#fun fact! the front of the case was actually cracked to shit

[naradreamt]

Scans of my bootleg copy of hide VISUAL MUSEUM Vol. 5 (A Souvenir + TELL ME)

[sutorus]

✰ HC: BEING IN A SITUATIONSHIP WITH THE JJK F*CKBOYS

DESCRIPTION: my hcs on what it’d be like to be in a situationship/fwb situation with the jjk men hehe

FEATURED: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem + afab reader, this is fully self indulgent i'm just taking my own shiddy experiences and coping via hot anime men, suggestive content/smut, pretty standard manwhore behavior, slightly toxic, not wholesome, kinda crack tbh, some mentions of degradation as a kink, objectifying women, just like the real thing lol!

A/N: LONG BUT READ! this will Not have an ending where you get together at least not rn these are just my hcs all in good fun ur just having fun ok ur not heartbroken everything is okay. they are not good boys here they are normal regular boys

GOJO SATORU

has way too many hoes. way too many

so much so that he gave up on remembering their names and just saves their numbers like “osaka w the hand kink”, “big tits shibari”, “slut from trig”, “hostess best bjs”

has someone’s boobs with his name written on them in sharpie as his wallpaper

says i love you when he cums inside and you never know if you should believe it

throws you off when he agrees to meet your friends only for him to flirt with them in front of you

takes you to the best clubs with bottle service, lets the girls sit on his lap and laughs when you get mad

pays for your ubers everywhere every time

into the weirdest shit like wearing your underwear laughing like a lunatic the whole time he’s fucking you then after he cums gets sulky and embarrassed

lays it on thick with the pet names, gives zero fucks if that confuses you even further

very public with you and it makes you wonder how many other girls put themselves through this humiliation just for the d

gets jealous about you being with other people and needs to prove himself by eating it from the back or something

fwb with gojo is just a huge mindfuck honestly he doesn’t take anything seriously and this is no different sorry! it’s fun tho!

GETO SUGURU

keeps it extremely platonic because he likes to tell himself he has a conscience

too busy for regular chit chat ignores your texts all day then hits you up when he wants to fuck

even more of a whore than gojo is which is why he makes sure not to lead anyone on he just does not need the trouble

answers all your personal questions about him with one word answers

he lets you choose the movie for netflix and chill at least! but will never remember it or the fact that it’s your favorite :(

cleans you up after sex and brings you water

has female hygiene products in his bathroom which is both a red and a green flag

lets you stay after sex and you just lay there on his bed watching him do stuff on his computer but he will not be talking to you

never calls you baby or anything when he’s fucking you just goes oh fuck yeah right there fuuuuck your pussy

genuinely respects you and has nice decent sex with you unless you tell him that you’re kinky

in which case he fucks you just how you want it and gets off on how turned on you are

not one of those guys who gets jealous of sex toys and holds the wand on your clit for you

likes to make you cum over and over and over again

fwb with geto makes your heart clench because he’s just such a gentleman but you got way too much competition to even think about it

NANAMI KENTO

a professional in every sense of the word

uses sex as stress relief

thinks he's too old for this shit but you make him feel alive so he fucks you like he can empty all of his frustrations into you

invites you to his apartment serves you expensive liquor and lets you initiate things most times unless he’s too pent up

can actually have very nice conversations with you

never has the “what are we talk” because he makes it clear he’s too busy for a relationship

lets you spend the night if it’s too late but solely for your safety/logistics

does your taxes for you but will not call you anything beyond an “acquaintance”

texts you happy holidays but does not know when your birthday is

gets tested consistently even though he’s not fucking anyone else and always uses a condom unless you beg him not to

eats you out because he thinks it’s relaxing and spends hours prepping you

the sexual tension is soooo thick when you two fuck all you can hear is grunts and growls and moans and wet slapping sounds and it’s so hot

has some random turn ons like gets bricked up when you’re wearing lipstick or stockings

fwb with nanami is very enjoyable and easy it’ll get complicated if you develop feelings because he does not want to date but who cares yolo am i right

FUSHIGURO TOJI

broke ass deadbeat dad why are you into him

absolutely nasty sex

you know if he had a girlfriend he’d respect her too much to do the things he does to you

dick game so bomb that you’re scared he’s gonna give you a child even when he’s wearing a condom

wants to fuck you every way he possibly can on every fuckable surface with zero regard for your physical integrity

eats his cum right out of you

ego is so big, grins so wide and fucks you so hard when you stroke his muscles

loves to eat pussy but only after he’s fucked you because he likes it tight and hot with minimal prep

doesn’t follow you on any social media but jerks off to your instagram pics

has like 3 different phone numbers and you don’t know why

has only let you come over once, didn’t let you shower after

no pet names but calls you a dirty whore and other degrading shit

loves it if you cry on his dick

doesn’t give a fuck about your safety sorry you’re on your own

has never told you his last name

one time you asked to see a picture of his son and he didn’t speak for 3 whole minutes

fwb with toji is the nastiest sex you’ve ever had truly it’s just sinful and everyone’s dark hidden fantasy half of it you couldn’t tell your closest friends because it’s just too much

a/n sorry

[ivymarquis]

Garnish

Pairing| Alex Keller x F!Reader Rating| M Content/Warnings| Free use smut (pre-negotiated terms), dirty talk, a brief sprinkle of dummification

For @glitterypirateduck's Alex Keller Challenge!!! lmao idk why I was so intimidated writing this. I haven't really been the biggest Keller girlie so I had no idea where to go with his voice. Obviously the best way to try and get a handle on it was to write a filthy PWP :) "I bet the neighbors know my name"

Alex would know those earrings anywhere.

They are, without question, his favorite pair of hers. And while a part of him has hoped she would decide to don them after his return home, until this morning the jewelry’d remained sitting in her jewelry box. 

Of course they are his favorite for a very specific reason.

The idea of roleplaying a free use housewife fantasy just scratches a deep seated itch inside the both of them. He's already got plans- one day in the very near future- for how he wants to put a ring on that pretty finger. Take the 'house wife' part out of the fantasy by entrenching it firmly in reality where it belongs.

But right now his thoughts are focused less on the engagement band and more on the pair of earrings dangling with every tilt and move of her head. She's taunting him.

The "rules'' are pretty simple. If she's wearing the earrings, Alex has full rein to treat her to like a personal fuck doll whenever and wherever the mood strikes him and she'll go along with it. When she's done playing, the earrings go back in the jewelry box and their sex life is the same as any other couples.

The second he sees her- having walked from the mutual bedroom to their kitchen where he found her upon waking up- he decides that today will be a lot more fun if he takes a slightly different approach to start.

He gives zero acknowledgement of the dangly jewelry despite the fact that he knows she knows there's no way he didn't see them. Just gives a half-sleepy smile and presses an affectionate peck to her temple while murmuring "Good morning, pumpkin." and it takes everything in him to not crack a grin at the indignant look on her face.

No doubt she expects him to jump the moment she gives the go ahead. To pin her down against the cabinets with one arm, lift her skirt with the other and have his wicked wicked way with her.

Oh no, dear heart.

They sit and have a perfectly normal breakfast. Or at least Alex does. His pumpkin looks wild eyed and a little suspicious at his newfound self control. Clearly not expecting it and doesn't know what to do with herself about it.

"Did you sleep alright last night?" he poses the perfectly innocent question. He's being an asshole- he knows it, but he's having too much fun. He knows damn well she slept fine last night because he wore her ass out. Could barely keep her awake long enough to clean everything up.

"Yes, did you?"

"Like a baby. You seem a little jumpy though this morning- might want to watch the caffeine."

Oh she's watching something but it sure as shit wasn't the coffee.

After collecting the dishes and placing them in the sink, Alex whistled to himself while getting ready for the day. Nothing too exciting- just a few 'Honey Do's, after he put his poor girl out of her misery.

She's finding any reason she can to be in the same room as him and it's adorable. Looking for this, needing to place that- she flits in and around like she's worried he'll forget she's there if not in his line of sight.

Eventually an actual task takes her attention off of Alex and that's when he strikes.

She's bent over in front of the dryer, no doubt fishing some far-flung sock that refused to come along quietly with the rest of the laundry.

Well fuck, he can't refuse a sight like that.

He knows her well enough that as one heavy hand lands to grab her wrist, the other fists the back of her hair with enough force to keep her from banging her head against the dryer in case she startles- which she does.

Huh. He'd of thought for sure that maybe a part of her was playing up the whole 'being bent in half in front of the dryer' thing, but from that reaction he's starting to think she was actually just focused on the laundry for a split second.

He doesn't miss the way she relaxes against his hold now that his little game is up. "What a desperate little thing you are. I haven't even done anything and you're ready to roll on your back for me." 

Now that he knows she's not going to split her head open on the edge of the dryer he releases her hair, his newly freed hand now reaching down to flip her skirt up. 

The sight that greets him is enough to draw a low whistle from the man. "No panties? Naughty girl. Almost like you were expecting to get fucked today." he teases, chuckling to himself as she nods and presses her hips against the stiffening bulge in his pants. "And here I was being a mean, mean man and making my poor girl wait. Surprised you didn't have to clean up your seat after breakfast this morning."

"I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to actually do anything today," she can't help herself but to lightly grouse at him.

"That's the fun of me being in charge of when you get fucked today, pumpkin. I might bend you over every singular solid surface that can hold your weight, or I might make you wait. Choice is all mine."

Well, until she says otherwise. Or if she outright safewords. But that is a given.

His pretty girl is getting spoiled though if she's got time to be grumpy about not being bent over to her satisfaction. 

One hand trails over her hip, teasing the exposed skin as he revels in how twitchy she is. 

It takes prep- always does, always will. But they'd been at it for a good amount yesterday and with her presently about to melt into a puddle of desire and neglect after this morning, Alex is mindful but not too apprehensive as he opens his pretty girlfriend up on his fingers.

First one, just to confirm his suspicions- she's primed and wants to go, pressing back against him in anticipation as one becomes two. He knows that two of his is something akin to three of her own, and that finally seems to settle her down as his fingers stroke that spot inside of her that has her grabbing at the dryer for leverage and pushing back against it to press further into him.

"That's it, baby. Nice and fucking wet for me. You know what your job is, hm?" he purrs behind her. 

"Yes," she pants quietly. "Alex, please-"

"You're spoiled, you know that?" he still ends up pressing an affectionate peck to her temple again, pulling out of her warm body to work on freeing himself one handed.

She's all too eager to help get things rolling- standing on her tip toes and arching her back. It makes it easy to slide into her, taking a few shallow, rolling thrusts to work himself all the way inside.

Rewarded with the sound of her pleased moans, Alex is quick to settle into a pace that he knows will get the pair of them rolling their eyes in no time. At this point he knows how to get her going as certainly as he does to get himself off.

"Oh my God- right there," she moans, her own hands scrambling for purchase against the dryer to brace. Alex bands one arm across her waist while the other continues to knead her hip, keeping her close to him as he thrusts.

'Yeah? That's the spot right there pumpkin?" he asks despite knowing the answer. He just likes watching how she'll go from a smart, capable woman to a dumb little cocksleave desperate for his cum with the right kind of prompting.

"Ye-ye-yeah," she confirms as he stays steadfast in his tempo. 

"Fuck,” he groans at the wet heat of her clinging to him like she never wants him to leave her.

Letting go of her hip with one hand but keeping his other banded across her waist, Alex is all too happy to grope at her chest. Fingers plucking at her pebbled nipples- rolling and pinching one before switching to pay attention to the other. Those hitching breaths work in time to his ministrations as he works her up just to pull his hand away from her bust in favor of her clit.

Now that got her attention, each thrust of his hips and slow stroke of his fingers being rewarded with his name a constant chant in her mouth- Alex Alex Alex Alex-

“That good, pumpkin? You gonna- fuck-  make a mess for me? Come on, honey, ask me for it,” he goads.

She’s sputtering and scrambling to get her brain in working order- trying to be a good girl. Fucking adorable.

“Alex- fuck,- hgn- Alex- please! Let me- let me,” her brain struggling to play catch up.

“All ya gotta do is ask, honey. You can do that, can’t you?” Pressing another chase kiss to her temple, the dichotomy is not lost on him paired with the absolute filthy noises coming from where they’re joined. She’s gagging for it- literally can’t get the words out of her mouth in the right order. “Must be fucking you good if you can’t even talk properly,” he teases, a grin escaping him when she shoots him a glare over her shoulder. “I bet the neighbors know my name,” the uppity ones who seem to think they’re above socializing with any of the other tenants in the building- brushing off anyone who tries to get to know them.

God they must fucking hate Alex when he’s home after being sent out on mission.

“Alex please! Let me cum, please!”

His fingers kept up that maddening pace until his ears finally register that she did, in fact, use her words.

And Alex is nothing if not a man of his word.

He knows exactly how to change the quiet strumming of his stroking fingertips from the teasing touches meant to ramp her up, and the ones meant to drag her across the finish line.

Those pretty thighs are trembling as Alex plays her like a fiddle. She cums with a cry, seemingly caught off guard by how intense it is.

It doesn’t take much more to get Alex chasing his own end.

He finishes without much fanfare Pulls out, tucks himself away, pulls her skirt down and kisses her temple again before leaving a shaking mess left to sort out the laundry.

Much like breaking the seal on a night out of drinking- now that he’s given into the temptation he just cannot stop the rest of the day. The second his refractory period is up and he feels ready to go another round, he’s seeking her out within the house and can’t wait to climb on top of her.

He may or may not be the reason that lunch burns that day a few hours later. It’s a worthy reason though, and he happily orders takeout as an apology.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[prince-liest]

Omg, I just wanted to say I ADORE your characterization of Al and Vox! I don't even have the words to express how much I love reading your stuff, especially the Anon responses you post on here. The behind the scenes thoughts are literally my food, lifesource, its so good when people not only write characters IN CHARACTER, but also include stuff about their analysis/understanding of the character too.. I'm literally obsessed with breaking down characters and yk, cracking their chrome domes open to see how they work (which admittedly, I am not the best at <_< but I love reading them). Just wanted to say how much I love your writing. I had maybe 2 questions, please don't feel pressured to answer them :>

What in your mind (in reference to the 66.6 fics) would motivate Alastor to let Val get close to him in the first place? Or was that more you picking these two characters up by the scruff of their necks and plopping them into a hypothetical scenario to explore their character and write some fun intimate thingsTM?

What do you think of the dynamic of Vox and Al vs something like Lucifer and Al? Personally I've noticed that something Alastor craves, behind the mask of his static smiling persona, is attention. He's (at least how I saw it) usually peeved when people don't care about his absence, and seems especially bothered by the King of Hell refusing to really acknowledge him, so he goes out of his way to push Lucifers buttons (like calling himself a father figure to Charlie, IN FRONT OF HER ACTUAL FATHER LOL) whereas with Vox, Vox is literally CONSTANTLY thinking about Alastor. Man literally interrupted his regular TV program to do a segment about how much he totally didn't at ALL care about Alastors dissapearance or the fact that he returned (suree buddy). So Alastor can have more fun with him and annoy him by ignoring and messing with him on purpose.

ty if you do respond to this, sorry if it was hard to understand, sometimes I forget how to put the thoughts in my brain into coherent words!

Ahhhh, thank you very much, anon! I'm especially happy that you're enjoying my commentary on Tumblr, haha - I spent a while on Twitter because that's where all the fandom zines I was in were being hosted, but nothing beats Tumblr for giving me a nigh-unlimited word count and a captive audience for my rambling! >:D <3 I'm back to cocooning myself on the OG hell site.

Thank you for this ask, it really brightened my day! :D

As for your questions:

1. I'm assuming that was a typo and that you mean Vox (but in case you did mean Val: that was just a funny accident of him walking by the room! Alastor wasn't paying enough attention until it was too late), and to that I say:

I think Alastor allows Vox to take a go at him in canon because he finds Vox's obsession with him to be entertaining, but also because Alastor is kind of a narcissist and that same obsession massively feeds his ego, especially in a political climate that otherwise forgot about Alastor. Vox's whole "Who gives a shit about Alastor coming back?! Haha, now let me have a public meltdown and short out power to the whole city about it! Oh, fuck, why is he back, though?? Can we send a spy in to find out??" is exactly the reaction that Alastor wants every time he mentions his mysterious absence and gets brushed off.

At the same time, Alastor doesn't seem to register Vox as a sincere and genuine threat. He's a big enough fish in the Pride Ring pond that his obsession with Alastor is gratifying, but Alastor's self-absorption also doesn't really allow him to treat Vox as a threat tier above "annoying in a funny way, and also television is stupid." (Perhaps this will change in season 2... :eyes: (or perhaps Alastor will get Even Worse) (please god let him get even worse))

So those two things in combination make Vox the perfect candidate for Alastor to experiment with while maintaining his ego and not feeling particularly threatened. Despite Vox's Safeword 101 talk, Alastor would never put stock into that system with Vox unless he was certain that he himself would be able to back up a 'no' with overwhelming force. Him even considering safewords in the Live On Air! series is less for his own sake and more a politesse he offers on Vox's request to warn Vox to slow the fuck down before Alastor tries to put his insides on the outside.

2. And in direct contrast, we have Lucifer...

... Who Alastor obviously actually cares quite a bit about, because he's a whole nother power tier from both Vox and Alastor, and furthermore and possibly even more importantly, a credible threat to Alastor's relationships and standing in the hotel. I think a lot of discussion I see about Alastor prodding Lucifer seems to talk about how quickly he got annoyed about Lucifer's comments, but that misses the fact that he was pissed off before Lucifer even showed up. He got pissy the moment he saw the welcome sign, actually! And I wager that he was narratively absent for the scene where Charlie actually calls Lucifer because he would have done his best to manipulate her out of doing so had be been there.

And given that the two clearly haven't met before (though obviously Alastor knows of Lucifer - and hates that the inverse isn't true, hah), it's not 100% clear exactly why he's immediately so annoyed, but in my personal view of things and barring something like "he's projecting onto Lucifer because his contract is with Lilith," I think that what we know of Alastor's personality points most strongly to "he liked being the hotel's benefactor and sees it as His Project, and doesn't like the idea that Charlie called daddy for something that she thought mysterious, powerful Alastor couldn't handle." He distracts a lot with obviously-goading comments about practically being Charlie's dad in his duet with Lucifer, but underneath that he puts a lot of emphasis on the work he's done for the hotel and the fact that he's been supporting Charlie and the hotel from the start, so why the fuck is this deadbeat asshole suddenly turning up?!

Tl;dr: Charlie missed her insight roll on Alastor's personal investments and he's sooooo offended - and taking it out on Lucifer!

I think one of my favorite things about both Lucifer and Alastor is that they both sooo obviously belong in the Pride Ring, hahaha.

[jabberwockprince]

SB Ruin DLC really went "hey guys, here's Bonnie's corpse, located in his very own bowling alley, with some environmental story telling as to what might've happened, have fun!" and ppl will continue to say Monty killed him

"but it looks like Bonnie's wounds were caused by claw marks"

points at the sign in the wall

Monty only had claws sharp enough to cause real damage AFTER he was assigned as Bonnie's replacement, AFTER Bonnie was decommissioned, we know this from the base game - the whole thing abt Monty clawing the shit out of Bonnie to the point of being beyond repair and all makes no sense because he just. Had No Means To Do It

looking around Bonnie's body you can see a bowling ball cracked in HALF near his head, implying that was one of the things that possibly fucked him up (plus the crack on the wall directly in front)

the "green paint" around his chest area I've seen people say it's because of Monty also makes no fucking sense because. That's not. paint???? That's corrosion??? gunk and grime???? how the fuck would the paint even rub off on Bonnie like that???? they're solid metal with a coat of paint, the only way paint could've left any stain is if it was FRESH, otherwise it just. chips OFF??? it's not even properly green it's like, the same color as all the shit around him???

and then there's the motive, the fact that Monty was jealous of Freddy being the face of the company and got rid of Bonnie to be in the band also makes no real sense? Not because of the whole argument on how he had to aim for Bonnie specifically because getting rid of Freddy is TOO risky and all, THAT makes sense - but because his errant behavior is all about avoiding performing with the band

and reading Chica's and Roxy's errant behaviors also imply that these things they do aren't exactly glitches but things they actively want to do (Chica being quirky and eating garbage or other things she shouldn't, Roxy wanting to return to the one place ENTIRELY themed after her)

Monty just. skips performances. If he killed Bonnie for the chance to play in the main band, you'd think he'd be more enthusiastic about never missing a performance?

people also take the entire ride Cassie gets on that shows Monty's backstory at face value, using it to support both arguments about Monty being guilty or innocent, but like....... it's a fucking ride created by the company that covers up murders like it's the easiest shit in the world.......it isn't proof of anything? this is the story they put out for the public so that people don't ask too many questions about why Monty would replace Bonnie in the band

so with all of that into consideration, the most solid piece of evidence people have of Monty being the one who killed Bonnie is this, the fact that Bonnie was last seen entering Monty Golf

as of now, Monty feels more like a red herring rather than a proper culprit

I've seen people say that Monty could've moved Bonnie there after killing him in monty golf, but if that were the case, the broken bowling balls around him and the damage in the room wouldn't make any sense, unless you really think Monty would just spend a couple extra minutes SMASHING bowling balls on this guy's face for fun

let's assume for a moment that Monty DID move Bonnie from monty golf to bonnie bowling (using this very cool layered and labeled map from reddit!)

