Academic rivals to lovers with Izuku
Content & warnings: f!reader, collage!au, enemies to lovers, reader is kinda an ass, eventual smut, blowjobs, cowgirl, 18+, minors DNI
IB: @mamashima, their fic is super good go check it out!!!
WC: 8.1k
He swears he’s a good person.
No really, he is! He’ll always pay for the person in front of him if they don’t have enough money. He gives up his seat on buses for old ladies. He helps carry heavy bags for the old lady that lives above him.
He swears it, he’s a good person!
But something about you…
The way you cut him off during class when he’s answering a question, only to offer something better. The way you glare at him when he scored higher than you in a test. The not-so-subtle scoff at his analysis of Gregor’s character in The Metamorphosis. God, there’s only so much a man can take before having to wring his hands underneath his desk to keep himself from being rash.
He hasent even done anything to warrant this behaviour from you.
Not that he can think it anyways.
It's just the way it’s always been since he started collage two years ago. Always in the same classes, always taking the same courses, and always the same snide behaviour from you. And Izuku would be lying if he said he hadn't started giving it back.
You couldn’t blame him! After the first three months, he really couldn’t keep quiet anymore. He had even tried to sort things out!
“Have I done something to offend you?” He asked one day, just when class had ended.
He had packed his stuff into his red backpack as fast as he could, trying and catch you before you left.
You always sat in the same place, four rows up, three seats to the right. Out of morbid curiosity, he had once decided to sit there to see what would happen. The only thing that happened was Izuku going home with a sore ankle.
You looked up at him with an indifferent expression, hair falling slightly into your face as you shoved your remaining notebook into your shoulder bag.
“Other than your usual annoying muttering while I’m trying to concentrate?”
Izuku felt the tips of his ears go pink. Fuck, you had heard that?
He always sat two rows behind you. He couldn’t imagine what he had put the poor people who sat next to him through.
“Well… yes, I guess. Apart from that." Izuku stumbled over his words slightly, trying his best to not to offend you. "I don’t think the way you’ve been acting towards me is warranted. You couldn’t just told me to stop”
You just rolled you eyes and threw your bag over your shoulder.
“You’re not special enough for me to pay attention to you enough to be mean. If you’re that sensitive, maybe go somewhere else.” And with that you had barged past him and swung open the double doors of the lecture the store.
Izuku scoffed.
Actually scoffed.
Who the fuck do you think you were?
He had been nothing but nice to you. He had even tried to sort out whatever weird grudge you held against him, and this is the treatment he got?
That was just over a year ago, and Izuku isn’t even trying to hide his distain for you. Instead, there seems to be an unspoken competition between the two of you.
Actually, no.
Unspoken would imply that the two of you had the decency to be subtle about it.
You did not.
It was in the way you raised your hand two seconds after his, fingers already curled around your pen like you’d been waiting for him to make a mistake. It was in the way Izuku no longer stumbled over his words when correcting you, no longer softened his tone when offering an alternative interpretation, no longer tried to make himself smaller just because your eyes narrowed every time he spoke.
And it was the way you smiled when he challenged you.
A smile that made his jaw tighten and his stomach twist in the most infuriating way.
Because you liked it.
You liked it when he pushed back, liked it when he stopped being polite. You liked it when he fin ally matched your energy instead of blinking down at you with those stupid, earnest eyes.
And he could tell. That sparkle in your eye the first time he had finally snapped back and bit too harshly at your counter argument in debate was more than enough to confirm it.
And God, he hated it.
He hated that you knew exactly where it hit him to make him snap. You knew which buttons to push to rile him up. And he hated how he knew that you bit the inside of your cheek when a lecturer praises his answer, and that your foot tapped under the desk whenever he finished his essays before you did.
But the thing he hated the most is that part of him didn't hate it.
That he actually looked for it.
Every stupid, exhausting day.
He swears he's a good person.
But when it comes to you, Izuku Midoriya is starting to think he may be something else entirely.
He couldn't believe it.
He actually couldn't fucking believe it.
One semester. That's it. He just had one more semester before graduation. One semester before he could get his degree, pack a stupidly overfilled suitcase and go on the boys' trip he and Kacchan, Kirishima, Kaminari and the others had been planning since second year.
One year until he was finally free.
And somehow, his Literary Theory and Criticisms class had managed to put his entire graduating grade in the hands of a group project.
Izuku fucking hated group projects.
He was always, somehow, stuck with the most useless people on earth. People who didn’t do jack shit until the final twelve hours and submitted AI-written paragraphs with fake references and acted shocked when he called them out on it. People who ghosted the group chat for three weeks, then popped up the night before the presentation with a “hey guys, what slide am I doing?” like Izuku hadn't stayed up for the past three days to finish their part.
So really, he should be relieved.
Because at least this year, he wouldn't have to worry about someone being incompetent.
No, apparently, this year he had been given something much worse.
