifting his weight as he crossed one ankle in front of another.

“Help me understand.  How does one get out of bed for the past several years and smile at the man responsible for your family’s current position?”  the Harbinger asked.

Your mouth twitched.  A question you asked yourself for years, the response to which was driven into your very bones by this point. 

Before you could answer, another voice jumped in.

“Not everyone has their family’s debt reviewed by the Regrator himself,” Zeta said as his hand found the nape of your neck and teased your hair.  “Fewer still are given no leniency and forced to face financial ruin; such an approach only happens when he loses more than he put in, when he gambled with his own investments and cannot face the blow to his pride.”

“That’s how authority works if you choose to use fear,” you shot back.  “You have to make examples of those who fail you, who wrong you.  Winter is not merciful, why should leadership be?”

Lord Dottore’s lips thinned.  “Try saying that with conviction next time.”

He held out two pieces of paper in front of you: the first was a copy of the original contract your father signed; the second was a revised copy, complete with a perfect signature.  No one ever doubted a contract that the Regrator himself used in any meetings.  Attempts to do so were met with additional charges of forgery.

Seeing them again made your blood boil and then ice over, pushing back the memories of dejected expressions, your carefully laid financial plans with every intention of finding a way to make it work tossed in the trash with a smile.

“Tell me, what’s the difference, Accountant?” Dottore prompted.

Your answer caught in your throat, worse than the sticky porridge you used to eat in the dormitories back when you first arrived.  The hand in your hair tightened, demanding to let you look nowhere else as Omega’s grip on you tightened further, your shoulder beginning to scream.  

Eyes crept over you expectantly and you suddenly felt like a stuck pig, cooked and on display.

“He changed the terms of the contract,” you said.  “The loan term and the interest rate specifically.  I laid out a plan for my parents to present but it was moot.  There was no recourse except to cut his losses and force us into bankruptcy, leaving only the house in which we lived.  Out of pity, more than anything.  My father would never work again and my mother does not have the skills to seek higher wages.”

Each statement felt like a hot knife to your skin and you wanted nothing more than to sink into yourself than remember this.  But Omega’s and Zeta’s rigid grips held you upright as your blood ran cold.  Zeta in particular stroked your face, almost sympathetically, and you winced at the touch, incapable of moving.  Lord Dottore said something in a language you didn’t comprehend, the same he’d used when he first felt your freezing feet.  Zeta scoffed and pinched your cheek before letting go, replying in the same tongue.

Your husband stared at you for a good long moment, boring a hole in your cheek as the paper in his fingers rustled ever so slightly.

Seemingly satisfied with Zeta’s cooperation, Lord Dottore plucked another piece of paper from behind him.  This one was recognizable from the back by the way the light passed through it.  

Your offer letter from the Ninth’s Department of Internal Revenue Affairs.

“Yet you applied to the Regrator’s very own sector,” the Harbinger said.  “Of all of the positions available for a civilian.”

“I know what I’m good at.”

“You were specifically chosen for your ‘decision making around trend analysis, looking not just at patterns but the circumstances around them’ and for your willingness to adapt .”

Omega scoffed but kept his thoughts to himself.  In your experiences, he was preparing for a rebuttal after hearing a poorly constructed argument.  When his thumb released itself to brush against the back of your shirt collar as if to comfort or perhaps mockingly admire you, you took a deep inhale slowly, his touch like pure ice.  If your husband noticed, he said nothing and cast the paper aside before gripping the desk behind him.

“Willingness to adapt is an odd turn of phrase when all of humanity has the capacity for adaptation and evolution when under the right set of experiences and environmental factors.  But for you, it is quite apt.  As is your eye for patterns and analysis.  In fact, I would go so far to say that for your position, your recognition is far superior than what your role requires of you.  I would expect, perhaps, an auditor of Northland to identify cashflow trends among its clients.  The public’s interest is better served by your skills, arguably, but the Regrator does love his little collection of prizes.”

Your breath hitched when Lord Dottore leaned forward, his face inches from yours, the Segments keeping you in place.  His proximity never troubled you, not really.  More often than not, your touch-starved body reminded you terribly of just how easy it would be to ask for more.

Zeta’s hand in your hair nudged your head forward, as if he was attempting to play with a doll, pushing your face towards his creator’s.  Omega said something too low for you to hear it in full but the slight force stopped as soon as it started, Omega’s disgust rolling off in waves.  Your husband reached out and tilted your head with his fingers beneath your chin, thumb reaching to brush across your bottom lip.