ITS SUPER FUCKING FAR AWAY, BOTH AREAS ARE ON ENTIRELY OPPOSITE SIDES AND LEVELS OF THE PIZZAPLEX? if you take Bonnie's last seen log as definite proof of Monty being responsible for his death, you have to explain how the fuck the guy carried a whole ass dead animatronic all the way back to bonnie bowling without being caught by any other security cameras nor any other bot - especially the daycare attendant, assuming this delivery mission happens at night cause it cant happen during daytime, obviously

I'm not saying Monty is entirely clean from being innocent, just that none of the info we have actually FULLY supports the idea of him being behind Bonnie's fate, it's flimsy at best and we know how confusing and chaotic the franchise can get with its writing

the fact that Bonnie's body is STILL THERE IN THAT SMALL LITTLE AREA means that staff never found him, because they would've had NO problem replacing him or patching him up if they did, they're good at that, they have entire machines and areas dedicated to it

whether he actually died there or not, it's definitely an area only staff members would've been allowed to be in - including other animatronics, bots and whatnot - there's just not enough info to point towards anyone's direction right now because we don't even know WHY he got wrecked so badly

[asteria-argo]

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, c’mere.”

So, fun fact about me is that I've never written physical whump before in my life. I also haven't written a batman fic in about two years so I figured this was as good a chance as any to warm up those two skills of mine.

Is it good? not really. Was it fun? yeah. Did the prompt do it's job of getting me to try something new and accept that writing is a skill I need to work at and can't be automatically good at all the time no matter how much I want to be? absolutely.

Anyway here you go!

In Dick’s defense, he didn’t think Jason would break his arm. It isn’t much of a defense sure, but he doesn’t have a better one. It all started pretty innocently, especially for a pair of child vigilantes. One could argue they were on the best behaviour they possibly could have been when left unsupervised in the manor all by themselves while Alfred was out for the day running errands and Bruce was at work doing whatever it is CEO’s did. They didn’t even sneak out to solve crime or anything.

They’d just been hanging out. Well, sort of. Bruce had tasked Dick with keeping an eye on Jason today, whatever that meant, and for as much as Dick had whined about it when Bruce had first asked him to watch Jay while he was at work, it wasn’t like he actually had something better to do. The rest of the titans were all busy, Babs was preparing for her SATs and had muted Dicks number for the weekend preemptively, even his regular school friends weren’t available. Besides watching Jason wasn’t actually that hard. He was twelve after all, he could feed himself and everything. Dick was just there in case of an emergency really.

Like breaking his arm because he and Dick thought sparring on a trampoline with those foam swords they got at the dollar store when they’d been helping Alfie do the groceries the day before would be a fun idea. And once again, in Dick’s defense, he didn’t think Jason was going to break his arm!

The kid was Robin! They both do way more dangerous stuff without getting injured all the time! Just the night before he and Jason had gone train surfing chasing down some of Penguins goons and come away completely unscathed! Jason being felled by a poorly timed jump and the ground wasn’t something Dick really considered a possibility when he was appointed the responsible adult of the day.

But, despite the extensive combat and survival training at the hands of Batman himself, despite the reflexes he’d been honing for months as Robin, one wrong bounce sent Jason toppling over the edge of the trampoline to meet his greatest enemy yet: gravity.

It all happened fast, but when Dick thinks back on it it’s almost sickeningly slow. Jason had been smacking him in the shoulder with his sword, laughing with the kind of maniacal glee only an adrenaline high twelve year old could manage, at the fact he’d been successfully beating Dick back into one corner of the trampoline, then Dick had lunged forward to whack Jason in the stomach and defend himself just as Jason had bounced himself. Jason, being the smaller of the two of them, promptly went flying right off the edge of the trampoline with a strangled yelp landing on the ground beside them with the kind of sickening crack Dick was very used to hearing on their nightly patrols.

“Shit.” Dick said, standing on the trampoline alone all of a sudden and not quite sure what to do until he heard Jason make a strangled noise from the crumpled heap he was in on the floor. If the crack hadn’t been enough, the mottled red skin around his wrist accompanied by an obviously out of place bone certainly painted a vivid picture of what happened. “shit, shit, shit, c’mere.”

Dick climbs down from the trampoline quickly, kneeling in front of Jason whose biting his lip so hard he’s on the verge of drawing blood, his eyes brimming with pained tears that he was refusing to let fall as he took carefully measured breaths through clenched teeth. Jason sometimes reminds Dick of a stray dog, not that he’d ever tell him that, all gnashed teeth and scary growls to hide the fact that he’s hurt and scared. It proved true enough in the moment, when Jason glared at him with as much fire as someone on the verge of tears could muster and hissed “don’t touch me!”

“I need to look at it Jay,” Dick said, trying to go for soothing. He and Jason weren’t exactly the embodiment of tenderness though. Truthfully, Dick and Jason didn’t really have a relationship at all. They were friendly, could get along by themselves for a few hours at a time, but Dick tried not to be around the manor much these days if he could help it, and Jason tended to follow Bruce like a second shadow, which was something Dick hadn’t wanted to touch with a 10 foot pole, so it wasn’t like they had a well established rapport going. “I need to check if it’s broken.”

“Obviously it’s broken dick.” Jason growled, spitting his name in a way that made it very clear he was using it as an insult. And maybe it would have been insulting, if Jason didn’t look so tiny in front of him clutching his arm close to his chest, his nose red and eyes shiny with a wobbly lip, trying so hard not to cry even with a broken wrist. Even his growling came out meek, raspy and breathless because he didn’t have enough energy to put behind it to really come across as anything but pained and defensive.

It’s easy to forget that Jason's only twelve. Robin has a way of making you seem so much larger than life, even when you aren’t wearing the mask, it’s almost like the kid that’s wearing it hardly exists underneath. Until of course, you’re abruptly reminded just how human you really are by having your wrist broken in a tragic trampolining accident.

“Okay,” Dick said gently, and he was aware he was talking to Jason the same way he talks to the scared animals he finds on patrol sometimes, but he wasn’t sure how else he was supposed to calm him down “yeah, you’re right, but I still need to look at it. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you Jason.”

It was with great reluctance Jason uncurled from the ball he’d screwed himself up into to allow Dick to check his wrist, which after a brief glance was 100% confirmed to be broken. It had taken a minute, Jason staring at dick with wide, teary eyes and a furrowed brow as he sniffled miserably, no doubt in a lot of pain. It was funny, how much more things seemed to hurt when they weren’t in their suits. Maybe it was just the body armour, but Dick was pretty sure there was some kind of psychology behind it all that made it so much easier to take a beating with a mask on.

“I want Bruce.” Jason muttered, as Dick prodded at his wrist and caused him to hiss in pain, flinching at the impact violently and looking at Dick with betrayal.

“I’ll call Bruce,” Dick promised, standing and pulling Jason up with him as gently as he could without jostling his arm “but we have to go to the hospital so they can fix your wrist.”

Jasons face screwed up, his freckled nose wrinkling in disgust at the thought. Dick didn’t blame him, he didn’t exactly like hospitals all that much himself, but for all his first aid training as a vigilante, setting a broken wrist was something better left to the professionals.

“This is all your fault.” Jason declared sullenly. He wasn’t even wrong, even if the whole thing hadn’t been his idea, he was supposed to be the responsible adult vetoing dangerous ideas like trampoline sparring. But again in Dick’s defense, he really hadn’t thought Jason would break his arm!

Dick ushered Jason to the car with a sigh. Bruce was probably never going to leave him in charge again.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Do you think there's a connection between the 80s and 90s comics mostly only mentioning him offhand without actual appearances and modern comics like Twojar or One Bad Day making him more violent and increasingly taking away his gimmick ? Because I feel like it's two different approaches to the same idea of wanting to have a villain whose thing is being 'smart' on hold in case they want a story where Batman shows off his mental capabilities but not wanting to deal with everything else that comes with the character like the goofyness or having to come up with riddles that don't suck

oh man okay this is such an interesting question and I'm so excited to be able to revisit it when my reread gets into the 2000s and have more perspective to offer

for the time being I do think that it's fair to say that making the Riddler a central antagonist in a story is challenging because he has, like, a relatively narrow gimmick compared to a lot of other rogues and having to actually come up with riddles is a tall order that a lot of writers simply don't want to fuck with.

personally I think the best way to embrace this is to just acknowledge that the riddles are going to be balls to the wall stupid and let the audience understand that Batman is equally unhinged for being able to solve them at all. Batman '66 is frankly great at this, best exemplified in this scene from the movie that no other Batman adaptation has topped yet:

what are any of you talking about! you sound crazy! they are right though, and that's what living in Gotham does to a motherfucker.

for the record I think Batman Forever also actually does this really well without being quite as unhinged. the riddles are actually pretty solid and straightforward; Bruce solves them easily but the real challenge is in putting them together at the end to figure out who's actually behind everything. (it's Jim Carrey, serving cunt.) it's maybe the only part of the movie that actually shows any restraint at all, and I respect that.

the thing is that this approach kind of falls apart if you want to do a more grounded take on Batman that presents the Riddler as the legitimate threat despite being a man who on purpose calls himself the Riddler. I dog on Batman 2022 a lot but at least there you can (charitably) read Paul Dano's shitty little puzzles as being intentionally messy owing to the fact that his Riddler is, you know, a sopping wet miserable catholic redditor who's really just trying to kiss Batman. I do genuinely like that his master plan is incoherent enough that Bruce doesn't crack all of it and misses vital pieces, it's a nice spin on an inexperienced Batman + the complexity addiction that Riddler schemes are so known for.

and like, to be clear, I do still think that Riddler sucks, but other attempts to make him a serious antagonist are so much worse. you mentioned War of Jokes and Riddles and One Bad Day, the latter of which I do think is just. appallingly misguided on literally every imaginable front and betrays an embarrassing lack of understanding of what people actually like and find entertaining about the character in favor of scrubbing him down to a bog standard Hannibal Lecter-flavored evil genius serial killer manipulator.

which is a fine stock character, where would comic books be without easily recognizable bad guy archetypes, etc, but god, not the Riddler. where the fuck is the fun in that? he's just a silly little guy in a leotard. please, stop trying to make this guy scary.

for god's sake. he's just a baby.

anyway I get why it happens though and it's Marketing, and I think specifically the very online and instantaneous nature of fandom in the 21st century. detective comics comics needs people reading their comics and, maybe even more importantly, talking about their comics, and that means leaning really heavily on well-established characters the people give a shit about. most readers are going to be more interested, even passively, in the Riddler than Random Smart Guy Murderer #623, because he's been around for a long time and he's a very ingrained part of the lore.

but everything has to be a fucking event with high stakes now, again because attention is currency, so it can never just be, like, "oh no, the Riddler has Batman trapped in a giant hamster maze," it's the Riddler and the Joker beefing and also the Riddler murdering Kite-Man's son for ??? reasons ??? idk man look how fucked up he is! this guy's serious! he has a question mark scar on his chest! please take him seriously!

and also, back to the first point, it's frankly just easier to write a generic egomaniac smart guy than it is to come up with riddles that are even a little bit good or interesting enough to carry an entire plot. I bet Tom King really thought he was doing something when he settled down to write One Bad Day and decided that the riddles were actually just a fucking power inhibitor the Riddler was putting in place to stop his massive brainmeat from killing everybody he came in contact with, but I think it's actually the sign of Tom King being a lil punk bitch, actually. just admit you don't have the sauce to come up with a riddle and pass the gig onto someone else!

anyway this is why most of my favorite Riddler appearances have him in a supporting role rather than serving as a primary antagonist (think Batman: Unburied, King Tut's Tomb, the Long Halloween/Dark Victory/When In Rome triptych), and his best antagonist appearances have him working with WAY lower stakes that's mostly just trying to get Bruce to pay attention to him (Vol. 2 of the Batman Adventures and Strange Love Adventures 2022).

tl;dr stop trying to make me take this man seriously

[selfdiagnosedeyemotif]

Chapter One (Praem):

Opens with a montage Praem wandering through the Peaklands, sometimes encountering a fight or resting at an inn but mostly just walking

Eventually cuts to a gameplay segment after she gets hired to take care of some bandits in a nearby town

Introduction to Praem’s psychic abilities: she’s seen taking on a few of the bandits at a time and at one point there’s a timestop segment where the bandit’s next actions play out as translucent purple silhouettes (think of Temenos’s mystery solving segments) before she acts accordingly and kicks some ass

Bandit captain serves as the Challenge tutorial

While leaving Praem makes an offhand comment about how “it hasn’t happened lately”, this is framed as a good thing

Praem gets her cash from the people that hired her, goes to sleep at the local inn, when, just as she enters her rented room…

The world goes black. All of a sudden, images begin to rapidly appear of a village ablaze, bandits running amok.

She sees herself, rushing to the village; the sun low in the sky in front of her.

She reaches out a hand to someone in a long dark coat wearing gloves; there is a burning crossbar in between them; they are yelling something out

And then it stops. Praem is standing alone in the room once more.

A light purple mist has been pouring from out of Praem, it dissipates fairly quickly but momentarily it was positively filling the room

Praem murmurs a “not again” to herself before rushing out of her room

She asks the innkeeper if there’s a village west of here; naturally, there is

The sun is just about to set. She needs to move fast.

You don’t actually travel to this separate town in a gameplay sense it’s a cutscene

Arrive, town in flame, beat up some bandits, yadda yadda yadda

Eventually Praem is able to evacuate all the townsfolk, but the vision hasn’t come true yet

Who was the person under the crossbar?

Ask the townsfolk a bit and everyone realises that a traveller that had been passing through town was still missing

Search the town for a bit, nada

There is one avenue of search available, though: several of the bandits have been rounded up and questioning might yield some results

This is the Unmask tutorial. Praem beats the shit (mentally) out of one of the bandits and they reveal that “the boss” has grabbed a few hostages, started holing up in the community larder, and will have sent a ransom note any time soon

Lore-wise, Unmask is a deeply unpleasant experience. It is very much a magical thing and basically involves Praem psychically peeling back the lies and facades of the target until they either crack and tell the truth or she can just perceive it outright

“Peeling” is exactly how it’s described. Might wanna be a little lighter on using it on random townsfolk.

Anyways the path had previously been blocked off by scorched timbers but with some help from the townsfolk Praem clears the path and heads for the larder

Stations multiple of the strongest-looking folks at the entrance in case the leader tries to make a break for it

With the plan set, Praem makes her way into…

The First Dungeon: The Community Larder

A series of rooms dug into the mountainside supported by wooden beams, shelves that once held food lining the walls

Broken jars and the remnants of the shelves line the floor

Enemies are infrequent (you should have gotten plenty of exp and jp from the numerous enemy encounters beforehand), but it’s like. Bats and shit.

Eventually you come to the final room (it was barricaded but doors can be cut by swords. fun fact.)

Inside is “the boss”, alongside a trussed-like-a-turkey stranger in a long dark coat up against one of the support pillars

A wood fire is in the centre of the room

Hash it out for a bit with the bandit leader before he does an entire “you’ll never take me alive” thing, throws some of the burning logs from the fire towards the supports, and attempts to make the larder collapse

Unsurprisingly, this kicks off…

The First Boss: The Boss

I’m not kidding about that name it’s just what he’s called

If I’m being honest tho this is a Gaston (Olberic chapter one) clone

Hits worryingly hard for a chapter one boss, forces you to play with tools besides the typical “hit stuff hard” warrior strats

Hope you took Stout Wall or Predictive Parry cuz you’re gonna need it

The one saving grace is that Second Sight still applies here. He’ll have enough skills to prevent all of them from being affected but it’ll cut down on some of them

How one would work in a tutorial for Oracular Apogee into this is beyond me. Might not do anything cool with that tutorial

After the fight is over, Praem rushes to go grab the person tied to the beam

Mistake. The boss takes that opportunity to (in spite of not realistically having enough time to do so) toss the burning logs from the fire in the centre towards a pile of fabric at the base of a support beam

This causes the room to immediately catch fire. Too fast to be realistic, again, but this is video gaming and I make the rules

He flees the cave – directly into the people stationed at the exit – but there’s a much more immediate problem now

Praem cuts the stranger loose, and a burning beam falls between them moments after they get up

As Praem reaches for their hand, the vision comes true: a stranger with a coat and gloves, a burning beam, a yell that gets cut short

Just as Praem realises this, the screen goes dark. She is surrounded by blackness.

A vision starts. Hasty footsteps splashing in the water. A waterfall in front of a stone tablet. A pained look from the stranger. An unfamiliar dagger in Praem’s hand.

The blade of the dagger sheathed into the stranger’s chest.

The stranger speaks her name. Asks her why.

And then Praem wakes up. The lilac fog clears from the area as the same colour drains from her eyes

She is surrounded by people. The townsfolk that she saved. She’s in an inn.

The stranger is standing over her, eyes full of worry

Her name is Ekaterina Raszio, she is a quote unquote “professional wanderer and swordswoman”, and she’s been wandering the continent making do with mercenary work

Very similar to Praem all things considered

At her behest, Praem fills Ekaterina in on her whole precognition deal, explains the change in it that has recently happened

Does NOT mention what happened in the most recent vision

Ekaterina offers to join her in her search; the two of them seem similar, and she’s been going nowhere in particular anyway so might as well join up with someone’s

Praem hesitates but realises that she can’t really deny her without explaining the vision she had, so she accepts the offer

The two ask around the village a bit, and eventually hear of a lord in the Fjordlands, who keeps in his employment a powerful seer

There’s a possibility that this seer may very well have some insight into the nature of Praem’s ability

Having a lead for the first time in ages, Praem and her new travelling companion Ekaterina set off for the Fjordlands...

[beantothemax]

Chapter One:

Opens with a montage Praem wandering through the Peaklands, sometimes encountering a fight or resting at an inn but mostly just walking

Eventually cuts to a gameplay segment after she gets hired to take care of some bandits in a nearby town

Introduction to Praem’s psychic abilities: she’s seen taking on a few of the bandits at a time and at one point there’s a timestop segment where the bandit’s next actions play out as translucent purple silhouettes (think of Temenos’s mystery solving segments) before she acts accordingly and kicks some ass

Bandit captain serves as the Challenge tutorial

While leaving Praem makes an offhand comment about how “it hasn’t happened lately”, this is framed as a good thing

Praem gets her cash from the people that hired her, goes to sleep at the local inn, when, just as she enters her rented room…

The world goes black. All of a sudden, images begin to rapidly appear of a village ablaze, bandits running amok.

She sees herself, rushing to the village; the sun low in the sky in front of her.

She reaches out a hand to someone in a long dark coat wearing gloves; there is a burning crossbar in between them; they are yelling something out

And then it stops. Praem is standing alone in the room once more.

A light purple mist has been pouring from out of Praem, it dissipates fairly quickly but momentarily it was positively filling the room

Praem murmurs a “not again” to herself before rushing out of her room

She asks the innkeeper if there’s a village west of here; naturally, there is

The sun is just about to set. She needs to move fast.

You don’t actually travel to this separate town in a gameplay sense it’s a cutscene

Arrive, town in flame, beat up some bandits, yadda yadda yadda

Eventually Praem is able to evacuate all the townsfolk, but the vision hasn’t come true yet

Who was the person under the crossbar?

Ask the townsfolk a bit and everyone realises that a traveller that had been passing through town was still missing

Search the town for a bit, nada

There is one avenue of search available, though: several of the bandits have been rounded up and questioning might yield some results

This is the Unmask tutorial. Praem beats the shit (mentally) out of one of the bandits and they reveal that “the boss” has grabbed a few hostages, started holing up in the community larder, and will have sent a ransom note any time soon

Lore-wise, Unmask is a deeply unpleasant experience. It is very much a magical thing and basically involves Praem psychically peeling back the lies and facades of the target until they either crack and tell the truth or she can just perceive it outright

“Peeling” is exactly how it’s described. Might wanna be a little lighter on using it on random townsfolk.

Anyways the path had previously been blocked off by scorched timbers but with some help from the townsfolk Praem clears the path and heads for the larder

Stations multiple of the strongest-looking folks at the entrance in case the leader tries to make a break for it

With the plan set, Praem makes her way into…

The First Dungeon: The Community Larder

A series of rooms dug into the mountainside supported by wooden beams, shelves that once held food lining the walls

Broken jars and the remnants of the shelves line the floor

Enemies are infrequent (you should have gotten plenty of exp and jp from the numerous enemy encounters beforehand), but it’s like. Bats and shit.

Eventually you come to the final room (it was barricaded but doors can be cut by swords. fun fact.)

Inside is “the boss”, alongside a trussed-like-a-turkey stranger in a long dark coat up against one of the support pillars

A wood fire is in the centre of the room

Hash it out for a bit with the bandit leader before he does an entire “you’ll never take me alive” thing, throws some of the burning logs from the fire towards the supports, and attempts to make the larder collapse

Unsurprisingly, this kicks off…

The First Boss: The Boss

I’m not kidding about that name it’s just what he’s called

If I’m being honest tho this is a Gaston (Olberic chapter one) clone

Hits worryingly hard for a chapter one boss, forces you to play with tools besides the typical “hit stuff hard” warrior strats

Hope you took Stout Wall or Predictive Parry cuz you’re gonna need it

The one saving grace is that Second Sight still applies here. He’ll have enough skills to prevent all of them from being affected but it’ll cut down on some of them

How one would work in a tutorial for Oracular Apogee into this is beyond me. Might not do anything cool with that tutorial

After the fight is over, Praem rushes to go grab the person tied to the beam

Mistake. The boss takes that opportunity to (in spite of not realistically having enough time to do so) toss the burning logs from the fire in the centre towards a pile of fabric at the base of a support beam

This causes the room to immediately catch fire. Too fast to be realistic, again, but this is video gaming and I make the rules

He flees the cave – directly into the people stationed at the exit – but there’s a much more immediate problem now

Praem cuts the stranger loose, and a burning beam falls between them moments after they get up

As Praem reaches for their hand, the vision comes true: a stranger with a coat and gloves, a burning beam, a yell that gets cut short

Just as Praem realises this, the screen goes dark. She is surrounded by blackness.

A vision starts. Hasty footsteps splashing in the water. A waterfall in front of a stone tablet. A pained look from the stranger. An unfamiliar dagger in Praem’s hand.

The blade of the dagger sheathed into the stranger’s chest.

The stranger speaks her name. Asks her why.

