#college/university au however... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[midoriyas-wifey]

ALPHA!JAGUAR! SHINSO X OMEGA!NEKO! READER NSFW AND SFW HEADCANONS

jesus these titles are long anyways this is in the same a/b/o universe as bakugou and his bunny. Shinso is a smug bastard no matter what AU idc idc 🤷‍♀️

warnings: im gross and write gross things. also teensy bit yandere if you squint ig

* So I headcanon that Shinso is a black jaguar hybrid, although his ears are usually hidden by his wild hair. He kind of likes it that way because rounded fuzzy ears don’t say “Alpha” to him.

* However, his tail does show, and it’s a reliable indicator of his emotions, although he’s learned to tamp the signals down to near-nothing for his pro work.

* You’d only notice his tells if you knew him, which his kitten would come to understand very soon if all went according to plan. Which it always did, he was an ambush predator; being a scheming bastard was his specialty.

* Eventually Y/N could look at the tiniest flick of his tail and quirk of his lips and tell that they’d be digging their cute little kitty claws into his broad back all night ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

* Also Y/N is a Ragdoll cat hybrid bc I love them. Is there a more precious omega than a soft, cuddly kitty that flops into your arms while purring like a motor? I think not.

* Size difference strikes again; the tips of his kitten’s ears reach his shoulder. So not AS big a difference, but he’s still beeg.

* Whenever his pretty kitty was anywhere near, his typically bored eyes burned molten purple, never failing to pin Y/N with their intensity. He gained the ability to silently command respect and submission from his taichou: Shota Aizawa

* Shinso very much knows how and when to apply his status and capabilities as an alpha to turn situations to his favor. It’s canonical that he’s a talented conversationalist and that it’s hard to refuse to talk to him.

* He met his omega in the typical meet-cute fashion: in a café. Y/N was a student in college, doing their best to get by.

* Oh, that café? It’s a cat café, because of course Shinso went to those on the dl. It was a new one that he had decided to patronize for the first time. It had everything he wanted, it was quiet, homey, and filled to the brim with kitties of all shapes and colors.

* His tail flicked in contentment, a deep rumbling sigh escaping his strong chest. His claws flexed out and sharp fangs bared in a lazy yawn while he loitered near the register. That was when he saw them, the swish of a silky bottle-brush tail as his kitten backed out of the kitchen door into the counter behind them with a surprised chirp.

* “Oh my goodness! I am so sorry, I didn’t notice I had a customer!” Y/N set the sheet with fresh pastries down hastily before moving to stand behind the display case in wait for his order.

* “What can I get started for ya?” Y/N asked with a nervous smile, shifting from foot to foot and ears swiveling towards him, waiting for an answer.

* While Shinso couldn’t truly purr like the adorable omega neko in front of him could, his chest rumbled with an amused approximation. He scanned them head to toe, from the tips of their pointed fluffy ears, down to the (utterly grabbable) tail he spotted earlier.

* He immediately knew what sweet he hungered for. He would love nothing more than to nibble on this delicious omega kitty. Maybe they’d let him get in a few licks? Maybe a bite or two or ten-

* Yeah, this café had everything he wanted and more.

NSFW AHEAD CHOO CHOO! 🚂

* Breeding goes without saying, his alpha demands it. He lives for his cute little kitty going feral, seeing Y/N yowling for his knot is a sight that can’t be beat.

* He likes to tease his omega by barely slipping in his knot, not enough to fully connect the two of them, but enough to tease and torment his slicked up and desperate omega. When the slick sounds of his knot dragging against their walls fills the room; it’s music to his ears.

* He very much enjoys facefucking and nothing pleases him more than giving his kitten their cream right down their throat ❤️

* He loves seeing Y/N struggle to gulp all his thick cream down, their throat bobbing with the effort to not spill a drop. He cums a LOT.

* Wouldn’t mind gripping on to a pretty collar around Y/N’s neck in a firm grip while he fucks them into the mattress, not quite a choke. However, he’s more than willing to go there if prompted.

