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Unlike heroes, who always adhere to the silent rules of heroism established by Niijima Sae and perfected by the Hero Foundation, villains all work independently for their own interest, which varied extremely from one villain to another. Okumura Foods, now headed by Okumura 'Noir"' Haru who had established her position through literally beheading her own father on live television, is currently biggest faction of organized crime and villainism not merely in Tokyo but all of Japan, and despite the endless list of crimes, Noir strictly kept to her own set of morals, and never dared even scratch a civilian. Another famous group, Joker's gang 'The Phantoms', who terrorized Tokyo for a year prior to the appearance of Okumura Foods, would take requests on their site, doling out their own twisted violence while also making fun of the police. Then there are the villains who were part of the mob or the yakuza before awakening to their superpowers, villains who simply caused havoc because they like the chaos.
All this leaves the relationship between heroes and villains complicated. Vigilantes like Wolf often collaborate with law enforcement on a limited capacity, and come to the heroes' rescue in times of peril. Meanwhile, villains like Skull find even sharing a greeting with a hero repulsive, going as far as to call it collusion. It's no surprise that many villains hate each other, some villains having become villains simply to kill another: see Panther, who had awakened to her pyromania powers through burning a corrupt hero-turned-villain Kamoshidaman, and eventually ascended to her current supervillain status. The Hero Foundation keeps a relationship map and an interest file on each of the villains, and though highly confidential, all the heroes, to goad villains to do what they want for the Foundations, or in some extreme situations, even manipulate villains into removing each other. And from what Akechi knows, they have been helpful in more than a fistful of situations.
Because of these maps, the dangerous villains are not the strong ones, not the uncatchable ones—they're the unpredictable ones. It's why, despite Noir heading Okumura Foods and Joker being her right hand man, Joker is considered more dangerous than Noir. Noir, despite her keenness for destruction and removing the limbs of trashy men with a very sharp axe, would never dare do anything that would endanger her employees and their livelihoods. Joker does everything he fucking wants with no items off the table, no questions asked.
To Akechi, these chaotic types are even deadlier because his training is mostly in conflict de-escalation. He has learned his reputation not through catching terrifying criminals and disarming them like Queen, but through convincing, goading and playing mediator. His mouth is the greatest weapon he has, and he's fucked when he has to resort to his powers which are about as destructive as a smartphone flashlight function.
Yet Life doesn't cherry-pick the villains for the heroes to deal with, though the Hero Foundation tries its best to stop pointless sacrifices. As a senior hero with three years of experience under his belt, he doesn't always get to work only in his comfort zone, and has to face villains he would stand no chance against in proper combat. Joker has been one.
Today is another.
Akechi's very long day starts at a shopping mall complex in Kichijoji—particularly, inside the main bank. A violent armed robbery case emerges in the heart of the city, and as Akechi is a competent hero, he is sent to the scene to mediate and earn the Foundation enough time to arrive with proper backup, with a Jesus fucking Christ, don't get yourself killed from a concerned Niijima Sae. And he was going to follow that advice, he really was, until he arrives to a mass shootout.
Akechi is not a type of hero that people accept even a slight hesitation from before jumping in the line of fire, so he immediately slots himself between the muzzle and the civilian. At his arrival, the people trapped all break into cheer, and the approval does make him feel better.
"Robin Hood is here!" A young girl shouts out in ecstacy.
"It's Robin Hood! We're saved!"
Akechi would really love to share their enthusiasm, but he cannot. The villain that stares him down with the finger still caressing the trigger, is Macabre, one of the new villains that's appeared in the last few weeks—and all Akechi and the Foundation knew about him was that his powers involve the two sabers strapped to his legs, and that this man could exert some psychological control, yet chose to terrorize people into submission instead because it was more fun and thrilling.
A psychopath purely motivated by thrills and excitement. Akechi barely gets a chance to open his mouth before a butt of rifle is thrusted against his head, tilting his world sideways with a single hit. "Finally you've decided to come out instead of hiding like a little baby," Macabre sneers behind his full white mask, and Akechi feels cold metal tilt his head upwards. "To think that it was Robin Hood, out of all heroes around. Seems like I've really chosen the right day to go robbing."