“And yet, this information finds its way to me and not your immediate superior who would have a vested interest in such knowledge.  You are nosy, in addition to expensive, my dear.  And in a desperate enough position that you might just attempt to leverage your skills in…creative ways.”

Something in you felt emboldened despite the discomfort, like a tiny piece of solid ground as you swung from a fraying rope.

“What ways might those be?” you replied.  “Reporting it internally would only result in the data changing, not the intentions of the people themselves.  But such knowledge outside of the department?  Maybe that might make a difference.”

Lord Dottore chuckled, his breath tickling your skin as he stroked your lip.

“You’re not naive enough to think that, dorogáya moya.  You are rather pragmatic.  The notion would never hold water in your mind.”

He pulled away and stood straight, speaking factually, pulling all of his threads together.

“You are hardly the first to have a right to despise the Regrator and hold a grudge against working for the very system that led to your situation.  In your position, you have access to information many would and have killed for.  All to track our movements and our plans.  It is well-compensated in the right markets.”

One final piece of paper dangled in front of you.  A report about the address you last used, including the return of a package marked ‘Return to Sender’.  It never made its way back to you; you always shipped using the standard return address, which also would have made its way to someone, eventually.  The contents discussed were inconsequential, phrased as the mere shipping of a financial manifest and a letter that made no sense.  

Included in the report was a timestamp of the shipment, the date and time you were also at the post office.

The same time and date as your accidental encounter with the Harbinger at the bank.

He couldn’t prove it was sent by you.  Not unless…

“Footage is scrubbed almost daily to save data space,” Omega sneered.  “And the Rooster is too frugal to invest in proper archives of public video records.”

“But you see, we have all of those nice hand-written summaries of yours from over the years,” Zeta let go of your hair just long enough to stroke your head before grabbing a fistful of locks again.  “And there’s so many similarities .”

Your lungs felt so small all of a sudden, refusing to intake the amount of air the way they normally should.  You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh in hopes of making room to breathe.  The Segments’ hold on you was almost numb at this point, your scalp and shoulder tingling as they clung to you, tried to wring you dry like a dirty rag.

It would be stupid to attempt to rebuke him and hide it.  He didn’t gain anything from this knowledge leaving this room, in which case, maybe you wouldn’t leave these walls, either.  Just because others knew you left with him didn’t mean they knew where you went and the Second was above certain questioning.

Maybe he wouldn’t value whatever truth you presented under the guise of it being biased.

But wasn’t that better than dying?

You shook despite the firm hold on you.

“Finding a good physician that far north requires compensation, as you’re well aware,” you said at last.  “I was skipping meals to pay for the medication and the services.”

You’d spent that time in a haze, functional and only sharp when it counted.  Audit season and Lord Dottore’s quarterly budgets were the times you dipped into savings so you weren’t as hungry.  Couldn’t have the Second suspecting the Ninth didn’t pay his people enough, was your rationalization.  Coffee helped.

Lord Dottore’s lips pursed slightly, recalling something as he cast away the last report.  “That was several years ago.  You were malnourished but it’s not uncommon in your department, given the volume of work.”

“Others in my job might have chosen to ask for positions at well known gambling houses or other businesses of Lord Pantalone’s, opting to numb their minds or spread their legs for higher pay.  But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction, not if he ever recalled my family name from the dozens upon dozens he’s already ruined.”

“Clearly you have a focus, though.”

“Never information about Lord Pantalone himself.  Only things that might be helpful to have an edge over before they go public,” you admitted.  “Activity of noble accounts, mostly; he likes to keep tabs on the biggest investors in Northland, and those files are run through us under the assumption that the bank’s staff would be too biased in an effort to protect Lord Pantalone’s interests.”

“Have you ever sold information on myself?  My projects?”

“No,” your response was instant.  “Also a rule.  Nothing that could be traced back to me in particular when pieced together.”

Zeta giggled, muttering about how well that worked out.

The silence that sat between you and your husband  grew to a crescendo as he considered you carefully.  Zeta’s hold on you shifted, his hand moving towards your neck, fingers finding perfect perches in your flesh.  He didn’t squeeze but your pulse pounded against his thumb, quick and steady.  

When you swallowed, you felt your throat twitch against Zeta’s hand.  All it would take was one flex and you’d never be heard from again.  Zeta  clearly had the same thought because his hold tightened, causing you to gasp as the pressure in your head increased.

