dabi with a tongue piercing 🫣 or or... shutting dabi up with your new tongue piercing
┊┊first official post as kamislop yk it HAD to be Dabi porn🙂↕️ 18+ MDNI!!!
"whose shirt is this?" Touya walks into the living room holding up a dark navy long sleeve. his raven hair was still damp, droplets of water clinging to the ends before falling onto his shoulders and make a beeline down his bare upper body to disappear under the towel he had tied low on his hips. you look up from your spot on the couch, half sitting with your back against the armrest, a magazine you were leisurely skimming through propped up on your folded legs. "ah," you shrug your shoulders. "some guy. wasn't there in the morning i had no idea he forgot that here. where did you find it?"
"closet," he replies, working his jaw in clear annoyance at your apparent carelessness. "like some equivalent of girls leaving hair ties for their hookup's girlfriend to find." azure eyes burn through you, but your attention is on whatever the fuck was so interesting in that damn magazine. "good thing you're not my boyfriend, then," you retort flatly. Touya inhales sharply, like he was about to argue back but - weirdly - bit his tongue. you look up only to watch him disappear into the hallway.
he comes back a few minutes later, key jingling as they dangle in his head. he walks past you without so much of sparing you a glance, and you finally turn around when you hear the doorknob turn. "where are you going?" you fold your arms on the headrest of the couch, doe eyes and pouty lips ready to work their charm, as they always do with him. "home," Touya replies, unimpressed by your little bravado. "clearly you've got someone else to call when you're bored."
"jealous?" you taunt, mouth stretching in a smirk you know will rile him up further. "the fuck i am," he scoffs venomously. "just got no business staying here any longer. i've got a life too, y'know?" you nod lazily, a giggle bubbling in your throat but you keep it down. he's so cute when he's butthurt like this. "shame, i was going to order takeout. put on a movie too, maybe."
Touya cocks up a brow, his hand finally leaving the doorknob to cross his arms over his chest. "right," he drawls, sky blue irises giving you a pointed look. "light up some candles and put on a vinyl too, hm?" you laugh, warm and breathy and with every intention to get things to play out your way— you've never failed at that. "didn't take you for a romantic, Touya. sounds dangerously like a date to me." he rolls his eyes. "fuck it, i'm not doing this with you tonight, y/n. maybe i'll call you in the weekend if i have some time for you."
oh, but you couldn't let that happen.
you're already up, circling the couch to stalk towards him. you're wearing nothing but an old t-shirt and panties, a sight that Touya struggles to stray his hungry eyes from. fuck, he'll never get tired of seeing you like this. "are you sure your plans can't wait tonight?" you croon sweetly, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to add to the innocent act he's very aware you're pulling. he knows, and yet he can't fucking resist you. "i'm so sorry…it's just that it's been so long since the last time we saw each other and…i missed you, y'know? was so lonely without you, Touya. can you forgive me?" he simply stares for a few silent beats, but you see the way he rolls his tongue over the inside of his cheek to bite back a small grin. "want to apologize properly? get on your knees."
jackpot.
you're already tying your hair back in a quick ponytail as you sink to the floor, Touya's eyes never leaving you. his cock is hard and bulging in his sweatpants before you can even hook your fingers in the waistband. "do that little thing with your tongue again f'me, baby?" he asks with a raspy breath when his erection breaks free from his boxers, precum beading on his pretty ruby tip.
in the two weeks you hadn't seen each other you had gotten your tongue pierced on a whim, a more than welcome of a surprise, since it'd had time to heal. "are you doubting my skills?" you look up at him, encircling the base of his cock with your hand to bring it to your cheek, as if nuzzling into it. "nuh-uh," Touya shook his head. "could never doubt my baby."
he knew how to stroke your ego, if anything, pride blooming in your chest as your lips part to wrap around the head of his cock, drawing a hiss. "fuck— that's it," his whisper breaking out into a groan when you let the underside of your tongue roll over his slit, the little metal ball of your bar applying just the perfect amount of pressure to drive him crazy. you withdraw, only to let a wad of spit coat his shaft before you're taking his whole length in your mouth.
"shit- fuuuuck—" Touya's head falls against the front door with a hushes thud, a hand instinctively coming up to pet your head before getting a hold of your ponytail. your nose brushes the light tufts of hair on his pelvis before you pull back, repeating the motion until your saliva makes the slide easier.
your fingers stay at his base, slowly stroking the one-two inches you can't fit inside your warm mouth with every bob of your head. your tongue ring presses against the ridges, and you make sure to give the tip the attention he so loves to receive from the new addition. you look up, but Touya's eyes are shut, snowy lashes fluttering against his sharp cheekbones, Adam's apple visibly wobbling as he swallows. "you're so fucking good at this…f-fuck— can't believe i'm letting you go off with other guys and allow them to feel how perfect you are," he sneers, grip tightening on your hair.
it wasn't the first time these words would slip, especially when he's so lost in the sex his mouth acts before his brain. you always let him ramble, and neither of you ends up addressing any of it when it's done. right now, you wouldn't even have the chance to say anything back because his hips start to snap at a mean, mean pace. you sputter, forcing your nose to inhale steadily as you make a mess, a ring of spit and precum frothing against your fingers where you're holding him.
"you better - hah - you better apologize real fucking good, baby, fuck…" Touya grunts, a crazed glint in his eyes as he sees the fat tears spilling from your eyes. he wipes them away with his thumb, bringing it to his tongue to lick at the salty bead. "because you're never letting another man fuck this pretty mouth, y'hear me?" your hands are planted on his thighs for leverage, but he just won't. let. you. leave. you nod frantically, muffled "mhm!"s spewing from your stuffed lips, all puffy and flushed. "hold on f'me a little longer, yeah? need you to swallow every last drop to remind yourself of the only cum you'll taste for the rest of your life. take it, t-take it, fuck—!"
you sob when his body locks up, Touya's hips giving all but a few shaky jerks as his seed floods your mouth. you don't stop milking him through his high until you hear a choked whine when he gets hypersensitive. finally, finally, he lets you go, and you break away with a gulp of air so sharp it cuts into your throat. once you're sat back on your haunches and Touya's fixed himself back inside his pants, you watch him crouch in front of you, large hands cupping your face. you don't know how to react when he pulls you closer to press a kiss to the crown of your head.
"by the way, I burned that fucking shirt and threw it out your window."
“you know who you’re texting sweetheart?” his deep voice drips through your speaker.
“mhm.” you nod.
“i’m not selling to you.” he chuckles.
“wha- why?” you whine.
“cause you don’t smoke.” he leans back. “i’ll come smoke you up though. make you feel real good, yeah?” he grins already plotting.
“can you.. not tell sho? i just.. mm.” you shrink into shoto’s hoodie you’re wearing.
“didn’t even tell him you were calling me, huh?” another breathy chuckle as he gets his keys. “y’know he’s gonna get all pouty if he knows his best friend is hanging out with his brother.”
“dabi please.” you whine.
“alright, sweetheart. i’ll be there in 20.”
he hangs up and you chew on your lips wondering if you made a bad decision. you get up and go to fix your hair, trying to do anything to distract yourself until you get a text.
dabi: i’m outside
you run down the stairs of your dorm and find him parked right at the entrance. you slide into his car and he drives you both to the back of the parking lot. you’re picking at your nails, avoiding looking at him but you can feel him looking at you.
“listen,” you jump at his voice. “you sure you wanna smoke? i can listen to you whine or whatever..” he sighs.
“i do.” you nod.
“backseat.” he flicks his head back and you start to crawl back. “well.. tell me why you wanna smoke.” he adjusts in the backseat and starts to roll.
you complain about your professors and some stupid group project. continuing about how all the guys on campus are pigs, whining when he asks if shoto is one. you shake your head, telling him shoto has been so caught up in classes that you’ve been alone for the past month and all your friends have boyfriends and spend their free time with them.
“so what i’m hearing is you want a lil boyfriend and sho isn’t cutting it.” he drags his tongue along the wrap.
“dabi stop.” you cover your face.
“don’t get all shy on me now.” he chuckles and lights the blunt.
the music is low and he passes the blunt to you, clicking his tongue when you reach for it and he brings it to your glossed lips. he mumbles about a little hit but you end up coughing anyway. he hands you a bottle of water and rubs your back while smirking at you.
“did i just take your virginity?” he brings the blunt back to his mouth and takes a long drag.
“what?” you turn to him with wide eyes.
“you’ve never smoked before?” he raises an eyebrow.
“no.” you whisper.
“c’mere. this’ll make it smoother.”
he takes another hit before pulling you closer and leaning in, grabbing your jaw making you open your mouth. he blows the smoke into your mouth and you still cough anyway out of surprise.
“s’okay.” he rubs you back. “c’mon.”
he pulls you closer to him and you get comfy, tossing your leg over his thigh as he wraps his arm around you. the car is getting hazy and so is your mind as dabi keeps blowing smoke into your mouth. his lips had brushed yours this last time as you let out the smallest whimper, his fingers digging into your side.
he takes the last hit before dabbing it out in the ashtray, holding it in his lungs as he pulls you fully on his lap. he pulls your lips down to his and you happily press your lips to his, melting into him as the smoke transfers to your lungs.
he keeps kissing you even after the smoke is gone and you don’t have any complaints, you’re like putty in his lap. his hands slip under your hoodie, groaning when he only finds bare skin and then sliding back down to palm at your little cotton shorts. he pulls back but you chase his lips with a little whine and press them back to his.
he pulls back again. “tell me what you want.”
“to feel good.” you whisper.
“yeah?” he grins. “wanna rub this little pussy on my thigh til you make a mess?”
“yeah.” you nod your head quickly, tossing your leg back over his thigh.
his hands hold onto your hips watching as you drag yourself up his thigh. you look up at him with round eyes and he pulls you back into a kiss, slowly guiding your hips to keep you moving.
“dabi.” you whine into his mouth. “faster.”
“you can move on your own.” he chuckles.
“nooo want you to just.. mm.” you bury your head in his neck.
“alright alright, here.”
he maneuvers you both around until your back is on the seat and he’s between your thighs. you’re scrunched but all complaints leave your mind when he kisses the outside of your shorts. your hips jerk and his laugh fans across your heat.
“want me to pull these to the side, sweetheart?” he blinks up at you.
“yes!” you nod, fingers digging into your hoodie.
he pulls the damp cotton to the side and groans when he’s met with your slick folds. he licks a fat stripe up your center and circles your clit, grinning at the high pitched sounds spilling from your lips. he sucks your clit into his mouth and he knows he has a new addiction.
your hips are grinding against his face, one hand leaving your hoodie and going to tug his head closer. he groans into you, tongue lapping at your sensitive bud over and over until you’re shaking. you’re so sensitive and head all cloudy that you can’t form a full sentence to tell him you’re already about to cum.
“dabi- i! dabi it’s- ngh! please!”
he knows and he licks faster, slick sounds bouncing off the car windows. you cum with a sob of his name and he licks down to you pussy and slurps up your juices that leak out before shoving his tongue past your gummy entrance.
“ahh! dabi!!”
you’re shaking, tugging him closer and pushing him away all at once but he’s not done. he fucks his tongue into you, nose bumping against your clit and your toes curl, thighs slamming around his head as you cum again, harder this time. he licks you through it before pulling off with wet lips.
“feeling better?” he grins.
“mhm.” you nod, legs still shaking.
“wanna smoke again then i carry you back up to your dorm and fuck you to sleep?” he grins at your whimper.
will call tickets: pls note that some of these maybe have been misspelled in the form so i can't properly tag you - pls reach out so i can fix that for you bbg:
99 problems, but a wet dream ain’t one | katsuki b.
summary: katsuki had a wet dream about you — and now he can’t get the image out of his hea, no matter how hard he tries. and when you find out? you’re sure as hell not making it easy for him.
warnings: best friend!katsuki, best friend!reader, reader is shameless, reader is down BAD, teasing, flirting, cursing, dirty talk, wet dream, smut, blowjob, gagging, spit, dom!katsuki, bratty!sub!reader, degradation, “this is a bad idea” typa fic, MDNI;
wc: 2,3k
Katsuki Bakugou has a best friend problem.
And it isn’t the kind of problem that can be solved by just talking about it, like normal friends do.
No. This is pretty difficult to solve.
Why?
One, because Katsuki doesn’t even talk about feelings or problems most of the time. He just bottles them up until something new appears and then forgets about whatever bothered him before.
And two, he definitely won’t talk about how a wet dream with his best friend made him feel.
Yeah. A wet dream.
He hasn’t had one of those since he was a fucking teenager, and it makes him feel so stupid. He is a grown man, for God’s sake. An established pro-hero. A respected one. And more recently?
A fucking loser.
A loser who now struggles to even meet your eyes while you’re having a simple conversation, because every time he does, he remembers how you looked in his dream — naked and sweaty and so fucking eager to suck him off.
And of fucking course his mind wanders further—
Would your mouth feel that good in reality?
Would it turn him on that much to have you on your knees between his legs?
Would your moans really sound that divine while doing your best to bring him towards pleasure?
Will—
“Earth to Katsukiii,” you suddenly speak, waving a hand in front of his face, pulling him out of his thoughts and making him jolt slightly, his body shifting backwards on the couch.
“What!?” His head snaps towards you instantly, his hand coming up to slap yours away, ignoring the warmth that lingers from the brief contact.
“I have been talking to you,” you frown, scooching closer to him, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothin’,” he shrugs, but his body tenses the moment your chest brushes against his arm.
“You’re even pissier than usual,” you remark with a raised brow, studying him carefully. He scoffs.
“You’re imagining things,” he replies way too fast.
You frown deeper, squinting your eyes as you shift even closer, intentionally closing the space between you. You don’t miss the way he immediately leans away.
“Why do you run from me?” you ask, tilting your head.
“I like my space, weirdo,” he mutters under his breath.
“I like your space too,” you tease, nudging your knee against his.
He instantly moves his knee away.
“Shut up and watch this damn movie,” he rolls his eyes, trying to focus anywhere but you.
“Kats.”
No answer.
“Katsuki,” you insist again, leaning in and poking his cheek with your finger.
You feel it — the tension.
You notice the way his hands curl, palms balling into fists as he takes a slow, deep breath, clearly trying to keep himself together.
“What’s up with you?” you push again, your voice softer this time, but more insistent. You move even closer, until he’s practically cornered at the end of the couch, your body fully pressing into his.
“Tell meee,” you drag out, nudging him lightly. “What’s bothering you?”
“You’re bothering me,” he finally snaps, his tone sharp and annoyed, making you blink in surprise. “Even in my fuckin’ dreams,” he adds with a frustrated groan, dragging a hand through his hair, making it messier than it already was.
“What?” you ask, caught off guard. “You dreamt about me?”
“Are you deaf?” he rolls his eyes, letting out a short, dry chuckle.
Then—
Something shifts.
A slow, almost mischievous grin spreads across your lips.
“What kind of dream did you have?” you ask, lowering your voice slightly as you lean closer, your gaze locking onto his.
Before he can react, you move.
In one smooth motion, you swing your leg over him, then the other, settling yourself directly in his lap, your thighs resting on either side of his muscular legs.
His mouth parts slightly, frozen halfway open, one eye twitching as he stares up at you, completely caught off guard.
“Come on,” you push again, shifting slightly on his lap, your clothed core brushing against his crotch through his jeans.
“Did you have a wet dream?” you ask playfully, clearly teasing, not thinking anything of it — but the moment he flinches, looking away instead of snapping back at you, your smile falters just a bit.
“Did you really have a wet dream of me?” you ask again, this time more serious, your eyes searching his face.
“Piss off,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze.
“Oh my god… I want to know right now,” you nudge him again, more insistent this time.
“I ain’t telling you shit, now get off of me,” he says, though his hands find your hips, gripping them instinctively.
You place your hands over his, pressing them down, smirking slightly.
“You know… if you tell me what it was about… maybe I can help,” you shrug casually, as if you didn’t just drop that.
He stares at you, completely dumbfounded, like you just said the most insane thing he’s ever heard.
“You gotta be joking,” he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Why would I be? It’s not like I don’t find you hot or anything,” you add, shifting slightly again in his lap.
That stirrs something in him.
He hisses under his breath, his grip on your hips tightening without him even realizing it.
“I’m still not telling you,” he mumbles, jaw clenching.
“Okay…” you hum. “I’ll guess.”
You take a moment to think, then—
“Was I on all fours? Were you fucking me from the back? I know you like doggy style… or maybe something else? Like missionary? Or cowgirl?” you ramble, mostly to yourself, watching his reactions closely. “How about—“
“It was a goddamn blowjob, now shut up,” he groans, his head falling back against the couch with a dull thud.
“Oh,” you pause, blinking. “A blowjob,” you repeat thoughtfully, tilting your head slightly.
“How was I able to fit all of that in my mouth?” you add, genuinely thinking about it.
He groans louder this time, hands leaving your hops and dragging them down his face.
“You are killing me, woman,” he mutters, voice strained, making you giggle softly.
“So you want it?” you ask, watching him closely.
He makes a pause, completely baffled.
Then—
“The hell? Who asks their best friend to suck them off?” he snaps, glaring at you.
“Who dreams of their best friend sucking them off?” you shoot back instantly, raising a brow.
“Smartass,” he scoffs.
“Pervert.”
“Oh, I’m the pervert? Not you, who’s been grinding on me for the past minutes?” he shoots back.
“I only suggested it because you seem stressed lately,” you say, your tone softer now, but still teasing. “And you clearly don’t wanna talk about feelings. Maybe I can help some… other way… you know?”
He goes quiet.
Really quiet.
His brows pull together as he stares at you, his expression shifting into something more serious, more conflicted — something you can’t quite read.
You’ve never seen that look on him before.
Not like this.
There’s hesitation.
Something heavy sits behind his eyes.
“You better not make me regret this,” he mutters finally, his voice lower now.
Your brows lift slightly, tilting your head. You didn’t know what to make of this words.
“Wha— what?”
His hands tighten on your hips, making you shift against his crotch for the nth time.
“Get on your knees.”
“Now?” You ask baffled.
“Yes, now. I’m in the mood and it’s your fault,” he reminds you.
You bite your lip to repress a smile.
Instead of a snarky comment, you just nod quietly and get off his lap. He spreads his legs wider the moment you move, watching you closely as you lower yourself onto your knees, settling between his muscular thighs.
Your palms come up to touch them, fingers gripping the material of his jeans as you slowly move them up and down, feeling the tension in his body, trying to ease it just a little.
You take your time.
Slowly moving upward, dragging it out, making it feel like it takes forever to reach his crotch… then his belt.
You start unbuckling it, your movements slow, all while looking up at him — watching the way he stares down at you, jaw tight, lips pressed together, hands resting stiffly at his sides.
You slide the belt out of the way, then undo his zipper, finally revealing his black boxers. Something hard brushes against your hand and he hisses above you, his breath catching.
Your fingers dip under the material and drag it down, exposing his happy trail that leads down to his cock. His own hands come down to help, pushing his jeans and boxers lower, lifting his hips just enough. The fabric bunches at his thighs, out of the way.
And then—
His cock springs free.
Long. Thick. Prominent veins running along the length of it. The tip flushed a reddish color, already leaking with pre-cum.
“C’mon, dig in,” he mutters, a smirk tugging at his lips as his hand comes to tangle in your hair, pushing you slightly forward.
You don’t rush.
You lean in slowly, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, feeling the way he reacts instantly — his breath hitching, a quiet hiss slipping past his lips as you glance up at him through your lashes.
Your tongue slides out, dragging along his length, long, intentional strokes, collecting the pre-cum as you go. His fingers tighten in your hair.
“Don’t— be such a tease, damn it,” he grits out, voice rougher now, the veins in his neck more visible as he looks down at you.
You let out a quiet chuckle, but you give in.
Enough teasing.
You part your lips and guide him in, taking him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, relaxing your jaw as you go, until the tip presses against the back of your throat.
You pause there for a second, breathing steadily through your nose, adjusting — letting your body relax around him.
Then you start moving.
Slow at first.
Pulling back just enough before taking him in again, setting a rhythm, your tongue flattening along the underside, tracing the veins, working with each movement.
Spit and pre-cum mix together, making everything smoother, your lips sealing tightly around him.
All the while, your eyes stay on him.
Watching everything.
The way his teeth catch his lower lip. The flare of his nostrils. The crease forming between his brows as he tries to hold himself together. Low grunts slip past his lips, restrained, controlled — but you can tell he’s holding back.
That only makes you pick up the pace.
Your head starts bobbing more steadily, your movements more confident, more precise. Tears sting lightly at your eyes from the burn of your throat, but you don’t stop — you just adjust your breathing, keeping the rhythm consistent.
You want to hear him.
Really hear him.
“You happy now?” he asks, breath uneven, voice rough. “Having a mouth full of me?”
You let out a muffled moan around him in response, the vibration traveling through him as your tongue moves again, your pace never faltering.
“You greedy brat,” he chuckles, though his voice strains. He knows you — you like this, like putting on a show, like pulling reactions out of him.
His hips twitch upward when you increase your speed, your nails digging slightly into his thighs to steady yourself as his fingers tighten in your hair.
Sweat starts to bead at his forehead, sliding down as strands of blond hair stick to his skin.
“Mhm— keep— keep going,” he finally groans, his control slipping just a bit more.
You keep the same pace, consistent, precise, working him up without losing rhythm, your tongue and lips working together, spit and pre-cum already dripping down your chin. But is all worth it when you feel it—
The twitch.
The tension building.
A few more precise movements, a slight change in pressure, and then—
He breaks.
“Fuck, fuck, gonn a—“
His words are cut off as a low, deep moan escapes him. He releases, his body tensing as he spills hot loads of cum into your mouth. He closes his eyes at the feeling, barely able to keep his lips sealed.
For a moment, he doesn’t move, his orgasm washing over him, then — he finally looks at you. You were still on your knees, still sucking and slurping like your life depended on it.
“Fuckin’ hell— you’re takin’ everything,” he lets out a weak, breathy laugh. And it was true, you make sure to not let anything go to waste.
You suck him dry.
And he lets you — for a short while.
Only when the sensitivity kicks in does he tug at your hair, trying to catch his breath and helping you catch yours.
“Shit— too much—” he groans, needing another second to breathe, to recover as you pull away, licking your lips slowly, cleaning the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand as you look up at him.
Taking him in.
He’s leaned back against the couch now, hair messy, chest rising and falling steadily, his cock flushed and glistening, resting against his stomach now. His pants and boxers are still pushed down around his thighs as he spreads his legs, taking a lot of space like usual.
But he wasn’t the only one looking messy… he noticed your state too.
And fuck if it wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Your hair was deshiveled from his grabbing, your cheeks were flushed, lips plump and glistening with fluids… you looked so fucking pretty like this — on your knees for him, having his cum down your throat and looking at him with teary eyes — a sign of how hard you tried to take him.
You remain on the floor even if it wasn’t the most comfortable place, still close to him.
“So…” you finally break the silence softly.
His eyes snap back to yours, still catching his breath.
“Was this better than your dream?” you ask with a raised brow and a teasing grin.
But he won’t give you want to want. He already gave you enough.
He just scoffs at your question, rolling his head slightly to the side, trying to hide his smile.
heyloo! may u do a megumi x reader where megumi tries a honey packet not knowing the effects of it?🙀
a/n: hi anon!!! thanks for the request, hope its good enough <3
content warning & tags : +18 mdni, characters are over 18, fluff, mutual pinning, kinda friends/roommates to lovers, smut, m!receiving, pathetic megumi (if you squint), soft megumi, use of aphordisiac.
word count : 6.5k
⋆ When your roommate Megumi mistakes an aphrodisiac for something to sweeten his tea, things get messy...
You had been the one who brought the honey packet back to the dorms, though if anyone asked later, you would insist the entire situation had been a ridiculous accident.
It had been handed out at an event earlier that afternoon. Some health club had set up a promotional table outside the campus gym, the kind that tried to lure exhausted graduate students with free samples and vague promises of “natural energy”. You had only slowed down because they were also giving out bottled water, and didn’t want to pass on this kind of free offer.
Someone had pressed a few things into your hand while you were passing by. A pamphlet you immediately threw away, a protein bar that ended up in your bag, and a small gold foil packet labeled as “herbal honey”.
You had not thought about it very much at the time, and you definitely had not read the label, (because you couldn’t care less).
It’s only later, finally back in your dorm room, that the packet slips out of your bag and lands on the desk while you are unpacking your things. You pick it up and read the label, because, maybe it had a nice flavor to it?
You stare at it for a solid five seconds and realize that it is very clearly not the kind of honey that is meant for tea.
The front advertises it as “royal herbal honey” and the smaller text underneath promises stamina, vitality, and several other things that make the intended purpose painfully obvious. The sort of aphrodisiac supplement that convenience stores keep behind the counter and people pretend they are not buying. At least it is supposedly natural, right?
Still, you turn the packet over in your fingers with a faint frown. It is strange that they hand it out so casually. Places do not usually give things like that away unless they are trying very hard to get people to buy more later. You squint at the tiny print again.
Why would they even give this to you? Are they trying to advertise or something? The whole thing feels slightly suspicious. For a brief moment you wonder if the people running that little stand are like dealers, passing out samples so people will come back for the real thing. The thought makes you huff quietly under your breath.
You drop the packet onto the desk and lean back in your chair, deciding you will just throw it away later, and obviously, you get distracted, and forget about it entirely.
Your roommate, Megumi, gets back not long after you do.
The door opens with a quiet click before he steps inside, closing it behind him. He shrugs off his jacket as he walks further into the room and drops his bag near his bed, running a hand briefly through his hair in a way that makes it obvious the day has been long.
Because the two of you share the dorm room as roommates, the space has slowly become a mix of both your habits. Your desk is cluttered with notebooks and loose papers while his side stays mostly neat, aside from the occasional book or jacket left carelessly over the chair. You are still sitting at your desk when he comes in, only glancing up briefly before your attention drifts back to your phone.
“Long day?” you ask without much thought.
“Something like that,” Megumi answers simply.
He moves toward the small kitchenette area against the wall and fills the kettle with water before setting it to boil. While he waits, he leans against the counter with his arms loosely folded, looking like someone who is already halfway ready to sleep. When the kettle finally clicks, he pours the hot water into a mug with a tea bag already inside. Steam curls slowly upward as he stirs it.
He pauses after a moment and glances around the counter.
“...Do we have sugar or something? I think Yuji finished it the other day,” he asks.
You do not look up.
“No idea.”
Megumi checks one of the cabinets first, moving aside a few cups before closing it again. He opens a drawer next and looks through it briefly, but there is nothing there either.
His gaze drifts toward the desk instead. The small gold honey packet is still sitting there where you left it earlier. He walks over and picks it up, turning it over between his fingers. The print is small and he only glances at it quickly, noticing the word honey and little else.
“Found something,” he says.
You make a quiet sound of acknowledgement but do not bother to look, far too focused on the endless stream of videos playing on your phone.
At this point, scrolling through TikTok has become the easiest possible way to keep your attention firmly directed anywhere except in Megumi’s direction, which is a strategy you have adopted with increasing dedication over the past few weeks.
The problem is painfully simple: you have developed an enormous and deeply inconvenient crush on your roommate. But how would you not? He’s sweet, handsome, and cooks for the both of you.
Unfortunately, it also becomes increasingly clear that the feeling is not reciprocated. Megumi has never done anything that could reasonably be interpreted as encouragement. If anything, his behavior remains exactly the same as it always has been: reserved and comfortably indifferent to most things around him. There have been moments, of course, stupidly hopeful moments when you convince yourself there might be something there. A glance that lasts a second too long, or the occasional late conversation that stretches far past midnight. You allow yourself to hope a little, but nothing comes of it.
Eventually you come to the only logical conclusion available to you. If Megumi wanted something more, he would have done something about it by now. He is not the type to play games. Which means that if he has not acted, then, there is nothing there to act on.
Accepting that is unpleasan,t honestly, but it is necessary (specifically for your survival).
The easiest solution is simply to avoid interacting with him more than what is needed, which is admittedly difficult considering the two of you share a room. Still, you find ways around it: you keep yourself busy, mostly working at any library available or burying your attention in your phone whenever he is nearby, just like you are doing right now.
It’s mildly frustrating, mostly because at some point along the way, Megumi had started opening up around you. Somehow, despite his naturally reserved nature, the two of you became genuine friends. But he remains an introvert to his core and he does not seem to mind the quieter atmosphere that has developed between you, and he certainly never complains about your attitude. So everything is doable, even if it requires a fair amount of self control on your part.
While you were still thinking about him, Megumi tore the packet open and squeezed the thick amber honey into his tea, watching absently as it slid slowly into the hot liquid before disappearing beneath the surface as he stirred it, the spoon producing a soft, rhythmic clinking sound each time it touched the side of the mug.
A moment later you happen to glance up from your phone, your attention drifting away from the screen just long enough for your gaze to move across the room. Your eyes settle first on the mug in his hand and then, almost immediately afterward, on the empty foil wrapper he had casually set down on the counter.
For a second, you simply stared at it in complete silence.
“…Megumi,” you say slowly, your voice carrying a strange mix of hesitation and disbelief as you try to process what you were seeing.
He looks over at you after finishing his tea, lowering the mug from his lips before walking the few steps toward the sink and placing it inside with the quiet clink of ceramic against metal. He turns the faucet on briefly to rinse it before setting it aside to wash properly later, only then glancing back at you with mild confusion written across his expression.
“What?” he asks, his tone calm but clearly questioning, as if he had already noticed the unusual way you were staring at him.
You lift a hand and point toward the counter.
“…What did you just put in your tea?” you ask carefully, choosing your words with a noticeable amount of caution.
Megumi frowns slightly at the question, his brows drawing together as he turns his head to look at the small foil packet still lying where he had left it. He reaches out and picks it up again, turning it over in his fingers as if checking the label for something he might have missed.
“What do you mean?” he asks after a moment, his voice carrying a faint note of curiosity as he looks back at you.
You hesitate, clearly unsure how to explain it without sounding ridiculous. Then you point again, this time more insistently.
“That,” you say slowly, nodding toward the packet still in his hand, “was not normal honey.”
Megumi glances down at it again, his expression remaining almost perfectly neutral.
“…It says honey,” he replies after a short pause, speaking with the simple certainty of someone who genuinely believed that settled the matter.
“It says herbal honey,” you correct, your tone noticeably weaker this time as you watch him reread the label.
He squints slightly at the small printed text, tilting the packet so the light would hit it better as if that might somehow reveal additional information. But before either of you could continue the conversation, Megumi suddenly goes still.
At first the sensation is subtle, like a slow warmth spreading beneath his skin in the same way heat sometimes lingered after drinking something too hot. It starts faintly in his chest, easy enough to dismiss at first, but instead of fading, it continues to grow, gradually spreading through his body in a way that’s almost impossible to ignore.
He reaches up and loosens the collar of his shirt without thinking, his fingers brushing briefly against the skin of his neck as if trying to cool himself down. Megumi stands there for a moment staring blankly at the wall across the room, a faint crease slowly forming between his brows as he tries to make sense of what he was feeling.
Oh.
His heartbeat had changed.
It was not racing, but each pulse feels unusually slower yet stronger, every beat landing with enough force that he could feel it clearly in his chest and throat. At the same time, there’s a restless warmth building low in his stomach that makes standing still feel oddly uncomfortable, as if his body is trying to push him into motion without giving him any clear direction.
The silence that follows stretches across the room and is painfully awkward. You continue to stare at him with wide eyes until the full weight of what has just happened finally catches up with you. You lift a hand and press it firmly over your mouth, trying desperately to contain the horrified laugh threatening to escape before it can actually reach the air.
