#quirk registration

[makkir0ll]

you were minding your business while you were out driving, on your way to the grocery store, when you hear sirens behind you blaring. you look at your rear-view mirror to see the flashing red and blue lights, you tense up and pull over. you weren't even speeding, just going five over the speed limit. everyone goes five over the speed limit.

you try and calm yourself down, maybe he'll let you go easy.

you hear a tap on your window and look over to see a familiar broad chest in front of your window, with the familiar badge number and name tag on his chest. sawamura daichi. it read. you roll down your window and he bends down to get to eye level, you could recognize those brown eyes from anywhere, even if they were hiding behind a pair of aviators (that you bought him).

"hi ma'am, may i see your license and registration." he tilts his aviators down to get a better look at your face. you smile at your husband's antics.

"yes, officer" you say as you lean over to your glove compartment, going along with his silly act. you grab your registration and open your wallet to hand him your license. he takes it from your hand, making sure to brush his hand against yours.

as he's examining the two items you handed over he asks, "are you aware why i pulled you over ma'am?" he looks back down at you, handing back your license and registration.

"no officer." you say with a smile, trying hard to contain your laughter. clearly he's going with the bit.

"you were speeding, that's going to cost you." he pulls out his ticket book and a pen to write it down.

"but officer i was only going five over!" you plead, no way your own husband was about to write you up.

"five over it still speeding ma'am, not going to let a pretty lady like you that easily" he smirks, tearing off the ticket and handing it to you. "it'll cost you one kiss."

"really?" you quirk an eyebrow, all this for a kiss?

"yes really" he bends down into an uncomfortable position, cupping your cheeks and you lean into his calloused hands. he pulls you closer, head out the window as you kiss him deeply. hopefully this will keep him going for a while. you pull away, both of you smiling ear to ear at this dumb act. you pull him down by his collar again for another one, for good measure of course.

"is that enough officer?" you cheekily ask.

"yes ma'am, have a good day." he replies, pulling his aviators down the bridge of his nose to give you a wink before he walks away. you wink back at him.

"bye officer!" you yell at your husband as he walks away, rolling up your car window. you look at the ticket he gave you and you see that he scribbled the words:

we're out of milk

you roll your eyes as you open your phone, going to the contact labeled with daichi ❤️ to send him a text.

you: if we needed milk you could've just texted me

daichi ❤️ : now where's the fun in that?

@cottonlemonade , this one’s for you

[pocketramblr]

Please!

AU where both Izuku and Bakugou are rejected from UA Hero Course.

And to make it juicy. The reason for the rejections is the suicide baiting incident being known by UA. While Bakugou is rejected for obvious reasons. Izuku is rejected for his ‘own safety’ and because they won’t trust his psyche went unscathed.

1- The thing about Bakugou is that he was not particularly well liked by his classmates at Aldera. Oh, he had friends, and no one was willing to stand up to him, but plenty of students had grudges about how he acted. They rolled their eyes when Bakugou went on a rant about being the only one who could make it to UA, or his lackeys hyped him up, but then they'd look away without a word when he caught them and glared. No one was going to say he wasn't powerful and couldn't do it, just like they weren't going to say Deku had any chance. Sometimes, capable people are also very annoying, and you just have to deal with that, so the kids did. And if a few were in a small group chat that would sneak pictures or videos to show the kids not in their class and complain, well, that's what the kids did. And then one day, one filmed the conversation after school, after Bakugou threw out the notebook, and posted it publicly, as well as in the chat.

2- nothing came of this. Izuku had either blocked or been blocked by a lot of his classmates online, and hadn't really bothered to look for most of them anyway, so neither he nor Bakugou are aware of the video. The sludge villain sort of happened an hour later, and that's what got the big media buzz- the news couldn't publish the names of the teens involved if they ever even had them, but locally, people at Aldera knew who the kids on tv were.

3- the next year, UA has its recommendation exams. Every student is meticulously background checked before even being accepted as an potential for the exam and interview. A couple weeks later, they have the standard exam. The background checks will happen after this- UA after all has a very prestigious image. Bakugou wasn't wrong that if he took his lackey's cigarette and UA found out, his chances would be gone. Unfortunately for him, the video was still online. Mostly forgotten about... Until it contained not one but two potential UA students.

4- Nedzu and the six hero course homeroom teachers are on the board of student admissions, but so are two others each from administration, public relations, the school board, and the heroics commission. The top fifty scorers are ruthlessly picked through. The video is watched. Some want to exclude Izuku, some Bakugou, some both. Nedzu would prefer to have them both enrolled in separate classes, but is outvoted. He doesn't warn the board this will mean All Might will not be staying on to teach - he really can't, without telling secrets, but he does warn All Might the next night, and gracefully accepts his resignation.

5- a week after the exams, acceptance and rejection letters are sent. These are simply written on paper. Apparently neither of them are a good fit for the school. No further reason is given. Bakugou spends one day in his room, quieter than ever, then rush applies to other schools. Shiketsu is supposed to be UA's equal. Perhaps their admissions process will be less rigid. Or perhaps his rise to number one is "supposed" to come from humble starts, and Aldera Middle School wasn't that, but some mid rank hero school is. Meanwhile, on the beach, All Might tells Izuku that he actually ended up with the most rescue points in the exam, and his score was high enough to place him in top ten... It was just the screenings afterwards that did it. Perhaps the school was concerned about his health, with him breaking nearly every limb. Or perhaps his incorrect quirk registration was a red flag- either way, it's things All Might blames himself for, Izuku is the one who passed the test, and with only a few hours of having OfA too. So All Might asks Izuku what he wants to do- try for another hero school nearby? Toshinori probably can't get a job there on short notice without being suspicious, but he'll work to train him every day after, and come up with some other excuse for why he's in the field less. Or, should he reach out to I-island? Toshinori's even willing to see about setting up a personal internship with himself or Gran Torino, though he really kinda hopes Izuku doesn't pick that one. Izuku bursts into tears and apologies, having only held them back this long out of shame, they hug, and Toshi tells Izuku to take his time deciding, it'll be all right, because Izuku is here and he has full faith in him, regardless of what UA admissions thinks.

[willowser]

aww, you agree to stay home with your son until he becomes old enough to go to school, but as the summer ends and time draws near for registration, katsuki starts backtracking.

your son has a quirk. it's not so fancy as his father's, but it's more exciting than what you have, and even though he's big into katsuki's heroism, he hasn't shown any more interest in becoming a hero himself than any other boy his age.

at first you think it's katsuki getting nervous about putting him in public school, but he still doesn't seem sold on any of the private teachers you find. you want to go back to work, and it's not that he's telling you no—but there's just this edginess to him, whenever you push the conversation.

"still small," katsuki defends, murming into your hair as you're laying in bed. "another year 'n he'll be a lil' bigger."

it's true—your son is a little on the small side, but he has all the energy and determination of a kid twice his size. it's never stopped him before, nor has it ever had katsuki pulling him off the playground in the past; you're not sure why it matters, now.

"you said that last year."

"yeah, but he didn't grow that much."

"i don't think there's a height restriction for learning, honey."

katsuki sighs, and you can feel the frown pulling his mouth down. it's rare that he ever tip-toes around what he wants to say these days, more common when you first began dating, but he's always been vocal when it comes to your son. always wanted what was best for him, and didn't hesitate to ask for it.

you shift, scooting your head up his arm so you can look at him. "what're you really thinking?"

he doesn't look back at you, but instead keeps his eyes on the wall across from your bed. you can't exactly see the depth in them this way, but something about the tension lining his body tells you he's thinking, hard, about something other than your son.

"kids are assholes."

you laugh, because it's not what you were expecting and because you don't like whatever this is that's bothering him. you want it to go away. "yeah, i know. our kid is an asshole sometimes."

"well, i don't want someone being an asshole to our kid."

your stomach drops at the very idea of someone being mean to your son, not appreciating him the way he should be. what if he gets hungry and they don't let him eat? what if he has to go to the bathroom but he doesn't know where it is?

if you think about this for any longer, you'll burst into tears, and that will only further katsuki's case.

"kids just..." he shakes his head and glances towards the door of your bedroom, down the hall to where your son is sleeping. "say all kinda' shit. hateful shit."

you hug him a little tighter, because you know how much he hates feeling powerless—and that’s exactly how you feel, when it comes to this topic, but if you focused only on the negatives, you wouldn't ever let your son out of sight.

"he'll make friends, though, like you did." your words only make his frown deeper. "and he wants to learn, he is so curious about everything. i think he's ready, honey."

—but katsuki only grits his jaw, the muscle in his cheek jumping as he looks away from you and towards the window.

"well, i dunno if i am."

[yaespook]

Canines.

✧ Room Content: Dom! Top! GN! Werewolf! Reader x Sub! Bottom! Wriothesley, no gendered terms used for reader, reader has a cock with a knot, oral (reader giving), snowballing, rimming (reader giving), gratuitous mentions of spit, muzzle and leash with collar used on Wriothesley, knotting. Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: [The bottom paws of the fortune cat appear on the front desk.]

Getting a new rookie transfer under him this late into the year wasn’t exactly what Wriothesley was expecting.

His office door opens abruptly but you seem almost as bewildered as he is at this surprise. No biggie, the issue is sorted out quickly and seeing that you don't have any case files or inmate registration papers on you (or any sort of personal records at all for the matter), he runs through the essentials before sending you off with a list of duties. 

He watches as you leave his office, you'll undoubtedly be an interesting case to handle.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Wriothesley finds you nice enough to be around during work. You're considerate and you work hard to get your job done. It's pleasant to have another regular familiar face beneath the depths and he's not above sharing his tea with you during your shared breaks. And growing closer, he asks you to box with him.

“Just some training, for fun, that's all.” He's lounging in his chair and cracks an eye open to gauge your reaction. “Feel free to say no if you don't want to. I won't die from the rejection.”

Wriothesley is assured in his combat skills, given his experience in the ring and his daily training. So how is it exactly that he's found himself in this position? 

Dragging out the spar by starting off defensive, dodging his attacks, it seemed as if you were going easy on him.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re going easy on me?” He throws a series of hooks and a particularly forceful uppercut.

But he wasn't interested in winning this friendly battle, he wants to see what you're truly made of. Hence, kicking it up a notch, he doubled the speed of the punches he's throwing, forcing you on the offensive. 

“You’re asking for it, Wrio!”

He's caught off guard when you start reciprocating and meeting him with the same speed and intensity in your attacks. Sure, your footwork and pivoting could use some work, but there's something surprising in the force behind your punches.

It ends when you manage to wrestle him into a headlock, the both of you sweaty and panting, his head pressed against your chest as he's suddenly aware of how close the two of you are. Tapping twice on your bicep hooked around his neck, he admits his defeat this time around. Freed from your restraint, he takes the time to massage his trapezius muscles as he gives you a once-over. 

“That was a good one, another next week?” 

You cough, “I think I’ll need more than a week to recover,” your tone sheepish.

It’s not often he’s beaten during spars, and for a rookie like you to do so? Extremely interesting. What exactly is your background? The secret to your seemingly supernatural strength? Since this incident, he’s found himself drawn to you even more.

However, keeping an extra vigilant eye on you means that he picks up on the smaller things that might be signs. The next Friday, you clock in later in the day, missing your shared tea breaks with him, and you clock out far earlier than usual, evident from the little note you leave at your desk when he looks for you.

“Sorry Wrio! Something urgent came up!”

He quirks an eyebrow up at this. What could have been so urgent that you had to leave immediately? Are you alright? Glancing around, he notices a bag left on your chair. Perhaps you left it here in your haste while leaving, but what if its contents are important to you? No matter, he'll see if he can pass it to you after work, it's a good chance to check up on you too.

But since you aren't around for the rest of the day, Wriothesley has strangely discovered that he's getting through his mundane paperwork and administrative duties a lot slower than if you were present. His brows furrow as he sighs to himself and sips his tea alone before continuing his work.

By the time he's done wrapping everything up and leaving, the full moon is already high up in the night sky. When he tears his eyes away from it, he spots you out of the corner of his eye. Though he would call out to you, your behaviour is suspicious, slinking around the shadows sneakily as you try to stay hidden. Wriothesley decides to tail you, just to make sure that you don't get into any trouble that he'll end up having to sort out. (And that he's also worried about you.)

His guard is up when you step into a wild forested area. The dim moonlight breaks in through the leaves of the canopy area, just enough for him to make out the ground beneath him. He watches where he steps in order to avoid generating any noise that might alert you but the second he looks back up for you, you’re nowhere to be seen.

Uneasiness starts to kick in. Wriothesley is uncaring of all the ruckus he’s making while rushing past trees and brambles as he scrambles to search for you. The thorns scrape and tear at his clothes but he pushes on, launching into high gear.

However, the deeper he gets into the forest, the more Wriothesley begins to notice things going terribly wrong.

There’s a heavy presence lurking amongst the dark shadows, one that has its eyes trained on him, watching his every move. Lumbering footsteps echo throughout the forest around him, as if getting closer and closer to his location. The sound of twigs nearby snapping sharply and the rustling of dry bushes. Trying to get to a better lit area within the forest, the chase is on.

He’s being hunted.

The vegetation begins to thin out slightly as he skillfully weaves between trees and he reaches a clearing. Catching his breath, he surveys his surroundings, keen eyes looking for any signs of movement. The moon hangs overhead, sharing its pale light.

And from the treeline, something pounces.

He stumbles back at the sudden impact, the wind knocked from his chest as he collides with the ground, eyes clenched shut. A beat passes before the weight on him suddenly lifts and he hears a gravelly yet oddly familiar voice, “...Wrio?” 

Forcing his eyes open, he finds himself at a loss for words. 

“I’m so so sorry. I assumed you were some kind of hunter stalking after me and…” your words spiral and trail on but he can’t seem to process anything you’re saying since he’s preoccupied with taking in this sight of you.

In this form, you’re a lot taller than he is and your physique is nothing short of intimidating. Is this where your impressive strength comes from then? Raking his gaze over your body, he pauses at your flexed thigh muscles from holding yourself above his pelvis. (You could crush him between them and he’d die a happy man.)

Your fur gleams under the moonlight, captivating him as a gentle breeze ruffles through it. By the time he tunes back into your spiel, all he catches is you saying, “I’ll make it up to you-”

“Make it up to me?”

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck me then.” He sees your ears shoot up as you try to gauge whether he actually means it and he tacks on, “I’m being serious. Plus no one will find us here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Fine, but pipe up if I’m too rough on you.”

A grin stretches across Wriothesley’s face at your agreement but it’s quickly replaced with a hiss when you drop and grind your dick down against his. Leaning forward, you have him completely pinned beneath you, your body heat and larger frame on his is simply dizzying.

“I’ll give you some kisses to start, hmm?”

He watches as your maw opens wide, showcasing your sharp teeth. He can feel your canines on either side of his face as you lick at his lips but there’s enough trust between the two of you that you won’t clamp down, your fangs gently grazing his skin. You wouldn’t hurt him after all.

You bury your snout in his neck, taking in his scent as the both of you grind against each other, a snarl leaving your throat as you feel how hard and soaked he’s getting under you. 

“So wet, Wrio. Are you that desperate?” Shifting and sitting up to strip him of his clothes, he chuckles as he replies, “Only for you.”

Taking off his shirt, you let out a low whistle at the man before you. His broad shoulders, salt and pepper chest hair on his pecs, the body hair and healed scars littered throughout, and not to mention his lovely happy trail up till his naval. Truly, a sight to behold.

Getting him out of the rest of his clothes, you nudge his legs apart and settle between them. Compared to your looming stature, Wriothesley gets a sense of how much smaller he is when your hands grasp at his thighs. (Or are they paws? Whatever. As long as they treat him real good tonight.)

Tracing the tip of a claw down his inner thigh, you watch him shudder, eyes widening as you get closer to his drooling cock.

“What? Already so turned on by me hunting you down and a little grinding?” You tease and a heat rises to his face, retorting, “Shut up.”

You bury your face closer in, snuffling as you lave a rough warm stripe against the underside of his length, the taste of his precum on your tongue. His legs clamp down slightly on your head when you do so and it’s apparent that he’s enjoying your attention on him. Almost as if he wants you to devour him whole.

Changing tactics, you shift your focus to enveloping the underside with your tongue before taking him into your mouth, careful to watch your teeth. The heat engulfing him has Wriothesley groaning loudly, his hips bucking into the warmth as his restraint starts to slip.

“Mffph… so good-!” He throws an arm over his eyes, more clipped moans escaping him while you swirl your tongue, working him to his peak.

But just when he’s about to tip over the edge, you let him out of your mouth, panting as he watches a thick strand of saliva stretch from your tongue to the tip of his dick.

“Hah… Why did you stop?” Sitting up on his elbows and supporting a frustrated scowl on his face, he looks laughably similar to a kicked puppy.

“Patience, dear Wrio, you’ll get your recompensation in due time.”

Moving one hand to his cock, you pump up and down languidly, aided by the copious amounts of precum and spit. His head spins when he feels you tonguing and lapping at his balls, your hot breath hitting the sensitive skin there.

You dip further down to lick at his rim, peering up to observe his reaction. And it’s amusing. His hands fly to grab at your shoulders, eyes shot open as his chest heaves.

“You liked that?” When he nods, that’s all you need to continue.

Manoeuvring him and hiking his hips up, he yelps at the shift but it quickly tapers into a moan as you press your tongue flat against his rim. You don’t stop stroking his cock as you slowly breach his hole, gingerly prying him open. Wriothesley sucks in a sharp breath at this and grinds down on your thick tongue, forcing it deeper, the pleasure in him building and spiking.

It’s not long before he’s spurting onto his tummy with a drawn out moan, walls clenching down on you and his hips stuttering up with his orgasm. Detaching for a second, you lick a long way up from the base of his dick to his dripping tip and his heaving abdomen, collecting his cum on your tongue.

“Open your mouth, Wrio.” And when he complies, you let your tongue hang out of your maw, a mixture of his cum and his saliva sloppily dripping from you and into his mouth. The ravenous look he gets when he swallows sends a shiver down his spine.

“So good for me, Wrio. Let’s move on shall we?” You give him a sly lick on his cheek. “Can you loosen yourself up a bit more? Wouldn’t want to rip you apart when you take me.”

After coating his fingers in your slick spit, you watch as he preps himself for you. Gazing around, you spy your bag discarded to the side on the ground. 

“Aww Wrio, were you trying to bring me my bag I left?”

“Mmph yeah-! I was worried- ah! -about you,” he grunts out his answer.

You respond with a low pleased rumble, stalking over to your bag and rifling through it to find what you’re looking for. From it, you retrieve a set of a collar with a leash and an accompanying muzzle. To Wriothesley’s surprise, it’s in his colours, complimenting shades of reds and greys.

“I bought it impulsively earlier today, thought of you while doing so. I think I’m in some sort of a rut,” you explain lowly, your eyes level with his and he feels as if he could be consumed with your gaze alone. 

Licking the shell of his ear, he can feel your breath fan across his nape as you continue, “Because of you, Wrio, no doubt.”

“Put it on me then,” there’s no hesitation in his voice when he says this and a satisfaction fills him when he sees your tail start wagging.

Carefully, you latch the collar around his neck, making sure it’s comfortable for him before moving on to fixing the muzzle on him. Finally, you attach the leash, the clip sound completing the set. 

As you take in how utterly delectable your Wrio looks for you right now, a filthy sense of pride rises up within you. You, a beast, managing to twist and warp and transform your human’s visage into one akin to yours, to have him leashed and muzzled as if he were the one with piercing canine fangs and a monstrous secret. And that he doesn’t cower or tremble with fear when pinned beneath you. It’s all too deliciously sinful.

The end of the leash is held in your claws as you eye him down. You manhandle him onto his fours and you line the tip of your cock at his hole. 