“Killing her serves no purpose,” Lord Dottore said coldly.  “Let go.”

“She serves no purpose if she’s a potential source of data loss,” Zeta replied.  “I’m sparing you the headache.  How is this any different than—”

Your husband made no move to pry the hand from your throat but his posture and tone shifted, rigid and commanding.  “She isn’t a replaceable subject, let her go.”

“Yet you don’t fight for her, how fascinating,” Omega crooned.  “Isn’t she your wife, Prime?”

Your vision grew blurry as the pressure continued to build, your heart pounding as you made a gurgling sound, reaching up to tug on Zeta’s arm.  He held tighter as you tried to shift your weight, wrestle away, anything to not—

In a flash of blue and black, the hand on your throat released instantly as your husband grabbed Zeta and shoved him away, the younger man stumbling towards the door.  Omega’s hand left your shoulder with a hearty pat as you coughed, panting as blood returned to your head and the room spun.  Your pulse throbbed across your entire body as your blood pressure began to try to level out again.

“Let go and get out , you wretches!”

His command was followed by a sentence in the language you were beginning to expect, even if you didn’t understand it.  You didn’t turn to see the responses of the others but you heard the door slam and silence eased itself into Lord Dottore’s study again, icy and lonely.

It shouldn’t have mattered to you that he let it happen but in the haze before equilibrium came back, you felt a pang of hurt.  Was your secret now so disastrous that your life was forfeit?  

Slowly, Lord Dottore turned his attention to you and when he tried to examine your neck, you pulled away.  He was quicker, though, his other hand catching your head and tilting it up, as though expecting your reaction.

“It’ll bruise,” he muttered, removing his hands.  “Here.”

You cast your gaze up through your lashes to see him undo his cravat, the blue fabric coming free with ease as he unfastened the pin.  Without asking, he wrapped the fabric around your neck, arranging it carefully, and pinned it in place.  It was warm, smooth, and carried hints of the familiar scent that lingered in your bed sheets.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

There was little ease you could say, even if you wanted to.  How were you supposed to do this for a year if you had to sleep with one eye open now?  Would he try to kill you, too?

That wouldn’t have been much of a surprise, really.  He’d have every right to.  As a Harbinger, he upheld the Tsaritsa’s will and protected her main interests, even if he had his own.  You shoved down the part of you that felt the disappointment, as if this was meant to be more than a quid pro quo.

“Perhaps there’s another benefit to our arrangement,” Lord Dottore said.  “Such skills should not go to waste.”

“Almost had me fooled, I’d have thought a treacherous dead wife would be convenient.”

“Accidents certainly happen but I gain nothing from you dying.  Or did Zeta squeeze you so hard you have memory retention problems?”

You glared at him until he bowed his head slightly and raised his hand to his lips, deep in thought.

“Pantalone’s interests are of little use to me unless it directly affects my work,” he said at last.  “But the pattern you mentioned was one you identified for a year and yet it has never come up, not even in candid discussions.”

Lord Dottore shifted his weight and then began to pace the floor, boots clicking against the flagstone, not unlike a metronome.  He continued as he walked.

“Instead of you simply…mailing out coded information, you will bring your findings to me first.  I will parse through it and then you will do as you normally would.  I merely wish to be informed.  This little game of yours could have interesting conclusions, all of them vastly different…as intriguing as it might be, my own involvement means there’s a bias…but this isn’t suitable for another…” he began to trail off, his words too soft for you to hear over his footsteps.

You rubbed your throat through the cravat, trying not to think about the spots that danced across your vision and the questions your coworkers would raise when you arrived back.  Mint and…now it was closer, you recognized the musky tone as sandalwood.  You closed your eyes for a second to refocus before you spoke up.

“And what do I get in exchange for taking on that larger risk of you ratting me out to Pantalone anytime you might be displeased with me?  Or far into the future when we have dissolved our legal bindings?”

His steps back towards you were slow, reminiscent of the wolves you heard growing up padding through the snow as they circled their prey.  Lord Dottore stepped in front of you, rested his hands on the armrests and leaned down, leather gloves squeaking as he brought his face an inch away from yours.  The tip of his mask scratched your nose.

“Have I given you the impression I’m a vengeful man?” 

“All arrogant and selfish men are vengeful, my lord.  I believe that was just proven by your own…whatever your Segments are.”