The email sat open on his laptop screen, the words typed neatly like they weren't mocking him.
For the final critical analysis project, the following pairs have been assigned:
Midoriya Izuku...
His eyes dragged down.
...and you.
Izuku just stared. The slowly leaned back in his chair and pressed both palms over his eyes.
"No," he moaned into his hands. "No, no, no, no."
From across the kitchen table, Kirishima looked up from the protein shake he was making. "What?"
Izuku dragged his hands down his face until his cheeks pulled down with them. "I got paired up with her."
Kaminari, lying upside down on the sofa, immediately lifted his head. "You mean that bitch?"
"Don't call woman bitches." Midoriya immediately snapped.
Even though he agreed. She was a bitch.
Kaminari raised his hands in mock surrender.
Kirishima’s brows furrowed. “Wait, is this the girl who corrected your essay structure in front of the whole seminar?”
“She didn’t correct my essay structure,” Izuku said quickly, sitting up straighter. “She made a reductive comment about the limitations of my argument, which was only technically fair because we were discussing post-structuralist criticism and I hadn’t yet addressed- ”
Kaminari groaned loudly. “Bro, you’re doing the muttering thing.”
Izuku stopped. Then, with great effort, he inhaled through his nose and looked back at the screen.
You.
Of course it had to be you.
Out of everyone in the class, everyone in the department, every single student who had ever dragged themselves into that lecture hall at nine in the morning, it had to be you.
The universe had a sense of humour, apparently. And a cruel one at that.
A notification lit up his screen.
A new email.
From you.
For one ridiculous, hopeful second, he wondered if maybe you were emailing the lecturer. Maybe you had decided, for once in your life, to be reasonable. Maybe you were also horrified enough by the pairing to ask for a switch.
He opened it.
Subject: Final Project
Midoriya,
I assume you’ve seen the pairing. I don’t like this any more than you do, but I’m not risking my grade over personal issues. We should meet tomorrow after the seminar to divide the work properly.
Don’t be late.
Izuku stared at the email. Them slowly, very slowly, he smiled.
It's noy like he found it funny, but something in him had snapped so quickly he could almost hear it.
Kirishima, chopping his banana, squinted at him. “You good?”
“No,” Izuku said pleasantly. “But I’m going to be.”
Don’t worry. Unlike some people, I know how to work professionally. Tomorrow after the seminar is fine.
He paused, had a think, then added:
Try not to arrive with an attitude. It slows down productivity.
He sent it.
Yeah, yeah, it was immature. He knows. But any comment about your attitude always seemed to hit a nerve. So sue him for being crafty.
Your response came seconds later, as if you were ready for his witty retort:
If my attitude is capable of slowing down your productivity, then your productivity was not very strong to begin with.
See you tomorrow.
God, he hated you so fucking much.
He was late.
Of course he was.
Granted, it was only four minutes, but four minutes and counting!
He had to be doing it on purpose.
You sat alone at the small table in the corner of the library cafe, your laptop open and notebook already filled with three possible topics they could choose from.
Your eye kept flickering to the time on the bottom right corner of your laptop.
Five minutes.
Unbelievable.
After all that talk about productivity, after that insufferably polite little email about working professionally, after having the nerve to tell you not to arrive with an attitude, Midoriya Izuku had the audacity to be late.
You leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms. You were not going to let him get under your skin within the first five minutes of this project.
Six minutes.
The library doors opened with a soft mechanical hiss, and there he was.
Running.
Like, actually running.
God, was he ever not embarrassing himself.
His red backpack was slung over one shoulder, one hand gripping the strap, the other pushing back his messy curls out of his face as he scanned the room.
His hair was damp, but not in a soaking wet way; Just damp enough that the dark green curls stuck slightly to his forehead and the sides of his neck. His cheeks were flushed from exertion, breath coming just a little too hard as he spotted you and immediately made his way over.
And for once he didn't sport his usual oversized hoodie. No, this time he had shown up in a fitted black gym shirt.
And holy shit.
Izuku Midoriya was fucking ripped.
Not bodybuilder huge or anything like that, but toned. Strong in a way that, actually, made sense once you saw it because he had never been weak. She had once saw him carry four full shopping bags and a crate of water for this old lady that seemed to live near him. Not that she was paying attention to that or anything.
There were freckles on his arms.
"I'm sorry," he said, slightly breathless as he dropped into the chair opposite. "Training ran over."
"Does it look like I care?"
He huffed a laugh, pushing his curls back again. His arms flexed as he did it.
"By six minutes."
"It could've been sixty. You're still late."
He leaned back in his chair, still flushed, still breathing a little unevenly, and huffed.
"Whatever, lets just start."
You cleared your throat and turned your laptop towards him.
“I’ve already made an outline.”
“Of course you have.”
“I knew you'd be late so I thought i'd save us some time.”