“I’ll take it slow, tell me if it hurts,” your head presses against his rim as it gradually pries him open, the wind is punched from his chest at your thick girth. Slowly sinking into him, Wriothesley’s vision spins as you split him open on your cock, the stretch an intoxicating one that has him wanting more. 

When your tip nudges against his prostate, he’s left seeing stars, a debauched moan slipping from his lips.

“Ughk!? Is it- hah! -is it all in?” You shush him, ghosting your claws on the skin above his arched spines.

“Just a bit more, you can take it, can’t you, Wrio?” An uncharacteristic whine rips from him when you finally bottom out in him, flush against the back of his thighs as you reach unfathomably deep in him.

You give him time to adjust to your size before you start moving, setting a relaxed pace to begin with. He squeezes down on your cock as you roll your hips, unrestrained noises escaping him as all sense is fucked from his mind. 

Picking up the intensity, you pull out halfway before slamming back into him, positioning your tip directly at where his prostate is while tugging on the leash.

“Hngk-! So big- AH! Fuck!” Wriothesley’s eyes roll back into his head, mouth hanging open.

Your repeated motions have him going crazy, his arms wobbling at the brutal onslaught of pleasure before giving out, the only things keeping him up are the knees folded under him and your hand clamping around the side of his hip.

Seconds blur into minutes and he doesn’t even know when you’ve started pounding relentlessly into him. Your thick shaft drags against his walls and he can feel every vein and twitch of your cock. 

Sensing you pulling on the leash, he turns and looks up at you, letting you see the drool dripping from his parted lips in the muzzle, his eyes unfocused and glazed over with nothing but raw lust. You give him a lick on his cheek, a kiss, before you fold your body over his, completely pressed against his back, pinning him beneath your massive frame.

“I’m close Wrio,” cooing into his ear again, your gravelly voice brings him back, “Want me to knot you?”

He babbles pitifully, “Uh- uh huh! AH! Yeah-! I- I want you!”

“You’re really asking for it now,” growling at his mindless pleading, you drive your cock in, a guttural howl leaving you as you climax, finally knotting your Wrio. The knot at your base stretches Wriothesley out even more and he can feel your cum filling him up inside. The searing pleasure causes him to pull taut, his back arching as he orgasms again, moaning as he tightens up around you, milking you for all you’re worth. 

The forest clearing is filled with the sounds of the both of you panting as you recover, checking in with Wriothesley to assure that he’s alright. While you wait for your knot to go down, you take the time to free him from the muzzle. The second you do, he leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of your snout, a lazy grin hanging from his face.

“Hah… I think you’ve made it up to me,” a glint in his eyes, “Another round next week?”

[> You add a muzzle, collar, and leash set to your collection.]

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

[catcze]

I just did my skincare routine, as one does, and I had an idea: spa night with Wriothesley! He’s reluctant to try it out at first, but now it’s his favorite way to relax and spend time with his beloved :,))

This !! Is !! So !! Cute !!

It wasn't a regular thing— not at first.

Wriothesley wasn't the type of person to put too much care into their skin before. You still remember the horror you felt when you learned he did little more than washing his face with tap water in the morning or evening. He'd been blessed by whichever archon was in charge of clear skin, you swore up and down for the longest time.

But all it took was him coming back early one evening, just in time to catch you in the middle of your skincare routine and a hesitantly asked, "...What's this?" as he held one of the many, many bottles in your stash aloft in his palm, and the rest is history.

Now, you've got him on his back, head rested in your lap and his eyes shut in relaxation. One of your cotton headbands keeps his spiky hair from brushing his forehead— the pastel colors are an adorable contrast to the dark strands.

"So then when I got to the store, there was this bitch who tried to fight me for the last box of pancake mix, even though I got my hands on it first. That motherfucker told me to go get my own pancake mix, and i told her, 'I just fucking did'," you say to him, recounting the harrows and drama of your day. Your hands are on Wriothesley's cheeks, gently massaging a moisturizing toner into his skin while he lays there and listens to you.

"Uh-huh, you go, sweetheart." There's the slightest of proud smirks growing on his lips, even as he keeps his eyes closed.

You nod vigorously, appreciating his support. As you turn back to the basket of goodies beside you, you debate on what to put on his face next.

"Hey love," you call him, and one of Wriothesley's icy blue eyes opens. You raise two bottles where he can see them, shaking each. "What are you feeling tonight? The squalane or the niacinamide?"

He hums in the back of his throat, thinking. Then shuts his eyes. "The niacinamide."

You have to fight back a grin, gently tucking the glass bottle for your squalane serum back into your basket. Before you can drop some of Wriothesley's chosen serum on your palms though, he quickly takes hold of one of your hands, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he mumbles, voice little more than a content rumble, lips ticklish against the back of your hand.

Before you can respond, he gives your hand back to you, and the quirk of his lips is back in place.

"Well?" He asks, leaning his weight even more into your lap. Not unlike a puppy, luxuriating in your hold. Hazily, his eyes meet yours even as he blinks drowsily. Soft and fond as they train on you. "I don't believe you were done telling me about that box of pancake mix."

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Tomura and Dabi both telling Toga she doesn't have to get a villain name if she doesn't want one hits even harder when you finally remember the circumstances of their own villain names.

Tomura got assigned a villain name because he was turned into a villain against his will. He didn't get to choose his identity, he didn't get to choose his destiny. Someone else came to him and then changed him until he couldn't recognize himself in the mirror anymore.

Dabi was rejected by his father over and over and over again. It's not like he wanted to deny who he was, in fact, he wanted to use it as a weapon and that's why he got a villain name. Dabi is more like the manifestation of all his trauma and grief. Dabi is a reminder, a scar and a story to tell.

See their arguments against the villain naming yourselves and get some free analysis about it:

From right to left*

Dabi:

(Villain names are) stupid. That's just some crowd-pleasing crap. A holdover from before the quirk registration system.

Dabi is the first to mention the origins of the hero and villain naming convections. Before there was order in their society, people needed names to identify their powers.

He's also aware that taking a villain name is done to both appeal to the public and oneself. See how Mr. Compress mentions that a villain name gives you class, or how Twice and Spinner seem to get it as a matter of being cool.

Touya himself knew he picked the name Dabi for the show. He's not particularly attached to it and he doesn't even defend his name when Compress decides to criticize it. Being Dabi is just a tactic.

Tomura:

There basically used to be no differences between heroes and villains. One story says... The alias stuff started when you'd have an anonymous enemy and you needed to call them something. From there, some decided to adopt those very nicknames to hide their identities.

Assuming another identity —like a new skin— was a matter of survival.

At some point, they went all-in with code names, ripped straight from comic books. According to this theory, it all started with people announcing themselves by those aliases, that's why the world's turned into a comic book.

Anyway, I'm good. (The names can be cool and all, but eh).

The rest assumes that Tomura has always been Tomura Shigaraki (even after hearing during MVA his confession about his past). In truth, you see he doesn't want a villain name. Like Toga, he rejected the idea when it was suggested.

Mr. Comic Book Fan #1 (AFO) was the one who gave Tomura his name and we all know what he did with those words. Similar to Touya's intention with the name Dabi, AFO hid Tenko Shimura so he could later use his identity as a weapon against All Might.

It was a matter of survival for Touya and Tenko alike. No one could know they were a Todoroki and a Shimura. That new identity prevented little Tenko from being found and allowed Touya the freedom to plot his revenge.

It's very important to me that they are the ones who tell Toga she doesn't need a villain name. She is good as she is, she must be able to live as she is too. Somehow, they protect her in her choice of not picking a skin to hide behind.

[librababe99]

hi!! can i request enemies to lovers w sexual tension with young charles xavier?? <33

Hi Anon!! I had about three different ideas on how to take this request and I think I found the one that will work the best🤭I hope you enjoy!

A Heated Debate

Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Young! Charles Xavier, Female Reader, Enemies to lovers, sexual tensions

Summary:  In the high-stakes world of mutant politics, You and Charles are bitter rivals. You’re, a fierce advocate for an aggressive approach to mutant rights, constantly clashes with Charles’ pacifist ideals during public debates. Their verbal sparring is intense, charged with both political conflict and unspoken desire. 

Word count: 1.5K

| Masterlist |

The room buzzed with the aftermath of the debate, the murmurs of the audience still echoing as people began to file out of the grand hall. You stood on the stage, arms crossed, seething beneath the carefully crafted mask you wore for the public. Another debate with Charles, another frustrating round of endless philosophical differences that seemed to lead nowhere but further entrenchment in your views.

Your fingers curled tightly around the notes in your hand, the paper crumpling slightly as you glanced toward him. Charles Xavier. Brilliant, articulate, annoyingly calm in the face of your fiery arguments. His peaceful rhetoric grated on you, especially in times like these when the world seemed to be falling apart for mutants.

"Mutual understanding," "humanity will come to accept us in time," "we must be patient." How could he still believe that? With anti-mutant violence rising, governments around the world pushing for mutant registration, and so many of your people living in fear—how could he remain so naively idealistic? Worse, how could he make it sound so convincing?

You had to admit it—he was good. Too good.

The crowd had loved him tonight, responding to his polished arguments with the kind of enthusiasm that made your stomach turn. And yet, beneath your frustration, there was something else. Something that made your pulse quicken every time you locked eyes with him during these debates. Something you despised acknowledging.

You heard the quiet click of his shoes as he approached from the other side of the stage, his posture as effortless as his argument had been.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” Charles said, his voice that smooth, infuriating calm you had come to know all too well.

Your eyes snapped to him, a fire igniting behind them. “I don’t need your compliments, Charles. I’m not here to be handled.”

His lips quirked slightly, that maddening half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth as if he enjoyed needling you. As if your frustration was amusing to him. “That’s not what I meant,” he replied, tilting his head ever so slightly, his blue eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that felt as though he were trying to read deeper into you than you were willing to show.

“You always mean something,” you shot back, stepping down from the stage, heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. “Some noble little phrase to make everyone believe that you’re the reasonable one, and I’m just the reckless, angry woman.”

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he followed you offstage. “That’s not how I see you.”

“Well, it’s how you come across,” you said, pivoting to face him when you reached backstage, your voice lowering, but the fire was still there, crackling between the two of you. “You don’t listen, Charles. You talk about peace and patience as if you’re the only one with a real solution, as if my stance—our need to fight for our rights—is just noise.”

“You think I don’t understand the urgency?” he asked, his own frustration starting to show through his calm exterior. “I know what’s happening out there. I see the pain. I feel it every day, but—”

“But nothing! You’re not fighting hard enough!” Your words came out sharper than you intended, but you were too angry to care. The pent-up frustration you’d carried for months, perhaps years, finally spilling over. “Every day, mutants are targeted. We can’t sit around and wait for humanity to wake up and suddenly decide we’re equals.”

Charles closed the distance between you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned closer. “And you think war is the answer? That more violence will somehow win us the respect we deserve?”

“Sometimes, force is the only language they understand,” you shot back, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. You could feel the heat between you, both figuratively and literally, the air between you charged with something far more intense than simple disagreement. “You’re too soft, Charles. Too idealistic.”

“And you’re too angry,” he countered, his voice low, the calm veneer slipping away to reveal the passion underneath. “You’re letting your emotions dictate everything, and that will only lead to more destruction.”

“You don’t get to tell me how to feel,” you snapped, stepping forward until you were inches away from him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, though you refused to let it show. You couldn’t show weakness. Not to him.

“I’m not telling you how to feel,” Charles said, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper. “I’m asking you to see that there’s more at stake here than your anger.”

You stared up at him, your breathing shallow, chest rising and falling rapidly as the tension between you became almost unbearable. You could feel it now, the pull that had been lurking beneath the surface of every debate, every heated argument. The attraction that neither of you had dared to acknowledge.

And at this moment, the debate wasn’t just about politics anymore. It wasn’t about mutant rights or the philosophical differences that had driven a wedge between you and Charles for so long.

It was about the two of you. The crackling, undeniable heat that had been building with every word spoken, every glance exchanged.

“Why do you care so much about what I think?” you asked, your voice quiet but intense, eyes locking onto his. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

For a moment, Charles didn’t respond. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours as though he was weighing whether to say what he really wanted to say. The moment stretched on, thick with unspoken desire and frustration, until finally, he answered, his voice so low it sent a shiver through you.

“Because you matter to me. More than you know.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a second, you weren’t sure if you had heard him right. But the look in his eyes—the way they darkened with something far more primal than political disagreement—told you everything you needed to know.

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you closed the final inch of space between you, your body pressing against his as your lips crashed into his.

The kiss was fierce, driven by months of unresolved tension and anger. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and you responded in kind, fisting your hands in his shirt as if to anchor yourself to the intensity of the moment.

You shouldn’t be doing this. Everything about this was wrong. But you couldn’t stop. The fire that had fueled your arguments had turned into something much more dangerous—something neither of you could control.

His mouth moved against yours with a desperation that matched your own, his fingers digging into your hips as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. You could feel the heat of his breath, the way his chest heaved as the kiss deepened, as if all the arguments, all the frustrations of the past, had boiled down to this singular moment of passion.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, you pulled away, breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What are we doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet backstage room.

Charles’ forehead rested against yours, his breathing just as ragged as yours. He didn’t answer for a moment, his fingers still gripping your waist as though he wasn’t ready to let go.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice low, filled with the same uncertainty you felt. “But I can’t pretend this isn’t happening.”

You swallowed, your mind racing as you tried to process the fact that you had just kissed Charles Xavier—your rival, your ideological opposite, the man who represented everything you were fighting against.

But he wasn’t just that. Not anymore. Not after this.

“I can’t…” you began, but the words faltered as you felt his thumb brush lightly against your side, the smallest of touches that sent electricity through you all over again.

“I know,” Charles murmured, his lips hovering just over yours. “But we don’t have to figure this out right now.”

You stood there for a moment longer, your breaths mingling as you struggled to regain your composure. The weight of everything that had just happened hung between you, but for the first time, it wasn’t oppressive.

It was electric.

Finally, you stepped back, creating a small but necessary distance between the two of you. You had crossed a line tonight, and while you weren’t sure what it meant, you knew that things would never be the same.

Neither of you spoke as you gathered your things, the silence thick with the knowledge of what had just passed between you. As you turned to leave, you cast one last glance at Charles, who was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read—part desire, part regret.

“Until next time, Charles,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He gave you a small, knowing smile, his eyes still dark with the remnants of the fire that had burned between you.

“Until next time.” 

You walked out of the room, your heart still racing, your mind spinning with the weight of what had just happened. The debate wasn’t over. Far from it. But the battle between you and Charles had just changed—forever.

[artemis32]

Myriad • Aizawa

I kind of hate this, but also, it was fun to write - that being said, which character should i do next (after shiggy)

also, these will all be drabbles because I can't commit to fics. It just never works out

myriad masterlist

****

You were an enigma.

Aizawa, in all his years as both a Pro-Hero and a teacher, had never come across someone like you.

What was your quirk?

He'd been your teacher for nearly a whole semester, and he wasn't any closer to guessing the nature of your quirk.

The Quirk Registration Database had, shockingly, been little help. You were barely mentioned in the directory - your name was only accompanied by the vague mention of the number of quirks you possessed.

Two.

Was it a quirk passed down by one of your parents? A combination of both?

The longer he observed you though, the more certain he became that you were one of the few anomalies within society, someone who'd mutated a quirk, rather than had one passed down.

If pressed for an answer, he, quite frankly, wouldn't be able to tell what your quirk was. Of course, he had his suspicions (many of which were proven wrong), just like the other teachers and students (also wrong), but no one ever really knew for sure. And they wouldn't know until you told them yourself.

That same uncertainty that surrounded your quirk was a large part of the reason why you were paired against him in the semester's final practical exam.

With such an unpredictable quirk, the only way to truly gauge your proficiency as a hero was to take that quirk away.

It was more than obvious to everyone, teachers, and students alike, that your quirk was always active. It seemed instinctual, active without so much as a thought from you.

This time, Aizawa would test you, find out just how reliant you were on this mysterious quirk of yours.

****

Aizawa didn't curse, especially not in front of his students or fellow faculty, but he felt that, in this particular situation, it was warranted.

He'd been wrong. So laughably, terribly wrong.

Your quirk wasn't a crutch. Far from it.

He'd caught up to you quickly, neutralising your quirk almost immediately, and had gone in for the kill, capture weapon slicing through the air with a swift swoosh, and-

You'd evaded it.

Fast.

Too fast.

As far as he was aware, your quirk didn't include speed enhancements. Even if it did, your quirk was neutralised, made useless.

So why then were you so fast? How did you manage to evade his capture weapon in an instant?

He didn't have time to linger on it at that moment.

You were fast, yes, but he was faster.

Talent would only get you so far. In life, experience tended to trump talent.

As much as he hated it, he'd have to get in close.

He jumped down to street level, intent on ending things quickly.

****

He'd underestimated you. They all had.

Honestly, it was foolish of him to believe you relied on your quirk that heavily. It was clear to him now that while your quirk, whatever it was, might have been strong, your endurance and physical capabilities far exceeded even your fellow classmates.

It made him wander why you held back so much. Because you did.

The entrance exam, the USJ incident, even the sports festival - you seemed to hold back during all of it.

Aizawa didn't understand.

If your goal was to be a hero, to do well, why would you hold back?

You'd defeated him with little to no effort, barely breaking a sweat the entire time. He'd managed to wrap you in his capture weapon, with a lot more of a struggle than he'd anticipated, and it'd be pointless. The moment he blinked, your quirk had reactivated, and he'd been back to square one.

It was embarrassing - the fact that it seemed so easy for you to beat him and complete the exam without a quirk. Even your classmates had been shocked.

The only person who hadn't broken out into a cold sweat was principal Nezu, the small animal-like mutant cackling like a maniac, as if he knew something they didn't. He probably did.

****

"What exactly is your quirk?"

He'd finally reached his limit. He had to know.

Not only to satiate his curiosity, but also to determine exactly how they'd test you during the training camp. He'd held off for as long as he could, but enough was enough.

"Sensei?"

"Your quirk. What is it? Tell me."

You tilt your head, looking an awful lot like a small cat, even with that ridiculous blindfold he was certain you couldn't see through. How could someone so formidable in combat look so innocent?

"You don't know?" you ask, mouth pulling upward into a small grin.

Irritation creeps into his expression, making his brow twitch. You seemed shocked, amused, as if you'd given him any sort of indication regarding your quirk. To be frank, certain aspects of your personality grated his nerves.

You were, to put it bluntly, annoying. Childish beyond words, playful, and you often tended to tease others to the point of furor.

"No. I don't."

"Oh. Well, I have two quirks."

You speak slowly, as if using big words would confuse him.

He feels his jaw tick.

“Yes, yes,” he says impatiently. “I know. But what are they?”

“I can’t just tell you sensei. That’s no fun.”

You’re still grinning, but your tone has taken on a whinier quality, one that makes him rethink his choice to become a teacher. He feels a headache developing in his temples, fingers uselessly massaging the throbbing area as he groans.

“Just tell me.”

“Nope. I’ll give you three hints, and you can guess!”

Aizawa grinds his teeth together.

She’s a child. You don’t hit children.

Patience. Have patience, he reminds himself, sighing heavily.

You were like a more annoying version of Mic, except Mic didn’t make everything a game. You were like a toddler stuck in a demons body.

“Fine,” he sighs again, gesturing for you to continue.

You hold out your hand, holding up one finger.

“Hint number one!” you say, in a tone similar to a game show host.

“I’m like Buzz Lightyear!”

That’s… extremely unhelpful.

“Buzz… Lightyear?”

You pout slightly, flopping down into a chair opposite his desk with a groan.

“Aw, maaaan, you’re no fun sensei. How old are you anyway?”

A noise of disbelief rumbles through his chest.

“That’s not- Obviously I know who Buzz Lightyear is! I just don’t see how that’s relevant!”