And then Praem wakes up. The lilac fog clears from the area as the same colour drains from her eyes

She is surrounded by people. The townsfolk that she saved. She’s in an inn.

The stranger is standing over her, eyes full of worry

Her name is Ekaterina Raszio, she is a quote unquote “professional wanderer and swordswoman”, and she’s been wandering the continent making do with mercenary work

Very similar to Praem all things considered

At her behest, Praem fills Ekaterina in on her whole precognition deal, explains the change in it that has recently happened

Does NOT mention what happened in the most recent vision

Ekaterina offers to join her in her search; the two of them seem similar, and she’s been going nowhere in particular anyway so might as well join up with someone’s

Praem hesitates but realises that she can’t really deny her without explaining the vision she had, so she accepts the offer

The two ask around the village a bit, and eventually hear of a lord in the Fjordlands, who keeps in his employment a powerful seer

There’s a possibility that this seer may very well have some insight into the nature of Praem’s ability

Having a lead for the first time in ages, Praem and her new travelling companion Ekaterina set off for the Fjordlands…

IRIS IM GONNA EXPLODE EIGHT THOUSAND TIMES!!!!!!! PRAEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE’S SO COOL I ADORE HER!!!!!!!

call praem ameno-sagiri the way she emits mist randomly….. jokes aside tho that is very cool and also just a little creepy. somethin’s not completely right with her I think.

AND UNMASK SOUNDS ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING!!! I LOVE IT!!!!!! the word ‘peeling’ paints a very unpleasant mental image and that fits perfectly I think. love how thouroughly strange praem is

AND. THE WHOLE END FLASHBACK??? UNFAMILIAR DAGGER??? WATERFALL??? HUH??? iris what are you plotting

ive known praem for exactly twelve minutes and I already want to give her a hug she’s so.

[bobafetts-princess]

Kinktober Day 4- Missionary

Pairings: Rex x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Readers friends are kinda jerks. PiV. No condoms in fanfic, oral (f!receiving) Rex is the softest MF’ER around.

Word Count: 1700

Summary: Your friends make a big deal about missionary sucking and Rex shows you all the ways it doesn’t.

“Ugh missionary is the worst!” Your friend Kaa’ra laughs, taking a sip of her drink. All the other friends in your group agree, laughing about how boring it is. You’re not sure how you ended up here, it was supposed to be a calm girls night out and now you’re in a dingy bar, discussing everyone’s sexual preferences.

“I prefer doggy myself,” Sileuna tells everyone mischievously. “Smack my ass and make it hurt,” she says, which garners more nods. You can’t find yourself agreeing though, missionary with your boyfriend Rex is your favorite position. He’s a captain in the clone army and you met him on a wild night out at 79’s, the clone bar. He was the kindest and most attentive boyfriend, always focused on what was best for you.

“How about you, babe? You’ve got that hot boyfriend, I’m sure he’s into some kinky shit,” Sileuna gives you a Cheshire grin, which drops when you shake your head.

“We, uhh, we like missionary,” you tell them, earning quite a few shocked looks.

“A man that fine? And you like missionary?” Kaa’ra asks, her tone incredulous like she doesn’t believe you.

“Yeah, I get to see his face and kiss him the whole time,” you defend yourself, not that you should have to. It’s true, Rex loved missionary and so did you. You’d been experimental early on but missionary was the one you kept coming back to.

“I didn’t expect that hot Captain to enjoy missionary,” she snickers in a haughty manner. Just then your holophone pings with Rex’s tone and you pick it up to see what he sent.

Captain Hottie: Miss you. Hope you’re having fun. <3

Rex cracks you up because he’s the only person you’ve ever messaged with that doesn’t use emojis, he prefers emoticons.

Me: I was thinking about heading home early. Want to come over?

Captain Hottie: Meet you at home in 10.

Home. The fact that he calls your apartment home brings you a joy deep in your chest that’s incomparable to anything in the galaxy. When he’s got time off, your apartment is where he stays. When he’s had a long day, you’re the person he calls. When he needs to decompress, you’re the safe space that allows him to do so. You excuse yourself from your friends, giving ‘I’m sorry’s’ and “I’ll see you laters’ to everyone. Just as you reach the door, Silenua calls out to you.

“Have fun in missionary!”

With a roll of your eyes and the flick of a wrist in dismissal, you’re out the door. Rex is waiting on your front porch when you get home, in civvie clothes with an overnight bag slung over his shoulder.

“Rex, I wish you’d just take a key so you don’t have to wait outside,” you sigh.

“Nah, mesh’la, I don’t mind waiting on you. Plus I know where you keep the spare just in case,” he grins as you open the door. You lean into him after he sets his bag in your room, coming back to wrap you in a hug. “What happened?” He know you too well, you love girls night and often stay late with them, instead of coming home early. He’s even picked you up a time or two when you’ve had too much to drink.

“I dunno. They started picking at me because we don’t have like, super kinky sex or get rough,” you sigh and he tightens. “What’s the matter?” It’s your turn to be concerned.

“Wolffe and Cody actually were just making fun of me because I told them we like missionary,” he admits, hand coming up to cup the back of his head. You prop your chin on his chest, arms still wrapped around him.

“What’s wrong with missionary?” You ask, and he shrugs, moving to peck you on the lips. “I enjoy it. I get to look at you the whole time and you’re hot, so what’s to complain about?” He outright laughs at that, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck so he can kiss you deeper when he’s done.

“I love you,” he whispers, leaning in to capture your mouth with his. You want to say it back, make sure he knows you feel the same way, but his tongue invades your mouth and you can’t. Your hands grab at his shirt, tugging at it in an effort to get it off. Rex obliges, breaking the kiss for the split second to remove his shirt before he’s back on your again. He navigates your bodies back to your bedroom, hands on your hips as he continues to kiss you.

Once he hits the edge of your bed, he pulls away, leaving you panting and reaching for him. He grabs at your shirt, removing it and your bindings before he starts working at your pants. He gets them off, flinging them over his shoulder as he presses kisses to the soft of your belly. You’re reaching for his own pants but when he stands to remove them, your brain short circuits. His military regimen shows, his shoulders wide and cut, his hips narrow and his chest built. Rex has the prettiest shoulders, strong under your fingers, wide enough to spread you apart with them, the skin of them soft. He smirks, he knows you’re checking him out, but then he sheds his pants and he’s back on you in an instant. His mouth is soft but firm against yours and the burn you’re already feeling starts to intensify. His hand comes up to cup your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. You gasp his name as his mouth descends, sucking the sensitive spot on your collarbone. He reaches your breasts, picture perfect lips wrapping around a nipple as you cling to his shoulders. He torments you, slow and sensuous as he teases both breasts with his mouth. One of his hands slips down your body, sliding between your legs as he nips gently at the sensitive underside of your breast.

“Wet for me already, mesh’la?” He says, his voice low and husky with desire. You nod, spreading wider as his fingers find your entrance, gathering some wetness before he slides upwards. His fingers circle your clit and you’re so distracted by the pleasure there you don’t realize he’s kissing his way down your body. You only notice it when his tongue slips between your lower lips, tasting you.

“You always taste so good,” he groans, licking a flat stripe up your pussy. His tongue circles your clit, pushing you higher and higher. You fry out his name when he presses two fingers inside you, curling them upwards. Your words are garbled as he starts moving his fingers in and out of your body, still tonguing your pussy at the same time. Your orgasm starts building in your belly and Rex knows. He feels the rhythmic clenching of your pussy, the way your breath kicks up a notch.

“Come for me, mesh’la,” he encourages, moving a little faster. Your orgasm hits hard, cresting over you like waves, strong and unrelenting. He works you through it, telling you how beautiful you are and how much he enjoys watching you come. Rex kisses his way back up your body, wedging his thighs between yours.

“I love you,” he says again, bringing his mouth down to yours as his cock presses against your inner thigh. A half a heartbeat and a mumbled ‘I love you too’ later, Rex is pressing into your heat, stretching you deliciously. It’s a slow process, pulling and pushing himself in and out of your body, coating himself in your juices. After what feels like hours he presses all the way in, sighing at the feeling. He props his elbows near your head, gazing down lovingly at you when he does.

“I don’t know how anyone wouldn’t enjoy this position,” he says, voice low and husky. Vigorously nodding your head, you start moving your hips, trying to get some friction. Rex huffs a small laugh at you, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips as he starts moving. His rhythm and his kiss are similar, slow and languid. He’s taking his time pulling you apart at the seams, making sure he fucks you perfectly. Your arms wrap around his neck, calves wrapping around the backs of his thighs, clinging to him like he’s the only thing in the world you need.

“What’s not to love about missionary?” He asks again, sitting up a little and interlocking your fingers together on one hand. “I get to watch my beautiful girl come undone beneath me,” he points out. “I get to kiss you the entire time,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you another kiss. “These perfect tits are within reach,” one hand gropes at your breast, pinching slightly at your nipple. “We can even get a little kinky if you’re interested,” he winks, hips still moving slow and steady as the same hand comes up to brush at your throat. A flash of interest crosses over your face and Rex grins. “But really,” he starts before pressing your bodies together from shoulder to hip. “My favorite part is that every part of me gets to touch every part of you,” and it’s so romantic that you swear you might cry. His pace kicks up just a notch, just enough to start the flames of another orgasm. He kisses you again, tangling your tongues together as he locks your hands together again.

“I love you,” you tell him, cupping his handsome face in your other hand. He smiles so softly, so sheepishly, that your own heart skips a beat at how in love with this man you are. You’re on the cusp of coming, the need to come causing pulses in your pussy.

“I love you more,” he promises, pressing your lips together once more. Your orgasms hit at the same time, triggered purely by your love for each other in that moment and you both cry out together. Rex lays on you, trying to keep the majority of his weight off you but failing miserably. You welcome the weight though, it grounds you after that earth shattering orgasm. His breathing is heavy and loud as he tries to calm his heart rate, his face tucked into your neck. Once he’s calm, he rolls on his side, arm stretched out across your stomach with his elbow underneath him and he smiles.

“So missionary isn’t so bad, is it?”

Tags: @darkhairedmenrule @starlitnotes @rexandechosandwich @lacroixq-blog @firstofficerwiggles @grinningnexu @too-manyfandomstocount

[taeilskitty]

Hey there! I saw that you open for a request so here's what I thought : what kind of sound did nct make when having sex? Are they more into whimpers, groans, or maybe dirty talk? Thank you so much for answering my question and hope you have a good day!

i was BORN to answer this omg. lemme tell you, i have thought about this so SO much!! (i'm leaving chenji out of this bc i don't know how people feel about that yet)

anyways, i hope u enjoy and i hope this matches what you had in mind <3

taeil

oh fuck. taeil is most certainly a groaner. i think (and trust me, i've thought a lot) he must make these gorgeous low moans like right in the back of his throat if that makes sense - have you ever heard his bubble voice messages? oh my god, they're so fucking hot. his raspy voice in the middle of the night is just to die for. that makes me CONVINCED that he dirty talks super up close. even thinking about it makes me shiver :(( he's the king of praise, i just know it. i think he degrades too, but his favourite is when he mixes both together - "you look so pathetic there baby, how cute." "daddy loves his pretty slut so much." "god you're so fucking good for me, my cockslut~" taeil also asks things, i think that suits him so much. "yeah? you like that?" "is daddy's cock too big baby? shh, i'll be done soon..."

taeyong

whiner. whiner. undoubtedly. this boy has the sweetest, prettiest little moans... he gets all high pitched when he's close and oh god when he sinks into subspace he just mewls and his voice gets so weak </3 little "yes" and "a-ah thank you"s slip out because he such a good kitten. he's so precious... and if he gets asked to speak while he's getting fucked he just squeaks out an answer. "m.. love it... ah..." n he will never fail to say his please and thank yous - he's so well mannered even when hes getting used !!!

johnny

this is just. oh my. i think he's silent for the most part. heavy breathing and quiet grunts and groans until he's close. THAT'S when he starts moaning, all sorts of things slipping out. "god you're so good" "i love this hole so much" ahh??! i think he talks down too. fuck !!! daddy!johnny is so patronising, and not just outside of the bedroom. kinda like taeil, he asks things, but he makes u feel so dumb and cock drunk :( AH AND he like... coos when you feel all dazed from his cock... "awh~ is that good? you like that don't you sweetheart? yeah, i know."

yuta

i have this vision of yuta just SLAMMING from behind with his face right up in your ear, telling you all sorts of dirty things lowly with just the hottest voice ever. he's very vocal about what he wants, and he loves cumming inside... so expect him to talk about that. oh, he is so fucking possessive too. "hmm. mine. this is mine. you're mine." he probably bites your ear/neck when he says it... the grunts that come out when he slams are enough to send anyone reeling, but i bet he tells you "fuck. gonna. gonna cum in my fuckdoll--" n his voice just trails off as he fills you up and sighs<33

kun

now kun is !! an interesting one !! ... i envision him as a pretty hard dom, so i don't think he's any stranger to degrading. that being said, i think he's more talkative when he's giving punishments (e.g. spanking over his thigh... heaven<33) rather than when he's fucking. i think he moans lowly, semi-quietly but as he gets more and more pent up he gets louder. (i think this is the case for most of the nct doms but oh well) he'll praise how good you make him feel - assuming you've been behaved enough - but that doesn't stop him from cursing under his breath at every chance he gets ,,..

doyoung

definitely has pretty moans !! he probably does whine, but i mean that in a dom way - if that makes sense? higher pitched moans but not pathetic, in fact it's probably paired with him whispering "fuck yes, good [insert ur fave petname here]". i think he's the type to kiss you a lot during sex and like... moan into your mouth; any space not taken up by the sound of moans will for sure be filled with the sound of his panting and his tongue dancing with yours.

ten

another semi-whiner. i always saw him as a dom but i'm sliiightly succumbing to the idea that he may be a switch... which is why i think there's so much BEAUTY in his moans?? ten makes really pretty, breathy whines and moans i'm sure, i don't particularly think he talks a crazy amount but rather short instructions. (yes i'm going back to dom!ten) "turn around." "get on your knees" "quiet." AH !! he always lets you know what he needs - however, sub!ten will just whine and squirm till you make him cum because he is most definitely a slut who takes anything:(

jaehyun

first of all, this man wrecks me to the fucking core, and i could talk about this for... a while. but his moans are definitely like, raspy high-pitched type. think about his vocals. esp in try again... i bet you they sound like THAT. i'm sure he talks a bit too, tbh he probably says rather textbook dirty things but it sounds so fucking hot when it's him. "yeah take it, take my cock" "fuck yes just like that", he loves how you whine when he moans right up next to you btw - it just makes him do it even more. oh, and bonus - he will never call you ANYTHING without prefixing it with my or daddy's. daddy's girl, daddy's boy, daddy's pet, my dirty slut... ahh<3

winwin

it's almost contrasting to jaehyun but sicheng's voice is so low. i can't explain this in any way other than that he's kitty, but his moans are so... puppy? and when he's fucked, he makes himself sound so dumb too. he's constantly slurring his words and biting his lip because he's trying to keep quiet but anyone who walks by the room will hear "mm.. m!!" because he just can't help himself :( when he's close he probably squeaks like taeyong and cums all over the place GOD i want him

jungwoo

oh god there's no doubt that jungwoo talks SO much during sex. he probably loses his fucking mind with how good he feels. he's such a good boy but sometimes you just need him to shut up - but he can't. he squeaks out a little moan when you push into him, or when you start touching his cock, but withn minutes he's babbling non-stop; "oh god oh god mommy/daddy i love it so much, a-ah like that, please~"

lucas

my brain used to be convinced that xuxi was a dom, but i'm now sure he's a switch. either way, his moans are pretty much the same. they're very heavy and... i guess manly is the best way to put it. in my head i can literally picture him being like "ughhh..." when you start fucking because he just feels like he's wanted to fuck you so desperately - yes, even if you fucked hours before. it's always so breathy and moany and i think he sounds like a bit of a fuckboy tbh... "fuck yeah" as he slides his cock into you? THANKS

mark

loud baby loud baby LOUD BABY:((( no matter how much you cover that pretty mouth of his he will be so LOUD!! he can't stop talking and whining and panting, kinda like jungwoo but honestly... more. he swears a lot too. he tries not to but he just can't help himself :( "aw shit... god shit!!!" under his breath UGHHFDGGDFDD SO FUCKING CUTE IM GONNA SCREAM !!! he's very polite though, so he always says sorry every single time :( he babbles like hell when he cums, he can't stop himself, again like jungwoo. "i'm gonna cum i'mgonnacumi- i'm -- ah fuck, shit--!!"

xiaojun

two words. action figure. everyone knew that was coming, HA - i'm sorry but THAT verse means we all know how he sounds. i think he tries his best to talk normally while you edge him but his little voice keeps on wavering and cracking and just... he can't help but sound all pretty and pathetic :( but surely dejun has some (very frequent) moments where he can't keep his front anymore and just whines like a whore because it feels so good<3

hendery

the things i'd let this man do to me:))) i think at first he'd actually try and hide his moans because he feels like that's what he's supposed to do, but no. for me personally, i know i would NOT LET THAT HAPPEN !! he probably sucks the air in through his teeth in an attempt to hide it - it's very fucking sexy when he does that, granted - but he can't keep doing that for long. i think he hums and laughs when he can't keep it in any longer because he almost feels some kinda defeat but then he just moans semi-loudly and lets out a "good girl/boy/baby... let me fuck you, huh?"

renjun

renjun scares the fuck out of me. why? because his moans are fairly quiet. he's master and it S H O W S. he grunts quietly, maybe muttering things under his breath like "so fucking tight" "mmh there you go..." to fill some silence but he does it subconsciously; he goes so far into domspace sometimes that he just can't control himself. when he's close he talks through his teeth and he's like "i'm. i'm gonna cum baby..."and the more you whine on his cock the more he just laughs at you because he's a sadist hhhhhhhhhhh.........

jeno

most definitely a fun one... you see when he's sub, he pants and whines and drools all over himself like a big dumb puppy boy and he just breathes so heavy n his moans are all shaky... if he's a brat he will try and talk big but he can't take it, he just gets so pathetic and !!! but dom jeno is fucking TERRIFYING because he talks down and tries his best to intimidate you. he chuckles and degrades you, but one of his faves is when he can big himself up under his breath. "look at you now. you love this fucking cock."

haechan

this isn't good for my mental health :) i fucking cannot TAKE this brat :) AHA! hyuckie is honestly such a whore, he's bratty and rude and always talks back at you like he's the king of the fucking world. he's constantly laughing at you and trying so hard to make you feel like you're not worthy but he feels so good he just gets fucked dumb by you :( he is SO loud too. he wants everyone to hear what a dirty whore he is and he makes sure he puts on his prettiest pornstar moans. he whines like his life depends on it. on the off chance that he's being a good boy, he begs and cries and whimpers when he finally cums - and i mean CRIES. sobs. he'll be heaving by the time you're done with him, but god he fucking loves it.

jaemin

fuck... fuck okay... well firstly he loves to talk. we all know how much he praises and how he's constantly showing his love off... that doesn't stop at fanservice, nope. he will fuck you like a ragdoll and keep calm and composed as ever, talking down to you as if you're in his lap for a soft cuddle. "baby loves nana so much hm~?" "oh you really love that don't you?" "you know you're so pretty. nana wants to cum in you so bad~" yes, he calls himself nana because he's a cocky fuck and loves how it sounds. especially when you're moaning it for him.

yangyang

i'm kinda in 2 minds about this... on the one hand, he's kinda like hyuckie in that he whines a LOT. but he can actually keep his composure - he's a breathy whiner, he's not quite as loud and he most certainy doesn't crumble as easily. (that's not to say that he can't, he most definitely can.) on the other hand i think when he's in a more neutral headspace rather than subby, he talks to you like a total fuckboy. not in a mean way but he's just like "hah. i know you love me fucking you like this." he gets so cocky and he sucks hickeys into your neck and hums quietly<3

shotaro

he's such a shy baby :( he wants to moan so much but he probably gets all self conscious and tries to hide it... so you gotta make him feel safe :( when he does he whimpers and it's so pretty and pathetic. the way he wells up with tears and hitches his breath is. adorable. he whispers "thank you... ah..." every time he feels that good and by the time he cums it's just falling from him like a waterfall :( the more comfortable he feels, though, the sluttier he can get... he will always be a good boy but i think he lets his whore side come out every once in a while <3

sungchan

last but most certainly not least, yet ANOTHER boy who pains me to the core. i think sungchan whimpers too. THERE I SAID IT. his cock is too big for his own good so he just... needs you to do SOMETHING to him :( he always sighs at first, maybe hissing just a little but then he gets to a point where he's quietly whimpering because he just needs to cum so fucking bad <//3 "need it... p-please..." he's always nervous to use titles but if he wants to cum he has no choice :( when his dom asks please who? he blushes bright red n mumbles a little "please mommy/daddy... 'm so good..." and god yes he is he deserves it so much ugh<33333333333333

[astaroth1357]

How the Brothers Would Try to Get the MC Back After a Breakup

I have a much longer one in the works, but dug this out of my old drafts and just had to polish it off real quick. Not sure why I never finished it. 🤷‍♀️

Lucifer

His first tactic is to try and make them try to get back with him.

That means he’s going to go out and slay it! He’s going to make sure he’s looking great and really making a point of just how much he can do and how capable he is in literally Every. Way. If they’re watching, he’s going to be amazing. Period.

Buuut he’ll be sure to treat them super coldly throughout... This isn’t him trying to nicely ask them to come back to him, oh no, this is just making a point about how much they threw away, stupid human...!

If this doesn’t send them crawling back then he’s really in a bad place… He really needs them to come back on their own because his pride won't let him…

If he ever has to ask, it will feel more like a business deal than a reconciliation but that means he’s desperate. Hear him out at least.

Mammon

He’s going to be an absolute nightmare...