“I apologised.”
"Yeah, I remember."
You turned you book towards him for him to take a look at the titles you had chosen. He leaned forwards, forearms flexing under his weight and you tried your best not to stare.
He pushed your notebook away.
"I have one."
"Is it one of mine?"
"No."
You rolled your eyes and flopped back in your chair.
"Enlighten me."
He pulled your notebook back to himself and leaned down to scribble on it, before turning it over and sliding it over to you.
You read it and didn't have to think.
"No"
His brows furrowed. “You didn’t even think about it.”
“I did. I thought about it and then I rejected it.”
“You rejected it in less than two seconds.”
“Yeah i’m efficient like that,”
Midoriya exhaled through his nose and dragged a hand through his hair. He looked annoyed, which was satisfying. Then he leaned forward, which was less satisfying, because it made his shoulders shift under that stupid black gym shirt again.
"Why the fuck do you have a problem with everything I do?"
"It's not my fault you have shitty ideas."
"What about this is shitty?" He exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air.
"Misread Woman? It sounds like a podcast episode."
"Only when you say it like that!"
"It dosent matter how you say it."
"Holy shit." He let out a humourless laugh, before tapping the page. “The title works because it’s simple, but it still holds the whole argument. Misread Women establishes the core issue. Then the subtitle, which you oh so conveniently left out, gives us the critical framework of the actual argument”
He circled the subtitle: Narrative Voice, Psychological Conflict, and Feminist Criticism
“Yeah, but it's too obvious. It makes us sound like we already know what we’re going to argue before we’ve actually argued it.”
“We do know what we’re arguing.”
“We know the direction. That’s not the same thing.”
Midoriya stared at you for a second.
Then, annoyingly, his expression shifted.
Not into irritation like you were expecting. It was interest.
It was the same look he got during seminars, when someone said something worth pulling apart. Like he’d forgotten he was supposed to dislike you because the argument had become more important than his pride.
“So,” he said slowly, “you think the title overstates the conclusion.”
“I think it risks flattening the analysis.”
His pen paused.
You could see him considering it. Actually considering it. Not dismissing you, not preparing a comeback.
It was deeply inconvenient when Midoriya was intelligent in a way that wasn’t performative.
“Fine,” he said at last. “What would you change?”
You paused for a minute before replying.
“I’d make it less like a slogan and more like an argument.”
You grab the book back off of him and write a new sentence below his while reading it out loud.
“Misread Women: Narrative Voice, Psychological Conflict, and the Gendered Politics of Interpretation.”
Midoriya looked down at it, his eyes moving across the sentence. He rubbed his jaw.
"That's...better."
“Sorry?”
“It’s better.”
“No, no.” You cupped a hand around your ear. “Say that again.”
Midoriya’s face flattened. “Don’t be childish.”
“Say, ‘You were right.’”
“I’m not saying that.”
"Say it?"
"Why? You have a praise kink or something?"
Your face dropped and you glared at him. "Fuck off."
His eyes flickered across your face, and a grin stretched across his face.
"Oh my God, you do!" He sounded so delighted it made her ears redden.
"No I don't, fuck off!" You yelled, a little louder than intended.
He burst out laughing at your outburst, to your horror. Not one of those little under-the-breath laughs he did when he thought you said something clever.
God, you wanted to kill him.
You hated how his eyes crinkled at the corners and how his shoulders shook slightly and how, for a second, he didn’t look like the most insufferable man in your degree.
Fuck him.
Fuck him to hell.
Fuck him.
Fuck...him?
You looked back at your laptop. Immediately.
“I’m deleting the whole document.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am. We can both fail.”
“You care too much to fail.”
“I might let it slid this time."
"That's beneath you."
"You're beneath me."
"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"You're so mature."
"Only with you."
"God Midoriya, do you ever stop?”
"Oh I'm sorry, who's the one that started this?"
That shut you up.
"Whatever," You shut your laptop with more force than necessary. "we have a title."
"And half an introduction." he cut in.
"A weak half."
His brow twitched. "How is it weak."
"I don't know, it seems too personal. We're writing from the reader's perspective, remember?"
"That's cause you always try not to sound like yourself when you're writing."
You opened your mouth, then shut it again.
Cause where the hell did he get off on saying something like that?
You looked up at him with a strange look, and his smile faded slightly.
“I just mean,” he said, voice a little flatter, “you’re overcorrecting. You’re trying to sound detached when your actual argument works better because you’re clearly invested in it.”
"You think I don't sound invested?”
“You always sound invested.”
His eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Was that an insult?”
He paused. “Yes.”
“You hesitated.”
“I was making sure it hurt correctly.”
“It didn’t.”
“Then I’ll try harder next time.”
You huffed.
For a few seconds, neither of you moved to pack away your things. The document was still open on his laptop, cursor blinking at the end of a sentence neither of you had finished. The café had started to thin out around you, the noise settling into the low, tired hum of late afternoon.