* Brat tamer extraordinaire. At even the slightest snotty attitude, he’s dragging Y/N by their cute fluffy tail, binding them up with his capture weapon, and tongue fucks them with his rough sandpaper tongue til they’re sobbing in overstimulation and begging for mercy. He laps up their slick like a delicious smoothie. Sluuuuurrrrpp.

* He loves to tie up and play with his sweet omega all day, setting their every last nerve on fire with almost enough pleasure; and then make them cum so many times that they wail loud enough for the entire apartment complex to hear.

* Shinso could go down on his sweet kitten for hours and not get tired or bored. The only reason he doesn’t is because he knows his omega can’t quite handle his full attentions and depravity. Yet.

* No shame, not even a little. This man will unassemble his omega piece by iece with pleasure, driving them insane with all he’s willing to do, before putting them back together again with sweet kisses and rumbling chuffs.

* Y’all sleep for like 20 hours afterwords lmao

[kyuuppi]

Miss Yoonji

A/N: I was trying to seriously write something but somehow...I ended up making the least serious thing I’ve ever written. :,) Also! I strongly recommend everyone read jimlingss‘s “She’s Testosterone”. It is a really good story and I love everything they have written (especially the pilot Jimin fic ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)).

Pairing: crossdresser!Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: crack, lots of crack, crossdresser AU

⚠️WARNING⚠️ possible transphobia

Word Count: 4.1k

Slender legs, silky hair, voluptuous breasts and a tiny waist--Min Yoonji is an epitome of the perfect woman every man fantasizes about--except he’s a man.

Beneath the slabs of silicone sticking to his sweaty skin and the itchy black wig, Min Yoongi scowls between each table he waits on, impatiently waiting for the clock to strike eleven so he can finally take off these godforsaken scraps of fabric they call “mini shorts” and--

“Hey, baby, can my friends and I get another round?” a middle aged man leers, eyes obviously glued to the exposed thighs of the waitress.

Yoongi schools his murderous energy into the sickly sweet smile that has become second nature at this point before leaning forward with a peppy “sure!” and pouring the group of lecherous men their third round of house brewed beers that night. He pointedly ignores the way the men are practically drooling on their half-eaten chicken wings when his “breasts” lightly brush against the table while he pours.

They have been at this table for over two hours already, beckoning him over for various, meaningless services every time he passes and Yoongi can only pray that means they’ll leave a hefty tip (spoiler: they don’t).

He dreads his next words as he steps away from the table, only saying them because he’s required to by wait staff policy.

“Anything else I can get for you, sirs?”

The grin of the man who initially called him over increases impossibly and Yoongi has to tighten his grip on the pitcher of beer to keep from punching anything.

“Weeeell,” he drawls, glancing around at his friends to make sure they’re paying attention for the next undoubtedly ingenious joke he’s about to make.

“Unless that tight ass of yours is on the menu, I think we’re good.”

---

Yoongi nearly trips over himself in his haste to kick off his heels and fling the black wig carelessly into his duffel bag. 11:00 PM had not come soon enough and Yoongi had practically flew through the cleaning up the restaurant process, finishing job that normally took a full staff half an hour fifteen minutes on his own. Sure, the clean dishes were stacked rather haphazardly and the floors could hardly be counted as spotless but, as far as he was concerned, he place was already a dump anyway.

Peeling off the standard uniform of jean shorts and a cropped t-shirt with the restaurant logo gave him a certain kind of euphoria Yoongi had never experienced before picking up the part-time job. After stuffing the skimpy clothes into his bag, he slides on a much more comfortable pair of black jeans and a baggy t-shirt and hoodie. It is as he is sliding on his black socks that Yoongi comes to a sobering realization:

He had forgotten to bring a change of shoes.

Curses immediately fly from his mouth as he dumps out the whole contents of his bag in attempt to do a more thorough search in case he had just missed the pair of sneakers the first time around. He plows through the bag several times before looking around his employee lockers then other employee lockers and even attempting to try on the leather dress shoes his tiny manager had left behind.