That infuriating smirk finds it’s way back onto your face, and you kick your feet up on his desk while you lean back in your chair, the absolute picture of nonchalance. From somewhere inside your blazer pocket, you pull out a lollipop, mindlessly gnawing the red candy.

“Fine. Next hint then.”

You show him two fingers, head lolling back as you speak around the lollipop in your mouth.

“I’m like a dragonfly.”

Aizawa closes his eyes, a disgruntled sigh of disbelief escaping him despite his best efforts.

“What do dragonflies and Buzz Lightyear have to do with one another?”

You shrug, biting down on the hard candy, crushing it between your molars.

“Nothing.”

A toddler. An infuriating, know-it-all toddler. That’s what you are.

“Just… give me the last hint.”

You hold out three fingers.

“I’m like a combination of pi and… Hm…”

You pause for a moment, sitting up straight.

“And a sonar scan!”

“I give up.” Aizawa responds plainly.

“What?! But you didn’t even try to guess!”

He shrugs, arms crossed over his chest. “I give up.”

Your mouth pinches into a scowl, and he was sure that if you weren’t wearing that blindfold, you’d be frowning.

“Tell me, or don’t. I have no guesses.”

“Not even one?”

“Nope.”

You groan and slump in your seat, grumbling about how boring he is, and he has to fight to hide a small smile.

Okay. Maybe you were endearing. Slightly.

“Fine! You’re no fun.”

****

To say he was overwhelmed was a gross understatement.

Your quirks were terrifying. There was no other way to put it. They were powerful, and overwhelming, and just plain terrifying. You really had been holding back all semester.

When he asked why you hadn’t told anyone about your quirks, your response was simultaneously simple and off-putting.

“No one asked.”

As if you’d expected them to.

But… you had a point. In the entire four months you’d been in class 1a, no one had openly approached you and asked what your quirk was.

Come to think of it, you weren’t exactly friends with any of your classmates either. Was it because they were thrown off by your mysterious quirks or your personality? Maybe.

Now that he knew though, he felt strangely… protective of you.

It wasn’t as if you needed his protection or concern.

Regardless, he decided that during the summer training camp, he’d pay you some extra attention. Not to help you improve your already flawless quirk, rather, he wanted to… observe you. You’d piqued his interest.

[stairain]

The Chase.

Getting pulled over wasn't exactly your plan for a Friday night, but getting pulled over by a hot officer just might be.  

Warnings: Hard Dom Spencer, Police Officer Spencer, strong power dynamic, primal play (being chased, predator/prey), handcuffs, doggy style, car sex, degradation, slapping, cum swallowing, hair pulling, blowjob.

WC: 4.8K 

You knew you had been speeding, but you still couldn’t help the groan that left your lips when flashes of red and blue approached behind you and beckoned you to pull over.

You silently sat in your car as a tall policeman came up to your window, knocking on it. With a fake polite smile, you lower the window.

“Good evening, Officer.”

The man looks serious, not unlike yourself. He has kind eyes, but looks serious, as if this is the thousandth car he's had to pull over.

"Evening. Could you explain why you were driving 60 in a 45 miles-per-hour zone?"

You sigh and shake your head, looking up at the man with a faux innocent look.

“I-I didn’t even notice, my apologies, officer.”

He looks back down at you with an unamused look, and crosses his arms over his chest. 

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard that more times than you could imagine. License and registration, please."

You sigh and roll your eyes when you’re facing away from him as you reach into the glovebox and take out your wallet.

The officer takes the documents and goes back to his car. You have a moment to yourself: your mind wanders as you look out the window, waiting for him to come back.

You hadn’t taken the time to really get a good look at him, considering you were far too annoyed that you had been pulled over. But as he walks away, you admire the strong physique of his body.

And once he walks back up to your car, a small smirk creeps onto your face when you realize how attractive he is.

Your expression must give you away, because he returns your smirk with a slight, amused smile of his own.

"Is there something funny?" he asks, handing your documents back to you, his tone still a little teasing.

You take them from his hands and brush your fingers against his purposely.

“Don’t you have anything better to be doing tonight? Or is pulling me over your definition of a fun Friday night?”

Your voice is teasing and there’s a mischievous smile on your face as you put your wallet away.

His amusement grows, and he raises an eyebrow. You're enjoying yourself.

"I'm just doing my job, ma'am," he says. "There have been a lot of reports of people speeding near here, so I'm just looking out for the safety of the community."

You tilt your head to the side and bite your lip as you look at him.

“You think I’m dangerous?” There’s a short moment of silence, before you speak to him again, your voice a little lower this time. “Don’t think I’m a good girl?”

"Well, your speeding certainly put you on the radar. As for the other one, well, you tell me." He winks, and then leans a little closer. "I'm going to give you a pass this time. Just... don't do it again, alright?" He's clearly enjoying this. He seems to like your style. 

A small huff leaves you in amusement, and you lean to rest your forearms over the opened window. 

“Why? Don’t wanna see me again?”

You catch him off-guard. He pauses, not expecting such a flouncy response.

“You certainly know how to make an impression." He says, his voice more serious. He's not sure how to proceed. He seems.. Intrigued.

“And what’s that?”

The officer’s gaze never leaves yours, and you can see the look in his eyes darkening the more he stares down at you. 

"Just someone who knows how to get herself in trouble." He grins. "Now run along. Or I'll have to arrest you."

You quirk a brow and lean further on the ledge, getting closer to him and looking up at him with those wide eyes of yours.

“Threatening me with a good time, Officer..?”

Your voice trailed off.

The grin on his face grows and takes his badge out of his pocket. 

“Officer Reid.”

He tucks it back away and almost regrets telling you the second he does. You could’ve been an undercover cop, reporting back his superiors that he’s trying to fuck every person he pulls over for speeding. 

"Are you trying to get arrested?" He knows this isn't how he's supposed to handle the situation, but he's enjoying it, and he's enjoying you. "Because I can put you in the back of a cop car right now.”

You bite your lip and look back at his car parked behind you. The lights still flickering, bright colors flashing against your skin as the evening sky only adds to it. When you look back to him, you grin.

“Never been in one before, Officer.”

Spencer chuckles a little. "Is that your way of asking me to do that?" You're teasing him now; you're flirting with him, and he knows it.

"You're a funny one," he says, "and you seem like you'd put up a fight." He raises an eyebrow. "Am I correct?"

You shrug, sitting back into your seat.

“I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem, you seem like you don’t like it easy.”

He smiles, but not fully.

"And you seem like someone who likes to push boundaries."

He's not afraid of you. Actually, he's intrigued.

"What do you get up to when you're not speeding?" He asks, his tone a little teasing again.

With a cocky tone in your voice, you let out a light chuckle.

“Put me in the back of your car and maybe you’ll get a hint.”

The man’s eyebrows raise in surprise at your forwardless, and lets out a laugh of his own.

"Oh, you are trouble, aren't you?" He leans closer, closing some of the distance between you. As he looks down at you, the fire in his eyes looks borderline animalistic. "But I think I like that."

You unbuckle your belt, almost making a show out of how your fingers press the release button and seductively pull the belt away from your body.

“You think?”

He notices your body language and watches as your fingers undo that belt. When the buckle is released he leans even closer. He's attracted to you. A lot.

"I know."

His tone grows more serious. He's not sure if he should do it. It's unprofessional as hell, but god does he really want to.

You unlock the car, and the loud clicking rings through both of your ears. The noise almost confirmation for how much you want this.

“Then what’re you gonna do about it, Officer?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips, and then your body and then back up at your face. Without saying another word, he takes out his handcuffs.

“Ma’am, please step out of the vehicle with your hands behind your back.” 

You look up in thought for a moment, before crossing your hands over your chest and nonchalantly lean back against the seat of your car.

“No thanks.” 

"No thanks?" 

Your resistance sends a thrill through him, but it's a double-edged sword. He likes that you're fighting back. A lot. But he also has to do his “job”.

"Are you refusing a lawful order?"

He lets his voice carry with it the insinuation of a threat. A small, evil smile appears on his face. 

“Maybe I am.”

He doesn't want you to run, but he kind of does want that, too. You're so unpredictable in the best way possible.

“Ma’am, I’m going to ask you one more time. Please step out of the vehicle.”

When you stay silent and don’t move, he’s suddenly reaching his arm into your car and unlocking the car himself. You bite your lip when he grabs you by your arm and drags you out of the car, pressing you against it with him standing behind you.

His arm is tight on your arm, restraining you, but not painfully. He's gentle enough, but firm. He stands close to you, looming over your head as you're pressed against the car. You can smell him, his cologne, and you can feel him. You can feel the warmth of his chest against your back, and the telltale bulge in his pants.

"Now, are you willing to do what I say?"

He asks, his voice low and predatory. The threat in his tone is clear. So is his intent.

“Never.”

Your voice is tempting and defiant as you try to look back at him where your head is pressed against the cold metal of the car door.

"Then I have no choice."

One hand holds your arm behind your back, and the other places cuffs around your wrist. He locks them up with a loud clicking.

"You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent.." He recites the Miranda rights, but you sense that he's not really doing this by the book.

A downright dirty smirk forms on your face as you feel the harsh metal of the cuffs being fastened around your wrists, and you’re not listening to a word he says as he walks you back to his car.

Spencer opens the door of his car and forcefully pushes you inside before slamming the door in your face. You hear him get inside the driver's seat, his door shutting with a thud.

"You'll really try to make this difficult for me, won't you?" he says, but he's not mad. Not even a little bit. Your stubbornness was oddly arousing to him, a sense of responsibility to put you in your place washed over him the more he was in your presence. 

“You like a challenge, do you not, officer?”

You hold your hands behind your back, trying to fidget with them in a fleeting attempt to break free and stare at him through his rear view mirror.

"I do. Very much."

He starts up the car, puts it in gear, and then drives off. He smiles back at you, a predatory little smile adorning his features. His eyes stay on the road, but his attention is on you, watching you. Watching everything you do. 

The sky around you suddenly darkens as he pulls onto a dirt road, trees surrounding the car as he drives further into the woods.

There are no streetlights, and it's pretty dark. The only light was the blinding headlights of his cop car, flashing against the foreboding looking trees that surrounded the both of you. You've gone way past the edge of town, you've gone way off the road you were once on.

After a few more minutes of aimless driving, he parks the car and gets out. He goes around the car, pulling you out of the backseat and pushing you, roughly now, against one of the trees. 

A loud gap leaves you as the air is forced out of your body with the way he’s pressing up against you. The rough bark rubs against your bound hands, making you wince. You swallow and look up at his eyes full of lust and hunger as he stares back down at you.

His eyes are burning with something you can barely describe.

"You really don't like to be told what to do, do you?" He asks, and there's no more amusement in his tone. He's deadly serious.

"But you've managed to get yourself in trouble." His face is close to yours, and his body's pressing you against the tree. His arms are around you, his hands caressing your jaw.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as adrenaline and arousal flow through your bloodstream. As he gets closer to you, an evil smile crosses your face and you slip out of his hold, running from him.

"If you think you can outrun me, go ahead," He says as he lets you scurry off. He knew you wouldn’t be able to get away from him.

With a laugh, he gives chase. You move fast, but he's faster. You know you can't beat him in a sprint. He's not even out of breath.

You keep running as he chases you, and you're starting to get breathless. You keep looking back as you go. He's catching up. You can feel him practically breathing down your neck: he's getting closer.

When you no longer hear his footsteps behind you, you’re panting heavily and lean your back against a large tree. You tried to quiet down your heaving, as to not give yourself away.

Being chased by him like you were nothing but prey to him was turning you on beyond belief. You loved the chase. As you leaned up against the tree, you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together, biting your lip to contain the moan that threatened to escape you. 

Spencer catches up, but you don't hear him approaching until he appears from behind. You turn your head towards where you hear him, but the second you crane your neck, he's right in front of you, and he pins you against the tree. 

His arms are around your waist, holding your body tight. He's breathing a little hard, but his eyes are nothing short of predatory. His expression is dark and dangerous.

"You really, really should've listened." He doesn't seem the least bit angry. He sounds calm and mocking, as if taunting you.

"Now, what should I do with you?"

Your mouth goes dry when you try to respond, but then he’s quickly throwing you over his shoulder with no trouble at all.

A small yelp leaves your mouth and you begin to thrash in his hold. You scratch at his uniform and weakly hit his back, but he just continues to walk back to his car, ignoring your attempts to free yourself.

You're helpless. You have no power. No control. He just carries you back to his car, his grip iron-solid on your waist. You're completely at his mercy.

The bright white lights of his headlights shine through the dark trees as he approaches his car. With a grunt, he forcefully slams your body down against the hood of his car, bending you over and having you entirely at his will to do anything. With your hands cuffed, there’s not much you can do as he stands behind you, pressing his body into yours.

“Fuck..” You whimper out.

You're bent over the hood, pressed against the cold metal. He's close to you, so close. You can feel the heat of his body and hear his quickened breath. The smell of his cologne is near unbearable. You're vulnerable, completely at his mercy, and you love it. You’re beyond turned on when he presses his body into yours, where you feel just how much he’s loving this too. 

His heavy cock sits in his boxers, and he pushes it against your plush ass. You can do nothing but sigh and drink in his quiet groans.  

You're powerless here. He can do anything he wants to do to you. You helplessly moan when you feel his cold hands reach for the band of your pants and forcefully pull them down, exposing your ass to the frigid air around you.

His large hands splay over your exposed rear, and you melt into the touch.

“I’m a good girl I promise, Officer.”

"Hm?" He asks, looking down at you. His eyes are dark and predatory and his voice is quiet. That touch of his was strong, controlling. Everything from his touch and tone screams to you that he’s in charge, whether you like it or not.

"I'm not sure I believe you. You were so quick to break the law and to try to get away."

A cold breeze is starting to chill you, and a small shiver runs up your back. He's quiet for a moment, enjoying the control he has over you. "Perhaps you deserve a punishment."

You shake your head but he’s quick to reach a hand out and press your cheek against the car, forcibly holding you down. “N-No, Officer. I’ll be good I promise.”

"I don't think you will be." He says, and he's still holding down your face. His voice is cold and clinical.

His words aren't a threat, it's a prediction. It's the truth. It's a fact.

"You’ll just get into trouble again, won't you?"

He keeps his hand on your cheek, and he moves it and strokes your face. His touch is gentle - tender– yet forceful.

“Maybe.. I’ll get into trouble as many times as I can if you’re the one after me.” Your voice is teasing and amused, despite your predicament.

His eyebrow twitches slightly. Your comment was a little bit too playful– and it was definitely a challenge.

"Oh yeah?" He says, and now his voice contains something new. There's an edge of something to it. There's something sinister to it. "Is that so?"

You bite your lip and smile up to him as best as you, and as you speak it’s clear just how sarcastic your tone is.

“I’d never lie to you, Officer.”

Spencer sucks on his teeth for a moment with an unamused look on his face before he’s letting go of your face and moving his hands down to urge down his pants and underwear. 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” 

The cold surface of the car sends a chill down your spine, but his hot and heavy presence pressing up against you serves as warmth enough.

All you can hear is the impatient sound of fabric and metal being pulled off his body, before you can feel the weeping tip of his cock pressing against your slickened folds. He lets out a low groan at the feeling of him sliding along the lips of your cunt. 

He wants to make a snarky comment, ask if you’re always this wet, or maybe ask if your little game of cat and mouse had you soaking through your underwear, but he refrains. 

To make up for its absence, he tilts his hips forwards and slips his head between your folds, just barely grazing the hole that was practically begging to be filled. With a pout, you try your hardest to push back against him, to have him “accidentally” glide into you. 

But despite only knowing you for an hour, he knows you enough that he’s already two steps ahead. Spencer pulls his hips back with a disapproving click of his tongue.

“I let you off of a speeding ticket, the least you could do is be a good girl and stay still.” 

You whimper at the gravelly tone in his voice, and make a small noise of acknowledgement. The bold persona you had sported before had melted away with the steaming hot tension between the two of you. 

Your obedience is quickly rewarded as he pushes his body forward, slowly sheathing himself in your drench walls. A breathy moan leaves your lips as your pussy greedily swallows his shaft, pulling him deeper and deeper into the soaking wet warmth. 

Spencer’s hand is quick to grab at the base of your head, grabbing a handful of hair and gripping firmly at the roots. He pulls back, forcing your neck back so you’re looking up at the dark night sky. 

“I don’t want to hear a single thing from you. Can’t let anyone know what we’re doing out here, hm?”

His other hand finds solace on the curve of your hip and waist, his grip borderline bruising as he uses it to fuck into you. His pace is unforgiving and aggressive, pushing and pulling his dick in and out of you as hard it had your walls already aching. 

And yet, all you could do is bite down on your lip so hard you could taste your own blood, and it only served to turn you on even more. The slap of his hips against your ass has you reeling, trying your hardest to bow your head down, but with the grip he has on your hair, it proves impossible. 

The hands stationed behind your back writhe and try their best to break from the cuffs, and when he sees this, he only humps into you harder and faster with a cocky huff. 

“Why’re you trying so hard to escape? Gonna run again?”

Your puffy folds are being rubbed raw with how sharp he was fucking into you, the heavy pounding of his hips pushing his dripping member deeper into you with each pass. Spencer leans over you the closest he can, and tightens the first in your hair. 

“You know I’ll catch you again, so don’t even think about it, sweetheart.” 

You involuntarily clench at the husky tone in his voice and the indication of him hunting you down again. Having you run through the dark forest, slick dripping down your thighs as you try your hardest to evade him, only for it to testify his claim that yes, he would in fact catch you again. 

“I-I won’t.. won’t run from you again, Officer. I p-promise–oh fuck–promise. I’m–I’m yours.” 

Your voice came out jumbled from the force of his thrusts, making an evil grin spread across his sweaty face. Reducing you to a blubbering mess as he tore you apart on his cock filled him with more satisfaction than anything else. 

He looked down to where his body met yours, and growled out a moan at the sight of your milky arousal pooling around the base of his length, and the way your ass was blooming with shades of pink and red with how hard he was slamming his hips into it.

His nails were digging into the skin of your hip, and the slight sting made you wince in pain. The hand in your hair was still relentlessly tugging at it, and he had the audacity to start using it as a handle to fuck into you in a harder, more methodical way. 

Your ass bounced back against in deep calculated thrusts, and every time your body lurched forward, he’d pull you back almost immediately by your hair. Your eyes squeezed in both pain and pleasure at the feeling of your roots being abused by his hand. 

“Thought I told you to be quiet. What happened to being a good girl?”

His tone is condescending and dark as he talks down to you, accentuating his words with the tilt of his hips and the yank of his fist. 

A deep ache settled in a pool at the bottom of your stomach, pushing harder and harder against your cunt, urging you to finish here and now and flood his headlights. 

However, despite how much your body was screaming at you, you were afraid to face the Officer if you came around his cock so early on, especially without his permission. He was already fucking you with a hostility that could only be described with one word: Angry. 

Your body ached from being bent over the hard metal of his car, your cunt convulsing around his shaft splitting you open, as he treated you like you were nothing but a doll to him. 

Spencer groaned as he felt you twitching around him, and a cruel smile twists on his face when you stutter and try your hardest to speak through his thrusts and your whimpers. 

“I-I’m.. Cum, I’m gonna.. gonna cum, please, please.” 

He abruptly pulls himself out of you, relishing in the way his cock drips with your slick as it bobs in the cold night air.

“No, you’re not.” 

His voice is almost as sadistic as the expression on his face, and he roughly yanks your head back, almost pulling you off the hood of the car. 

“On your knees.” 

You collapse to the ground in front of him and shift on your legs as you look up at him with teary eyes. His length, hefty and dribbling precum, swayed in front of your face, almost taunting. 

His hand moves to your face, running the tips of his fingers over the cheek of your skin, before moving up and tenderly wiping the tears that well in your eyes. The gesture makes your heart stop for a moment, you were surprised he was showing you mercy, so you didn’t get too comfortable.  