“It’s one of those… supplements,” you explain carefully, already bracing yourself for the inevitable question.
Megumi’s brows pull together slightly. “What do they do?” he asks, his tone calm but clearly demanding a precise answer.
You hesitate only for half a second.
Unfortunately, that half second was more than enough.
Megumi stares at you in silence. Understanding arrives slowly, settling across his expression piece by piece until the faint color that creeps across the tips of his ears becomes the first visible sign that the situation has finally clicked into place in his mind.
“You’re serious?” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now.
“I didn’t think you would eat it!” you say quickly, your words rushing together as you gesture helplessly toward the kitchen counter as though the object itself has somehow betrayed you.
Megumi glances briefly in that direction before looking back at you.
“It said honey,” he repeats, whispering, as if that detail alone completely justifies his decision. “And you didn’t stop me.”
“Most people do not eat random packets they find sitting on the counter,” you argue weakly.
Megumi leans back slightly, lifting a hand to run it slowly through his hair while exhaling under his breath, the motion revealing the tension now building across his shoulders and the subtle way his jaw has begun to tighten.
“How long will it have effects,” he says after a moment, lowering hand again.
You don’t know the answer, so you don’t respond, looking at him credulously. Another wave of warmth rolled through him then, stronger than before, and he closes his eyes briefly as if attempting to regain the calm composure that normally came so naturally to him.
Unfortunately, the effect currently moving through his body is making that significantly more difficult than usual. You watch him carefully from across the room, your initial embarrassment gradually giving way to something closer to concern as the silence stretches on.
“Is it… bad?” you ask cautiously.
Megumi opens his eyes again and looks at you, though the weight of his gaze feels noticeably heavier than it normally does. “It’s… noticeable,” he says after a moment.
You make a quiet sound that is meant to be an apology and slowly sink down onto the armchair across from him, suddenly finding yourself very unsure about where exactly you are supposed to look.
“I swear I didn’t plan this,” you add quickly, though you are not entirely sure why you feel the need to justify yourself in the first place.
“I know,” Megumi replies.
Despite the irritation still lingering in his voice, there is a faint trace of reluctant amusement buried underneath it, the kind that only appears when a situation has crossed the line into something too absurd to take entirely seriously. For a moment neither of you speaks.
Megumi has always been composed, yet now he sits on the couch leaning forward with his hands loosely clasped together, his shoulders tense in a way that suggests he is concentrating on controlling something. Megumi is used to strange physical sensations after difficult missions or cursed energy exhaustion, but this is unlike anything he has ever experienced in his life.
His focus keeps drifting, and every time he tries to steady his breathing his thoughts circle back to the same problem.
You.
You’re leaning back into the cushions with your phone in your hands, occasionally scrolling, occasionally glancing up to check on him in that cautious way that suggests you are trying not to make the situation any more awkward than it already is. Unfortunately, Megumi’s awareness of you has become uncomfortably sharp and the smallest movements are suddenly very difficult to ignore.
The faint sound of fabric shifting against your skin when you adjust your position on the couch, your curves, your legs, the quiet breath you let out every now and then. Normally, those things would have blended easily into the background, but right now, they did not.
Megumi has spent months training himself to treat them that way, as background noise. Now however, his self-control is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.
The warmth sitting in his pants has sharpened his awareness in a way that feels deeply inconvenient, drawing his attention back to you again and again before he can stop himself.
You aren’t doing anything wrong, clearly. But the longer he watches you, the more aware he becomes of the restless heat still moving through his body, and the way his thoughts are starting to drift in directions that are significantly harder to ignore than usual.
He is getting hard.
Megumi exhales slowly and presses his fingers against his temple. This is getting ridiculous. You notice the movement and glance over to watch him.
“Still bad?”
He considers lying for half a second but dismisses the idea immediately. “Yes.”
You wince in sympathy. “Do you want water or something?”
“I already had some.”
Another stretch of silence settles between you, but this time it feels heavier. Megumi shifts slightly on the couch again, his posture tightening as another wave of warmth moves through him, he’s suffocating. You notice it immediately.
“Megumi.”
He did not answer right away, and, when he finally spoke his voice sounded lower than normal. “It’s getting worse.”
Your eyes widens. “Oh.”
That is not a particularly helpful response, but it is the only one your brain can produce. You stand up and walk a few steps, stopping near the edge of the couch while trying to look supportive instead of painfully aware of how close you are standing.
Megumi looks up at you. It’s a mistake.
Seeing you from this distance makes the restless energy in his chest tighten sharply, and he suddenly understands why some people describe you as distracting. Megumi closes his eyes briefly and exhales again.
“You should probably sit somewhere else,” he says.
You blink. “Why?”
“Because this situation would be easier to deal with if you were not standing right in front of me.”
Your face warms instantly. “Oh.”
You take a slow step back, though the movement is hesitant, like you are unsure whether leaving him alone will actually help. Megumi notices that hesitation and opens his eyes again.
“You don’t have to look that worried,” he says quietly.
“I’m the reason this happened.”
“You didn’t force me to eat it.”
“That doesn’t make me feel less responsible.”
For a moment he simply watches you, taking in the way your shoulders have tightened and the slight crease between your brows. Then he leans back against the couch and runs a hand through his hair again, the tension in his body still obvious but his expression softening slightly.
“You’re overthinking it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
A faint hint of humor touches his voice despite the circumstances. “Not really.”
That earns a small laugh from you, and the sound makes something in his chest loosen unexpectedly. The apartment feels warmer now, the quiet no longer quite as uncomfortable. You hesitate for another second before finally sitting on the far end of the couch, leaving a careful amount of space between the two of you.
“You don’t have to sit that far away,” Megumi notices the distance immediately.
“You just told me to,” you answer, eyebrows knitting together.
“I said not in front of me,” Megumi repeats, his voice a little tighter now, as if he regrets admitting even that much out loud.
You stare at him for a moment longer, your phone now completely forgotten in your hand. The situation has clearly moved past the point where pretending everything is normal will work, and the longer you watch him the more obvious it becomes that he is struggling to maintain his composure. You hesitate for a second before pushing yourself up from the couch.
“I’m just going to check your temperature, you don’t seem well, Gumi,” you say, trying to sound practical about it as you walk toward him.
Now that you are standing closer, his attention shifts in ways he cannot control and it takes him a moment to realize that he has never actually paid this much attention to what you are wearing before.
Normally he avoids looking too closely. That has always been part of the quiet agreement he made with himself after realizing he liked you more than he probably should. Ignoring details makes things easier.
Right now his strategy is failing completely.
You’re wearing an oversized shirt that falls slightly off one shoulder when you move, revealing a narrow line of skin near your collarbone, and a pair of shorts that make it very obvious you had been planning to spend the evening comfortably, clinging to your thighs in a way he cannot comprehend rationally right now.
A flush spreads across the tips of his ears and then across his cheeks before he can stop it. You step closer anyway.
“Hold still,” you say, reaching out.
“Don’t,” he says quickly.
You pause, confused. “What?”
“Don’t touch me,” he says again, this time more firmly to put space between you.
He lets your wrist go, you blink at him. “You’re ridiculous,” you reply, clearly unconvinced. “I’m just checking your temperature.”
“It’s fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
You step forward anyway, raising your hand toward his forehead once again.
Megumi immediately catches your wrist before you can touch him, his grip firm but not rough.
“I’m not in control right now, y/n,” he says under his breath, his voice noticeably strained.
Your eyes widen slightly. “Oh,” you say, for the third time.
The realization lingers in the air for a second longer than necessary, and something about the expression on your face shifts in a way that makes Megumi immediately suspicious. You tilt your head slightly, studying him.
“…Is it that bad?” you ask, your tone softer now, though there is a faint thread of curiosity beneath it, that had not been there before.
Megumi releases your wrist immediately, as if realizing he has been holding it longer than he should have.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he says flatly, though internally he is very much panicking. His thoughts are moving quickly, trying to find the fastest possible exit from the situation before he completely loses his control.
You raise an eyebrow at him. “A shower,” you repeat slowly.
Megumi does not elaborate. Instead he straightens and pushes himself away from the couch, clearly intending to walk past you and head toward the bathroom before anything else can make this worse.
He stands up, and your eyes flick downward for a fraction of a second before widening slightly, and although you quickly look away, the brief glance is more than enough for the realization to settle in.
Megumi notices the shift in your expression at the exact same moment, his entire body stiffens.
A deep flush spreads quickly across his face, climbing up his neck and settling vividly across the tips of his ears as he becomes painfully aware of what you must have seen.
“…I’m so sorry,” he mutters under his breath, his voice low and tense as he turns his head slightly away from you.
You clear your throat quietly. “It’s fine,” you say after a moment, your voice calmer than he expects. Megumi looks back at you, clearly skeptical. “I mean it,” you continue, speaking carefully as though trying to reassure him rather than make the situation more embarrassing. “I don’t really mind.”
Megumi stares at you. “I’m not exactly myself right now, I would never-” he says after a moment, his voice strained.
“That part is pretty obvious,” you reply.
Megumi shifts his weight slightly, clearly intending to step around you and escape toward the bathroom, but before he can move past you, you step forward.
It’s not aggressive, but the movement is deliberate enough that Megumi instinctively takes a step backward in response until his shoulders lightly bump against the wall behind him. He stops and his eyes widen instantly.
You are standing very close now.
Close enough that he can see the faint warmth in your expression, the same one that appears when you are trying to say something difficult without making it awkward.
Megumi’s face is still visibly red. “…You shouldn’t do this right now,” he says quietly, though his voice has lost some of its usual steadiness.
You tilt your head slightly, “Why not?” you ask.
“Because,” he begins, clearly struggling to maintain a logical explanation while his mind is currently working against him, “I just told you I’m not thinking normally.”
You study him for another moment, your gaze steady as you watch the subtle shifts in his expression, the tension in his posture, and the unmistakable flush that has spread across his face. The reaction alone is almost enough to make you reconsider what you are about to say, but the words have been sitting unspoken for so long that keeping them back now suddenly feels far more difficult than letting them out.
Then you speak again.
“You know,” you say slowly, your voice quieter now but steady despite the faint nervousness sitting behind it, “I’ve had a crush on you for months.”
Megumi freezes immediately, his entire body going still as though the sentence you just spoke has completely interrupted whatever train of thought he had been clinging to before.
For a moment he simply stares at you. The faint color already lingering across his cheeks deepens noticeably, spreading across the bridge of his nose and down the side of his neck as he processes what you just said.
His eyes widen slightly, “You…” he starts, before stopping halfway through the word.
Megumi rarely struggles to form a response in conversation, but right now his thoughts seem to be moving in too many directions at once, none of them aligning quickly enough to turn into a coherent sentence, and, obviously, the feeling that is buried deeply in his ribs doesn't help.
“…You’ve had a crush on me?” he repeats slowly, the words coming out almost as if he is confirming them to himself. “You never said anything,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now.
You let out a small breath, the tension that had been sitting in your chest finally slipping out with the admission.
“I assumed it wasn’t mutual,” you say, the honesty of the statement making you glance away for a moment before your gaze returns to him again. “You never acted like it was.”
For a second Megumi just looks at you when something in his expression shifts.
“I like you too,” he says, the words leaving him a little more abruptly than he probably intended, as though they had been sitting behind his teeth for a long time and had finally slipped out before he could stop them. His voice softens slightly afterward, the reality of the situation catching up with him again. “…but this is really bad timing.”
You glance down briefly, your eyes flicking toward him for half a second before you look back up again, clearly aware of exactly what he means.
“Yeah,” you admit quietly.
For a moment neither of you moves. Megumi exhales slowly, dragging a hand back through his hair. His shoulders remain tense, his jaw tight as he tries to focus on something other than the warmth and disgusting thoughts he is having.
“You should probably step back,” he says after a moment, his voice lower now but still strained. “We’ll talk about it right after I finish my shower.”
You don’t move. Instead, you watch him for another second, your gaze lingering on his face as if you are weighing something in your mind.
You lean forward. And kiss him.
The kiss is brief but firm, your hand lightly grabbing the bottom of his shirt as your lips meet his, catching him completely off guard. For a second, he doesn’t dare to move, his body rigid with surprise. When your lips part, his thoughts are all over the place.
“Y/n, stop” his voice is a strained whisper, breath coming quicker, “You’re…” he shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut for a moment “You’re making it worse.”
You tilt your head slightly as you look up at him, studying the mixture of panic and frustration written across his expression, “But what if I want to make it worse?” you ask playfully.
“You don’t get it, I'm not in control right now.” He winces. He leans the back of his head against the wall, his body trembling now, “Last chance, let me go help myself, please,” he practically begs.
“I trust you.” you say.
Megumi’s resistance begins to fracture under the combined weight of your touch and your words. For a moment he remains where he is, his back still against the wall, his breathing uneven as he tries one last time to hold onto the control that has always come so naturally to him.
Then you pull him forward.
And this time he doesn’t stop himself.
The shift happens quickly, one moment he is pinned between you and the wall, and the next he pushes away from it, his hand catching your arm as he turns you both in a single movement. Your back meets the wall behind you instead, the soft thud of it barely noticeable compared to the sudden closeness as he steps into your space.
Megumi braces one hand briefly against the wall as he shifts closer. Before you can react, he catches both of your wrists and lifts them above your head, holding them there easily with one hand. His grip is firm, his fingers wrapping securely around your wrists.
The sudden change in position draws a quiet breath from you.
His other hand slides down to the small of your back, settling there, before pulling you closer, pressing you fully against him. His body leans into yours and now, you can totally feel him.
Oh.
He’s big.
Megumi lowers his head slightly, his forehead almost brushing yours as he exhales slowly, the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface now plainly visible. His breathing is still uneven, his control clearly hanging by a fragile thread despite the steadiness in his posture.
For a brief moment he just looks at you, his chest rising with unsteady breaths, his dark blue eyes searching yours as if he is still trying to decide whether this is actually happening.
“You’re making this really difficult,” he murmurs.
You tilt your head slightly, clearly not intimidated by the shift in position.
“You should teach me how to behave, then,” you reply softly.
Megumi exhales slowly through his nose, his forehead dipping closer to yours as if he is fighting a losing battle with his own restraint.
“Y/n,” he says quietly.
The last fragile thread of his control finally snaps. The second kiss is hungry and desperate, fueled by the aphrodisiac and weeks, and maybe months of pent-up tension. The hand sitting on your back tries desperately to pull you closer to him, as if trying to erase any remaining space between the both of you.
He breaks the kiss, breath ragging. “The clothes… they’re in the way.” he exhales slowly as his fingers loosen around your wrists, finally letting them fall free. His hands move to his own shirt, his movements suddenly less controlled as he fumbles briefly with the buttons near his collar.
“You don’t need to do that, pretty,” you say, smiling up at him with an ease that feels almost unfair given how visibly flustered he still is.
For once, the usually composed expression he carries has completely slipped, and he simply stares at you for a moment as if his brain is struggling to process both the words and the tone you used to say them. The faint flush already across his face deepens again, creeping up along his ears while his fingers pause halfway through the buttons of his shirt.
He looks genuinely dumbfounded and you take advantage of the rare moment immediately.
Before he can recover enough to protest, your hand closes lightly around the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric near his collar as you tug him forward. The movement is confident enough that he follows almost automatically, his attention still caught somewhere between surprise and the lingering warmth running through his body.
“Come here,” you say softly.
Megumi lets himself be guided across the short distance to the bed, his steps slow and slightly distracted as you steer him in that direction. When the back of his knees finally bump against the edge of the mattress, he stops, blinking down at you as if the shift in position has finally forced his thoughts to catch up.
You’re still standing close enough that the fabric of his shirt remains gathered loosely in your hand, your expression calm, almost amused as you look up at him.
“Let me take care of you, pretty boy.” You say, your body thrilling in excitement. You’re feeling way too good about the situation, the sentiment deep in your ribs nothing but noticeable.
At that, Megumi can’t quite contain the small sound that escapes him. Your expression softens, though the faint smile still lingers at the corner of your mouth as you step closer, your hand still loosely holding the front of his shirt. Megumi seems to realize a second too late what just happened, his eyes widening slightly as the color across his face deepens again.
And because his expressions are the only validation that you need, you decide that you want more. So you wrap your hand around the print of his cock underneath his jeans, and start a soft up-and-down motion.
Megumi can’t help but moan at the sudden touch, “Oh,” he exhales “Fuck,” he whispers, his gaze unfocused, uncertain where it should rest.
“What do you want, baby?” you ask teasingly, clearly enjoying his helplessness too much.
He looks at you now, his thoughts all over the place, and in an uncertain whisper, he answers, “Do something about it, please.”
You don’t answer him. Instead, you unzip his pants and take off his boxers.
Then, you circle his base with your hand, while you start licking him, teasingly circling the head, making sure he’s watching every second of it. Megumi’s eyes fly open at the new sensation, his gaze locking onto yours with an unfiltered intensity. His chest rises and falls rapidly, the flush spreading everywhere.
“You’re… you’re killing me,” he says, his voice a ragged whisper.
As you take him fully into your mouth, he doesn’t look away, and he truthfully couldn’t even if he wanted to. every flick of your tongue on him, every movement of your hand is reflected in the dark pools of his eyes and in the way his jaw tightens.
His hand in your hair trembles slightly, his other hand holding on the mattress for dear life. “Please… more.”
But you don’t listen, enjoying way too much your effect on him. Instead, the slow, almost torturous rhythm continues.
Megumi is unable to move, his world narrowed to the sight of you, the feel of your mouth around his cock. A bead of sweat trails down his temple.
His hips give an involuntary jerk, a testament to how close he is to losing his last shred of control. The hand in your hand is trying its best to remain gentle, to not hurt you and help himself thrust into your mouth, his fingers trembling with the effort of holding back.
“I can’t… I’m… Please…” he groans, almost choking. His eyes flutter shut for a second before he forces himself to open them to watch you again. “Y/n… please… I’m gonna…”
You pull back slightly with a soft pop. “Not yet, pretty.”
Megumi lets out a frustrated groan at the sudden loss of contact, his eyes are glazed with desire and absolutely desperate. “Why… Why would you stop?” He says, panting.
You lean in close. “Say please again.”
The request hangs in the warm air between you. Megumi’s eyes are blown wide with want, he doesn’t hesitate.
“...Please.” he says, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
The word is barely a whisper, stripped of all pride. His grip on your hair loosens, his hand falling in order to rest against your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin in a silent and final plea.
Your smirk. “Good boy.”
The smirk on your lips is the last thing Megumi sees before you shift your focus lower, specifically on his balls. His breath hitches again, a surprised sound escaping him as your mouth finds a new and incredibly sensitive target.
“Y/n-!” he lets out a strangled gasp, his back arching off the bed.
His hand flies from your cheeks to tangle back in your hair, just to hold on for dear life as the dual sensations overwhelm him. The slow, firm strokes of your hand combined with the wet attention of your mouth on his balls are a devastating combination.
“Oh god… that’s…” he says, voice trembling, ragged with pleasure.
He’s completely at your mercy, every muscle in his abdomen taunts, his free hand gripping the sheets so tightly, he almost doesn't feel his fingers anymore.
“You’re so pretty like this,” you whisper, backing off from him a little.
The whispered praise seems to hit him harder than any physical touch. A fresh wave of heat floods his cheeks, and he lets out a helpless sound, caught between embarrassment and overwhelming sensations. Your pace quickens, your hand and mouth working in perfect and relentless sync to make him lose his mind. Megumi’s body tenses, every single muscle of his coiled tight.
“Y/n-” a sharp, choked cry tears from his throat as he tries to say your name again.
Megumi’s climax hit him like a wave. His back arches off again, a raw, guttural sound ripped from his chest as he spills over your hand and the sheets beneath him. His body shudders violently, his hand in your hand tightening for one final and desperate moment before going slack.
He collapses onto the mattress, breath coming in heavy gasps. “Hah…y/n…wait…” he says, panting heavily.
You don’t stop after his release, your hand continues its slow strokes, and instead of the expected sensitivity, a sharp jolt of pleasure makes him gasp. His hips twitch involuntarily, his oversensitive nerves lighting up again. Megumi’s eyes fly open in shock, his breath catching. It feels really good. A low groan escapes his lips.
“What… Why does it still feel…?” he says, his voice hoarse.
You chuckle slightly at that, freeing him from your grasp. You lean up, catching his lips in a slow and deep kiss. He responds instinctively, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his movements a bit sluggish but tender. When you pull back, his eyes are still hazy.
“Thank… Thank you…” he says, blushing, the faint of sweat noticeable in the dim light of the room. “I should… clean up. I really need a shower, now,” he smiles slightly at you.
He swings his legs and stands, a bit unsteady on his feet. He offers you a hand to help you up, his touch still warm. The lingering effect of the honey pack is evident in the way his eyes keep drifting back to you, despite what just happened.
“Worth it, though, right?” You grin.
Megumi just shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he pulls you to your feet. The intimate atmosphere of the room slowly shifting to something more domestic. Megumi, then, heads towards the small ensuite bathroom, attached to your dorm, pausing in the doorway. He glances back at you over his shoulder, the steam from the shower he just turned on already beginning to form the mirror behind him.
“You’re coming?” he smiles teasingly.
a/n: last episode of jjk got me feral. Love megumi. Whatever, hope it was good enough!!
SYNOPSIS. nothing weird’s gonna happen just because the two of you are all alone… right?
DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT AND THE DARK CONTENT STATED IN THE WARNINGS.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ── ❀ part one. university au!
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ is so mean. he makes you cry, spits out venomous insults when you try to get too close, but you're so in love with him that it doesn't even matter.
⋆ tw / cw (18+) note that if tags don't show up it will show up in the next part! ; dumbification, slight angst, hurt/comfort (??), smut, praise & degradation kink, slight angst, missionary, katsuki fucks reader in his lap, blowjob, cum-eating, pussy eating, size-kink (unedited).
ac; lapin (hegi)
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ was horrible to you. you knew that the day you made the grave mistake of loving him, confessing to him.
high school, late afternoon with golden rays spilling through tinted windows. your heart in your throat as you stumbled and blabbered through your well-prepared confession you'd rehearsed a hundred times in your tiny bedroom. you didn't even finish before he laughed.
a sharp, incredulous chuckle that echoed off the walls and rank through your ears.
you stood there, frozen, as he cocked his head and stared you up and down like he was reassessing something he'd already thrown away.
"get a grip," he added flatly, briefly scanning his phone for whatever was on his schedule. "you really thought you had a chance?"
when katsuki disappeared from your sight, you couldn't control the molten tears pouring down your face.
from that moment on, you were no longer invisible in the eyes of katsuki bakugo.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who was insufferable. you should have never confessed to him.
he was smarter than you. smarter than anyone for that matter. he was involved in many extracurriculars. he was good at drums, and you knew that he done boxing outside of school.
and you to him? wouldn’t have made any sense, and that feeling became apparent even more with time.
he singled you out in class when you tried impressing katsuki.
"the answer's 147.19!" you called out eagerly, heart thumping wildly against your ribs.
a scoff was heard from the front corner of the room.
"wrong, dork." he shot you an amused look, as if you'd actually believe you'd done something right. "it's 150."
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ didn't need to utilize brute force to crack your heart. on the day university applications were sent out, katsuki caught sight of yours.
"yuuei university?" he repeated, brows lifting softly. "mechanical engineering?" then, he laughed. it was breathless, disbelieved, as if you'd just told him the joke of your life.
you stood beside him, fingers curling into the fabric on your sleeve, smile gentle on your face as he slung a bag over his shoulder.
"did you just pick the hardest major you could find to sound impressive?" he asked lazily, eyes racking over yours. "or are you actually that delusional?"
you went home crying that afternoon, snot dribbling down your nose as you stared at the low-scores on your practice exam. he was right.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ had a way of making doubt blossom where confidence once lived comfortably in your gentle, fragile heart.
even after you were accepted — after the acceptance email sat glowing on your screen like genuine proof he was wrong, that you'd fought through finals for this spot — it wasn't enough.
on orientation day, he'd spotted you sticking out like a thumb in the crowd, all pretty in the softest, ironed skirt you could find, paired with the glossiest shoes you could muster.
"tch," he muttered, eyes flickering back to the front, already surrounded by a group. "guess they're letting anyone in these days."
you told yourself it wouldn't matter — that high school was over. that maybe your relationship with him could blossom from what had already been wilted. a clean slate.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ made sure university was worse.
he had the same sharp eyes, silver rimmed frames hanging handsomely on the slope of his nose bridge. same posture of ownership, like he belonged in every room he entered.
he laughed when you asked questions with solutions that already seemed to register to those around you. took over group discussions without acknowledging your presence. corrected you publicly, voice sharp and precise.
"don't touch that. do you even know how to use it?"
"no, that's not how it works."
"did you even pass high school physics?"
every insult landed heavier because you knew why, because he remembered your confession just as clearly as you did; with the only existing mystery being why he took it so personally?
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ nearly exploded, brows furrowing, lips curled into a menacing scowl when both of your names appeared side by side on the same group project list.
"you've gotta be kidding me," he snapped to himself, before turning to the tutor, eyes narrowed. "i'm not—"
denied.
for his excellent mid-semester results, his prevailing intelligence spreading like wild-fire across the cohort, the one known for increasing the threshold of the bell-curve, the one who always knew what he was doing. he had no authority.
by the end of the week, he was sitting across from you in the study room, laptop open begrudgingly, eyes lidded in disbelief as he skimmed your calculations.
"...wow," he said quietly. "you're still this bad?"
you swallowed, shaking your head with a soft curl to your lips, cheeks flushing. "no— well, this stuff's just new and hard... i'll get used to it."
he leaned back, legs spreading in those black-washed baggy jeans, lips curling into that familiar grin of annoyance.
"better not fuck up my grade, yeah?"
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who absolutely loathed dusty afternoons spent at his cafe – the one he ran to when libraries felt too loud, the one he resided in when quiet rooms retched of sweaty underarms on sizzling hot days.
he fucking hated it, seeing you across from him in that leather cushioned chair, legs crossed politely as you stared at him with those gentle, understanding eyes. he hated how you raised your head everytime he spoke, or when your eyes would shrink into kind crescents when he had an idea that was so ordinary to him, but to you, sounded like the most intriguing thing ever.
“...that’s a really good idea, katsuki,” you beamed, fingers moving rapidly across your keyboard to note the idea down. “i can do that for you– yeah! that’s looking great.”
“bakugo,” he corrected coldly, eyes locked in on the way your face flushed cherry plum red.
with a scowl, he had no other choice but to cooperate. atleast you weren’t slacking off. god, that might’ve been the bare minimum of the task, but there was nothing else he could do.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ really hated that the cafe became routine.
he hated that it started feeling inevitable – the sun slipping low and staining the windows with warm amber while the air inside stayed cool and dim. he hated that the barista stopped asking for his name – because he never used to order drinks – and he hated it even more that they already knew yours.
he sat across from you for the nth time that week, wondering why such a group project required this much contact time. his shoulders were tense with irritation, fingers wrapped tight around a paper cup he’d already forgotten to drink from.
and the way you leaned slightly forward in that leather chair, posture performatively neat and attentive. it made his skin itch.
because you always listened, brows lifted in consideration of every syllable that dripped from his tongue.
and the way you nodded before he even finished, fingers already moving, typing things out with a quiet diligence. it pissed him off.
did you think that just because you followed him like a puppy, obeyed every single call he made, listened to every idea he had, that it’d be enough?
“you don’t have to write everything down,” he muttered once, gruff, irritation slipping into his tone. “i’m not gonna forget what i just said.”
you looked up at him then, blinking once with wide eyes, a little smile tugging at your lips once more. “i know. it just helps me think, too.”
he clicked his tongue, gaze flickering away. there were only thirty minutes left and he’d be free.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ noticed when you started getting too comfortable.
you didn’t feel the need to look at him for validation anymore before adding your share of ideas to the shared document. you didn’t hesitate before suggesting alternatives, and sometimes you’d speak first – softly, still, but with a steadiness as if you’ve finally made your mark into his life.
“what if we approach it from this perspective instead?” you suggest one afternoon, voice a little wavery, but bright.
he glanced over your logic, the calculations, your assumptions. it actually made sense.
“hm,” he grunted after a moment, genuinely considering your perspective before leaning back. “fine. do it your way.”
and that pathetic, stupid smile of triumph?
something ugly spread thick across his chest, invasive.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ absolutely couldn’t stand that you still treated him the same.
still with that soft greeting, still following him like a lost puppy to shared destinations. still glanced at him with hopeful eyes when something amused you, like his reaction was validation to whatever soft and mushy feeling you keep safe in your chest.
one evening, as the cafe began to filter out, he caught you staring at him without realizing it – eyes warm, thoughtful, full with admiration.
“what?” he groaned out, elbows perched defensively across his chest.
you startled, cheeks blossoming, you shook your head quickly. “oh– nothing, sorry.”
katsuki hated how he could practically feel your affection oozing into him, untarnished and full of life.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ went home angry that night. angry at the way your competence crept up on him. fuming at the way your kindness hadn’t soured, but instead sweetened into something contagious. he hated that you’d actually grown into someone worthy of his time and effort without shedding the parts of yourself he’d once mocked.
he was angry because it was actually fucking getting to him. you in his routine.
everything cruel he’d said to you was no longer about superiority, and it was now becoming something laced with fear and inner insecurity.
once he found himself at his desk, papers laid clean in front of him with precision, thoughts filled with your soft smile and your polite hands, he glanced down uncomfortably, noticing the strain in his sweats. unexpected.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who gave in eventually to his erection, fingers wrapped tight around his cock, tip raging a warm pink as he pumped himself from tip to brim.
with his head thrown back, jaw slack, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. every time he tried thinking of something else to get off to – the image would swirl to you instead. all pretty across from him, soft lips caught between your teeth in concentration, that low cut top you wore one time, sunlight pooling on your skin.
with a reluctant vacant hand, he swirled a palm over his tip, panting softly and fogging his glasses up. he couldn’t fucking believe he was jerking off to you. getting off to you. fucking fisting his cock to you and cumming everywhere.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who was more snappy than usual.
this time, it was in that low, condescending, venomous tone. laced with hatred and everything on that spectrum.
it happened on a night at the cafe that felt too quiet – just the two of you, warm auburn lights of the city stretching across the glossy tabletop, your notebooks and laptops open and untouched.
you were smiling pathetically again, practically sneaking into something far from strictly educational. you were genuinely trying to talk about something other than the group project, absentmindedly tracing circles in the margin of your page, glancing at him like the world had finally softened.
he hated it so much. he hated how easy it was for you. hated how you got too comfortable that you genuinely thought he cared what you had to blabber about.
“stop staring at me,” he said suddenly, annoyed.
you paused, fingers still around your cup. “i wasn’t–”
“yeah, you were.” his voice was flat, sharp and intentionally crude. “you always do.”
your smile faltered for the first time in a while, just a little. “i’m sorry, i didn’t realize–”
katsuki, with cold movements, closed his notebook. “that’s the problem,” he grimaced. “you never realize anything.”
the words landed wrong, awfully wrong. but he didn’t care in that moment, because of how uncomfortable he was emotionally.
at his words, you straightened slowly, fingers curling into themselves. “uh… what do you mean?”
he scoffed, sinking back into his chair, arms crossing. “you follow me around. you nod along. you look at me like i’m” he stopped himself, jaw tightening, consciously selecting the most harmful combination of words. “like i’m something i’m not. like i’m just a figure in that delusional head of yours.”
your throat bobbed, face warm, eyes still present despite his words. “i just… like being around you.”
that softness, that consistent prying into his chest, his mind. that, was what pushed him over.