He falls to the ground in defeat repeating a mental mantra of how stupid he is before going over his options.

He could either change back into Min Yoonji and walk home in the cold to avoid the utter creeps on the bus or brave the ride barefoot with paper thin socks and pray he doesn’t step in any questionable substances or sharp objects.

Yoongi spares a glance out the storefront window at the rain slicked streets littered with gaping puddles from the early afternoon rains.

Yeah, no. Fuck that.

Yoongi heaves a grand sigh as he angrily yanks his jeans off to slip back into the mini shorts. He doesn’t bother with the breast padding this time around and slaps the wig on without the wig cap or plethora of bobby pins he usually uses to make sure it stays looking natural and in place during his long work shifts. He only needs to look convincing from a glance so that no one from his university recognizes him, not fool a bunch of old men constantly eyeing him up and down.

He locks up shop and tightly crosses his arms over his chest when a gust of wind sends shivers up his spine.

Fuck my life.

---

Like nearly every small town girl, moving to the “big city” for college had been a dream. Or well, it was for the first few months. Halfway through your second year and the medium sized urban jungle was hardly captivating. But restaurants and shops were plentiful and diverse and public transportation ran smoothly so you couldn’t complain for the most part.

However, the city still had some drawbacks and those drawbacks have never been more apparent than right now as you make your way through the muddy, downtown streets as fast as possible without slipping into puddles with your tractionless shoes. Your eyes darted around restlessly and you found yourself walking just a little faster every time you passed by a homeless or otherwise sketchy looking individual.

Yes, the biggest drawback of living in a major city was definitely the lack of safety.

While you usually felt comfortable making the trek from campus to your apartment in the evenings there have lately been worrying cases on the local news about a recent series of sexual assaults and murders that investigators suspect could possibly maybe be the works of a serial killer but don’t panic, it’s probably nothing sinister.

To hell with that. Getting murdered was not on your agenda and you could already hear the condescending words of your old town friends and family as they watched your casket being lowered into the earth.

“I always told her the city was too dangerous,” your mother would sigh between dabbing her eyes, “going all the way to the city just to pursue that phony writing degree--she’d be jobless!”

Okay, well, maybe not exactly like that but close enough, you reckon.

You round the corner to see the orange glow of the crosswalk signalling only a few seconds left before the light would change. You’re close, you realize. You chance a glance at the cars lined up on either sides of the intersection, the headlights nearly blinding as you do so. You could either take it and easily make it to the other side before the light changed or wait an extra five minutes in the biting, wet cold for traffic to pass and spend even longer risking your life on the streets of a sketchy neighborhood. You briefly notice an attractive woman is waiting on the other side of the crosswalk, obviously deciding not to take her chances with heels on.

The choice is clear and you break into a sprint to cross the street as the timer reaches three seconds.

The slap of your soles against wet pavement are obnoxious and causes dirty water to splash against the bottoms of your leggings but you pay it little mind as you reach the end of the crosswalk just when the light changes and engines begin humming behind you. It is when your right foot connects with the last string of white paint that it all, quite literally goes downhill.

The smooth surface proves to be too slick for your worn down boots and your feet slide several centimeters from under you--not much, but enough to throw your whole balance off and have your arms flailing to regain control.

Your stretched eyes look up in time to see the horrified expression on the pretty woman from earlier’s face as your whole body careens towards her at full speed before everything turns into a blur of colors like a washing machine and the only thing that jolts you out of your shocked state in the stinging pain suddenly shooting up your left hip that collides with the the concrete.

“Fuck!”

You flinch at the harsh baritone you certainly did not expect a beautiful woman in heels to have. When you look up your doubts are abruptly nullified when you realize the woman is sitting on her butt, hot pink heels laying haphazardly around her, and--most jarringly--black hair laying in a pile nearly a meter away.

The woman’s head tilts up and her dark eyes lock onto your own.

Holy shit--that’s Min Yoongi.