Looking up through your lashes, eyes wide and as innocent as you could muster, you swallow as you wait for him to make the first move. You wouldn’t dare try anything now, he knew that. 

Slowly leaning forward, the tip of his cock brushes against your pouty lips, smearing his spend all over you. His voice is quiet as he speaks to you, and the hand in your hair twists. 

“Open.” 

Your mouth drops open before he can even finish, and he smiles at your eagerness. The hand that was once caressing your face moves under your chin, holding the bottom of your head as he slides his cock against your tongue and down your throat. 

“Look at you.. finally being a good girl.” 

His voice is barely above a whisper now, and the whirring of his engine and the city’s faint noise pollution are the only things accompanying his words. The headlights of his car are shining against your back, and you can see the shadow of his form looming over you, cock down your throat, against the trees behind him. 

Once he’s pushed himself as far as he can, he readjusts his grip in your hair and starts to pull you up and down his shaft. Your thick spit coats him, pooling around the edges of your mouth every time you plunge back in because of how big he is. 

You moan around the mouthful and he grits his teeth with a groan at the vibration, plunging deeper and deeper, abusing the inside of your throat and rubbing the skin raw. You could just barely taste the salty precum against your tongue each time he pulled himself out of your mouth. 

His grunts and groans grow louder in volume and deeper in tone as his thrusts become erratic and animalistic. Spit and slick is dripping down your chin and chest, drenching the collar of your shirt and your skin. 

“Gonna–shit–gonna cum all over this pretty face..”

Your eyes water from how hard he’s stamping the back of your throat, and the ache in your jaw becomes unbearable as he works himself inside your mouth. It’s not another minute before he’s quicking ripping his shaft from between your lips and frantically stroking himself at the base as groan after moan seeps from gritted teeth. 

Your eyes flutter closed for a moment before they’re forced open when you feel a wet hand slap you across the face. With wide eyes you look up at him in disbelief, in which he just slaps you again. Your head jerks to the side from the force, and when you turn back to him, he’s shooting hot webs of his arousal all over you. 

Ribbons of white coat your face, streaming down your cheeks and running down your jaw. Your mouth parts in a soft moan when you feel the scolding fluid drenching your skin. 

Spencer throws his head back and bites his lips as his hips twitch forward with each pump of cum he deals to your face. His legs are shaking underneath him, and has to lean over you to hold onto the grill of the car in order to not collapse from the intense power of his orgasm as it washes over him in tsunami sized waves. 

The tip of his sopping cock pushes against your parted lips, shooting out even more of his spend against your tongue. You swallow with a sigh and look back up at him expectantly, your face is positively covered in the affects of his orgasm and when he drops his head back down, he only moans louder. 

He strokes himself one last time, body shuddering and hips jackhammering when his rough palm rubs over the sensitive undersize of his member, and explodes all over you again as he rides the wave of a second orgasm. 

A subsequent torrent of his cum coats your face, joining the previously expelled fluid as it all drips down your face. Some of it trails down your neck, and it makes you feel utterly disgusting in a way that only you would find irresistible.  

When he finally stops cumming, one of his hands reaches down to collect some of the liquid, swiping it off your cheek and forcing the finger into your mouth. He urges your lips open and pushes the soaked digit onto your tongue. 

The wet muscle wraps around the salty coated skin, sucking the cum off and giving him a show while you do it. Dragging your pursed lips over his finger, wide teary eyes bored into him.

Spencer scoffs above you in amusement before withdrawing his hand from you. 

“Is coming onto an officer a criminal offense?” 

Your voice is hoarse from the moans and his cock that ripped through your throat just minutes prior, and the rasp in your tone makes you sound absolutely wrecked. He rolls his eyes with a huff of a laugh and looks down at you.

“Why don't you get in the back of the car and find out?” 

[pedropascallme]

Office Hours

Pairing: professor!Damien Haas x f!Reader

Summary: "'I’m sorry,' Your gaze settled on the knot in his tie before moving upwards to look him in the eye. 'I’ve been—I guess I’ve just been getting easily distracted…big room, lots of people.' Hot professor."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), implied age gap (Damien is his actual current age, reader is 20-22), student/teacher relationship, spanking, dirty talk, praise kink, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), p in v, spitting, cum play, Medieval German literature (it needs a warning trust me), mild dom/sub dynamics, kinda softdom!Damien. If I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: Fuck it Damien Haas fic because that man has been tormenting me with his new hair and 5 o'clock shadow. I guess I write for the Smosh cast now.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses today.

His hair was pushed up, and you noticed he fiddled with it out of habit; short bangs falling over his face when he got into a point he was making before he pushed it back out of his face. It was an endless cycle.

His tie was ever so slightly loose around his neck, the first button of his shirt undone so that you could see the muscles in his neck quirk when he laughed.

If only you spent as much time studying for Professor Haas’s class as you did daydreaming about him, you might not be struggling to follow along with the lecture he was giving. But it all went in one ear and out the other; too focused on the way you could see his sharp upper teeth when he smiled at one of your peers, happy to answer a question. You liked the topic, in theory—really, you were taking the class for a reason, if Intro German Literature hadn’t appealed to you, you wouldn’t have signed up for it during your course registration, never mind that the man who taught it was young and pretty and sharp as a fucking tack. But you got so caught up with your own imagination, listening to his voice and the way he read lines of text that you otherwise wouldn’t have tossed a second glance toward.

And suddenly, it was your favorite class, and your lowest grade.

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall just as Professor Haas dismissed the class, his own line of sight cornering you where you sat. You packed your laptop away into your bag and began to follow your classmates out of the room when you heard your name called.

“Do you have a minute?” Dr. Haas leaned against the podium at the front of the room, looking concerned. You walked to the front of the lecture hall, fiddling with the straps of your bag and silently encouraging him to speak up again. “You’re not in trouble, I just—your grades are slipping. It feels unlike you.” He furrowed his brow, standing up straight to face you, and you hoped the fluorescent lighting did an alright job of hiding the blush that crept over your cheeks.

Busted.

“I’m sorry,” Your gaze settled on the knot in his tie before moving upwards to look him in the eye. “I’ve been—I guess I’ve just been getting easily distracted…big room, lots of people.” Hot professor.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” and he spoke with such sincerity that you almost believed him, the mortification seeping into your bones as if he knew exactly what was distracting you. “I know you’re a good student—honestly, I don’t blame you for getting distracted in here.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame, especially since Hildebrandslied is usually such an easy read.” You tried your hand at a joke to ease the tension you felt. He smiled.

“We could make it easier. Do you think one-on-one time could help?” He grabbed his jacket, laying it over his arm before returning his attention to you. “I have office hours tomorrow; I could carve out some time afterwards. Why don’t you swing by my office, we can go over some stuff.”

You tried to stop yourself from swooning, “I think that might help, yeah.”