Then someone at the counter called out, “Just so you know, we’re closing in ten sorry, staff training.”
You looked back at your laptop.
Brilliant.
Absolutely fucking brilliant.
You had finally reached the point where the two of you were almost working like normal people, and now this.
Midoriya was already checking the time.
“We could move to the main library.”
You gave him a look. “At this time?”
He grimaced.
Exactly.
The main library during final semester was less of a study space and more of a social experiment in human suffering. Every table and plug socket would be full.
“My apartment’s ten minutes away.”
You blinked.
He shrugged, like it was the most normal suggestion in the world. “My roommates are out so we can work in the kitchen.”
You considered it.
Not for very long.
It wasn’t that deep. It was a group project. People went to each other’s flats all the time. That was literally what university was: bad deadlines, borrowed chargers, and studying in kitchens.
“Fine.” You slipped your laptop into your bag. “Lead the way.”
He stared at you for a second.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You look surprised.”
“I just thought you’d argue more.”
“I can, if you’re feeling left out.”
“No, I’m good.”
“Are you sure? I can call you manipulative and annoying if that would help.”
He stood, grabbing his bag. “You already do that for free.”
"I know."
He looked at you then, and for some reason, that made the corner of your mouth lift before you could stop it.
His eyes flickered down to it.
Then away.
Had you imagined it?
His apartment was close to campus, tucked above a row of shops with a narrow doorway and a staircase that smelled faintly like rain and takeaway food. Student housing, clearly, but not awful.
Midoriya pushed the door open after fiddling with the key for half a second.
“Sorry if it’s messy.”
You stepped inside and looked around.
It was not messy.
Izuku knew it wasn’t messy.
He had, in fact, spent an embarrassing amount of the walk silently praying that Kacchan’s stress-cleaning had carried over into the kitchen that morning. Which it had. Mostly. The counters were clear, the sofa didn’t have laundry on it, and there were only two mugs in the sink instead of the usual five.
A miracle, really.
Still, the apology had come out automatically.
Izuku pointed down the hall. “Kitchen’s this way.”
The kitchen-living room was warm from the radiator under the window. Kaminari’s controller was abandoned on the sofa. One of Kirishima’s protein tubs sat on the counter despite the fact that Izuku had asked him, at least twice, not to leave it there. There were photos stuck to the fridge with mismatched magnets, a hoodie thrown over the armchair, and a stack of books on the coffee table that Izuku had been meaning to take back to his room for three days.
our gaze caught on the boxing gloves hanging off the back of the chair.
“You box?”
Izuku blinked. “A little.”
“You?”
He frowned. “Why did you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I just told you I’m secretly a horse girl.”
Your mouth twitched. “I just didn't expect it from you.”
"What did you expect?"
You were silent for a minute. "I don't know".
He didn't know what to make of that.
“Okay, well,” he said, because standing there letting you perceive his apartment was starting to feel weirdly intimate. “I’m gonna change a sec. Make yourself comfortable.”
He went into his room, tugging his gym shirt over his head and throwing it into the laundry basket. The apartment was too warm after walking back, and he was still slightly overheated from training anyway, so he pulled on a loose black tank and a pair of basketball shorts.
When he walked back in to the kitchen, he almost stilled.
You had taken your hoodie off. It was thrown over the back of the chair and underneath, you were wearing a fitted tank top. Just a plain one. Nothing that should have made his brain stutter in his skull the way it did.
But it clung to you. The kind of fitted that didn’t reveal too much, not really, but suggested enough that his imagination did the rest before he could stop it. Your shoulders were bare. Your collarbones caught the warm kitchen light. The fabric curved with your waist, your chest, the soft line of your stomach when you leaned over the table to pull your laptop from your bag.
Izuku stared.
He knew you were pretty.
Obviously he knew.
He wasn’t blind.
He had known from the first week of first year, actually, when you had walked into a seminar ten minutes late, hair slightly windblown, eyes bored and sharp and annoyingly beautiful. He had thought, for one brief and peaceful second, that you were gorgeous.
And then you opened your mouth.
After that, it had been easier to focus on how irritating you were.
But right now, with you standing in his kitchen in that tank top, fanning yourself lightly with one of his notebooks because the radiator had made the whole room stupidly warm, hair falling into your face, hoop earrings gleaning in the overhead light, hate became a very complicated thing.
A thing that sat low in his stomach and curled hot.
You looked up.
Caught him.
Izuku’s soul left his body.
“What?”
His mouth opened.
“You’re hot,” he said.
You blinked.
Fuck.
Shit.
“I mean-” He wanted to die. Immediately. “ It’s hot. The flat. It’s hot in here.”
Your eyebrow rose.
Slowly.
“Yeah,” you said. “That’s why I took my hoodie off.”
“Right.”
“Were you confused?”
“No.”