You openly gape at her--him even as his expression slowly morphs into frustration. Min Yoongi--even as someone in a completely different department you are familiar with the name. He is a legend among music majors for his unprecedented producing skills and a legend among the rest of the campus for his bad boy persona half the girls on campus would die for one night with. He’s lazy, you’ve heard, and the only time he speaks is to give snarky or sarcastic remarks. He only owns black clothing and he can be found napping in the most random places.

You’ve heard a lot of things about Min Yoongi but never once did they mention his apparent interest in women’s clothing.

The nearby honk of a car brings you back to the present and you realize you should probably get off the ground at some point.

But Yoongi seems to have beaten you to the punch and he, after several seconds of obvious hesitation, offers you a hand with the most annoyed expression you’ve ever seen on a human being’s face.

You take his offer against your better judgement and the softness of his hands momentarily throws you off.

Soft like a woman’s.

He hastily retracts his hand once you’re upright as if your touch had burned him like acid.

“Thanks,” you stutter out.

Yoongi shifts uneasily--you briefly note he must have put the heels back on while you were distracted--and bites at his bottom lip as if thinking through a really difficult problem. You find yourself briefly wondering if he’s wearing lip gloss or his lips are just naturally a pleasant shade of rose. The familiar chirping of the crosswalk sounds from somewhere behind you and he finally seems to decide on what to do. His lips part to speak to you for the first time and you find yourself holding in a breath.

“...watch where you’re going next time.”

And then he’s picking up his forgotten wig and brushing past you as if the whole exchange had never happened.

---

The usually obnoxious chatter of the cafeteria falls on deaf ears as Min Yoongi glares holes into your head from across the room. Your restless squirming and rare glances make it obvious you’re well aware of his eyes on you.

It has been two weeks.

Two weeks since you, a person he had never even seen before, literally crashed into his life and discovered his biggest secret.

Two weeks and you haven’t said a word.

He knew his reputation. He was well aware of the whispers spoken behind his back and the amount of people either jealous of his success or eager to get in his pants. Other than rumors and speculations, everything said about him was merely gossip. No one had anything major on him because he was smart enough to keep it that way and only socialized with a small, trustworthy friend group.

That’s exactly why he expected that if anyone were to find out his secret, find out about his double life as a girl working at the local sports bar where tips are directly proportional to amount of cleavage on display, the whole campus would jump on it as story of the century.

“Min Yoongi, the music department’s most valued student, crossdresses for tips at Hooters every night.”

He could only imagine the shock on everyone’s faces--

And yet you hadn’t said a word.

He had waited with bated breath for the first whispers in the halls or the giggles from the back of the classrooms but there was nothing. Evidently, you had not told anyone about the incident despite the fact you were obviously well aware of who he was--the reverence with which you blatantly tried to avoid him like the plague when he walked by and gave him lingering stares when you thought he wasn’t looking was proof of that.

You knew who he was and you knew his juicy secret so why weren’t you spilling?

At first he thought maybe you were waiting for the perfect moment. Maybe after the Kim Namjoon and Kim Seokjin caught kissing at a frat party rumors had died down. Then he thought maybe you were waiting to come up with a plan to blackmail him. Force him to give you money or act on your every whim to prevent you from sharing his secret to the world.

But it had been two weeks and you hadn’t done any of that. You were pretending the ordeal hadn’t happened at all and Yoongi was dying to know why.

He watched as your souls seems to leave your body when he approaches your table. In the few strides it takes to reach you he briefly wonders if you’ll make a break for it and sprint out of the cafeteria just to avoid him but its to his pleasant surprise that you remain seated, albeit very nervously.

“Hey,” he greets casually when he finally reaches you. You are alone--your friends evidently either in class or busy doing something else this particular Thursday afternoon and Yoongi is eternally thankful for that.

You thickly swallow before you croak out a weak “hi…”

Yoongi takes it upon himself to plop down in the seat across from yours, leaning in with the intent of making sure no one overhears the impending conversation. The both of you can already feel the confused glances from passing students, not used to seeing someone as asocial as Yoongi sitting with another student--a female, no less.