I think we all know that Mammon would fall apart without MC and it really wouldn't be a graceful fall…

Man will go through all the stages of grief seemingly every hour, everywhere from "WELL I DON'T NEED YA ANYWAY!" to, "Baby I'll buy ya anything, please come back…!"

The worst of it comes out when he's drunk and it's also when his worst ideas sound fantastic!

Not above breaking into their room at night just to sing them a poorly-written, sappy love song.

Also not above begging his brothers, Simeon, and even Diavolo for ideas on how to win them back.

If he could put it on one of those airplane banners and fly it across the Devildom, he would. Please MC, he's trying here…

Leviathan

Pity. Pity. So much pity. He is not afraid to treat his own dignity like collateral damage if he has to.

In the weeks after the breakup, Levi would probably be best described as one of those gelatinous deep sea Blobfish thrown on dry land, just with 90% more sadness and wallowing.

Assuming he leaves his room at all, he'll look like complete trash who hasn’t slept in weeks. Just an ultra-depressed otaku covered in Dorito dust and self-pity…

Basically, everything about him is going to scream, "I'M MISERABLE WITHOUT YOU, PLEASE COME COMFORT ME!!!" and considering that may have initiated their relationship to start with, it's not a terrible tactic.

If turning into a pathetic beached jellyfish of despair doesn't work then he'll try begging too. Third brother or not, dignity was never a priority here. Just MC… Always MC.

Satan

Meet our resident drunk texter.

During the day, Satan is going to take more of a Lucifer route and just be as impressive as he possibly can. However, he doesn't quite have Lucifer's level of deep emotional repression through pure spite…

What that means is occasionally he's going to crack and it's rough.

Get a few drinks in him and Satan will just break into a sobbing mess… Any poor soul in the vicinity will have to listen to his incoherent babbling about how many dates he's had with MC, how much he loves them, and why he can't sleep without them anymore…

But the texts… Man, are they something…

Satan: MC yourr the sptinkles to my waffls

Satan: why did you leave me? 🥺

Satan: im in the bat, its really cold  here

Satan: pleaae come home 😭😭😭

Satan: I'd murder fr yo

Satan: i mean love you

Satan: come back please

Asmodeus

Jealousy. Pure, simple jealousy. You think he can’t have three other people on his arms by the end of the week? Don't you know what you’re missing??

If Mammon is going through grief stages, then Asmo is stuck on anger. To think that he, HE, would be broken up with!! The nerve!!!

He'll go out clubbing and fucking and make a big'ol deal out of it for at least a week, but if it doesn't really help his case then he's really screwed… (like, figuratively this time)

After his anger burns out there'll be A LOT of crying and Asmo will make it his mission to get together again!!

That could involve everything from long-winded apology speeches, to dragging Solomon into complicated "Let's date again!" schemes, to dangling himself in front of MC like a carrot on a stick to try and entice them back.

EVERYONE in the House is going to hear about it and it'll drive them all crazy, but hey, anything in the name of love, damnit!!

Beelzebub

Lots of gifts, mostly food.

You'd think he'd be leaving offerings to a pagan god with the amount of food he tries to give MC… The man could actually feed a village with those plates!

To be frank, Beel doesn’t even have to do all that much in the grand scheme of things. A sad Beel is like a sad puppy, it just tugs at the heartstrings by its pure existence!

It also helps that he'd be willing to just… talk about getting back together like emotionally mature adults (novel concept, I know)

If they talk it out and the MC still isn't interested then expect more food and more sad Beel... He'll pretty much be like a depressed Santa Claus with a bag of T-bone steaks.

Be careful how long you keep Beel sad for though, MC, because Belphie isn't afraid to murder you twice. He's keeping a knife in that pillow. Be warned.

Belphegor

He's too busy not caring to even try.

Seriously. He doesn't care. Really. Not at all. Not even a little. Were they even dating? He didn't notice!

In fact, he doesn't care so much that he's going to nap in all of their favorite places, rewatch all of their favorite movies, and listen to their favorite songs because he just doesn't give a shit.

He doesn't care so much that he'll totally still invite them out to festivals and theme parks because it doesn't matter and they can still have a lot of fun together anyway!

He doesn't care SO FREAKING MUCH that if they wanted to nap together again or even cuddle a bit it's totally fine because it doesn't mean anything and he's fine and they're fine and this is fine!! Everything is a'okay!!!

See? No complaints outta him. But if they wanted to get back together uh… that's fine too… please...

[palbabor-writes]

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, student/teacher sex, tw.dubcon, tw.sub/dom dynamics, brat taming, fingering, masturbation, a table is pretty roughed up in this, so pls hold a brief moment of silence for it    

Words: 12,857

“So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin.

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Notes: the title was selected because it’s got the word cum in it. ahhh, the things that crack me up. anyhow. 

this is part of the BNHA Degeneracy server’s 9 to 5 collaboration! i had a ton of fun participating in this and thank you guys for making this so freaking awesome! special shoutout & thanks to @albinoburrito​ & @kugutsuu​ for their beta edits! this was a departure from what i usually write about and i appreciate all of your notes and help!  

Practicum prac·ti·cum /ˈpraktəkəm/ noun a practical section of a course of study

It’s your senior year, they said. Live a little, they advised. Stop and take a breather, you’re practically home free! Take some easier classes. Focus on what’s in front of you, it’ll be over before you know it! On and on and on. 

Spring semester is almost here. You’ve applied for graduation, the cap and gown ordered, and you have a shiny class ring sitting on your pinky. It’s in the bag. Just breeze through four more classes and you’re out. Well, it would be an easy shot, if you hadn’t put off this one class. 

It always popped up, so it’s not like you could plead ignorance. Your advisor warned you, each quarterly meeting, that you needed to get it out of the way. Take it seriously, he cautioned, clacking out his notes, typing down that you’d failed to heed his sage advice, again. If you wait too long, you’re not going to get the professor that you want.

That was the other problem. You’re a procrastination superstar. If there was some kinda award for putting off assignments, you’d have won it ten times over. You liked the heart pounding race to the deadline, the sleepy boasts that you’d tackled the project within hours of its due date. 

It’s a stupid habit. Every semester you promise yourself that you’ll do better. You won’t wait, you’ll tackle things one assignment at a time and turn them before the hard cut off at 11:59 pm. Who the fuck did you think you were kidding? Certainly not your friends, or your advisor. He could read you like a book. Hell, he’d even sent warnings. 

‘Don’t forget about the deadline for senior registration!’

‘You don’t want to be on a waitlist. You especially don’t want to take one of the harder professors. These are freshman level classes, they’re designed to flunk undergrads. Don’t forget (Y/N), chew them up and spit them out tactics are employed.’ 

But you had. You’d set an alarm on your phone, then neglected to give it a title, so you’d only chuckled and smacked the chirping into silence that morning, snoozing the all important deadline away. 

Fuck. 

Most of the classes for biology are wait-listed. No, scratch that, all the classes for Intro to Genetic Biology are wait-listed. You opt into the waitlist for all of them, just in case, and a week later your phone alerts you that one has an open seat. Actually, it has several open seats, too many open seats to be natural. However, you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so for now, you’re enrolled in BIO 1208: Principles of Cell and Organismal Physiology - For Non-Science majors. 

Perfect.

Yeah, no. You’d looked up the professor, since the whole open seat thing was still giving you the heebie-jeebies, and your heart dropped. You’ve heard of him, most of the student body has. His classes are notoriously small. Not because the university limited them, or planned for smaller class sizes. No, his classes are tiny because he is infamous for failing students. 

Most, when they realize they’re scheduled for his bio classes, frantically drop, taking the withdrawal and praying for better luck next semester. Others, brave souls who think they can come out unscathed, attempt to grit their teeth and push through. But, by midterms, they’re war torn and haggard, shaking their heads and praying for a ‘C’, at best. Fewer still, pass.

This pedagogy isn’t a sign of good teaching; quite the opposite, in fact. You don’t want your student body failing. Yet, year after year, Professor Tomura Shigaraki keeps teaching the same Intro to Bio class. It boggles the mind, but you’ve never had to worry about it. Well, until now. 

When you’d received the notification that you’re enrolled in the B section and spied the name Shigaraki under the professor listing, you’d scarfed down your suddenly flavorless lunch and dashed up the steps to the student advising hall, praying there was some way you could wiggle your way out of this growing disaster.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to take it earlier and to take it in the fall when there are more freshman level classes available. I swear I said that to you. And, AND, I even sent you emails, several times if my sent inbox is to be believed, to NOT forget when senior registration ends.” 

Your advisor is peeved. You don’t blame him. He’s right, this is your fault, but there’s gotta be some kinda loophole. Something, fuck, anything, that can pull you from this mess. 

“I know, I know! I’m so sorry. You’re right. But, I mean, can’t I just hold off for another week? See if the waitlist clears?”

The man that you’ve known for four years, that’s seen you progress from freshman to senior, steeples his long fingers and purses his lips, likely debating on a tactful scolding, or a firm rebuttal. He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but sink into the soft cushioning of the chair, your nose wrinkled and brow furrowed, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

“Do you know how many students we require to take BIO 1208?”

“No,” you gulp, nibbling on your lower lip nervously. 

“Over 7,000. Do you want to hear the statistics that would need to shake out in your favor for you to miraculously avoid taking this specific class? Nothing is going to open for you, it is this class, or no class.”

You sigh, and your advisor nods, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well then, I suggest you brush up on your study skills. Find a classmate that you can compare notes with, join a study group, go to the student union and ask for a tutor. I would hate to see you back here for the summer semester. You’re scheduled to walk the stage this spring and you’ve worked hard for this, so don’t fuck it up, okay?”

You’ve attended this university for four years, but the first day of term always gives you the jitters. It doesn’t matter that you know your way around, or that you know ten professors by name, and bump into several friends on the way to your next building, you’re always buried in your phone, checking and double checking the next class’ room number. 

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

In your defense, it’s your first time stepping foot in the Graduate & Research building and the whole concrete block is a fucking maze. There must be a basement because the numbers don’t match up with the floors and they seem to jumble further every time you round a corner. Like what the hell? How can this next room be GR 3.03.05 when this is clearly only the second floor and GR 2.03.11 was right down that other hallway?

Exasperated, you lean against the nearest wall and tug your phone out again. Shit. Class started ten minutes ago. 

Part of you wants to call it a day, end the search here and try again on Wednesday. Maybe take a few extra minutes to scout out the building next time and have some idea of where you’re going before the start of class. 

Ugh, why is this so stressful? 

It’s the first day of classes. Surely Professor Shigaraki won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late; besides, if you’re lost, others must be too. 

You tuck your phone back into your pocket and resume the hunt. Two hallway turns later, you find your mark.

Your hand pauses beside the heavy wood, and you take a steadying breath. Again, why are you so nervous? Just go in and take a seat, it’s easy, stop freaking out over nothing. 

The door groans open, hinges protesting the sharp push, and you stumble into a darkened room. The low glow of the projector doesn’t help your blurry vision. Ah, shit, it’s one of those older rooms, so it’s built like a bad movie theater. Oh well, better get to a seat before he spots you. 

Swiftly, you make your way toward the raised steps of the aisle and the second row of chairs, plopping into the first one you reach that’s empty. You’re too busy fiddling with the zipper of your backpack to notice that the speaker has stopped his rasping preamble, but as you pull your laptop out the ominous weight of that heavy silence hits you and you toss a hooded stare toward the front of the lecture hall. 

Immediately, your eyes land on the professor’s and you feel a low shiver shake up your spine. 

He’s watching you. 

The gleam of the overhead projector makes his red eyes flash, and he openly scowls at your gaping expression, his lips curling into a dark sneer.

“Well, thank you for joining us, Miss…?”

He’s waiting for your response and you squeak out your last name, mindlessly rubbing your moistening palms against your thin skirt. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N). Now that you’ve graced the class with your belated presence, may I continue?”

“Uh,” you gasp out, your mouth dry, tongue sticking to your teeth, “I’m sorry. I got–”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation, or in your case, an excuse. Or are you now attempting to disrupt this class purposefully?”

“Wha– I-I’m–” your words stumble to a halt, voice failing under the intense glare that he’s giving you. “No,” you finish lamely, ducking your head, nails digging into your sweaty palms. 

“Thank you. Do me a favor, stay after class.” His voice is gravel, threatening and low. You don’t like the edge in his tone. It makes your skin prickle and your knees knock. He sounds like the kind of guy that you don’t want to run into in a dark alleyway, or a classroom, for that matter. Even so, it’s not your fault, and despite your feelings of unease, you can’t tamp down your need to protest his unreasonableness. 

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

“If I need to repeat my insistence for silence, I’ll make things easier on both of us and fail you now.”

Stunned and fuming, you bite your tongue and lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and blinking back mounting tears of frustration. Great, just great. It’s the first fucking day of class and it looks like you’re already on his shit list. And for what? For being late on fucking syllabus day! What an ass. 

You look over at him as you defiantly finish setting up your computer, hoping each pull of a zipper or screen reboot will grate under his stuck up skin. He’s not inordinately tall, or old. In fact, he looks like he might only be in early 30s. He has long white hair that’s pulled back into a low ponytail and, from what you can make out in the dim lighting, some kinda skin condition on his forehead. That, or he’s prematurely wrinkled, and let’s be honest, if he’s gone through life with that big of a stick up his ass, he deserves each and every pull on that mottled skin of his. 

You linger in your seat when class is over, lips pulled into a thin line and legs crossed. Finally, when the last student has left the room, professor Shigaraki flips a switch beside his elevated podium, filling the lecture hall with a sharp, fluorescent light. He pauses by his raised computer system and clicks off the overhead projector, blanketing the massive room in an uncomfortable silence. 

“Since you missed the part of class where I go over the syllabus, I’ll give you a brief rundown. Under no circumstances will I tolerate tardiness. If you do it once more I’ll mark you absent and three absences knock you down a full letter grade.”

Glumly, you cross your arms and peer up at him, finally able to get a good look at his face. Your first observation was correct. His skin is sharper around his forehead, but his wavy white hair does a pretty decent job of covering up the imperfections. He has two scars: one nicks across his right eye and the other splits down his rough lips, parting the skin and granting him an even more foreboding appearance than his already gruff demeanor does. He’s dressed in a dark pair of jeans and he’s wearing a low slung v neck shirt. It’s a brilliant red and it brings out that otherworldly glint of his red eyes. Shit, you think bitterly, while he’s not conventionally handsome, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes either. 

You shake your head against these unproductive musings and curtly snap out a clipped, ok.

“What was that?” Shigaraki scoffs, tilting his head at your sullen figure. “Speak up.”

“I said,” you bristle, eyes narrowing and chin lifting, “Okay, I apologize for interrupting your lecture, it won’t happen again. But, in my defense, if I’m allowed to do that in this class, I’ve never been in this building before, and it’s not like–”

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then you’ve had four years to figure out the layout of this university. The excuse of ‘being lost,’ isn’t an option for you. You know the buildings and you’re fully capable of turning up early to sort out the rooms.”

You let out a long sigh and look away, mumbling vague protests. This guy is ridiculous. You’re not a science major and it’s not your job to know the ins and outs of each building. How fucking stupid. Who does he think he–

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

You bite your lip and look back at him but he’s moved in that distracted moment, silently stepping down from his raised platform and is now leaning over the first row of chairs, looming over you. You can’t help your sudden flinch as you sink further into your chair, away from him.

“If you’re gonna complain, Ms. (L/N), I’d much rather hear it. Don’t you think It’s rude for you to mutter under your breath about me? You don’t see me doing that to you.”

“Fine,” you blurt out, turning away from his insistent, and all too close, gaze. “I was saying that I’m not a science major. I get that I’m a senior, but you can’t seriously expect me to know every nook and cranny of this campus.”

“No, but I can ask for you to be a little more thoughtful. I put time and effort into my lessons and I won’t have you undermining them by bouncing in here with those legs and that flouncy little skirt.”

You’re about to counter his little haughty speech on politeness when you finally process that final comment he’d breathed out. Flabbergasted, you raise your head back to his, but he’s already moving away, snatching up his shoulder bag and waving you a curt goodbye as he presses open the squeaky door. “Next class is at 10 am sharp, so be on time Ms. (L/N).”

You’re still slumped in your seat when the door glides shut again, your eyes wide and jaw no doubt comically unhinged. 

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

Obviously, for the next class, you’re early. You’re so early that you’re the first one in the lecture hall. You select a seat toward the back and fiddle with your computer, checking your messages, adjusting your brightness, replying to old emails, anything to keep your head down and attention occupied. 

The door opens and, despite your best efforts, your head flies up, expectant and tense, ready to meet those red eyes of his head on, to show him you’re here and he better… oh. It’s not him. It’s two chattering freshmen. One of them gives you a quick smile, but they both quickly take their seats, a few rows over, and continue their soft conversation, leaving you to fall back onto your earlier distraction tactics. You twiddle with your phone and shoot off a few texts, change your wallpaper, accidentally close an app you meant to leave open, and then the lecture hall door reopens.

He steps in slowly, completely ignoring you and the other scattered students, opting to sort out a few papers and set up his login on the school computer. The minutes tick by and you can’t seem to jerk your eyes away from him, suddenly fascinated by his languid movements. He looks more relaxed than he did on Monday, looser and fluid, completely in his element. True to his word, at ten am on the dot he begins class. 

Professor Shigaraki has an interesting voice. It’s low, calculated, bordering on a rasp. It’s one of those tones that makes you want to lean forward and listen up, even though he’s only discussing cellular biology. Which isn’t exactly the sexiest topic for that shockingly dulcet timbre of his. 

Wait. Sexy? 

Your pen falters against your notebook, and your eyes drift up to his frame. He’s switched the lights off again and the shine of the overhead projector is the only illumination in the hall. His white hair gleams in the dim lighting and his long hands animatedly illustrate his points, elegant fingers opening and closing, gesticulating about the intricate nature of the human genome. You’re so focused on watching his movements that your elbow partner has to push the slip of paper onto your collapsible desktop. You blink at the sheet, your pen nearly clattering from your hand, and you twist to peer at the unfamiliar student beside you. 

“It’s the attendance sheet and, um, I think you’re the last one,” they whisper, careful to lean away after they finish their explanation, not wanting to draw professor Shigaraki’s ire. You maneuver the paper under your pen and scribble down your name, biting your lip and silently berating yourself for your poor selection in seating. Great, now you’ll have to take the paper down to him after class. What if he talks with you again? Shit. 

At 11:25, class ends. You collect your things and plod down the steps, the attendance sheet clutched between your fingers. He’s just snapping the projector light off when you reach his podium. 

“I, uhh, have the attendance. You want me to just leave it here, or…”

“I’ll take it,” his hand is extended toward you and those red eyes are fixed on you now. It’s not the same disgruntled stare he’d given you on Monday. No, this look is a little more curious. Again, you’re taken aback by your reaction to him. He’s not even saying anything, just patiently waiting for you to deposit the sheet into his open palm, but there’s something about him that’s making your heart race. 

Maybe it’s those eyes of his. 

They are an unusual color and they have a strange intensity to them. Right as they narrow, the vermillion shining under the sharp lights; you press the paper to him and he pulls it from you, studying the names that are listed. 

You want to say something. Maybe toss him a quick, friendly, goodbye. Or apologize for the other day? Ugh. What can you even say? ‘Gosh, so glad I was on time today! All that fascinating information about the genetic code! So glad to be here!’ No, that sounds stupid and a little patronizing. Besides, why do you want to talk with him at all? He’s an ass, remember?

“Did you need something?”

His question snaps you out of your stupor and you numbly shake your head at him, already lowering your gaze, but his exhaled chuckle makes you pause, your fingers curling around your backpack straps.  

“I know I upset you the other day, but I appreciate you taking the effort to correct your mistake.” 

“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes finding their way back to his. “Yeah, well, like you said, I’m a senior. Gotta take responsibility for myself someday.”

“Ah,” he smirks, that long scar on his lip quirking upward. “Seems like you’ve got some determination after all. You might be more interesting than I gave you credit for.”

“God,” you scoff, popping out a hip and crossing your arms at the bemused leer on his face. “Just come right out and say you think I’m a bad student, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he amends, tucking the attendance sheet into his shoulder bag and snapping the clasps closed. “There’s plenty of time for you to end up right back at square one with me.”

He’s already halfway out the door by the time you right yourself from the shock of his last comment and you follow him, a string of low curses falling from your lips. 

The spring semester always flies by, and before you realize it, a full month has bled away. You’ve kept that same seat in Shigaraki’s class and at the end of each session you head down to his little platform, attendance sheet outstretched. Each day of class has a different ebb and flow. Sometimes he chats with you and it’s gotten easier to talk with him, both of your eyes holding and lingering, lips raised into calculating smiles. Sometimes it almost feels like he’s flirting with you. Other days he only spares you a curt nod, his white hair curtaining his expression from your curious gaze. You’re not bothered by these silences, not when you’ve got your secret weapon. 

The days that you like best, the ones that you plan, sorting through your closet until you’ve found the perfect choice, are the days when you wear one of your skirts. You’d even gone on some skirt shopping sprees as of late. On those days he doesn’t just make some sort of fleeting eye contact with you, no, on those days he stares. 

At first, you’d tested out your theory, staggering your outfits, careful to not screw up your suspicions with a hasty miscalculation, but as they say, the third time’s the charm. How did he expect you not to notice? He never bothers to hide those sharp ogles and recently you’ve made a point of dramatically gathering your things when you wear these cute little ensembles, bopping down the steps so his eyes have to work to follow the line of your hips and the long paths of your bare legs. One rainy afternoon you’d worn over the knee stockings, that came to an abrupt halt over the plush skin of your upper thigh, under your mini skirt and he’d practically leapt over the podium to grab the sheet from you, his eyes hooded and dark, almost wild.