“that’s stupid,” he said coldly. “fucking stand up for yourself for once. you should know better by now.”
this time, you didn’t know how to respond. just plain, cold, silence.
the cafe noise faded into a deafening dull hum, and all you could do was stare at him, eyes wide, like you’d been slapped.
“...just thought things would play out different, is all,” you whispered, lips tilting to a frown.
he laughed once, bitter. “don’t flatter yourself.”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ watched your face crumble in real time.
your eyes glossed over first, lashes fluttering as you tried – tried so hard – to keep it together. your lips parted like you wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out.
it didn’t take long for the tears to fall.
“i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” you said, voice wobbly, syllables messy. “okay– i’m sorry. i’ll try to stop, i promise.”
you were already standing, gathering your things with trembling hands, wiping at your cheeks like you were embarrassed to be seen like this – and not like the other times you were embarrassed to display your admiration and affection.
“i’m sorry,” you choked out again, indefinitely softer this time.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ didn’t go after you.
he watched you leave – watched the door swing shut behind you, watched the space you’d occupied stay empty – and then he sat back down like nothing had happened. like he hadn’t just made you cry. again.
it was better this way, he told himself. distance was what you needed, what he needed. the feeling in his chest would die down on its own. it’d rot into something forgettable.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ he avoided you like the plague from then on.
he left quickly before you could reconcile, opting to take different exits from buildings, sat a few seats away instead of beside you. when group work forced you into the same space, he kept things curt and professional.
no venomous insults, no malicious teasing laced with condescension.
you noticed. of course you did. you always did.
katsuki realized something scary and unsettling. nothing was going to change when it came to you, and how you felt about him.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ hated the way you still showed up.
you still smiled at him when you spoke to him, but this time, it was careful now. practiced and methodical. you were measuring every word before letting it leave your mouth.
you lived true to your words.
you didn’t hover annoyingly around him, didn’t look at him like you used to. and things were finally settling back into natural order. katsuki never felt more relieved.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who caught you wiping your eyes in the engineering hallway one afternoon – quick, discreet, like you didn’t want anyone to see.
and of course, he didn’t turn around to comfort you. if he didn’t, he knew exactly what would happen.
you’d shove your face into his chest, all mushy and fragile. then, he’d have to say something. he’d have to push you away, or even worse, pull you closer. and you’d look up at him regardless with hope, trust, and that quiet, delusional belief that he cared.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ noticed you at the cafe before you noticed him.
you were already seated when he arrived — same leather chair, same corner with that practiced straightened posture — but you looked off. your shoulders held stiff like you were bracing for something, almost too hinged. your eyes were dull around the edges, spark forced as you stared at the screen in front of you with an intensity that didn’t quite land.
your fingers flew across the keyboard, typing and deleting, typing again. you nodded to yourself every few seconds like you were convincing yourself to even stay awake.
katsuki recognized it instantly. fake concentration, performative.
“…great,” he muttered, dropping into the chair across from you. “you gonna actually look at me or keep pretending you’re busy.”
you startled slightly, then smiled, the motion not quite reaching your eyes.
“sorry,” you said, laughing softly. “yeah. i’m here.”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ watched you struggle through the session.
you answered when spoken to, contributed when needed, but your responses lagged by just a second too long. you rubbed at your wrists absentmindedly, nails pressing into your skin.
you laughed when he made a sharp comment. laughed when he mumbled to himself about something. it was still you, all attentive, but something about it was uncanny.
“…what’s up with you.” he asked eventually, irritation threaded with his workload.
you nodded immediately. “yeah, i’m sorry. just tired, long day.”
he scoffed, but his eyes narrowed.
liar.
he didn’t see you again that night.
you packed up quickly when the work ended, mumbled something about needing to go, and disappeared before he could say anything else. the chair you left behind stayed empty long after he finished packing his own things.
something twisted unpleasantly in his gut.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ wasn’t prepared for the next day that you came in, practically bawling your eyes.
you were late, and you were never late.
he was already seated when you stumbled into the cafe, breathless, eyes rimmed red like you’d been crying for hours. your hands shook as you clutched your bag, knuckles pale, movements uncoordinated.
“…you’re late,” he snapped automatically.
you opened your mouth, closed it, then your face crumpled, brows knitted together devastatingly.
“shit—” he started.
you were crying before you even sat down. your shoulders shook as you pressed a hand to your mouth, trying—and failing—to keep it together.
“hey,” he said sharply, standing up. “what the hell—”
you dropped into the chair like your legs had given out, tears spilling freely now, breath stuttering, words coming out in messy blabbles.
“i– i think i did something really bad,” you choked out, fingers shaking. “i really messed up.”
“what?”
your hands trembled as you wiped at your cheeks, smearing tears uselessly. “i— i got scammed.”
the words tumbled out broken, ugly, cracking on each vowel.
“the tutor,” you continued, voice cracking. “he took the money and— and he said i wasn’t improving fast enough and then he just— he ended it. and i thought i was doing okay but i’m not and—” you sucked in a sharp breath, glancing up at him beneath your clumped lashes. “i’m failing,” you whispered.
“…failing what,” he asked, dangerously calm.
you shook your head, sobbing. “the math. i tried so hard to catch up but i didn’t realize how bad it was until i checked my grades and i don’t–- know what to do.”
your hands clenched into fists in your lap.
“i didn’t want you to know,” you said softly. “i didn’t want you to think i was useless– so– so...”
something cold snapped into place behind his eyes, something green swirling in his gut.
“you got a tutor.” he said flatly.
you flinched, nodding. “yeah—”
“you let some asshole take your money,” he continued, voice low. “when you could’ve just– nevermind..”
you nodded, tears dripping onto the table. “i was scared– not of you, but of failing...”
he dragged a hand down his face, breathing slow and controlled. of course, why would you come to him? a day ago he wouldn’t have offered you help if you even asked.
but with your pretty lips jutting out, tears bubbling in those soft, sad rounded eyes. cheeks blotchy and puffy.
he wouldn’t go as far to call the feeling inside him pity, but maybe something else… adjacent.
“…how much were you scammed.”
“like around… sixty per session.”
his jaw clenched. “fucking sixty? and you’re still failing?”
you nodded again, miserable, shoulders curling inwards.
“…right,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, completely aware of the situation he was about to put himself in.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ took it upon himself after that.
not with an apology, god no. he didn’t ask if you wanted help — he told you, blunt, final, like it was already decided, that he’d take over. free of charge. your notes migrated back into his hands, hidden scrutiny behind his gaze as he mulled over your handwriting.
before you knew it, your schedule quietly rearranged itself around late nights and earlier mornings. he started bringing printed past papers without explanation, circling questions with a pen and shoving them toward you like it was obvious you’d need them.
he was still rough around the edges, that was to be said without a doubt.
he still snapped when you took too long. still scoffed when you made careless mistakes, annoyance simmering beneath his skin as you asked the nth stupid question of the night. but the insults dulled — caught behind clenched teeth, swallowed down with sharp exhales. he learned when to pause, when to bite down his venomous words. when to start again slower, how to navigate your mind. when to grit through explanations instead of cutting you down.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ found himself in your room more nights than he’d planned instead of the cafe.
sitting on the edge of your bed, papers spread messily between you, his shoulder brushing yours every time he leaned in to point something out. it wasn’t intentional at all.
the room was quiet except for the scratch of pen on paper, the hum of your cheap, rip-off lamp, your soft voice reading questions aloud.
sometimes it was past midnight before he noticed. and he hadn’t known why he bothered staying.
but, somewhere in between those late nights, he noticed the way your confidence rebuilt itself. the way your questions sharpened, the way your eyes lit up when you got something right. the way your hands stopped shaking when you wrote, all bubbly and enthusiastic whenever he spoke.
in a way, it was really getting to him, but this time, it seeped. bleeded through the stubbornness in his heart. because at night once he returned back home, he found himself once more, hand wrapped firm around his cock, fisting himself to the thought of your pretty face.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ watched you after the exam. he’d finished early and expected to leave immediately.
you burst out of the building breathless, faster than he’d expect, eyes bright, searching the crowd until you spotted him. the moment you did, you didn’t hesitate — you ran straight into him, arms around his middle, laughter spilling out as you told him how good that exam felt.
he froze for half a second, arms catching you without thinking. uncomfortably and disgustingly invasive, your joy hit him harder than any achievement ever could. he couldn’t help but push down that pride he felt knowing it was him – not the other pathetic tutor. not anyone else – who helped you.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ didn’t plan to be in your room that afternoon.
it was supposed to be quick, final edits, finishing touches on the group project then everything would be over. nothing more, just a quick drop by to save you the hassle of getting home so late.
but the air felt different, closer. and it seemed like you noticed it too, or maybe it was you making it that way.
you lingered near him longer than necessary. your touches were ‘accidental’ until they weren’t. a soft peck to his cheek — hesitant, testing, appreciative and slow — that made his breath hitch and his patience finally snap.
“thanks for… dealing with me.”
it just happened…
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ never said when the line blurred, nor in that moment did he care. only that somewhere between tutoring sessions, late nights, and watching you believe in yourself again — he stopped pushing you away, because in that moment – with your breasts spilling through your top, eyes staring up at him like you fucking wanted him inside – he had no restraint.
it felt inevitable, like it had always been heading there, and soon enough…
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who was so fucking easy.
he has you bouncing like a rabid bunny all over his cock, up and down, slamming your hips right down onto his pelvic bone, pants fogging up his crooked rims.
grip tight on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh like he's claiming every inch of you as his personal fucktoy. each upward thrust met with your frantic bounces has you mewling into his mouth, ass slapping against his thighs as he took you on your bed.
he didn’t know where the degradation came from, and where it stemmed from, but the way you looked on his lap so fucking slutty and desperate like you’d finally won had him seething whimpered through parted lips.
“fucking look at you,” he sighed out, his voice mocking and pitched a little higher than he’d intended, eyes locked on the way your tits pressed against his chest. “always wanted this, huh? my cock inside of you?”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who embarrassingly swells inside of you, his thick shaft spreading you wide, pounding deep into your gummy walls with every slam of your hips.
it doesn’t take long for his balls to tighten.
you felt so good– too good. his vision blurred, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he let you bounce all over him. he was getting close, so fucking close.
the friction felt incredible, warmth engulfing him whole as you let out a needy whine, whispering affection into his ear.
“s–so close, suki! i can’t…!”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who senses your rhythm faltering, thighs aching as you struggled to maintain your bounces.
pulling back, katsuki’s eyes scanned over your expression. parted lips, teary eyes, flushed warm cheeks.
“need…need to cum!” you cried out, your bounces turning into lazy, tired grinds.
the sight pitiful, his expression softened just a fraction, hips moving deliberately to compensate. with two beefy arms, he wraps them around you, lifting you up, then slamming you down to the hilt.
“aah! f–fuck! ‘m close, i’m–”
your whining into his neck, blabbering and completely drunk on his cock. so soft in his arms, pliable and needy. with a free hand, he strokes your back almost tenderly, mind swirling with lust as he inches closer and closer to his own climax.
“i’m close to… fuck, you feel so good–”
and with that, you cum instantly, thighs shaking around his side. you twitch in his hold, a loud cry escaping your lips as you clench impossibly around him.
“holy shit, y-you’re so fucking tight– did you just?”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who absolutely registers you’ve got a praise kink.
should’ve been obvious by the way your eyes sparkled every time he validated your working out, or that one time he caught your thighs pressing together when he said ‘good’ to some mediocre, bare minimum, correct solution you conjured together.
he hated how much power he had over it, but at the same time…
“that’s right,” he muttered, glancing over your working, leaned over your shoulder. “you did that part clean.”
you froze, then smiled. that faint, soft glimmer in your eyes.
“...yeah?” you asked.
he frowned, seeing the way your cheeks heated up, body tense. “yeah. don’t make me repeat myself.”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who realizes he’s just as filthy are you are.
he doesn’t remember, or know how the line blurred, but somewhere along the way his usual degradation faded into sweeter, honeyed words.
without meaning to, his words turned into frequent physical touches. a hand on your shoulder. a hand moving up your thigh. and before he knew it, he was craving what you’ve been wanting for a long time.
nights dedicated to study turned into quiet, muffled whimpers, legs intertwined, cum spilling everywhere.
he should feel ashamed that the measly girl who had a crush on him since high school had finally gotten her way.
“you fucking like that?” katsuki groaned out, thumb pressed against your clit as he hammered into you in missionary. “like having my cock inside of you? taking care of you like this?”
“mmhmm! i–i like it so much!” you cried out, nibble hands moving to his jaw, pulling him into a kiss. “i like you so much…”
worse of all? katsuki would selfishly sink in it. indulge in it, feed into your soft affection.
“you do?” he smirked, hands moving to press your knees to your ears. “i can tell…doing so good for me, aren’t you?”
expectantly, and intentionally on katsuki’s end, he’d feel you clench around him, walls fluttering on his cock as he kissed that soft gummy spot inside of you.
“ngh mhm! just for you…”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ realized he liked threading sweetness into your ears.
it came as habit, and something he genuinely wanted to do. he was growing fearful that he was truly basking in your presence, and that one day, he’d actually want something more.
he wasn’t too sure if he had the time or effort to invest in you fully like this.
but for some reason, fucking you senseless in his arms and keeping you well–lit under the cafe lights felt easier than chucking a label on top.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤstalker! izuku midoriya x reader ── .✦ university au!
౨ৎ tw / cw (18+); yandere-implied izuku, law student! izuku, possibly ooc izuku, izuku stalks us, dubcon, dry-humping, fingering, face-fucking, missionary, use of panties as a blindfold, praise-kink, piss-kink (izuku pees...in mouth. we pee on him), alcohol & drug use, invasion of privacy, reader has a v, reader has a twt acc, reader is a virgin, angst, hurt to comfort, no protection, reader gives izuku a palm job while drunk, sad implied past from reader
౨ৎ synopsis; izuku midoriya, a motivated law student, all too known for an unshakable moral compass and a charmingly personality, tries to pry into your life.
꒰ part one here!
౨ৎ wc; ~21k
the art room smells the same it always does. old acrylic paint, dust and the comforting heat of the afternoon sun, spilling through the iridescent windows. the rest of the campus hums faintly outside, distant laugher and conversations muted.
he sets his bag down near one of the long tables and exhales. he's earlier than usual, possibly earlier than you'd arrive. it's strange not seeing you fill the space, but in a way, he wonders what you're like in a classroom environment. there's so much he knows about you, but it feels like at the same time, you're just as distant.
he hasn't realized how much he needed the quiet until it settles around him, wrapping the day up into something softer.
izuku flipped open his notebook, the same one he’s carried since middle-school, all battered up and stained yellow at the edges. the same notebook that has almost every detail he knows about you, all dissected into bite-sized information. he sits, pen poised, but doesn’t write right away.
his eyes drift instead, over the scattered art supplies, the half-finished sketches from some art students. the art room is fuller than usual, and he makes no mistake to catalogue it all into memory.
reluctantly, he rose from his seat, moving around the room slowly. he stepped closer to the canvas section, eyeing down each one with a careful articulation. tilting his head slightly, he notices that there’s a recurring motif he can’t quite place at first, repeated across different styles. whether in graphite, water color, acrylic or ink.
must be painted all by the same person..
izuku only realizes it’s yours when he looks closer, spotting the same signature on the bottom right corner with your name.
the last painting is smaller than the others, tucked on the furthest side of the room like it wasn’t meant to draw attention. this time, it isn’t your usual bodily anatomy, no two individuals, no characters. this one doesn’t belong in your category.
it’s a cat.
izuku kinda knew you had a thing for cats, after all, it was in your twitter username. so, this could make sense.
the cat’s curled in on itself, tail wrapped neatly, protectively around its body, head tucked as if it’s sleeping. the lines are soft, opaque around the curves. almost tender. it’s adorable, in fact. there’s nothing obviously jarring or eye-capturing than the others.
it looks peaceful, from an angle.
izuku shifted on his heels, moving closer. his eyes retrace the lines again, slower this time. the way the cat’s body is folded too tightly inwards, joints compressed. the spine is curved much more than it should be, and he thinks there’s no way it wasn’t intentional. you were good at anatomy.
the shading around its ribs is darker than it needs to be, blurred in with a violent red. it’s a heavy sight.
his eyes drop to that familiar corner of the painting where your name lies in cursive.
oh. that’s interesting… it’s nice!
something settles uncomfortably in his chest.
it isn’t violent in the way people expect violence to look. there’s no blood. no movement. no act of violence being committed. but the longer he looks, the more it feels like the cat isn’t resting — it’s enduring.
contained. contained so tightly it almost disappears into itself.
izuku swallows.
he tells himself it’s symbolic. artists do this all the time, you're an artist, he knows that. he’s seen enough work to understand how emotion sneaks into form. still, the image lingers in his mind longer than it should, the quiet tension of it refusing to let go.
he steps back.
from a distance, it’s just a cat again.
cute and harmless, easy to dismiss.
maybe that’s the point. kinda smart from your end.
the door opens softly behind him, and at first, he doesn’t hear it; he’s too immersed in your work. soft footsteps settle into the room, familiar in the way that urges izuku to engage in that performative act.
“oh, izuku.”
he turns just as you stop a few steps inside, sketchbook already hugged to your chest.
your eyes follow his, straight to the painting of the cat.
there’s a flicker of something in your expression — quick enough to miss if he wasn’t watching you with so much intensity. your eyes flood with surprise, then composure. you’re good at that.
a smile reaches your face, sheepish, but something unwilling hidden beneath.
“oh,” you repeat, fading back into reality. “that one?”
izuku straightens almost immediately, bashful. “sorry, i was just looking.”
“it’s okay,” you reply easily, voice tight. “i left it up on purpose.”
your explanation somehow doesn’t help the feeling in his chest at all. it does absolutely nothing to his suspicions, despite the conclusion that it could simply just be, well, art.
you tilt your head sideways, analysing your own work as if you’re seeing it for the first time. “it’s just a cat,” you add, tone almost playful. “i’ve always liked painting cats — it's always been the easiest thing for me.”
izuku glanced back at the image, at the way the cat curls into itself, spine undeniably wretched with tension.
“yeah,” he says slowly, taking a deep breath. “it’s…. really well done.”
you smile at his response, shoulders relaxing. “thank you.”
there’s a moment of silence, and it’s filled with izuku’s thoughts. of you, and the mystery of you, the things he wants to know about you.
he risks it. “it looks kinda tight,” he says slowly, choosing the word carefully. “is the cat…okay?” his eyes flicker back to you mindfully, scanning your expression for something he wasn’t even sure he was looking for.
your smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a stillness to your features. “yeah, i think so,” you reply quickly. “i mean, i think the cat likes small spaces. you know how all cats are, it makes them feel safe.”
izuku nods, even as something in him resists. you weren’t the most vocal person out there off the bat, but his gut is screaming resistance. “right, yeah.”
he can tell — not because you’re lying, exactly, but because you have a tendency to stay within this grey area. you’re good at smoothing the edges, rounding meaning down into something harmless.
you’ve done this before.
and for now, izuku decides to just drop it. he doesn’t ask why the paws are clenched. he doesn’t ask why the spine bends the way it does. he just lets the painting exist in all it’s glory, sunlight swallowing the cat whole.
izuku stilled, giving it one last look. “it looks happier in the sunlight. i mean, the colors are less harsher. is that intentional?”
you nod, tension slipping away now that the moment has passed. “yeah, it’s nice like this.”
you move past him towards the window seat, the conversation already closed. but izuku can’t help but stay where he is for a second longer, mind lingering with the stuff he wanted to ask you, the stuff he wanted to know.
as he moved curtly beside you, he couldn’t help but think maybe the cat was meant to be you.
and he just couldn’t understand it yet.
౨ৎ
the party is already loud when izuku arrives.
hoodie snug around his biceps, music thudding through the floorboards, laughter spilling out through crowds, fairy lights strung haphazardly too low and too warm, contrasted against the heavy purple lights.
red cups, cheap alcohol, the distinguishable scent of vodka and weed intoxicating the air. there’s a nasty citrus bite floating in the air, something explainable that could be poorly made jungle juice. the floor is scarily sticky too.
he came with denki, eijiro and hanta in hopes of reuniting after the rough semester, but denki’s gone almost immediately — swallowed whole by the noise, his voice already loud on top of the music.
“we’re gonna lose him,” eijiro sighed out, clapping a rough hand of izuku’s shoulder before following.
a loud sound is heard from the kitchen, to which hanta and eijiro rush over, yelling something intangible beneath the thumping beats.
izuku laughs despite himself, shaking his head and feeling slightly out of place as he watches them disappear into the mess.
he lingers for a moment longer, taking in the noise, and the overwhelming sense of it all. he shouldn’t feel this much of a wallflower hermit, but to switch from his studies to this kind of scene feels quite jarring.
he’s greeted a few times by some fellow drunken classmates before he even reaches the kitchen. familiar faces, hugs too close for comfort, someone asking how law’s treating him this semester.
denki reappears briefly, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pressing a skeptical red cup into his hand.
“drink, celebrate surviving, you maniac,” he grins, already gone.
“you’re such a lightweight.” izuku hummed out, peering down at how flushed denki’s face was. despite so, he willingly takes a small sip. it’s bad, aggressively citrus and completely stomach acid.
the kitchen is packed, way beyond the acceptable capacity for personal space — there’s too many people, too much noises — but it’s familiar in a way that it doesn’t bother him.
he’s halfway through listening to eijiro argue loudly about something when a quiet voice cuts in beside him, a little lower.
“hey— sorry, are you izuku?”
he turns, a little surprised. the girl’s smiling, a vodka spirit half-finished in his hand, red hair glittering faintly under the lights.
“yeah,” he answers, returning a familiar smile. “that’s me.”
she laughs, gesturing vaguely between the space between the two of them, nails accidentally dragging against his torso. “my friend swears she’s in one of your courses! says you carried the group project this semester.”
izuku huffs, shaking his head. “i don’t know about carried, but— yeah, i mean law does that to people, or group projects in general.”
before he knew it, the two of them fell into a conversation easily after that. something about classes, exams, mutual complaints about how rough the semester’s been. it simmers into something about how well-put-together he looks for someone at a party like this, her laugh gentle on his ears whenever he spoke, clearly engaged.
denki shouts something from across the room that earns a chorus of boos, and izuku turns his head instinctively.
and that’s when he sees you, your hair, your silhouette.
further down a counter, cascading down the marble island, you’re there, half-shadowed by the purple lights, shoulders slightly drawn inward with some forced confidence. you’re talking to people, nodding along considerately, responding with gentle gestures.
izuku’s eyes traced whatever you’re holding in your hand. you keep your drink close. that’s good.
he can’t help but notice the way your sip from it more often than the conversation seemed to call for; as if you’re compensating for your lack of participation with alcoholism. there’s a quick space between each pull, each sip longer than necessary, like you’re trying to keep yourself occupied.
he didn’t expect you’d be here. he didn’t think it’d be your scene. hell, he didn’t even know if you knew about this party.
the girl beside him leans closer, brushing his sleeve once more, saying something playful that he only partially hears.
his attention doesn’t leave you.
you’re wearing the smallest skirt, the tightest top ever. if you bent over just a fraction, he, no, anyone could see what colour panties you were wearing, as well as the curve of your bare ass cheeks.
you shift your weight as the music swell, taking another drink, then another.
and fuck, he wants to go over there, take the cup from your hands and bring you home, but he can’t. he just wished you slowed down.
“—izuku?” the girl prompts again politely, amused but evidently curious.
he blinks, flickering his focus back. “yeah? i’m sorry.”
she follows his gaze this time, expression softening when she spots you. “oh,” she says, tone thick with playfulness. “she looks shy.”
izuku swallows, brows furrowing at her uncalled observation.
“hmm.”
he forces himself to breathe just enough to steady the tightness in his chest. he tears his gaze from you, fingers curling tighter around the cup he’ll know he’ll dispose later on.
hitoshi’s right, he reminds himself. this isn’t okay — monitoring you, the urge to step in and take control.
you weren’t in danger, you’re simply just talking to people. you came by choice. he watches you laugh again, that pretty motion, a little uneven and imperfectly practiced, and he tells himself that this is what normal looks like.
the girl beside him says something again, smiling, bumping his arm lightly, and this time, he makes an attempt to keep himself present in the conversation. he answers her question, laughs when he’s supposed to. he even lets her pull him a step closer when the music crescendos.
he drains the rest of his drink down the sink, grimacing at the aftertaste from prior. the noise starts to feel heavier after that, pressing in on his ears, and onto his thoughts.
it’s too warm in here.
“i’m gonna grab some air,” he tells her politely, nodding outside.
she nods easily, a smirk to her features. “don’t disappear on me, ‘kay?”
he smiles, non commital, and slips away before she can follow. it takes a while for him to shimmy through the crowd, bodies of sweat and the humid air making it particularly hard to breathe.
outside, the air hits izuku like a reset, the cool night brushing faint on his skin. it’s calmer, much more contained and definitely quieter. the bass from inside dulls into a low, distant thrum instead of rattling his chest.
he exhales slowly, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. god, he needed to revisit the gym — ever since…to be honest, you, he’s been more inconsistent.
he leaned against the porch railing, phone in hand, not really reading anything — just giving his eyes something to do that isn’t scanning the nearest making out couple. he contemplates revisiting your twitter account, but it feels wrong, especially when you could be anywhere in this house.
the smell of marujiana hits his nostrils, and for a second, he chooses to dismiss it — just that familiar, earthy smell he’s familiarised himself that one time denki convinced him to smoke.
he stiffens before he means to, a cloud of smoke drifting into his eyes. he glances down the porch, eyes squinted slightly, and you’re there, furthest from the door, gathered with a small group of people he doesn’t recognise.
there’s maybe three, or four people there. you sit slightly apart from them, shoulder drawn in, legs tucked but, obviously not enough because a pair of pink between your legs flashes him.
here is where he draws the line, because why the fuck would he let you smoke with a bunch of strangers?
was this your first time? did you even know these people?
the thought is sharp, immediate, and it completely dismisses everything hitoshi has told him not to do. the sight pisses him off, jaw tightening as he pushes off the railing.
he’s already moving, and everything about you being able to do whatever flies out the window.
his steps are quick, purposeful, cutting through the length of the porch without a second thought. annoyance coils tight in his chest — hot and familiar — the kind that burns his chest more than any cigarette could.
you don’t notice him at first. of course you don’t, you’re fried out of your fucking mind right now.
you’re mid-conversation, eyes droopy and lips curled into a bashful, loopy smile. the joint is passed again and you take it without thinking, fingers clumsy, movements delayed, bum-puffing with an inexperienced inhale.
izuku stops in front of you, close enough that the group goes quiet upon the sight of him. one of them glances between the two of you, immediately sensing the tension — the way his posture is too straight, jaw set tight, eyes sharp.
“hey,” he says, tone unfamiliar to your ears. it’s not raised, but it cuts clean through your cross-faded haze.
your gaze lifts slowly, unfocused, sclera’s faintly red. when recognition clicks in, your smile falters, confusion knitting your brows together.
blinking, you muster a cheesy smile. “hi, izu!—”
“we’re leaving,” he says simply. no question, no preamble.
one of the guys lets out an awkward laugh, motioning around the circle. “uh, we were just—”
“now,” izuku adds, sharper, completely ignoring the other person.
you scramble to your feet immediately at his tone, head bowed. the movement is instinctive, and in a way, it makes izuku’s heart clench.
the world tilts as you stand and you say, just slightly, finding the sleeve of his hoodie, the fabric bunched between your fists.
“okay,” you mumble, still processing his request. “okay.”
his hand settles at your wrist firmly, steering you away from the porch without another word. you don’t ask questions, and the worst part, you don’t even get mad at him. you just follow, feet dragging a little on the concrete, head buzzing, thoughts cotton soft.
“i was just talking…” you say quietly, voice meek as if you’re aware you’re offering an explanation he didn’t ask for. “i didn’t mean to—”
“you don’t need to explain,” he cuts in, eyes laser focused on the path ahead of him. his voice is clipped now, controlled, each word measured as a command.
the night air is colder now that the both of you are away from the party. it seeps through your flimsy clothes, sobering you enough to realize the gravity of izuku’s annoyance. still, izuku opens the passenger door, and pauses, finally turning to face you.
“sit.”
he buckles you in himself, movements precise, almost mechanical in the burning silence. the click of the seatbelt is loud. when he straightens, his eyes linger on yours for half a second too long, taking in your red eyes, slack posture, the faint goofy smile you haven’t managed to wipe away.
his jaw tightens, still hovering over you.
“you can’t do that,” he says, tone softer.
you blink up at him slowly, brows furrowing. “do what?”
“look at me with those eyes and expect me to just…not be upset right now.”
you frown. “...be upset? what about the girl you were talking to.” the words come out slow, slurred and slobbered.
for a moment, izuku doesn’t know how to answer. his hand remains braced against the car door, body angled over you, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off him. his expression shifts, lips tugging downwards.
“that wasn’t—” he starts, then stops himself, succumbing to your soft eyes. his jaw clenches once more. “that wasn’t the same.”
you blink at him, processing. your gaze drifts briefly to his mouth, then back to his eyes, searching. “she was touching you,” you say softly. “you were laughing.”
he exhales through his nose, frustrated. “i was being polite.”
“you looked happy.”
his posture stiffens, shoulders drawing back as if he’s forcing distance where none really exists. he straightens slowly, like standing too fast might make him say something he shouldn’t.
“you don’t get to keep score,” he says, clipped. “not when you were outside getting high with strangers.”
your lips part, then press together again. you look down at your lap, fingers twisting in the hem of your sleeve.
“i didn’t like it,” you murmur.
“didn’t like what.”
“the girl,” you say. quieter. “i saw her first.”
there’s something raw in the admission, in the way that it's fully honest. vulnerable in a way that doesn’t ask for comfort, only acknowledgement.
izuku’s chest tightens.
he runs a hand through his hair, breath heavy. “that doesn’t mean anything.”
you nod immediately.
too fast. your eyes lift again, glassy but intent.
the silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. izuku swallows.
he shouldn’t engage. he knows that. this is the exact kind of conversation he should shut down, redirect, end. hitoshi’s voice echoes faintly in his head, warning and distant.
instead, he says, low and controlled, “what you saw was nothing.”
your mouth curves into the wobbly smile, tense at every angle.
“okay,” you say.
and the ease with which you accept it — no argument, no pushback — makes his stomach twist harder than if you had fought him.
he closes the door, and the sound is final. as he circles around to the driver’s side, you sit quietly, watching him through the windshield. your head feels fuzzy, heart too loud in your ears, but one thing is painfully clear.
you didn’t like seeing him with her. there was this grimace to your expression, brows knitting, eyes heavy with feeling.
and you didn’t need to say it loudly for him to hear.
the drive home is mostly silent, the city lights blurring past the windows, neon lights fading into a kaleidoscope of colours. izuku keeps both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed forward, jaw tight with the memory of you holding that joint, eyes unfocused, empty.
the car hums steadily beneath you, the sound filling in the empty space between the two of you. and by the time he pulls up to your place, the quiet has curdled into something unexplainable.
the engine idles, and you don’t move.
izuku turns slightly in his seat, eyes carefully watching you. “hey,” he says, gentle by instinct. “we’re here.”
you nod, but the motion is slowed, and far too delayed. your chest seems too tight, breaths coming shallow, uneven, syncopated. the haze of your head thins enough for the reality of izuku’s disappointment to finally sink in. his sharp tone, his sweet tone gone, the way he looked at you, the finality of it all.
he’s not buckling your seatbelt for you. he’s not reaching over to hold your hand. he’s not coaxing you with affection or soft praises. he’s not following the script.
your lower lip trembles before you can stop it, hiccups bubbling in your chest.