“I’ll just get straight to the point,” he drawls, eyes never leaving your own, “that night--”

“Nope!”

Yoongi blinks twice in shock when you cut him off abruptly, both hands raised towards him as if to stop his mouth from moving. You have the decently to offer an apologetic smile and lover your hands as you speak.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. I-I thought a lot about it and I think I understand your feelings now.”

He quirks an eyebrow.

“...really?”

“Yep!” You grin widely, the sight causing his stomach to flutter in a weird way.

“There is nothing wrong with this--transexuality is totally natural and I--” your gaze softens almost lovingly as you place a gentle hand on his arm.

“--am fully committed to supporting your journey.”

There is a beat of silence before Yoongi recoils in horror.

“Wh-what? No! I’m not--!!”

A quick glance around the room reminds him that the two of you are definitely not alone and more than a few people are staring at the lot of you for his outburst. He lowers his tone considerably as he continues, cheeks steadily reddening.

“I’m not trans--I’m not dressing like a girl because I want to, I’m doing it for money.”

Your eyes widen and he quickly realizes how questionable that sounds.

“I’m a waitress,” he blurts.

“I work part-time at a sports bar because it's the only thing that pays well enough for tuition without interfering with my producing time.”

Your eyes immediately spark with understanding as you silently mouth a long “ohhh” and for the first time this whole conversation Yoongi feels relieved. In these few moments he has spoken to you it has become apparent that you had no negative feelings towards him and kept his secret for the sake of his own comfort and privacy. Yoongi was never one to trust others too easily but he finds himself feeling unusually confident that you wouldn’t try to ruin his life so easily.

“Sorry for jumping to conclusions,” you apologize sheepishly.

Yoongi dismisses it with a wave of his hand.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just thankful that you didn’t tell everyone about it. This would be a real pain in the ass to explain to everyone.”

A smile graces your lips as you assure him “your secret is safe with me” and he returns the smile with his own grateful one before leaving politely with the excuse of having class soon.

You guess this is the point when the misunderstanding has been completely alleviated and both you and Yoongi can go back to your separate lives of hardly noticing each other’s existences, able to easily forget this whole thing ever happened.

Except you don’t.

---

The next time you run into Min Yoongi it is on a mostly empty bus You are startled when you step on the late night route only to see Yoongi sitting in the very back of the bus, already staring straight at you. You falter as the doors close behind you and briefly fret over whether it would be inappropriate to sit beside him or more rude to sit as far away from him as possible. He offers you a fait quirk of his lips and you find yourself moving towards him as the bus lurches forward.

You exchange greetings after you sit beside him but the conversation quickly falls apart after that. The silence makes you uneasy and you’re contemplating pulling out the low battery cellphone from your backpack just to have something to do when he speaks up.

“It’s kinda late,” he murmurs lowly.

It takes you a moment to recognize this is probably a roundabout way of asking what you’re doing out so late, alone, headed towards the outskirts of the city on a school night.

“Ah, yeah. I’m usually home before now but I have a test coming up and I lost track of time at the library.”

You’re think you hear him snort but when you glance over his expression is as disinterested as always so you shake it off.

“What about you?” you ask conversationally.

Yoongi visibly stiffens and you immediately panic that you’ve somehow crossed some invisible boundary with him.

“...work,” he settles on.

The implications of the statement hit hard and you find yourself giving him a once over as if he would be wearing a sparkling cocktail dress and stilettos beneath his baggy hoodie--he isn’t of course. You figure he probably only crossdresses when he absolutely has too and he’s a safe distance from the campus, that one night was probably just a fluke. Suddenly you realize you should probably say something less the conversation dies out again and you’re left to soak in another round of awkwardness for the next twenty minutes of your ride.

“Doesn’t working at that type of place,” you begin slowly, hesitating over your next words for fear of somehow offending him. He doesn’t seem too fond to his part time job but you can never be too sure when it comes to the mystery that is Min Yoongi.