The door to the safe is cracked open. Though they don't know much about this villain, the one characteristic they're aware of is that he doesn't care for is money; in all of his robberies, there had been stacks of bills still left in the bank, and nobody who wants to get away with money would dawdle around when a hero hasn't even arrived yet. This close, at the scene of the crime, Akechi can take a wild guess at why he's doing it, though—his eyes are wild and alight with energy, his fingers are shaking on the trigger, and he's tense; all the behavioral signs of a drug addict's. This villain is high, simply from the control he can exert with a rifle in his hand.
He needs to move the people somewhere else, so he wouldn't have to worry about collateral damage. He could probably get away with a nonfatal injury of his own, since he can ask for Queen to tend them later on.
So staring into the barrel of the rifle pointed at him, he exerts his ability to full, swallowing the entire bank in eye-rending incandescent light.
"Everyone, to the door!" Akechi screams as he immediately reaches for Macabre's rifle, tilting the weapon so that the bullet pierces the ceiling rather than the fleeing woman's head. The villain does not like that, waving around the weapon aimlessly in a vain attempt to hit him, but Akechi steps out of the range. Retrieving the weapon from the villain seems impossible, and most likely futile—Akechi has a feeling those swords are not for show.
They spend about thirty seconds in scuffle, gun firing into haphazard directions with the safety off as they do, until Akechi doesn't step out of a thrust, and the butt of the rifle collides directly with Akechi's face with a crack loud enough to be heard. Akechi staggers back, hand rising to clutch it, and the light fades away until it's only a mere lightbulb brighter than usual.
Oh, that may have not been the good thing to do, because Macabre is not happy about that. Yet he doesn't even get to take a single step towards Akechi because the faint hint of sirens ringing catches both of them off guard, evoking a flinch from them. The villain's eyes quickly fly to the source of the sound, while Akechi's fly towards the door; thankfully this entire floor seems to have been cleared off any distractions, and nobody seemed to have been hit by the stray bullets. Macabre, now completely incensed with veins popping in his forehead, points his gun ominously at Akechi.
"You could get away if you ran now," Akechi barely strangles out as he rubs over the spot where he's been hit, already feeling the bruise forming around his eye. "You don't need to do this. You know how the Foundation treats Hero Killers."
Macabre takes a good look at him, eyes glistening thoughtfully behind his white ski mask, then he pumps the magazine once once and shoots Akechi through the leg. He doubles over, the bullet piercing through his thighs, fuck fuck fuck. "Nah," Macabre says with hysterical laughter, "I think I'll not. I don't think I like your tone."
God, Akechi fucking hates the crazy types—revenge over safety, seriously? Thankfully the bullet seems to have embedded into the skin rather than piercing through, and although it hurts like a fucking bitch, it meant he wouldn't die of exsanguination before backup arrives. He quickly observes the damage, thanking that the villain hasn't chosen to hit anything that Queen's healing skill won't be able to fix, and turns his attention to the armed robber.
The sound of sirens now rings across the entire bank. Akechi manages a very strained smile, glaring up to the villain. Makoto's voice, distant and eruptive, roar outside the bank's walls. "Come on, the others are here. That's Queen's voice outside—I don't know what your powers are, but you won't stand a chance against Johanna."
The muzzle is now pressed against his temple, hard enough to leave a red ring where the metal is digging against his skin. The villain's red eyes gleam menacingly before him. "I could kill you before they take me out."
Akechi licks his lips. He's never been particularly attached to his life, he's not afraid of death. It is why he can say, without even a hint of fear visible in his voice, "Then they'll really have a fun time prosecuting you. You know villains aren't given the same rights as civilians, right?"
The villain's face twists in anger—if he expected Akechi to beg for his life, he has taken the wrong person hostage.
Then the expression twists into a dirty grin. "Then I won't kill you, but that doesn't mean I still can't have fun," a firm grip takes hold of his buttocks, massaging them apart. The villain leers openly as they rub at his hole through his pants. "Man, it's true what they say about you. You do have a nice ass."