“Great! Bring any questions you have. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You let him walk out ahead of you, leaving you alone in the classroom to consider what it would be like to spend time alone with the biggest crush you shouldn’t have.

~~~

“Come in!” You pushed the door open, standing idly in the threshold and cradling your laptop in your arms. “C’mon, sit.” Professor Haas looked up at you from the seat behind his desk. You’d never been inside his office before, but it had a cozy feeling to it; dark wooden furniture and cushioned chairs, a faint scent of lavender hanging in the air. He had knickknacks on his desk, characters you didn’t recognize, a small German flag hung over the door, and a bookshelf full of titles you were mostly unfamiliar with.

“It’s nice in here.” You spoke up, sitting in one of the chairs opposite him. He took off his glasses.

“Would’ve been nice to have a window. Dr. Topp, in psychology, is across the hall. Great window in his office.” You broke into a smile, and he did the same, keen to break up any awkward feelings to help you focus on your work. “What’d you bring for me?”

You set your laptop out in front of you, “I just…I don’t get it. And I knew I wouldn’t get it, since nobody gets it, because it’s, like, the worst, and it’s inconsistent, and riddled with copying errors—”

“Woah! Take it back a step,” He cut off your frustrated rambling with a laugh, “First things first, tell me which dialogue you’re having the most trouble with.”

“I guess…Hildebrand’s second speech? The one where he’s talking about Hadubrand.” You clicked your mousepad to open the PDF you had of the Hildebrandslied, highlighting the passage you were talking about before turning the screen towards your professor. He clicked his tongue at you.

“Think it might help to have an actual copy?” He arched a brow. You bit your lip, nodding an affirmative. You closed your laptop, watching him stand and walk over to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of the books with his finger before landing on the copy he was looking for, pulling it out of its spot on the shelf and bringing it back over to you.

“Thanks,” you expected him to return to his seat, but he remained behind your chair, leaning over you with his hand on the back of your seat to thumb through the pages until finding the passage you were confused by. “Maybe it was just the screen distracting me. Blue light, or whatever.” You offered, a shy joke to take your mind off of the way he loomed over you.

“Yeah? Wouldn’t be shocked. Helps to have it all down on paper sometimes.” His voice was deep, and it echoed through your whole body. He scanned over the words now, trying to find a good starting point, before letting out a triumphant exhale and pointing to the beginning of a sentence, “Start here.”

You began reading, painfully aware of your professor’s presence behind you and occasionally stumbling despite reading the modern English translation. You stopped when he cleared his throat.

“Tell me what that passage was about,” He prompted.

“I—I dunno, he’s talking about Hadubrand.” You felt yourself suddenly giving into the frustration this book had been causing you all semester.

“But what about Hadubrand? What’s the theme?” He pushed, trying to encourage more than a blunt, apathetic answer from you.

“I don’t know, Professor, you tell me.” You bit back, forgetting yourself and who you were speaking to for a moment, overwhelmed by him. “I’m sorry…” You mumbled, peaking at him from over your shoulder. He crossed his arms, looking down at you.

“What’s distracting you?” His voice was soft and calm, remarkably still for a man whose subordinate just snapped at him.

“I don’t know…” You lied through your teeth.

“Tell me. I can’t help if I don’t know what you need.”

You sucked in a breath, sharp and cold in your nostrils, before letting it out slowly, turning your body in your chair to face him fully. “…You.”

“Hm?” Professor Haas furrowed his brow, mouth parting slightly as if to say something before quickly closing it.

“You’re…distracting me.” You swallowed. The air around you suddenly felt thick, and you were prepared to hear him tell you how wildly inappropriate this was, how you needn’t even explain yourself, that you should just leave.

“Huh.” You watched him bite the inside of his cheek, raising an eyebrow. He walked back to the chair behind his desk, sitting with his legs spread, the fabric of his pants pulled taught over his thighs. “Come here,” he beckoned.

“Wh—” Now your brow furrowed.

“You need a little motivation. Come here. Sit.” He patted his thigh. You stood, pulse quickening as you walked toward him, hesitantly lowering yourself over him, thankful that you had chosen to wear a skirt that offered you the room to spread your legs wide as you straddled him. “That’s it,” he drank you in with his eyes, raking them over you, and you preened at his actions, arching your back into him slightly to give him a better view of you on his lap. “I think…for every wrong answer you give me, I get to punish you.” His voice took a wicked tone.

“And for right answers?” You whispered.

“So confident now,” He teased. “You’ll get what you deserve.” He smiled again, and you realized how beautifully dominant it made him look. “What’s the main theme of the story?”

“I—mm…” You racked your brain, now more distracted than ever, but trying desperately to make Dr. Haas proud, “I don’t know.” You answered meekly. You felt a sharp smack on your thigh, and you yelped, bunching the collar of his shirt in your hands.

“Try again.” He ran his hand in soothing circles over the spot he had hit.

“It’s—is it honor?” You felt him squeeze gently at the meat of your thigh before his hand glided over your skin to knead your ass.

“Good girl.” He gave you a particularly rough squeeze and you moaned, falling forward onto his chest, sticking your ass out to offer him easier access. “That’s right. See what happens when you do a good job?” His fingers dipped under the waistband of your panties. You mumbled a yes into his shirt, and he gave you a light spank. “What’s that?”

“Yes, sir.” You corrected yourself, hoping that’s what he was waiting for. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you flush against him so that your nose touched his.

“You like doing a good job?” His words were growled, and you nodded enthusiastically, “Gonna keep doing a good job?” You nodded again, and he continued his line of questioning. You remembered characters you thought you had no recollection of; names and places that had otherwise escaped you, as if sitting on his lap and letting him manhandle you was all you had needed to succeed. You lapped up the praise he offered you when you did well, and squirmed and whined when he punished your forgetfulness.

After 20 minutes, you found yourself huddled against him, face nuzzled into his neck as he recounted the things you needed more practice with, his hands roaming over your body. He pulled you out of your hiding spot gently, coaxing you to make eye contact with him. “Do you need anything else?” His fingers traced your jawline.

“Mm…” You leaned into his touch, “Need you, sir.” He halted his movements, and his hand found the back of your neck.

“Can I kiss you?” He scanned your face, dropping the façade of dominance; you saw his eyes anxiously searching for signs that he was overstepping any boundaries you had. You almost laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck, and closing the distance between you. You moaned at the taste of him against you, eagerly slipping your tongue into his mouth. He pulled at the hair on the back of your head, stepping back into his dominant role and setting the pace, showing you that he was in charge. He bit at your bottom lip before running his tongue over it to soothe the sting, then repeating the action over again. Your hand came to rest on his chest, fingers sloppily attempting to undo the buttons of his shirt, and he smirked against your lips. You felt one arm wrap around your waist, the other gripping your ass, and he stood up, holding you tight before placing you onto the desk. You wrapped your legs around his hips, and he undid his tie, giving himself space to undo the buttons of his shirt that you had been unable to.

“So pretty,” He broke from you briefly to untuck his shirt from his pants, “So pretty, so fucking good. Smart, pretty girl.” He reconnected his lips to yours, his hand on your jaw forcing your mouth open wide, allowing him to lick into you and watch saliva pool over your bottom lip. “Just needed a little discipline.”

You mewled, reaching out to trail fingers over his now uncovered skin, relishing the warmth of his abdomen as your palm connected to him. He moved down to kiss your jawline, nipping and sucking shapes onto your neck, pulling moans from you as he did so.

“Please,” You breathed out when he sucked on a sensitive spot over your collar bone, biting at the new bruise before licking over it. “More.” You felt his hand reaching between your bodies, flipping up your skirt, fingers pressing against the growing wet spot on your panties. You unwound your legs from around him, giving him space to touch you properly.

“Like this?” He was taunting you, watching you lean your head back on nothing and move your hips against his fingers in an attempt to gain friction where you desperately needed it.

“Yes, s—oh!” You wrapped your fingers around his forearm when he moved your panties to the side, plunging two thick fingers into your heat and moving his thumb in tight circles over your clit.

“There y’go,” He looked absolutely filthy like this; his hair falling over his eyes, muscles in his arm tensing as he pushed his fingers in and out of you, jaw clenched in focus, “need a reward for all the work you did today?”

You whimpered, grinding against his hand and choking on your breath when the tips of his fingers brushed the sensitive spot inside you. “Yes, sir—need you.”

“I know, baby,” He curled his fingers, pressing his palm against your clit and watching you squirm for him, “Let me see how pretty you look when you cum—show me how my good girl looks when she cums for me.” He feathered his fingers over your g-spot; fast, ticklish touches that made your toes curl and your back arch, and he soon had you trembling for him, cunt squeezing him when you came. He removed his fingers, and you felt yourself clench around the emptiness when he brought them to your mouth and told you to suck. “Yeah, good girl…” He palmed himself over his pants, and you hummed, licking your cum off of his hand before releasing his fingers with a quiet pop and reaching down to undo his zipper. He let you, watching you pull his cock from its confines.

You dropped from the desk and onto your knees, pumping his length in one hand and spitting on the other, joining them together to stroke him. He felt heavy in your hands, and you felt excited heat building in your stomach when you took his tip in your mouth, looking up at him from under your lashes to see his mouth agape, eyes focused on your movements. He pulled stray strands of hair out of your face, tugging them into a ponytail and guiding your mouth over him.

“God, I want to fuck your face,” his thumb swiped at the drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. “Want me to do that next time, baby? Use your mouth whenever you get an answer wrong?” You moaned, muffled by his cock in your mouth, thrilled by the promise of a next time. Your jaw quickly became sore, the stretch of his thick cock almost too much, and you gagged when his tip pushed against the back of your throat. He laughed softly watching you struggle to take it, hand guiding you backwards to give yourself room to breathe.

“You wanna get back up here and let me fuck you?” You pulled yourself off of him, clamoring to sit back on the desk and stripping your clothes from your body as quickly as you could, then letting him spread your legs open as he lined himself up with you. “So fucking eager—is this what you kept daydreaming about? Sitting in my class and thinking about letting me fuck you?”

“Yes—yes, sir. All I could think about,” You pulled him closer, letting him crowd you and pressing kisses into his neck while he stroked himself against you, “Needed it.” He grabbed you by the chin to bring your line of sight up to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes while the tip of his cock pressed against your entrance.

“Open your mouth,” you did as he said, shivering when he spit into your mouth before forcing your lips closed with his hand, “Swallow it.” You obeyed, opening your mouth once more to show him you followed his instructions, and he smiled, repeating the action, then dipping his tongue into your mouth to taste himself on you. The head of his cock still nudged your cunt, and you began to feel impatient.

“You want me to fuck you?” He was baiting you, had you exactly where he wanted you, and now all he needed was to hear you beg for it. It worked; rambled pleads and begged gibberish fell from your lips, imploring him to take you, hungry and desperate to feel his cock split you open. He pushed forward, nearly overwhelmed by the wet heat of your cunt as you swallowed the first inch, then the next.

“Fu—ck,” You let out a strangled cry, and he clapped a hand over your mouth.

“Gotta be quiet for me, baby,” though he desperately wanted to hear your moans, he knew it would be best to keep quiet, to not draw any attention to yourselves. Still, it didn’t stop him from pushing the rest of his length into you, watching your face contort in pleasure when he bottomed out. You let out a string of soft, pathetic whimpers, and he pulled you against his chest, letting you muffle your cries into his skin.

“So fucking perfect—fuck!—oh my god…perfect girl, take it just like that.” His voice came out in a growl as he rocked his hips into you roughly, pushing you back with the force of his thrusts until you were lying on the wood of the desk with your legs swung over his shoulders, eyes glazed over with satisfaction, completely cockdumb for him. His hands ventured upwards, squeezing your breasts before reaching back down to massage your clit. You arched into his touch, eyes rolling back and letting out whispered pleas for him to give it to you harder, faster, rougher, please, sir.

He gave you what you wanted; one arm enveloping your legs where they rested against him, guiding your body over his cock and watching the way your cunt hugged him, fluttering around him when he told you how pretty you looked, how his smart girl was taking his cock so well. The fingers on your clit sped up, primed to pull another orgasm from you.

“One more, baby, you can do it—let me feel you squeeze me nice and tight.” He leaned over you, thrusts still harsh and fingers on your clit moving with precision as he brought his lips to yours again. You let your legs drop from his shoulders and wrapped them around his torso, pulling him into you and letting him bury his cock inside of you. He rewarded you with a groan.

“Wanna cum—cum for you,” You stammered, fingers laced through his hair while your other hand gripped his bicep, “make me cum, sir.”

Your words spurred him on, and his thrusts became slow and deep, remaining absolutely carnal, pushing against your most sensitive spot and making your vision blur behind tears that threatened to spill. You pulled him down by his neck for another kiss, climaxing when his mouth connected with yours, legs spasming and thighs squeezing around his waist.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you watched his head loll forward and his eyes squeeze shut, nearing his own high. His thrusts were sloppy now, frenzied with need. He pulled out, fucking his fist before spilling over you; his cum painted your pussy, dripping over your swollen clit, your lips and inner thighs, before disappearing between the plush skin of your ass. He swore he would remember the image forever.

He got on his knees in front of you, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk before nipping at your thighs, licking his cum off of your skin. You sighed, before letting out a whimper when his tongue licked into your hole. He groaned at the way your taste blended perfectly with his own, sucking softly on your overstimulated clit while you tugged at his hair, mewling when he dipped his tongue into you again. He continued his ministrations for a while longer, returning to your thighs and sucking bruises onto the flesh. He returned to your core again, and the messy, wet sounds of his mouth on your cunt were music to your ears.

He stood again, panting, planting his hands on the desk on either side of you and head falling onto your chest. You combed your fingers through his hair.

“C’mere,” he straightened up and pulled you towards him, letting you wrap yourself around him and feel the warmth of his flushed skin against your own. His hand came to grip your jaw and you opened your mouth, "You learn so fast when you're paying attention." He mused, spitting into your mouth and watching you swallow. There was a moment of drawn out quiet; both of you steadied your breathing, remaining intertwined with each other. Professor Haas broke the silence first.

“Was that ok?” He stroked your hair, making ringlets around his finger before letting them unravel and repeating the movement with another strand.

“Just what I needed.” You spoke, voice still shaky from pleasure.

He cupped your cheek in his hand, analyzing your features with heavy lidded eyes. “Can I kiss you again?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, “Your cum is dripping down my leg. You can do whatever you want.”

“Can’t blame a guy for asking,” He grinned and pulled you into him, taking his time with the kiss and savoring the way you tasted, his tongue occasionally bumping into your own as you patiently explored each other in your post-coital bliss.

“Think you’ll be able to pay attention during class time now?” He leaned his forehead against yours.

“Absolutely not,” you giggled, and he kissed your forehead, “might need more one-on-one time.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, the hand that was cupping your face moved to trace shapes on your back and shoulders, “think we could work something out.”

[five-rivers]

Gambler's Fallacy

AO3

Izuku’s expected path down, face-first into the concrete, halted.  He floated, staring at the retreating sidewalk, uncomprehending.  

“Sorry!” said an unfamiliar voice.  “I hope you don’t mind, I used my quirk on you!  Falling would be bad luck, wouldn’t it?”

“Um,” said Izuku, not sure how to explain that was the point to this very pretty girl with this super cool quirk, oh, no, why was she even talking to him?

She tapped her fingers together, and her quirk let him go.  “Good luck on the exam!” she said, walking away.

“Uh-um, y-yeah,” said Izuku.  

Crap.  Did that interaction count as good luck or bad?  Obviously, Kacchan literally running into him on the way in was bad luck, and tripping was bad luck, but a cute girl rescuing him?  And then Izuku completely humiliating himself by not being able to say thank you?  If only his quirk took other people’s actions into account more, maybe he’d be able to tell.  Especially when he was trying to save up his bad luck by pulling on the negative side of his quirk.  

Speaking of which, he had an entrance exam to get to, and this would be the biggest test of his quirk since the day with the sludge villain.  That day had been awful.  He’d burned through his ‘stored’ luck and then some when All Might rescued him, bit his tongue so hard he wasn’t able to ask the man any questions, and then on the way home, he’d run into the sludge villain again, but this time, it was attacking Kacchan, and he’d had to tip his quirk balance even further into ‘debt’ for the luck to stab the villain in the eye with his pencil.  When he finally got the chance to go home after that, when the heroes (except for All Might) were debating whether to berate him for quirk use, or interrogate him over his ‘clearly fake’ quirk, only constant vigilance kept him from being run over by a car or kidnapped.  

(Luck only took you so far.  Skill and hard work closed the gap.)

But he was far more prepared today!  The last time he’d spent a significant amount of luck all at once was when he met Mr. Yagi, who’d been organizing a community volunteer event to clean up Dagobah beach.  Izuku had… needed a pick-me-up after his quirk registration had been audited again.  He was glad he did.  Mr. Yagi was the sort of guy who was so uncool he sort of rolled over into being cool again, and he worked at Might Tower.  Izuku really liked Mr. Yagi.  Even if he did sometimes look at Izuku as if he were debating saying something life-altering.  

Point being, he had a bunch of luck saved up, and he’d keep saving it all the way until he was taking the exam, leaning on his quirk just enough to make himself moderately unlucky until then.  

It worked pretty well, in his opinion.  The random seating for the written exam and for the practical orientation both put him next to Kacchan, he somehow grabbed the attention of someone confident uptight enough to scold him for muttering in front of a whole auditorium of people, he kept getting hit by doors, the robot bus driver somehow decided to register him as a bush, instead of a human, he tripped getting off the bus, the uptight guy scolded him again, and then–

“Start!” screamed Present Mic, from the announcer’s box.  

Izuku didn’t have to be told twice.

.

Izuku didn’t actually mind having bad luck.  

Not usually.  Not as long as it was only a little bad luck.  After all, what you did with your luck was what dictated your fate.  Plus, most small unlucky events, like spills, tears, and lost items, could be countered with only a little forethought.  Izuku had two of everything that was really important, and carried a mini sewing and stain removal kit with him almost all the time!

But… good luck was freedom.  Good luck made him feel as if he was invincible, as if he was flying, a thousand miles up and only getting higher.  Good luck was amazing.  

Good luck was an almost ideal weapon in his hand the minute he stepped into the fake city, a piece of pipe that was just the right length, the right height, the right width for him to hold onto easily. 

Good luck was catching sight of other students hitting the weak points of robots so clearly he knew he would be able to target them as well.  

Good luck was partially-destroyed but still functional robots practically offering themselves up to him for points.  

Good luck was being able to dodge every attack and stray friendly fire without even trying.  

Good luck was spotting when people were in trouble before they even knew it, and pulling them out of the way.  

Good luck was seeing that nice girl trapped under rubble, and throwing his pipe, spear-like, at the zero-pointer and having it hit something so vital that its progress ground to a stop.  

Good luck was… rapidly running out.  Actually, he’d burned through his saved buffer of bad luck a while ago.  

Oops.  

He didn’t even see the bit of rubble that fell on his head.  

He didn’t see anything until hours later when Recovery Girl woke him up in the infirmary.  

He didn’t even get to talk to the nice girl again.  

But… he thought he’d done well.  He could only hope he’d done well enough.  

.

He had!

.

Izuku checked to make sure he wasn’t leaning on the negative side of his quirk too hard.  A quirk assessment?  A physical quirk assessment?  On the first day?  One with expulsion as a possible consequence?

He was going to die.  

It wasn’t like he’d neglected physical training.  Mr. Yagi had even given him some suggestions for it!  (It turned out that before he’d been a secretary, he’d been a personal trainer… who knew?)  But, naturally, he’d focused on his quirk, and his quirk was anything but physical.  In a class with Kacchan and people with enhancement-type quirks…

Kacchan promptly underlined the point by blasting a baseball hundreds of meters away in the ball toss while shouting “DIE!” at the top of his lungs.

He was really going to die.  

Unless… unless everyone else lost.

He raised his hand.  “Mr. Aizawa, do you mean we can do anything to make our scores better in comparison with our classmates?”

“As long as you don’t injure anyone, yes.”

Well.  He’d learned long ago that good luck for him sometimes meant bad luck for other people.  He… really didn’t want to be expelled.  But could he do that to his new classmates?  Could he sabotage them like that?

.

The answer was, no, he couldn’t.  But he could, apparently, get one of UA’s observation drones to go haywire, catching his baseball at the top of its arc and then zooming off to who-knew-where over a kilometer away at high speed.  

He could also promptly get plowed into by another drone, which had suffered from the same AI malfunction as the first, and have to go to Recovery Girl for the resultant broken arm.  

.

Sometimes, Izuku wondered if his quirk had a mind of its own, and, if so, what was up with its sense of humor.  

No one was expelled.  

.

Izuku stared at the numbered ball in his hand.  He’d decided to take it easy in the luck department today, not leaning on it either way, but, really, this was far too much, just to make things even.  

Next to him, stood Uraraka, who he might finally have a real conversation with.  Across from him, stood Kacchan, who was definitely going to take this opportunity to beat the crap out of him.  

Thank goodness nothing big was riding on this Battle Trial.  Even if All Might kept looking at him like he was going to say something life-altering.  

Actually…  Was All Might related to Mr. Yagi?  No, that was silly.  Just because two people worked in the same place and had similar mannerisms, and the same color of hair, and the same color of eyes, and the same smile, and similar heights, didn’t mean… um…  Hm.  

That was a thought for later.  

For now…

“My quirk is called Gambler’s Fallacy,” said Izuku.  “It lets me manipulate my luck.  I can store up bad things that happen to me, and then use them to make me lucky later, or, if I don’t have any luck stored, I can make myself lucky now, but I have to pay for it later.  I can also make myself unlucky on purpose, and store up the bad things that happen because of that.  But I don’t have anything stored up right now, since I spent it all yesterday, during the quirk assessment.”

“Wow,” said Uraraka, “that sounds really complicated.  So, you could just… make us win?”

“Not exactly.  If winning or losing was based entirely on chance, then, yes, but it isn’t.  This is mostly skill and ability.”  

“Mm,” said Uraraka.  “So we’ll just have to be more skilled!  Anyway, even if you can’t make us win, we’ll know that we didn’t lose just because of dumb luck, right?”

Izuku nodded.  “You’re right!  I, um, I do have a plan.”

“Let’s hear it!”

.

Izuku’s quirk apparently thought winning  was worth breaking an arm (again).  Maybe if he factored in Recovery Girl’s quirk, he could understand that.  

But it still hurt.  

(And Kacchan was still angry.  Izuku wished he’d stop blaming all of his bad luck on him.  Even if it was Izuku, this time.)

.

Getting trampled twice in one day, first by reporters, then by people running away from reporters, was definitely bad luck.  