“Test, on Friday,” he warns, eyes finally rising to meet your bemused expression. “Don’t stay out too late tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask, brushing at a rogue fold in your skirt, luring him back to your legs. 

He scoffs at you, that jagged scar arching into a smirk. “Humph. You’re dressed up. Most of the students just wear the sweats, or pjs, and call it a day.” 

“I like to put a little effort in all that I do,” you retort, grinning up at his vermillion stare. 

“Yes, so I’ve noticed. You certainly look the part…and you’re keeping up with the workload of this course.”

“Ahhh,” you crow, clapping your hands excitedly. “Are you saying I might get an ‘A’ in this class? Be the first time someone’s done that in a while, from what I’ve heard around campus.”

Shigaraki sneers and tuts out an inaudible reply, leaning a little closer to you, making you inadvertently fall back a step. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Awe,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m doing ok on all the quizzes and the classwork.”

“So far,” he taunts, his pearlescent hair falling over his broad shoulder.

“Tch. Don’t be like that. I’ve been studying.”

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

“Oh?” you smile, raising your chin. “What else should I be doing, professor?”

“We’ll know that after Friday, won’t we?”

God. 

You’d felt so confident when you’d turned in your test and that stupid, horrible, sexy little quirk of his lip scar that he sends you, when you’d handed him your papers, carries you on some strange, half aroused cloud all weekend. Maybe, just maybe, this class won’t be so bad after all.

The tests are handed back the following Friday, passed from row to row so everyone can fish out their papers and marked Scantrons. Yours, since you still occupy that final seat on the back row, is the last. Biting back a grin, you flip it over, so ready to see that A, that grade that you worked so fucking hard for, that… wait.

The gross flash of red across the top of your paper leaves you reeling, your breath catching against the back of your throat. It’s not a terrible grade, well, it wouldn’t be, but there are only three tests in this class, so it’s going to plummet you down to a B. One more fuck up will leave you with a C, or worse, an automatic failing grade. 

No. No, no, no, no. 

You can’t afford a bad grade, you honestly can’t even let yourself slip to a B. Your fucking cap and gown have just come in and with them that cord that you can wear around your neck at graduation. The one that marks you as honors cum laude. Fuck. You’re already pulling one B, in one of your other classes, because you’ve been focusing so much time and effort on this one. Another B will strip that cord from you, leaving you barren, with a less than ideal GPA. 

God fucking damn it.

You glare up at Shigaraki, who’s busy taking the rest of the class through a review of genetic mutations, but you can’t hear him anymore, too incensed, too overwhelmed to even care about what he’s saying. The test crumples under your fingertips, the paper shaking in your hands, and you seethe, your teeth biting your lower lip to pieces. 

It’s not fair. You’d paid attention. You’ve taken all the notes. Read all the chapters. Drilled and studied till your eyes had drooped, heavy with exhaustion. You’ve done it all right. Plus, he’d been so fucking flirty, so open with you. You’ve never chatted with a professor this way, never gone out of your way to wear clothes they like, that make them watch you, their eyes hungry pinpricks as you walk to them, mindful of the luscious sway of your hips. 

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

Before your elbow classmate can leave, you ask for them to hand in the attendance sheet. You barely hear their response, too busy slamming your laptop into your backpack. As you storm past the podium, you can feel his eyes on you. The distant sensation of his gaze makes your flesh prickle, but you ignore your involuntary reaction and shove your way out the door. 

“(Y/N), you can’t switch classes this late. It’s almost midterms. Besides, I don’t think anything has opened up and if you’re going to drop it, you’ve gotta get the signature of the professor,” your advisor tells you, blinking at your stony expression over his thick glasses. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to drop it? Your grades are alright and it’s just one test. You can always try–”

“Gimme the paperwork.”

Shigaraki’s office is on the top floor of the research building, tucked away down another winding and weaving hallway that once again requires your careful inspection to navigate. When you finally hit the right set of doors, you slowly make your way forward, counting the numbers up as you pass. His door is wide open, a yawning cavern that’s filled with the distant light of a lamp. You brush a hand down your skirt, smoothing away any wrinkles and steadying your nerves. 

You’d tossed on the skirt this morning, before you’d gotten the grade, and you hadn’t thought to go home and change, too consumed by that simmering rage bubbling within you. And now, like this fucking class, this skirt felt like a mistake, something stupid and vapid that you wished you had time to change out of. He’d told you he liked your attire, liked that you put effort into your outfits. At the time, you’d been so thrilled and excited that he’d complimented you, but now you wish you were confronting him in baggy jeans or lazy sweats, anything that would turn that avid gaze of his away from you. 

Lost in thought, you waver beside his open door, nibbling on your lips and tugging at your clothes. It’s now or never. No point in putting it off. What’s the worst that can happen? What can he do now? Or, a darker side of you whispers, what do you want him to do to you? What? That’s a stupid thought, you scold yourself, lifting a hand to the wall and rapping against the beige paint, announcing your presence. 

When the sound fades away, swallowed up by the empty and darkened hallway, you poke your head around the corner, searching for him. His head is tilted quizzically, and he blinks twice when he spots you, that all too familiar smirk lifting his lips. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N), what can I do for you?”

His voice is softer than usual and your name sounds like honey, his tone resting on the syllables and consonants for a beat, almost as if he’s savoring their lift, their sound. You can’t help but swallow heavily at his appraisal. Suddenly this may be a terrible idea. 

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N). 

“I-I need you to sign this withdrawal paperwork,” you finally reply, digging in your bag and tugging out the thin leaflet, holding it out to him. He’s silent after your demand, meditatively threading his fingers and peering up at you, his red eyes bright. 

“Step inside and shut the door behind you,” he instructs, his gaze never falling from yours. Despite the simplicity of his request, you can’t help but bristle at his imperious tone. Why does he always have to sound like that? Like he’s seconds away from taking control of the situation, or of you? He’s always one stupid step ahead, and no doubt he’s going to try and talk you down. Or, he’ll sign it and say that he always knew you were a screw up, someone who only did things halfway, who could never match up to his lofty expectations. Humph, the sooner you’re outta here and out of his class, the better. So, you obey, closing the door and petulantly flopping into the unsteady chair that sits in front of his low desk. 

He maintains that uneasy quiet, his red eyes whisking over your disgruntled face, waiting, watching. Unable to take this strange standoff, you push the university paperwork toward him, sliding it as close as you dare to his bent elbows. “I would like to withdraw from your class,” you repeat, lips setting into a thin line. 

“Why?” he asks, cocking his head so his loose white hair falls a little further down his rough brow. 

“Something came up.”

“Hmm, I can try to work with a new schedule, if it’s your job, or home life,” he counters, eyes narrowing as he sharpens his observations of your brittle expression. 

“It’s not that,” you smart, crossing your arms. Great, he’s going to make this difficult. 

“Then I suggest you tell me what’s on your mind,” Shigaraki replies, mirroring your movements and leaning back in his chair. 

“I don’t think this class is working out for me.”

He exhales a soft laugh at your lie, and you watch that tiny mole at the edge of his chin lift in his quiet mirth. “This is a freshman level course and you’re a senior. You’re in my class because it’s likely the last pre-rec that you need to take before you graduate.”

“Um, yeah. But–”

“And now, you’re wanting to drop it because of one poor grade.”

You grind your teeth and fix him with a stark glower. “I–”

“There will be two other tests. If you read your syllabus, you’d know this.”

“I read the syllabus. Your tests are worth a stupid amount of points and it only takes one of them to tank my grade.”

“Frankly, you did better than most of the class. You only need to work on practical application. I said that the written portion would be a major component of the exam. I also provided you with a review and a rubric. So I’m not sure–”

“Your grade drops me to a ‘B’, and that ‘B’ pulls me from the honors list. And… well… I thought that…”

“Oh? What did you think?” he presses, his voice suddenly dropping to that lower octave it had drifted into when he said your last name. 

“I thought I’d get a better grade,” you spit out, turning your head and biting at your lip again. 

“Why?” he counters simply. His obtuseness is making your blood boil.

“What do you mean, why?” It takes all of your will to not slip a ‘jackass’ into that question. 

“It’s not a hard thing to answer. I graded you fairly and according to my rubric. Why exactly do you feel you merit a different grade than the one you earned?”

You fall into a frustrated silence. You can hear your heart pounding against your ribs and you want to scream at him, to leap over his desk and shake him until his teeth fucking rattle. Your shoulders are rising and lowering disjointedly and his vermillion eyes are honed in on your face, shifting over your pinched expression with a distant interest. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes and you hastily rub a fist over them, brushing away any rogue drops of moisture.

“How can you ask me that? You think I didn’t notice you staring at my legs? Or that you always had something to say to me when I was wearing a skirt? What was I supposed to think, huh? I fucking thought shit like that was gonna help, ok? God, I’m so stupid. I can’t… fuck.” 

Shigaraki arches forward when you finish, a deep sigh leaching through his parted lips. His teeth snap together when you look up at him, your eyes gaining back some of that earlier defiance, and he gives you a quick grin, clearly pleased by your shift in attitude and pushes your paper aside, fixing you with a dark look. “Here’s a thought, since you feel you’re so different, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a chance to make up the score.”

“I don’t care about the score anymore. I wanna drop your class,” you snap, but it’s a halfhearted barb. Something has changed in his demeanor. He’s dropped the concerned professor act and is leaning so close you can hear his steady intakes of air. He’s only a few inches away; if you want, you could touch him.

“I doubt you want to attend a class in the summer. Besides, they won’t let you walk if you haven’t finished your freshman level courses. And you can’t tell me you don’t want to graduate, to earn that cord that lets you into the honor cum laude. So stop pouting and hear me out. I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like anything about you,” your voice is sharper than you mean it to be, but the challenge makes Shigaraki smile. As it crosses his cracked lips, it pulls that scar up and it makes those eyes of his glow. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream and you’re not sure how to respond, so you cross your legs and wait for him to make the next move. 

“You sure about that? Well, I’ll have to change your tune then, won’t I? But that can wait, lemme tell you what my requirements are. I’ve got a copy of the textbook in here. I’ll have you review some of the major concepts, you’ll read the passages aloud so I’m sure you’re on the right track, you’ll hand the book back to me, and then I’ll verbally quiz you over the material. If you answer them correctly, I’ll bump you to an ‘A’ on your test.”

You have to actively work to keep your mouth closed. “So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands. 

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin. 

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Your eyes boggle and you have to clench your thighs tighter, your stomach churning, you feel light-headed and you can feel your core fluttering with your sudden arousal. “Wh-what did you just say?”

“Stop gaping at me like that, you’ll make me blush. Now come on.”

Your jaw snaps closed and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind from your whirling emotions. He takes this reaction as a surrender and stands, stepping toward a marred table that rests a little ways away from his desk. He licks his thumb pad and flips through a few pages before finally settling on an appealing section. Once he places it on the table, he twists back to you and crooks a finger your way. “Come here,” he orders, his voice deep and languid. Obediently, you rise on unsteady feet, hands tugging at the length of your skirt, careful to keep it pressed down as you walk toward him. 

He makes space for you to stand in front of the book and shifts back, one hand resting on the table, propping him close to your bent figure. You look up at him, but he only nods his head toward the table, a wicked smile curling the corners of his lips. Blink a few times but finally, the words clear and you can see the block of text that’s in front of you. It’s passages on DNA encodes and RNA proteins, hefty stuff, things that you had to make flash cards for. This isn’t going to be easy. If anything, he’s picked some of the harder concepts, the ones that take steady knowledge in the foundations. Flustered, you look back to him, but he’s moved. He’s leaning against the wide window beside the table, a dark mark against the glass.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a laugh bubbling in his tone.

“There’s no way…” you stammer, shaking your head at him. 

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

“I should ask what kinda curve, but knowing you, it’s likely gonna be something terrible.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he rumbles, stepping away from the window and leaning close to your stiff form. “It just takes an open mind and some enthusiasm on your part.”

“Enthusiasm?” you question, trying your best to withstand his closeness. You can feel the heat radiating off of his broad shoulder and if you tilt a little nearer, you could graze against him, or feel his breath on your skin. 

“You’re right,” he amends, his forearm contacting your side. You startle at the touch, a gasp falling from your lips, but you don’t pull away and you can’t stop staring up at him, your eyes wide. “Obedience is a better word. From here on out, whatever I tell you to do, I expect you to obey it, although it’s not exactly, ah, school approved.”

“You want me to suck you off or something?” you sneer, hoping to stumble him off his guard, even if it’s only for an instant. Too bad he’s always one step ahead. 

“Don’t be vulgar. Think outside of the box, (Y/N). Do you think I’m going to go for something so short sighted when I could have you bending to my will? Obeying every little demand that I make? I’d much rather see if that skin of yours tastes as good as it looks, then simply have you on your knees. No, I want you to fucking scream for me while I stuff you full of my cock. But first, you need to put in some work. You should know that by now.”

Oxygen is suddenly very hard to come by and you can feel your mind hazing over as you stammer up at him, your mind flitting from word to word disjointedly. Shigaraki grants you a wolfish grin, and he dips his lips beside your ear, whispering over those tiny hairs that rest against your tender skin. “I’ll make this part easy. Nod and I’ll give you the first set of instructions.” 

What did he say? Nod? What happens when you nod? Fuck, why are you letting him do this? Is your grade really worth it? Are you that desperate that… that… 

Shigaraki is whispering other promises over you as you war with yourself, speaking his words gently, slowly, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. It’s like you’ve fallen under some kinda spell and before you realize it, your traitorous head is bobbing up and down, letting him know you want him to keep going.

“Perfect,” he sighs, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear, jerking a shiver from you. “Now, lean forward and put your hands against the table.” 

You do as he says, but he’s not satisfied with your positioning, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and yanking you forward, jutting your ass out and pressing your chest down, maneuvering you until your nose is right above the pages of the textbook. “There we go,” he rasps, pulling away so he can admire your splayed form. “Hmm, your legs are too close together. Spread them.” Knees trembling, you obey, gasping when he runs a palm against the curve of your thighs.

“You’ve got such nice legs (Y/N), so let’s put them on display, shall we?” His fingers search against the top of your skirt and they still when he reaches his prize: the zipper. When he pulls it down, you let out a sharp squeak of protestation but he silences you with a swift pinch to your side. 

“Now, now, don’t be like that. You nodded, remember? Besides, you could have left when I told you I’d give you a curve but you couldn’t help yourself could you? You want me to keep going and to do that, I need you to take this skirt off. No, don’t move. I’ll get rid of it for you. Why don’t you focus on the task at hand, hmm? Aren’t you supposed to be reading for me?”

You arch away from his fingers and he chuckles at your impudence, one large hand hooking under your chin and pulling you toward his face. His red eyes blaze as they find yours, the dark pupils threatening to swallow up that deep vermillion. “Let’s start with the second paragraph. If you do well, I might grant you a reprieve.” 

Jerking your face from his grip, you twist back to the text, trying, and failing, to ignore his inquisitive fingers, unable to resist sighing as he works one up your inner thigh. He pauses when no words fall from your lips and you grumble out a few low curses before acquiescing to his silent demand. 

“The flow of genetic information in cells from DNA to mRNA to protein is described by the Central Dogma, which states that genes specify the sequence of mRNAs, which specify the sequence of proteins. The decoding of one molecule… the… the… molecule… by spec-specific…”

He’s slipped your skirt down over the swell of your ass, but he’s taking his time, flexing out the front of the material and dipping his fingers over the bump of your lower stomach, kneading into the delicate flesh that’s stretched out for him. You can’t help the twitch of your spine and you involuntarily wiggle, palms slipping forward, dragging you further along the tabletop. Shigaraki chuckles above you, running his rough lips over the back of your neck.

“You’re so sensitive. I’ve barely touched you.” 

He circles his hands back to your skirt and edges it along, lowering it sharply on one side and then giving the same treatment to the other. You’re doing your best to keep up with your stammering readings, but it’s difficult when he keeps sighing and running his long nails across your newly bared skin. Finally, he works the skirt down and it thumps against your bare ankles; the fabric tickling your skin. 

Meanwhile, his other fingers skitter against the elastic band of your rapidly dampening panties. Once he hooks the lace under his hand, he yanks them along your legs, trailing them sinfully slowly, ensuring that they glide down the billow of your thighs. His teeth nip at your ear when you stumble to a halt in your recitation and your hands tense over the grains of wood beneath them, your nails pinching into your palms. “If you stop, I stop,” he warns, his head bumping against yours, his sharp nose pressing against your pulse.

“You’re not exactly making this easy,” you grumble, doing your best to ignore his renewed pets and strokes. 

“Stop complaining,” he smirks, leaning away from your head to peer at your newly exposed flesh. “You better pay attention to what you’re reading or you’re not going to pass the questions I’ll be asking you.”

“Yeah, yeah, ow!” you squawk, whipping your head around to glare up at him. He fucking pinched you again! This time, he’d slipped his hand between your spread legs and tweaked your inner thigh, painfully. 

“Read,” he repeats, running those guilty fingers upward, lingering beside the heat of your cunt, careful to not get too close. When you start on the next sentence, one of his hands tugs up the fabric of your shirt, snaking upward until he’s thumbing against the wire of your bra. Once again, you falter to a halt and exhale a wavering breath. 

Goddamn it. This review is no review. You’ll be lucky if you can even recall what a cell is if he keeps this up. You hear his ominous intake of air and quickly resume your recitation, mumbling something about RNA and mRNA differences. 

Wait. Didn’t you just…  

“Looks like you’re having trouble listening to me. I told you to read aloud, not to repeat the same passages over and over.”

“Hey, at least I’ll have a firm grasp on those. You should ask me something about that s-section… ah–”

The hand that was resting under the cup of your bra has made its way underneath the lightly padded material, and his thumb and index fingers have trapped your peaked nipple between them. As soon as your snarky comment left your mouth, he’d twisted the bud, squeezing it until it throbbed. 

“Pay attention,” he commands, shoving your bra upward, freeing the globes of your breasts and cupping both of his broad hands under them. Your abused nipple stings and the mixture of sharp pain and jarring arousal goes right through you, stoking that coil that pulsed within your core, and sending a tacky flush of your essence down your spread thighs.

The next few words are a struggle. The text keeps blurring and your breaths are coming in fast and heavy. Shigaraki is still feeling you up, keeping his lips close to your ears, rasping sharp commands to you and dealing out lightning fast rounds of pinches and squeezes each time you falter. 

“I–I can’t… I don’t even know what I’m reading anymore,” you bemoan, your hips pressing against the edge of the table, legs trembling as you attempt to keep them apart. He’s deliberately ignoring your throbbing clit and a desperate edge is creeping into your voice. 

“Are you always this whiny? Fine. I’ll give you a moment to read without any distractions.”

Thank God.

True to his word, he slips away from your back and you’re left shivering against his sudden absence. Despite your quaking, you’re determined to make the most of this chance and you quickly read out the paragraphs that are on the second page. As you ramble down to the last bit of text, you realize you can’t hear him anymore and when you finish the last sentence; you start to really wonder where he’s drifted off to. A tense silence follows your completion of the material and you arch up on the tips of your toes, jutting your ass out and stretching the stiffened muscles of your lower back. 

“Didn’t say you could stop reading, and judging from all of your complaints, I don’t think you got some of those earlier concepts, so I’d suggest doing a quick review,” he taunts, the sudden rasp of his voice startling a low gasp from your lips. 

He’s close; somewhere behind you and to the left from the sound of it. You try to twist around, your chest lifting from the table, and when he notices, his hands return, creating a rough pressure against your neck as he forces your body back down. His weight plasters you to the surface, scraping your partially exposed stomach and tender breasts over the nicked wood. Shigaraki is merciless in his swift correction, his breath puffing out angrily behind you. “Didn’t say you could move, either.”

Stunned, you freeze. Your arms are arched awkwardly, but he keeps his weight against you, flattening your breasts and forcing your back to arch into an awkward bend. Fuck, you think, how are you supposed to stay like this? Your legs are already aching and if he shifts away again, he’s likely going to expect you to maintain this absurd pose.  

“Yes,” he groans, his voice catching against the word, “Good girl. Now, stay just like that.”

Damn it.

“Go on, read the first part again,” he instructs. 

“The entire genetic content of a cell is known as its genome and the study of genomes is gen-genomics. In eukaryotic cells, but… but not in p-prokaryotes, DNA forms a complex with histone proteins… with histone proteins… sub-substance… of…”

His teeth have latched onto your neck, and he’s sucking bruises into your tender skin. He’s still pinning you to the table, but his hands are widening their explorations. He’s started dragging a fingernail across the puffy folds of your cunt, teasing against the dripping and swollen flesh, chuckling when you buck against his hold. 

“You always seem to lose it when you get to cellular modulations.”  

“I–I–It’s not… I can’t help that you keep…” you whimper, your fingers curling under your palms, head shaking back and forth. You can’t think. He’s not being fucking fair, and you can’t even string your goddamn words together. Shit. “Y-you’re not being fair,” you accuse, falling on the only thing that keeps running through your mind, your splayed feet shifting uncomfortably under you.

“Not fair? Not once did I say fairness would come into this arrangement,” he lifts himself off of your back and leans beside you, one arm planted beside your crooked elbow. His fingers trace over the curve of your ass, cupping at the thickest part of you and squeezing. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a little satisfaction out of this arrangement. I bet you look good when you cum. And you’ve been working so hard to get my attention these last few months. So careful to do what I tell you. Looking at me with those big eyes of yours, all wide eyed every time I catch you looking at me. And don’t even get me started on your lips. You’re lucky I didn’t fucking bend you over after class, especially when you started wearing all of those cute little skirts for me. Ahhh, don’t moan like that, I won’t be able to help myself if you do. Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?” 

Without warning, he slips his longest digit into your cunt, groaning loudly when he’s sucked into your welcoming heat. Your pussy, hungry for any kind of scrap, ripples around his intrusion, clamping and pulling, desperate for more. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless. 

A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.