“izuku…” your voice wobbles, tone pitched just a fraction. “are you… upset with me?”
your shoulders shake in small motions, little broken sound slipping through unmeasured sobs. you try to keep yourself quiet, but at the point in time, it’s the loudest thing.
izuku’s heart sinks instantly, eyes widened just a bit.
fuck.
without thinking, he unbuckled his seatbelt, reaching over to rest a warm hand on your trembling ones. “hey, hey, look at me.”
you try, but your eyes are glassy, vision doubled and hazy.
“i don’t like it when you’re upset,” you admit, voice cracking slightly. “you’re scary when you get quiet like that… i’m sorry.”
his expression softened completely, eyes replaced with that familiar empathy. shit. “god, no, no, no, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to scare you — this is my bad.”
you sniffle, hiccuping again, fists raising painfully slowly to wipe your tears before izuku beats you, his thumb finding the space beneath your eyes. his touch is careful, thoughtful in that way he tries not to completely smudge off your makeup.
“hey,” he murmurs, voice impossibly gentler now, stripped of anything sharp — anything that could make you overthink. “don’t do that, you’re okay.”
you shake your head weakly, tears still spilling onto izuku’s thumbs, movements still as you allow him to wipe them for you. “i just—” your breath stutters, that embarrassing jolt in your voice. “the way— the way that girl kept touching you and you didn’t even seem to mind, i know we’re— not exclusive but it still hurts, and then when you s—saw me you just looked so disappointed in me.”
your words tumble out unevenly, tangled with tears and shaky heaves. his other hand finds the space between your back, rubbing steady circles into where your spine curves. you’re rambling, spiraling, and each word stabs izuku in the chest with guilt.
“oh,” he says quietly, taking in your words. “i wasn’t disappointed in you, okay?” he says, tone thick with sweetness. “not even a little.”
you shake your head again, disbelief flickering, his words flying past your head as if you’ve settled with the reality that izuku’s not pleased with you. “you looked like you were.”
“i looked serious, yeah,” he corrected softly. “i’m sorry, that was mean of me, i shouldn’t have acted that way to you. i was just scared, seeing you sitting with those strangers.”
his touch is soft, mindful as he thinks of the next thing to say, vocabulary narrowed in a way that could reassure you out of your spiral.
his eyes lock in the defeated expression on your face, lips caught in that awkward tight line as you sniffle through your sobs.
“that girl you saw? didn’t mean anything, i promise, okay? i just wanted to be polite,” he paused, realizing your perspective, where the thick fog of jealousy was coming from. “i can see how that looked, i’m sorry.”
the idea of you being jealous over him should be something to celebrate, but it wasn’t; he didn’t like it. the way you’ve closed yourself off in this bubble, similar to that cat in your painting — it’s all too similar. the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you like this, and he’s mentally berating himself for it.
he watches your reaction to his words, relief seeping in as your shoulders sag, some of the tightness and doubt easing.
“and you,” he continued, voice still low, tone sugary. “i wasn’t upset because of what you were doing — you’re your own person. i was worried, i don’t like the idea of you open and vulnerable like that in group of strangers. but… i think i have to realize you can handle yourself.”
he paused, exhaling when you finally leaned in his touch, nuzzling yourself almost into his palm. this was good. this is how it should be — what was he thinking in the first place? trying to lecture you when he should’ve been adorning you, comforting you.
“i hate that it came across as disappointment,” he said. “that was pretty mean of me, wasn’t it?”
you swallow hard, calming down a bit. “...yeah.”
“i know,” he says softly, his other hand moving from your spine to the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, unmatting it in a way. “and i’m really sorry for that.”
“it’s okay,” you managed out.
“no, no it’s not okay,” he murmurs, guilt sinking into his chest. “I should've said it differently. should’ve checked in instead of shutting you out like that.”
you nodded definitely, peering at him through clumped lashes.
“yeah, i agree,” izuku chuckled, moving his hand down to cup your face, an uncalled amount of intimacy for something that’s far from exclusive.
“think i wanna go inside now,” you mumble out, eyes drooping to your lap, lids falling half-way. your body is leaning subtly forward now, the effects of drowsiness finally taking place.
“yeah, of course,” he says quietly. “okay.”
he should be moving, but he can’t help it. his thumb lingers at your cheek a second longer than necessary, thumb caressing the faintest arc beneath your eye. he catches your chest rise and fall, relieved to see that it’s finally slowed and evened out.
“we’ll take it slow, okay?”
you mumble a response of compliance, sighing as you ease back into reality, vision still delayed. when he pulls his hand back, it’s slow and reluctant, like he’s afraid the absence might upset you.
when he rounds the other side, opening the passenger door, he offers a hand, palm up. you take it immediately, fingers curling into his like you need him.
he contemplates picking you up, but doesn’t want to risk nauseating you. instead, he steadies you with a hand at your lower back, gently guiding you to the door.
“key?”
“mm…” you hum, fumbling for it in your tiny shoulder bag.
izuku peered down at you, frowning at how slow your movements were; a slither of empathy bleeding through his expression at how you must feel. if anything, in the best case scenario, he hoped the high was at least good.
“tired?”
“yeah…”
inside, the quiet hits you. the noise of the night is gone, swelling into quiet shadows and familiar walls that seem to bend in your vision. izuku closes the door gently behind you, locking it with ease.
he moves with rhythm, instantly retreating to your side as he guides you to your room. he knows what to do already.
lights dimmed first, not the big light. curtains open ajar to like the night light spill in softly so you’re not overwhelmed.
“let’s get you into something comfortable first, yeah?”
you nod, eyes heavy. you watch as izuku rummages through your drawers, mumbling to himself something incoherent before he pulled out a pair of pajamas.
“these ones okay?” he asks, turning to you for approval.
izuku makes sure keep his eyes trained on the wall, back facing you as you slip into your nightwear, flinching slightly when he hears you accidentally stumble. after, he guides you into the bathroom, shielding your eyes protectively as he turns on the light.
when you lean against the counter lazily, swaying slightly, he makes a note to keep an arm wrapped around your waist. it’s not much of a hassle trying to clean you up, because deep down, izuku finds this endearing. he enjoys it, yet the guilt from earlier still remains in his chest uninvited.
he finds it tender the way you stare up at him, eyes unfocused as he wipes your makeup off with gentle strokes, a hand cupped at your jaw.
“i must look like a mess right now,” you comment, drowsy.
“no,” he says immediately without a second thought. “just tired, aren’t you?”
izuku’s extra careful when it comes to your eyes, thumb steady on your cheek while he wipes beneath your lashes. he’s even more careful when helping you brush your teeth, acting as an anchor as you lean on him, tiredly performing the simple task.
only then after he’s cleaned you up, does he guide you to your bed, hands warm and sure. he straightens the sheets from when you must’ve left earlier in the night, obviously crumpled from indecisiveness. with thought, a pillow goes behind your shoulder, another tucked under your arm for something to cuddle.
“warm enough?” he asks, taking a seat beside your laying body.
you nod, eyes already half-closed. before succumbing to sleep, your hand finds his, tugging him close.
“...yeah?” izuku hummed out, brows raised.
“i wanna do something,” you say, voice not as shy as earlier, tone clear.
izuku tilted his head. “want me to stay?”
you nod, but as you do, your eyes follow down, trailing to his lap. your hands remain respectively by your side, but izuku can already tell what you’re implying.
“sweetie, i’m sorry.”
you frown, lips jutting out slightly. “we… you don’t have to put it in, izuku, please.”
izuku ran a hand down his face, cock erecting without intention. “you’re only feeling this way because you’re drunk right now, y/n. i don’t want to take advantage of that, you can’t consent either like this.”
as adorable as you look, laying in your sheets, eyes filled with that admiration and affection he loves so much, he couldn’t. not like this. he knew that you were only simply feeling this way because of how much alcohol you had earlier; though he wasn’t sure if the marujiana had anything to do with it.
your eyes shift, moving downcast past where your feet should be, but is covered by the sheets. “i just wanna see it…”
izuku groaned at your words, deciding between whether to cave in or not. it’s undeniable that he wants to be intimate with you, of course he does.
“can’t do that, sweetie,” he says, hand moving to brush the hair out of your face with care — a feeble attempt to calm you down.
you pout, nodding slightly, sulking a bit. “...okay, i understand..”
izuku’s heart pivots at the sight, the slightest movement on your lower body beneath the sheets. “why do you have to be so turned on right now…” he mumbled to himself, the tightening in his pants dimly uncomfortable.
you whimper in frustration to his question, shrugging defeatedly. “‘cause it’s you.”
izuku sighed, inhaling and exhaling with thought. “i’ll let you do one thing, alright?”
izuku's gaze softens as your eyes sparkle with that mix of hope and desire, the alcohol warming sweet in your veins.
“wanna feel how hard i am right now? show you how much i feel too?”
your eyes light up with need, nodding frantically with absolute compliance. “please, izuku, please, please…”
he shifted closer under the tangled sheets, the heat of your body pressing against his side like a silent plea. his hand lingers on your cheek, thumb tracing a gentle circle there before sliding down to cup your jaw. he moves to unbutton his jeans swiftly, pushing it down slightly.
"just... just your hand, okay?" he murmurs, voice laced with that caring edge.
seeing your expression, he guided your palm downward, over the firm planes of his chest, past the waistband of his boxers where his cock strains against the fabric, hard and insistent simply from your eyes.
your eyes move downwards, fingers trembling slightly as they wrap around the thick length through the thin barrier.
“just feel it, okay?” he groaned softly, hips twitching forward into your grip as you start to palm him — slow, deliberate strokes that squeeze and release, feeling the heat pulse beneath your touch.
“you feel big…”
the sheets rustle with the subtle movement, your breaths mingling in the dim light of the room,, shared arousal hanging heavy in the air mixed with the lingering earthy smell on you.
“can we do stuff tomorrow? w–when i’m sober i mean,” you ask, hopeful, breathes laboured as you search his rosy face. “please, please.”
izuku nodded compliantly, grinding against your palm by instinct. “yeah, yeah, we can do that, we can– whenever you wake up– fuck!”
he was going to embarrassingly cum right away by you simply palming him. he thinks about restraining himself, but the way your soft hands feel – fondling his cock like this – he thinks he has no shame left in him to even care.
izuku's free hand finds your hip, pulling you closer so your thigh drapes over his, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you both like the blankets.
"darling– fuck– you’re doing more than just feeling…" he whispers, eyes half-lidded as he watches your face, the way your lips part in concentration. “gonna cum, oh my god…”
each pass of your hand draws a quiet hitch from his throat, his cock throbbing under your fingers, pre-cum dampening the cotton as you work him with tender insistence.
he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your temple, grounding the building tension with his unwavering affection.
your movements become more purposeful, intention, as you move your palm flat over his tip, cruelly circling it. a loopy smirk finds your face at izuku’s reaction, head thrown back, cheeks adorned with that sweet pink flush, hips stuttering against your hand.
his breaths are laboured now, whimpers louder than he’d like, pretty moans spilling from his lips as he reaches his climax. “c–cumming!”
with a final, merciless circle of your palm, he pulls his cock out – careful so he doesn’t cum in his pants – pressing your palm against his bare, bulbous tip, aiming right against your soft skin.
with a broken whine, izuku came straight into the warmth of your skin, humping weakly as hot thick spurts of cum taint your hand. it pools in the space where your hand is curved, and izuku grumbles at the sight, something twisting in his abdomen.
his eyes flicker back to yours – the way he can already second-guess what you’re about to do.
“don’t lick it, it’s gross,” he sighed out, pulling your hand from his cock gently, laying your palm face up. “let me clean you up, stay put for me.”
by the time izuku has fetched the wipes, you’re out cold, soft breaths filling the hum of your fan. mindfully, he wipes your hand, going over it twice, thrice.
he wonders if he should just go, which is probably the best option by far, but what would you think once you wake up? he remained seated beside you, hand close to your face, pondering the decisions and the outcomes.
his eyes moved cast across the room, scanning the intricate details of your humble abode. posters of your favourite anime, all plastered carefully on the right side of your walls. your clothing display rack, shoes tucked carefully beneath. the flower lamp, resting miscellaneously beside the cum-stained wipes, paired with what he could assume, to be your favorite novels.
his fingers brushed against the pages of one, careful to preserve the location of your bookmark. you liked this. this was the type of stuff you’ve read yourself to bed with, falling into a gentle slumber with the lingering thought of love on your mind.
the thought made izuku’s chest warm with affection. he glanced back at you, tracing your palm with his index finger, outlining where he had sinned. you were fully out, light snores leaving your lips now.
smiling to himself, his attention shifted to a familiar corner in your room; the one you’ve been anxiously looking at last time he came over. a box laid in the corner of the room, adorning the corner in muted, dull and hidden tones. if anything, it was far from obnoxious, hidden beneath a lazy pile of clothing.
he glanced back to you, flickering back to the box.
he knows he shouldn’t, but, he’s made a lot of bad decisions tonight anyway.
that shouldn’t justify snooping around in your room. it’s wrong, and he’s so imperatively aware of that, but there’s this gut feeling – something tight twisting in his abdomen – that tells him he should.
okay, and what if he opened the box, and it was just a bunch of vibrators? what if it was just some explicit toys that you used on yourself in private, then what? it wouldn’t mean anything – considering how much he already knows about you. god, you almost contemplated pissing all over his fingers last time.
with quiet, measured movements, he padded forward to the box, crouching down on the heels of his feet as he pried through the clothing pile.
this should be the moment where he slaps himself for invading your privacy, the part where sense and rationality returns to him and he stops whatever this is. all of it crosses his mind – hitoshi’s words loud and clear: “just talk to her”. all of it wipes from his mind, shoved into a corner of inconvenience and ignorance as he pries the lid of the box open.
what the fuck?
holy shit.
is that fucking him?
the contents spill from a stack, collapsing into a neat spread. it’s photos of him, all taken of him just on campus, and printed in glossy film. there’s stacks of them, shuttered all in spaced out time intervals.
with wide eyes, he flickers through them. thumb dragging down the stack. there’s a photo of him walking with iida, shoto and ochaco on campus, smile wide as ever beneath the cherry blossom petals, sandstone buildings muted out of focus. there’s another one, this time, clipped at one of his law lectures not too longer ago, head tilted to the side as he talks to another classmate. well, that answers one thing for sure: you’re in law.
the rest are all candid angles of him passing by on campus, some taken relatively close to the art room, some scattered around. the angle of his shoulders, curled slightly inward, hair falling forward slightly at something he was reading. the exact line of his jaw when he’s thinking hard.
his hands go cold as he flips to the next. and the next, and the next.
him walking.
him sitting in the library.
him laughing with someone else.
him across the street at a nearby cafe near the campus.
with a shaky sigh, his fingers felt the bottom of the box, a collection of flimsy sketch paper tucked from sight. methodically setting the photos of him back into the box, cautious with every move, he pulled out the less denser pile.
the paper is thinner, cheaper, bent and creased mindlessly at the corners, all smudged with charcoal fingerprints.
they’re sketches – not simple anatomy studies or loose practice lines of mindless doodling. it’s him. over and over again.
there’s this tingle in his hands as he flips through them. different angles, different moments – the intricate detail of the slope of his neck when he looks down, the scar on his cheek. it’s either drawn in careful, delicate thoughtful lines, or rough and frantic. some are less detailed than the others, while some are painstakingly careful, shaded to hell and back.
days.
just how long have you been sketching him for?
“what the hell…” he whispers, barely breathing.
there are notes in the margins. tiny, adorable, miniscule handwriting.
new jacket today! so handsome!
he looked tired today…i feel bad he drove me home.
he looked happier today.
his pulse thundered in his ears as he settled the sketches back into the box, aligning the edges as they were before, carefully sealing the lid back on and rearranging the pile of clothes on top.
his gaze snaps back to you on the bed – curled on your side, mouth parted slightly, face soft in slumber. the same sweet girl who sat in the art room in afternoons, sun pooling on your skin as you innocently doodled. the same girl who cried at the mere thought of disappointing him. it kind of makes sense in a way, but at the same time, doesn’t.
his head spins.
how long…has this been going on?
he straightens too fast, breath shallow, this unexplainable feeling swirling in his chest. tonight’s jealousy, the odd compliance, the way your reacted to his tone. it almost makes sense. too much sense.
izuku doesn’t move for a long time.
the room is dim, the only sound of your breathing – slow and painfully real. he stands there, analysing the shift in your expression with the internal weight of the box still sitting heavy in his chest.
he should leave. he knows that far too well.
he could. grab his hoodie, step out quietly, tell himself he’ll think clearer in the morning; have time to process what the fuck he just saw. distance would be sensible, and it could him time to…
but you’re curled on your side, face relaxed, lashes resting so pretty against your cheeks. there’s this faint crease in your brows, something like discomfort settling deep into your skin. and what’s worse, is that his first written instinct is to reach out with a thumb and smooth it over.
there’s nothing threatening about you. far from calculating. you’ve always been ms sweetheart in the art room minding your own business. this was his fault for digging this far.
how does this change anything?
and for a moment, the version of you in his mind bleeds through what he’d just saw minutes ago.
just you.
his chest tightens painfully.
how could i hate you for it?
for anything?
he cares too much about you. the sketches don’t erase anything, in fact, all it does is complicate things.
he rubs a hand over his face, exhaustion bleeding into his limbs.
the thought that you’d been obsessively watching him like that, cataloguing him, holding onto pieces of him that he didn’t even know exist – it should make his skin crawl. but it doesn’t.
it makes his stomach twist with understanding, familiarity. how could he judge? he was just like you, and you were just like him.
izuku made his way over to where you were sleeping, pulling the sheets over him with care, sliding right in beside you.
your hand drifts blindly, searching till it finds him. your fingers curl softly around his wrist without waking, grip loose but needy.
the last of his resolve crumbles immediately, erasing every ounce of doubt he’s possibly had about you.
he turned just enough to face you, arm slithering under yours and pulling you close to his chest. you relax instantly, cheek pressed against his chest, breathes evening out.
finally succumbing to the warmth of your body up against his, he decided to simply close his eyes.
he’ll figure this out tomorrow. he’ll ask like a normal person. he’ll set boundaries, and do the right thing. he’ll do this the right way.
nothing about tonight could’ve gone any differently. this was meant to happen. how dare he act so hypocritical? this was his fault.
he now knows too much of you.
you’re just like him.
౨ৎ
izuku's eyes flutter open, green depths hazy with sleep and sudden shock. there’s this wet sensation engulfing his cock, slobbering and erotic beneath the sheets.
with tired eyes, he peered down, eyes widening at the movement beneath the sheets, between where his legs should be. lazily, with a drawn out whimper on his behalf, he pulled the sheets back, eyes widening upon the sight.
you, eager and desperate, suckling on his cock, foreskin pushed back with one hand while the other fondled his balls. your eyes, heavy and tired, peering right up at him, brows furrowed in concentration as you moaned against his cock.
holy shit. holy shit.
you were sucking his cock. you. you. you. you, ms sweetheart, pretty lips sealed over his erection, tongue swirling greedily the tip.
“you…you said we can do stuff when i was sober.”
“i know, sweetie i know, but–,” he mumbled, voice rough from slumber, one hand reaching to cup your cheek. “you're hungover... we should—ah—stop.”
but you don't. you pull back just enough to swirl your tongue around the sensitive slit, teasing the underside with firm laps, then sink down again, throat relaxing to take him deeper.
your tongue was so pretty, your lips plump and so full with color. izuku felt like he was going to explode from the sight. the way you gagged around his length, pushing yourself further against his pubes had him leaking inevitably in your mouth.
“i’ll get your mouth dirty–” he sighed out, eyelids fluttering as you shifted your hips over his relaxed knee, humping shamelessly. “feels so g–good…oh my god.”
you pulled back, eyes heavy with desire and luck. “wanna make you feel good too izuku… need it in my mouth.”
izuku stared down at you, mouth slightly agape. you weren’t even hiding it anymore. you weren’t even bothering to be that sweet, pure girl who hid herself in sketchbooks and flimsy sweaters. this was you in your pure form, filthy and fully desperate for him.
he watched you, breath hitching as your filthy determination sinks in — eyes locked on his, lips stretched wide around his girth, drool trailing down your chin.
he should’ve known.
you’ve always been so dirty-minded. he should’ve predicted you would’ve been eager to fuck him right as soon as you woke up – he even suggested it.
he could push you off, tell you that he could fuck you better later on – but he doesn’t want to. he doesn’t want your soft lips leaving his cock, saliva dripping greedily over his length and dripping to his base.
how could he deny you when this is something he wanted as well? the sight of you, so eager even in the morning light, humping his leg like a bitch in heat. it spurred him on, possession twisting in his gut from just how similar the two of you were – arousal flooding his veins, cock throbbing fully hard now against your tongue.
“fuck... you really want this, don't you?” he groaned, fingers threading into your hair, not pulling yet but holding you there. the praise in his tone makes your pussy clench, another grind against his knee as you nod minutely, nose buried in his pubes.
izuku doesn’t bother muffling his soft whimpers, hips pushing lazily against your mouth, tip hitting your uvula with each grind.
it felt so good like this – your lips, your pretty face, hair messy. it felt so good that each shift, each thrust, brought something warm and tingly in his abdomen.
with frantic panic, izuku jolted, senses awakening at the pressure building in his bladder.
“oh no, wait— i–,” he admitted, voice strained, trying to gently ease you off.
you don't let him. instead, you double down, lips sealing tighter around the head, tongue pressing insistently at the slit — the most sensitive spot — flicking and probing like you're coaxing it out.
“nonono, i mean i’m gonna piss in your mouth if you don’t–” izuku cried out, head plush against your pillow as you swirled your tongue over the slit of his cock once more, trying to prevent him from softening. “please, sweetie, it’s gonna be gross…”
your eyes plead up at him, filthy invitation clear as you blubbered against his cock. “use me, please, izuku…relieve yourself.”
what the fuck?
count two. he should’ve predicted that. you freaky, filthy little thing, taking this singular chance to fulfill your disgusting piss kink. he should’ve known. but there was one thing he was certain about, something that solidified further in this moment – he’d do anything for you.
with a blinding sensation of your mouth bobbing up and down his cock, sinking your lips down to the base and right up against his pupes–
his hesitation cracked under your relentless suction, the pressure in his bladder mixing with the building pleasure. “y/n! shit—”
the first hot spurt hits your tongue, salty, sharp and bitter, flooding your mouth as he relaxes. you moan around him, swallowing greedily, the taboo warmth sliding down your throat while you keep stimulating that slit, tongue lapping at it through the stream.
it doesn't stop you; if anything, it fuels you, pussy dripping as you hump his knee harder, the scent of his piss mingling with his musk.
“mmm…”
izuku's eyes widened, shocked seeing how much you enjoyed that — throat working to take every drop, not spilling a bit, your free hand squeezing his balls to milk him dry.
he was sick in the head. he enabled this, fed into your nasty piss kink. and he liked it, every little bit of it. there was nothing about it that didn’t arouse him.
“god, you're swallowing it all...” he rasped out, mind switched off, the sight breaking his restraint.
his grip tightened in your hair, hips bucking up as the last trickles fade. now it's just his cock, slick from your mouth and his release, and he doesn't hold back.
he face-fucks you like you begged for it in your mind — thrusts sharp and deep, cock slamming into your throat with wet gags echoing in the room.
“take it— take it, beautiful.. make sure nothing gets on your sheets.” his voice was heavy, shaky with each breath, voice laced with dominance, freckled cheeks flushed as he watched your lips drag along his shaft.
you nodded compliantly, tears pricking your eyes from the stretch. izuku expected you to tap out, push his hips away from how rough he was being, but that was far from the truth.
you push forward, nose grinding into his pubes with each plunge. your hand never leaves his balls, tugging gently to heighten his pleasure, while your hips rut against his leg, chasing your own edge.
he pounded your face relentlessly, the head bullying your mouth, saliva bubbling at the corners of your mouth. something twisted, mixed with frustration, confusion, and desire burns hot in his stomach.
“look at you, my dirty girl — humping my knee while i fuck your face. you were made for this, yeah?” the words send you spiraling, orgasm crashing through you from the friction alone, body shuddering as you clench around nothing.
izuku followed soon after, thrusts erratic, cock swelling before he buried deep and cums — thick ropes painting your throat, forcing you to swallow around him. he held you there until he's spent, panting, his grip releasing from your hair.
with a loud sigh, he sunk further into your mattress, waiting for you to pull off, exhausted eyes watching as you spluttered all over his cock, keeping your head there.
“wait– ah… wait, breath for me,” izuku gasped out, pulling you softly off his cock.
you pulled off with a loud satisfied sigh, face flushed, baby hairs clinging to your forehead.
“that was... intense. you okay?” his touch turned tender, pulling you up for a kiss, tasting himself on your tongue, the morning light casting a soft glow on your shared obsession.
“mhm, thank you izuku,”
izuku stared right back at you, his hand against your cheek. he didn’t know why you were thanking him – but thinking about it now, you've always seemed to soften up when he was gentle. it should make sense to understand the cat now.
“...you’re welcome.”
౨ৎ
uni and coursework resumes as if nothing ever happened.
izuku turns up to lectures on time, people still complain about readings. izuku still takes notes – all detailed, scribbled all in his liking, all legible. yet, all of it just feels so redundant compared to what he found inside of that box.
he never got the chance to talk to you about it: the box, the sketches, the candid photographs.
he keeps thinking he feels eyes on him and for some reason, it isn’t unsettling. it’s just there.
it’s stupid, he knows that.
still, every time he looks up from his notebook, there’s this sharp jolt in his chest – like he’s currently being observed in this present moment, catalogued into your little collection of izukus.
by the time izuku is at the cafe, his head is pulsing.
“you look shit.”
izuku blinks, turning to find hitoshi leaning against his chair, arms crossed, expression unimpressed.
“thanks,” izuku said weakly, slumping in the chair across from him.
hitoshi squinted at him, sighing. “okay. what did you do this time.”
izuku winced, shrinking comically. “i–” he starts, then stops. exhaling as he thought of a way to sugarcoat his own actions. “i know i should’ve have... not, but i saw a box in y/n’s room.”
hitoshi’s brows furrowed. “what box.”
“a pretty personal box…”
“...midoriya.”
“in my defence i didn’t go looking on purpose!” izuku said quickly. “i really didn’t. it was just there, and i had this gut feeling.”
“well, what was in it,” hitoshi interrupted, tone awfully flat.
izuku hesitated, letting the memories of your detailed sketches boil back into his mind. “stuff of me, actual photos of me. drawings of me.”
the silence that follows is immediate, dull on the ears, but heavy in spirit.
hitoshi closed his eyes, dragging a lazy hand down his face. “you’re joking.”
“i think i wish i was.”
“you think?”
hitoshi let out a sharp, humorless laugh, turning away to hide the grimace on his face. “holy shit.”
izuku swallowed, nodding. “there were even dates.”
hitoshi straightened up promptly, eyes moving back to stare at izuku’s evergreen ones. “dates? what do you mean.”
“times,” izuku added. “notes, like, little observations.”
hitoshi groaned, a realization dawning in on him.
“ms sweetheart might not have a crush on you,” hitoshi said finally, ripping off the bandaid. “she might have a fixation, or simply just be obsessed with you.”
izuku nodded, jaw tight, the truth bleeding into light and into the perception he had of you. “i know – but it’s just so jarring, because i never expected it.”
“did you?” hitoshi shot back. “because you’re telling me this like you found something embarrassing, not something genuinely concerning.”
izuku frowned, head lolling forward in an obvious defeat.
“did you confront her.”
“...no.”
“why the hell not?”
izuku paused, thinking, before answering honestly. “she was asleep.”
hitoshi stared back at him, eyelid closing in disbelief. “izuku.”
“i actually stayed,” izuku finished quietly.
hitoshi exhales hard and facepalms, dragging his hand down his face again. “of course you did.”
the words aren’t angry. they’re exhausted.
“you cannot be serious right now.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” izuku says. “she was— she had a rough night. she was vulnerable.”
“and so you decided the correct response to discovering someone’s been documenting your existence was to… stay the night,” hitoshi deadpans.
izuku doesn’t argue.
hitoshi shakes his head slowly. “you know that’s crossing a line too, right.”
“I know,” izuku says. “i just— i didn’t want to leave her like that.”
“okay,” hitoshi says, holding up a hand. “cool motive, nice. still a terrible decision.”
izuku huffs out a weak, humourless breath.
“I’m not saying she’s evil,” hitoshi continues, tone shifting, more serious now. “i’m just saying this didn’t come out of nowhere. and you don’t get to pretend you’re not involved.”
he pauses, then adds, quieter, “you like being important to people. you always have. well, there you have it.”
that lands harder than izuku expects.
“so what,” hitoshi asks finally, “are you going to talk to her?”
izuku looks down at the floor.
“I don’t know how,” he admits.
hitoshi studies him for a long moment.
“then you need to figure out whether you’re scared because she crossed a boundary,” he says slowly, “or because part of you doesn’t want to walk away.”
izuku doesn’t answer. he can’t.
the silence stretches between them, thick and unresolved — and for the first time since that night, izuku realises something with cold clarity.
whatever he does next, he doesn’t get to pretend it was an accident.
adam catches izuku outside of the law building unexpectedly. izuku almost doesn’t recognise him at first.
there’s a washed out blue tone to his face, shoulders sloped forward, his one functional arm stiff at his side. there’s still that nasty bruise along his jaw, yellowed out. a split lip that’s healing terribly, crust building around the exterior of the cut.
“for fuck’s sake,” adam mutters when he sees him. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
izuku paused, chest tightening at the sight of adam. “you shouldn’t be here.”
“save it,” adam cut in, voice irritated in a way that’s far past resentment. “i’m not here for an apology.”
izuku frowned, head tilting. “wasn’t planning on it, but okay.”
people pass them, oblivious, continuing on with their mundane days. adam shifts closer to the wall, steering out of the main foot of traffic, eyes flickering around worriedly before landing back on izuku.
“i promise i’m not here to start shit.” he paused, glancing around once more. “ i see you’re still seeing her,” he says, tone filled with obvious implication.
izuku stiffened, fingers wrapped tight around the strap of his backpack. “that’s none of your business.”
“it is,” adam snapped quietly, tone hushed. “i fucking saw her weird sketches of you. i caught her taking photos of you by accident.”
izuku’s chest tightened, brows furrowing.
“i recognised you instantly,” adam continued, tense. “i confronted her, told her she was a weird cunt for that. because what the fuck was i meant to do?”
izuku swallowed, words clipped in his throat. so much of him wanted to try and defend you, but in this conversation, he had no leverage.
“she didn’t even try denying it,” adam said. “she just started panicking, asking me what i planned to do now that i’ve caught her.”
a chill crawled up izuku’s spine, movements halted, fist unclenched.
“i told her i’d tell you how much of a creep she was, warn people. warn you.” he let out a short, bitter laugh, eyes shifting down to his battered arm, cast staring back at him like a reminder of what izuku had done. “and then you happened. probably put the water works on you. huh?”
izuku’s lips tightened into a fine line, fists tightening. had you really orchestrated this? was this the type of person you were? he wasn’t too sure if he should believe adam, because it was always going to be you above anyone else on this campus, but staring into adam’s eyes, it didn’t seem like he was lying either.
“you thinking she made you do it?” adam added quietly. “no. she just knew you would. she’s fucking calculative like that.”
that landed like a punch to izuku’s chest.