“You looked confused.”
“I was thinking.”
“That must be difficult for you.”
“Not usually.”
You stared at him for a second.
Then your mouth twitched.
And Izuku, who had survived exams, deadlines, Kacchan’s temper, and Kaminari nearly setting the toaster on fire, almost died because you nearly smiled at him in his kitchen while looking so fucking sexy.
He cleared his throat and moved to the sink.
“Tea?”
He didn’t wait for you to reply before turning the kettle on.
Behind him, you sat down at the table. He could hear your laptop opening, the soft zip of your bag, the small click of your pen.
He set the mug beside you and sat down across from you, opening his own laptop like it could save him.
“So how are you gonna make your shitty title a piece of art?” you said.
“Can you give me thirty seconds before insulting my work?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
“You’re welcome.”
“For what?”
“For improving you.”
He looked up.
You were looking at the document, face completely composed, like you hadn’t just said something designed to start a fight.
Izuku’s fingers tightened around the edge of his laptop.
“Improving me?”
“Academically.”
“Right.”
Your eyes flicked to his.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”
“I’m just wondering when your superiority complex developed.”
You smiled. “Probably around the time I realised I was usually right.”
“You’re not usually right.”
“I am around you.”
He laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. “That is such bullshit.”
Your brows lifted.
There it was.
The shift.
He saw it happen. The exact second your posture changed, spine straightening, chin tilting, eyes sharpening like you had been waiting for him to give you a reason.
“What’s bullshit?”
“You acting like you’ve carried every argument we’ve ever had.”
“I have.”
“You interrupt me in seminars just to rephrase what I was already saying.”
Your mouth dropped open slightly. “That is not true.”
“It is.”
“You make half a point and then trail off into five unnecessary tangents.”
“Because I’m building context.”
“You’re just hiding behind context.”
“And you hide behind being mean.”
Silence.
Your expression changed.
“I don’t hide behind being mean.” you spat, gritting your teeth.
He should have remembered that you were in his apartment, that this was supposed to be a project meeting, that the title document was still open and the introduction still needed work.
Instead of doing the mature thing, he said, “Yeah, you do.”
Your laugh was short and humourless. “That’s rich coming from you.”
“From me?”
“Yes, from you.”
“What do I hide behind?”
You leaned back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest.
His eyes dropped.
He forced them back to your face.
“You hide behind being nice.”
Izuku stared at you.
For some reason, that was worse than any insult you had ever thrown at him.
“I’m not hiding behind being nice.”
“You absolutely are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You act like you’re above it all because you hold doors open and smile at lecturers and say everything in that polite little voice like it makes you better than everyone else.”
His jaw tightened. “That is not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look so angry?”
“Because you don’t fucking know what you’re talking about.” He raised his voice this time.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“You don’t know me.”
You scoffed. “And you know me?”
“I know enough.”
“You know nothing.”
“I know you can’t stand not being the smartest person in the room.”
Your eyes flashed. “And you can?”
“At least I don’t make it everyone else’s problem.”
“No, you just mutter under your breath until someone praises you for being thoughtful.”
Izuku stood.
He didn’t mean to.
The chair scraped harshly against the floor behind him.
You stood too.
Because you never let him have the height advantage for more than half a second. It didn’t matter that you were shorter than him, you made up for it in spite.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, voice low.
“I have two years of evidence.”
“Evidence?” He laughed, but there was no humour in it. “You mean two years of you deciding you hated me before I even did anything.”
“I didn’t decide anything.”
“You absolutely did.”
“You annoyed me.”
“Why? I didn’t fucking do anything. You just hated me because I was competition.”
You stepped around the table slightly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m not flattering myself. I’m right.”
“You’re delusional.”
“You couldn’t stand that I was good.”
You glared at him, and something hot and ugly twisted in his chest, not quite satisfaction, not quite guilt.
Your voice dropped. “I couldn’t stand that you acted like you didn’t know you were good.”
Izuku went still.
You laughed again, quieter this time.
“That’s what pissed me off. You’d sit there, muttering under your breath, writing half the essay in your head before anyone else had even opened the text, then look shocked when the lecturer praised you. Like you were so humble. Like you just stumbled into being brilliant by accident.”
His throat tightened.
“I don’t act like that.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You do. And everyone buys it. The sweet, thoughtful, harmless Midoriya act.” You mocked.
“It’s not an act.”
“Then what is it?”
His hands curled into fists at his sides.
He didn’t know when they had moved closer.
He just knew they were no longer on opposite sides of the table.
The space between them had narrowed to almost nothing, both of them standing near the edge of the kitchen, laptop screens glowing uselessly behind them.
“What do you want from me?” he snapped.
You blinked. “What?”
“You keep doing this. You keep pushing and pushing and pushing, and then when I push back, you act like I’m the problem.”
“Because you are.”
“No.” He stepped closer. “You wanted me to be the problem.”