.

“I tend to say whatever is on my mind,” said Asui– No.  Tsu.  She said to call her Tsu.

“Okay?” said Izuku.  

“Your quirk is very hard to understand.”

“Ah, yeah,” said Izuku, rubbing the back of his neck.  “It is.  I’m really glad quirks grow with you.  If I was able to push my luck then as much as I can now, I probably would have died.”  As it was, he'd gotten into a few bad situations over the years.  Once, while operating with neutral luck, he'd won a contest that was apparently more chance-based than advertised, and the results had been… interesting.

('Interesting' being code for terrifying.)

“Hah!” scoffed Kacchan.  “There’s nothing hard to understand about it!  He just sabotages everyone around him!”

“Like you’re any better,” said Kaminari, as Izuku slouched down in his seat, trying to disappear.  “If you don’t tone things down, all of us will be deaf by the time we graduate!”

“I could make you some earplugs, if you think that would help,” offered Yaoyorozu.  

.

As it turned out, being attacked by a whole league of villains during the first field trip of the school year was so absolutely, unmitigatedly bad that it topped off Izuku’s ‘gauge.’  The last time that had happened, he’d been in elementary school.  

It meant that he danced around the first attacks with ease, and when he did fall through a portal, it deposited him right outside a very clearly labeled maintenance door.  It was locked, but Izuku’s costume didn’t include a utility belt just for aesthetics.  He pulled a set of ‘universal’ keys out of one of the pouches, jammed the first one he grabbed into the lock, and grinned as he heard all the tumblers click home.  

Random chance was his friend today.

He ran up, into a sort of control room.  Several of the screens were blinking, warning that the system had lost connection to the main campus.  He cleared the warnings and swept his eyes over the controls.  There was a set of headphones on one of the monitors, and he put them on.  They’d been sized for someone bigger than him, but that was fine.  There were sounds coming through them, so… There.  He could switch freely between hidden microphones in a number of places, apparently.

More importantly, at the moment, he could control vital aspects of a number of the simulations.  He got to work, draining the shipwreck zone, strategically flaring the fires in the conflagration zone, activating a landslide in the landslide zone, ‘rebuilding’ collapsed houses in the typhoon zone…  Anything he could think of, to damage the chances of villains and let his classmates escape.  

Then, his elbow hit the microphone button, switching what the headphone channel to the central plaza just in time to hear ‘Shigaraki Tomura’ order ‘Nomu’ to kill Mr. Aizawa.  

.

All Might burst through the doors before Izuku could even begin to come up with a plan to escape the frankly horrifying Nomu, and never before had Izuku been so relieved to feel his luck drain away and equalize.  

All Might was here - and that was apparently equal to the villains in the eyes of his quirk.  They’d be safe, now.  They were saved.  

Izuku almost cried.  

Then he really did cry as Nomu and the portal villain actually proved to be a challenge.  If Nomu could hold All Might still, and the portal villain could portal one of All Might’s limbs to Shigaraki Tomura…  Or even if the portal villain could close a portal with something in transit…  

But that didn’t happen.  

Instead, All Might punched Nomu through the roof of the USJ.

Izuku tracked Nomu’s meteoric rise with a sense of wonder.  His quirk was great and all, but he’d never, ever be able to do anything like that.  

The rest of the teachers piled through the hole All Might had made in the side of the USJ, and the portal villain swept himself and Shigaraki Tomura away.  Izuku, finally, let himself relax, loosening his grip on his quirk.  

He… didn't think that anyone had died.  That was as lucky as they could possibly expect to be.

.

The problem with the sports festival was that the positive Izuku’s quirk was only effective for short periods of time.

Could he constantly maintain a low level of good luck, like he could with the bad?  Technically, yes.  He’d been tempted to do just that more than once.  But if he ever lost grip on his quirk while he was carrying around a big luck debt…  Well.  It was better to be owed luck than to owe it.  When not being actively managed, his quirk tended to just equalize.  

Could he save up and then slowly spend his good luck?  Again, technically, yes, but… and this was something Izuku was embarrassed to admit…

He was bad at spending good luck slowly.  In fact, not only did he usually push his good luck to happen faster than it usually would, when he was using that side of his quirk, he tended to overshoot.  By a lot.  Hence incidents like at the end of the entrance practical.  

(He was glad he hadn’t overdrawn his luck at the USJ.  He’d probably have had Nomu fall on him or something.)

If he wanted to do well in the sports festival, he couldn’t do that.  It wouldn’t do him any good to win, say, a relay race, like they’d done for the second event  a couple years ago, and then step on his shoelace and concuss himself before he could do anything for the next event.  

So.  He had to figure out how to either regulate his quirk use better, or how to pass at least one event without using it.  Preferably both.  

.

Izuku kept his quirk in neutral until the minefield.  Who decided that a minefield was a good idea for a school sports festival?  Well…  Plus Ultra, he supposed.  

He had an idea.  

He had an idea he needed to be lucky for.  But he'd only have to be lucky for a minute.  Maybe even less.  

He put his scrap metal shield aside, and started stacking mines.  When he figured he had enough, and had them in more or less the right shape, he picked up his scrap metal and, using it to shield himself, jumped on the mines.  

He went soaring.  It was exhilarating.  It was terrifying.  It was working.  

Kacchan and Todoroki were in sight.  He was gaining on them.  He was–

Getting hit by a bird. 

He tumbled sideways, away from Todoroki and Kacchan.  Barely, he managed to get the shield under him again, before he hit the ground and another mine went off, sending him shooting in the other direction.  He landed back in the path Todoroki and Kacchan had cleared, which was weird if his luck had run out…

It hadn’t run out.  

Then where had the bird…?  Why…?

It didn’t matter.  What mattered was that he wasn’t going to try that again, but he need to get a move on if he wanted to finish this race.  He wrenched his quirk back to neutral, and started running.  

He came in third, and collapsed in the waiting area.  Yeah.  Running.  Being exploded.  Still hard.  

It took a while for everyone else to cross the finish line.  A while during which Izuku wondered why he’d been hit by that bird.  Maybe Kouda…?  No, he was nowhere nearby, and he usually didn’t make his helpers commit suicide runs which… that probably was, unfortunately.  Was his quirk just broken?  He didn’t like the thought of that.  His quirk screwed him over in a lot of ways, but it had never backstabbed him or failed to work.  

But as soon as Midnight announced the results…

Yeah.  

His quirk wasn’t broken.  

(He’d have to burn some incense for that poor bird, though.  Yikes.)

He, in third place, had a headband worth two hundred points for the next event.  Kacchan had one worth two hundred and five.  

Todoroki’s was worth ten million.  

.

Izuku’s calvary team was made up of Uraraka, Tokoyami, and Hatsume, an unfamiliar girl from the support course.  Hatsume was the rider.  Izuku didn’t have any offensive quirk that being rider would let him leverage, Uraraka didn’t want to be in a position where she would have to use her quirk on herself, and Tokoyami and Dark Shadow were strong together.  Hatsume, meanwhile, had all sorts of unbelievable gadgets that she could operate from the rider position.  

Between her and Tokoyami, their ability to collect headbands shouldn’t be bad.  While everyone else went after Todoroki and Kacchan, they should be able to snag smaller point values.  Once they got a comfortable number, they could use Hatsume’s jetpacks and hide out in the air until the clocks ran down.

“I’m impressed,” she said, after Izuku finished explaining the plan.  

“It’s nothing fancy.”

“Not that, third place.  I’m impressed you’re letting someone else take the spotlight.”

“Well,” said Izuku, “I’m… probably not going to be a spotlight hero, honestly.  My quirk isn’t all that fancy.”

“Hm.  Maybe.  I feel like we’ll be surprised.”

And maybe she was right.

The more chaos inherent in a system, the more Izuku’s quirk could do.  The cavalry battle had a lot of chaos.

So, when Izuku flared his quirk to give them just that little edge, trying to keep their points out of Iida’s hands–

Rin’s team and Kamakiri’s team slipped and fell as Honenuki overshot his quirk use, becoming immediately disqualified.  Monoma brushed against Todoroki… while he already was holding Kacchan’s quirk.  The explosion wasn’t the biggest Izuku had ever seen, but it wasn’t small.  Kaminari, startled, shocked Iida, who stumbled, and almost capsized their whole team, letting Kacchan almost grab the ten million point headband, except that Todoroki suddenly caught on fire.  

Izuku shut his quirk off.  He’d used more luck than he intended, but he still has some for later, and for now…

“Take us up, Hatsume!”

“Thought you’d never ask, third place!”

.

When they landed, they hadn’t finished in first place, but they were far from dropping out, which was a true relief.  

The third event was single combat, which, hm.  Yeah.  His odds weren’t good on this.  He was planning on losing a lot of the recreational games between the second and third rounds, but the stakes of those were low, so he wouldn’t get a lot of luck from them.  In a bare concrete ring, one on one, skill against skill, with almost no outside variables…  It was possible for his quirk to make someone trip over their own feet, or get weird muscle spasms, but under these circumstances, it would be expensive.

Well, there was a little interlude even before that, so he was going to go freshen up…

.

Neither Izuku nor his quirk could decide what kind of luck overhearing all that counted as.  First Todoroki trying to have some kind of rivalry heart-to-heart with Kacchan, where he heavily implied he was the result of a eugenics project, and then whatever that was with his father.  Should he report this?  Who would he even report this to?  Who would believe him?  

He was kind of freaking out.  

And Todoroki’s quirk.

“I thought I was the only one who had self sabotage as part of my quirk,” he whispered.  

Actually, he was pretty angry about that.  Edging into fury, really.  It wasn’t like Todoroki was the only one who’d been dealt a bad hand when it came to fathers, but Izuku wasn’t refusing to use his quirk over it, even though his father’s permanent departure had been the inciting incident for his quirk’s first activation.

(His father abandoning them had, actually, given Izuku a small reserve of good luck that took several days to naturally deplete.  It was something Izuku was perversely grateful for, knowing what his quirk might have done to him otherwise.)

But what could he do?

Except, maybe…  He’d used his fire instinctively, in the cavalry battle.  Maybe if someone could pressure him…

Could Izuku do that?  

No.  Probably not.  Not without a lot of luck. 

… this was going to be painful later.  

.

Of course, he couldn’t beat sense into Todoroki unless he actually made it to the second round of battles.  Making it to the second round of battles seemed… unlikely, at the moment.  His quirk couldn’t protect him from his own stupid decisions, after all.

He was walking towards the edge of the ring, not in control of his body, barely in control of his quirk, which he had turned on as much as he could.  

He tripped.  Over his own feet, as it so happened.

Before Shinsou could react, he was back on his feet and attacking.  Shinsou’s story sounded… sad.  Lonely.  But Izuku had lived the same life!  He’d been called bad luck and a vampire ever since he’d first fully explained his quirk!  He wanted to commiserate!  To comfort!  To empathize!

But, right now, it was time to fight, and he threw Shinsou out of the ring.  

.

Unfortunately, getting out of Shinsou’s grip had come at the cost of his remaining luck.  That meant that if he used any for the fight with Todoroki - a fight he was almost certain to lose anyway - he’d be paying for it later.  

But could he really leave this alone?  Being a hero was risky.  Being a hero while using only half your quirk was worse.  

The match started, and Izuku jumped.  He was lucky, of course.  Todoroki had pretty good control of his ice, but there were, naturally, random peaks and valleys in the less-controlled parts, and Izuku happened to fall into a valley.  He also managed to break off an ice spike on the way down.  

Lacking other weapons, he threw it at Todoroki.  

“You know,” said Izuku, managing to hide from ice behind yet more ice, and acquiring a few more projectiles while he was at it, “if you used your fire to melt these, you wouldn’t have to dodge!”

This actually stopped Todoroki dead in his tracks.  “You–”

“I overheard your conversation with Kacchan!”  Izuku dodged again.  “Do you really think you can be a hero using only half a quirk?  When all the rest of us are trying our–”

He was forced to dodge again.  This went on for some time.  Izuku, barely manage to dodge, Todoroki whipping another, more fragile, glacier at him, Izuku throwing ice and words he barely heard himself back at him.

Izuku, though… He was wearing down.  The temperature was getting to him, and Todoroki had winged him a few times.  

“I won’t do it!” declared Todoroki through gritted teeth.  “I won’t use his quirk!  I’ll show him–”

“It’s not his!  It’s yours!  Use your quirk, Todoroki!  Show me your power!”

Through the ice, Izuku saw orange flare from the tips of Todoroki’s fingers.

The thought crossed Izuku’s mind that suddenly heating up this much cold air might not go very well.  For the very first time in his life, Izuku’s survival instinct decided to do its job and he threw himself out of the ring just in time for Cementoss to raise the blast walls to contain Todoroki’s explosion.

“Uh,” said Midnight a minute later.  “Todoroki, wins?”

Izuku was just as surprised as she was that he hadn’t been turned into a fine paste.  Of course, that could still happen.  He had a massive bout of bad luck coming up.  

Still.  Lying here next to two Pro Heroes, he was probably safe.

.

Izuku tripped going down the stairs leaving the ring.  

“How do you break so many bones going down stairs?” asked Recovery Girl, incredulously.  

Izuku grunted.  Broken bones could be healed.  So could frostbite.  

But, for him at least, the sports festival was over.  He just had to hope he’d made a good impression.

.

(Todoroki joined him in the infirmary an hour later.

“Bakugou is extremely violent,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Yeah, he’s kind of…  Yeah.”

“You’re still friends.”

“Uh,” said Izuku.  “Maybe?”

“What’s your phone number?”

Somehow, Izuku wound up adding Todoroki to the class group chat.)

.

“Who sent your recommendation?” asked Uraraka, over lunch.  

“Native!” said Izuku, vibrating with excitement.  His quirk was kind of boring, visually, and hard to understand, so he hadn’t expected to get any offers at all!

“Native?” asked Uraraka, her face dropping.  “Isn’t he kind of, um.  His whole image is a bit…”

“Appropriative?” filled in Iida.  

“That’s a misconception,” said Izuku.  “He actually is native.  His father is Japanese, obviously, but he’s Ainu, and his mother is from an indigenous North American tribe.  They met at some kind of conference for displaced indigenous peoples, I think?  The documentary was really interesting, but it’s been a while…  I think there was later some kind of controversy with his mother, but I don’t really understand American politics…”

“Oh!” said Uraraka.  “I didn’t know that!  I guess I should try to research, before just assuming things.”

“It’s…  It’s a common misconception,” said Izuku, waving his hands.  “A company he’d investigated for illegal quirk experimentation ran a really nasty smear campaign against him, and, uh, his public persona isn’t really great.”  Which was the polite way to say that he got irritated at reporters (and everyone else) really easily.  “The important thing is, you know now.”

“Mhm!  I guess so!  That’s a really good way to put it.”  She leaned forward.  “I really like your hero name!  It’s super cute!”

“Thanks!” said Izuku, brightly.  “I’ve wanted to use it since I was a little kid!”

.

The ride to Hosu was painfully awkward.  Mainly because every attempt Izuku made to try and start a conversation with Iida fell flatter than a pancake.  

Not that he blamed Iida!  He probably had a lot on his mind, after all.

.

“He-hello, sir!” said Izuku, bowing deeply to Native, who had been leaning up against the front desk of his agency, talking to the secretary.  “I’m Clover!  Y-your intern!  Please take care of me!”

“Hey, hey,” said Native, “there’s really no reason to be like that, it’s irritating.  You need to loosen up a little, kid.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

Native sighed.  “Okay, anyway, you good here, Satsumi?”

“Yes, I think I have all the information,” said the secretary.  

“Great.  So, I guess I can give you the tour and the intern talk.”

Native’s agency wasn’t anything fancy.  A lot of things in it were worn out.  Old.  But, then, after the smear campaign, it was probably hard for him to get sponsorships.

“So, Clover,” said Native, after he had given him a rundown of the temporary dorms and the main common areas, “why did you decide to intern with me?”

“W-well,” said Izuku, “for a couple reasons.  The first is that you’re the only one who requested me, specifically, as opposed to agencies that just have general agreements with UA, so I figured there was probably a reason for that.”

“Uh huh,” said Native, sounding unimpressed, “what else?”

“Well, you also have a strictly mental quirk.  Not a lot of heroes have that, not the ones on UA’s open internship list.  Ragdoll and Mandalay from the Wild Wild Pussycats are the only other ones, and… I’d be worried about being a liability in a rescue situation.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t think so?  Of course, your record was–”

“Nothing else that might have been in the news?”

“Um.  No?”

Native nodded. “I’m surprised anyone took me up on my offer this year, honestly.”

“Be-because of the smear campaign? I, um, I never believed it.  I remembered your interview when you talked about your parents, so…”

“Ah.  Okay.  That makes sense.  Sorry.  Just had to make sure you weren’t one of those weirdos who try to congratulate me for ‘sticking it’ to an already oppressed group.”  He sighed.  “You’d think we’d have solved at least some of these problems, since we got superpowers, but no, we just came up with even more ways to be awful.”

“O-oh,” said Izuku.  “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Native, waving off the apology.  “So.  Tell me about your quirk.”

.

Native’s quirk, compared to Izuku’s, was simple.  It affected his perception.  Not his senses themselves, but the way his brain processed the data from those senses.  His eyes and ears weren’t any sharper than a normal person’s, but what he could process about what he could see and hear was.  And he could do it fast.  He could glance at a full page of writing for a second, and know everything that was written on it.  

It wasn’t terribly like Izuku’s quirk, and didn’t affect the outside world, like Izuku’s did, but like Izuku’s, the activation and management of the quirk were all in his head.  Which meant that he could advise Izuku on how to better use it.  

Unfortunately, Native seemed more interested in the stockpile aspect of his quirk.

“So,” said Native, “hypothetically, if something bad happened to you that had nothing to do with luck, would that count?  Like, if someone decided to hit you.”

“Um, not really.  Like, whenever someone throws a punch, there’s a small amount of chance involved in it hitting at all, but that’s, um, negligible, as far as I’ve been able to tell.”

“So you couldn’t bank luck by, say, purposefully getting assigned crappy paperwork?”

“Uh,” said Izuku, “no.  Not unless the paperwork was randomly assigned and I was leaning on the negative side of my quirk to get it.”

“Okay.  And, then, what if you traded the paperwork to someone else, afterwards?”

“I think I…  I’m not sure?  If I’d set the trade up before hand, probably, um, it’d just do whatever would get me the bad paperwork?”

“What if you needed the bad paperwork for some reason?”

“Then I’d have to use good luck, otherwise I wouldn’t get it.”

“What if you needed something bad to happen to you for some reason?  Like, you wanted to break your arm or get sick to get out of a school assignment?”

“Oh, I actually tried… something like that a few times.”  Not to avoid school work, but to avoid bullies.  “It only worked once, and I really regretted it.”

“Got really sick, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Izuku.  

“Okay,” said Native.  “I’ve got to go out on patrol soon, but I’ve asked Satsumi to give you the basic operational rundown.  Pro-tip?  It’s always the secretaries who are really running the show.”

“I-I’ll remember that, sir!”

“Yeah, yeah.  Anyway, enjoy the break, because I already have some training ideas for tomorrow.”

.

“So,” said Native as Izuku ran through his costume checklist.  “The thing is, even though our quirks are pretty different, there are still some similarities in– Hey, are you paying attention?”

“Yes, s-sir!”

“Uh huh.  There are some similarities in how we have to fight because of them.  Both of us have to rely heavily on the environment and respond to changes in it quickly.  Me, because that’s the only advantage I have, you, because even if your quirk gives you the best opening possible, you still have to move to take advantage of it.  So.”  He gestured at the crowded room, packed full of various random items.  “That’s what we’re doing.  Simulating a changeable environment for you to keep track of.  You ready?”

“Yes!”

.

“I’m going to take you out on patrol today,” said Native.

“R-really?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t going to.  There’s a limited amount you can learn from sparring and helping Satsumi with the paperwork - The paperwork is really important, though.  If you screw it up enough, it can break you.  Mainly because of insurance problems.  You don’t want insurance problems.  Or Hero Commission problems.  If they decide they don’t like you, they’ll jump on anything they can to get rid of you.”

Izuku made note of this important fact.  

“Anyway, unless I give you permission, or you’re directly attacked, you are not to engage any villains or criminals, got it?  And if I tell you to run, you run.”

“I-I’ve got it!”

“Cool.  So.  Ready to make your debut, Clover?”

“Yes!”

“Great.  Oh, and bring those marbles.  They worked well for you in yesterday’s session.”

.

The first few hours of patrol went more or less the way Izuku expected it to.  There wasn’t a whole lot of crime in Hosu at this time of day.  Native caught an older teenager trying to break into a car, and gave him a warning for a first offense, they were called to a four-year-old’s somewhat awkward and chaotic quirk awakening - which Izuku helped with! - and a welfare check for an older couple who had missed a book club meeting (they were fine, they had just gotten the date wrong).  Otherwise, it was just walking around Hosu, including some really sketchy alleyways, Native pointing out things to keep an eye on and how to spot trouble in specific places.

But, then… things exploded.  

It wasn’t like Izuku was unused to explosions.  He’d gone to school with Kacchan.  But this explosion was bigger, and had a different character than Danny was used to.  It was also, thankfully, further away.  

Still, the middle of a city like this was not a good place for an explosion.  He started forward, towards the source of the sound, but Native caught his arm.  

“Never,” he said, pulling out his phone (a HeroGrade 32!  They weren’t available to the public, yet!), “never run blind into a situation when you can gather info first.”

“But–” 

“There are other heroes with closer routes,” said Native.  “We can be more useful if we know what’s going on first.  Crap.  Looks like a mass villain attack.”  He flipped his phone to face Izuku. A HeroNet video was playing on it.

He caught sight of exposed brain matter and gasped.  “Nomu?”

“You know one of these guys?”

“No,” said Izuku, “but they look just like one of the villains that attacked the USJ!  Maybe they’re relatives?”

“Any weaknesses?”

“No, they were really strong.  All Might had trouble, even.”

“Crap.  Hopefully, these guys don’t have the same kind of quirk.  Come on, now that we know what we’re up against, the faster we get there, the better.”  He started running.  “I want you to work with on-site sidekicks clearing civilians from the area.  You can use your quirk, but if your stockpile runs out, evacuate with the civilians.  If you get cornered, I give you permission to fight, but only if you get cornered.  Otherwise, run, got it?”

“Ye-yes!” said Izuku.  It was easier for him to keep up with Native than he’d thought it would be, but he didn’t quite have the lung capacity to respond with full sentences.

They turned into an alley and– 

Native stopped dead, scanning the area.  

“Uh, Native?” said Izuku.  “Is–?”

Native pulled him to one side as something fell on them from above.  No.  Not something.  Someone.  Someone– Vest, bandaged arms, scarf, swords–

Native, naturally, processed the information much faster than Izuku.  

“Stain!”

Oh. 

Izuku pulled on his quirk instinctively and reached for his belt, grabbing the first thing that came to hand and throwing it at Stain.  The handful of marbles hit the side of Stain’s beaten katana and knocked it aside enough for Native to dodge.  

But Stain had another knife, and it flicked against Native’s stomach, cutting through his suit and drawing blood.  The wound looked shallow, though, so–

Stain licked his knife, and Native stiffened mid-step and started to fall.  Izuku caught him, then pulled him back, out of Stain’s immediate reach.

“I-I can’t move!” said Native, sounding shocked.

“A… sidekick?” said Stain.  

“He’s just-”  Native’s breath caught.  “He’s a student.  An intern.  I’ve only known him for a day.  Don’t–”

“A day is more than long enough for the rot to creep in.  Well, boy, do you stand by this fake, or will you give up his lies?”

“Clover, run!” 

“I-” said Izuku, “I won’t leave you!”  He also wasn’t sure if he’d make it, even if he did run.  Stain was good, as shown by how he’d still managed to stab Native, even though Izuku was using his quirk, and with the way the alley was constructed, they were standing in a corner, the direct path to the street blocked and blinded by buildings.  

“Then you, too, will be culled.”