“i’ve known her since first year law, i’m not saying she’s evil. god, she might be the furthest thing from it,” adam continued. “but, i think she’s smarter than she lets other people on, and she uses it to her advantage.”
izuku stepped back, already disengaging. he wasn’t going to listen to adam. whatever he had to say about you, whether it was true or not, he was going to confirm it himself.
“this conversation is over–”
“no. no, it’s not. stay away from her,” adam said frantically, stepping closer. “you’re exactly her type. if the fucking sketches i saw weren’t enough to prove it, then i don’t know. and you don’t even realize it either!”
izuku maneuvered around him, blocking adam’s words from his ears.
“she’s got you wrapped around her finger. probably let her suck your di–”
“enough,” izuku cut in sharply, spinning around to shove adam hard against the sandstone walls, an uncomfortable crack ripping through the air on impact. “you think i care what else you have to say about her? to me? you don’t think i already know?”
adam heaved, coughing violently. “y–you already know? what the fuck, man!” his chest is heaving now, eyes wild with a mix of fear, disgust and vindication. “maybe the two of you were meant to be.”
izuku paused, releasing his grip on adam’s neck.
yeah. yeah, that’s exactly it.
once izuku takes off, he doesn’t turn back. he keeps walking, jaw tight, adam’s voice dissolving into the noise of the campus behind him. god, he should be worried about the people who saw, but he’ll deal with that later.
his pulse is loud in his ears, too loud. every step feels heavy, intentional, like he’s forcing his body to move while his mind splinters into a dozen directions all at once.
he watches his phone light up once, twice. your name sits there, unread. he flips the screen face-down like it might burn him.
who cares what adam has to say about you – he already knew the truth.
౨ৎ
it took you a while to understand that it wasn’t longing, or fear, or even love. it was grief, something slow and heavy and familiar.
there was grief for a version of yourself that had learned too early how to disappear; how to sink within the cracks of someone’s comfort just to diminish yourself.
once, you were a teenager who figured out quiet without guidance, that attention was something you earned by respect. that affection came with conditions; it was transactional.
sometimes, you wonder if this is the kind of sadness people feel near the end of their lives.
you wondered if in those last seven minutes, they felt that same quiet grief when everything finally slowed down. the kind that comes from looking back into their memories, the things they loved, the things they wish they’ve done, but weren’t able to do.
you felt something adjacent to that. you wondered how many moments you swallowed, how many versions of yourself you folded away because they felt inconvenient.
you imagine it happens late, when the noise fades and there’s nothing left to prove.
maybe that’s why this ache feels so old.
because it isn’t about izuku, not really. how could it be? the sweet, kind boy who’s done nothing but take care of you.
it was the accumulation of all the times you learned to survive instead of live. all the ways you taught yourself to endure quietly, believing that if you asked for less and contoured yourself into the shadows, the world would hurt you less in return. it would just… forget about you.
and then someone comes along — gentle, unassuming — and offers you the thing you didn’t know you’d been missing.
and suddenly, the sadness changes form, something softer around the edges, rounded into something warm.
izuku doesn’t know he’s touching that place in you, nor does he know that his kindness feels like both salvation and grief intertwined. that every moment of being seen makes you grateful and unbearably aware of how long you went without it.
and maybe that’s the most human sadness of all.
not that life hurts — but that it didn’t have to hurt this much.
it comes up from somewhere deep in your chest, sudden and wrenching, like your body has finally decided it doesn’t need to hold the line anymore. your breath stutters, once, twice — and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, heavy and hot, pulling something raw out with them.
you curl in on yourself without meaning to, a quiet, broken sound catching in your throat. the art room is empty.
crying like this doesn’t feel like falling apart — it feels like letting go. like your body recognizing that it’s safe enough to stop bracing. you take the time to imagine, closing your eyes for a moment as you sink into the warmth of your arms.
this feels nice.
you imagine izuku through a blur, sunlight still warm against his skin, that familiar crease between his brows as he studies, the way his mouth tilts when he’s concentrating.
all that warmth. all that light, it’s too much. but selfishly, you want it all to yourself.
it burns in your chest, not painfully — but deeply, like something thawing. like the past is finally loosening its grip. like the present is opening something new in its place — something worth staying for. something worth fighting for.
you imagine what it's like with izuku in this moment, how it's been for the past few weeks. you imagine finally telling him everything on your own accord, the guilt spilling out like it never has before. a compensation for everything you've done behind his back.
sitting here with izuku, under this fading sunlight, with his quiet care and his unknowing kindness.
you'd imagine how warm izuku's arms would be around you, how gentle his words would be, tone thick with that sweet honey delight.
“hey— hey, whoa,” izuku would say suddenly, chair scraping softly as he turns toward you. his voice is gentle but startled, hands already reaching for you without hesitation. “what’s going on?”
you'd shake your head, unable to speak, tears still coming in waves you didn’t expect. he doesn’t ask again, doesn’t demand words. he’s so patient with you.
you can already predict the plot. he'd move close, one hand warm and steady at your back, rubbing slow, grounding circles like he’s done before.
you'd lean into him instinctively, face pressing into his shoulder, and the sob that breaks free this time feels final — like something leaving you for good.
“you don’t have to explain,” he adds quietly, almost like he knows. “you can just… be…here. i'm here.”
you'd cry it out under the warm light, with his steady presence anchoring you, the past finally loosening its hold as something gentler takes root in its place.
for the first time, the ache doesn’t feel endless. for the first time, you believe this moment — this warmth, this care — is something you’re allowed to keep.
you cry because it’s over. it’s over.
relief is the first thing you feel.
izuku, there beside you, steady and warm, his hand firm at your back. he doesn’t rush you. doesn’t try to quiet you. he just stays — and something about that simple, unwavering presence tells your body it’s safe to stop running.
the void doesn’t ache the way it used to.
sunlight still lingers in the art room, warm against your skin, catching on izuku’s freckled face, softening the lines of him as he looks at you. and when you lift your head — really look — you see it.
his presence wraps gently around the wound you’ve carried for so long, not tearing it open, not rushing it closed — just internally stitching carefully, patiently, moment by moment, because he cares too much not to. that was the izuku you knew.
this is real. this is real. this is real. you’re real, he’s real. this happiness is real, and it’s allowed to exist now.
you’re not alone.
and for the first time, you can feel the warmth without flinching.
it doesn’t burn, it doesn’t overwhelm. sunlight brushes your skin like a promise, like the beginning of something you’re finally allowed to step into.
this is what it feels like to heal.
the past settles behind you, its chapter closing without bitterness, without force — just understanding. and ahead of you, faint but unmistakable, is something lighter. something possible. a future that doesn’t demand survival as its entry fee, because now you've found someone who truly sees you for you.
through the last of your tears, the thought comes to you again — softer now, almost disbelieving.
was this all it took?
izuku didn't come to the art room today, though.
once you lift your head from the comfort of your arms, sunlight brightening and burning your vision slightly, you notice the space where izuku usually is.
the stool beside yours is empty. the door doesn't open when you expect it to. the familiar weight of his presence, the intoxicating smell of him never comes.
you tell yourself maybe he's just busy. after all, he does have some days where he doesn't show up. you try focusing on your work instead.
you finished up on the latest readings with ease, because it was all you really did. school work, twitter, think about izuku, draw izuku, dream about izuku. that was the mundanity of your life, and there was nothing else to it. still, you were satisfied.
charcoal smudged your fingers as your mind drifted, graphite dust gathering along the crease of your palm. you sketch mechanically without thought, drawing nothing in particular. it's easy that way.
still, your eyes keep flickering to the door.
maybe he's late, yeah. he should've been here by now, but maybe...
he isn't. he isn't coming.
when the afternoon stretches on without him, soft pastel colors fading into a dull navy blue, something tightens in your chest. something's wrong, but you can't quite pin-point what it was. it wasn't the fact that izuku wasn't here; that was fine, that was okay. it was something else tagging onto you, sinking in deep like a knife in your gut.
you pack up slower than usual. outside, the evening air feels colder, sharper. you check your phone out of curiosity, intent sealing in far deep. you swipe to your contacts, a nervous thumb hovering over your delivered message.
don't be annoying.
you wait outside the room, even though you know the last bus was coming in five minutes and the walk to the station is ten.
you wait, eyes flickering up with that soft smile on your face expectantly.
he's not coming.
that's when it really sink in, ugly and overthinking.
izuku always drives you home, even if it was out of his way. had you... become too comfortable? too expectant for him to just do things out of kindness for you? were you becoming too dependent and inconsiderate?
you make your way out of campus, walking a usual path that's now unfamiliar ever since your new established routine. it feels strange, standing near the curb, eyes scanning the familiar shapes of passing cars not out a window.
by the time you arrive home, the pressure in your chest has finally grown teeth.
you drop your bag by the door, a heavy feeling settling deep in your heart. countless times throughout your walk home, you told yourself that izuku was simply just busy. there was nothing else to it.
but maybe, perhaps the reason you were feeling this way was because—
your eyes drift, not consciously at first.
your eyes scan to the box. it's still there, still tucked carefully into that hidden corner peaking through the pile of clothes. but something's off. the arm of your jacket is creased.
you step closer slowly, heart beginning to thud in your ears. the lid is untouched, not ajar, no contents spilled. but faintly misaligned. the box has shifted, barely. the left corner of the box is angled a degree too close to the desk.
you know your room.
oh.
izuku didn't just sleep with you that night you were drunk. he looked. he figured something out. he had caught you red handed.
you sink back against the edge of your bed, fingers curling into your knees, your mind racing, recalibrating, berating yourself for letting him into your room.
you should've caught it. but you were fucking asleep, charmed by the warmth of his hand through your hair, your hands, and how horny you were that you forgot how observant he was in the first place.
oh my fucking god.
you press your lips together, tears boiling in your eyes, face warming, world spinning.
a strange calm settles over you, threading through the ache that maybe that was the last time you'd ever see izuku. you should've known this was always going to be a possibility.
you were going to tell him, that was the thing. you just didn't want it to be like this. you were going to explain, you were going to try to dim down the severity of your obsession, then work inwards to fix it. you were going to change yourself.
you glance at the box again from afar, the room spiraling outwards into an uncomfortable illusion.
he didn't take anything.
if he were angry, would he have left it open? what if he was disgusted? would he have let you suck his dick after?
your shoulders sag slightly. he still stayed, but what if he was uncomfortable that whole morning? what if he was planning out measured responses because he thought you were a genuine threat. did he figure out about adam? that was a one time thing! you hadn't expected izuku to actually send him to the fucking hospital. you just thought that, if you got izuku to confront adam, maybe it would've alleviated the issue at hand, and that you'd have him.
did you cry too much? it was only meant to be a small cry, but seeing how warm and kind izuku was, cooing you, talking you through it, you couldn't help but cry even more. and it didn't help that adam was probably figuring out how to tell izuku the next day. what were you meant to do? maybe you should've just done nothing and let things play out. maybe if adam just told izuku, he wouldn't have believed him.
you lean back, laying flat on your back, knees hanging over the edge. the ceiling looks daunting, and your pulse is only quickening.
he knows.
and he hasn't come back, hasn't said anything. you might've just fucked everything.
౨ৎ
he hasn't driven you home in three days, nor has he come and visited you in the art room.
you try to convince yourself that it's normal. routines change, and people get busy.
that night, you got a message from izuku. embarrassingly, you scurry over to your phone, dialing in your passcode and click on his contact without second thought. at least he's talking to you, that's the first relief.
izuku: you got home late.
you stare at the message, frowning a bit. your fingers hover over the screen, tongue sticking out thoughtfully as you pondered over a way to keep the conversation going somehow.
y/n: yeah! late night haha wbu?
izuku: figured, i guess the buses are worse at night.
you did take the bus that night instead of walking. lucky guess.
your thumb pauses, then resumes its easy rhythm. you tell yourself it's obvious, everyone complains about public transportation. you have once.
y/n: yeah lolol tell me about it
y/n: haven't seen your around lately though :c
the response doesn't come right away.
izuku: i've been around, just busy.
you sigh, tension relieving from your shoulders. you accept it immediately, because of course he has!
you set your phone down, comforted after messaging him a sweet goodnight.
somewhere, beneath the comfort of your sheets, you allow yourself the one. you pull a pen from your bedside, the one you snuck from izuku's case before, and press the blunt end inside of you.
yeah, you were just overthinking things.
the sun shines brighter the following day, but it feels undeserved.
you wake up with a dull weight in your limbs, gravity crueler than usual. your throat burns, sandpaper rough, and when you sit up, a wet, obnoxious cough claws its way out of your chest, bubbling into an uncomfortable build up of phlegm.
"ugh," you mutter, rubbing at your neck.
you drag yourself through the morning anyway. a nice warm shower, comfy clothes, and off to campus. the workshops dragged on longer than they should've. you hang around the art room, course work open lazily across the table as you try to keep your head up straight.
you don't realize how late you've stayed till the art room filters one by one — voices fading, lights licking off down the hall till it's just you, your things, and the painful throb in your head.
upon realizing the time, you pack up carefully, fingers stiff, stomach churning and an uncomfortable pain in your lower neck. you don't feel like walking the long way out of campus, so you decide to take a different route out.
not for any reason in particular, the main hallway feels too exposed tonight — too cold, and definitely not good for whatever sickness you've got bubbling up. you turn down the narrower corridor instead, sighing with relief as your body retains some heat.
your footsteps echo softly as you fumble in your pockets for your earphones. it's kind of scary right now, faded green florescent lights dawning down the main circumference of the corridor, spreading faintly into the shadows.
with an exhausted sigh, you round the corner—
"ah!—"
you stop short, heart leaping straight to your throat, limbs shakier than usual as you regain your breath.
izuku stands there, just beyond the turn, too close that you have to take a step back. he's not startled, just looks slightly guilty that he jumpscared you.
"oh, hey," he says quietly, smiling.
your breath comes out uneven, jagged with forceful inhales as you swallow down your saliva. "hi— wow, you scared me there."
"sorry," he replies immediately, tone gentle as he took a step closer. "i didn't mean to do that."
you laugh, a little breathless, sheepish now that izuku's standing in front of you. it's been a while, just as handsome as ever. "i didn't know anyone else was still around."
he hums, noncommittal. "neither did i."
you nod, awkwardly and meek, then cough again — harsher this time, chest-deep, ugly, and far too embarrassing in front of izuku. you turn your face away instinctively, throwing your face into your elbow.
when you look back, you're about to mutter an apology, but his brow is furrowed with a knowing look.
"you don't sound too good," he commented, reaching over.
you shrug weakly. "it's so cold nowadays, isn't it?"
it feels weird — this conversation feels weird. it has no sustenance, none of the warmth that izuku normally embodies. it's just a fill in conversation — empty with no purpose.
he doesn't comment, simply shifting his bag off one of his shoulders and opens it, movements practiced, the sound of zipper unsetting in the empty hall.
then, with a confident hand, he pulls out some cold-and-flu tablets.
"here," he says kindly, holding them out. "take two tonight, two in the morning and make sure you eat before taking them."
you stare at his palm, then up at him. "are you sick too?"
for just a second, something flickers across his face, something like recalibration.
"no," he hummed simply, pressing the medicine into your hand with a gentle nudge. "you don't usually take care of yourself well, so i figured i just carry them around for whenever you feel sick. i guess today was the day."
your chest warms with this new information. the words settle oddly, still.
you curl your fingers around the packet, plastic crinkling softly under your sweaty palms. "that's really thoughtful, izuku. thank you," you say, smiling a bit.
"it's nothing," he replies, tone warming the insides of your ears with easy care.
you check your phone, eyes widening at the time. "oh— i really should head home, a lot of work to catch up on."
"oh, yeah, of course," he agrees immediately, stepping aside. "get home safe."
you can see the way his gaze softens at your hidden disappointment, as if he's reading right into your mind — as if he knows you're just a tad bit disappointed that he isn't dropping you home.
you nod, a curt forced smile making its way to your tired features. at the exit, you turn back once more to wave at him, and he's still there. watching, unmoving.
you lift a hand in a small wave, head tilting a bit. "bye bye."
"message me when you get home," he echoes, pointing to his phone.
the door swings shut between you, glass reflecting your own tired expression back at your briefly before you turn away.
outside, the night air feels sharper than it should. as you walk, the warmth in your chest slowly simmers, replaced with something harder to name. something like a faint, persistent awareness — like you've stepped out of a room without quite leaving it. it's a weird feeling.
as you reach the end of the path and glance back without meaning to, the building behind you is dark and quiet, swallowed by dim lights and lush trees.
you can't see him anymore.
you get home without incident, the walk home being oddly calm.
the door clicks shut behind you, locks sliding into place with a familiar finality. your shoes come off by the door. your bag lands where it always does. everything is normal enough that it almost convinces you.
your phone buzzes in your hand before you’ve even taken three steps. you still at the openness of your home, eyes fixed on the blue light staring back at you.
izuku: home?
you smile reflexively, thumbs moving without hesitation, clumsily kicking off your shoes simultaneously.
y/n: just got in!
the reply comes quickly.
izuku: good to hear :).
you pocket your phone and head to the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water. your throat still aches, but the medicine is already working — or maybe it’s just the comfort of knowing someone noticed, perhaps a placebo.
you lean against the counter, staring at nothing in particular. you contemplate what to make for dinner, frowning when you realize all you have are some bananas, maybe a frozen salmon sitting in the fridge amongst the other food.
your phone buzzes once more.
izuku: did you eat yet?
you blink. you hadn’t – you were about to. you type back anyway, mind still fixed on the pantry.
y/n: about to lol
izuku: make sure it’s something warm.
your chest tightens, just slightly. with compliance, you rummage your fridge, smiling to yourself when you spot some left over chicken you made a few days ago. you heat up your meal, sit on the edge of your bed with the bowl balanced in your lap. the room feels quieter than usual, but you can’t find the energy to fill it.
you check your phone again.
no new messages. with a sigh, you continue to finish your meal, scrolling on your phone absentmindedly at the same time. afterwards is just mundanity. you shower, wash your hair, stand in the shower longer than usual. you slip into your comfy sleepwear, feet warm with fuzzy socks and a warm cup of tea by your bedside.
your movements feel slower, heavier, the day finally catching up to you. when you crawl into bed, you exhale deeply, letting the mattress swallow you. that’s when you notice it.
your curtains aren’t drawn.
you’re sure you closed them this morning. you always do — a habit drilled in by too many late nights working under the harsh light of your study lamp.
you stare at the window for a moment. the street outside is dark, still. nothing unusual. just the same trees staring back at you, the same light from the house across the road.
must’ve forgotten
you reach up and pull the curtains shut, plunging the room into dim comfort. you settle back down, heart rate easing.
your phone buzzes.
this time, you don’t check it right away. you let it sit on the bedside table, screen lighting up the room faintly. your fingers faintly reach out to the device before falling by your side, fatigue hitting you all at once.
eventually, you turn your head.
izuku: you should sleep. you look exhausted.
you stare at the message. you look exhausted.
you haven’t sent a photo. you haven’t said anything about how tired you feel. your fingers hover over the keyboard.
then, slowly, you type.
y/n: looked** btw LOL anyway i think i will. night izuku ♡
you smile to yourself cheesily at the heart you attached, warmth spreading gently across your chest – as if izuku never found your box. as if he never looked through what was inside. as if nothing had happened in the first place.
izuku: night :). get some rest.
you set the phone face-down and curl onto your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin. your breathing evens out gradually, exhaustion finally winning.
sleep takes you gently.
outside, the night remains still.
you wake up slowly, sunlight heavy through the curtains. you groan, rolling over lazily and shoved your face into the pillow, fully intending to go back to sleep. your body feels heavy in that post-sick, over-rested way, limbs impossibly sluggish, brain foggy. you attempt to swallow only to wince at the pain nestled at the back of your throat.
your phone buzzes somewhere near your head. you ignore it, brain thick with that unbearable ache. five seconds pass, then it buzzes again.
you squint one eye open and fumble for it, screen blinding you immediately. with one eye, you register that it’s 2:07pm.
“oh my god,” you mumble, voice raw. “that’s… so bad.”
your notifications load in slowly, some from twitter, some emails. a message from izuku sits there, timestamped an hour ago. groggily, you open up izuku’s message, the words swimming across the screen.
izuku: good afternoon, late day?
your lips curl unknowingly, not even questioning the precise timing of his message. you prop yourself upright, hair tangled, sheets twisted around your legs. you type back slowly, temple pounding with that sickening throb.
y/n: i just woke up haha
y/n: guess i was really tired
izuku’s reply comes soon after, spaced in a way that it isn’t intrusive but rather attentive.
izuku: i’m glad you had a good rest. how are you feeling?
you pause, considering.
the ache in your throat, while scratchy and sore, has softened to something manageable now that you’re able to distract yourself. your head, still throbbing with that syncopated pulse, has simmered into something dull in a matter of seconds. you’re not well, exactly, but it’s somewhat better than yesterday. maybe it was the blessing of izuku messaging you.
y/n: better a bit
y/n: still tired, but better!
there’s a longer pause this time, thicker with that anticipation that gives you time to stare at the ceiling, tracing the faint crack near the corner you’ve always ignored, then moving to the whirring fan that’s been cranked to the highest setting. your phone buzzes once more.
izuku: then let me take you to dinner tonight, something warm. get you out of the house at least :)
izuku: only if you’re down for it of course.
dinner with izuku. his words settle into you with a quiet, unexpected weight. you reread the message once, then again, aware of the way your chest swells in on itself. your cheeks flushed at the idea, face burning against the existing sickness.
y/n: would that be like a date then, wouldn’t it?
you imagine him thinking. precise and careful, his thumb thoughtful against the keyboard.
izuku: if that’s what you want
izuku: then yes, it can be
you don’t hesitate, immediately pushing the sheets off your feet and sitting up promptly, a new found energy spilling into your sunken limbs.
y/n: okay! sounds good! : D
izuku: i’ll pick you up around 5:30pm. that way it can be an early dinner and you’ll have some time to rest up later tonight.
izuku: wear something nice :)
you set the phone back beside you, sinking back into the headboard. outside, the afternoon hums along without you, the world content to wait. whatever tension that existed throughout that week before, no longer exists, momentarily suspended in whatever izuku’s figured out on his own. maybe it was never you. maybe he never saw the box.
you let yourself sink back into the bed, opting to recover before seeing izuku. the blanket is warm against your skin, a private smile tugging at your lips.
by the time 5pm rolls around, the light outside has softened into something honeyed, warm and calming.
you’re slower than usual getting ready, moving carefully, choosing comfort over your own ambition. but, that’s why you started getting ready earlier. you choose a nice sundress lace dress, corseted lightly around your bust, and flowering out just right above your knees. you make sure to wash your hair once more despite washing it the night before.
your heart pounds heavy in your chest as you wrap up the finishing touches, spritzing a generous amount of perfume and sealing on some casual heels.
the knock comes right on time.
you glance at the time on your phone, rushing over to open the door, a small thrill curling in your chest.
izuku stands there, tall and towering over you, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. his posture is relaxed, expression brightening for the first time in a while once he sees you. yet, you can’t get over how good he looks.
“...hey,” he says, swallowing, cheeks tinted with a hint of pink.
“hi,” you reply, smiling and suddenly shy.
“you look really pretty,” he commented quickly, eyes fixed on your face.
you flush, lips tugging embarrassingly. “thank you…you look really nice as well.”
the evening air slips in around your ankles, swarming delicately beneath your dress. it’s cooler than you expected, and honestly, due to the fever you had, it was almost unpredictable from the inside of your home.
as you turn to lock the door, he shrugs his coat off without breaking conversation, draping it around your shoulders in one smooth motion. his build is visible now, biceps taut against his white dress shirt, tucked in perfectly with a belt.
“you’ll get cold,” he says, thumbs lingering on the blades of your shoulders a fraction too long.
the fabric is still warm with him, filled with the woody scent. it settles around you, significantly heavier than your dress, but comfortable. you blink, then laugh softly, tucking a loose strand behind your ear.
“i’m okay,” you start.
“i know but, still, just–” his fingers slip beneath the collar of the coat, flipping it upright. “looks warm on you.”
you don’t argue, because this, this is enough. you’re even lucky to be standing beside izuku right now. he should’ve disappeared, ran away and hid from you, but instead, he decided to still take you out of a date. which was quite surprising considering the first few days of unbearable distance between the two of you.
the drive is calm, conversation slipping into familiar rhythms – catching up on classes, small frustrations, and a singular dry comment from him that makes you smile into yourself meekly. you keep your eyes trained on the road again, dusk folding the city into bustling lights.
the restaurant is modest and warm, tucked away on a side street filled with other cuisines. inside, the light is low and amber-toned, minimal lighting, the air carrying a smell of something slow-cooked and savoury.
“this is really nice,” you murmur as he holds the door open for you, his eyes following yours with that familiar delicacy.
“i thought you’d like it,” he replied curtly, hand lingering by your side but not quite touching.
once seated at the reserved table, izuku pauses behind you, carefully prying the coat off your shoulders and tucking it into the back of your chair. the absence of its weight is noticeable, but freeing.
you skim the menu, then glance up. you should have enough to cover the costs of your meal. “everything sounds good, i mean everything looks incredible,” you laugh.
“i think you’d like the chicken soup,” he says mildly, just a simple suggestion.
you tilt your head, lips sucked in slightly. “do i?”
“yeah,” he replies easily. “something warm would be good for your throat. brothy.”
you smile, a little sheepish and you glance back down at the menu. “i guess i do.”
“get whatever you like,” izuku hummed out, pondering himself on what to get.
once the server has taken both of your orders, the silence between the two of you has gone cold. you sit back mindfully, folding your hands in your lap against the lace fabric. the chair is comfortable, and the lighting is working its magic of softening the edges of everything.
across from you, izuku settles into his seat, posture relax and attention, elbows politely resting loosely on the table.
deceptively it feels normal, but you know, you can just tell that this – this whole date – wasn’t out of nowhere.
“i’m glad you agreed to this,” he says after a moment, voice smooth and even, grateful.
you smile truthfully, body already agreeing before the words come out. “yeah, me too.”
there’s a pause, but it isn’t awkward. he watches you for a second longer than necessary – not in a way that should make you self-conscious, but in that thoughtful, gentle way, like he’s committing your features into memory. a part of you wants to cover yourself and hide away from the intimacy of it.
“you look better,” he adds quietly, his index finger tracing circles mindlessly against the table cloth.
you blink. “really? it’s probably just the makeup.”
izuku chuckled, shaking his head. “no, you just look less tense. there’s some light in your eyes now.”
you laugh softly in response, shoulders shrugging up. “well, i did sleep until two in the afternoon.”
the food arrives not long after. steam rises from your bowl, fragrant and comforting, thick noodles soiled beneath the broth. the first sip is exactly what you needed.
“okay,” you say, exhaling, blowing into the spoon for another bite. “you were right, it is good.”
you expect him to counteract a bit, maybe mutter a cheeky “i told you so,” but he doesn’t. he just nods once, satisfied, lips curling lightly.
for a while, the conversation drifts back easy – observations about the food, the restaurant, how cold it’s been lately, how busy izuku’s been, and how impossible law has become. it’s almost enough to make you forget the undercurrent that brought you here in the first place, as well as the disastrous realization you had earlier in the week.
halfway through your meal, izuku sets his fork down, fingers resting lightly against the edge of the table. the movement is subtle, but it draws you attention anyway, shoulders immediately bracing for whatever impact you’re about to face.
“there’s something i want to talk to you about,” he says slowly, tone unchanging from earlier, still thick with that smooth honey.
the air shifts uncomfortably.
you meet his gaze, your heart giving an anticipatory thud, sinking into your stomach in a preparing way. “okay.”
he holds your eyes, steady and unreadable. he pauses for a moment, waiting till you’re ready.
“i didn’t want to bring it up when you weren’t feeling well, so first i’ll apologise for that,” he continues, tone careful and light, almost cooing. “and i didn’t want to do it somewhere that felt inappropriate.”
you nod slowly, understanding settling in your chest, your appetite quickly disappearing.
“that’s why i asked you out,” he finishes.
the soup cools between your hands as you sit there, lace noticeably warm against your skin, the corset suddenly tight against your ribs and chest.
you inhale, then exhale shakily, nodding. “okay,” you say again, softer this time.
“i saw the box,” izuku admits, tone straight-forward.
the silence that follows after is daunting, timed.
this isn’t a date. this is a goodbye dressed up as kindness. your chest tightens, breath catching shallowly as he continues. you were fucked.
it feels like the floor just dropped out from beneath you.
for a moment, you consider lying and denying it – instinctive, reflexive – but the thought dies pathetically before it can reach your mouth. he saw it.
you simply nod, throat tight, chest heavy now. “i figured you might’ve,” you manage, voice thinner than expected. “it was night of the party wasn’t it?”
izuku’s eyes dial in on the way your brows furrow, a violent red seeping up your neck in guilt, as if you’ve been caught. bullseye.
“i shouldn’t have looked,” he admits, words chosen carefully upon your visible suppressed distress. “that was a boundary i crossed.”
your throat burns. “that’s not nearly as bad as what i did.”
a pause stretches between you, taut and calculative on the surface, but fully vulnerable beneath.
“i wasn’t angry,” he continues, frowning a bit. “sure, i was confused. but i was mostly…worried.”
you let out a shaky breath, the confession spilling before you can stop it. “i–i didn’t mean for it to get this bad, i promise. i swear. it just started small, you saw it the first time. and, you said it was nice and thoughtful so i thought i could just keep drawing, but– and, before– before i knew it, i just kept going and…”
your hands tremble slightly in your lap, an uncomfortable shiver settling rhythmically in your bones now.
“i– i don’t know what you know, but i never meant for it to get this bad,” you add quietly. “that part– with adam i mean– i didn’t expect that. i just thought that if you’d confront him, he’d back off. i didn’t think–” your voice breaks, words wobbly but contained. “i didn’t think you’d go that far. i mean– it’s completely my fault, not yours…”
izuku’s jaw tightens firefly, before relaxing, shoulders easing at the sight of your frame shaking.
“i know,” he says quickly, voice even in that reassuring way. “and i need you to know something too, though.”
you look up at him, eyes glassy now, lips tucked between your teeth.
“i stayed,” he admits, his eyes moving downcast now. “after i saw it all, i still stayed. that’s on me.”
your stomach twists, and you swear everything you just ate might just come back up. he had to stay the night, the morning, with the knowledge of your pathetic obsession and pretend it was okay. you were in his arms that night, sleeping soundly while he was probably stressing on what to do next. and the worst part, you sucked his dick after.
“oh my god… i am so sorry,” you whisper out, hands moving to your mouth. the world zeros in on you for a brief second, narrowing in on your windpipes, spreading evil across your chest. “so this… this is it,” you say quietly, the words tumbling out unwanted. “you’re telling me… goodbye.”
he blinks, cocking his head to the side. “i didn’t say that…”
“but you’re explaining– this–” you say, words rushed and almost incoherent, a small brittle smile forming unapologetically on your face. “people explain when they’re leaving.”
your chest aches, pressure building fast and alerting. you can feel the tears in your eyes threatening to fall, and you hate yourself for it. because why should you be crying? you hate how predictable this conversation makes you feel.
the server arrives then, oblivious to the scene, setting the bill gently on the table.
the moment fractures, breaking you out of your trance.