Akechi is about to push away the hand, but numbing paralysis settle over his body as he realizes what is happening. Why should it matter? He's spread his legs for Joker and let him do anything he wants, and for something less than his own life. Why should this be any different? Why is this any different?
Macabre forces his tongue into his mouth, and he takes it all numbly, calling for backup to arrive already, fuck, they were on the first floor. "Oh, so you turn compliant now," Macabre leers when they separate, finger hooking into his belt buckle. Akechi grits his teeth and shuts his eyes tight.
"To think that the hero they expect to save Tokyo to be a fucking whore," a villain hisses. Akechi's eyes snap open, because they're not Macabre's high-pitched roar, but rather a deep rumble—and as he does so, two gunshots echo in the room, dragging Macabre to his knees. Akechi also falls to the floor, his injured leg crumpling as the grip keeping him up weakens, only to find himself caught in toned arms before he collapses completely, a familiar bush of black behind him and holding him upright. The newcomer snarls against his ear, "To spread his legs so eagerly at the first suggestion. You didn't even try to resist."
His head is heavy with static. "Fuck you, he shot me," he hisses, eyes drooping half close. "I'm bleeding. Give me a break."
A gloved finger digs into his gunshot wound ruthlessly, whitening Akechi's mind with incandescent pain. "Your tongue seems fully functional."
"Joker," Akechi names the villain, and he feels the smile around the earlobe Joker's taken into his mouth. "Not that it's not pleasant to see you, but why are you here? Aren't you busy, managing your three skyscrapers?"
"First of all, it's five," Joker is infuriatingly smug. "Well, I came across the intel by happenstance that you may need some help, so I came. To help."
He snorts. "Queen is—"
"—currently preoccupied, as Noir is on one of her spree," Joker finishes for him. "You know Queen's the only one who stands a chance against her, because Noir likes Makoto."
Akechi rolls his eyes. Everyone knows Noir and Queen are hatefucking, and because Noir is a popular villain due to her moral standards, some people even hope that they'd finally make up and get married so they both could retired and leave Tokyo slightly less scathed. Though he can't muster a reply because Joker's leather-covered fingers, now soaked with the same dark crimson as the glove's color, continue to dig around inside the wound.
Exasperated, he hisses as he tries to pull away, only to be stopped by an insistent pair of hnads. "Stop that."
Joker ignores him, digging through layers of skin and bones with his fingers, all while cheekily saying, "You don't like me inside of you? I've seen you moan with my fingers with me."
Akechi's eye flies to the other villain, the one who is thankfully too busy screaming and crying after being shot twice in the knee to even look in their direction. He turns his attention back to Joker. "Shut up," he grumbles, but doesn't pull away. He justifies it to himself by saying it's because now Joker's fingers are too deep inside of his skin anyways, but he knows that's not the only reason.
Joker's reply is first dragging his finger through his mouth to indicate silence, then digging in deeper and nudging at things until he drags something out of it. Before Akechi can demand what he did, Joker answers by dropping a bloodied bullet to his hand, and smiling. Akechi's sight blurs as the blood flows freely without the plug, and he feels like he's about to die before a tranquilizing serenity settles over his entire body, numbing him. He sighs, eyes lolling to his wound, to see the cells instantly regenerate the skin over. Once the euphoria washes over, there is not even a mark, not even a hint of a scar left on his skin; without the copious blood his leg is soaked in, he wouldn't have believed he was even shot at all.
Joker carefully settles him to the floor, and Akechi doesn't feel any pain at the spot as he forces some pressure on the spot. The villain hops onto his feet. "My skill's not perfect, though, so you'll feel dizzy—I can't replace all the blood. Also probably good to get an X-ray scan later so there's no bone fragment piercing it shouldn't."
Still heady from blood loss, he asks the first question that pops into his head while massaging the spot. Though the pain is no longer there, the phantom press of the bullet is still heavy against his skin. "You can use healing skills?"
Joker raises one eyebrow, gazing expectantly, arms crossed.
Akechi rolls his eyes, and sighs dramatically, "Yes, thank you for saving my life, Joker."