Your breath caught.
His pulse kicked hard. God, what was even happening? He was breathing hard, he could practically feel the blood pumping around his body. He was so angry. So fucking angry seeing you stand their in his kitchen and blame him for your shitty internal issues. He didn’t know if he wanted to throw you out or pull you closer and shut you up in the exact way you needed to be shut up.
“You wanted me to snap at you,” he said, voice lower now. “You wanted me to stop being polite. You wanted something to fight with.”
Your eyes narrowed, but you didn’t step back.
“And what about you?” you asked. “You want me nice?”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
Your lips parted slightly.
Izuku’s gaze dropped. Then he looked back at your eyes, and the anger was still there, but so was something else now. Something worse. Something that had been building underneath every argument, every correction, every too-long stare across seminar tables.
“No,” he said again, quieter. “I don’t want you nice.”
The radiator clicked under the window.
Somewhere outside, a car passed over wet pavement.
You were close enough now that he could see your breathing shift. Close enough that if he lifted his hand, he could touch your waist. Close enough that all the stupid, inappropriate thoughts he had been trying to kill since you first started pushing him found new life.
You looked up at him.
Still angry.
“What do you want, then?”
Izuku should have laughed it off. He should have stepped back. He should have said, To finish the project. Instead, his eyes moved over your face again. Your mouth. Your jaw. The strap of your tank top against your shoulder.
He had always known you were gorgeous, even when you were glaring at him. Especially then, maybe.
But now the thought was no longer quiet or manageable. It was right there, wanting and dangerously close to being said out loud.
He swallowed.
“You really want me to answer that?”
Your expression didn’t change.
But your voice did.
Just slightly.
“Try me.”
Something in him snapped.
Not all the way.
Just enough.
He leaned in a fraction, close enough that the words did not need to be loud.
“I want you to stop looking at me like that unless you’re going to do something about it.”
Your breath caught again, and this time there was no hiding it.
For one long second, neither of them moved.
Then your eyes flicked to his mouth.
His hands were still at his sides, clenched so tightly his knuckles ached, because if he touched you without knowing you wanted it, he would never forgive himself.
But then you leaned forwards slightly.
His voice came out rougher than he intended.
“Say something smart.”
Your gaze lifted back to his.
“What?”
He tilted his head, jaw tight, control hanging by a thread.
“Come on,” he said. “You always have something to say.”
Your eyes flashed.
There you were.
That look. The one that made him want to argue with you until the whole world disappeared. The one that made him want to shut you up in ways he absolutely should not be thinking about while the project document was open behind him.
You smiled. “Maybe I’m waiting to see if you’re better at this than you are at introductions.”
Then he laughed once under his breath.
“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
“No,” you said.
His eyes dropped to your mouth again.
“Good.”
Izuku had no clue how he got here. Honestly. Whenever he tried to think back to it the only thing he can think about is how it felt to have your mouth stuffed full of him.
"Oh fuck- shit just like that."
He threw his head back and tangled his fingered into your hair. He was having a hard time getting his legs to carry his weight, trying his best to put as much of it on the kitchen table he was leaning against.
"Oh God-" He moaned, and he had half the mind to feel embarrassed about the sounds he was making, but the view. Oh fuck, the view.
Something about seeing you on your knees for him, mouth full of his dick, taking it so well and not able to say anything; all of those times he had beat you at a test, all the times he came out on top, nothing compared to this. He felt so fucking high, the wet, filthy sounds of your mouth desperately taking him.
"Doin' so good." He murmured. "Such a good girl."
You pulled back, your mouth connecting with his cock through a string of split before it split. You looked up at him slightly annoyed. "So you really never stop muttering, huh?"
God, he fucking hates you.
But seeing you like that on your knees...
He clicked his tongue before shoving your head back down into him. You choked slightly at the force, tears prickling on the outsides of your eyes. He used his thumb to brush them away.
"I like you better like this." He said, slightly breathless and you continued to work on him. "So full of me you cant use that smart mouth of yours."
You whimpered slightly, and his eyes fluttered shut for second. He had to be dreaming, that was the only way to explain this. Only way to explain the this intense wet heat enveloping his dick and the tight knot in the bottom of his gut begging to be snapped.
God, he never wanted to wake up.
There were pornographic sounds filling the room, and at the back of his mind he was faintly aware that it was him making those noises. Hands tightening on the strands of your hair weaved through your fingers caused you to tilt your head back, taking even more of him and making a sound that vibrated through him right to his core.
"Shit-," He whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he pushed your head even deeper. He felt your tongue swirl at the base of him and that was all it took to throw him over the edge. He came with such vigoure it but all the hand jobs he ever gave himself to shame. He spluttered, hands coming off of you to grip the table behind him to support the weight his legs could no longer support.