“oh–” you say quickly, posture straightening as you reach for your phone. “i’ll transfer you my half, just– just give me a second.”
izuku frowns, brows knitted with confusion. “what? no.”
you look up, startled. “izuku, i–”
“i asked you out, on this date particularly,” he says plainly, pulling out his own wallet. “i’ve got it.”
he reaches for the bill before you can argue, handing his card over with finality. full stop.
the rest of the dinner passes in a haze, the last few minutes of your moments with izuku finally slimming to a silence.
you walk out together into the cool night air, his coat hung cautiously on you. there’s this disengaged look to izuku’s eyes upon seeing your bare shoulders. his hand reaches out, before dropping to his sides.
you eye your eyes forward, blinking hard, swallowing down the dual ache in your throat – one from your fever, and the other from trying not to burst into tears.
this is it. it was nice while it lasted.
you’re halfway through composing a dignified goodbye in your head when he stops walking, pace stilling to a complete stop.
“hey,” he says gently.
you turn, already on the verge of tears, doing your absolute best to keep them in. “y–yeah?”
he gestures down the street, where a small dessert place glows warmly, pastel colours blending into soft hung fairy lights.
“you didn’t finish your soup,” he commented, voice soft and considerate. “and– i don’t think we’re done talking, either.”
your heart stutters, brows raising.
“dessert?” you ask quietly, hopeful.
he nods, polite. “dessert. my treat?”
you don’t trust your voice, so you just nod back frantically, following him inside like your legs have a will of their own. because truth behold, your body knows what it wants, and it knows that it craves izuku – no matter the circumstance.
later, much later, after another thirty minutes of delayed silence, you’re back in his car, hands wrapped around a warm cup. a warm, hot chocolate with a greedy amount of toppings and whipped cream.
the car ride passes without a single word. you don’t know what to make of it. but a part of you, a democracy, decides that this might be the final farewell gift.
you don’t trust yourself to look at him, and izuku keeps both hands on the wheel. there’s an invisible line between the both of you now.
with every red light, every turn close to your street, the certainty settles deeper in your chest, final and confident in your conclusion.
this was it. you were so close, yet so far.
a first date that doubled as a final one. a careful, somewhat kind conclusion to something that will never be named again. a bittersweet ending.
you tell yourself you should be grateful – it could’ve ended far worse. it could’ve been angrier, messier, and maybe ended in a lifetime resentment.
still, your throat burns, because you don’t want to end things with izuku. you don’t want to never talk to him again.
when he pulls up outside your place, the engine idles softly, and deja vu comes spilling back from the night of the party. he parks in your driveway, this time not on the curb.
with a bitter taste in your mouth, you reach for the door handle.
“hey.”
his voice stops you. you freeze, fingers still curled around the metal.
“...yeah?” you ask, already bracing yourself.
he was going to say something like: “it was nice knowing you,” or worse, “good luck with life”. even that was pushing it – you were undeserving of either.
there’s a pause, then a sigh from his end.
“can we go inside?” he says. “just for a minute.”
your heart lurches. now, you don’t know what to think. the path has changed, and you’re scared of where it’s going. this might hurt even more.
you think of turning him down, telling him just to go home, but unsurprisingly, you cave in.
“sure.”
you step out of the car quickly on legs that feel unsteady, convinced that this is just him trying to tie up loose ends. a final, closing kindness before walking away.
inside, your home feels too quiet.
you flick on the lamp on your bedside. the light is softer, and somewhat calming to what the situation is calling for. izuku lingers near the door, unsure if he should step in further. after a moment, he tracks inside, finally settles before you – standing still.
“i didn’t finish what i needed to say,” he begins.
you nod, arms folding loosely around yourself. “it’s okay, i get it.”
he looks at you then, sucking in sharply. “i don’t think you do.”
the way he says it isn’t unkind – but it’s enough to stop you cold. yep, here it comes.
“i wasn’t trying to end things tonight, and i kept trying to convince you i wasn’t,” izuku continues. “i was trying to tell the truth.”
your chest tightens.
“there are parts of this i handled badly. it wasn’t just you,” he admits, voice firm. “wrongly.”
he exhales, slowly and steady, preparing himself for the truth he’s about to tell you.
“i had paid friend look for your twitter. far before we even had our first conversation. i invaded your privacy. all because i wanted to know you in places you weren’t offering yet.”
your eyes widen, jaw falling agape.
“i watched where you went after class. i waited, searched for you in patterns. i told myself it was concern because, i really wanted to look out for you. i cared a lot about you– there was just something about you that just made me want to.”
he swallowed, eyes blinking.
“the truth is – i liked the version of us we were building in that art room. even when i drove you home, too. and i was afraid that if i didn’t understand you completely, i’d lose it. and that i wouldn’t have been in your life as much as i thought i wanted.. you were this sweet girl in the art room that i wanted to get to know.”
the room feels too small now, the curves of the shadows softening.
“i crossed lines,” he says. “i know that. i– after i figured out about your thing, i got my friend to track your phones locations and activities, and that was too far.”
you don’t speak, you can’t. you don’t know how to feel. this whole thing is so sick, and your mind is scrambling to reconcile the gentleness you know with the precision of what he’s confessing.
“i didn’t want to control you,” he adds quickly, still standing a distance from you. “i just wanted to just keep us the way we were. and i thought maybe i pushed you a bit too far. what i’ve done is far worse than what you could ever do.”
his voice cracks, just barely, chin dropping to his chest, head hung in shame.
“i’m telling you because you really deserve to know, and if you want to walk away after this… i won’t stop you.”
you stare at him, heart pounding, something sick and affectionate swarming in your gut. something cruel pulsing beneath your dress.
“so, you’re not ending this?” you ask quietly, voice reduced to a hush.
he shakes his head. “no, not if you don’t want to.”
you remain settled on the edge of the bed, hands braced beside you. “i thought tonight was goodbye – that was really scary.”
izuku rushed over beside you, his knee brushing up against your bare one. “i know,” he says softly. “i’m sorry i let you think that.”
you laugh weakly, pressing a hand to your face. “god, i was about to cry in the car!”
“i almost asked you if you wanted dessert again,” he admits, sheepish as the tension died down. “then, i realized that would’ve made… that worse,” he says, motioning to the tears breaking free from your eyes.
that earns a small, shaky smile from you, tears gentle against your face. when you look back up at him, your voice is steadier. “you should’ve talked to me sooner… you were so scary.”
“i know,” he sighed out guilty, pressing a hand through his curls. “i’m trying to work on that now.”
the truth has now been laid bare.
izuku doesn’t move closer right away. he remains at a respectable shoulder distance, like he’s reflecting on how he made you feel. silence settles again, but this time it’s comfortable. warm an expectant; like the waves of a tsunami have finally ceased.
“you’re not scared?” he asks finally.
you shake your head honestly. “how could i be scared of you, izuku? truthfully.” you pause, taking in the moment to get your feelings out. “i–i really like you, so much. i mean– weren’t we just talking about how weird i was over dinner?”
the corner of his mouth lifts, faint. “i never said you were weird, though.”
you huff out a quiet breath. “you didn’t exactly say normal either.”
he exhales at your quick response. “well… you aren’t wrong there. but who am i to judge, right? i think i like knowing that you're just as into me as i am with you.”
your fingers curl into the fabric of your dress, nerves buzzing under your skin still, checks scarlet at his words. “i know but… i really thought tonight was you letting me down gently.”
his brows knit together, a lips tugging down. “nonono, not at all – wait, was dessert really not that convincing?”
you shake your head, a smile finding your lips again. “it was a bit.”
izuku sighed, moving closer to you. “i was scared too, you know,” he admits, his radiating warmth bouncing onto your skin. “scared that if i didn’t end up saying this out loud, i’d just keep justifying things to myself, and maybe ruin things. i just needed to stop this mystery game between the two of us.”
you look up at him, chest tight, eyes hopeful. “yeah, i agree.” the silence stretches among the both of you, heavy with implication.
“i don’t regret it,” you say instantly, voice coming out confident. “liking you. any of it.”
something in his expression shifts, something delicate beneath the surface finally coming to light.
“neither do i,” he replies. “i’m kinda glad we had tonight.”
his hand lifts, hesitating midair, before settling at your knee, warm and steady. the touch sends a quiet shiver through you, an undispellable heat pooling between your legs.
“this doesn’t make what i did okay,” he murmurs.
“i know,” you say softly. “me too.”
“at least this at least clears the air now, right?”
you nod, shifting your body, forehead tipping forward until in rests lightly against his chest. your body instantly relaxes at the contact, smiling to yourself. this is was you belong.
his breath stutters, his other hand coming up instinctively, hovering near your back before settling at the middle.
you lift your head slowly, eyes flickering to his mouth before you can stop yourself. he notices, of course. he always does. just like with everything else.
“y/n?”
“yeah?”
his breath leaves him in a slow exhale. he leans in till his lips meet yours.
the kiss is soft, tentative in a way that almost feels reverent. your tongue pushes past his lips, your hand slides up to his chest, fingers pressing into him.
without thought, he deepens the kiss instinctively, pulling you closer till you're on his lap, bare panties resting on his groin. you move against him, insinuating, soft movements stirring a groan from him.
he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath uneven, cheeks a pretty shade of pink.
“you want this?” he murmurs, hand still protective on your back.
you nod, words coming out fast. “please…”
izuku's eyes search yours, a flicker of hesitation in his green gaze – the heat between you undeniable, cock twitching hard against the thin fabric of your panties, already straining with need.
“okay... we'll go slow,” he promises, voice low and reassuring, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your spine. he kisses you again, softer this time, guiding your body as he shifts on the bed, laying back and pulling you with him until you're straddling his hips fully.
your heart races, nerves twisting in your stomach like a knot you can't untie. everything feels too bright, too exposed, even in the dim light filtering the circumference of your room.
“izuku... wait, wait,” you admit in a whisper, cheeks burning as you avoid his eyes. you take a shaky breath, words coming out bubbled and stammered. “i– i think i’m nervous, i don’t know. i know i want this with you but– can we... i don't know... i'm sorry, i'm probably turning you off right now.”
he pauses, brows furrowing in concern, but then understanding softens his features. "you're a virgin?"
you nod, cheeks flushing at your indirect confession.
"that's okay, you're not turning me off. i think i'm a bit harder now," he chuckles out, the sound soft and reassuring. "would this help for the time being?"
without a word, he reaches down, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties — the ones already damp from your arousal. he slides them down your thighs slowly, the cool air hitting your bare pussy with a shiver.
“feel better?” he asks gently, bunching the fabric and tying it around your eyes, the soft cotton warm against your skin from your body heat.
the world fades to black, and suddenly, every touch feels amplified — the brush of his calloused hands, the scent of him filling your senses, his clothed cock pressing up against your slick folds.
"yeah..." you agree, sighing as the pressure to perform lessens.
“there’s nothing to be nervous about, i’ll take care of you real good, okay?”
carefully, izuku undresses you, pulling your dress through your head, fingers careful as he treads your hair through the material. in a nervous silence, izuku places you to the side momentarily, stripping from his own clothes as well.
“can i put it in?” he asks, his voice closer now, lips grazing your ear. you nod, biting your lip as relief mixes with the building ache between your legs.
"please, izuku, need you," you manage out, voice meek.
you really want this. blindfolded, it's easier to let go, to focus on the way his hands grip your hips, lifting you slightly so he can line himself up. the tip of his cock nudges your entrance, thick and hot, parting your lips with ease.
“tell me if it's too much,” he breathes, and then he pushes in — slow at first, inch by inch, your pussy stretching around his girth. it burns a little, the fullness overwhelming, but the pleasure follows quick, walls fluttering as he sinks deeper. you gasp, hands bracing on his chest, nails digging into his skin.
“izuku—oh god, you're so big,” you whimper, rocking your hips instinctively to take more. “making me feel so full.”
he groans, head falling back against the pillow, his hands tightening on you. “fuck, you're tight... feels amazing, just like that.”
once he's fully seated, balls pressed against your ass, he holds still, letting you adjust, his thumbs stroking your thighs. the blindfold heightens it all — the throb of his cock inside you, the way your clit pulses against his pubic bone. with a cautious bounce, izuku whimpers, his grip tightening just a fraction as he rolls up into you.
almost immediately, pressure starts to build low in your belly, not just from arousal but from your full bladder. you'd drank too much earlier, the dessert, the chicken soup, the water, and now it's nagging at you, making your muscles clench tighter around him.
you try to ignore it, grinding down on him instead, chasing the sparks of pleasure. izuku takes the cue, his hips bucking up gently, starting a slow rhythm that has you moaning.
“that's it, ride me... you're doing so good, so pretty like this– wish you could see what i see, god,” he praises, voice husky with restraint and that velvety sweetness. his hands slide up to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling your nipples until they're stiff peaks, sending jolts straight to your core. “your breasts are so pretty, too.”
“aah– you’re making me feel so good right now,” you heave out, your hands planting where his firm chest would be. with confidence, you bounce up and down his length, slamming down shakily on his hips. each plummet of your hips sends something tight and sweet in your abdomen, clitoris tensing with each bodily contact.
the pace quickens, your body moving on instinct, pussy slurping wetly around his shaft with each bounce. but inevitably, your bladder pressure mounts, turning urgent, a desperate need that makes you tense.
“izuku, wait—i have to pee, i think,” you plead, slowing your movements, but he doesn't stop. instead, his grip firms, flipping your positions with surprising strength — shifting you now on your back, legs hooked over his shoulders as he folds you into a mating press.
“yeah?” he coos affectionately, his harmonious voice close to your ear now. "you're so cute."
his hips pressed firmly against your bottom as he grinded against your folds, his tip kissing that soft spot inside of you.
"ngghh, izuku!"
the sensation becomes blinding, pathetic whimpers leaving your lips with a whine as you try to hold it in. with your knees pressed toward your chest, ass lifted off the bed, his cock driving deeper than before, hitting spots that make stars burst behind the blindfold – it's hard to not.
with care, one of his hands slides over your body, palm pressing flat against your tummy, right over your lower abdomen where the pressure throbs the hardest.
the added weight makes it worse — or better — your bladder compressing under his touch, forcing a whimper from your lips.
“izuku—please, i can't hold it,” you gasp, the words tumbling out as his hips snap forward, cock spearing into your depths.
he rips off the blindfold in one swift motion, the fabric tearing slightly as it comes free, his eyes locking onto yours — intense, affectionate, filled with a hunger.
“i know about your little piss kink,” he admits, voice rough and shaky as he continues fucking into you, his free hand grabbing yours, fingers interlacing tightly as he pins it beside your head. his other hand stays firm on your tummy, thumb rubbing circles that only heighten the urge, making your pussy clench around him involuntarily.
“izu! that’s– no… that’s so embarrassing!” you whimper out, hands immediately moving to close around your face before they’re immediately pried away. “it’s gross…that’s gross– you don’t have to.”
“no, no — let it happen, please,” he urges, thrusting harder, the mating press allowing him to grind deep, his balls slapping against your ass with every plunge. “i want all of you, everything, please..”
the words shock you both, but the way his gaze burns into yours, hand squeezing yours for reassurance, pushes you over the edge, coaxing you to a satisfying release.
“izu!–”
you can't hold back — the first hot stream bursts out around his shaft, soaking his groin, running down the space between you and puddling on the sheets.
izuku's breath hitches, a momentary flicker of surprise in his eyes at the warm flood, lips fallen open slightly as he watches you release all over him.
“fuck, yes— so pretty– oh my god,” he moaned out, his hand on your tummy pressing down harder, coaxing more out of you in rhythmic spurts that match his thrusts. “come on, i know you got some more… it’s okay, i’ve got you.”
the slick mess makes everything wetter, louder, his cock sliding through the mix of your arousal, piss, and his precum with obscene squelches.
“f–feels really good, i– i can’t izuku, ahh!” tears brim your waterline, threatening to fall as izuku rides out your release, kissing that tender spot that makes your toes curl.
he leans in closer, forehead to yours, his hand still gripping yours tightly, thumb stroking your knuckles, grounding you both in the filth.
your eyes stay locked on his, the vulnerability of seeing his face — flushed, freckles stark against the red of his cheeks, lips parted in a groan — making the release even more intense.
“that’s it, pretty girl, so good for me,” he praises, hips pistoning relentlessly, the angle bullying your g-spot until tears prick your eyes. more piss leaks out, triggered by each deep fuck, coating his abs and thighs, the warmth spreading between your bodies. “oh– god, i can’t believe this is real. can’t believe i’m– fuck!– inside of you like this..”
he shifts his grip, his hand on your tummy sliding up just enough to let you breathe freely, adjusting briefly so both hands hold yours, pinning them above your head as he pistons inside you, rhythm dominating quickly.
“y/n, i think i’m close– think i’m gonna cum… cum with me— wanna feel it.”
his voice is higher now, cracked and whiny, his own eyes warming with overwhelm. his cock swells inside you, veins dragging against your walls, thickening at his near release.
you let out a high-pitched whimper at the sensation, eyes threatening to cross as he repeatedly hits that spot. “m–me too, izu… gonna cum!”
the pressure builds unbearably, your bladder emptying fully in hot jets that splash against him as you shatter — pussy convulsing, gushing more fluid as an orgasm rips through you, cries spilling from your lips. your vision blurs for split second, whitening pleasantly with a blinding warmth. it feels incredible, nothing like you've ever felt before.
izuku's thrusts grow erratic, his face twisting with pleasure, eyes never leaving yours. “f–fuck did you just squirt too?”
you nod unknowingly, that tight knot in your stomach lingering with a gentle presence. your legs lock around his hips instinctively, urging him to release, your body spent as he continues humping into you.
“you're perfect, so fucking perfect,” he gasps, voice breaking as he feels his own release barreling down. “gonna– fuck! n-need to pull out!”
just as the first rope threatens to spill, he pulls out with a wet pop, his cock slick and throbbing, laying it heavy over your spread pussy.
“i love you, i love you, i love you so much,” he heaves out frantically, the words in a breathless chant, hand pumping his shaft furiously as thick spurts of cum erupt, painting your folds white.
both of you watch in awe as thick spurts land on your clit, dripping down to mix with the piss-soaked mess below. he aims every shot carefully, coating your entrance and lips until you're glistening with his seed, his hips jerking into his hand with each pulse.
your watch with sparkly eyes, pussy relaxing from the absence of his cock. he looks so undeniably pretty like this, checks flushed pink, brows furrowed with need, body slick with sweat as he spills all over you, the moment never ending.
he grinds the tip against your sensitive pussy one last time, smearing the cum into your skin, before collapsing forward, careful not to crush you in the mating press. his hands release yours to cup your face gently, forehead pressing to yours as he catches his breath.
“i love you,” he whispers one more time, softer now, lips brushing yours in a tender kiss amid the sticky aftermath. "so much. would do anything for you."
with a sleepy response, you smile back at him, running a slow hand through his hair. “i love you too…”
and in that moment where the two of you are intertwined, you realize that this — not the sex, not the unhealthy obsession — just an open confession, was all it really took.
౨ৎ
there’s no moment where everything clicks into place all at once, no sweeping promise about the future, no guided pathway that determines what's going to happen next. life simply resumes — altered in small, meaningful ways, all so gentle.
izuku starts driving you home again, but now he asks.
sometimes you say yes. sometimes you don’t. either way, he smiles like the answer matters more than the outcome.
almost immediately, he took you on another date — the one that went the way both of you wanted it to go — a proper one filled with laughter and unhidden shame where he asked you out, apologizing profusely for the last.
you spend afternoons together in the art room, him half-working beside you, pretending not to watch while you sketch. he still notices everything — the way you chew on your pencil when you’re thinking, the way you tilt your head when a line isn’t right — but now he says it out loud instead of cataloguing it into the depths of his mind.
and he’ll just shrug, fond and unashamed. “exactly that.”
you go on dates that feel almost mundane in the best way — grocery runs that turn into dinners, quiet cafés where he orders for you without asking and gets it right every time. you stop wondering how he knows. he stops pretending he doesn’t.
at night, when you’re curled together, you talk about things you used to keep to yourself, him doing the same. the lines are clearer now. softer, shared in that unified way.
sometimes you catch him looking at you from across the room, that familiar focus in his eyes, and instead of shrinking under it, you hold his gaze.
he always looks a little surprised when you do, but there's always that warm truthful smile that follows after.
one evening, weeks later, you find the old box tucked away in the back of your closet. you and izuku have gone through it together, this time, there's no sugarcoated meaning. you told him how you felt at the time, and why you did it. izuku never shamed you.
you consider it for a long moment before closing the lid again — not out of shame, but because it no longer feels necessary. sometimes, whenever izuku comes over, he likes to joke about a particular photo you took of him where he thinks he looks bad, but in reality doesn't.
you don't have to be the secret admirer anymore.
he’s right there beside you, hand warm in yours, watching openly, loving deliberately.
and when he leans in to kiss you, quiet and familiar, it feels like the most natural continuation in the world, something you’re so undeserving of, but too selfish to let go.
⟡♡ all's fair (somewhere between love and war) | i. midoriya ♡⟡
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ you, the new, young teacher at ua high, have the opportunity to work with the worlds greatest hero. however, it doesn't go quite like you thought it would.
-or-
being around izuku makes you feel crazy and you can't help but lash out. lucky for you, his favorite thing is a brat. softdom!teacher!izuku x bratty!teacher!reader⋆｡˚✴︎⋆
11.3k wc
٠࣪⭑ cw: 18+, piv sex, dubcon, softdom!izuku, bratty!fem!reader, vaginal fingering, slight exhibitionism, slight dumbification, SLIGHT subspace but barely, drop of dacryphilia, spitting, spit swallowing, orgasm denial, sex with feelings, izuku is a little mean but not for too long, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), creampie, no mention of y/n, reader has some anxiety stuff/imposter syndrome
٠࣪⭑ author's note: my baby is finally here! i love teacher izuku with all of my heart, hopefully this does him justice. guys if reader is giving 1% oblivious in this it's because she's slightly crashing out ok? sorry it took so long, i'm addicted to procrastinating! kind of proofread but please excuse any mistakes, and let me know if i missed any tags. i hope you enjoy!
ever since you were little, you’ve liked to play games.
you’ve always been pretty good, too; hard working like that. you win games because you apply yourself, because you commit to your goal and won’t let anything stand between you, and whatever it means to win.
winning a lot makes playing addictive, gives you kind of a high. makes you start to expect to win.
this is how it’s been throughout your life, until you start at your new job. suddenly, you’ve become entangled in a game you never expected.
which gives first, an unstoppable force or an immovable object?
the gates of ua are much taller than you remember.
you stand frozen, gaping at the sprawling campus before you with heart hammering in your chest. your throat feels dry.
you nervously smooth your outfit one last time, lip tucked between your teeth.
the first day is always the hardest. you will be fine; it marches through your mind like a mantra, pushing your feet forward as you take a deep breath, venturing further inside.
there aren’t any students here yet, it being a faculty work day. today is of the last before school officially starts.
and it’s your first official day, besides the very brief walkthrough last week.
when you’d asked about lesson plans, principal yagi had laughed and waved his hand.
“come and meet everyone first, then you can worry about smaller details. besides, we prefer to have the teachers discuss lessons together at the beginning of the year. it’s good to be united and work together!” it’s an exciting thought, collaborating with so many amazing educators. still, daunting.
your fingers tap against the handle of your bag as you awkwardly navigate the vaguely familiar hallways, mentally preparing yourself for the day to come. it’s impossible to ignore the way your heart jumps in your chest, and you heave a small sigh.
it does little to ease the tension you feel.
before throwing you to the fray, principal yagi wanted to give you a personal tour of the grounds. something about an opportunity to ask any final questions and gain some more familiarity with the campus.
“plus, it doesn’t hurt to be seen with the former symbol of peace,” he’d joked over the phone when he’d asked if you would come early today.
you smile at the thought; working under the former no. 1 is one of the main reasons you chose to accept this job, and he seems like he’ll be a wonderful boss and mentor.
it’ll be good to start your first day with just him; despite his fame and stature, all might is a pretty easy guy to be around.
when you find yourself turning the corner to his office, however, his is not the face you see.
there’s no way to explain it. no logic, really, behind the way your body seems to react before your brain has time to catch up. when you take in a breath it almost feels like slow motion.
he’s tall. it’s hard to tell if it’s objectively true or just the way he carries himself, but still, tall is your first thought.
then, good looking. you blink, eyes flitting over him briefly. they register the suit he’s wearing, the scarred hand gripping the strap of a yellow backpack, green tie snug around his neck, cheeky freckles, mussed green hair...
wait, what?
very few people fit such a specific description. the fluttery beat of your heart leers forward into a thundering stomp.
your gaze trails higher, over his neutral, if not for slightly parted lips, expression; over the identifying facial scar; up to—yes, verdant eyes, staring back at you.
you recognize him. of course you recognize him. anxiety and anticipation and admiration all twist into one confusing jumble of emotions.
the other reason you chose to teach at ua when you were considering your options. even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself, you can feel your high school crush on the greatest hero simmering beneath the surface of your skin. a blush creeps onto your cheeks; he’s even cuter in person than he is on a screen.
and he’s real and in person now, standing bashful before you. your brain feels a bit foggy and it takes you a second to notice those pouty lips of his are forming words.
“—is your name, right?”
the realization that he’s asking you shakes you out of your stupor.
“yes!” you squeak, then clear your throat. “yes, it’s my first day. i’m looking for—“
“—probably looking for all might. oh, sor—“
“—sorry! i didn’t mean—“
“—for interrupting!”
both of your words tumble out in rapid succession, overlapping. he pauses, cracks a tiny smile, which breaks into a grin when your blush from before spreads to your whole face.
“you’re deku,” the name slips out without meaning to, and you mentally kick yourself for looking like a fan and not a serious coworker. “i mean—m-midoriya, right? i’ve, uhm, heard of you.” stupid.
you feel so awkward, and you’re already rewriting this conversation in your head when he laughs. it might be the nicest sound you’ve ever heard.
“yes,” he breathes, jovial. “i’ve heard of you, too.”
that really catches your attention.
confusion must cross your face because he’s rushing to clarify, “just, y’know, that we had another young teacher joining us in the hero course!”
you say nothing and he seems to take it as an invitation to keep going. “i might’ve read some of your recommendation letters… everyone speaks really highly of you. i really admire the volunteer work you do, and your quirk counseling out reach program, and all might thinks you’re going to be a good fit here and i can’t help but agree—"
the words pour out like he can’t stop them, until he does, clamping his gnarled hand over his mouth.
it’s kind of… endearing. cute.
you’ve spent so long fretting about your introduction and overthinking every little thing, but it’s actually nice.
he’s so nice.
quite an easy guy to be around, too; must get it from all might. maybe they just rub off on each other.
izuku’s words are like a drive by compliment; disappearing around the corner as soon as they arrive, leaving you reeling.
the way he praises you so readily is nice, too.
the way it twinges something in your chest makes you think you like it a little too much.
“well… thanks.” well don’t sound so excited about it!
“er—thank you, that’s really really nice of you to say!” okay, pull it back now.
“i’m just… really looking forward to working with you,” those vibrant eyes widen slightly and you hastily add, “and… everyone at ua! it’s really exciting to be here!”
he looks slightly lost for words as he drinks you in, drinks up your voice and your mannerisms and your scent. it’s like he’s trying to memorize you.
the intensity of his stare makes you nervous, and you shift slightly, peeking behind him into yagi’s office.
“so is princip—er—is all might back there? he asked me to meet him.”
izuku is still staring. he narrows his eyes slightly, before glancing back at the office.
“no, that’s kind of why i’m here. he had to check on something with the entrance exams and caught me on my way in.” he beams at you and scratches the back of his neck. “i guess i’m your guide today. i’m excited to show you around!”
٠࣪⭑
after that first day, friendship with izuku midoriya feels easy.
he’s just been… around. he holds open the door when you arrive in the morning, brings you coffee at lunch when you mention you’re feeling tired during the morning meeting. he listens when you talk, notices when you’re gone. he’s always so kind, so encouraging; it’s like having your own personal cheerleader.
sometimes, you feel a little crowded. being observed so acutely means being constantly perceived, and he makes it impossible to blend into the background.
٠࣪⭑
it’s been a few months. they passed in a blur; sometimes it feels like no time has passed at all.
you still gnaw at your lip instead of speaking up in meetings, still practice deference to the others.
except for izuku, and maybe yagi, you feel alone here, a little out of your depth.
feeling belonging comes rarely; you’ve hardly felt… seen, not since that first day.
often, you catch yourself searching for him in the halls. every moment of connection, every time he looks at you, sends electricity arcing over your skin.
right now, you’re paired with izuku for a joint lesson. your goal is to pair each student up with one from the other class, aiming to teach the students about collaboration with unknown colleagues and adapting to new situations.
watching him teach is… well, it’s complicated.
it’s inspiring, for one; to watch someone so passionate and thoughtful. he’s so focused, so engaged, it makes you want to do your best too. it’s also intimidating.
he seems to have special way of connecting to the students, anticipating questions before they’re even asked.
it eats you alive, the feeling of inferiority. has you chewing the inside of your cheeks until you taste copper.
you’re both stood before the two classes. izuku is finishing his lecture, addressing his notes occasionally to catch any missed points.
he turns to you, head tilted, and you flush, turning to address the kids.
“don’t forget the goal of this exercise is communication. you need to learn how to adapt to new teammates quickly; you never know who you’ll be working with in the field!”
“that’s right!” he emphasizes, nodding along, “alright guys, let’s split up. make your plans, first teams start in ten minutes.”
as the students break off to work on the assignment, he glances at you.
“so... uh, how have the first few months here treated you?”
it’s an innocent enough question, but the answer feels heavy on your tongue.
“honestly…” the way he’s gazing at you so gently makes it easier to admit. “honestly, it’s been a hard adjustment. i feel like i’m out of my league.”
he smiles, perplexed.
“that’s surprising. you’re such a natural.”
izuku sure is liberal with compliments.
you slap his shoulder playfully. “stop it, i’m barely managing.”
“noooo—“ he shakes his head vigorously in disagreement. “i promise—you make teaching look so easy!”
he makes you feel shy. “yeah, alright,” you mumble, avoiding eye contact.
the praise is almost gratuitous.
eraserhead never fails to point out ways you’ve failed; all might is always pointing out ways you could improve; you can’t help but wonder if deku is laying it on a little thick, like he doesn’t think you can handle the truth.
٠࣪⭑
another month passes, and your imposter syndrome reaches a fever pitch.
there’s one student in your class who is struggling.
she’s really struggling. her quirk development progress is significantly behind the other students, and it seems like everything you try only makes it worse. every encouragement falls on deaf ears; every bit of feedback lands as criticism.
it’s early afternoon, and you’re in your classroom at your desk, pinching your brow as you look over your notes from the day’s training.
there’s a soft knock at the door, and you glance up.
izuku stands in the frame, looking like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible while doing quite the opposite. two steaming paper cups are clutched in his hands. he looks… nervous.
“hey, uhh… need a pick me up? i accidentally made two.”
“midoriya,” you groan. “you’re a lifesaver.”
the blush on his face is unmistakable.
he walks inside the room and sets a coffee down on your desk, then slumps into the chair across from you.
“oh my god, thank you,” you breathe as you glance up and curl your fingers around the cup. the steam wafts towards your face.
“you’re welcome,” he manages sheepishly. “so... what’s going on? you look kinda tense.”
why does he always seem to be aware of how you’re feeling? the tension in your shoulders doesn’t even fully register to you until he addresses it.
you take a gulp of coffee, wince at the bitter taste.
leaning forward in his chair, he reaches like he means to take the cup from you before letting his arm fall, pretending to fiddle with a pen on your desk. “sorry, is it bad?”
it kind of is, but that doesn’t matter; you never told him how you like your coffee, with at least a little cream and maybe some sugar, too.
“i like cream,” you say, but take another sip anyway. it burns your throat, but it also tastes like kindness, so you keep drinking.
