Assassination Classroom Fanfiction Novels & Stories

He pesters me as I struggle with myself to at least be able to wiggle my fingers. I hate him. I hate him so much. No particular reason as to why they want him dead? His words right now are enough reasons. What part made me this unconscious? Was it the hit? Or was it the fact that I cut myself? Was it my blood? I have bled one too many times. Aunt Kitra made sure I never had my trainings easy. “What is an assassin if you cannot fight the same death you have made your job?” He continues to pester me as he increases his pressure on my foot.

“I’m not just a hothead.” “Fine. Your plan sounds safer. Let’s do it.” “Obviously safer. You idiots were about to get yourselves banished,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Alright,” I said, holding back an eye roll of my own. “Can I get your number or something, so we can keep in touch?” “No,” she replied flatly, then turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the empty classroom. Taking a deep breath, I walked into my next class on Werewolf Anatomy, hoping to sneak in without being noticed, but Miss May’s glare met me at the door.

“Yours.” Alessia trembled violently. “But why would I open it?!” He chuckled. “Oh, you won’t.” Her heart stopped. “You won’t open it willingly.” Kael snarled, “Over my dead body.” The assassin’s single visible eye gleamed. “Possibly.” Kael lunged—but a blast of corrupted luminousness hurled him across the chamber. He slammed into the wall with a grunt, still clutching Alessia so she wouldn’t be hurt.

My chest tightened with anger, but when I looked up, I caught Winnie's triumphant smirk. Ms. Tyson quickly stepped forward. "I trust that Cassandra isn't that kind of person." She took my hand gently and said, "Cassandra, maybe there's been some misunderstanding. Tell them what really happened—you didn't mean to hurt anyone." Just as I was about to speak, Sheldon suddenly lunged forward. "Misunderstanding? Cassandra is malicious! She's the reason we couldn't get admitted! She has to compensate us financially!" He fixed Ms. Tyson with a hard glare. "Ms. Tyson, are you seriously going to protect her just because she's the class rep? She ruined all of our futures! She has to reimburse us for wh

"My friend is in love." "It’s just a fantasy," I whispered. But my heart knew better. The final period dragged under the weight of the afternoon sun. Dust floated in golden light. Mr. Pringle’s voice faded into a distant hum. My eyelids grew heavy. The glow in my skin pulsed—warm, rhythmic—pulling me under. Sleep took me. The classroom door slammed open. A violent bang—like a gunshot. I jerked awake. The room was silent. Mr. Pringle stood frozen, tea halfway to his mouth.

There were no words. Just an attachment. Frowning, I tapped the image. At first, it looked blurry. Dark shapes behind frosted glass. Then my stomach dropped. Two figures. Standing extremely close together inside a classroom. One taller. One leaning forward slightly. Even distorted through the blurry quality, I recognized us immediately. My breathing stopped. The timestamp at the bottom corner read: BLACKWOOD HIGH — ROOM 214. The classroom. My fingers suddenly felt numb around the phone. No text followed. No threat. No explanation.

If she was caught before she killed him, she had no doubt that he would kill her without a second thought. Up ahead she caught sight of Asha, and she was training with Adrian, which explained where he had taken off to after bolting and leaving her alone with Blake. They turned as she approached them and Asha’s face lit up with a smile while Adrian wore his usual sullen look, skulking along behind as they walked to meet her. “Hey I heard you’re leaving tomorrow”, Asha said breathlessly, still out of breath. “Yeah, I guess”, she shrugged, trying to appear casual.

They would have to find an entirely different apartment, purchased furniture once again, even find a new school to enrol—he was scheduled to start in two days. He wanted to stay with Aunt Judy, start his new school in the next few days, find new friends and have as many guests over in his brand new apartment, finally living alone do the first time. As much as he was afraid, the fury was starting to overshadow it; he didn't want to have to lie to his parents while he fled the city, afraid of an outcome that may never even happen. Besides, why would a mafia assassin yakuza want to murder newly senior high school student Nate Kennedy? Out of all they most likely had to deal with?

Amid the scattered papers and crumpled textbooks, the stark inscription on the school badge shone clearly into her mind, a final, damning piece of evidence: Ninth Grade, Class Five, Skylar Vance. The master assassin, whose mind had once handled lethal complexity and unimaginable pressure, was utterly, brutally blindsided by this temporal catastrophe. “Hey, Skylar Vance! Who gave you permission to stand? Get down on your knees, now!” A high-pitched, childish voice, dripping with pure, unearned entitlement, ripped through the silence of her shock.

AURELIAN’s POV I slipped back into the empty classroom and closed the door behind me. My heart was still racing from the pool. From Tavian’s whispered words. From the way his hand had wrapped around my wrist. “Stop thinking about it.” I scolded myself. I crossed to my seat and sat down. The classroom was quiet. Peaceful. Most students had gone to the cafeteria. I pulled out my notebook and pretended to review my notes. But my mind was elsewhere, calculating my next move.