“I do not stand to gain anything from throwing you to the wolves, dorogáya moya.   Whether you live or die, the truth reveals itself inevitably and I look like a fool.  I have no intentions of letting that happen.”

If your nerves weren’t shot before from almost being choked to death, this conversation would be the nail in the coffin.  Of course a prideful man such as Il Dottore, Second Fatui Harbinger, would never let it be known that he made a mistake that was not merely a byproduct of some experiment.  It was the one thing that you drilled into your head to avoid being turned into a pile of blood and viscera to join your colleague in your old office’s rug.

He would be benefiting from you sharing your findings and this was separate from your marriage contract and list of goals.  Therefore, you deserved compensation for a new agreement.  Quite simple.

You angled your head, letting his mask dig further into your nose.  

“You’re proving my point, dear husband.  But you gain knowledge of the activities outside of your domain that will potentially affect you one way or another.  Pantalone is not your only investor, he’s just the one with the largest piece of the pie.”

When he didn’t respond, you continued.

“Treat my father when we go north.  Or at least ease his pain.”

His breath was hot on your lips as he tilted his head, his mask instead resting on your cheek, right where he’d cut you months ago.

“You said it yourself that his physician does not expect him to see spring.  Why should I waste my time?”

“Because it’s the one thing I have wanted ever since before I came to the capitol,” your voice wavered and you swallowed, pushing away the sentiment that made your heart ache.  If nothing else, then perhaps an appeal to his ego would do it.  “And if anyone would be capable, it would be you.”

Lord Dottore was still for longer than you expected and you wondered if your words had turned him to stone.  More often than not, this only happened when you presented a case that he couldn’t refute but needed time to work through all of the intricacies in whatever maze made up his mental faculties.  His throat bobbed as he swallowed and he let out a long, contemplative breath.

“I do not promise any specific outcome,” he finally said.

“Any attempts while we’re there are worthwhile.  If only for the certainty they provide.”

A beat, a blink, and then supple heat met your lips.  By now, you were used to the shape of his mouth, how his lips melded against yours.  The first few were chaste, like dipping one’s toes into water.  You made the mistake of parting your lips when he pulled away only for him to dive back to you; suddenly you were back in the house by the sea, pressed against the wall, his tongue meeting yours as if he was predicting your movements.

Your body betrayed you, pulse racing as you finally parted.  Head throbbing and a familiar heat pooling in your lower belly, you tried to blink away the haze.

“An agreement, sealed with a kiss,” you mumbled.  “How fitting.”

He chuckled, his smile nothing like the large grin from that day, greedy and prideful.  It was close to amusement, and had you married for anything other than mere convenience, you might have called it adoration.  Another pang ran through you, fleeting but sharp in its bitterness.  It was too late for such sentiments; you made your choice all those months ago and now you had to live with it.

Few words passed between you as he stood straight again and helped you up, escorting you back to the long corridor and the first elevator.  If Omega and Zeta, or any other Segments for that matter, were around, they did not make themselves known.

Lord Dottore slid open the elevator grate and stepped aside to let you pass.  There was no sense in him returning upstairs with you, not if his business was settled, and you dared not trust your tongue to ask.  He said your name and you brought your gaze away from the elevator buttons, forcing your dazed mind to focus.  He’d only ever said your name during the wedding ceremony and on his tongue it felt too intimate, every syllable sharpened by the way his tongue wrapped around them.

“Play your part and no one will ever know.  All they’ll see is a loyal spouse and a member of the Tsaritsa’s triumpherate ensuring the safety of the nation.”

The grate door was closed and locked in place.  Before you could, the Harbinger pressed the outer panel button and you watched as his visage disappeared, the elevator car whisking you back to the surface.

[deadhands69]

cursing each other over and over again [2/3]

MDNI

Toge Inumaki x cursed speech reader (not quite the same as his)

Super fluffy, mildly angsty but it gets smutty in the next one. Warnings/content/etc: Toge Inumaki x reader, fem-bodied/no pronouns, unestablished relationship, swearing, light violence (slapping), kissing, slightly suggestive conversation, mentions of dub con, cursed speech use. AU: Jujutsu University, all characters over 18

part 1 - this is part 2 - part 3

Text key:

🖤 You 🤍 Toge

Even after clearing things up with Toge, you still felt weird about going to class in the morning. Sure, you talked things through with him but didn’t know what to expect from everyone else.