“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”

“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you. 

“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”

“W-what? The cell… ah–” 

“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements. 

His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.  

“I said, answer me.”

“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”

“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.” 

“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis. 

“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N). 

The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet. 

Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”

He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright. 

“What is the cell membrane?” 

You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain. 

You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance. 

“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer. 

“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”

He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you. 

“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin. 

“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can–can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”

“Let’s try another.” 

It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.  

“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips. 

“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”

“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”

“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.

“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior. 

“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.   

“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”

“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”

“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”

“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine. 

“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus. 

Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision. 

Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather. 

Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait… 

There’s a faint clicking sound. 

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper. 

Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.  

God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade. 

Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise. 

He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.

“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts? 

Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”

“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit. 

“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”

“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”

There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.  

You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg. 

He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by. 

“Hold still,” he commands. 

It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit. 

Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form. 

You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?” 

You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.

“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face. 

“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.

“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you. 

“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance. 

“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think. 

The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–” 

“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips. 

“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”

Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass. 

He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need. 

The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness. 

This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.

But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice. 

Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.

“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head. 

“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again. 

“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms. 

He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good. 

His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face. 

His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.

“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting. 

You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips. 

“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release. 

“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”

He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”

Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs. 

His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release. 

“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders. 

“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”

“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you. 

“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy. 

“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”

tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @yixxes​, @ghstmthr​, @rekoii​, @diaouranask​, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love​, @libiraki​ <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here. 

notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu

[lexosaurus]

The Illusionist

Dannymay2021 prompt: Illusion

My Hero Academia x Danny Phantom crossover  Word Count: 5262 Read on: [ao3]

---

“A kid?” Shouta asked. 

The muffled sound of an explosion echoed from the other side of the phone line.

“He can’t be older than sixteen.” Kamui Woods' voice crackled through the receiver. “Eraserhead, this is going to sound crazy, but the kid has multiple quirks. We can’t get near him. He keeps...shit, he just flew through another wall!”

Shouta shifted his cell between his shoulder and ear, launching himself up a wall and onto the roof of a low building. He surveyed the distance and saw a bright green light flash from across the city.

That must have been them.

“We need you to nullify the quirks so we can contain him till the Illusionment wears off.”

“Alright,” Shouta said, jumping off the roof. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.”

It was a new villain, one that the public had dubbed ‘the Illusionist.’ His quirk was simple, yet effective. If he touched someone, he could make them hallucinate their worst fear. 

So far, the heroes and detectives on the case hadn’t been able to figure out much about the Illusionist himself. He never struck the same victim twice, and he didn’t seem to stick around long enough for pro heroes to find him. Not to mention, the majority of his attacks happened in dark alleyways to the local homeless population, far from any cameras that would have been able to pick up his face.

And that fact made Aizawa’s blood boil. Because these weren’t attacks of revenge. No, they were attacks from someone who thought it was fun to mess with the disenfranchised. Someone who enjoyed exerting their powers over those they perceived to be less than, like some kid on a playground squishing ants beneath their sneakers.

The Illusionist’s influence was powerful, and each victim reacted differently. For some, they just froze up, lying motionless until they were found. For others, they lashed out at anyone who dared get close. 

And in a society filled with countless unknown quirks, those of his targets who did lash out—though victims themselves—still needed to be dealt with.

The good news was, the quirk’s effects weren’t permanent, and he seemed to require a fairly long recharge time in between each attack. So the pro heroes never had to deal with more than one victim at a time.

So far, the heroes and police force had figured out two ways of dealing with the Illusionists’ victims. Either the victims were knocked out or put to sleep in some way, which seemed to instantly nullify the hallucination, or the victims were captured and taken to the police station to allow the quirk’s effects to naturally run their course.

Considering the heroes really wanted the victims brought in as peacefully as possible, it had been no surprise to Shouta when the other heroes started calling him in for assistance. Especially when the victims’ hallucinations caused them to fight back.

Such as, apparently, this one.

Shouta sprinted around a corner, panting. The cool night air brushed against his face, chilling his skin. He glanced down at his phone, only to see that Wood’s location had moved once again.

Which meant that the unstable, overpowered victim was on the move. 

Wonderful.

Just then, his phone lit up.

Shouta didn’t wait to see who it was. “What is it?”

“Eraserhead,” Kamui Woods said. “We’re going to lead him to you. Meet us over by the abandoned antique warehouse. And keep your phone on you, he’s a flight risk. Literally.”

“Understood. Any injuries?”

“A few civilians, but medics are already on it. Nothing serious.”

“Good.”

Shouta hung up and changed his course. He weaved between buildings, kicking up water as puddles splashed at his feet. 

If the heroes needed to lure the kid so far away from people, then things weren’t looking good. 

Which meant that he needed to end this. Now. 

But he didn’t make it to the warehouse. Not before a flying, glowing figure appeared through the wall, crashing into him first.

On instinct, Shouta activated his quirk and sent his capture weapon to the glowing figure, but his quirk had no effect. As soon as the scarf landed on the boy, he jerked away, phasing the scarf through his body.

Shouta blinked, deactivating and reactivating the quirk again. But just like the before, nothing happened. The figure—the boy—just continued to float in the air, his glowing green eyes staring wildly into the hero as if Shouta were the most terrifying human on Earth. He raised his hand, and a neon green swirling ball began to form around his fist.

“Watch out!” a voice behind him yelled.

Aizawa ducked just in time. The green blast hit the wall just above him, burning into the bricks like acid.

“Eraserhead, hurry!” Best Jeanist yelled.

Shouta tried again to activate his quirk, but it was no use.

The boy screamed, powering up an even bigger blast than last time.

“Eraserhead!”

Tree roots shot out in front of Shouta just in time. The blast hit Kamui Woods’ shield, splintering the roots and sending pieces flying through the air.

“Shit!” Shouta deactivated his quirk and jumped back, falling in line with the heros. “He’s resistant to my quirk!” 

“We need to get him away from the residential area,” Best Jeanist said. “Force him to the industrial complex.”

“You’re not forcing me anywhere,” the teen roared back in a thick accent. His white glow ebbed and flowed around him as if he were drunk. “I won’t let you get me!”

“What is he seeing?” Shouta asked the three heroes behind him.

“A kidnapping of some sort,” Hound Dog replied.

“He keeps referring to us as ‘Operatives’. We’re unsure what that means.”

Apparently their talking only angered the glowing teen further. He raised a fist and his eyes brightened, changing from green to blue. “You’re not taking me!”

“Go!” Best Jeanist shouted.

The heroes jumped out of the alley just as the teen released the glowing blue energy ball, coating the pavement in a shockwave of jagged ice.

“How many quirks does this kid have?” Kumai Woods exclaimed.

Aizawa landed on the roof and released his capture weapon. “Doesn’t matter. Get him to the warehouse. I have a plan, but I have to make a call first.”

“Got it!”

The heroes jumped off the roof, chasing the kid out the alley and through another building.

“Don’t lose him!” Hound Dog yelled, running around the corner after him.

Shouta stayed back, pulling out his phone and pressing one of his emergency contacts. He watched as another blue beam glowed from a few blocks over, followed by a burst of green.

What the hell is that kid? 

He couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed. The kid could talk, could communicate, and yet he had multiple quirks? In the ten seconds Shouta had seen him, he was witness to flight, phase-shifting, glowing, cryokinesis, a green energy beam, and immunity to Shouta’s quirk. 

And yet, the kid wasn’t a nomu. He had intelligence. He seemed like he could have been a regular teen. A glowing one, sure, but a regular teen nonetheless.

So how did he end up with multiple quirks? And how did he become the Illusionist’s latest target? The Illusionist had only ever targeted homeless adults before. How did this teen get caught up in the mix?

Unless he was homeless himself.

The ringing stopped, and a tentative voice picked up from the other line. “Sensei?” 

Shouta breathed a sigh of relief. “Shinso, I need you to come to the field. I’ll send you a location. We need your quirk.”

“My quirk?” Shinso asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

One day Shouta would crack through that massive layer of insecurity Shinso still clung onto about his quirk.

“Illusionist hit a kid with multiple quirks. We can’t get near him and he’s resistant to my quirk. We need you to subdue him. Put him to sleep.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

“Sending a location now.”

Shouta hung up and forwarded his location before darting over to the scene, using the sound of the kid’s frantic attacks as his GPS. 

His feet pounded on the concrete. His quirk and capture weapon may have been useless against the kid, but that was fine. All he had to do was stall for time before Shinso could subdue him.

There was a loud bang, followed by a crash. Shouta skidded around the block and, using his weapon, launched himself onto a nearby roof.

There was a large hole in the side of a building that thankfully appeared to be empty. Dust clouded the air, but through it Shouta could see the kid backing into the building like a cornered animal, his arms raised and glowing a threatening acid green.

Kumai woods stepped forward slowly, his arms raised above his head. “We don’t want to hurt you!

“Don’t—don’t come another step!” The teen growled, stumbling to the side. His voice had an odd, echoing quality to it. “I’ve escaped your stupid compound once, and I’ll do it again!”

Shouta jumped down from the roof, landing in front of the heroes. He crouched down, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. “What compound?” 

The kid let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t act stupid! You were gloating enough last time!”

“We’re not going to take you to a compound,” Kumai Woods tried.

But reasoning with someone under the Illusionist’s influence was futile. Heroes and police officers had attempted it before, and it never worked.

“I’m not an idiot! I know what you do to people like me!”

Shouta froze, alarm bells going off in his head. Something was just... wrong. On a fundamental level, something wrong had happened to this kid. And based on the way his eyes darted around the empty room, he looked about a second away from making an escape.

Okay, Shouta had to stall. If the kid thought that the heroes were kidnappers, then maybe he could draw this out.

He tilted his head questioningly. “Sorry, I’m new here.” He felt his coworkers’ eyes burning against the back of his skull. “I wasn’t here for the last time.”

The kid’s distorted eyes locked onto him. “I’m sure you’ve read the reports.”

“Haven’t had time, actually. This is my first day.”

“You’re still wearing the suit. You’re still with them.”

Shouta stared at him for a moment. The kid’s stark white hair floated as if defying gravity, and the glow around him had almost an ethereal presence. But what stood out the most to him was his clothing. He was dressed like something out of a laboratory. His suit was thin and rubbery, with rubber gloves and boots to match.

He was definitely the product of a science experiment. There was no doubt about it. Likely a trafficked kid taken from another country and transported here for human experimentation.

Aizawa felt sick.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“You know where.”

“I told you, this is my first day. I just moved here. I don’t know you yet.”

Apparently, that wasn’t good enough for the teen. “I’m not saying anything. You can ask Operative K over there.” He nodded towards Best Jeanist.

“What sorts of things did they do to you? Last time?” 

“I—I don’t—” the teen stuttered, the green glow flickering out from his fists. He clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up!”

“I don’t want to do those things,” Shouta continued. “I don’t want to...use you like that.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you’re with them, you’re here to take me. And I can’t, I can’t do that again. I’ll never let you take me. I’m smarter than your whole organization and you know it.” His eyes brightened with a frantic energy, warping until one eye was green and the other blue. “I’ve escaped from your stupid white compound once, and I’ll do it again.”

Aizawa rose slowly. 

This wasn’t looking good.

Hurry up, Shinsho. 

The kid raised his arms, and a swirling mass of green and blue encased his fist, traveling up his forearms and swallowing his elbows. It pulsated and grew, casting a shadow over the teen’s face.

“Eraserhead!” Hound Dog warned.

“I’m not going quietly.”

Shouta readied himself to dodge when a flash of purple caught his eye.

“Hey kid!” Shinso called out.

Glowing green and blue snapped over to the source of the new voice. “What?” he hissed.

Shouta could almost see the satisfied smirk under Shinso’s mask. 

“Go to sleep.”

The effect was immediate. The mass of energy faded from the kid’s hands, leaving only his natural white glow. He lowered himself to the ground until his toes were touching the cement, then his knees, and finally his head. Then, just when his eyes fluttered close, a white ring appeared at his waist, traveling up his body replacing the glowing, ethereal teen with a small European looking boy. 

“Whoa,” Shinso breathed.

Despite the protests behind him, Shouta slowly made his way over to the teen. His white hair had changed to black, and his skin had lost its glow completely. His laboratory clothes had been replaced with ripped jeans and a dirty white and red shirt. 

He looked...plain. Boring and scrawny. If Shouta hadn’t witnessed the terrifying figure just moments ago, he could have passed the boy off as just a quirkless kid.

Whatever he was, he was asleep.

“Good job, Hitoshi,” he said, turning back around to face the heroes. Not to his surprise, his husband and other child were among the group. “Present Mic, Todoroki,” he greeted.

Hizashi—ever the optimist—gave Shouta a cheerful wave along with a chipper, “Hello!” while Shouto stood quietly behind the heroes.

“Who is he?” Shinso asked, eyeing the sleeping teen warily. 

Best Jeanist made his way over to the group. “Some kid with multiple quirks. Likely from experimentation. With his amount of quirks, we have no idea what he’s like mentally. We need to get him to the police.”

“We sent them your location already. They should be here soon,” Hizashi said.

“Good.” 

Shouta gave the kid one last glance. 

What happened to him?

---

It didn’t take long before the police, led by Detective Tsukauchi, arrived at the scene. They were able to get the kid into quirk inhibitors, load him into the back of a car, and bring him into the station before he woke up.

Yamada brought the boys back home before meeting him at the station. Shouta made a mental note to grab Shinsho his favorite take-out meal tomorrow for his immaculate quirk usage.

When they arrived at the station, they brought a couch into one of the interrogation rooms, put the kid on it, and waited.

Shouta almost felt bad for him. It would have been scary for anyone to wake up after a traumatic hallucination wearing quirk inhibitors in a cold, unfeeling room. But unfortunately, nobody had known the extent of his quirks. Victim or not, he was still unstable.

Aside from sitting upright, the kid hadn’t moved an inch, and he couldn’t seem to be able to pass the inhibitors through his body like he had with Shouta’s capture weapon.

Which was good. That meant that the quirk inhibitors were doing their job.

Shouta stared at him through the one-way mirror. He’d been half expecting the same frantic energy from the teen boy as before, but the teen just sat there quietly. His slumped body language screamed resigned, while his eyes were slowly shifting around the room as if to memorize every speck of dust in the air.

“You would never suspect that kid would have multiple quirks,” Yamada said next to him. “He just looks so...tiny.”

Aizawa took a large gulp of his much-needed coffee. “And yet, he does.”

The door behind them opened, and a woman stepped through. She stopped in front of Detective Tsukauchi. “He’s not registered. We scanned the database and found no record of anyone with multiple quirks that fit his description. In addition, we ran the sample of the green substance from his projection quirk and couldn’t find any matches to any known compounds on record. We’ve sent the samples out for further testing.”

“No matches?” Shouta asked. 

“Interesting.” Detective Tsukauchi said. He turned towards the interrogation room’s door. “I believe it’s time to talk to our victim. Suzuki, I want you to stay outside. I think having more than one adult in the room may scare him off. Use your quirk, though. I have a feeling our victim may be a bit wary.”

The woman nodded and stationed herself next to Shouta. She stared at the boy, blinked, and then her eyes began to glow.

“It’s showtime.”

The moment the doorknob moved, the black haired teen’s body language shifted to something more alert, more guarded. His blue eyes tracked Tsukauchi’s movements until the detective had sat down in his metal chair.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Detective Tsukauchi. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble today. Would you like some water?”

The teen didn’t respond.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Based on previous victims’ responses, they had always been able to remember the hallucinations, but they couldn’t recall their actions or where they were during those times.

“It’s okay if you don’t. Again, you’re not in trouble.”

But the kid wasn’t relaxing. If anything, he looked more guarded than before. “If I’m not in trouble, then why am I here?”

“You were hit by a quirk,” he explained. “Have you heard of the Illusionist?”

The teen shifted. “Maybe.”

“He’s a villain who makes people experience their worst fears.”

A spark of recognition hit the boy’s eyes, but it was quickly masked by the previous reserved expression. “So I got hit.”

“Yes. So far his targets have all been random attacks.” Tsukauchi opened his manila folder, pulling out photographs and handing them to the teen. “This was from earlier tonight. Do you remember any of this?”

He scanned the photographs, and Aizawa watched as the color drained from the teen’s face. He stared at the folder in silence for a moment before his shaky voice said, “If I’m not in trouble, I’d like to leave.”

“We just have a few questions we’d like to ask in order to help us catch him.”

“I want to leave.”

Detective Tsukauchi seemed unphased by the kid’s request. “Alright, can I get your name? We can call your parents to come pick you up.”

As expected, the teen didn’t like this. He shoved the photographs back into Tsukauchi’s hands, leaned back against the couch, and crossed his arms. “I’m eighteen. Can I go now?”

“He’s lying,” Detective Suzuki whispered next to them.

Recognition sparked in Shouta’s brain. He remembered her, she had a Lie Detection quirk. It was quite useful for police work.

“In that case, we were unable to obtain any record of any adult with your quirk combinations. Japanese law dictates that every citizen must be registered in our quirk database. So if you are unregistered, then we’d need to go through the registration process before we can release you.”

“I’m not a Japanese citizen.”

“You here on vacation?”

The kid glared to the wall. “Something like that.”

“American?”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been visiting?”

The teen shrugged.

Tsukauchi jotted something down in his notebook. “Then I’d need to see your passport and visitor’s documentation for the official record, since you are now a victim in an ongoing investigation.”

The teen’s eyes narrowed, and he slumped down further into the cushion. “I don’t have any.”

“What happened to it?”

The teen shrugged.

Yamada leaned into Shouta’s ear. “He’s backed into a corner.”

“Yup,” Shouta took another swig at his coffee. “He can’t get out of this one.”

The teen huffed, frustration and a tint of fear strewn across his features. He ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Listen, can I just go? I don’t remember anything, okay? I was just sleeping and then all of the sudden I...I...he got me. But I swear I wasn’t doing anything, and I didn’t see his face.”

Detective Tsukauchi nodded compassionately. “I’m very sorry that this happened to you. It’s a very vivid and traumatic experience to go through. Unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a bind currently seeing as you are either an unregistered quirk user, or you have no proof that you’re in this country legally. Now if it’s true that you’re eighteen, we can’t let you leave without contacting the US embassy to get your identification.”

Any color left in the teen’s face vanished. “What if...what if they can’t identify me?”

“Can’t identify you? For what reason?”

The teen stood suddenly and walked over to the wall. His hands trembled, and he looked downright terrified.

Who was he scared of?

He picked at the ragged hem of his shirt. “I don’t—I’m not exactly…they—they just don’t know I exist.”

Shouta glanced at Suzuki, who seemed perplexed. 

“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Suzuki said. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but he at least believes that he doesn’t have citizenship in Japan or the United States.”

“Even though he’s American.”

“Exactly.”

Aizawa’s brows furrowed, and he looked back at the teen, who was pressed up against the wall wringing his wrists with his fingers.

“Can you give me your name?” Detective Tsukauchi asked.

The teen bit his lip. “Uh it’s—it’s…” His voice was strangled. “It’s Danny Fenton.”

“He’s telling the truth.”

Detective Tsukauchi gave him a comforting smile. “Okay, Danny. And do you know where you were born?”

“Uh…The United States.”

“But, and correct me if I’m wrong, you have no birth certificate? And no documentation to show legal entry to Japan?”

“I—yeah.”

“And you’re here in Japan now. Where have you been staying exactly?”

Danny’s eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know...around?”

“Okay,” Detective Tsukauchi shut his manila folder and stood. “Again, you’re not in trouble. You were a victim of a very serious crime, and we’re here to help you. I’m going to make a quick call, and I’ll be right back. The door’s unlocked if you need anything.”

If anything, that only made Danny look more anxious than before. He nodded, his face sheet white, and he tugged at the inhibitors on his wrists.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Yamada asked quietly. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, and his hair was thrown up into a messy low bun. Without his uniform, his compassion towards the child shined out like a beacon. 

It was one of the many qualities that Shouta loved about him. His strong sense to protect the innocent, his caring nature to kids and those who were vulnerable in society, and the kindness he radiating from his being were qualities that were rare even among heroes. 

“We’ll contact the US embassy, but if the boy’s telling the truth and he doesn’t have a social security number or birth certificate, then he’ll get picked up by Musutafu’s social services and he’ll be put into the system.”

Yamada stared sadly at the child through the mirror. “He’ll just run away again.”

“He will,” Shouta agreed.

“I wish we could help him.”

Shouta sighed. “We can’t save everyone.”

“But you see it, don’t you?” Yamada asked. “There’s something going on that the kid’s not telling us. How else could he have gotten multiple quirks? Do you think it has anything to do with the League?”

Shouta glanced back at Danny, who was currently crouched against the wall with his head in his hands. He looked so small, so fragile. Aizawa could only wonder what events had led him here.

Just who was Danny Fenton? 

“Shouta, we can’t let him out on his own. We just can’t.”

Shouta sighed, running his thumb along the side of his coffee cup. “I know,” he said.

And he meant it.

---

“So…” Shouta started. 

Danny just looked tired. 

It had been a long night. Detective Tsukauchi got a hold of the US embassy’s emergency line, but they didn’t have any records of a Danny Fenton that had left the United States, nor did they have a single missing children’s report of a Danny Fenton, nor could they supposedly dig up any information of a Danny Fenton based on the information that Danny himself supplied, specifically that he was born in Illinois in a city called Amity Park.

It was as if he didn’t exist.

Detective Suzuki’s quirk was powerful, and it didn’t seem like Danny was able to fool it. After he met her and she explained her quirk to him, he finally admitted he was only fifteen. So then who was this kid? If he was from Amity Park, why did the United States have no record of him?

The heroes knew he had parents, but apparently—and Suzuki confirmed this—they’d disowned him, giving him to some shady organization. Danny wouldn’t say to who ended up with custody of him, but from what they’d been able to piece together, it hadn’t been good.

