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“Are you done yet?”
Izuku blinked, eyes shiny but not quite tearful as he looked up at the man who had his cock halfway down Izuku’s throat.
He wasn’t even looking at Izuku, instead, a gloved hand was elegantly curled beneath his chin as his elbow rested on the table. He was working.
Beautiful, bored, regal Chisaki Kai. Overhaul. The leader of the Shie Hassaikai.
Izuku’s savior. His obsession. The closest thing he knew to associate with love and devotion.
Izuku hummed quietly and those golden eyes flicked down to look at Izuku, before a brow curled up above them.
“You’ve been down there for an hour. I have things to do.”
Izuku shivered happily, and opened his throat wider, taking Kai all the way to the hilt.
He was good at this, a pretty and obedient pet for the yakuza boss. An hour ago, Kai had told him to get under the desk and warm his cock, so he had. Now, the next command was clear as day: get me off before I go to another pedantic meeting you’re not invited to .
Izuku knew he wasn’t invited, because otherwise he’d have merely been asked to pull off and continue warming his master there.
Kai’s free hand curled over the back of Izuku’s head and held him still as he slowly, roughly, skullfucked him. Izuku was in heaven, expression of utter bliss on his features even as he struggled to breathe, even as the tears that had been trembling against the rims of his lower eyelids finally fell and slid down his face.
Overhaul was rough with him, a brutal teacher in everything he taught, but the only one who had ever bothered to keep Izuku around long enough to actually teach him.
Teach him how to suck, how to get fucked, how to use his brilliant mind to its fullest extent even without a quirk.
Especially without a quirk.
When Kai came, it was quietly, a click in his throat and a soft groan purring in his chest. He wasn’t ever loud in bed, never raised his voice. Izuku had spent years memorizing every soft near-silent response of his to touch, to closeness, to intimacy… though he knew Kai would never call what they did together intimate, to Izuku it absolutely was.
On some level, the wakagashira must have known it was, too. He allowed Izuku to call him by his given name behind closed doors, if he’d been especially good.
The hand fisted in his hair relaxed, and long fingers gently scratched against Izuku’s scalp as he allowed the boy to pull back and catch his breath. Izuku nuzzled into his thigh and accepted the softness with a dopey smile on his face; he was on top of the goddamn world.
“You’re getting very good at that,” the man praised quietly, voice just barely breathless, as though he was completely unaffected. Izuku knew better. He wanted to believe he knew better than anyone else the true emotions of this man that he never showed to others.
“Thank you, Kai.”
A momentary squeeze of fingers, a warning tug to his hair. They weren’t in the bedroom, they were in Kai’s office. Anyone could walk in. And no one was allowed to use that name except his right hand man.
And Izuku. Sometimes.
“Wish you didn’t have to go,” he added carefully, wondering if he could coax him to stay longer, to keep parsing his fingers through Izuku’s hair, maybe even take his gloves off…
“Hari said he’s had some progress with Eri,” Kai replied noncommittally. Izuku pouted and turned to rest his chin against Kai’s knee.
“Right,” he mumbled. “Your pet project.”
The hand in his hair slipped free and slapped gently against Izuku’s cheek before stroking there.
“Watch your tongue. You’re my pet project. She’s my masterpiece.”
Masterpiece.
It cut Izuku to the core every time Kai mentioned her. That little girl who had something, something Izuku didn’t have: a quirk. A quirk that would be the end of all quirks, as Kai hypothesized. Izuku had spent the last year fighting her for Kai’s attention without ever having set eyes on her even once.
In his mind, she was his most hated nemesis.
“Do I have to go back to the room?” Izuku asked next, because if this was to do with Eri, then there was nothing Izuku could give Kai that would top that. Nothing that he’d found yet anyway.
Kai hummed, twisting a finger absently in one of Izuku’s curls and tugging softly, just enough to stretch it straight and let it bounce back again.
“No, you’ve been rather good today. You can explore the grounds if you wish. Usual rules apply.”
Usual rules were the following:
- Do not leave the grounds
- Do not communicate with anyone entering the grounds
- Do not antagonize members of the inner circle
The third rule was technically applicable to anyone, not just the eight precepts, but there were harsher consequences if Izuku got on the wrong side of Hari or Rappa or Setsuno, as opposed to some nameless lackey. More often than not, Izuku was happy to follow the rules; Kai’s home was enormous, the property even larger. He had his favorite spots in the gardens, one by the koi pond, one underneath the willow trees. Izuku enjoyed the library, which took up an entire wing of the house. He spent hours there, researching, learning, and bettering himself.
Because that’s what Kai expected of him.
That’s what had drawn Kai to him in the first place.
Such a clever thing, and almost taken so young by the plague that is the quirk phenomenon. A mind like yours deserves to thrive.
Izuku had been fourteen.
A childhood friend had just told him to jump off the school building and hope his next life gave him a quirk.
So Izuku had.
He’d toppled five stories and had broken his neck, but he hadn’t died.
This life still had more in store for him, it seemed. Because he was found, and rebuilt, and reborn, proving Katsuki Bakugou and every other cruel voice in his head wrong. He was quirkless, but he was far from worthless.