“anyway,” you add, “yeah, i’m having some trouble with a student.”
as you fill him in he takes out a little notebook from his pocket and jots a few things down.
“you always take notes like that?” you finally ask after the third time he makes another note.
“yeah, i guess so,” he says, slightly embarrassed. “i just wanted to make sure i got everything down so i can think about it and get back to you.”
you wave him off. “no, no, its okay. don’t worry about it. really, i was just curious if you’ve dealt with something similar.”
“i haven’t,” he admits. of course he hasn’t. “but… let me think about it, okay?”
you nod, and he nods too, satisfied, before standing and walking to the door.
“thanks again for the coffee!” you blurt, but he’s already down the hall.
you take a sip and snort.
who accidentally makes two?
٠࣪⭑
later that week, you experience a truly wretched day.
rain is pouring down thick and steady. without an umbrella, by the time you reach school you’re soaked to the bone.
maybe if he was the first to point it out, you would have laughed, like you do when the front desk admin jokes about your soggy state as you hurry down the hallway towards your class.
“i didn’t know you swam to work!” she calls after you, and you laugh and shake your head.
“yeah, it’s faster!” you toss back, trying not to wince as your shoes make loud squelch sounds as you half walk, half run.
class starts in 10, barely enough time to make yourself presentable.
maybe even if he was the second to say it, like yamada, who spots you as you speed walk past the teachers lounge.
“wooahhhhhh!” he shouts after you, “somebody call the custodian, we’ve got a cleanup on aisle 6! the storm found a way inside and it’s spreading water all over the place!”
you bite the inside of your cheek and turn back to grin sheepishly, stuttering “i-i was running late, okay?”
when you turn again to flee, you run smack into something... broad. blinking, you feel two hands come up to steady you by gripping your arms, hear their owner ask, “sorry! you okay?”
there’s just enough time register a green tie and feel your face erupt into an embarrassed flush; you really don’t want midoriya to see you in such a disheveled state. his eyes flit over you with a look of concern, which turns into a cheeky smile once they settle on your face.
so when he says, “y’know, when the weather’s like this, it’s perfectly okay to hold class inside,” you don’t have it in you to joke anymore.
feeling embarrassed, cold and dripping with rainwater, agitated by your own tardiness, you snap, “yeah, well, i forgot my umbrella,” shrugging out of his grip.
“wait, i was just kidding—"
“‘scuse me, i’m late,” you mutter, brushing by him and sprinting to your classroom.
he stands there, watching you go with a scrupulous expression.
the rest of the morning goes pretty much the same; aizawa drops by to chastise you for your late and unprofessional entrance, yagi sends you an email letting you know that there’s a problem with the last three progress reports you’ve submitted and they need to be redone, and your students seem hell bent on derailing class in any and every way possible.
by the time lunch rolls around, you want to crawl into a hole and disappear.
you manage slip into the teacher’s lounge relatively unnoticed, making a beeline to the fridge and retrieving your food before slinking back towards the door.
unfortunately, you don’t notice the stray cord in your path, tunnel vision focused on the doorway, on freedom. you don’t notice until it’s too late, and the cord has wrapped its way around your ankle and rooted you in place. you don’t notice, because your still moving forward, until suddenly you aren’t, instead careening towards the ground.
it feels like slow motion, the bento falling from your grip and colliding with the ground in a truly spectacular display; the lid pops off, and food splatters everywhere. you stay there on the ground for a second, blinking slowly like you’re in a trance, before scrambling to your feet and clutching the now empty box to your chest. shit. shitshitshit.
your face is on fire as your eyes dart around the room rapidly; with luck, everyone seems to be wrapped up in something else, whether that be work or food or, in aizawa’s case, a sleeping bag.
none seem to notice your predicament, and you think you’ve just gotten away with it, when you look down.
izuku is somehow already on his knees, rag in hand, sweeping up the spoiled food with careful motions. he must have just walked in.
you frantically grab a handful of napkins from the counter and drop beside him, an apology already on the tip of your tongue.
“i’m so sorry, did any get on you? you don’t have to help me with this—" his hand brushes against yours and he smiles at you.
“i’m completely fine, i just saw you go down! looked like you needed a little help there.”
you know, deep down, that he has to mean it just how he says it; ever the observant hero, he saw a problem to fix and acted without thinking. he wanted to help.
the thing is, it’s exactly what you don’t want to hear right now. all the little frustrations, all the little upsets from your day weigh down on your shoulders and now the person you admire most at this stupid school saw you eat shit in the middle of the teacher’s lounge and he has the audacity to help you, to draw attention to your misstep.
you can feel the eyes around you shift over now, hearing your conversation. somewhere behind you, someone snickers.
stupid, childish embarrassment floods you; your ears are steaming and you can’t hear what izuku is saying until the words “—could buy you something else?”
“no!” your retort is quick and it comes out a little harsher than you mean it to. he shrinks slightly, taken aback. “i mean, sorry, no, thank you. i couldn’t ask you to do that.”
the only thought on your mind is retreat; you need to get out of this situation as fast as possible, get away to lick your wounds and wallow in your shame.
again, you know somewhere in your subconscious that he’s just being sweet and earnest deku when he says, “no, it’s nothing! i really don’t mind, it’s important for you to get enough nutrients, especially on a work day, and i know this great little place, i can just pop right there and back—"
“i have to go,” you choke out, standing quickly to throw the pile of napkins and food away.
“no, wait—!” he says, but you’ve already spun on your heel and darted from the lounge back to your classroom, cheeks burning.
why did he have to keep pushing like that? couldn’t he tell that the most helpful thing to do in that moment would be to pretend he didn’t see anything? why did he have to make everyone look with his dumb loud voice, offering to buy you lunch?
god, does he think you can’t afford another lunch?
who does this guy think he is?
it’s impossible to stop your thoughts from spiraling. maybe this whole times he’s just been humoring you, playing the part of good hero and extending a hand to the floundering newbie.
maybe all those lingering glances he throws your way indicate something sinister; maybe he’s just waiting for you to mess up badly enough that he can swoop in and save the day.
you’ve seen how the hero types can be; arrogant, self serving, unconcerned. maybe he’s really like that, too.
the thing is, you never really ask for help — always been independent, figuring things out for yourself. you know how to self start, don’t need someone to help you.
so why is he always… just… there, waiting to give it to you?
offering his services up on a silver platter when you wish he would just give you a second, to catch up and breathe.
he seems to have a knack for seeing you in your worst moments, the dutiful witness to your failures. you bet if you sneeze on yourself he’ll be waiting to dab it right up with a tissue and a lolly for your bravery.
it’s not just his looming reputation and happy-go-lucky attitude; it’s him. his… his presence.
it doesn’t help that he looks like that, all freckles and curls and charming smiles, tall and strong (from what you can tell… you’re not blind to the muscles straining against his sleeves when he rolls them up).
you just do your best not to think about it — the hot, sticky feeling that floods your core whenever he lingers in your mind for too long.
if he could just be less attractive to you, you’d write off your feelings of inadequacy and put him out of your mind!
unfortunately, your heart seems committed to striking up a fierce rhythm when he’s around. it makes it hard to think straight, makes you hyper aware of everything you say and do.
no matter what, you can’t shake the feeling of those piercing eyes when they’re on you; seeing you.
seeing through you.
izuku is really starting to irk you, to get under your skin. he makes you feel dissected and vulnerable.
you can’t help it, when it makes you a little crazy. a little unsettled. even as you push it down, the thought makes enough of an impression.
٠࣪⭑
that friday is the first day of the infamous ua sport’s festival.
it’s been a whirlwind, preparing for the event. you haven’t had many more opportunities to embarrass yourself, instead drowning yourself in work.
you don’t see izuku much either.
it’s a good day for the fesitval, the air clear and clean, sun shining instead of beating. you’re in the stands that survey the vast arena, stood beside your class as they squirm excitedly in their seats. it’s not their turn, so you all have an hour or two to watch the other students battle it out for first place.
a few rows below you, you spot him. it’s impossible to miss the mop of green curls, standing out above the crowds of kids watching in the student section.
turning to your class, you try and adopt a stern expression. “seriously, please don’t run off or do anything crazy. save your manic energy for the field, alright? i’ll be right back.”
they all offer you vague assurances, which somehow aren’t very comforting to you. still, you walk to the stairs, taking them two at a time to catch up.
deku and all might are walking briskly, seemingly buried in conversation.
for just a second, izuku glances up like he senses something, then sees you on the stairs above and waves, offering a quick smile before turning back to yagi.
you hesitate, not wanting to disrupt them. you just want to thank izuku for his kindness earlier in the week, after working through your embarrassment on your own time; you’ve half a mind to offer to buy him lunch in gratitude, although the courage required for that might be too much to muster right now.
as they turn to walk up some stairs a section away, you gasp when you see the little notebook clutched in izuku’s hand. it’s the same one as earlier in the week, the one he used to document your conversation, and he’s gesturing to that very page, shaking his head with an incredulous expression on his face. yagi says something and izuku laughs, rubbing his forehead.
are…. are they talking about you? based on body language, it seems like they’re joking about something, and when izuku gestures over in your general direction, your heart sinks through the floor.
are they making fun of you?
it’s hard to believe, but the evidence is right there. yagi points to something in the notebook and rolls his eyes, and izuku shrugs his shoulders and spreads his hands like, who knows?
they’re definitely making fun of you, probably laughing at the way you have no idea what you’re doing and need to ask for help from someone who’s only been teaching slightly longer than you. hot embarrassment blooms in your chest, before souring, turning to anger.
that stupid deku. how can he have the audacity to be so nice and understanding to your face, then turn around and mock you behind your back?
the rest of the day you’re stewing in resentment, raging war against deku in your mind. apparently he wasn’t really your friend at all, and all those compliments and encouragements were actually underhanded, probably meant to undermine you.
so, maybe you deflect. a little! so what? it’s hard to sit with your disappointment, and you want him to feel just as bad as you do right now.
if he wants to play a stupid little game with you, you’re more than happy to oblige. in fact, it will probably feel great to watch perfect deku get slipped up and reveal his true feelings of disdain. if you can get him to admit he’s been making fun of you the whole time, you’ll have him right where you want him.
you know that deep down, he has to be a real person, like you. not some white knight perched on a pedestal, reaching out a hand when you’re perfectly capable of getting up by yourself.
you just need to break him down, until you see it— the real him. the izuku that he hides away inside.
no one is that friendly all the time. no one is that earnest. there has to be something there, under the surface. you just want to see the mask slip, just once.
this desire drives you to, admittedly, rash action; but there’s no other choice.
٠࣪⭑
you start small, just to see how he reacts.
the following monday morning is bright and chipper.
you’re strolling down the hallway towards the conference room where the staff meeting takes place when you see him at the end, standing right by the door. perfect.
as you suspect, he sees you right away; brightens and smiles at you. you bitterly swallow the wave of annoyance that washes over you, sure, now we’re all buddy-buddy, and steel yourself.
as you grow closer, he raises a hand in greeting.
“good morning—“
you cut him off by breezing right past him, neglecting to spare him even a glance as you drop into an empty seat. it’s out of necessity; you worry if he looks in your eyes he’ll be able to read your thoughts.
his address dies in his throat, strangled, and you can feel his eyes on you, analyzing.
trying to figure out, why.
the next morning, he still tries to open the door for you, a hopeful yet nervous smile adorning his face.
and the second morning, you ignore him again. but he doesn’t say anything.
that week, you ignore him through every single meeting.
the next week, he stops trying to greet you on your way in. clearly that’s not going to work. instead, he plays it differently; waits inside, holding the last available chair.
for you, presumably.
that's when you opt to stand instead, giving a pointed look of disgust at the empty seat before shifting focus back to all might, who's standing at the front of the room to address the staff
because you’re so stubborn, still refusing to acknowledge him, you miss the way his expression crumples. he looks crestfallen.
٠࣪⭑
as days tick by, you decide it’s time to up the ante.
start poking fun at him, jeering his choice of breakfast or making fun of his backpack.
“i’ve always used a backpack,” he grumbles one day, after a barrage of comments about how stupid and juvenile it makes him look. “it’s an efficient way to carry my stuff.”
you’ve been playing your little game almost a month now.
“‘efficient way to carry my stuff’,” you mock, rolling your eyes. “do you always have to talk like such a nerd? it’s kinda grating.”
his eye twitches, and he slowly and carefully shuts the notebook he’s writing in.
it’s just the two of you in the teacher’s lounge. the school day ended an hour ago, but you’re both still grading yet another joint assignment. yagi seems hell bent on forcing you two to work together, and it’s starting to piss you off.
why the former symbol of peace thinks it’s so important to have your classes work together is a mystery.
it’s been non stop lately, at least one or two days out of the week set aside for collaborative training. he keeps insisting that as the two newbies, you can help eachother out! you’re his dream team!
it makes your blood boil. at this point he has to be doing it on purpose, forcing you to work with midoriya, but to what end, you have no idea.
izuku sets the notebook aside and folds his hands in front of him, fidgeting with his fingers, before he looks up at you.
“did i do something to upset you?” he asks, voice measured to disguise his hurt feelings.
your stomach sinks; maybe you haven’t been as subtle as you were hoping for. you wanted him to break, not bring it up to you.
somehow, his mature response to your childish jabs only pushes you further down your path, and you try not to squirm in your seat.
now he wants to take the high road? typical.
your attempt at an airy and unconcerned tone is mid at best when you snap, “no. you’re fine.” you pause, think for a second, then add, “honestly, i guess you upset me a little. just, in general.”
his eyes widen and he grips his hands harder, knuckles turning white. “what is that supposed to mean?”
there’s something in his tone that stops you, and you study his face carefully.
he seems hurt, a little frustrated… actually, he seems very frustrated. his expression is suspiciously hard to read, like he’s trying to remain guarded.
“just that sometimes i get a really sketchy vibe from you,” you spit, unsure where you’re pulling this vitriol from. “like… i don’t get you. you don’t make sense to me. and i feel like you’re putting on this nice guy act but i don’t buy it. and like..."
the longer he sits there, just letting you ramble, the more uncomfortable you get, faltering when you realize you’re not quite sure what to say next. “i don’t know,” you finish weakly. “you’re just annoying, sorry.”
far from goading him, now your words seem to be… almost too harmless, like he’s barely even listening anymore. the way his expression has shifted is unnerving; it’s like a lightbulb clicked on in his head, and he’s fighting a smirk as he nods along to your insults.
“well, i’m sorry you feel that way,” he says graciously, grabbing his notebook again and flipping it open to a new page. you try not to peer at what he writes, but he seems to sense your curiosity and causally moves an arm to block your view.
“i guess i’ll just have to work harder to win you over!” he exclaims, cheerfully snapping the book shut with finality and moving to gather his things to go.
you scoff, redirect your attention back to your work in front of you like continuing this conversation is beneath you.
however, you feel his eyes on you as he leaves the room; once his back is turned, yours bore holes into the back of his head.
٠࣪⭑
the two of you strike a strange, tense balancing act; you taunt, he pretends to be completely oblivious.
out of everything, you think this is the worst. it’s like he’s playing with you, like he knows something you don’t and loves to hold it over your head.
any normal person would have a stronger reaction to your bullying. actually, any normal person would have any reaction.
it’s like the more buttons you push, the more izuku doubles down, refusing to give in to you.
٠࣪⭑
today, you’re sat in front of the huge screen that displays the ground gamma camera feeds, groaning as your problem student has her ass handed to her by midoriya’s top student.
she’s made some progress since you spoke to him about the situation (which he never ended up getting back to you about), but still; her confidence is shaky, and she’s too afraid to make the tough calls that would ultimately lead to her victory. she keeps getting backed into corners with no way to run, and her quirk isn’t well suited to escaping in a pinch.
a cup of coffee is set down next to your arm and you glance at it, see the cream swirled in.
he’s gone and remembered how you prefer it, and it stirs something within you. you wrap your hand around the cup and take a sip; it’s comforting, and you sigh with satisfaction.
“thanks,” you murmur, attention turning back to the screen. he hums in response and sits next to you.
“hey,” he ventures, tentative. “about this student,” he gestures to the screen, “i thought about what we talked about a little while ago. i really wanted to give you good feedback, so i had to sit on it—anyway, i wrote down some thoughts that might be helpful.” izuku’s cheeks are tinted pink when he slides a crisp notebook across the control panel towards you.
flustered, you take the notebook and flip through it, secretly admiring the neat, careful print and color coordination.
it’s way overboard, completely unnecessary; it’s almost like he’s made you a little guidebook for potential issues a first year teacher might run into.
completely unnecessary and yet, it truly touches you. it’s an incredibly unnecessary, thoughtful, endearing gesture.
he's awkward when he says, “i really... related to something you said, about… feeling out of your depth, when starting here, and—i guess, i wish i’d had something like this, to reference when i felt overwhelmed.”
your heartbeat feels deafening in your ears. it’s so stupid, the way you suddenly feel like crying. blinking rapidly a few times, you close the book and set it down gingerly.
“that’s—that’s really nice. really, that’s… i appreciate it.” you look up at him, offering a small smile. “thank you. seriously.”
the grin izuku returns to you is warm, radiant. the feeling in your chest right now is so confusing, so overwhelming, but something about it feels… so, so, good. warm, spreading throughout your limbs.
the screen beside you both flashes several times as the exercise ends, breaking the private bubble you're in.
you blink, shaking your head to clear it, and look at the results: predictable, the outcome of this battle was determined from the very beginning.
in the corner, you catch your student glaring harshly into a camera, like she’s trying to make direct eye contact with you. “when the hell,” she spits, “am i gonna learn anything useful in this place?” before stalking off the field.
it feels like a slap in the face. she's clearly reeling from her defeat, but it feels like a defeat of your own.
you rise, tucking the notebook under your arm. “i’m going to talk to her,” you say, avoiding izuku's eyes. it’s too hard to look at him right now, and you don’t know how to feel about him anymore.
all you know is you want run away.
and somehow, you still long to see him break, more for the commitment to the game than anything else now.
almost on a whim, you snatch the cup of coffee before you turn and walk away, pausing in the doorway. there’s a trash can stationed there, and grip the cup in your hand before dumping it, throwing the cup in after and leaving the room without a second glance.
٠࣪⭑
another couple of weeks pass and at this point, you’re getting a little desperate, having been baiting him for months now.
if you’re honest, you’ve lost the plot a little bit. all you want is to shove him off his course, make him stumble. you want him to give in.
you’re tired, but that’s no reason to quit yourself.
this afternoon, you’re feeling bold, or maybe you’re just itching for a sense of satisfaction, when you traipse into his classroom towards the end of the lunch period.
he’s hunched over his desk, tapping out a little rhythm with his fingers as he pores over a stack of assignments. it’s because of this that he doesn’t fully register you entering the room, not until you slink across his desk and slam your palm on the papers in front of him.
he doesn’t even flinch. doesn’t look at you either; just clicks his tongue, gives a little shake of his head.
“what can i do for you today?”
izuku sounds tired, more than usual, more than just a result of your ongoing antics. maybe he didn’t sleep well last night, or he’s behind on his grading.
your chest swells at the opportunity and you seize it without hesitation. an opening.
“yeah, i was just hoping you could… help enlighten me. about a theory of mine.”
you can see it, how just for a moment his shoulders relax. there’s a chance this is just a work related query, maybe a question about quirks or lesson plans or teaching styles or even all might.
“alright, what’s your theory?”
he reaches for his steaming mug on the desk, next to your hip.
at this point, you’re willing to say whatever it takes to get a rise out of him. “i just have this hypothesis that you’re some kind of… depraved freak. a real pervert.”
izuku chokes on the coffee he’s sipping and it splashes down his front. he mutters a curse while scrambling for the stack of napkins he keeps stashed in his desk drawer.
aha! it seems this one is a winner! you grin and lean closer, invading his space.
“e-excuse me?!” rosy cheeked, he can’t quite meet your hawkish stare.
“you just seem like you’re secretly a weirdo or something. i think… you’re too nice—” your voice is low, enough that no one could possibly hear what you’re saying from outside the room. “—and no one can possibly be that sweet and innocent.”
no one can hear you except for him.
he’s still wiping at his shirt when he glares at you.
“y’know, that’s really not appropriate for you to say to me.” that… mean edge to his voice…. you’ve never heard it before…
“besides… who said I was innocent?”
now it’s your turn to double take.
could he finally be really, truly provoked? the thought goes straight between your thighs and you clench them together.
there’s only one way to find out.
“yeah, but it’s not like you’re going to do anything about it,” you quip. “i can say whatever i want to you and it doesn’t matter. like how i bet you write creepy gooner hero smut in your free time. what else could those stupid notebooks be for?” it’s a low blow but you don’t care anymore.
“come on,” he scoffs, voice steely, “that’s enough.”
the bell signaling the change in the schedule sounds and you push yourself off his desk and towards the door. you can hear the clatter of footsteps clambering towards you down the hallway.
pausing in the doorway, you smirk at him over your shoulder.
“you’re probably a stalker or something. maybe… are you a panty thief, is that it? or do you have a shrine to your waifu that you have to jerk off to every night before you can fall asleep?”
his face is set in anger when bursts to his feet, takes a step towards you like he means to grab you—
alas, saved by the bell; it’s at this moment that the first of his students begin to trickle into the classroom.
you plaster on an innocent smile and nod to them as the greet you, waving at izuku with sickening sweetness.
if looks could kill.
“thank you so much, mr. midoriya! i gained a lot of helpful insights from our discussion today!” you gush, hands clasped in front of you.
his jaw ticks. you can see his fingers are gripped tightly at his side, but just as fast as he clenched the fist, he relaxes it. quickly smoothes his features into a cheery grin to match yours.
“me too! we’ll have to finish up another time.”
it’s not missed on you, the thinly veiled threat: i am not done with you. this is not over.
you teeter back to your classroom with wobbly knees and slicked panties.
٠࣪⭑
early that evening, yagi stops you on your way out the door.
he jogs up when you stop and turn, grinning. “i just wanted to tell you how amazing it’s been to have you on the staff!”
you blush and wave your hands, smile creeping onto your face. “thank you, that’s very kind.”
“it seems like everyone has really warmed up to you, especially young midoriya—" you feel your eye twitch as he keeps talking, the smile on your face turning forced, “—think it would be a great idea for you to join some of the other teachers for dinner tonight!”
huh??? how did we get here?
“oh… er—i don’t know if i can…” you start, but he stops you.
“i see, you have other plans?”
you sigh and shake your head. “no, but—“
he laughs, “then i insist! it will be great for team building!” and steers you down the street, in the direction of a restaurant you know is frequented by ua staff, although you yourself have never been.
this is how you find yourself squeezed into a too-small booth, yagi on your right and izuku on your left, sandwiched between you and the wall. aizawa, yamada, and a couple of teachers you don’t know very well sit across the table.
the left side of your leg is searing where it’s pressed to his. he’s been avoiding interactions with you as much as possible tonight, although every time he reaches in front of you, you feel him tense.
this close proximity is almost too much to handle. the smell of his shampoo wafts towards you every time he turns his head and you feel like a something from a cartoon, drifting away on the scent wave.
yamada is telling a long-winded story, while a disgruntled looking aizawa chimes in occasionally. izuku seems enraptured, laughing and asking questions right on cue. if he wasn’t so genuine, you’d think he’s sucking up.
all his focus is directed on yamada and it strikes you that this is a golden opportunity.
you bite your lip to stop from smirking with glee, and glance down to see that the hem of the tablecloth falls… perfectly, right where you want it. izuku is leaning forward, the length of his waist concealed beneath the table, and the way your hands are clasped in your lap right now, they are too.
no one notices when you creep your hand forward along the edge of the booth seat, sliding it over his leg and squeezing.
no one except izuku, of course.
his eyes dart to your face immediately, but his expression gives nothing away, and he looks away just as fast.
alright, you’ll bite.
you crawl your fingers higher up his thigh, slipping them momentarily into his pocket and yanking at it. his leg twitches then, like he’s trying to shake you off, but you persist.
when you finally grope at his dick, it’s already more than halfway hard, and you can’t help your smirk now.
suddenly, izuku grips your wrist and coughs loudly. he turns to you and his expression is still guarded but his eyes are blazing.
“do you want to go smoke?” he asks abruptly.
“i don’t—" you start, but it doesn’t matter because he’s standing and shuffling you out past yagi, following closely at your back.
he’s practically shoving you, turning over his shoulder to say, “we’ll be right back, just going to have a quick smoke.”
yagi watches you leave with a knowing stare, but yamada looks confused, asking, “when did you start smo—" before he’s swiftly kicked under the table and shuts his mouth with a clack of his teeth.
outside, izuku is dragging you down the street, hand gripping your wrist.
you stumble to keep up with his frustrated stomp, calling, “h-hey, where are we going?”
he doesn’t look back, gritting his teeth when he says, “i live close by.”
the rest of the short, silent walk is laced with discomfort. when you reach his apartment, you wait awkwardly as he fumbles for his key and then finally shoves the door open and you inside.
it’s cute, if not small. hero merch is intermixed with regular decor, which is unsurprising. he has a turntable and a stack of records beside it; there’s quite a few plants in pots on the windowsill. he has a small futon, a table to eat at, and a counter that connects to the kitchen. papers litter both surfaces, some in neat little piles and some strewn haphazardly. there's a hallway and you assume it leads to a bathroom and his bedroom.
it’s very sweet, very him. smells like him, too, and you take a deep breath.
when you turn away from the apartment, you see izuku standing by his closed front door, arms crossed, looking furious.
right; you’d almost forgotten why you’re here.
“what the hell was that?” his tone is so angry it shocks you, but you shrug, feigning innocence.
“i was just messing around.”
he grips at his hair in frustration and starts pacing, muttering, “that is not messing around, i can’t believe you would do that in front of my mentors, in public. what if someone had seen you?”
you shrug again, and he sucks at his teeth. “i don’t know, but they didn’t, so does it really matter?”
“yes! it matters, you’ve been absolutely out of control lately and i knew there was something up with you, but this—it’s crossing a line, do you seriously want my attention that badly?” his words sting a little bit. did you want his attention that badly?
no, it was more like you needed it, craved it, couldn’t get enough of his attention.
“please,” you snort. “i don’t need the attention of someone who’s beneath me.”
“you don’t seriously feel that way,” he states, but it almost sounds like a question.
“why on earth,” you exclaim, “would i want attention from someone like you?”
his pacing ceases now, and he comes to you where you stand, taking your wrists in his hands and looking hard at your face.
“i don’t think you mean that,” he says, and you squirm in his grip, trying to tug your wrists back. he holds you firmly but gently, gaze imploring.
“fuck off!” you bark, still squirming, and he groans in frustration.
“you’re such a liar! jesus, your so full of shit i doubt even you know what’s true and what’s not! anything going on up here?” he lets go of your wrist to flick at your forehead and the action makes you—embarrassingly—gasp, pupils widening and cheeks flushing.
swallowing thickly, you see some sort of recognition dawning on his face.
“this whole time," he starts slowly, intentionally, "i’ve been trying to be nice to you. even when you act like such a brat,” his eyes trail down your body and back up to yours, sending a shiver down your spine.
“especially then... but you like it more when i’m mean, don’t you?”
your mouth falls open in surprise and you can’t help the way your thighs clench slightly.
always watchful, always noticing, he actually laughs out loud at the effect his words have. it’s a short, barked laugh, bursting forth like he wasn’t expecting it.
he’s studying you now, like you’re a specimen to be uncovered, finger tapping against his lips as he purses them.
“that’s definitely it,” he muses. a mischievous twinkle appears in his eye now, and you’re not sure what to make of it.
“i thought girls liked it when the boys they’re into are nice to them? you must be some kind of freak, then,” he ponders, crowding your space and lowering his face to yours, so he can look at you squarely.
“stupid deku, m’not into you. don’t be ridiculous.”
“izuku,” he demands.
“i-what?”
“that’s what i want you to call me.”
“i—uhhm.. okay…”
the prospect of using his first name feels so intimate.
you turn the name around and around in your head, weighing out how it would feel to say, tasting it.
izuku.
“izuku,” you whisper it, testing it out; admittedly, it feels… right.
in front of you, his pupils blow wide at the sound. his throat bobs, and he murmurs, “yeah,” like he’s been waiting to hear it.
at once, you feel overwhelmed.
“okay, well, izuku, i don’t even know where you got that idea.” the delicate moment breaks, and he scowls. “i don’t like you, so don’t get confused.”
you’re a liar.
you know it, he knows it.
there’s very little leg for you to stand on, and it’s reduced to nothing when he abruptly cups your sex, thumb and index teasing at your soaked panties, pulling and twisting the fabric. you shiver at the contact.
they’re dripping, clearly disproving your claim. he sucks in a breath and gives you an exasperated look, like he’s disappointed.
you look away, moving to step back, but he follows you, backing you up until you hit the countertop, nowhere else to run to.
his face morphs into mock concern when he looks down at his fingers, then back at your face; voice is low and laced with condescension when he leans close to your ear and says, “did someone tell her that?”
you balk. “w-what? what?”
he’s shaking his head, like he’s talking to no one in particular. “hmmm. yeah, it’s like i thought, i don’t think she knows that you don’t like me. and clearly—" he nudges the slick undies to the side and teases the fingers through your folds, pinching your clit. a wide smirk curls his lip when you gasp. “—she’s the one who’s making all your decisions right now.”
he’s making it harder to keep up with the game that you yourself set into motion; it’s just that right now, he’s so much better at playing than you.
“d-don’t—“ you splutter, losing your train of thought for just a second as he continues to toy with you, “don’t be-ahhh—" slipping two fingers inside, curving against that one soft spot that makes your toes clench, “—gross!”
“when are you going to give up?” he sneers, “this is just embarrassing for you. you keep trying to act tough but i can feel you twitching around my fingers.”
you are twitching, your pussy constricting and contracting as he pumps in and out, prodding at the soft walls of flesh to see how they react.
it’s not long before you’re gasping for air as you cling to his arm. your orgasm strikes through your body with a jolt, sudden and completely unexpected.
he slides his digits out of your cunt, studying them before holding them up for you to see.
“just look how much she likes me, huh?”
taps your mouth with a murmured here, have a taste; your tongue darts out to trace his fingertips. they’re sweet.
he slides them in his own mouth, then, relishing the flavor.
“sweet,” he mutters, “tastes good.”
he’s ushering you into his bedroom after that, steering you through his apartment as you lean back into him in slight resistance. soon, though, you’re seated at the edge of the bed; attempting to unbutton his shirt with rushed, sloppy movements, hands shaking.
“are you… nervous?” his voice is velvet in your ear. “see, i thought this was nothing, so why are you nervous if i’m so beneath you?”
“shut up!” you squeak. “i’m not.” he tuts, but doesn’t say more.
still, he takes a little pity on you, quickly ridding you of the rest of your clothes before slipping out of his own.
the sight is… well, all your theories about his physique are proven true; a smattering of scars and freckles splash across his well worked body, strong and solid with training. you train your eyes lower and your eyebrows shoot to your hairline; he’s thick, long, veiny, and so hard it must be painful.
he catches your staring, but still says nothing; just lets you drink in the view.
when he hoists himself over you, nudging your legs apart with his knees, there’s something intense in the way his eyes devour your form. everywhere he looks, your skin feels like it’s burning.
it makes you feel shy, vulnerable.
makes you wanna lash out, the only way you know how to deal with overwhelming emotions like this.
“you’ll probably cum in like thirty seconds,” you taunt quietly, trying to conceal the knocking in your knees.