"You are welcome," the villain once again makes the smug cat face. "And yes, I indeed can. I can do a lot of things that I don't particularly feel like showing off. I also have an evil cat. Now..." Joker carefully reaches for the other villain, circling him like a shark observing his prey. "What shall we do with you?"
"You don't have to kill me," Macabre stutters, bloody hand still clutching his knees, his body curling inside. He's nothing like the villain Akechi's had to face off against mere minutes ago, and he realizes just how terrifying Joker's reputation in Tokyo is, especially to a villain.
"I don't have to do anything," Joker twirls theatrically. "Though now you've put the idea into my mind, I am now considering killing you. What do you think, Robin?"
The question is offered to him innocuously and casually enough that most people wouldn't think of it much, but Akechi has spent his time with Joker long enough to instinctively read his body language. Joker is currently taut with tension, barely-masked and acerbic, though he tries his best to hide it with a sunny smile. He remembers how Joker reacted to the kiss, tone scathing enough to burn, and stares down at now his pristine skin where the gunshot wound has been.
A disgusting sadist who gets off to terrorizing complete civilians, worth no value to the Foundation. This villain escapes, then what? He'll either plan a revenge plot towards Akechi or Joker, and not even the latter is a good option over this when it will only lead to a public execution for Joker to further establish his power through terror. Without considering the countless victims that'll be assaulted and killed in the following robberies, the choice to make is obvious.
"I think you should kill him," Akechi encourages him, eyes glancing over to the trash for a second. Trash that won't be missed for a day, that Akechi would kill himself if his moral standards were not limiting him.
Though Akechi is a hero, he is by no means a good person.
Joker's smile widens at his reply, crimson eyes glistening with clear approval behind his mask. "I agree. Garbage like this muddle the quality of villains in Tokyo, and we like to think we have some standards."
At the mention of his execution and the insult, Macabre uses what is left of his energy to lift the sabre strapped to his thighs, and lunges for Joker. Lying on the floor, Akechi watches the impromptu brawl that has broken out between the two villains with muted interest. Though, after the initial surprise blow from Macabre that Akira gracefully slides off with his two daggers, it cannot even be called that anymore—it turns into a single-way slaughter, Joker's smile never leaving his face as he expertly drags his dagger across the man's tendons, bright blood streaking over his black overcoat and grey vest.
When the spare villain completely collapses into the pool of his own blood is when Joker finally loses interest, turning his better attention to Akechi instead. "Now, you owe me."
Akechi feigns innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't be such a fucking tease, Akechi," Joker tosses the wet dagger away in disgust, stepping closer. "I just killed a guy for you, isn't that at least worth a blowjob?"
Akechi snorts. Like Joker would ever stop at a blowjob. "Please. I know you wanted to kill him ever since you saw him shove his tongue in my mouth."
"Yet I was going to acquiesce if you asked me nicely not to kill him."
"You weren't going to use that as an excuse to fuck me, then?"
Joker rolls his eyes. "I saved your life."
"You healed me because you didn't like me having someone else's marks on me, gunshot or not," he counters, crossing his arms. He still remembers what happened to the other villain that's dared to hurt him. He doesn't think the sight is something one could simply forget.
The silence that follows indicates that he's really hit the mark. Joker hauls him up by the collar, grip merciless as he's forced to meet the eyes glowing dangerously behind the porcelain mask. He meets the icy glare steely himself, now knowing it's what's expected of him, before smashing his own lips sloppily against Joker's. It tastes like blood—his own, someone else's, bitter and corrosive, haunting and deathlike. It should feel repulsive, it should be too much, but it's strangely intoxicating and disarming.
He really wishes he could tear that mask off, though. He's never liked how it digs into his own face whenever they kiss intimately like this, like it's desperate to leave some mark on him like every other part of Joker. Akechi licks his lips and slowly settles onto his knees as the hands hauling him up drops him lower.
Having had so much practice, it's not so hard now, making quick work of Joker's belt, shoving his pants down, tongue circling the crown as he dips his head lower. He is used to how Joker's cock splits his mouth open uncomfortably, the way how taking only half of it completely fills his mouth and makes his jaw complain.