And any further digging just resulted in Danny clamming up.

So Danny was a runaway, one that apparently didn’t exist in either country he had lived in. And there was something out there that had terrified him into escaping to Musutafu and hiding here.

But he wouldn’t say what.

Regardless, the Musutafu police department now had a case of a minor in Japan who didn’t have any parents, guardians, or any known relatives in the country, nor did he have any record of housing at any point.

It was as if this kid were a ghost or something.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” Danny asked, hugging himself in his chair.

He seemed smaller up close. Too small.

“Well, social services will take you and place you in foster care,” Shouta responded.

“Oh…” Danny looked down. “You know...you’ve seen my powers. I’ll just disappear the moment we leave this building.”

Shouta raised his brows.

Of course, they all knew it. But the kid certainly had guts for admitting it out loud.

“Who are you running from?” Shouta asked.

Danny blinked at his bluntness. “No one.”

Shouta leaned in. “Is it the League of Villains? Are you connected with them?”

Danny’s arms shot out from his sides, waving frantically in front of his face. “No! No, I swear! I’m not a villain!”

“I didn’t say that.” 

“I…” Danny looked lost. 

“You have multiple quirks. That’s something the league’s been experimenting with. And they’re not shy about using real people to do so.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never met them.”

“But you weren’t born with multiple quirks,” Shouta said. “Something happened that made you this way.”

He could see as all the pieces slowly crumbled inside Danny. The kid went from looking confused, to downright terrified. 

Bingo.

Aizawa’s instincts never failed him.

“Please, just let me go,” Danny begged. “I promise I won’t do anything. Please don’t hurt me.”

Shouta’s eyes widened. “Kid, slow down. I’m not here to hurt you. Okay? I’m on your side.”

That didn’t seem to help Danny at all.

Shouta set his arms on the table where Danny could see them. “You know, one of my foster kids has multiple quirks.” It was a half lie, but he didn’t think that Shouto would mind.

Sure enough, that seemed to pique Danny’s interests. “Really?”

“Yeah. Great kid, about your age. His father was experimenting with creating children who could house multiple quirks to offset his own quirk’s disadvantages, and my foster son came out of it. Just like you, he spent a lot of his life hiding too. He was alone, and scared. He didn’t know what to do or who he could trust, so he just hid.”

“What changed?” Danny asked.

“He asked for help,” Shouta said. “And we were able to bring him into a stable home.”

Danny’s eyes clouded over, and his face transformed into one of longing. As if he were visiting a memory that had long since abandoned him.

“We can get you that help too if you ask for it.”

“I...I can’t…”

Shouta sighed. “How long are you going to keep hiding? Running? Are you really okay with spending the rest of your life out on the streets?”

Danny ducked his head down. “It’s not so bad,” he muttered.

“But kid, you deserve so much more than that.”

The teen’s shoulders shuddered. He sniffed, and his hand shot up to wipe his eye.

Shouta refused to look away from him. “I don’t know how you got here, I have no idea what you’ve been through, but I know that you didn’t deserve it, and that regardless of what you think, you deserve a safe place to go home to.”

“I...I…” he croaked, curling into himself. Tears splashed onto his cheeks. 

“You’re strong, you’ve done so much alone. Now we can help you.”

“I can’t…”

“You can, Danny.”

At that, Danny broke. He squeezed his eyes shut, twisting his hoodie in his hands. Shouta watched as he tried to muffle his sobs, but he couldn’t. His body shook as his emotions poured into the open.

Shouta didn’t know how long this kid had been holding it all in. Just how many days, weeks, months had he been shoving everything down, too focused on surviving each day to be able to stop and feel?

Pain stabbed Shouta’s heart. He remembered that torment all too well, one of homelessness, of abuse, of not knowing where his next meal was coming from and fighting for the bare necessities. Although he wasn’t so much of a soft, touchy-feely guy himself, right now he wanted nothing more than to reach over and hug the crying teen.

When it seemed like Danny was finally able to pull himself together, Shouta leaned in and asked, “Will you let me help you, Danny?”

Danny scrubbed at his eyes and nodded.

“If you want,” he said, making sure to articulate each word clearly. “I can assist you in getting placed in a good home. There’s another option too.”

“Yeah?”

“The other option is you can stay with me.”

Danny stilled, his eyes shooting open and his lips dropping to form a small ‘o’.

“My husband and I have a city approved foster home, and we also happen to have an open bed at the moment. Given your unique situation, I have the option of housing you if you’ll let me.”

Danny didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at Shouta in shock.

“Of course,” Shouta said quickly. “If you are uncomfortable with that, and it’s okay if you are, there are other good foster homes out there that I personally know and can get you placed in. It’s whatever you prefer.”

The teen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he finally looked back at Shouta, he had that same longing expression as before. “If it’s alright...could I stay with you? At least for a little while?”

The corners of his lips tugged up. He remembered all too well when Yamada turned to him just before Shouta was about to age out of the foster system and asked him if he wanted to move in together. He remembered the shock, the surprise that anyone could possibly care that much about him, that anyone would want to live with him.

And now, he had a family. One that was about to become a little bigger.

“Of course. I’d love to have you.”

---

Thanks for reading!

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if I can never give you peace — two || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x reader // Word count (chapter): 5.8k // Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers // Ao3

↳ It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Warnings and tags (chapter): Descriptions of violence, Threats, kind of dark in general

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The car is late, you think as you smooth over the fabric of your skirt, your mouth twisted in a disapproving scowl. Annoyance is one of the few emotions that ever appear on your face, and you don’t even bother to hide it. You have only been standing there, waiting, for a few minutes, but it already disrupts your perfectly well-oiled routine. This is just one of the many changes that have come with Jungkook taking over, but it could be the one you are the least fond of.

You used to have the routine down to a T. You knew exactly when to leave your apartment so that the car would stop in front of you right as you reached the pavement. There were small hiccups every now and then — traffic, last-minute phone calls —, but most of the time, it went perfectly. You liked that. Having that kind of control, when your life had always been completely out of your hands, was comforting.

That went out the window the day you started working for Jungkook.

When the car stops in front of you, five minutes, that’s three-hundred seconds, after the agreed-upon time, you take a short breath before opening the door and stepping in.

There, of course, is your new boss, sitting with his legs widely spread on the leather seat. He changed your discreet sedan for a limousine, which you find obnoxious, but you didn’t protest. You liked to think that you were better than that at picking your battles

“Mr. Jeon,” you say with a nod, voice even.

Jungkook grins when you call him that. You know he enjoys the title, the power it indicates, particularly since hybrids are supposed to only ever have the same last name as their owners.

“Lot of work to be done today,” he comments, and you know he’s just saying that to rile you up. You used to report to Mr. X, but you worked on your own more often than not. Now, you’re basically Jungkook’s glorified secretary. You wouldn’t particularly mind the change if it didn’t mean that you had to sit and watch him superbly ignore your carefully crafted schedule, as he had every single day for the past week.

“Indeed,” you reply without batting an eyelid. “This morning, you have a meeting with Suga,” this one he should go to, he never misses them, “then you are supposed to eat with Fred Lucas,” chances were he wouldn’t show up to that and make you take him to a fancy restaurant instead, and you would be the one to have to handle the situation with him, “and later today I think it would be important for you to pay a visit to the Mystery Room.” That place was one of the few legal aspects of the business at the moment, if you ignore the drugs that get sold there, and it was not a location you should lose right now. “They have been quite… difficult, since the change in direction.”

That last one is new, and you’re not sure how Jungkook will react to it. Of course, there is plenty more work to do, but you’re trying out new methods to get him to do at least what really matters. You don’t understand why he would hire you if he doesn’t let you do your job, but hey, at least you’re alive. And so is your family.

You don’t know how long that will last, though. Unless Jungkook seriously gets his act together, it won’t take long for someone to think that they can do the same thing he did, and have him murdered. You’re even mildly surprised it hasn’t happened yet. That’s the thing, when a leader gets killed. It weakens the whole structure, and it gives people ideas.

The grin disappears from Jungkook’s face and he nods gravely at that last piece of information. That catches your eye, because it’s new. You tell yourself that maybe, just maybe, he spent the last week riding the high of his victory against Mr. X, and that he will be efficient if there’s trouble, at least.

“Cancel that second thing,” he says. “I want to eat at that restaurant I went to last week. You should get me a reservation there.”

Or not.

“But you can go meet him,” he adds, and you blink.

“Mr. Lucas is expecting to see you,” you say, in case you weren’t clear.

“And he doesn’t get to demand my presence like that,” Jungkook snaps. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from wincing. His voice sounds harsh, cutting. Dangerous. “Did he think that I’d go ask for treats because a human joined us? That’s not how that shit works.”

Okay. He’s not wrong here, but you don’t know about this— approachto the situation. Fred is, indeed, one of the two human leaders who decided to immediately join Jungkook when the news of the death of Mr. X and the uprising of hybrids in various parts of your branches in the city spread. You wouldn’t be surprised if he expected a treatment of favor for that, too, but you’re not sure letting him know how little his gesture was appreciated was the way to go.

“I don’t think—”

“He’s replaceable,” Jungkook says with a dismissive movement of the wrist. “I’ll swap him for one of my men the second he makes a mistake. It would be a lot better if no one forgot that.”

The look he gives you makes his message crystal clear. You feel your mouth getting dry, but you know nothing is showing in your expression, and that at least is a relief.

“I’ll go to the meeting and get you your reservation, then,” you say, pulling out your phone. “Does the rest of the schedule work for you?”

Jungkook frowns, and the tiniest feeling of satisfaction spreads in your chest. You know he’s just applying pressure and waiting for you to crack, but you won’t.You’re used to contorting yourself to please everyone. You’ve made it work for years, and it will take much more than those childish games for you to snap.

Or, at least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past week.

“Fine.” Then he closes his eyes and leans back in the seat. You raise an eyebrow at the sight. You know it’s not because he trusts you, but because he doesn’t think you have the guts to do anything to him — and because, even if you did, he’s pretty confident he wouldn’t have any trouble stopping you. You hate that you find something endearing in that vision. Jungkook was genetically designed to be handsome, and he is.More than that, though, when you look at him right now, even though his long bunny ears are skillfully hidden under a headband, he looks cute.

And he could — and would — take less than a second to snap your neck.

“This afternoon should be fun at least,” he mumbles under his breath, and you hide your grimace.

Shit. That can’t be good.

It’s been clear to you from the very first day that Suga knows exactly what he is doing. It’s also been clear that this isn’t his scene. Being at the forefront of operations, taking the lead — it’s obvious that he would much rather stay in the shadows. You’re not sure how important he was to Jungkook’s organization before, since no one has bothered trying to inform you of that, but you suspect that he’s usually more the type to be in the field.

Right now, though, he’s standing in front of a small group, exposing what the recent developments have been. Sitting behind Jungkook, you listen to him attentively. Those reunions should become less frequent, but right now things could still change completely, and you cannot afford to be taken by surprise.

You are, however, starting to feel less and less comfortable with the fact that nothing seems to be coming out of them. Sure, Yoongi informs you of the people who have sided with Jungkook and of those who are openly opposed to him — a minority, so far — but there is a large group in between that seems to be in no hurry to take position. And you don’t like it.

It hasn’t been long since Jungkook has taken over, but you should at least have gotten someintel by now. You’re not sure what isn’t working here. For now, you don’t want to risk provoking anyone by offering your services. Worry is starting to gnaw at you, though. You could all be driving into a dead-end street at full speed, and that stupid struggle you’re having with Jungkook just isn't worth dying over.

“So not much has changed,” Jungkook comments, tapping his fingers onto the table. He looks nonchalant, but you notice a muscle in his jaw twitching. You wonder if he understands more than he lets on.

“Things have been stagnant,” Yoongi admits without batting an eye. “There hasn’t been any open rebellion, but communication is lacking.”

“That needs to get better.”

“We’re working on it.”

They probably are, but it doesn’t look like that’s going well. Word has reached your ears that some of the branches have been keeping hybrids at bay as discreetly as possible.

“What about that Mystery Room thing?” Jungkook asks, frowning. “What’s going on over there?”

“The what?” Yoongi frowns.

Jungkook looks puzzled — pissed, actually — for a second, then glances at you over his shoulder, and the attention of the whole room suddenly shifts to you. You straighten your back, swallow.

“The owner of the bar has missed a payment to us,” you state calmly, “and it seems that he has no intention of making it and is trying to get out of his contract with us. It would be better if we didn’t lose it right now.”

“What do you mean, ‘it seems’?” Yoongi asks, narrowing his golden eyes at you. His voice sounds more like a hiss, and this time, you struggle to hide your reaction. You haven’t forgotten what it felt like, when you thought he was going to kill you. It’s affected you more than you’d like to admit.

“I have a contact who—”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, and you close your mouth.

“I’m going there today,” Jungkook informs him, and Yoongi nods.

“I’ll be around.”

The two men have a silent exchange of looks. Their relationship is somewhat atypical, not something Mr. X had with anyone. It looks like they genuinely rely on and trust each other. You suppose someone else would find it touching, but you don’t have it in yourself. Especially not when that means they both have it out for you.

“Haven’t you been following what we’ve been talking about here for the past week?” Jungkook snarks at you, and you blink. “Any information you get from now on needs to get to Suga so he can factor it in.” At that, you give him a disbelieving look. That just won’t work. It can’t. Not for the first time, you wonder how much he underestimates you, exactly. If he knew anything about the way you work, about how many contacts you have and how much information you’re usually juggling with, he would never ask that of you.

Yet you nod. You don’t know yet if you’ll send a believable amount of intel to Suga, or just absolutely drown him under it until they tell you to stop, but once more, this just isn’t worth fighting over.

Especially when fighting over something can so easily mean dying over it, in your current situation.

“Will do, Mr. Jeon.”

He looks displeased, and you know it’s because all he’s waiting for is for you to slip.

“I shouldn’t even bring you to these meetings. You’re not even taking any notes. That’s fucking useless.”

It takes everything in you to bite back a scoff at that. You could tell him you don’t need to take notes when Yoongi is talking about minimal changes in a landscape you know on the tip of your fingers, that maybe you would if he said anything of value, and that this wouldn’t be an issue if people actually feared him.

You marvel at how annoyed that quip makes you. You suppose you don’t like it when your competence is questioned. You don’t like the threat either, though. You don’t want to risk falling out of the loop.

“I’ve gotten you a reservation at that restaurant,” you say. “If things are done here, I’ll be on my way to meet Mr. Lucas.”

Changing the subject. Deflecting. Trying your best to live to see another day. It seems like it’s all you’ve been doing for the past week. You know you can keep it up for a long time, you’re patient enough. You also know that this game is set up to make you lose.

Right now, as Jungkook looks at you, clearly not amused by your attitude, there is a terrifying moment during which you fear that he might just drop the charade. The only point of this whole thing is to get rid of you. He could decide he only wants to do that any second.

“Yeah, right. Be on your way.”

He dismisses you like you’re some low lackey, but that, at least, isn’t anything new, and you know how to handle it. You bow politely, then exit the room.

“You really wanna keep her around?” Yoongi asks once you’re gone, and Jungkook groans.

He doesn’t know why he had expected you to break easily. He’d seen you work for Mr. X, do that same shit he makes you do and survive as long as you had, so he should have known you’d be good at it. He supposes he’d been used to you making decisions for him, back then, and had thought that was a normal thing for you, that you wouldn’t enjoy being in the position of taking orders. But you were, after all, just someone who worked for others that whole time.

Not that he gives a fuck about it. He couldn’t care less why you did the things you did. All he wants is to give you a taste of your own medicine. Dangling a false chance of survival in front of your eyes and let you handle the rest yourself. So as long as you push through… well. He’ll let it slide.

It’s not like you can keep doing it forever anyway.

Fred Lucas worries you. He’s always smiled too widely, been too loud, made too many jokes. You know Mr. X considered him to be some sort of buffoon, but also kept his distance from him. Mr. X didn’t like people who pretended to wear their hearts on their sleeves.

“Always a pleasure to see you, (Y/N),” he greets you warmly when you walk up to him and you give him a nod. If he’s upset that Jungkook isn’t there, he doesn’t show it, just like you don’t show your distaste for his use of your first name. “I’d like to discuss with just you, though,” he adds, eyeing Hector, who’s standing beside you. The fact that you still have him by your side is the only good thing that has come from working for Jungkook so far.

You don’t like that. You’re all too aware of the fact that this is his land, and that the only reason why he’s saying that is that Hector is a hybrid. If that gets back to Jungkook, it wouldn’t be good for Fred — but you don’t think he’ll go down without a fight. You glance at Hector, who looks as placid as always and offers no help. The gears in your head are turning fast. Before, you were protected by how indispensable you were considered by Mr. X. That is clearly not the case anymore, but Fred likely isn’t aware of that. Yet.

On the other hand, sending Hector away would show weakness, and you can’t afford that.

“Hector goes where I go,” you say.

Fred’s smile widens even more.

“Of course, of course, can’t trust anyone those days, can you?”

You wonder if it’s a jab at you and how quickly you changed sides, but he is more or less in the same position, so you could just be paranoid.

“Come on, come on in, let’s get ourselves a drink.”

You don’t want a drink, but you do follow him in. The sooner you do that, the sooner you will be out of here.

Fred has a lot of things to say. Most of it isn’t relevant to anything that is happening right now, but you’ve never been able to tune things out. You always worry you’ll miss an essential piece of information. So you listen as he babbles about his business — getting weapons in and out of the city, something he is decently good at — but also about his family, his friendships, and his favorite kind of alcohol. You let him pour you a glass, even if you have no intention of touching it.

“I hear you,” you manage to interrupt him, “but I am curious to know why you wanted a meeting with Mr. Jeon. It seems to me that you have the situation here under control.”

Flattery has always worked on Fred, and you have no issue in using that against him.

“Of course we do,” he gloats. “It’s just— There are a lot of rumorsfloating around those days, you know?”

You do know. You suspect Fred has heard the same things as you. You also suspect most people have been very careful not to let those things reach Yoongi’s ears.

“People are talking about a ‘human opposition’ forming,” Fred gasps dramatically. “Can you believe it? Some people are really not happy about being led by a hybrid.”

That seems to be more concrete than what you’ve heard, which means that Fred could be exaggerating things… or that he was contacted to join that opposition. And you don’t like that second possibility, not at all. You trust Fred about as far as you can throw him, and that means you certainly don’t trust him to not try and play both sides.

“That was to be expected,” you reply calmly. “I do not doubt that Mr. Jeon knew such a reaction was coming.”

Fred narrows his eyes at you, trying to gauge what you knew then and what you know now. Which isn’t much, but that’s not something you plan to let slip out.

“Do you know of anything specific?”

You see from the glint in Fred’s eyes that he knows the game is on. If you know something and he doesn’t tell you, he will look suspicious, but he could also reveal too much, and you doubt he wants to play his cards so soon.

“I— don’t, unfortunately,” he finally says, and you nod. Either he hasn’t heard of the Mystery Room, or he is voluntarily hiding it from you. Regardless, that limits how useful he is to you. “But the word on the street is that Jungkook may not know what he’s doing all that well.”

You send him a sharp glance. He’s taking a risk in telling you that, you both know it. That doesn’t make the information any less precious.

“I see. And, again, I don’t suppose you know where this— ‘word on the street’ is coming from?”

He shrugs, a true picture of innocence, and maybe you’d have believed it if Fred hadn’t been in the business for longer than you. He knew, he just wasn’t telling because he wanted to preserve his opportunities if something happened.

“I have to go, then. Thank you for the drink, Mr. Lucas.”

“Please,” he says, holding out his hand. “Call me Fred.”

That won’t be happening.

“Goodbye, Mr. Lucas.”

Once you’re out, you take a second to collect yourself, Hector following like a shadow and waiting for you silently.

“Is everything okay?” he asks after you’ve mulled over the conversation that just happened for several minutes.

“It’s fine,” you say as a reflex. You couldn’t stop thinking about how Fred had taken a gamble when he’d proclaimed his allegiance to Jungkook. He’d bet on him coming out on top, and yet you didn’t trust it. You couldn’t think of a reason why he would do that instead of carefully waiting to see how things would go, like everyone else. You didn’t like this. Not one bit. “We need to get to Mystery Room,” you add.

“Of course,” Hector nods, gesturing towards the limo, and you don’t bother repressing a groan this time.

“God. That’s so tacky.”

That brings a smile to Hector’s lips, but you don’t smile back. You never do. Instead, you climb in, roll your eyes at the whole thing, and let yourself be driven away. You can’t come to a conclusion about Fred Lucas just yet, but you have no intention of forgetting about him either.

It takes you a few seconds, once you’re out of the car, to understand that something isn’t right. You’ve never been good with feelings — instincts, as hybrids call them — and the air doesn’t feel particularly tense or charged to you. Hector stands a little close to you for comfort, and you piece things together from there. There are a few cars around, but not too many, which isn’t surprising considering it’s the middle of the afternoon. Still, you can hear voices from inside, and you know there’s an argument going on there.

“Let’s go,” you say with a decided nod, and Hector leads the way, shoulders tense, ready to pounce if needed. You trust him to do his job, and that’s a lot, coming from you.

You frown when you walk into the bar, taking a few seconds to let your eyes get adjusted to the lack of luminosity, and that frown only deepens when you hear the argument going on and recognize Jungkook’s voice. God. The concepts of subtlety and discretion are completely lost on him, aren’t they?

Making your way through the room, you try to evaluate the situation. Yoongi is leaning against a table, looking bored out of his mind, though you’re sure he doesn’t miss anything from what is going on in the room. As if to prove your point, his golden eyes flick towards you for a second when you approach, before looking away, clearly uninterested. Other than him, it seems that the only other people present are the owner and various employees. You think it’s stupid and dangerous that they showed up here basically alone but, for the millionth time today, you grit your teeth and don’t say anything.