In addition to this, you're exhausted. You spent most of the night laying in bed regretting a chunk of the texts you’d sent him instead of sleeping. You particularly regret telling your crush you have no game and can’t even manage to talk to him. How embarrassing is that?

He seemed to understand though. He has to, right? Dating with cursed speech of any kind isn’t easy. You can’t just walk up and strike up a conversation with someone you like. There’s also the weird dynamic shift when they realize you can control their actions. When you inadvertently force them to kiss you and you’re awkwardly trying to get out of it, knowing it’s not what they want, traumatizing you both in the process. Or worse, you could accidentally hurt them. That’s probably even worse for him. Maybe he gets it?

Anyways, what does two cursed speech users dating look like, you’d be cursing each other back and forth constantly. He probably doesn’t want that.

Stopping yourself, you can’t think about this all day.

On the walk across campus, you started trying some breathing exercises Gojo gave you when you first arrived. In addition to the usual homework, he also tasked you with learning to control your emotions. Fair. So far, you’ve found it easier some times than others. This morning wasn’t too bad until, in your distraction, you collided with Toge where two sidewalks intersect.

He says “kelp”, his eyes smiling. You wave and smile back.

Your heart is racing, but at least it’s no weirder than when you first met him. You walk together silently until you reach the classroom.

Immediately, Panda high-fives him as Maki smacks him in the back of the head. You take your seat as she continues to berate him. Yuta sits next to you asking about your evening. It would be nice, but you can tell he’s just pushing to see how things went with his friend. He moves seats as soon as Inumaki approaches.

Just before class is scheduled to start (okay, you have an extra five minutes every day because Gojo is consistently at least five minutes late) your phone buzzes.

🤍 [sorry if that was weird for you] 🤍 [i actually didn’t tell anyone we hung out] 🤍 [maki told the gc you left my room at midnight after i left everyone on read]

You look up to see Toge waiting to see how you'll react. 

🖤 [haha i mean it's fine] 🖤 [technically that’s true] 🖤 [but] 🖤 [there’s a solid implication there] 🖤 [at least rumor me is getting laid]

You look at him rolling your eyes to make it clear that was sarcasm, you’d correct people later. He laughs.

The rest of the week passes quickly. Lots of homework to catch up on and even more to learn. Wednesday, you got to go on a mission with Maki. Who, you are pleased to learn, is a lot more caring than she lets on. The two of you were able to take out a few grade 2 curses together fairly quickly. It felt great being able to use your technique for more than destruction. After, you got sushi and talked for a while. You talked about jujutsu sorcery, life, pretty much everything. Toge came up once but since that was nearly all anyone in your class had asked you about since you arrived, she didn’t drag the subject out.

By the time Friday arrives, you realize you haven’t had time to fully unpack and set your room up. You also hadn’t talked to Toge much more than in passing. 

Pulling your folded clothes out of boxes and hanging them in the closet, your mind wanders. He asked to hang out first, does he want you to reach out next? Is he just busy? Or did you scare him off? You only hung out once, just because you have a huge crush on him doesn’t mean he feels the same after spending some small amount of time with you. He still seems to want to be friends, at least. So it wouldn’t be too weird to ask to hang out this weekend. That’s not so bad. Looking down at empty boxes, you realize you’ve been spiraling longer than you thought. Maybe you should just text him.

Pulling your phone out, you hear a commotion down the hall. The clang of pots and pans on the ground, Panda’s oversized footsteps thumping down the hallway, Maki yelling and Toge screaming “CAVIAR!”

Or, maybe you should text him later. He sounds busy.

A scuffle of footsteps make their way closer to your cracked door. Maki pokes her head in, she’s covered in half cooked rice. 

As mockingly sweet as she can muster, “hey [y/n], getting set up?” 

You nod, pretending you didn’t just hear the chaos. 

“Need help with those shelves?” she says gesturing to a box you’d thus far neglected.

“Yeah, I -” 

“Perfect! Here, take this” she shoves a disheveled Toge through the door and slams it.

“I was just about to text you. But you sounded, uh, busy.”

You lean into the doorway to look him up and down, amused. He laughs and pulls a grain of rice out of his hair.

Hanging shelves goes fast with the two of you, he holds them level while you screw them in. And since you’re concentrating, you almost don’t notice how close the two of you are standing together. Almost.