Unable to breathe through his mouth anymore, he stills with Joker's cock as deep as he can take it without help, taking a deep breath in through the nose. The haunting smell of death still pungent in the air, it mixes with the heady scent of Joker's arousal, and Akechi's head spins. Thankfully, he doesn't have to think for long because there are two hands taking hold of his strands to pull hard, fucking into his throat. He grimaces, never having gotten gotten used to being used like this, tries to focus on breathing.
Before Joker shoots down come in his throat, letting Akechi make a mess of himself by coughing all over himself, he feels cold gel drip down his face, and he sharply turns up to ask Joker what he's doing.
Slathering his fingers with lube, the color clear pink because of all the blood, this villain shrugs noncommittally. "I don't want to come down your throat."
"Coming down with age, I see," Akechi smirks, pulling out. The line of spittle follows, silver trail hanging tight like it's regretful to break. "You could do both when we first met."
Joker snorts, all while slathering his own cock with generous lube. His lips harden to a flat line. "I still have bullets left on my magazine."
Akechi rolls his eyes internally, all as he pulls his best doe-eyed face and looking up to Joker. Dramatically he exclaims, "Oh, Joker. Please fill me with your hard cock. I couldn't possibly live without it!"
Their eyes locked together, neither dares to look away, both knowing that doing so would be losing. It's Akechi who turns away first, not solely because the stakes in the game between them has been unfair since the day it's been established that he's destined to lose every fight he is to have with the supervillain, but because after months of echoing empty words back to Joker they may have gained some substance, and that is fucking terrifying.
Joker's voice echoes behind him, "On your hands and knees."
Pushing down his pants to reveal his ass, he hurriedly scrambles into position, thanking the gods for the little s. At least this position allows him to save his face—Joker usually preferred to fuck face-to-face because he could see him unravel, and because he could bruise him bloody with his mouth as they fucked.
Akechi's fist curls against the floor when he feels the head of Joker's cock—barely lubed, already hard—presses against his entrance, splitting him apart. The moan that escapes him is completely involuntary, as is how his body gives in, legs splitting further apart to give Joker better access to his body. Joker's laugh at how his body yields naturally is brittle to his ears, and his heart hammers hard as the blood rushes to his cock at the humiliation.
"You think you're being funny when you say you can't live without my cock," Joker comments nonchalantly, pressing himself slowly, inch by inch. "But I think you know that by now it's true," he finishes, punching right against his prostate as he fucks into him entirely, now capable of finding the spot almost instinctually. "I've ruined you for anyone else. Nobody would be good as my cock splitting you apart like this."
Akechi's cock twitches as humiliation wades through him.
"You think you can go back to casual sex after this? Someone nicely rocking into you—maybe your pretty boyfriend, Akira?—as they tell you what a good boy you are?" Joker's grip, rough and punishing, curl around his already-hard cock. "You think that'd be able to get you even half hard as how you are right now?"
No, probably not. But he wonders if the same applies to Joker, if he can't get hard and come without having Akechi there to serve as his toy—because he can't jerk and fuck without this intense power play happening alongside him. The mere concept turns him tighter around Joker's cock, making him tighten around the length buried in him.
"Fucking whore," Joker hisses, but his rhythm speeds up to rock into him with frantic need. "Can't believe you're—"
The shrill ring of Featherman X's theme song cuts through Joker's hysterical rant. Joker halts, cock still hard inside of him, to turn to the source of the sound: Akechi's jacket, that he's still wearing. Akechi shuts his eyes, really hoping he would be too busy with the thoughts of ramming into him to ignore the call until it goes into voicemail, but Joker chooses to make everything as complicated as it has to be, because of course Joker adores chaos. He stills, and cheerfully commands, "Take the call, Robin. It could be someone important."
His fingers scramble to retrieve the device from the inside of his breast pocket, but he hesitates on the accept button, index finger hovering over the air. Joker pulls out, leaving him empty.
"It's rude to keep someone hanging," Joker mentions mirthfully as he punches out the air in Akechi's lungs with a particularly brutal thrust. "Oh, it's the elder Niijima, too. You shouldn't keep your superior officer waiting, Robin."
