Chapter Text
“Congrats…!” Best Jeanist said, clapping once. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Katsuki caught it immediately. Obligatory. “You passed the top one hundred rankings in just one year. Almost breached the top fifty already.” Jeanist adjusted the collar of his suit
“Impressive.” Then he leaned in just slightly. “Though if it weren’t for your /personality/, you’d be ranked much higher.” The last part was barely a whisper before Jeanist straightened again, volume snapping back. “The Hero Commission would like to thank you for your outstanding work, your time commitment, and—” he waved his hand vaguely, clearly skipping ahead through a memorized script “—would like to offer you an additional support perk.”
Katsuki’s brow furrowed beneath his mask. He didn’t like that tone. Didn’t like perks. Perks meant strings. “Offer me what,” he said flatly.
“To place you under the Behavioral Cycle Assistance Program…or BCAP,” Jeanist replied.
“The what?” Katsuki lifted his mask halfway up his face, spiky hair springing through the eyeholes as he stared.
“Behavioral Cycles— Just BCAP—” Jeanist was done with saying the full name. “Rut and leave support for alphas and omegas,” Tsunagu continued. “Trained, licensed attendants handle care during regulated leave periods.”
Katsuki blinked. Once. Twice.
“You can be assigned someone to assist you during your rut cycles,” Jeanist repeated, much simpler, brushing his bangs aside like this was a casual wardrobe choice. “Isn’t that great?”
“What the fuck—” Katsuki started, heat flaring under his skin, but Jeanist cut him off immediately.
“Excellent, glad you’re following,” Jeanist said, already pulling out a clipboard and clicking his pen. “Now then. Would you prefer someone currently in training, supervised by a senior handler, or an expert with full certification?”
Katsuki’s head was spinning. He’d been called in for what the email described as a “brief check-in.” To be honest, he’d expected it to be a meeting about his latest… endeavors. He’d been in hot water lately for screaming at a few civilians—couldn’t help it. They never got the fuck out of the way.
Someone to help you during rut leave? He’d heard about it, sure. You couldn’t avoid it. Midnight had gone on about it in class, smiling like it was all perfectly natural. How heroes of all genders had cycles, how it didn’t make them weak, how support systems existed for a reason.
Back then, Katsuki had tuned it out, arms crossed, convinced it was something for other people. Older heroes talked about it sometimes, too. About who they’d been assigned. About good matches and bad ones. Like stories you never thought you’d live through yourself.
“I don’t—” Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, teeth grinding. “I don’t fucking know.”
Jeanist hummed, looking him up and down like he was tailoring a suit. “Would you like someone in training?” he asked again.
“No,” Katsuki snapped immediately. “The last thing I want is me not knowing what the hell to do while the other guy’s just as confused.”
“You’re not the first to say that,” Jeanist replied mildly, scribbling something down.
“How do those people even get trained?” Katsuki asked before he could stop himself. The question slipped out, curiosity sneaking past his irritation. “Most heroes just…don’t mind?”
“Veteran heroes usually volunteer,” Jeanist said. “They’re more stable, less prone to becoming complete knot-heads during heightened cycles.” He paused, then added dryly, “No offense. Age plays a role.”
“Tch.” Katsuki looked away.
Jeanist flipped the page. “Alright. Gender preference. Female, male, nonbinary,” he said, glancing up. “Or no preference at all.”
Silence stretched.
Katsuki stared at the wall clock instead, its ticking suddenly loud enough to irritate him. He thought about his schedule. His patrol hours. The way his chest already felt tight just sitting here. How badly he wanted to get out of this office.
Jeanist sighed, clearly done trying to read him, and circled male. He slid the clipboard across the desk along with the pen. “Fill out the rest yourself. I don’t need the details of your personal life.”
Katsuki took the papers slowly, eyes scanning the dense blocks of text. Terms. Regulations. Confidentiality clauses.
“But those forms need to be submitted today,” Jeanist added calmly. “The sooner they’re processed, the sooner someone can be assigned to your case.”
“I don’t get this shit,” Katsuki muttered as he flipped the packet open. “I’ve handled it fine on my own. I can keep doing what I’ve always done. I never needed someone to ‘help me’ before.”
Jeanist didn’t look offended. If anything, he looked amused, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded as Katsuki’s eyes skimmed down the page. The section Jeanist had stopped at was clearly marked in bold: *PREFERENCES*.
“Then by all means,” Jeanist said calmly, tilting his head toward the bottom of the form, “there’s an X at the end. You may opt out entirely.”
Katsuki scowled, thumb tightening on the edge of the paper.
“Though,” Jeanist added smoothly, “I would suggest you try it at least once. You have no idea how many heroes wish their insurance covered heat and rut support personnel. Most don’t realize how useful it is until they experience it.”
Katsuki huffed under his breath. “Sounds like something people say to justify spending money.”
“I do wonder,” Jeanist continued, ignoring the jab, “what you think the service actually provides.”
Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He’d already started circling things further down the page. Body type, height ranges, scent tolerance, and personality compatibility. The damn thing was uncomfortably detailed. Whoever designed this had taken their job way too seriously.
“Just getting your knot wet?” Katsuki said finally, blunt as ever, eyes still on the paper.
Jeanist sighed, long and patient. “Did they truly not cover this at U.A.?”
“I was more focused on learning how to be a /better hero/,” Katsuki shot back, “not figuring out who I’m supposed to spend my rut with.”
That earned him a quiet hum, the sound Jeanist made when he thought someone was being predictably stupid. “A support staff member doesn’t only assist during your… heightened moments,” he said. “They can help prepare nests, manage your environment, cook when your appetite is unpredictable, and ensure you’re properly hydrated and rested. Many also monitor stress levels, regulate scent suppressants, coordinate medical check-ins, and handle post-cycle recovery so you return to duty at full capacity.”
The blond only hummed as the next section shifted away from physical traits and into behavioral preferences, and Katsuki slowed despite himself.
*Scenting:*
☑ Yes ☐ No ☐ Unsure
He checked yes without thinking. At least that part was easy.
Bonding behaviors (giving):
☑ Knotting a partner
☑ Biting
Bonding behaviors (shared):
☑ Nesting
☑ Shared sleeping
☑ Physical reassurance
He didn’t overthink it. If the point of this whole mess was to get through his rut without wanting to crawl out of his own skin, then yeah, those made sense.
Another subsection followed.
*Domestic support preferences:*
☑ Cooking
☑ Nest preparation
☑ Cleaning and hygiene assistance
☑ Post-cycle recovery support
He hesitated, then checked cooking. Checked nest prep. Left the rest blank for a second before ticking hygiene assistance too, scowling as he did it. He hated admitting it, even to a piece of paper.
Then came the section that made him slow all the way down.
*Activities or conditions to avoid due to stress or injury:*
Katsuki’s knee twinged. He clicked his tongue and wrote.
– No pressure on injured joints
– Avoid prolonged strain or restrictive positioning
– No activities that interfere with physical recovery
If his rut was supposed to be something he got through and came out of functional, why the hell would he want to worry about reinjuring himself? He wasn’t here to make things worse.
*Unsure / Open to discussion:*
☐ Teasing
☐ Prolonged build-up
☐ Sensory control
☐ Role-specific dynamics
Katsuki frowned, then checked *Unsure* on more than one. Not because he was shy, but because he genuinely didn’t know. Some things depended on mood. On trust. On whether the other person annoyed the hell out of him or not.
He really, really hoped these papers never leaked. Ever. If anyone saw this, he’d blow something up out of pure spite.
When he finally finished, Katsuki snapped the folder shut and slid it back across Jeanist’s desk with more force than necessary.
He accepted it without comment, “As you’ve been told. There’s nothing embarrassing about needing assistance,” Jeanist added, softer now. “You will experience this regularly. Once a month. You might as well ensure it’s something that leaves you rested rather than depleted. Think of it as maintenance. You endure it so you can come back stronger.”
Jeanist flipped to the back page and signed it with his initials, “There is a reason this program receives such extensive funding. Veteran heroes praise it openly.”
“Tch,” Katsuki muttered. “Thought it was just PR bullshit.”
Jeanist smiled faintly. “Most do. Until they use it.”
Katsuki pushed himself up from the chair, already restless, leg bouncing. “So. We done?”
“Yes, yes,” Jeanist replied, gathering the papers. “We’re done. I forget how energetic you young ones are. I’ll try to pull some strings,” Jeanist said evenly, pen tapping once against the clipboard, “so they can assign you one of the best.”
Katsuki stopped short, already halfway out of his chair. “Why?” he snapped, turning back with a scowl. “Just put me with whoever isn’t, like—some noob. I’ll live.”
“No,” Jeanist replied immediately, “It isn’t that simple. You need to understand something, Katsuki.” He folded his hands together, “You are one of the youngest alphas in Japan to rise through the rankings this quickly. And while I admire that, we don’t yet know how that level of stress correlates to your mental alpha health. Or your body.”
“Doctors said I’m peachy,” Katsuki shot back
Jeanist didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m not only speaking about your physical condition,” he said. “I’m talking about your mental state as well. You are experiencing pressures most people your age never encounter, and you are doing so without adequate time to process them. During a rut—just as with an omega’s heat—your body attempts to decompress. It releases stress. That is precisely why this program works so well for active heroes. If your most vulnerable periods are spent poorly, the consequences will bleed into your work. And given your age—”
“Stop,” Katsuki snapped, spinning toward him. “Stop bringing my age into this shit. I’m twenty-three, okay? That’s not that young.”
Jeanist blinked at him once, then spoke calmly. “Have you looked at the heroes you’re ranked alongside?” he asked. “Not your classmates. Not your former peers. The veterans you are now competing with. Compared to them, you are exceptionally young. That is not an insult. It is a fact. These are accomplishments most heroes never reach, I’ll remind you—your age is relevant.”