There are five men around, including the bouncer and a security guard. They’re probably armed, and that’s to say nothing of anyone you cannot see. Outside of Yoongi, though, no one pays attention to you, not until the bartender asks loudly “Mojito, as usual, Miss (L/N)?”

It’s a bit early for that, actually, but you give him a nod. The Mystery Room isn’t quite your scene — you’ve always been one to prefer classy restaurants — but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re well-known here, and everywhere, actually, which is something that everyoneknows, except your own boss. That is obvious by the way people’s attitude shifts when they see you. The owner bows to you politely. You acknowledge it with a curt movement of your chin. Jungkook raises an eyebrow at that. He doesn’t look happy about it.

You wait until you have your glass in your hand to say something. The silence that fills the room is heavy, and you can feel Jungkook’s anger emanating from him, having lost the men’s attention. He’s the man who murdered Mr. X, took over half of his operations without anyone noticing, and their fucking boss, and they’re still treating him like a low-life hybrid.

“You haven’t been paying what you owe us,” you say, almost lightly, when you get your drink. “Has business been slow?”

You know it has. You know people aren’t too sure what to think of Jungkook yet. You also know they’ve still made money. Better yet, you’re sure the men in the room know youknow that. You’re giving them an obvious way out. All they have to do is say “yes”, and you’ll come up with something. You won’t let them go off scot-free, but there’s no need for this to end in a bloodbath, either.

“That’s not the issue,” the man says, voice raspy, and you don’t let it show, of course you don’t, but you’re still taking the hit. They’re underestimating Jungkook.

This might be the last mistake they make.

“I think it would be better for everyone if we could work through whatever issue there is,” you say slowly.

Better for them, really, especially because this is you giving him a second chance. There won’t be a third one.

“I’m afraid we don’t, uh, approve of the recent change in direction,” he replies, a stupid grin on his face. He’s mocking you and your infamous overly procedural speech. You know people say you can’t accept who you’re working for, that you can’t take the idea of having blood on your hands.

You may not care, but you’re well-aware of it, and you really don’t appreciate him saying that to your face. You’ll have to make an example out of him.

You sigh and shake your head at his answer. You’re not going to enjoy this. You’ve seen people’s attempts at rebellion against Mr. X, even if those were few and far between, and no matter how much of a fight they put up, it never ends well. For them.

You’re prepared to just leave the place and arrange for it to be set on fire during the night, when Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of it.

“What’s your problem with the change in direction, fucker?”

The mood changes immediately. Hector’s hand on your shoulder gently pulls you back, and Yoongi hops off the table to come stand next to Jungkook, hands in his pockets. He looks nonchalant and relaxed. He could probably easily kill everyone in this room and not get a drop of blood on his jacket.

The owner squares his shoulders and walks up to him. He’s slightly taller and much larger than Jungkook.

“Listen, bunny…”

You barely have the time to widen your eyes at the word, to think about all the ways Jungkook has made it clear that he’s not your typical rabbit-hybrid before his right hook connects with the man’s jaw, so fast you would have missed it if you’d blinked.

A moment of stunned silence follows, during which the man stumbles backwards, hand coming to cup his face in disbelief. And then, he seems to decide that it’s a good idea to retaliate. The dozens, hundreds maybe, of fights you’ve seen Jungkook win flash before your eyes. He doesn’t stand a chance.

People start moving around you, but it seems like it’s only a fistfight. No guns are drawn, for now, and you’re reminded of how much you fucking hate watching people fight. You take a step back, bored already at this stupid display of strength and violence. Still, you can’t help it when your eyes are drawn to Jungkook. There’s a— curiosity within you. How much has he truly changed, in the past two years?

For one, he certainly isn’t pretending this time, isn’t trying to make this fight last for a few more rounds. There iscertain showmanship there, though, you note. He’s giving time for the owner to recover while he takes out some of the other men with hits of surgical precision. He wants them to seewhatever he’s going to do to their boss. Hector and Yoongi keep the fight contained, don’t let anyone escape or call for help, but Jungkook doesn’t need their help. No one here is a threat to him, and it doesn’t take long for the men to be on the floor, groaning in pain.

The owner pushes himself up, spits some blood on the floor. Jungkook turns to face him and beckons him closer with a flick of his hand. He looks amused.

“You fucking piece of—”

This time, Jungkook doesn’t go for the head. His fist gets the man in the ribs, and that first punch is followed by dozens of others, not giving the man any respite, not letting him breathe. When the man falls back, Jungkook doesn’t stop, though the hits slow down, based on what you can see and hear. You have to clench your jaw to stop yourself from grimacing at the sound of flesh hitting flesh, of the bones underneath clashing. It was drowned out, back when he fought in a ring, but knowing it was there disgusted you back. You don’t know why, you just hate it. It makes you sick.

When Jungkook finally gets back up, he hasn’t even broken a sweat. There are five men on the ground, clenching different parts of their bodies and crying out in pain, and he isn’t even out of breath.

“You should fucking reconsider,” he spits out.

They won’t have to. This place will be gone soon enough.

His eyes meet yours as he walks out, and his expression turns to a disgusted scowl. It almost draws a scoff out of you, but you hold it in, and instead, you follow him dutifully.

Jungkook doesn’t speak to you in the car, eyes instead on his bloody knuckles. It will heal fast, you know, and that’s probably why he doesn’t bother taking care of it. When the car stops, you look outside and find yourself faced with your own apartment building. It’s not even five in the afternoon yet. You turn around to give your boss a quizzical look.

“You’re not needed anymore,” he shrugs. He doesn’t sound like he’s playing this time, though you’re still sure that he wants to get on your nerves.

You hate that it’s working this time.

“The day isn’t—”

“I think you’ve proved exactly how efficient you are today,” he says, obviously dismissing you. “I have no fucking idea how you got this job.”

You bite your tongue not to reply. You don’t care about the job, you don’t care about his opinion of you, you barely even care about the Family. You should just nod, give him the usual “yes, Mr. Jeon,” and walk out. But something keeps you in place a little longer than it should, and that’s how much you hate jobs that aren’t well done.

Your voice sounds distant to your own ears when you say what you’re supposed to, your body doesn’t feel like your own when you walk out and close the door. Your breathing quickens while you hear the car leave behind you like it’s all happening in a dream, your head spins, and you stand frozen in place, staring right in front of you.

Is this your life now? you wonder, feeling your heart thumping like it’s trying to get out of your chest. Are you going to let yourself be so disposable, so mediocre, let everything you’ve spent years building fall apart? This isn’t the time for pride, you’re well aware of that, but it’s still eating at you inside.

You walk back to your apartment like you’re in a trance. There’s a heavy weight on your chest, and you realize you have to make a choice. If things stay like that, you suppose Jungkook will have your head at some point. This is a fight of patience. One you cannot win. But if you make yourself indispensable, then maybe, maybe you can survive it. You’ve done it once already.

You brush aside the little voice mocking your reasoning, telling you that you’re doing this because you don’t want to lose your status. Not because it’s wrong, but because you know that’s not enough of an incentive for you to take a risk. You need something stronger than that. Even if you know it’s a lie.

That doesn’t stop your hand from trembling as you dial Yoongi’s number. You’re happy there’s no one to see you, because God, you couldn’t take your carefully crafted facade crumbling right now.

“Yes?” he answers quickly. If he’s surprised to hear from you, it doesn’t show.

“What are the plans for the Mystery Room?” you ask, satisfied that your voice doesn’t quiver, even if you’re a mess right now.

There’s a silence at the other end of the line, and you suspect he’s considering not answering you, so you take the initiative.

“You need to at least replace the owner,” you say, kicking off your shoes. “You can convince him to sell to us,” — convince, one of your favorite euphemisms — “or get rid of him and get the place from his family. Burning the place down is also an option. We can’t let what happened slide like that.”

“Hmm,” Yoongi says.

“Also, it would better if Mr. Jeon could avoid fighting with people. The last thing we want is people who think they can challenge him.”

“He can take them.”

“That’s not the issue. If people think they have a chance, they’ll keep trying. We don’t want them to do that.”

Another, longer silence.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he’ll listen to you.”

“And you think I will listen to you?”

You roll your eyes. It’s strange, you know you’re gambling your life right now, but the tension you were experiencing earlier has been replaced by an eerie calm. You feel detached from everything.

Maybe you’ve been doing this for too long.

“You don’t have to,” you say, “but this is my job. I’m good at it. If you just let me do it, it would be far more efficient than whatever has been going on for the last week. I know you don’t trust me, but you can probably come to the same conclusions as me in this situation at least.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest. This is an explicit critique, something you would never have risked with Mr. X, and it’s the most open act of defiance that you’ve ever done — and it’s to convince them to let you workfor them.

“We’ll see about that,” he replies dismissively, and your shoulders fall at first, but then he adds, almost reluctantly, “I’ll take what you said into consideration.”

“Good. We also need to talk about tomorrow’s meeting. I’ve gotten some important information about the opposition to Mr. Jeon, and I think—”

As you explain the situation to Yoongi, you feel yourself calming down. Maybe it’s because you’re doing something that’s familiar to you, you’re not sure, but you can breathe again, and that solidifies your conviction that you’re making the right decision.

Finally, you’re ready to take back your life.

Tag list: @chaiwivluv @mintyrae @btswdwsmhrdt @xxquenwxtchxx @fekitza @kimmieloveswho @deeepvibes @lonleycoffee @gookiebts @kpop-baka @taecallsmenoona @mimiinluv @dabbingangels @jooahchu

[beskarhearts]

soft javi idea!!! he confesses to you about his crush on you and how you make him not want to be an asshole anymore 🥺

Bad Coffee (Javier Peña x reader)

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: over 2.8K

Warnings: cursing, mention of sex/brothels, drinking (nothing else I can think of but let me know!

Summary: Javier Peña wasn’t the type to ask people on dates or have feelings. At least that was what you thought.

Notes: UM I LOVE THIS AND I HOPE YOU DO TOO! I am an absolute sucker for soft Javi so this was soooooo fun to write and definitely helped. Pretty much I am ALWAYS willing to write Soft!Javi because it is the greatest. (also haven’t really proof read this yet so please excuse any mistakes!)

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Late nights at the office with Javier has become the usual for you two. You were both hell-bent on catching Escobar and if that meant spending every second at the office and getting maybe an hour or two of sleep each night, then that was what it meant. So even when everyone else left the office and Murphy retired for the night, you and Javier would be sitting at your respective desks and mull over paper work and evidence and information and anything you could get your hands on.

You didn't mind it though. Sure it was exhausting and your mind never seemed to stray away from work but you felt like you were doing something. You technically could go to your apartment all alone and get some sleep or maybe eat a proper meal but that felt ridiculous. Why bother with such menial things when you had much more important things at hand?

Also, it meant you weren't alone anymore. You had started spending nights at the office before Javier had and you can't remember when he joined in but you didn't mind. Javier and you had worked long enough that you had gotten used to his annoying, bothersome characteristics. He was hot-headed and flirtatious and sometimes incredibly hard to read but he was good at his job and he genuinely cared, which was more than you could say for a lot of other people working here. You two also worked well together. It was probably a natural result of working together for long enough, though you knew there were some people who had known Peña for longer than you had and could barely work with the guy.

Some people said you worked well together because you slept together and perhaps that was a natural assumption given Javier's reputation with women and the flirtatious quips he would send your way every once in a while. And while you had confirmed that wasn't the case, people liked to gossiped. But really you just worked well with the guys because you both had respect for each other and were what you would consider friends. You could share a drink with the guy and crack a joke at his expense. You could also mull over paperwork into the late hours of the night and go over countless theories and ideas with him, all of which he listened to and never tried to overshadow you.

"Drink this."

You looked up from your desk to see Javier holding a cup of coffee out, the brown liquid steaming and exuding a scent that alone seemed to wake you up. Your greedy fingers snatched the cup up, taking a big gulp of it before sending a small smile to the man who still stood in front of your desk. "Thanks, Peña."

You had come to greatly appreciate Peña's presence during nights like these. He would bring you coffee, let you rant and ramble, and if you drifted off the sleep at your desk, he would sometimes lay his jacket over you as a makeshift blanket. You didn't have a lot of people who looked after you, having left your family behind in the states for the job. So having Javier do even the smallest thing like bring you a cup of coffee was something you were grateful for.

"Did I make it right this time?" Peña asked slyly, giving you a small smirk that you reciprocated. You swore it was on purpose, but something was always just a little off with your coffee. You had told him how you liked him, given him the exact number of scoops of sugar and amount of creamer. Yet for some reason the coffee would always be a little too sweet or wouldn't have enough creamer. You drank it anyways, because you weren't picky and weren't one to say no to even the shittiest cup of coffee. But now it had become a small joke between you two.

"Not enough sugar." you playfully responded, giving him a small chuckle.

Javier looked down at you and shifted in the spot he stood in before responded. "A coffee place would probably make it better."

You snorted, placing your cup down and taking a glance at the watch on your wrist. "I don't think any coffee place is open at 2 am on a Tuesday."

"Well then maybe sometime when you aren't working." Javier countered and you raised a singular eyebrow, cocking your head. He was acting odd. A little too odd.

You shook it off and decided to make a small joke. "Oh, you mean when I'm dead?"

Javier sighed, brushing his hand through his hair before planting both of his hands onto your desk, leaning forward slightly. "I mean maybe sometime when you aren't working...and neither am I. Then I can buy you a coffee to make up for the shit stuff I make."

Your face dropped instantly as you looked up at Peña, seeing the way his eyes wouldn't make their ways to look into yours. You had known Peña long enough to know he wasn't a nervous man, especially not with you or women in general. In fact, sometimes he was too cocky for his own good. "Holy shit." you muttered.

Javier finally looked at you and raised an eyebrow at your shocked expression. "What?"

"Are you asking me on a date?" you dumbly said, not even trying to stop your mouth from saying the question in your mind.

Javier's tongue peeked out as he licked at his lips nervously, hands slipping away from your desk and landing on his hips as he straightened up. "Yeah. I am."

Holy shit. You were dumbfounded, shocked, absolutely 1000% floored. Peña was a flirt and had said his fair share of words to you but you assumed that was just who he was. You had seen him do the same to plenty of other women around the office alone. Not once in your head had the thought of Peña ever asking you on a date even crossed your mind. It seemed like a down right impossibility. He wasn't a 'go on a coffee date' type of guy. He was the 'stop at a brothel and have mindless sex with a woman whose name I barely know' type of guy. You couldn't even begin to imagine Peña on a date. The mere thought of him sitting with a woman at a coffee shop and making that small talk everybody had at a date and then driving them home made you nearly laugh in surprise. While you had come to appreciate the quirks of Peñas personality, he was an asshole normally and everything happening right now was so bizaree. His nervousness and the way his eyes were avoiding yours and asking you on a date?

"This is a joke, right?" you asked.

Javier let out a small chuckle, but not his usually one. This sounded uncomfortable and strangled. "Way to soften the blow, hermosa." he tried to respond as sarcastically as possible but you saw in between the cracks.

"You are serious?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Peña asked, a hint of annoyance peaking through as he examined your astonished figure.

You let out an odd laugh of your own, even snorting. You couldn't comprehend how he didn't understand how bizarre this was. Or maybe he did and just wanted to hear it from your mouth. "Peña, you just asked a woman on a date."

"And apparently did a shit job at it." Peña countered back, the wrinkles on his forehead more apparent as he scrunched his brows together.

"When was the last time you even asked a woman on a date?" you inquired.

"Why does this matter?" Peña asked, one hand being thrown up in confusion before landing back on his hip.

"Because never once in my days did I think I would see the day Javier Peña asked a woman on a date." You couldn't help the giggle that left your lips, partially because you were uncomfortable and didn't know what to do but also because this whole situation seemed like some kind of fever dream.

"Glad this is so funny to you." Peña scowled, turning back to his desk.

You bit your lip, trying to think of something to say. "You did a pretty good job actually. Good transition with the coffee and stuff." you offered, trying to lighten the mood and tension in the room.

"Then why didn't you say yes?" Javier asked, turning back to you as he sat on the edge of his desk.

You paused. You didn't say yes initially because you were too shocked to but there were probably a million reasons to not say yes.

You weren't dumb. Javier Peña was stupidly attractive. It was no wonder ever woman swooned over him. And the hair and slightly unbuttoned shirts certainly didn't help. And while many women would probably jump at the chance of a date with the infamous DEA agent just based off looks alone (and his 'sex god' reputation), you had come to admire the other things about him. His dedication and his how no matter how hard he tried to hide it, his compassion somehow always came through. There was plenty to admire about the man.

But there were also so many things that made a date with Javier Peña potentially a very bad idea. He was your co-worker first of all and while you weren't sure if it was necessarily forbidden, it wasn't something you should jump into. Being in this field was hard enough, you didn't need everybody thinking you had gotten where you were because you were jumping the bones of your co-workers. There was also the fact that Javier was the exact opposite of a relationship man. He was practically the epitome of a bachelor. His primary hobbies consisted of drinking and visiting brothels, blowing off steam with a woman withering under him. He was also so closed off sometimes. He kept everything so buried and so hidden and it was impossible to reach him.

"You do realize what a date is, right?" you asked gently.

Javier rolled his eyes. "Believe it or not, but I am very aware."

"And that you are asking me on a date. A date where we would go get coffee in a public place and talk and the main goal shouldn't be to get me in bed afterwards."

"Jesus Christ! I'm not trying to sleep with you!" Peña cried out, throwing his hands up.

"Well, excuse me but you have quite the reputation for being a bit of a man-whore asshole!" you shouted back, feeling the emotion and tension bubble up in you.

Peña dropped his head, looking down at his feet and letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. "I have... feelings for you."

He seemed to say the words begrudgingly, like there was anything he would rather do than have to talk about his feelings after practically getting rejected by a woman who he asked on a date (which he hadn't done in years).

Your mouth kept opening and closing, trying to conjure something to say but finding yourself unable to. if you thought the idea of Javier asking someone on a date unfathomable, then you were just absolutely flabbergasted by the idea of Javier having a crush on someone. You finally closed your eyes and took in a deep breath. "I don't...understand."

"I thought it was pretty obvious." Peña responded, shrugging his shoulders slightly as he slowly looked up at you.

You stared back into his brown eyes and let out an exhausted snigger. "No, it wasn't. Hence my reaction."

Peña pushed himself off his desk, strolling towards your desk and looking down at where you still sat. His brown eyes looked softer than you had ever seen them and it made the breathe in your throat hitch. "Listen, I am an asshole-"

"You really know how to see yourself, Javier." You cursed yourself for your habit of making jokes when you were uncomfortable as Javier looked back at you plainly. "Sorry..."

"I don't want to be an asshole when I am around you. I want to be better... for you. You make me think maybe I could be an okay guy." Javier offered.

You tried to ignore the way your heart had begun racing and the way your skin seemed to heat up slightly. You placed both your hands on the arm of your chair, trying to keep them busy so you didn't nervously twiddle your thumbs. "Alright, well that was kind of sweet in a weird way..."

Javier finally let out a small chuckle and you smiled at the noise, glad to feel a bit of the tension dissipate. "I know I'm a piece of shit and not boyfriend material or anything like that but... just one date. Let me buy you a cup of coffee."

You felt the corner of your lip quirk up into a small smile. "I'm not sleeping with you no matter how charming you are."

"We will save that for the third date then." Javier joked and you let out a small gasp.

"Bold of you to assume we will make it to a third date." You jested, giving him a teasing grin.

"It took me months to finally ask you out so this better work for me."

You leaned back. "Months?"

"Shut up." Javier huffed back as soon as he saw the smile on your face.

"Has the Javier Peña been pining for me for months?" You meant it as a joke but when his face softened and he looked back at you, you tried your best to wipe the smile off your face.

"It's... been awhile." Javier looked at the way you expectantly looked back at him and sighed. "Since the Christmas party."

Your jaw dropped. Steve had insisted on inviting you and Javier to what he described as a Christmas party Connie had set up but when you showed up, it was just the four of you. Murphy joked around, saying he didn't have many friends. But you didn't mind. It was one of the first times you had seen Peña out of the office and he seemed relatively relaxed for the first time you had seen him. You had both sat on the same couch together, across from the Murphys and every once in a while you two would whisper teasing jokes to each other about Steve. You thought back to the night and remembered how he had insisted on pouring your drinks for you and had probably been sat a little too close, his thigh nearly grazing yours. How his gaze had lingered on yours because it was the first time he had seen you wear something other than office clothes and shit, how did you somehow look even better? How he had insisted on driving you home once he realized you had walked there, saying it was because you shouldn't be walking around in the dark but also because he just wanted to spend more time with you, even if it was only a few more minutes.

"Javier, that was months ago."

Javier slowly nodded. "Yeah. I tried to at your birthday dinner."

That had been another thing that had been planned by Connie and Murphy had required you guys come to. You honestly didn't even know they knew when your birthday was, never once mentioning it because birthdays weren't your thing. But Murphy had somehow found out but you didn't mind. It was only a dinner with you four and some drinks, no big party and nobody made a big deal with it. The Murphy's had bought you a present despite you saying you hated receiving gifts.

Once again, Javier had insisted on driving you home and this time walked you to your door. You thought that would be it until he handed you a gift. Your watch had been broken and you needed a new one but had been too busy to get one so Javier had taken the liberty of doing so. You remember him insisting you open it when he was gone and not thank him for it. He had seemed a little off that day but you had thought it was just the drinks getting to him a little. He lingered and you both spoke about work until he eventually drifted away.

"Holy shit, Peña." you muttered, feeling the weight of the watch on your wrist even more.

"It doesn't matter." he huffed.

"It does to me." you softly said. Javier only sent a small glance your way and you gave him a smile before turning back down to your paperwork. "Pick me up on Friday."

You didn't look up to see the smile on Javier's face as he made his way back to his desk. "Yes ma'am."