Izuku jumped back from the lunge, unfortunately sacrificing his phone to deflect the blade.  Hopefully, the text he’d been making behind his back had gone through… he might not be connected to HeroNet, but he did have a network, and he knew at least two of them were in this city.

He hoped this worked.  

Then, faster than could be believed, it did.  Iida came racing around the corner and–

–apparently didn’t notice Izuku and Native fighting for their lives at all, but Izuku was willing to give him a pass, because he was a) there, b) clearly really upset by what happened to his brother, and c) took Stain’s attention off of him and Native.  Whatever.  But he also narrowly missed getting decapitated, and only avoided getting paralyzed by Stain because Izuku had picked up Iida’s helmet and beaned Stain over the back of the head with it.  

“What are you doing here?” demanded Iida.  

This was such a ridiculous question that Izuku didn’t answer it.  He was getting attacked by a serial killer.  That should’ve been obvious.

“Take Native and leave, this is my business.”

“You take Native and leave!” 

Iida could maintain a viable escape speed while carrying Native, unlike Izuku, and then Izuku could also run, no longer having to worry about whether or not he was leaving someone to their death.  Unfortunately, Stain did not wait for Izuku to explain this to Iida.  

What followed could have been a slapstick comedy.  Stain lunged, but put his foot down on a marble, which let Izuku and Iida dodge.  He recovered quickly, however, and swiped at Iida, who he called a fake hero - this was technically correct, as neither Iida nor Izuku had their licenses yet - but the blade was deflected by Iida’s armor, and all the blow accomplished was to knock a piece of Iida’s armor loose.  

(Izuku had to wonder if Iida’s costume manufacturer had skimped on the connective parts of his armor.  Parts of a costume shouldn’t just come off like that, except for capes, for safety reasons.)

But loose metal junk was one of Izuku’s favorite weapons, and when the bracer landed in his hand, he didn’t waste time throwing it at Stain’s face.  Then he pulled out his other favorite weapon.  A telescoping baton.  

He didn’t have it during the USJ, but after the sports festival…  Yeah.  He’d realized he needed something, and Mei had been all too happy to fulfill that need.  Literally too happy.  Powerloader had nixed most of her ideas and given Izuku a standard baton until he could work out potential bugs.  

Anyway.  

He alternated between throwing trash at Stain (the alley had a lot of trash) and trying to smack him with the baton.  Iida, meanwhile, tried to kick his face off.  The only reason they weren’t dead - or paralyzed like Native - was that Stain kept slipping on marbles and getting weapons stuck in the alley walls.  They were not, in any way, winning.  

Then Todoroki arrived like a divine spirit descending from heaven, and froze Stain solid.  

Well.  He didn’t freeze Stain immediately.  There was quite a bit of back and forth, because it turned out that the dodging technique Izuku had lucked into during the sports festival was something Stain could do at will.  And he tried to kill Todoroki too, a few times.  And there was some stabbing involved, but with Todoroki there, they could freeze the blood, and Iida was only paralyzed for a little bit, and all the while everyone was yelling about their personal philosophies, and heroism, and All Might, and–

His point was, after Todoroki showed up, it felt like the fight went really fast.  

But with Stain frozen, Izuku felt like he could relax just a little…

… and lose his grip on his quirk, which was very far in the red.  

Claws closed around his torso, and he was swiftly lifted from the alley.  Swiftly enough that his head cracked on the side of one of the buildings and he lost consciousness.  

.

Later, he learned that the nomu (which was apparently a class of being and not a family or personal name) had carried him around, apparently confused, for fifteen minutes before a flight-capable hero named Gran Torino rescued him.

He was, naturally, brought to the hospital, and, equally naturally, was the most injured out of the four people in that alleyway (not counting Stain, who they had really beaten the crap out of, apparently).  

He was relieved to hear that everyone had lived, and the nomu attack had only resulted in a few serious injuries, due to the strong hero presence in Hosu.  

He was significantly less relieved to hear that the police were thinking about charging him with vigilantism.  

.

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Native, who had evidently overheard the police chief while taking a walk down the hallway.  “Clover had my permission to fight, if he was cornered.  Which he was.  I don’t know about the other two, but legally speaking, my intern is in the clear.” 

Izuku sighed in relief.  He didn’t think he and his mother could afford to go to court. 

“And kid?”

“Y-yes?”

“Stop using your quirk while you’re this beat up.  I know it’s instinctive, but I don’t want you to wind up getting an air embolism or something stupid from the kickback.”

“Oh,” said Izuku.  “Yes, sir.”

.

In preparation for the first term’s final exam, Izuku eased himself back into days where everything was just a little bit awful.  

He tore a hole in his favorite sweater.  He fell off a building during the Rescue Training Race.  Mr. Yagi kept staring at him with that weird expression when he went to volunteer.  He got every question he guessed on wrong on the mock exam.  He let himself get fleeced by Uraraka in small-scale gambling games.  He lost every round of rock-paper-scissors he played.  His mother sneezed and accidentally cut off way too much of his hair while giving him a trim, and Monoma started calling him a sheared sheep.  All Might kept staring at him with that weird expression during heroics lessons.  He lost a lot of in-class fights for silly reasons, like the elastic in his pants giving way, or, in one case, random neutrino interaction with the program controlling a simulation.  

It was good practice for when - not if, when - his quirk decided to screw him over in the middle of a real fight.  

But, maybe, Izuku should have realized that decisions about the final would be made significantly in advance of the final actually happening, and he wouldn’t have kept his quirk going until the last minute.  

Maybe then he wouldn’t have been paired with Kacchan.  Maybe then, they wouldn’t be facing All Might himself.  

Maybe then he wouldn’t be lying on the ground, bleeding, with Kacchan screaming at him to take his ‘stupid bad luck deku self’ and go away.  

In the end, however, Kacchan was the one who stomped away.  Izuku was left to slowly sit up, still feeling stunned.  Part of him couldn’t believe Kacchan still held a grudge over childhood quirk slip ups, especially considering what he had done to Izuku with his quirk.  Part of him… very much could.  

Kacchan was a jerk.  

Although… Izuku probably should have tried to come up with a plan more palatable than ‘run away.’  He’d known that Kacchan would never accept anything less than a perfect victory after the sports festival.

He shook his head, even though that made his ears ring, and pulled a coin out of one of his suit’s pouches.  In theory, this should work.  He had pretty good evidence of this usually working, for less vital things.

He flared his quirk and flipped the coin.  Heads, he’d go with his original plan, and try to escape.  Tails, he’d try to back up Kacchan.    

Heads.  

Well, then.  

.

It turned out that Izuku’s quirk was pretty good for stealth, given a large enough playing field.  

.

Izuku let go of his quirk as soon as he stepped through the gate, pleased to note that he still had some luck left.  Intending to keep it that way, and not spend it trying not to get murdered by Kacchan, he decided to jog back to where the other groups were waiting. 

Judging by the explosions behind him, this was a wise choice.  

He didn’t go back to his usual low grade bad luck until he was home safe, with the knowledge that he would be going to the training camp, and Kacchan wouldn’t be.

.

Except it turned out the students who had failed were going on the trip after all.  Yay.

.

Low grade bad luck was not supposed to include Shigaraki Tomura crashing a shopping trip, and yet.  

At least the ridiculous threat to his life - how had Shigaraki even recognized him?  He’d spent most of the time in the USJ in the maintenance room! - meant that he had a bit of extra luck to lean into, and he was hoping that Mr. Aizawa, or, heck, even All Might had decided this was a good day to shop, too.

But as the conversation wore on, it became obvious that his current quasi-kidnapped state was a direct result of his last kidnapping.  Shigaraki wanted to know “What did you do to my nomu?” and “What did you do to Stain?” and, most importantly, “Why do people pay attention to Stain and not me?” 

Which, in Izuku’s opinion, was a pretty petty thing for a supervillain to worry about, but this supervillain did have a dangerous quirk pointed at Izuku’s throat, so he wasn’t about to say that.  

“W-well,” he said, instead, “Stain is… understandable.  He has goals.  And even if you don’t agree with his goals, they’re pretty clear.  What he wants is… normal.  And the source of his conviction– It’s All Might!  It’s like that for a lot of people.  Even if the way he’s going about fulfilling his goals isn’t something people can accept.  You…  I don’t think anyone understands what you want.  What your, um, ideals are…”

“Ha,” said Shigaraki.  “Ha.”  

Izuku didn’t dare move.  He didn’t dare swallow.  Shigaraki’s middle finger was so close to his throat…

“I get it now,” he said, a horrible smile-like thing on his face.  “It’s all so clear now.  It all makes sense.  It’s so obvious why the hero killer is so irritating.  It’s all because of All Might.”  He laughed again.  “Right?  Right.  That’s the conclusion.  Man.  Of course it was All Might.  It’s always him.  The reason all these idiots can smile– It’s him!  Him, smiling, as if there’s no one he can’t save!”

At this point, Izuku started to tune him out, because it was hard to pay attention to something as trivial as words when you’re actively being strangled.  

And then, right when he was sure he was going to die one way or the other, Uraraka showed up.  

.

“I think I hate that guy,” said Izuku to Uraraka, later.  

“Yeah,” she said.  “Me too.”

.

Well, the training camp was going well.  And by well, Izuku meant he sure was training.  A lot.  

He was also, for some reason, catching a small ball-punching child who had been knocked off a wall by a pervert.  

They really should come up with some method to stop Mineta before he took things too far…  Some of his stunts were getting scary. 

But that was a task for tomorrow!  The task for today was listening to the story of a horrible family tragedy and then passing out.  

But then it turned out that the task for tomorrow was more training, and then–

And then the Test of Courage was crashed by a bunch of villains.  

.

The forest was filled with toxic gasses and fire, and there was a grade schooler somewhere on the mountain, but this was fine!  Totally fine!  Izuku had this handled!  And there were actual adults, trained heroes, who were not paralyzed, here, so, really, this was more like the USJ than the fight with Stain!

… Shockingly, this observation didn’t make him feel better.  

Finding Kouta did make him feel better.  

Encountering Muscular seconds later didn’t.  

Nor did discovering that the villains planned to kidnap Kacchan and Tokoyami.  At least Kacchan was safe back with the other people who’d failed the test.  Tokoyami, not so much.  

He had mixed feelings about the results of throwing the nearest stick at Muscular.  He’d prefer that he not be known as the hero who habitually put out people’s eyes, but if he complained about it, that would mean he survived to complain about it.

He took the opportunity to run.  

.

Izuku would very much like to know why Kacchan was out here and not safely back in the buildings with Vlad King and Mr. Aizawa.  

.

Why was Moonfish here?  Didn't Shigaraki know the reason Moonfish got caught was because he tried to eat his accomplice?

.

There was a shape-shifter involved.  This explained nothing.  

.

Why didn't this guy become a stage magician or something?

.

Izuku managed to catch the right orb and break Kacchan free, but even the best luck in the world couldn't save you from stupidity.  Stupidity in this case being Kacchan immediately shoving Izuku away and getting caught by the villains again. 

So.

Kacchan got kidnapped. 

The villains left.

A tree fell on Izuku.

He was, of course, sent to the hospital.

.

In the hospital, he wondered if Kacchan’s last words to him before he was hauled into that portal were right.  If he was just bad luck.  If he should just stay away.  

If Kacchan's shove had kept *Izuku* from being taken.  

.

They were on a rescue mission, and none of that mattered.  They were going to Kamino Ward.

.

They were hiding behind a wall about a meter high.  It had been much taller a second ago.  

Izuku's quirk was screaming at him.  It had never done that before.  

They could hear All Might and the villain talking, and it was terrible, terrible what he'd done to Ragdoll, but… it filled in so many gaps.  It explained the nomu.  It explained Shigaraki’s hatred of All Might.  It explained why this villain was so powerful.

But.

None of that mattered right now.  What mattered was saving Kacchan. 

.

They were soaring high above the battlefield, and Kirishima held out his hand - the chances were one in a million or less, but– 

Kacchan was with them, and they were running.  

They made it out, made it away, and Izuku kept a tight grip on his quirk, because he wouldn't, couldn't, let any bad luck happen now.  Not when it could spill over onto that battle.  

Then he saw the screen.

Izuku looked at All for One, standing in the ruins of Kamino Ward, standing above All Might, Mr. Yagi, who struggled to stand, to make one more attack, protect one more person, and he knew–

All for One was a person with a lifetime’s worth of good luck.  

He was practically made of luck.  From his quirk, which had to be the best quirk Izuku had ever heard of - the ability to take and give quirks?  Really?  That was a thing? - to having found the right quirks to live for centuries, to surviving that ‘last’ fight with All Might that he’d mentioned, to flying under the hero world’s radar for so long.  He’d won the lottery of life.  

If Izuku ever got luck like that, it’d kill him.

He slowed, stopping behind his classmates and–

And he turned.

And he ran. 

He ran, and cranked his quirk up as high as it would go.  Made himself as lucky as he possibly could.  The luck, not having anywhere else to go, spilled out, touching everyone around him with its glow.  

The small cluster of cancer cells in a man he passed spontaneously died.  

A woman fumbled her phone and sent a text message that would one day radically change her life for the better.

Hospitals nearby recorded a practically unheard of rash of Lazarus Syndrome cases.  

Rubble from the battlefield shifted just enough that a family of four were able to crawl out of the ruins of their living room.

Uraraka's father won the lottery- a fact he wouldn't notice for another week, too worried about his daughter to check his prize.  

Damage in Iida Tensei's spine inexplicably reversed itself.  It was only by a small amount, but even if he'd still never walk, he'd be able to move and feel his legs.

None of the attacks All for One launched hit his target.  Not a single one.

Izuku was a shooting star.  A brilliant light, burning into nothing.  Izuku had never before accumulated so much debt on his quirk.  One way or another, he knew he never would again.  

He ran across fields of rubble that should have sent him sprawling.  He dodged stray attacks from a combatant who might not even register his presence.  He got closer and closer, impossibility unscathed, until he slid between Mr. Yagi and All for One just as Mr. Yagi was caught under the crushed walls of a building.

He bowed, the crown of his head touching broken concrete.  "Please!  Please don't kill him!  I- I- Take my quirk, do anything you want to me, but please don't kill him."

"No!  Young Midoriya!  Get out of here!"

"And why should I take your quirk?" asked All for One, sounding amused.  

"Because- Because my quirk is luck.  I just got across this battlefield, unscathed.  If you take my quirk, you'll never have to worry about- about the kinds of injuries you have again." That was a bit of a guess, but if he had to risk things on a guess, it would be now, with his quirk blazing inside him.  "No one would get lucky enough to even touch you.  Please.  Take it."

Because All for One's quirk had to work one of two ways.  Either it took a quirk as it had been when it first manifested, or it took it as it currently was.  

Izuku's quirk had taken into account his prior luck when it first manifested, and he was building up a massive debt, now.  His quirk was the perfect poison pill.  He just needed All for One to take it.  

"Well," said All for One.  "I don't know about sparing All Might, but I could never refuse a quirk offered up so nicely."

Izuku felt All for One's hand on his head.

What followed was agony, and after that, an aching, hollowness, and the sound of someone crying.  

Was… was Mr. Yagi crying over him?  That was silly.  He wasn't dead, and his plan was going great.  

"Now," said All for One, "All Might-"

A horrid orange light and a deafening crack filled the air, and when Izuku could see again, the top half of All for One's body was gone, and there was a smoking crater a few meters behind the legs.  Everything smelled faintly burnt.

"What," croaked All Might.

"Oh," said Izuku, faintly.  "I always worried something like that would happen to me."

He promptly passed out.  

.

Izuku stared up at the ceiling of his hospital room.  This would be the last time he could blame getting hurt on his quirk.  His quirk, which was well and truly gone, now, along with Ragdoll’s and countless others.  Not that he could’ve gotten it back from All for One if his plan hadn’t worked but…

He was quirkless now.  

Kacchan had always been a jerk, and there were more than a few people in his class that were jerks along with him, really believing that Izuku was giving them bad luck every time they failed a test.  But he’d had a few casual friends in middle school despite that, and except for the teachers who thought he’d been falsifying his quirk, they usually stopped Kacchan before he went too far.  

But he knew how they all talked about quirkless people.  He knew the statistics.  He… hadn’t really been thinking of the consequences when he came up with the plan.  Not that he regretted it!  He didn’t.  But he knew it would be hard to be a hero without a quirk.  

Or would it?  Would living like this be like his quirk was always in neutral?  Or would it be something entirely different?  It already felt like something different.  It felt… weird.  Not being aware of how his luck was going.  Like being blind.  And he knew his luck was just random, now.  Knew that bad luck wouldn’t mean good luck to follow, and good luck didn’t mean bad luck to follow but…  Even thinking that felt alien to him.  

He could have good luck forever.  He could have bad luck forever.  That was statistically unlikely, of course.  Either way, he had no control over it.

“Oh, Izuku!”

“H-hi, Mom,” he said, and let his mother fuss over him.  He wasn’t up for much conversation at the moment, unfortunately.  

Behind her, Mr. Yagi, walked in and quietly shut the door.  

“Um,” said Izuku, “a-am I in trouble?  I mean, I know, I know that I technically killed someone with my quirk, but, uh.  I did do that.  Oh my gosh.  Oh my gosh, you’re here to arrest me, I–”

“Nonsense, Young Izuku!  If anyone tries to charge you for that man accidentally killing himself with his own quirk, I will simply eat them.”

“And that’s if they get through me, first,” said his mother, pleasantly.  

“Oh,” said Izuku.  “So, why…?”

“Two reasons,” said Mr. Yagi.  “First, I wanted to thank you.  I’ve spent my entire career trying to get rid of that man.”

Izuku nodded.  ‘Get rid of’ was pretty ambiguous, here, but Izuku was the last person who could blame him for trying to kill the guy.  

“The other thing I wanted to talk to you about…”  Here, Mr. Yagi got that look on his face.  “I want to talk to you about a quirk called One for All.”

[deusvervewrites]

Polymerization: how would the Sports festival go here, and would that change how the summer camp goes?

Actually, what is Midoriya doing for training at the Summer Camp? Fusing and defusing with people? How would a monoma/Midoriya fusion work?

Also, given you specifically pointed it out, is the lack of the HPSC knowing Izuku can do human fusions (as his quirk registry was never updated) an issue, given that they may be interested in that?

It would, since I didn't have Bakugou reach the tournament, mostly because I need to change things up to keep myself sane, and he wouldn't have been targeted anyway since he wouldn't hear the Todoroki conversation that never happens.

At the summer camp Midoriya is trying to fuse with as much stuff as he can since each fusion he stacks drain more out of him. This could be fusing with multiple people or multiple pieces of equipment or materials.

Fusing with Monoma would extend the time limit on Copy

I don't actually think it does anything for their interests, but I knew people would ask about the registration.

[pocketramblr]

For the ask game, how about an au where Izuku is the product of a quirk?

What I mean is maybe a slug was born with a quirk to manifest something to protect it, and a human was what it summoned (or something along those lines)

Hi so that is an incredible mix of funny and existential but ok

1- we're keeping the slug thing. The spotted green slug doesn't have a name, due to being a slug, but when a child tries to poke it with a stick, the slug's quirk activates and now there is a second child who instinctively protects it

2- the green, spotted child scoops the slug up and keeps it on their shoulder, feeding it leaves. The child, having just been spawned into being, is able to talk enough to get threats away but like. They didn't have any clothes, they're trying to eat leaves and dirt too. It's ok though, they can't starve or die- the slug's quirk is what maintains them or heals their injuries. Eventually, someone calls CPS.

3- the police try to take the slug away from the wild child, but they scream and bite and eventually say "my quirk" so they give up and let them keep it as they go to the hospital to get him checked over. The kid also doesn't legally exist, so they have to figure that out too. When the nurse looking over the kid puts together the pieces (aka, listens to what the kid says), she looks up sentient quirks and animals with quirks on her phone. If she tells the truth, the best this kid can hope for is someone like Nedzu taking them in to protect them, but more likely the slug would be sent to a lab where the kid would be unable to protect it and who knows what would happen then. So Nurse Midoriya lies on the paper and when she brings the kid out, and the child is sent to a children's home with the quirk registration of "slug: manifest and bond with a slug"

4- luckily, neither AfO or Ujiko is interested in a quirk like that. Some months later, Inko returns and adopts him. The slug is pleased with this arrangement as it's quirk is no longer having to protect him from all the other children and caretakers, and Inko ensues there are good food sources around the apartment for it. She even gets a safer travel terrarium for the child, Izuku, to use to carry it around during school. Izuku is able to learn and grow since the they and the slug sees others found it, and Izuku decides they want to be a hero- they have to still prioritize protecting the slug, but why not be a hero and protect others too?

5- when Inko's child comes home from school one day with a cracked terrarium, a uniform that smells like the sewers, and a scorched notebook, declaring that they got All Might's signature and also found out that they don't need to breathe today, and that they are a hundred percent sure that they want to go to UA, Inko realizes that she's going to need to send that letter to Nedzu after all, and hope desperately that he reads it before the entrance exam. (To her surprise, she gets a phone call before the end of the month.)

[littleholmes]

I love Shigaraki’s response to this

Toga was like no thanks to peer pressure from Twice, Compress, and Spinner to give her a hero name and left it at that, and Dabi was like names are stupid with a short point about before quirk registration times and left it at that (despite the fact he more than likely had a hero name planned out when he was still trying to be a hero). Then we get Shiggy who’s bored of this convo and goes into this abbreviated Wikipedia history only to be like so anyways….eh

Just shutting it down gently, letting them have their fun, while low key explaining why he doesn’t have a villain name and I love it

[sadlilghostt]

𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊

sʜᴜɴᴛᴀʀᴏ ᴄʜɪsʜɪʏᴀ x ғ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ.

𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 : 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳, 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷, 𝙶𝙾𝚁𝙴, 𝚂𝚆𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶.

► in which chishiya met a girl who's unbothered like him and literally have peeked his interest and couldn't help to find out about the girl more.

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‘⸊ˎ

𝘔𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘴.. 𝘎𝘶𝘭𝘱𝘴..𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴.. 𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨...Ah.. Another night with people dying.. Wonder how will this turn out.

𝘛𝘢𝘱... 𝘛𝘢𝘱.. 𝘛𝘢𝘱.. the sound of boots hitting the ground as another person walked in the room.

Jellyfish haircut, white dye under, piercing gaze, a black face mask, black oversized T-shirt, and a baggy cargo pants.

Now what on earth this person is wearing? Such an entrance, I chuckled as I observed the girl took out a phone from the desk and let or scanned her. And then pocketed it and walked into an isolated corner.

Huh.. Another lone wolf I see. As the time goes by, more people fills the room till it reached the player limit.

𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐘 : 𝟖 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒.

The ambiance of the room got more tense and panicked as the familiar female robotic voice announced the difficulty of the game.

𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 : 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊.

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.

Slowly each person took the collar some refused but still went away with it or else it'll be the end of it. I saw the girl again took the collar and wore it like it was just nothing.