When Akechi doesn't move to take the call himself, Akechi does, dragging a line of dark crimson across the screen as he does so. He sets the call to speaker, and only after everything is how he likes it, pulls away to cradle Akechi's ass.
"Akechi, thank god you're safe," Sae's voice is frantic, drifting through the line the moment the call connects. "What is happening in there? Are you negotiating right now? God, I hope I haven't called at a bad time."
He is negotiating indeed, it just happened to be that the villain everyone expects him to be with negotiating with was dying slowly in the background, long forgotten in their pleasures. Pleasure which Joker reminds him of by slipping his blood-battered fingers into the maze of Akechi's locks, taking a good grasp of the strands so he could use the grip to fuck in even deeper.
He groans so loud that it rings in the room, and it's so loud it's caught by his phone's shitty mic. "Are you alright? Do you need backup?"
"I-I'm fine, Sae-san, but you can't come in right now," he implores desperately. "The villain's gone to the safe for now, but I think I can handle this without any casualties. Please don't do anything to sabotage this."
There's no way that Sae doesn't recognize what's happening from the stutters between the words whenever Joker presses in just right, the wet breathing escaping Akechi's mouth at every movement, and the loud slap of skin on skin on the background. His knuckles whiten around the smartphone that's been forcefully placed in his grip, breath exiting him in wheezes as Joker presses in right against his prostate and grinds. He barely cuts off the whine by biting his tongue before it escapes, teeth digging into the supple flesh so hard that his mouth is filled with the taste of copper.
"Are you sure you've got this?" Sae's doubtful, but willing to give him the room for doubt—more than what Akechi can ask for. "We have the area barricaded, so if it's too much you can always leave the rest to us."
"Yes, please trust me," Akechi brightly speaks into the phone, and immediately cuts the call before Sae can respond. His head thumps to the floor, the collision with the floor adding to the migraine and haze Akechi's already consumed by.
"I didn't say you can do that," Joker derides, slowing his rhythm to a punishingly slow one that Akechi can't come alone to, and he whines long, trying to grind his hips back, only to be held back by an insistent set of hands. One hand remaining to keep Akechi anchored in place, Joker's dominant one leaves to rain down firm hits on Akechi's ass. "I didn't say you could beg."
Akechi bites his lips and squints his eyes shut, trying to keep himself from moaning, or god forbid, beg for more. Joker doesn't stop, hand moving to the other side when the hits start to be too much, until they're both burning at the touch. And Joker touches—he grips onto them hard to pump in hard, until even his voice is coming out ragged and uneven. Akechi tries to meet up to the thrusts until it becomes all too much and collapses, unable to do anything but keep up with breathing.
He comes, untouched as expected, across the floor. Joker follows almost immediately, fingers digging brutally into his already-sore skin and cock pressed in so deep he's sure the pubic hair will leave marks, too. Akechi groans, the adrenaline from the fight, injury and sex all clearing from his head after his orgasm and leaving him paralyzed. It's also the reason why he feels empty when Joker pulls himself out and cleans himself methodically. It has to be.
To his surprise, there's a warm hand supporting him where he's fallen, helping him pull his pants up, helps him look decent for the crowd that is surely waiting outside for him. Akechi makes a surprised sound, unexpected yet not unwanted, because Joker hasn't bothered with aftercare for him, ever. Not when they fucked first, not when he first got him to open up, never. When Joker is done, he leaves a plain handkerchief in his hands, streaked with come and dried blood.
"I can't have you become an embarrassment," Joker replies to the unasked question hanging in the air, and the fondness in his voice catches him off guard. "You may be a hero, but everyone knows you're mine. Your reputation may as well be mine, and I can't have everyone knowing about this."
It's ridiculous, but before he can press Joker on it, Joker is no longer in the room, discorporated in the haze of blood loss. Perhaps for an excuse, the bloody bag that's been lying next to Macabre has also vanished, the clean floor around where the duffel has lain before stark around the blood that has pooled around him.
Akechi stares at the handkerchief like it would disappear, yet unlike the magic trick Joker enjoys participating in, it never vanishes from his sight. It sits in his palms, reminding him that everything that happened has been very, very real.