When he finished, he opened his eyes to find his leg shaking slightly and you splayed on the floor, one knee bent and hair slightly mussed from his hands. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand as you eyed the ropes of white that he had left on the floor.
You looked up at him then, and to his horror, you had an amused look on your face. You muttered something under your breath.
His eyes narrowed.
“What did you say?”
You shrugged, far too casual. “Nothing.”
“No.” He said too quickly. “Say it again.”
“I said…” You tilted your head, looking up at him through your lashes with that same infuriating little smile. “For someone who talks so much, you’re surprisingly quick when it matters.”
Izuku felt it happen in his chest first.
A sharp, hot pull of humiliation.
He bent down and picked you up with such ease that you yelped, grabbing onto him like you didn't expect it. He sat you down on his kitchen table, notebooks and laptop forgotten. He put both his palms on your thighs, teasing the hem of your skirt with his thumb,
"Midoriya-"
"Oh, now you want to say my name properly?"
You swollowed.
"What? You had a lot to say a second ago?"
His hand crept further up until he reached your panties. He palmed your pussy, and it took everything in you to stop yourself from jolting. He took his time, teasing you through the fabric, feeling the pooled wetness before slipping his fingers in.
Your breath hitches, but you didn't break eye contact with him. You wouldn't be the one to lose. Hus fingers played with the wetness between your folds, and when he slipped a finger in you couldn't help the way your thighs pressed together on instinct.
Midoriya smiled, and used that opportunity to slide another in. His other hand made its way to the small of your back, his palm hot and the calloses from boxing felt so good against the sweat coating your body. His fingers start moving and you feel like you're floating. You back arched slightly and he smirks.
"Still nothing smart to say?"
And because you couldn't help yourself, you say;
"Try not to disappoint me a second time."
The a guttural moan escapes you and your back arches as he hits that sweet spot inside of you.
"Found it."
That's when he starts the assault. He slips in a third and pumps them into you at such a pace you feel your eyes rolling back.
His mouth finds yours somewhere in this, his tongue curling against yours as he tried to take the moans right from your mouth into him.
His thumb finds your clit, and he massages it in tight circles, making another series of moans escape you.
"You're doing so good for me, baby." he whispered into your ear, the breath tickling you. "So fucking good. Such a good girl."
You moan and kiss him greedily, you hips riding his fingers, needing more, needing it faster, You could feel the knot start to form in your gut.
Just when it starts to feel good, he pulls away.
You open your eyes annoyed, glaring at him as he steps back with a shit-eating grin.
"What?" You snap.
"Just enjoying the view." he responded casually, before adding. "Also maybe we wanna do this somewhere other than where we eat."
You looked around, suddenly remembering you were in the kitchen. When you looked back at him, he was already living you by your thighs and walking you to his room.
Fuck, he was so attractive like this. His green curls stuck to him forehead from sweat, pupils slightly blown.
He kicked the door shut behind him before throwing you onto his bed. You vaguely registered the All Might merch in his room, before your eyes were drawn to his shirt being taken off.
Holy fuck.
You had seen the arms. The shoulders. The unfair way his shirts had started fitting him since the beginning of the year.
But seeing it like this was different.
Seeing him standing over you, chest rising and falling, skin flushed, hair messy, eyes dark and fixed on you like you were the only thing in the room worth looking at.
He noticed you looking.
"Staring?"
"Just looking for flaws."
He grinned at you like there was no other place he'd rather be. You wanted to kiss it right off of him.
He leaned one knee onto the bed, mattress dipping under his weight. “Find any?”
You couldn't.
His grin widened.
You hated him.
You hated him so much you reached up, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and pulled him down to you.
You kissed him hard and desperate, and arched into him without meaning to, and his grip tightened. He made a sound against your mouth, low and rough, and something about it made you feel insane.
“Midoriya,” you breathed.
He pulled back.
Only slightly.
His eyes searched your face immediately, the heat in them interrupted by something softer.
“You okay?”
The question hit you harder than it should have.
Because of course.
Of course he would stop.
Even like this, with his hair ruined and his mouth swollen and his hands on you like he was seconds away from losing whatever control he had left, he still looked at you like your answer mattered more than anything else.
You blinked up at him.
Then scoffed, because sincerity was unbearable.
“If I wasn’t, you’d know.”
His mouth twitched. “That’s not an answer.”
You swallowed.
"I was going to tell you to hurry up."
Somewhere after, you found yourself on top. Clothes discarded somewhere on the floor and your legs on either side of his hips.
"Ohhhh fuckkkk-" He moaned as you rode him, bouncing on him and stabilising yourself by putting you hands on his chest. You arched your back as you sank back in, earning you a series of pathetic whimpers.
Midoriya watched you tits bounce like a drunk man, then watching the point he entered you. It was all too much, and he gripped you hips so hard he was sure i'd make a mark. He lifted you up and slammed you down, arching his back to meet you half way. guttural moan escaped both of you and the new depth you were able to reach.