You’re on the last one above your bed, it’s the biggest and it’s heavy. He shifts so his hands are on both sides of the shelf above his head, pressing you between the wall and him. This shouldn’t be weird, you tell yourself. It’s not like there’s a better way to hold it. No, this is how you have to do this. Telling yourself that doesn’t change that you can feel his chest pressing into you and breath against your neck. Nevermind that you were on the floor of his room rolling around before he bit you Monday, this felt. Different.

Distracted, you pause for a second to take it all in. The feel of his warm body pushing into you with every inhale. His arms flexing above you. He’s so strong to hold something so heavy. Oh, shit. Back to work.

With some fumbling, the last screw goes in and you’re done. You spin around to mouth “thanks” but Toge stays in place. Smiling down at you, his arms drop slightly from the shelf to the wall, still pressing you back. His smokey violet eyes connect with yours. You glance at the circles on his cheeks, visible since he took his jacket off shortly after arriving. Sliding his hands down further, he gently grabs your wrists and pulls you down to sit with him. Keeping the closeness: you’re still up against the wall with him leaning in. He smiles and you forget how to breathe. His hand brushes the hair from your forehead, sliding it behind one of your now flushed ears. Your heart is pounding out of your chest as he moves in closer.

BANG. BANG. BANG. 

“Inumaki!?” 

Wide eyed, he freezes: still leaning into you with one hand on the wall near your head and the other at your side. 

BANG.

“Panda cleaned my kitchen. If you’re done hanging shelves, come help me with the extra laundry you made!” you hear Maki yell.

“Salmon!” he grumbles, not fast enough. Another bang and your door cracks open, giving Panda and Maki a direct view of the two of you on your bed. In the background, you see a pretending-to-be-nonchalant Gojo passing by then double-taking back to look over their shoulders. 

Well, so much for dispelling rumors.

He begrudgingly stands up and walks to the door. 

You slump into your bed in both embarrassment and disappointment. You were so close. You glance back at them.

Holding one finger up for the three of them to wait for something, Toge shoos the other three away and closes the door. 

Returning to your bed, he crawls back to you, pressing his hand back to its spot on the wall behind you while bringing the other behind your head. Leaning in, without hesitation, he presses his lips onto yours kissing you feverishly. Your face melts into his and you completely forget about the group standing outside your door listening. He pulls back, pecks your lips once more, and smiles before grabbing his jacket and walking out. You lay there, too stunned to move. Your hand slides over your comforter and - wait, is that a grain of rice?

9:58pm - Friday

🤍 [not to ‘you up’ you but you up?] 🖤 [kiss me once and you’re looking for a bootycall now?] 🤍 [you know it] 🖤 [pshhh] 🤍 [nah] 🤍 [fr tho i need to talk to you] 🤍 [i wanted to earlier but Maki just set me free 20 minutes ago] 🤍 [and i had to wash the rice out of my hair] 🤍 [can i come by?] 🖤 [you’re not making the rumors any better, Toge…]

You’re pretty tired from getting your room set-up and finishing all of your homework but you know you definitely won’t get any sleep putting this conversation off. Hopefully he doesn’t think kissing you was a mistake. You don't think you used your cursed energy on him?

🖤 [but yeah] 🖤 [of course you can]

Quickly, you jump out of bed to change into something cuter. Still gym shorts and a t-shirt but at least these ones aren’t ripped or stained. You fix your hair before running to the knock on the door.

Toge walks in, looking around in awe of your room. The shelves the two of you put up earlier are now covered in books, plants, and color changing lights in the shapes of your favorite anime characters. He gestures at them and smiles. The dim lighting glows in a rainbow of colors that dance on his face. Taking a massive breath, he begins typing. Pausing, he erases what he wrote, puts his phone away, and unzips his jacket. Biting his lip, he turns to you. Is he about to say something?

Extending one finger, he slowly points at you then at himself. Still biting his lip, he shrugs his shoulders in a question. His eyes dig into yours, begging you to understand.

“together” you whisper-yell, this time feeling your cursed energy pull him to you. A twinge of guilt hits the back of your mind at accidentally using your power on him, but it’s quickly pushed aside by the familiarity of him smashing his lips into yours. He kisses you with even more passion than earlier, gripping your waist like he can’t pull you close enough. You run your hands through his damp hair. He pulls his face away momentarily to nod yes, before smiling and squeezing you back into him. 

Your curse has completely faded and he’s still here.

[I’m so proud of him, I didn’t really think Toge had game, but somehow writing him this way made sense. Good for him.]

part 3

m.list