He’d proven that the first day Overhaul had taken him in, and had been working hard to keep himself necessary since. With each passing year, that became both harder and easier to achieve; his reputation preceded him in some cases, with his knowledge and research into heroes and hero society, but his longevity depended entirely on what new information he could provide, and the mercurial tides of Kai’s whims.
Boredom was a death sentence in this house.
“If you wish to be useful to me,” Kai added, gently pushing Izuku back so he could free his leg and stand up, tucking himself away and tightening his belt. “Skeptic is following a new lead.”
The way he said it, that particular coil of his tone told Izuku everything he needed to know: I don’t trust him. Find out what he’s doing.
“Tomoyasu is back?”
This time, the hand that slapped his cheek didn’t stay to soothe the sting.
“Watch your mouth,” Kai warned him calmly, adjusting his glove before rolling his shoulders. “Do not embarrass me in front of an ally. I taught you better.”
Izuku bit his lip. Kai had taught him better. And he was a good boy. He was going to prove it.
“‘M sorry,” he mumbled. Kai snorted softly.
“You’re a little shit,” he told him fondly, before snapping his fingers and pointing towards the door. “Now get out unless you want to be locked in the office until tomorrow morning.”
Izuku scooted himself out from beneath the desk without another word.
The Shie Hassaikai were traditional; they did business the old school way. When Pops was still up and about, Izuku would see him taking his time to properly dress for official meetings. He’d been nice to Izuku, had always smiled softly, almost nostalgically. Izuku figured he must’ve thought that Kai adopted him, and never dissuaded him from the idea.
In a way, it wasn’t a lie.
Izuku had forsaken his old life the day Kai reached out and Overhauled his broken body. Sure, he missed his mom sometimes, but what had that life given him, aside from her? A ‘best friend’ who’d told him to kill himself? A quirkless existence in a quirked world? He’d been a mutant in that life. In this one, he was the aim, the goal, of Kai’s entire life’s work: a thing free of the plague of quirked society.
The compound the yakuza lived and worked on was large and sprawling, offering accommodation for visiting guests. It was common for them to share cups here rather than meeting off site, it allowed for discreet surveillance without many of their guests being any the wiser.
Skeptic was one of those guests. And while Izuku was pretty sure he was well aware of the fact that he was being kept an eye on, he also hadn’t kicked up a fuss when he’d been shown to his room.
It had been a subtle game of cat and mouse since.
Izuku had met the man only once before, in passing, and had found him to be… disagreeable. That was the word that Kai had used that night after he’d finished pounding Izuku senseless against the floor to ceiling windows of his bedroom and working him up to tears of overstimulation. Kai really enjoyed seeing him cry.
“He’s disagreeable,” Kai murmured, nose buried in Izuku’s hair and fingers lazily slipping through the curls. “Too smart for his own good, and working directly against our goals. But he’s useful.”
Izuku was also useful.
And he wasn’t disagreeable.
He’d shown time and again that even without a quirk, his mind was invaluable; he had a damn near photographic memory, learned incredibly quickly, dedicated himself to any and everything he was allowed to explore, be it study in the library or combat training with some of the inner circle who’d grown fond of him.
And now, he was going to be invaluable to Kai once more, and turn the disagreeable into something workable. He stopped off at his own room before heading off again.
Skeptic's suite– because there was no other word for it– was towards the East wing of the compound, so Izuku sauntered over. One of the founding members of a company called Feel Good Inc., Skeptic was apparently a perfectionist, a hacker, and in possession of a fairly intimidating quirk.
But it wasn't his quirk that had Kai on edge, Overhaul was more powerful than anything that Izuku had ever seen; it was his allegiance. While Kai worked tirelessly to find a cure for quirks, Feel Good Inc. seemed to be on a similarly dedicated path towards fighting for freedom of quirk use in society.
Not quite the enemy of an enemy, but certainly not a friend.
Izuku didn't bother to wait for an answer after he knocked, and effectively let himself in.
"What the fu– ah. You."
Izuku put on his best dopey smile and waved sheepishly like an excited middle schooler.
"Hi! Are you Mr. Skeptic? I've heard so much about–"
"Get out,"
Izuku pouted and stepped closer. Playing stupid was remarkably effective against people who thought highly of themselves.
"Overhaul-san said you were working today, and told me to come and learn from you." He mumbled, wringing his hands in front of himself, shifting from foot to foot. "I'll be quiet, I promise."
The way Skeptic's hair lay across his forehead, a sharp and brutal fringe, hid his eyes and his brows, but Izuku watched the way his lips twitched in something between a sneer and deep amusement.
Gotcha.
"What could you possibly learn from me?" Skeptic asked, tone lofty, before turning back to the three screens set up on the table in front of him. "You're his little pet aren't you? A comfort boy. Quirkless. I've hardly got time to indulge your filthy whims."
Izuku ducked his head and summoned just enough of a haze to his eyes to redden the tip of his nose. He needed to look pathetic, like a kicked puppy.
"Over… Overhaul-san said your quirk, it could…" a deliberate fidget, a twist of his body in a way that showed off the curve of his back. "Help me… practice… being good."