"You're doing so good, baby." He moaned. "So fucking good for me. Does it feel good for you?"
"mhm." You hummed as you grinded into him, moving your hips.
"God, you're taking me so well." he muttered to himself.
That only made you ride harder, needing to feel him deeper inside of you. Him fingers found their way to your clit, making you're head spin and a moan rip out loud as your walls flutter and clench around him.
It didn't take you long to cum hard, the knot in your stomach bursting as light filled you vision and your toes clenched. You tightened around him, hearing him whimper as you finish and flop forward into hsi chest.
But he wasn't done.
Instead, he flipped you over into missionary, looking down at you with a glint in his eye, before pushing into you without warning.
You gasped at the burn, but you didnt have time to register it before hsi sacrred hands clamped around your waist and pounding in to you.
His cock speared into you with a filthy sound, stretching you wide around him as you sucked him into you evern when everything felt too much. Your eyes rolled back as you instinctibly tried to push him away, but that didn’t stop him.
He just kept pounding into you, your lips gripping onto him. The pressure mashed your clit into the underside of him, sending brutal sparks flying up your body and all the way back down into your toes.
"-too much!" You managed to groan.
"God, i love you like this." Midoriya brushed the hair out of your face to see you. Eyes rolled back, fucked out, and so drunk on his cock. "I wish I could do this everytime- fuck- you act up. Get you so stuffed full of me you forget how to speak. You like that? You like how I make you feel so good you can't even think?"
You couldn't even answer him. All that escaped when you tried was a high-pitched whine.
Izuku loses it.
He pounds into you even deeper. Deep, mean strokes that bottom you out with a wet slap. You cry out, ever thrust punching the air out of your lungs as his cock hots your cervix, stretching your gummy walls as he builds the coil inside of you tighter and tighter.
He keeps snapping his hips, hitting that sweet spot with a perfect angle into the spongy spot deep inside of you while his finger find their way to your clit. You move you hips too, grinding against him; meeting him half way, earning you a guttural groan from him.
"Gonna-" You moan. "I'm gonna-"
"Me too." He interrupts, his pace turning frantic as he finds his last few thrusts before snapping.
Your whole body convulses, walls clamping down around him and milking him as you moan loudly. He fucks you through it and messy gushes squirt out around him, making every thrust sloppier and filthier. You feel him shoot into the back of you, hitting your spot one last time.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yeah, jusssttt like that." His voice breaks slightly. "Keep squeezing me, baby. Jut like that." His legs were shaking as he continued to come alone with you, fucking you through it, the deep thrusts shaking short cries from you as you wrapped your legs around him and rubbed against him with every thrust. "Such a good girl, so perfect and good for me. So beautiful, gonna fill you right up."
You clit sent aftershocks through your body as you started to come down from it, causing your legs to shake as pooling warmth trailed under you, soaking the sheets.
Midoriya collapsed over you a second later, breathing hard against your shoulder as the last of his control seemed to leave him all at once. His face was tucked against the curve of your neck, his curls damp against your skin, one arm braced beside your head like he still didn’t quite trust himself not to put too much weight on you.
You stared at the ceiling.
At the All Might poster above his desk.
At the corner of a textbook sticking out from under a hoodie.
God this fucking nerd had just fucked you to heaven and back in his embarrassingly nerdy bedroom and was now shaking slightly above you.
His breath brushed your neck.
“You okay?” he asked.
His voice was deep, as if he had just woken up.
You closed your eyes for a second.
“Don’t sound so proud of yourself.”
He huffed a laugh against your skin, breathless and disbelieving.
“I asked if you were okay.”
"Are you okay?"
"I asked first."
your mouth twitched.
His did too. You could feel it against your shoulder before he slowly lifted his head.
He looked at you like he was trying to prove something. Like he was still annoyed about the kitchen, about the title, about every single time you had corrected him in class and smiled like you knew exactly what you were doing. He looked young and stupidly pretty and far too pleased with himself.
You flicked his head. "Get off me."
He laughed, but he moved, rolling onto his side beside you instead of fully away. One arm stayed loosely across your waist, like he had forgotten it was there.
Or like he had decided not to move it until you made him.
You suddenly realised you were struggling to keep your eyes open.
He noticed too.
"That good, huh?"
That woke you up.
"Fuck off." You spat, sitting up to leave.
He just laughed and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you back into bed with him and hugging you against his chest.
"Kidding," He added. "Stay."
And you did.
Not because he asked nicely.
Not because his arms were warm, or because his chest was solid against your back, or because his breath was still uneven where it brushed the side of your neck.
Definitely not because of that.
You stayed because you were tired.
Because the project.
Because, for once, Midoriya had shut up before ruining something.
And because when his hand settled carefully over your stomach, thumb moving in a slow, absent rhythm like he was still checking you were real, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to make him stop.