She's not bothered by it? She's oddly calm then other people here.. Well I am calm myself but never met someone as calm as me.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝟏 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞. 𝐀𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬. 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤.

The robotic explained the rules. Two seekers? Never knew there's such things. But something is not right about that one.

And avoid the seeker at all costs?..

𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝟐 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐒.

"Huh.. That's it? "

"This is easier then i thought.. "

"I'll definitely win this. "

Murmurs from other players as they slowly walked away from the registration room and find their hiding spot.

I glanced at the girl once again as saw that she was not making a move. I quirk a brow at her wondering why she's not even moving or concious about what will her role be.

Sometime later, the room was now emptied. It was now just me and the girl.

I heard a small blink on my collar indicating that our roles will be given.

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐒... 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐄𝐑.

Ah... Here goes nothin. I glanced at the girl again and saw her more relaxed then before, seriously what's up with this girl. Whatever she really got my attention now. I then decide to approach her.

" aren't you going to hide? " I smirked. I saw her opened her eyes and looked at me unbothered before letting out a small 'no'.

"Why not? You do know what will happened after right? " i asked once again getting more curious on why isn't she moving a muscle, does she have a death wish or something? I don't care bout her personal reason on why she's not moving but can't help but feel a little curios.

I heard her let out a sigh as she looked at me once again.

"I should be asking you that. " huh?

" did you listened carefully on what the robot just explained? " why is she looking at me like I'm the most idiot person she ever met-

" I'm guessing your role is a seeker, yes? " I nodded.

" good, less trouble for me. "I heard her muttered the last part, what was that about? I felt my brows furrowed at her statement as I leaned into the table in front of her observing her.

" just wait. " she hummed as she closed her eyes.

Seriously what's up with this girl, I've never met someone like this before. No one have made me this confused, like never.

She's really hard to read.

" what are those two doing? Why aren't they hiding? " I heard two players murmured behind us walking past us.

" let those idiots be, now let's find our spot. "

I heard a scoffed and a soft mumble 'idiot' from the girl in front of me which made me quirk a brow at her.

"What's your name? " I finally broke the silence between us.

"Why would you want to know? " she replied with her eyes still closed not even bothering to look at me.

" nothing, don't you know it's rude to not look at someone who's talking to you? " I smirked as i inserted my hands in my pockets observing her reaction. Though her eyes still remain closed.

" well, will it still be rude if I say the reason why I'm not looking because I don't want to talk? " she grumbled her eyes are still closed. Well that make sense, I chuckled at her response.

I looked at the phone and saw it there is only 1 minute left till the game finish.

" you know the time is running out and you're still not making a move? " I spoke as I pocketed back the phone in my pocket.

"It's because I don't have to. " huh? Seriously she's not making a sense. I squinted my eyes at her trying to read on what she ment.

𝟑𝟎 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓.

She's still dead come. I become to think back to the rules.

2 seekers.. Must about the seekers at all costs..

𝟐𝟎 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓.

I'm not very familiar with children games since I don't go out much back in my childhood.. But I heard that there is only one seeker in that game..

𝟏𝟓 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓.

I was busy brain storming before the girl grabbed my arm and dragged me somewhere more isolated when people were coming I'm our direction.

Why is she dragging me? She then bring us to the second floor and to the railings which we saw the other players there all gathered in the first floor.

" don't make eye contact with them " what?

𝟏𝟎..

𝟗..

"Rokuta-kun, after this.. Let's date. "

"H-huh.. Sure.. "

𝟕..

" can't wait to go home and sleep after this.. I'm glad I don't have to do running and shit in this game.. "

𝟔..

More murmurs from the players as they started to become excited from how "easy" this game was.

I side-glance the girl beside me I can tell that she was smirking tho. But why..

" hey guys.. Don't you think it's strange? "

"Huh"

"This is an 8 of hearts game and it's this easy?.. "

"Yeah.. Now that you've said it, heart is about betrayals and mind twisting games right? "

"Yeah.. And.. Hide and seek doesn't normally have 2 seekers.. Unless..

𝟓..

"Hey hey enough thinking! We're about to win this so enough brain storming. We're clearly playing this game right! "

" but jiro-san.. I don't think we're actually playing this right.. It's an 8 of heart.. There's probably something wrong here.. "

Slowly the other players starts to figure it all out and I heard a soft chuckle beside me.

" they should've known about it sooner. " oh.. So that it all about.

𝟒..

𝟑..

"Guys... I don't think.. It suppose 𝘶𝘴 who suppose to run from the seekers.. " slowly every players looked at the teenboy direction with fear and realization took their expression.

𝟐..

" I think.. It supposed to be the 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴 who suppose to run from.... 𝘜𝘴.. " realization hits me as the boy said that. Damn how can I have not figured it out sooner? Damn..

𝟏..

" SHIT FUCK QUICK FIND THE SEEKERS!! "The Jiro man panicked.

" too late. " the girl beside me chuckled. I quickly have closed my eyes before their eyes met mine, she also have her eyes closed to prevent them stealing our roles.

" see you all in hell I guess.. " she added.

"GET THE-! " before the Jiro man finish his sentence his collar beeped and it exploded to his neck.

The man dropped dead with blood spilling on his neck.

𝟎..

Screams of the players erupted from Beneath us as more explosions came and I could hear the blood squirting from their neck and also the gurgles from them chocking from their own blood.

Once the screams were over I slowly opened my eyes and saw the girl beside me had her eyes are now opened. And I'm not going to like I found her E/C eyes fascinating.

Especially the the light shown down to her eyes perfectly reflecting her eyes well making her look 10x better.. But I'm curious on what's beneath that mask to.

I then looked back down the deceased players below us and I furrowed my eyes slightly at the gorey sight. To be honest I've seen worst since.. I'm a med student before all this.

" that's nasty. " I chuckled as I look back at the girl beside me who was unbothered.

The girl nodded in response as she removed her face mask that got my heart stopped beating from a moment. Weird why is my stomach making this feelings.

Well she is.. Quite.. A bit... No never mind. She's breathtaking.

I stared at her for a moment and watched her wipe off the sweat below her nose and forehead.

I didn't even heard the robotic voice telling us that we've won not even felt the collar on my neck unlocked .

" aren't you going to take that off? " she asked completely cutting me off from my trance.

"Huh? " I awkwardly smirked as I filter my head to the side a bit.

"I said, aren't you going to take the collar off? This shit is extremely uncomfortable. " she groaned a she took off the collar and yanked it somewhere I don't know i was to focused on her.

" unless you're a masochist. " she shrugged.

"No.. No it's nothing like that. " I chuckled awkwardly as I took off the collar and throw it away.

" just distracted that I forgot about the thing on my neck. " I smirked which she only responded a human in response.

" wanna get out of here? It's weird to have a conversation when there's corpses below us you know? "

".. Right" I chuckled as we left the scene.

"So what's your name? You never really told me earlier. " I glanced at her and saw her pushing back her bangs away from her face. Each of her movements just give me this little spark of excitement in my heart I don't know why but it's very pleasant.

She looked at me for a moment before smirking tiredly.

" L/N Y/N. " she finally answered. Such a beautiful name from a beautiful woman.

I smirked back before holding my hand in front of her.

" Chishiya Shuntaro, pleased to meet you. " I felt my heart flutter when she held my hand and shook it. Her hands are soft and delicate, I want to hold them forever..

" pleased to meet you too. " when she let go of my hand, I had to held myself back from taking her hand back in mine. I also mentally slapped myself from acting this way. I've never have felt more acted this way.

Whatever this is, it was pleasant but I am not liking how this girl is making me feel.

" say, wanna come with me? "

" to where? " she asked.

" to the place I'm staying, there's plenty of people there. "

" I don't really like people, well apart from you I guess. I can tolerate you even though you processed slowly earlier. " she chuckled and I felt embarrassed about my performance in that game earlier but I covered up my embarrassment perfectly with my usual smirk.

Ignoring her last remark I just shrugged and told her more about the beach.

" well it has electricity and foods. " she quirk a brow at me.

" and uh.. Party's? "I honestly don't know what more to add to actually persuade her to come, I'm not really this persuasive when inviting someone. I don't even invite someone.. She's the first one actually.

I was cut off from my thinking when I heard her soft chuckled. God it was a music to my hear.

" sure I'll come. "

.

.

.

.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓ 𝑯𝑶𝑷𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑰𝑻 ! ~ ✩ 𖤐 ٭

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

[flatoutin-eaurouge]

Don't leave me alone in this cruel world. Part 2/2

Pairing: Mika Häkkinen x Michael Schumacher

Part 1

Two days after Mika was administered to the intensive care unit at The Royal Melbourne Hospital, Michael stood in front of the large brick building with a painful knot in his stomach. The walls of the building loomed ominously over the parking deck that he was still standing on next to his Ferrari road car. The late afternoon sun casted shadows over his tear-stained face.

He fidgeted nervously with the envelope in his hands while he stared at it with a tormented expression. Inside the carefully sealed paper casing was a letter to Mika. A testament to their fair and friendly rivalry and everyting Michael had gained and learned from it. Michael hoped the letter was still readable as his tears had made the ink bleed onto the other side of the page.

He clenched his eyes shut and took a deep breath, feeling the chills crawl down his spine. He was nervous to face the consequences of what he had inflicted upon Mika and himself with his wish for the Finn to stay in Formula One.

His eyes were red-rimmed. He hadn't slept in 48 hours, being kept awake by images of Mika's deep red blood on his silver-white overalls. By images of his face becoming paler and paler as the blood poured from his nose and mouth. By images of his shiny blonde hair sticking to the red moisture on his cheeks.

Michael's sigh was gut wrenching when he set foot over the threshold of the intensive care ward. He remarked that the hospital looked superficially like heaven with its pristine white walls and its bright lighting and soft buzzing noises. If Mika were to die, and he had to leave the mundane world in his afterlife, heaven was the only place he belonged.

Not a single bad word had ever crossed the Finn's mouth when he spoke about Michael. He truly was that angelic no-bullshit-just-racing type of guy. A characteristic Michael had always admired about him.

As he wandered through the corridors of the hospital towards the registration desk of the ICU, his heart banged against his sternum. He was afraid he would have to beg to see Mika. He probably wasn't on the visitors list. Why would he be? If he hadn't convinced Mika to stay in Formula One, he would probably be home with his family. Michael gulped against the bile in his throat.

Upon arriving at the registration desk a stern woman looked him up and down.

"Name?"

"Michael Schumacher."

She glanced at her computer screen and frowned.

"I am sorry, sir. You're not on the list."

Michael shook his head and sighed deeply.

"I expected that, but I need to see him. I need to see how he is doing! I am a colleague, a fellow racer."

The woman quirked an eyebrow and stared at him through her stern reading glasses.

"Sir, Mr. Häkkinen is in a serious and life-threathening condition right now. Only family and associates are allowed to see him."

Michael took a very audible shuddering breath and tensed his shoulders, bracing himself against an emotional breakdown.

"Ma'am! You don't understand! My entire mental equilibrium is balancing on a thin line!" He planted both his hands firmly on top of the desk. "I was with him when he shed his blood! I staunched his fucking wounds! I told him to keep participating in this dangerous hell sport!"

The woman took in Michael's devastated face. She could see the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. She noticed the veiny and white-knuckled hands on the desk in front of her. This man was on the brim of insanity.

She sighed. "I will probably get in trouble for this, but I will allow you to visit him for a couple of minutes. I can see the circumstances really hurt you."

Michael felt like falling to his knees to thank the woman, but he wisely didn't. The woman clearly deserved some descreteness after breaking with the hospital protocols for him.

"Follow me."

Michael followed the nurse through the corridors of the ward with trembling knees. This might be the last moment he would see Mika for a long span of time, or worse, the last time he would ever see him. Michael felt himself become nauseous all of a sudden

The nurse opened the door to Mika's room and suddenly he was faced with a bright, flat kind of light before he saw him. His fallen angel.

Michael's breath shuddered as he made his way to Mika's bed. The Finn was as pale as a sheet of paper and his eyes were shut. All the blood that had covered his face and hair in the aftermath of the crash had been cleaned off by the nurses.

He laid lifelessly on the bed with all sorts of tubes and wires attached to his body to monitor his vitals. His pale hands lay limply on top of the blankets, but his chest was moving up and down. Michael knew that it were the machines doing the breathing for him, but he was alive.

Michael kneeled down at the bedside. His hand hovered hesistantly over the blankets covering Mika's body. He wanted to grab his hand and kiss his cheek, but he was afraid he would inflict him more unneccesary pain. "Poor Mika. Look at you..."

He turned around to the nurse and swallowed audibly. "Ma'am could you maybe leave us alone for a couple of minutes?"

The nurse looked around nervously. "I don't know if I can. You're not supposed to be here in the first place."

Michael stared at her with red-rimmed eyes. "I came here to let my emotions out. I want to tell him how much he means to me. Is it too much to ask for a little bit of privacy?"

The nurse sighed and - upon seeing a single tear escape the corner of Michael's eye - she nodded. She quietly shuffled to the exit of the room. "You get fifteen minutes."

Fifteen minutes... it was way too short, but it was still longer than the time Michael was with Mika after the crash.

He pressed his forehead against Mika's arm - which lay limply next to his side and had a IV-canula attached to it - and sobbed. Sobbed in the bedsheets. One of his hands carefully moved up and planted itself in the shiny, blonde mop of Mika's hair. Caressing the soft locks and curling them around his fingers.

"I am sorry, Mika. I am sorry I did this to you."

He cried like he had never cried before, damping the sleeve of Mika's hospital gown.

"I wish you could hear me. I wanted to tell you how much you mean to me. Please know that I only wanted you to continue in F1 because I thought I couldn't miss you. Things would never be the same again!"

He retrieved his hand and shoved it under the blankets, feeling for the bandages that probably covered Mika's gaping wound. The wound that the medics had pulled the metal rod from that had impaled Mika.

He could feel the outline of the bandages and let his fingers trace the edges of it. He felt a sudden urge to feel Mika's skin. He wanted to know if he felt warm. His fingers fumbled long enough with the gown until he could feel the strip of skin between the waistband of Mika's pajama pants and the gown.

Michael sighed. His skin felt warm, despite his pale countenance.

"Mika please get well! I can't lose you! I want you to be happy with your family! I know you've dealt with something similar! You can beat death again!"

The steadily beeping sound of the heart rate monitor was the only reply he got, together with Mika's chest moving up and down by the artificial respiration.

Michael stared at the Finn's face. His countenance was untensed and surrendered in a calm serenity. He looked at peace with the possibilty of becoming an angel.

Michael stretched out a hand and traced the contours of his face, his nose, his cheekbones and finally his colourless lips. Taking in and memorizing the immortal beauty of the Finn.

"You might become an angel when you're over a hundred years old, but now is not your time. You're a husband and a father."

A tear plopped onto Mika's cheek from above him. A tear that traced a path over his porcelain skin. He looked so fragile, almost as if his skin would crack under the lightest amount of pressure.

But Michael couldn't help himself when he leaned down to kiss the patch of skin his tear had damped. Mika's skin was soft and warm enough to confirm he was still alive. "Now is not your time," he muttered with a sob as his fingers tightened around his rival's hand. "There is still so much I want to tell you..."

Michael was interrupted by the door of the hospital room opening.

The nurse stood on the threshold. "Your time is up. I kindly ask you to leave."

"But..."

"I am sorry, but Mrs. Häkkinen is on her way to visit her husband."

Michael gulped. He was not yet ready for a confrontation with Erja. He wasn't sure how she was coping, and he wondered if she blaimed him for this dramatic turn of events.

Michael sighed and nodded. "Yes ma'am. I will leave." He quickly put the envelope with his letter back in his pocket. It was not a good moment to leave the envelope with Mika now.

With slumped shoulders he walked to the exit of Mika's room. He looked around one more time and couldn't supress a heartwrenching sob.

The nurse put an arm around his shoulders. "Know that we do our utmost best for him."

It was two days after Michael had visited Mika at the hospital that Jean called him and told him the news he had feared most. Michael sagged to the floor in a boneless heap and wrapped his arms around his shaking body. Tears cascaded uncontrollably down his cheeks. Will he ever recover from this? Will he ever be able to overcome the guilt he felt? Did he still want to race in F1? Or would it remind him too much about the fatal crash? Mika had died all alone in one of the intensive care units of the hospital. Michael couldn't live with the fact that Mika died alone. Was his death unforeseen?

Michael was inconsolable. He had holed himself up inside his motorhome with the blinds closed. He had been crying non-stop, praying to a God he remembered believing in once. No one was allowed inside his trailer. Not even Corinna who had started to worry about Michael's mental health. He had told her he didn't want to burden her with his grief. "Give me a few days."

The days that followed, Michael was suffering from his feeling of guilt. He cried himself to sleep at night and only got up from the bed to eat, shower or change clothes. He was a complete mess. How could this have happened?! If only there was a way to reverse time!

Michael's face was pale. As pale as Mika had looked in the hospital the day he visited him. He was cold to the touch and his heart was a black hole. As black as the suit and tie he was wearing for the ceremony a few days later.

When the invation to Mika's funeral came in, Michael was faced with the harsh reality of it all. The finality of it. As he stood in front of Mika's casket, he felt his knees wobble. The photograph of Mika sitting on top of the casket brought him to tears. The pictured man was smiling his handsome crooked smile. A smile that always used to fill Michael's heart with warmth. His beloved rival was an angel now.

He kneeled down and touched the casket with his fingers, caressing the oak surface to pay his respects. His tears dripped onto the soil below him. Goodbye my good friend. You were the best rival I ever had. I hope you will forgive me...

All of a sudden, Michael felt a hand on his shoulder. Not a hand that wanted to console him, but a hand that wanted him to look up. So he did.

He stared straight into the face of Erja Häkkinen. The woman was holding her son Hugo and looked absolutely devastated. Even more so than Michael himself. Her face was covered with wet mascara stains. She looked down at Michael with her lips pressed in a thin line.

"You know that you played a role in Mika's decision to continue racing," she muttered. "I wanted him to stop, but you told him to continue! Look at us now! A widow and a fatherless son!"

Michael stood up to face the heartbroken woman. He wanted to say so many things, but he could only manage to mutter a quiet: "I am so terribly sorry!"

Erja sighed and turned her back on him, leaving him alone without a word of forgiveness and, as a consequence, causing him to hurt even more.

"Erja, please!" Michael stretched out a hand at her. "Don't leave me like this."

The woman turned on her heels and stared at him.

"What do you want, Michael?" She asked as tears dribbled down her cheeks. "He listened to you, instead of his own wife! Do you have any idea what we went through in 1995?"

"Of course I do! I can imagine how bad it was."

"I had to change our bed sheets every morning because he still had blood loss from his mouth two weeks after we returned to Monaco! He was kept awake by nightmares for a long time! I was scared to lose him everytime he crashed!" Erja sighed. "I know his death is not in anyway your fault! But it's hard to process what could have been if he did quit before the start of this season."

Michael was speechless. He crouched down and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders started shaking. He felt Erja's hand on his shoulder again.

She managed to muster a rueful smile. Michael could see the symphatic expression took her a lot of effort.

"Michael we really need to talk again when this is behind us for a while. It's still too soon for the both of us."

When the funeral was over, Michael left the location in complete shock. He had been afraid he would have to throw up when they lowered Mika's casket into the grave. He wasn't even sure he would be able to drive home safely the way he felt.

All of a sudden, his phone started ringing.

Michael groaned. He didn't want to pick up his phone, afraid that it would be Ross or Jean calling him to ask if he could race this weekend. Fuck the next Grand Prix! My childhood rival just passed away! Of course I can't drive right now!

He however did pick up his phone with a curt "Yeah," because he was afraid his voice would be too shaky to speak coherent sentences.

"Is this Michael Schumacher?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

"That doesn't matter, the voice replied. "I called you because I know how much Mika Häkkinen meant to you."

Michael felt his cheeks turn red in anger. What the fuck was this guy talking about?! Why was he calling him so soon after the funeral?! "Tell me your fucking name! Don't talk about Mika with me if I don't know who you are, you sick fuck!"

A silence.

"Calm down, Michael. I only mean well." The voice paused. "I have a proposal for you..."

Michael waited, glaring at his phone.

"Would you give up your eighth WDC for Mika? Would you give up your success in the future to bring him back?"

"What?!" Michael barked. "Do you think I believe you, creep?! What eighth world championship?!"

"Would you?"

Michael sighed. He didn't trust the caller, but he would do everything to get his Mika back. "Yes, in the blink of an eye! But I will never win eight championships! And seven is fine too if I can get Mika back. But if I see this conversation appear in one of the news papers in the near future, you are going to have a big problem!"

The voice laughed. "Don't worry about that, Michael."

The caller hung up the phone and Michael felt like stung by a bee. It all went black before his eyes and he dropped to ground.

He woke up with a start, breathing in and out heavily as if he just managed to escape from drowning. Where was he?

Mika, alive and kicking, snapped his fingers in front of him. "Hey man, I asked you something."

"I am sorry. W-w-what?"

Mika frowned and quirked an eyebrow at him. "I wanted to know your opinion on me quitting Formula One next season, but clearly you weren't paying attention."

Michael blinked at the Finn sitting opposite to him in the lounge chair. He needed time to process what the hell just happened. Was he really back in the ballroom after the prize giving? Was he chatting with Mika? His Mika? He looked at the Finn in disbelief and stretched out a finger to touch his face.

"Are-are you real?"

Mika scrunched his nose in a reflex when Michael's finger pressed into his forehead. "Michael, what are you doing?"

He grabbed Michael's hand and directed the prying finger away from his face. "You're acting weird."

"Mika! It's really you!"

Michael leaped from his chair and let himself fall into the arms of the suprised Finn. He pressed his face in the crook of his neck and breathed in the cheap eau the cologne his rival was wearing.

He sighed in relief.

His body felt so weak from all the stress, grief and guilt leaving his soul so abruptly, that he was clinging to Mika in order not to slip from the man's lap.

Mika held him despite being completely perplexed, but it was more like an awkward grip than a loving embrace. He just kept his rival from slipping down his lap.

"Yes, Mika. You should quit! I know I am going to miss you terribly, but don't risk your life for this hell sport anymore! You are a deserving World Champion and you deserve time to enjoy your success with Hugo and Erja!"

Mika blinked his eyes in confusion. "Okay..." He patted Michael's back. "Are you afraid that I am too much of a challenge for you?"

Michael grinned smugly. "Of course, Mika. Tell yourself that." He hugged the Finn close, reveling in his body warmth.

"But above all, I want you to be safe!"