Kai didn't like sharing, especially something as valuable and intimate as a bed boy, but Izuku had, in his time here, been passed around most of the inner circle at one point or another. It wasn't unheard of, and he was sure his master would forgive him the deception for the greater good.
If not, then… well, Izuku hadn't accrued any other punishments lately.
Skeptic's fingers slowed on the keys before stopping altogether. The chair creaked just a little as he swung back around to look at Izuku.
"Did he?" A very different tone to the one before; this was lascivious, hungry, the kind of tone that spoke of hurting for the sake of hurting. Izuku was used to hurting, pain was a constant companion.
"Have you been a bad pup for your master?"
Izuku nodded, pushing his toe against the rug, playing up the innocence he hadn't possessed in several years.
"He said I dunno how to hold still, I squirm too much."
Skeptic clicked his tongue and tilted his head in a way that made his hair shift just enough that Izuku could see his eyes. They weren’t kind eyes, nor deep. The gaze felt almost hollow, inhuman. Izuku had heard people say that Kai’s eyes were like that, but that was the farthest thing from the truth in his mind. Kai’s eyes were warm, light, clever. Izuku could drown in those eyes.
The man held up a hand and beckoned Izuku closer, and he made sure to stumble just a little when he approached, so when he caught himself against the desk it wasn’t an obvious feint.
“Scrawny thing,” Skeptic mumbled, leaning back in his seat to look Izuku over, as Izuku rested his hands against the desk and played up the wide-eyed nervous bit. “You’d think Overhaul would have no trouble keeping you still.”
“He says he shouldn’t have to,” Izuku replied, one hand seeking back, light as a feather, over the keyboard and up against one of the screens. “He says I should be good and stay still on my own but it’s hard sometimes, it hurts sometimes.”
Skeptic shifted his knees wider and Izuku bit his lip, crossing one foot over the other. Behind his back, he fished the little bug he’d grabbed from his room from inside his sleeve and discretely slipped it into one of the ports at the screen’s base.
It was one of the ones Izuku had made and modified himself, when he’d been going through a phase of particular hyperfixation with technology some months back. Nigh invisible outwardly, it blended into the hardware of most modern computers without issue, it had a sneaky little code that infiltrated any system it was plugged into and systematically copied any databases, searches, cookies…
If left in long enough, it started tracking keystrokes too.
Izuku had no doubt the little bug would be allowed to stay in that computer for a good long while.
“He’s not wrong,” Skeptic spoke at length, and Izuku furrowed his brows a little. “Pets should be obedient. If you’re told to stay still, you stay still. Do you know what my quirk does, little pet?”
Izuku shook his head.
Of course he knew. He dug into as much background information as their personal databases allowed whenever anyone new entered the compound. But Izuku had learned through dedicated hands on research, that letting people talk who love to hear the sound of their own voice, blinded them to everything else.
Predictably, Skeptic reached out, skimming Izuku’s thigh just a little, before resting his hand on the small filing cabinet at Izuku’s side. Immediately, the shape shifted into something amorphous, something strange and certainly no longer inanimate. Izuku watched as it folded itself into the shape of a man, nameless, faceless, generic, kneeling where the cabinet was moments before.
For added effect, Izuku made sure to gasp particularly loudly at this show of power.
“Oh,” he offered quietly. “Wow.”
“Yes,” Skeptic’s tone dripped with patronizing care. “Wow. Is one enough, do you think, little pet? To keep you from squirming? Shall we see?”
Izuku nodded quickly, curling in on himself a little as he eyed the dead-eyed golem that Skeptic had brought to life.
“I’ll be good, I don’t need another one to keep me still.”
“If you’re here on Overhaul’s orders, you’ve clearly offended your master enough for two,” Skeptic replied with a thin smile, reaching out to turn a nearby pile of boxes into another hulking puppet. “It’s a pity. I’d work the lesson into you myself but timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.”
“I’ll be good,” Izuku repeated softly, curling his hands against the desk in anticipation. It was hard not to laugh at Skeptic's choice of words… Izuku was quite literally a Trojan horse in his midst and yet…
And Izuku wasn’t frightened, he’d seen and experienced far more, and far crueler than this quirk, but he needed to buy time. And the way to play into a sadist’s hands was to appear like their most desired treat.
“You better be,” Skeptic murmured, before one of the puppets grabbed Izuku by the shoulders and spun him around, slamming him down against the desk right next to the keyboard. “Because summoning another isn’t difficult, but I don’t think you will like the consequences if I find I have to.”
Izuku whined, squirming about in a way he absolutely did not when Kai manhandled him, and cast his eyes to the digital clock on one of the screens.
An hour.
He needed at least an hour for the bug to collect all the data he wanted.
He summoned up a dry sob as his clothes were damn near torn from him by the inhuman hands of the things Skeptic had made, reached out across the table to grasp the other end, and shoved up onto his toes.
Whatever Skeptic was lecturing him on as the first smack of a wide palm hit across his thighs fell on deaf ears. Izuku didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was being a good boy, a clever boy, a useful boy.
The rest was just endurance.
He made sure to cry out real pretty, though, just for the fun of it.