“...kinda suck?”

To your surprise, Yoongi’s lips curve into a small grin and the sweetest sound leaves him as he chuckles airily.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

And thus the rest of your ride was filled with Yoongi’s quiet horror stories of overly drunk customers trying to cop feels and angry wives storming the restaurant in search their husbands. You find yourself relaxing in his presence and not thinking so much about what you should or shouldn’t say to him in between your uncontrollable laughter. He speaks in a cool tone the whole time, hilariously contrasting the incredulousness of his experiences that would leave any other person scarred for life--or at the very least, finding a new job. Every once in a while, usually when you’re in the midst of a particularly strong bout of giggles, Yoongi’s eyes linger over your form as if taking you in a gummy smile you’ve grown to really, really like graces his features. Seeing him like this, you can hardly fathom where all of the rumors of a “heartless bad boy” come from.

He’s more of a kitten than a demon. Mischievous, undoubtedly, but far from evil.

----

The amount of times you coincidentally run into Yoongi after that are so frequent you begin to wonder if they’re coincidental at all. It has somewhat become an unspoken routine of you and Yoongi riding together after classes. You find yourself occasionally lingering at school with no particular need to be there just so you can catch the same later route as Yoongi.

You try not to think too much about the implications of that one.

“Y/N.”

You turn away from the fresh vegetables you had been examining at the sound of the familiar voice calling your name. Behind you stands Yoongi--Yoonji, you mentally correct after recalling the fake name you had weaseled out of him a few days prior. You remember laughing for a solid thirty seconds as he scowled and attempted to threaten you into shutting up. Needless to say, his threats fell on deaf ears as you teasingly referred to him as “Miss Yoonji” the whole rest of the bus ride.

Yoonji shifts uneasily in front of you, shopping basket in hand, and seems to cower under your shocked expression. This is the first time you had seen Yoongi crossdressing since the first night you saw him and the sight momentarily stuns him. You had completely forgotten how soft his features looked when framed by shoulder length, shiny black locks and how smooth his thighs looked in mini shorts. You find yourself empathizing with the men at the bar Yoongi complains stare at his legs all night.

“I didn’t have time to change,” Yoongi finally breaks the silence to explain, looking obviously self-conscious.

“I worried the store would be closed by the time I got here if I didn’t leave right after work.”

He briefly gestures to his basket as he speaks and you note it is filled with mostly lamb meat and wooden skewers.

You offer a friendly grin in response and Yoongi returns it before the two of you naturally fall in place, shopping together between friendly conversation. You try to focus and treat him as you always do, booty shorts or not, but you find your gaze lingering on his figure when he bends down to retrieve something from the bottom shelves and your throat feels unusually dry when he stands too closely and his raven locks brush against your face.

It in the check-out line behind and throng of elderly ladies caught up in their own chatter that you finally build up the courage to say what has been on your mind since you first saw him.

“Sorry if this is weird,” you hedge, “but you look really pretty as a woman, Yoongi.”

His reaction seems to happen in slow motion and you regret the words as soon has his deep brown eyes widen. He flushes a cherry tomato from the top of his head down to the top of his exposed collarbones and it is with regret that you note he looks even prettier when he’s flustered.

He gawks at you for only a few seconds before he clears his throat and seems to somewhat recover, cheeks still blazing despite his attempt to school his features into a neutral expression. You are certain you’ve crossed at least a thousand lines by now Yoongi seems to be thinking about something beyond you now. His gaze is distant and contemplative before he seems to have made up to his mind and opens his mouth to speak.

“Well,” he starts.

There is a pause before he looks back up at you and your eyes meet in a way that has you momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The sly smirk he gives in response has your knees feeling weak before he’s leaning into you much too close for a pair of friends hanging out at the local grocery store.

“Sorry if this is weird but you look really pretty yourself.”

Your heart skips and beat and you suspect you are feeling much more enamored than you ought to be by a college boy in high heels.