Bakugo Katsuki has a secret no one in Class 1-A ever expected—he’s a dad. His three-year-old daughter is the one thing he protects more fiercely than his pride, and he’s kept her existence tightly under wraps. Only a handful of UA staff and a few trusted students know the truth. During school hours, she stays at UA’s daycare center, a quiet, secure place Bakugo checks on whenever he can, usually pretending he’s “just passing through.”
Y/N is only four years old—small, quiet, and far too observant for her age. Her father, Aizawa, has always been more of a shadow than a presence in her life. He was never cruel, never loud—just absent. Always working. Always tired. Always promising, “Next time,” or “Soon.” Promises that never came true.
Y/n and Gojo Satoru have mastered the art of secrecy. For one year , they’ve successfully kept their son, Riku, hidden from the students at Jujutsu High. The staff all know—Shoko babysits, Nanami pretends he doesn’t see anything, Utahime scolds Gojo weekly—but to the first years? Gojo is just… Gojo. Loud, powerful, annoyingly single (supposedly).
In 1194 BCE, Princess Y/n’s ship finally docked at the shores of Ithaca. She breathed in the sharp, salty air as waves brushed against the hull, letting the warmth of the sun steady her nerves. When she opened her eyes, her gaze wandered across the busy docks—children laughing, merchants calling out prices, and sailors unloading cargo. The lively scene almost made her smile. “Princess, it is time,” came a familiar voice. Alexander, her servant since childhood, stood beside her. Now in his late
The gates of U.A. High School loomed tall and gleaming beneath the morning sun, banners snapping softly in the breeze. Y/n stood just outside them, her heart thudding with a mix of nerves and bubbling excitement. Her white, fluffy cat ears twitched atop her head, betraying every emotion she tried to keep tucked neatly away, while her matching tail swayed behind her in an eager rhythm. Beside her was her older brother, Mico—taller, broader, and unmistakably her twin in everything but age. He had
The gym roared with noise—chants, stomping feet, the sharp squeal of sneakers against polished wood. Banners shook from the rafters as the home crowd surged to its feet. On the court, Sukuna barely heard any of it. The ball slapped into his palm, familiar and grounding. His eyes burned with focus as he drove past a defender, muscles coiled, instincts sharp. This was his territory. His game. Every movement was calculated—until a sound cut through the chaos like a blade. Her voice. Clear, brig
Class 1-A is sent on a joint mission to apprehend a slippery villain known for his bizarre Cat-Type Quirk, which allows him to temporarily alter others with feline traits—or in rare cases, turn them fully into cats. The mission is supposed to be straightforward: corner the villain, restrain him, go home. Easy.
Princess Y/n of a neighboring kingdom stood on the palace terrace, watching the sea. Her land, known for skilled craftsmen and bustling harbors, had long shared a complicated history with Ithaca—rivalry, trade, and fragile truces threading generations together. Trained in philosophy, diplomacy, and strategy from childhood, Y/n knew that her choices carried weight far beyond the palace walls. On her twentieth birthday, her father announced grand games to be held for noble suitors from across the
The Sully family arrives on the Metkayina shore as outsiders, their presence drawing wary, curious eyes from the reef clan. Neteyam stands at the water’s edge—tall, steady, and fiercely protective—his gaze scanning the unfamiliar faces until the sea itself seems to answer their arrival. From the turquoise depths rises Y/N, the youngest daughter of Tsahìk Tonal and Chief Tonowari, surfacing beside her sister Tsireya as sunlight dances across the water. Her hair, white as fresh snow and traced wit
The common room at UA is loud in that comfy, end-of-day way—couches stolen, snacks everywhere, the TV humming in the background. You’re sprawled on the rug with Mina Ashido, both of you scrolling until she suddenly gasps.
In the divine halls of Valhalla, gods look upon humanity with scorn, indifference, or cruel amusement. Mortals are fleeting. Replaceable. Entertaining at best.
In a world ruled by instinct and power, omegas have all but vanished—watered down by generations of forced bonds and broken traditions. Legends whisper of pure omegas, beings born with unmistakable traits and rare pheromones capable of balancing even the most volatile alphas. Most believe them extinct. Except for you. Y/N is the last pure omega, born with soft, snow-white ears that twitch with emotion and a long, fluffy white tail that betrays her nerves. Her presence alone soothes raging inst
Y/N Gojo is infamous at Jujutsu High for one thing: she is exactly like her brother. Same blinding confidence, same teasing grin, same talent for getting under people’s skin just to watch the reaction. The only difference? She’s married—and somehow, of all people, she married Nanami Kento.
During the height of the Heian Era, when curses bowed and gods walked carefully, Y/N, the wife of Sukuna, lived quietly beside him within their secluded temple. Unlike the legends that painted Sukuna as nothing but a monster, their life together was calm—rituals at dawn, shared meals at dusk, and a peace carved out away from the world’s fear. Y/N was the heart of that peace: gentle, soft-spoken, endlessly kind. She detested bloodshed, turned her face from gore, and found joy instead in silk fabrics, embroidery, carefully measured recipes, and the comforting warmth of baking within the temple halls.
No one at U.A. is prepared for the day y/n walks onto campus holding the hand of a small, toddling boy with explosive ash-blond hair, sharp red eyes, and a scowl that looks way too familiar.
Y/N and Ochaco Uraraka have been dating for two solid years—soft mornings, shared dorm nights, steady love built through training bruises and quiet encouragement. They’re stable. Happy. Not rushed.
The iron gates of U.A. High School loomed overhead, gleaming in the early morning sun as students streamed inside in clusters of nervous excitement. Y/N paused just beyond the entrance. Her white fluffy tail flicked once behind her—slow, controlled—while her ears twitched beneath neatly brushed curls. The UA uniform sat perfectly on her frame, subtly customized with fabric that whispered luxury to anyone who knew what to look for. Polished shoes. Immaculate stitching. Effortless elegance. She
The bell echoed through the halls of U.A., sharp and final, but the tension in Class 1-A lingered long after students began to pack up. Y/N sat at her desk near the window, sunlight catching in her hair as she exhaled softly—unaware, or perhaps pretending to be, of the five different pairs of eyes trained on her. From the back of the room, Bakugo Katsuki clicked his tongue, irritation crackling just beneath the surface. He hated how easily she distracted him—how one glance, one laugh, could sh