Katsuki exhaled hard, shoulders tight as he turned back toward the door. “Yeah. Got it,” he said flatly. “I’m young and naive and hardheaded, and my body’s still adjusting. Anything else?”
Jeanist watched him for a moment before answering. “No,” he said finally.
Katsuki hummed, hand already on the handle. “See you tomorrow, old man.”
The door slammed shut behind him, rattling the frame. Tsunagu sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Young ones,” he muttered, then stopped himself. His gaze drifted to Katsuki’s folder on the desk, thick with reports, accolades, and incident logs. He hummed softly. “No,” he corrected. “Katsuki will always act like that.”
Maybe he needed someone to tame him, like a horse hitched to a donkey. Hm. Jeanist smiled; he had it.
*
*
Weeks passed.
Long enough time that the whole conversation with Best Jeanist blurred into something distant, filed away in the back of Katsuki’s mind under ‘bureaucratic bullshit I’ll deal with later’.
Patrols stacked up. Training intensified. His body ached in that familiar way that never fully went away anymore, a collection of bruises and half-healed injuries layered over old ones. His mind felt worse. Foggy. Frayed. Like every thought was being dragged through static before it landed.
Every sound felt too sharp. Footsteps echoed too loudly. Doors slammed like gunshots. Someone laughed down the hall, and Katsuki nearly snapped his head around, heart kicking hard against his ribs. It couldn’t be the explosions, he told himself. He heard those all the fucking time. Screams, alarms, and concrete shattering. He was used to that. This was different. This was his skin feeling too tight, his temper riding too close to the surface, his senses cranked up past what they had any right to be.
He knew what it was.
His rut was coming up. Nothing more—just his rut.
He just had to push through until it hit, let it run its course, and then he’d be fine again. That was how it always worked. That had always been enough. The only reason his scent felt off, clinging to him heavier than usual. The only reason everything smelled too loud, too layered, like his brain couldn’t sort it all out fast enough. The only reason he kept catching himself chuffing under his breath when someone stood too close, chest tightening with restless energy he didn’t have an outlet for.
Get a grip, he thought, dragging himself down the hallway toward his desk. You’ve handled worse than this.
He stopped short.
There was an envelope sitting dead center on his desk, stark against the surface. Thick paper. Official weight. His name was printed cleanly across the front. The edges were trimmed in red, stamped with a single word that made his jaw tighten on instinct.
IMPORTANT
No return address. No logo. Nothing else. Katsuki frowned and picked it up, turning it over once. Then again. Blank. Who the fuck—
“I know that envelope.”
Katsuki nearly launched out of his skin.
His body reacted before his brain did, muscles coiling, throat locking tight as his instincts screamed threat—then immediately recalibrated when his senses caught Denki’s scent, familiar and safe. Friend. Omega. /Idiot/. The split second of recognition was the only thing that stopped Katsuki from blowing a hole in the wall.
“FUCK,” Katsuki snarled, spinning around. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you creep up on people like that, you asshole?”
“I didn’t!” Denki protested, hands raised. “You’re just on edge.”
“That’s why that envelope is important,” another voice chimed in far too cheerfully.
Katsuki jumped again and shot a glare sideways to find Mina leaning close to him, grinning as she’d just found something shiny.
“Do you enjoy trying to get yourself killed?” he snapped.
She shrugged. “Worth it.”
“Did all of you already go through your shit with one of them or something?” Katsuki asked, suspicion curling low in his gut.
“Nope, our ranks aren't that high yet,” Kirishima said, suddenly appearing behind him.
Katsuki clenched his fist around the envelope. Were they stalking him now? “What the hell is wrong with you people?”
“But the heroes we get paired with won’t shut up about it,” Kirishima continued easily, completely unfazed. “They say it’s, like, one of the best perks of the job.”
“Yeah!” Mina leaned in, pressing her cheek against Katsuki’s arm without permission. “So open it already. Who’d you get?” They started drifting closer, too close. Way too close. Katsuki bared his teeth, a low snarl vibrating in his chest, but if that would’ve worked on literally anyone else, it didn’t here. They stayed put.
Groaning, Katsuki ripped the envelope open. The paper inside was thick, folded neatly. He flipped it open.
Congratulations. You have been assigned to— The name took up nearly half the page.
[IZUKU MIDORIYA]
“No way,” Kirishima said, leaning in, eyes wide. There was something in his expression that Katsuki didn’t like. Awe. And—was that jealousy? “You got Midoriya?” Kirishima asked, incredulous.
“So what?” Katsuki snapped automatically, even as his mind stalled out. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Denki let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a whine. “Dude. He’s, like—one of the most requested support staff in the entire program for alphas.”
“Every hero I work with talks about him,” Kirishima added. “All the time.”
“And you got him?” Mina said
Katsuki stared back down at the paper, a strange feeling creeping under his skin that had /nothing/ to do with his approaching rut.
TBC