“oh, like you can talk?” he scoffs, lining himself up with your entrance, fisting his cock with a soft groan. “just shut up, okay? i’ve heard enough of your shit today.”
it’s without warning when he bullies his way into your cunt, splitting you open wide with a grunt. no patience as he buries himself deep, balls slapping against you with a loud clap.
it lights a delicious fire, starting in your core and spreading through your bloodstream like molten lava.
when you gasp, it’s raw, too honest, too revealing.
you clamp your mouth shut tight, practically gritting your teeth to keep the moan bubbling in your chest from leaking out.
he can’t help it when his dick twitches, murmuring a quiet, “i-fuck—“ as he tentatively thrusts, and the sound rings in your ears like the gates of heaven have opened just for you.
he’s not deep enough, and moving so slow.
it’s on purpose, to drag it out, to tease you.
if you didn’t know him, hadn’t come to rely on his annoyingly dependable goodness and kindness and whatever, you’d say he looked pretty scary. there’s a wicked kind of glint in his eye as he licks his upper lip, driving into you into again and again and again.
“stop pretending,” you feel him deeper each thrust, whine and grip at the sheets in what can only be anticipation and frustration, “you don’t want me to fuck you like a whore.”
the words practically sizzle against your skin. he presses a hand against your lower belly and you groan—
that’s when he pulls out all the way, fast, and you can’t help the little gasp that tumbles out of you at the loss of sensation, at the sudden emptiness.
the sting is surprising; your heart sinks at the separation and you try to scoot forward, closer, but he stops you, hands on your thighs.
leaning back on his heels, he surveys you beneath him, all splayed out and panting; sucks in a breath as your eyes dart over his body and linger on his dick, resting heavy between his abdomen and your belly. pre is pearling down his tip, which is bulbous, red, angry looking. the sight makes your legs twitch involuntarily.
“awww,” he coos, mocking you with a pout. “are you missing my cock already?” he feigns checking a watch that isn’t there. “seems like i lasted longer than your… prediction, which makes you wrong. that’s a shame.”
you drag your eyes away, trying to look anywhere but him and failing miserably as he catches them anyway. embarrassment burns your face, only made more apparent by the way your body is practically vibrating with wanton desire.
you let out a breathy sound that’s meant to be a huff of frustration and he can’t help but laugh, savoring the way your gaze flits nervously over his features.
“already keening like a needy little bitch in heat, hm?”
the words are mean… since when does izuku talk like this?
so…. so condescending, so degrading.
your cunt flutters around nothing, slick arousal trailing down your ass and making the sheets all sticky.
he leans forward, until his face is right above yours and he’s peering straight down at you.
the look he gives is withering.
it sends your heart pounding in your chest, makes you feel all nervous and shy, makes you squirm in discomfort, wishing he would train those intense eyes somewhere other than your face.
“you’re always picking stupid fights expecting me to just sit there and take it.” he mutters, almost to himself, “never thinking about how i feel.” he’s held up by his elbows now as he shifts his weight and presses down, pinning you in place with his hips. you feel his tip graze at your clit and whimper.
“izuku, i—“
he interrupts you by mercifully slipping back into you, planting a placating and somehow condescending peck on your lips.
it says, you be quiet now, it’s my turn to talk.
“now,” he huffs, emphasizing each word with a snap of his hips,
“-who’s-” snap!
“-gonna-” snap!
“-take-” snap!
“-it.” snap!
the pace is steady now, and brutal, as he leans forward and angles himself to reach even deeper.
one hand tugs your hair and forces your head back, exposing your neck. his tongue lashes out and sweeps at the trail of drool that slips past your lips and dribbles onto your chin, before he drags the same hand to your face and squeezes the hollows of your cheeks; it forces your mouth open and he spits, your saliva mixing with his and slipping down the back of your tongue.
a moan resonates deep in your chest.
“now swallow it.”
izuku watches you hungrily as you comply, licks and bites at your throat like he just can’t help himself.
“maybe i’ll put that in my next gooner porno, you think?” he chuckles, albeit breathily.
you say nothing. there’s a floaty feeling in your head and it’s starting to spread down your body, making every sensation feel heightened to the point that saying words feels like it would be a real challenge.
“finish writing it after this, before i jerk off to my waifu? that’s what you said, isn’t it?” you stay silent still as the tips of your fingers start to go numb.
but there’s no slacking off for you, as he pats your cheek to get your attention. you know he can be gentler, when he grips at your face, making you look at him; but you can’t say you mind the roughness.
“that is what you said?” he snarls, and through the fog you realize he’s really asking you, likely expects some sort of response. blinking up at him, you try to will your brain to catch up; to say something, do something other than grip and paw at his arms like they’re a lifeline as he fucks you dumb.
he clicks his teeth, disappointed.
“it’s simple, honey. it’s yes —” he nods your head, still gripping your cheeks, “or no—” now he shakes it side to side.
your eyes are a little watery when you manage to nod on your own, and he lets you go, waits for your answer.
“yes,” you admit, trying hard to focus.
“yes what?”
“yes,” you whimper, “that’s what i said.”
izuku speaks with a voice dipped in sugar when he says, “wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?”
“y-yeah, i-i mean, wait, no—?"
“too fucked out to think straight, huh?” he coos, pinching your cheek.
he’s driving his cock into you at a punishing pace and you’re all hiccoughing gasps and moans, “please don’t stop, i’m so close m’gonna cum—" when he falters.
“what was that?”
izuku, thank goodness, doesn’t pull out of you again like he did before, but his hips slow to a grind, then one slow, deep thrust in and he stills. the weight of him is suffocating. you’re so close that tears well in your eyes again, but he keeps you teetering on the edge.
there’s an incredulous look on his face.
“you think you deserve to cum again? you haven’t even apologized, or anything.”
“i—p-please, i—"
he shakes his head.
“you really don’t get it, do you? why i put up with it? i—don’t... don’t you feel it?”
your heart is racing, and from the way your bodies are pressed together you can feel izuku’s thrum in his chest too, keeping time.
your noses are inches apart, and he looks at you with desperation, like he needs you to understand. you want to, but you don’t, can’t quite make sense of what he’s getting at.
“f-feel what?”
“feel how much i like you. how much i want you.”
he presses a hand to your abdomen and forces you to be aware: you can feel it, feel him. right where he belongs.
“i’ve wanted this— wanted you, ever since the first time i saw you. talked to you,” he swallows thickly, “heard your voice, smelled your skin.”
this revelation, of izuku’s feelings for you, make your head spin and pussy clamp down hard. he gasps, ruts into you involuntarily.
it’s with shaky control that he takes a deep, grounding breath, like he’s reminding himself how.
“before i keep going—" you whine and try and buck your hips to get a little friction, but he holds you fast. “—before i keep going, you have to admit that you like me too.”
he’s not talking down to you now, he’s asking. asking you to let down your guard, just for a second.
it all seems so obvious, then. maybe the games you and izuku have been playing are more similar than you thought.
your words all drenched in venom, his in honey, both begging: please, just surrender to me so i can surrender to you, too.
each desperately wanting the other to stop the game and get real; each dancing around it anyway, too scared to be the first.
the final hand has been played now, with this. his cards are all laid out for you to see, and now it’s your turn.
it proves what you’ve known deep down, that he’s always gonna take care with you. that he really is better, kinder, sweeter than you, going first like this.
he won’t hold it against you, though. not when your pussy is squeezing him like a vice, not when he can practically hear colors and taste sounds, high on the heady feeling of you squirming and boneless beneath him.
green eyes are soft as he leans down and noses at your temple.
“go on, tell the truth.”
his hair tickles as it brushes against your face. he smells so damn good. you can’t help but nip at his jaw in frustration. he tastes good, too.
“yeah,” you choke, finally giving in. “yes, i do. like you.”
being honest feels so good, you can’t stop the words from flowing now, “i really like you. i-i want you so badly it—it hurts. i can’t help… it makes me…. i feel crazy, and like… i can’t breathe, and—”
and then he finally kisses you, all teeth gnashing and tongues dancing. a hand comes up to cup your face, almost gingerly.
when he starts to move again, it’s slow and sticky.
rich sounds of sex fill the room: the squelching of him drawing in and out, the smack of skin against skin, the slight creak of the bed beneath you as he fucks you into it.
both of your heaving breaths, coating the air, making it feel heavier somehow.
the little sounds of pleasure being torn from your mouths.
“j-just—hah—one more thing,” he murmurs, voice wavering.
“okay,” you purr, expecting some other pointed question, maybe even another heartfelt confession.
“i think we can both agree that sexually harassing your coworker because you like him—“
“izuku!“
“—makes you more of a perverted freak than i am,” he muses, ignoring your protest completely.
he’s teasing again, but it isn’t quite the same as before; you can hear the smile in his tone.
“i’m… sor-sorry—ahhh—" your senses are being kicked into overdrive and you feel the brain fog starting to return, making everything feel saccharine and slow.
“now say it.”
huh? what did he mean?
“i-izuku, i said m’sorry—“
“i want you to say it.”
it takes a second to realize what he’s demanding, and you huff. he’s so mean, he doesn’t let you get away with anything.
despite feeling raw and exposed, pinned sniffling beneath him with a wobbly lip, you admit, “fine. i’m the freak, a-and pervert, and the other stuff. okay?”
he pretends to think about your words, as if he’s mulling them over, deciding if they’re enough for you to get what you want.
cocky bastard.
“yeah, okay,” he agrees, and lavishes you with another kiss, a tasty reward for your compliance.
a familiar sensation starts to build, feelings of pleasure coiling tight in your gut.
“wanna cum, izuku, please.”
“okay,” he pants again, and increases his pace, hand finding your clit and circling it with his thumb. you feel so good, so full. he’s fucking you with intention, grinding into your hips with each thrust.
it’s clear by the breathy moans and cries of your name that tumble from his lips that he’s close, too, and you lift your head to attach your mouth to his neck, whimpering into the sweaty skin like a prayer,
izukuizukuizuku.
"i-inside?" he gasps, and you nod into him. the same floaty feeling from before surrounds you now, and the wave that’s been building finally crests, then breaks, your orgasm rippling through your body and taking izuku’s with it.
a flash of his hips and you can feel the hot ropes of cum he fucks into you as you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, before he finally stutters to a stop, heaving.
sheathed inside, his lips find yours with urgency, like he needs to kiss you the way he way he needs oxygen. you kiss like that for a moment, before you pull away to suck in a much needed breath.
he gently slides out of you and collapses by your side, mouthing at your neck softly as his hand cups your cheek, yours reaching up to curl around it.
for a moment, you both just breathe in the silence, before he smiles and pokes your cheek. “i knew i was right, i had a hunch after you said i was annoying—"
“oh, shut it,” you laugh, swatting at his finger. “you sure waited a while to put me out of my misery.” he smiles, pulling you closer and planting a kiss on your head.
“yeah, it’s just so fun to watch you squirm.”
you huff in fabricated annoyance and mumble, “yeah, yeah.”
you ponder for a moment, then laugh and say “‘do you want to go smoke?’ that’s really the best you had?”
izuku reddens, defending himself, “hey! it’s all i could think of, okay?”
you turn to face him and tug on a curl. he nuzzles your cheek affectionately.
“they know we’re not coming back, right?” you ask, and he rolls his eyes, snorting.
“yeahhh, i'm pretty sure they know.”
٠࣪⭑ a/n: if you made it to the end, thank you!! let me know if you would be interested in a part 2, i have a couple of ideas in the works. as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated!
taglist :3 @shotorizawa @bweasleyy
(let me know if you would like to be added!)
when there's a lack of boundaries between you and puppy hybrid! bsf (18+)
the two of you are the biggest scandal around. many, if not most of the male hybrids on campus think it'd be fruitless to court you, and the females to court him, since the two of you seem to be a mated pair.
you have the scent of puppy all over your skin, while he has faint bunny teeth marks dotting his collarbones and throat, dangerously close to his mating gland. you have matching ones on the soft parts of your body; your hips, thighs... breasts... ass. in a platonic way of course.
the tall, floppy eared puppy hybrid trails after you like he's on a leash you're holding. he's so obsessed with his sweet bunny best friend, all warm skin and soft thighs covered in skimpy things like sheer tights or mini skirts with your bunny tail twitching right above your pert ass.
the only reason he can get away with touching you as much as he does is because you're so clueless and needy. instead of wondering why your little panties get damp spots in them when he licks and bites you, all you can think about is straddling his lap and bouncing on him.
you're always in his lap.
Sometimes you're just buzzing with excitement about a quiz you think you aced, and you throws yourself onto him without noticing the way his arms lock around your waist territorially. beyond being possessive, pup also has to hold you and himself still because otherwise, he might rut up into you like an animal, or sniff behind your floppy ears and hump you right there in the quad.
he thinks about it, a lot. what it would be like to frot with his pretty bunny, but he doesn’t do it because you're best friends. you just think he's sweet and affectionate in the puppies usually are, not realizing how his tail wags uncontrollably only for you and that when you're tangled up with him too long he runs to the bathroom for fifteen minutes not for a pee break but because his cock's gotten so wet and swollen that he can't last much longer without creaming all over you.
but then again, you're just as bad. you make a wet, gooey mess all over yourself whenever he grabs you by the hips when you're cuddling, and you get sooo warm and flushed all over when he pins you down in mock fights, tail wagging, tongue out, teeth grazing your skin to hold himself back from biting and breeding.
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
your dorm seems to be way hotter than it needs to be. puppy's shirt is off, thrown somewhere under your desk, and his tail flicks back and forth behind him while you lay on top of him in bed, boobs squished to his face while you read your new book. your skirt's all bunched up and your thighs are bare and squishy where they press against him.
“you're so warm,” he mumbles, nose scrunching, glossy eyes blinking up at you.
“you’re the one who wanted me to sit here,” you pout in return, cheeks flushed. his hands are splayed on the outside of your thighs, rubbing over your skin back and forth. it's a tickly feeling that makes you wriggle on him a little to escape the sensation.
whenever you move on top of him, your scent spikes and it punches right into his senses. he groans and tugs you down on top of him to bury his face into your neck. “no squirming,” he pants, tongue peeking past his canines.
“why?" you tilt your head, bunny ears flopping to the side. "y'acting weird,” you say, petting his hair absently.
he mumbles something into your skin, licking once. “you smell like you’re gonna go into heat and it's making me react weird.” he growls, finally lifting his head, eyes wet and wide. he's panting. “you reek, bun. can smell y'pussy."
your thighs squeeze around his hips automatically, your whole body suddenly trembling. “don’t say that,” you whisper shyly, your voice high and scandalized, bunny tail twitching in little jerks behind you. your little nose wrinkles. “…you smell worse. i can’t even think when you smell like that.”
"stop," he yips, tail flicking frantically. “can't control it, been trying so hard not to jump you, i swear,”
“...you have..?” you ask curiously, looking down at him. he looks so genuinely desperate it’s embarrassing. he whines and gets warm in the cheeks, squeezing you against him tighter. he nods weakly.
"i have to hold back too," you mumble into his neck after a beat. you’re embarrassed to admit it because your thighs are sticky and your hips are grinding down into his lap in tiny, unconscious movements.
“you do?” he breathes. his ears twitch and flop down heavy against his head. “you hold back?”
you nod against his skin, cheeks burning. “when you pin me down or grab me like that, it makes my head go all fuzzy. i-i don’t know, mmm... just wanna… wanna rub on you or something."
the minute you admit the truth, he begins frantically nosing at your throat, nipping it, sucking, with a low, excited moans. you squeal, hips twitching up against him instinctively. “what’re you doing?”
“you said you wanted it!” he cries out, humping up into you once and nearly sobbing when the friction makes his ears twitch. “can’t help it. y'smell so, fuck, you smell so sweet, bun, wanna eat you.” his nose twitches and he’s panting again. his hands cup under your thighs, squeezing. his cock is throbbing.
"oh god," he moans, rutting into. his lips are sticky and swollen from biting them so hard. "ngh fuuuck i do this to m'pillow, bun. i think about you and i hump it,"
“pup!” you squeak, scandalized, but you don’t pull away. your hips match the slow, desperate rut of his under you, and despite there being barely any friction through your underwear, your cunt is soaked, and you can feel the outline of him right beneath your core. his cock is hot and throbbing with every grind.
“i hump it and pretend it’s you,” he gasps, squeezing your thighs tighter. his ears are flattened down, floppy against his flushed cheeks, and his whole body is shuddering beneath you. “i wrap your hoodie around it and press my face to your scent- nghh, i get it wet, just like this,” he sits up suddenly, arms wrapping tight around your waist and caging you in his lap. his forehead presses to yours. "bun... need, need, mmf-"
-is the last thing he mumbles out before he leans forward to capture his lips with yours. it's so messy and nasty. pup's tongue is huge and drooly and because he's so eager to finally finally have his lips on yours, he just ends up slobbering you because he's so excited. he bites on your lower lip, and you gasp into his in response, tugging on his hair sharp enough to make him yowl with pleasure.
he grabs yours hips and drags you down hard into his lap, mouth still locked with yours. his tongue rolls over yours when you moan again and grind back. he's panting into your mouth at the way your plump pussy grinds into his cock through your clothes. both of you are soaked, slick and pre leaking between the two of you to make squelching noises every time you rock down and he pushes up.
your mouth is glossy and swollen, coated in spit that clings in strings whenever he pulls back to breathe before diving right back in, tongue first, like a dog.
“stop,” he groans against your lips, licking into your mouth. “stop moving like that, i'm gonna- fuck! i’m gonna cum bun,"
“i know, want it s'bad,” you moan loudly, rolling your hips sloooow over his clothed cock, rubbing your folds over every single inch. his head lolls back stupidly.
“oh f-fuck,” he moans, thrusting against you again, the head of his cock sliding under the slick cotton of your panties with a disgusting wet sound. the bed creaks underneath you as he rocks, rocks, rocks into you.
pup sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder, almost on your mating gland but barely holding back just before he permanently bonds you with him. both your glands have been seeping oil since he's started, opening up eagerly and hoping to be claimed. it's taking all of him not to do it. his cock presses tight and hot against the swell of your cunt through your soaked panties, and you keen, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer overload.
“gonna -shit- cum,” he pants, tongue hanging out to kiss the reddening bite mark he just left. “bun, i’m gonna come, gonna make a mess,”
you whimper and rub harder against him, cunt soaking through your thin panties and onto his boxers, until there’s a huge dark patch under your pussy. "y-you can!" you cry, face buried in his neck. “i want it, nnghhh fuck! want you, pup!”
he lets out this helpless, whimpering moan and then he grabs you by the hips, pulling you down hard just as he jerks up. his whole body locks up as his cock pulses hot and hard under you. your thighs become so sticky with slick as you start to cum with him, little cotton tail getting wet and sticky as your mixed juices start to drip down your skin, pooling in the dips where your thighs meet your ass.
he holds you there, panting through his teeth as his cock twitches repeatedly with more of his cream splurting out each time, staining both your underwear with thick, warm loads that don’t stop.
came back from the dead because genshin dropped this absolute HUNK of a man…
wriothesley x fem!reader
tags: morning sex, somnophilia, slight degradation and breeding kink, porn without plot basically, drabble (wrote in like 1.5 hrs so spare me.), abrupt ending bc i got lazy :)
CONT UNDER THE CUT
୨⎯ "morning, babe" ⎯୧
wriothesley and you were snuggled up in bed as the morning sun filters through your slightly translucent beige curtains. he grunts as he stirs away, pulling you closer to him by the waist with your back pressed up against his chest as the both of you slept on your sides. with his head buried into your shoulder, he attempts to go back to sleep once more but to no avail. a sigh escapes his lips as his eyes opened sharply.
you were still asleep, your face all soft as gentle and steady breaths escapes from your nose. he kisses your neck gently. he then gazes at your figure and he almost cusses out loud. his eyes rakes over your body — your tank top strap slid off your shoulders as you slept, the hem of your shirt crumpled up which revealed your midriff. not to mention how your cotton shorts has ridden up your hips, exposing the blue fabric of your panties. you were so tempting even while you remained asleep.
he groans and he wraps his arms around your bare midriff, tilting his head to look over your shoulders. your chest threatens to spill out of your ridiculously small top. blood rushes through his muscular body and he feels himself growing hard.
“baby,” he whispers with a voice deeper than usual as he began leaving kisses all over your neck. his arm that was around your waist slips under your shirt to rest on your breast. he squeezes gently before he massages them a little, his finger brushing over your hardening nipples before pinching them softly.
you shift a little but you still do not wake, so he continues. your tank top was loose enough for him to pull the straps down to reveal your tits fully and he almost drools at the sight. it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you naked before, but having you so unaware and innocent looking while you slept had unlocked this bit of primal feeling deep inside him. he then reaches for the bottom of your shorts, pushing it to the side along with your panties. the rough pads of his fingers rubs gentle circles against your clit slowly. you begin to grow wet at his ministrations, soft whines and whimpers escaping you as you remained asleep.
“baby,” he says a little louder this time to wake you but you don’t respond.
he proceeds anyways, using his finger to trace your slit up and down, spreading your juices around to make sure that you were wet enough before he slipped his middle finger in. he does so slowly, burying his finger inside before he started to gently stroke your insides. your whines turn into moans. he watches for any signs of discomfort as he fingers you gently. his cock twitches in the confines of his boxers and he grunts. he begins to grind his hard cock against your ass and he watches you closely for any signs of discomfort. when he sees none, he adds his ring finger and the stretch of it stirs you awake.
“mmh—! w-wrio..?” you mumbled drowsily as your eyes widened quickly at the sensation of his fingers inside of you. he quickens his pace when you wake up and a loud whimper escapes you. you could feel the shape of him throbbing against you as he grind into your ass.
“morning, babe,” he whispers seductively into your ear which sent shivers down your spine. “sorry, i couldn’t help myself… you don’t mind, right?”
“n-no…” you reply softly.
“good girl,” he hums as he suddenly quickens the pace roughly, thrusting his fingers deeper and you let out a guttural moan.
he chuckles as he rests his head on your shoulder and he pulls out his fingers abruptly. you begin to whine but he holds his hand up to your mouth.
“clean it for me, won’t you?” you feel him smirk into your neck as he leaves marks all over and you comply with his request. you feel yourself grow needier as your juices began to leak from your empty pussy and you whined, pleading him mentally to start fucking you already.
he finally frees his cock from his boxers, pre-cum leaking all over his tip as he rubs his cock against your slit up and down teasingly. a soft groan leaves his throat at how sensitive he was from waiting for you to wake up. you pull his fingers out from your mouth and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. he grabs your cheek harshly to tilt your head towards him.
“did i say you could stop sucking?” he asks sternly as his eyes meets yours.
“n-no… i just thought…” you trailed off as you looked away. “i-i’m sorry…”
“hm, i’ll forgive you just this once,” he says as he lets go of your face. “but still, i’m not going to be gentle…”
“you have no idea… how good you looked when you were sleeping,” he groans before he sinks his cock into your tight and warm hole from behind. “fuck, you’re so tight baby…”
his cock is thick and long, no matter how many times he had fucked you, you still never got used to it. it throbs against your sweet spot as he bottoms out, the veins along his cock providing you with even more pleasure as he starts thrusting at a harsh pace. sounds of pleasure escape from the both of you, filling up the room. the slaps from his heavy balls echoes through your head. with each thrust all you could think about was how good he felt. your hole wraps around him tightly and he lets out a low moan as he fucks you desperately. his hand wraps around your neck and you keen into him.
“fuck yeah, you liked getting choked don’t you?” he murmurs into your ears with a husky voice. “yeah? you like that?”
you try to reply but you can’t even think of forming a coherent sentence so you settle for fervent nods of bliss.
“can’t—“ he hisses as he feels you tighten around him more. “can’t reply already? have i already fucked you dumb hm? fuck fuck, such a tight pussy… gonna milk me dry…”
he peers over your shoulders to see the way your tits bounced as he thrusts harder and harder into you. at this point, your moans were morphing into screams of pleasure. yeah, your neighbours definitely hated the both of you. he just couldn’t help himself, especially not when your breasts bounced so vulgarly, as your face contorts in pleasure with drool threatening to spill out of your mouth. he starts to pull out almost all the way before slamming back into you roughly and your eyes roll back in pleasure as he hits your g-spot with so much force.
“aw, look at that…” he groans, “drooling already… fuck, you’re so fucking sexy… god…” you feel him losing himself to pleasure as well as he rambled. “shit— shit! so tight… so tight for such a slut like you… letting me fuck you awake, huh? yeah? you love my cock, don’t you? cock-hungry whore…!”
you nod as moans and screams were all you could muster and he squeezes your neck harder. “use your fucking words,” he commands.
“a-ah~ y-yes yes yes,” you chanted as your climax approaches you.
“you’d let me wake you up like this everyday right? fuck,” his moans gets louder as his cock twitches inside, signaling that he was close as well. “fu-fuck you awake and empty out my balls into your tight cunt?”
“yes, yes..!”
“gods..!” he exclaimed as his moans began pouring out frequently along with yours. his hips stutter as your cunt wraps around him impossibility tight, almost like you were trying to suffocate his cock.
“w-wrio~! gonna— gonna cum..!” you whined.
“c-cum then,” he hissed. “cum for me yea? cum all over this cock, you know you want to…”
“go on,” he groans. “cum, cum..! cum for me— cum with me fuck… i-i’m gonna cum inside yea? you want that right?” he whispers urgently, almost as if he was begging for you to let him cum inside.
you nodded desperately as your pleasure peaks first, chanting his name like a mantra as you squeezed even tighter around him. he continues thrusting to chase his own high, and he rides out your climax too long. your whines of protest falls on death ears.
“you can take it… a-a little bit more,” he pants. “gonna cum… gonna cum so hard inside, fuck baby!”
he moans as he shoots thick ropes of cum into you, his cock twitching almost non-stop as he empties his swollen balls inside. he slows his thrusts to a stop, his cock softening inside of you as he doesn’t pull out yet, making sure that he shoots every last drop in you. you shivered.
“s-so full..!” you whined with a twitch as his warm cum finishes filling you up. he chuckles at your words before pulling you closer.
“but you like it yea? when i fuck you so hard and i breed you? stuff you full with my cock and cum?” he asks softly, a teasing tone seeping through his words.
“y-yeah..” you mumbled tiredly. he finally pulls out slowly and his cum leaks out a little. he uses his fingers to push it back in and you whined from how sensitive you are.
“now now, don’t waste it… if not i’d have to fill you up again,” he chides you— but he doesn’t mean it. he doesn’t mind breeding you over and over again and you don’t either.
“s-sensitive~!” you complained and he simply chuckles.
“shh… go back to sleep,” he ignored you as he used his fingers to plug you up. “we’ll clean you up once you rest alright?”
warnings: yandere, dub-con, penetration, coming inside, unprotected, undertones of misogyny, toxic parents, manipulation and gaslighting, obsessive, paranoid, and possessive behavior, toxic mindset, coerced submission, getting walked into, bribing, murder, torture, self-doubt and insecurities (mc), arranged marriage, implied financial insecurity, implied virginity (mc & childe), spoilers for tartaglia’s story/lore, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unreliable narration (at times). ask to tag.
pairing: afab! fem! reader (bottom) x childe (top)
word count: 13.3k
a/n: ahhh; hopefully this is good >_< i love him so much… after almost a year, ‘tis done ^_^
— 18+
Childe is horrified and incredibly angered, if not down right homicidal, when he finds out your parents planned to have you engaged to a no-name Fatui henchman, it’s only a further blow to his already weakened heart when the news don’t come from you nor your family but from the loud mouths of your “soon to be fiancé” and his goons. His blue eyes widen and he feels himself grow lightheaded, his stomach feels like it’s turning itself inside out and, oh Celestia, he thinks he’s going to puke.
While perhaps not the most befitting behavior for a Harbinger, Ajax couldn’t help but eavesdrop when he had first heard the mention of your name and while he’s extremely glad he did, - he’s silently thanking the Tsaritsa for telling him now so he could do something - he almost wishes he didn’t as he’s now forced to go back to his office and wordlessly deal with the intrusive thoughts racing through his head.
All he can think about are the countless pinky promises you’d both made to each other during your childhood, the coos of both of your parents when they had first heard him declare his love for you, the feeling of your hands against his when you kissed his cheek goodbye before the fateful day he stumbled down the abyss, the way you and only you were the sole thing keeping him together during his time there, the way you sobbed in relief when he first approached you after emerging victorious from hell itself; did those moments mean nothing? Had only he been impacted by them? Had you forgotten his love for you - your love for him?
No, he thought as he marched to his desk, there’s no way - you had to have felt it too, you must have kept those memories deep in your heart as did he. You both were meant to be, childhood sweethearts, one soul in two different bodies, created from the same stars and carved out from the same earth, put into the same world to meet and love each other from your first life to the last. You were his and he was yours, you were one and the same, you were lovers - it was written in the stars and in his very flesh, it was a fact as true as his love for you.
His breathing is ragged and he can’t contain his shaking body, he never should have trusted your parents - they obviously didn’t have your best interest in mind, if they cared about you at all they would have never promised your hand to another, they would’ve realized he, Childe, Tartaglia, Ajax, he was the best man for you.
Granted, they hadn’t heard from good little Ajax for years, not ever since he’d left for the Fatui - he only ever kept consistent correspondence with you and his family - but that’s no excuse, there was no excuse for their actions, they were disgusting pests that were blinded by greed. How much money had they taken to accept such a disgusting agreement? 500,000 Mora? No, that was too cheap… 1,000,000? 2,000,000? More? Maybe it was in the tens of millions, there was no way you were being given away for less, right?
“Ahhh,” the ginger sank in his chair, his trembling hands finding his hair and pulling at the soft strands in frustration, “what do I do now? What should I do? What should I do? Shit… this can’t be happening.”
He wanted to cry and destroy everything. Destroy that man, no… that poor, pathetic excuse of a man that had dared try and stake his claim on you. This wasn’t your fault, there was no way you knew – never once in your letters had you mentioned a lover nor a wedding, you would have told him - would have begged for him to save you - if you did know you must have cried and begged for them to not marry you to that bastard, sobbed as you muttered his - Ajax’s - name like a mantra, begging to be taken by him and finally wed to the true love of your life.
It felt like the world was falling and crushing him alive.
How could they do this to you? How dare they do this to you? To him, to you, to the both of you.
He could just have the man killed, sent on a suicide mission disguised as an essential step for gnosis hunting - maybe even under the pretense of a promotion, he was sure he’d accept anything, he was a no name soldier that would probably be forgotten by the next round of recruitment -, and make your parents go bankrupt, burn their house and have their businesses fail before delivering the final blow of jailing them due to fraud or maybe even executed under claims of treason; the thoughts calmed his rapid heart, if only slightly.
They needed to be taught a lesson, they shouldn’t put their dirty, greedy hands where they didn’t belong.
But no, that’d be too light of a punishment, and there would be so many loose threads - he’d rather be on good terms with your family - if only for you -, could it maybe be a misunderstanding? It could be, right? They were like family to him once, after all, and a part of him hates the idea of them having grown so vile and corrupted, they were supposed to be his in-laws and he’d rather his children have both sets of grandparents. Not to mention, you’d be so sad to see them gone, even if there was a chance they were worth nothing more than dirt.
No, that wouldn’t do, his wife couldn’t be sad - he’d confront them as soon as physically possible, question their actions and propose a better arrangement, and depending on their answer they would become the Fatui’s latest show of loyalty to the Tsaritsa or officially join the perfect future he’d dreamed of with you.
Yes, that’s what he’d do, his shaking heart finally comes to a rest as he begins to plan his trip. If things went south he could easily have his initial plan executed quickly, and while he doesn’t particularly like the idea of having to plan their execution arrangements, justice wasn’t always pleasant.
It’d be alright, surely all of this could be resolved through a mature, adult conversation. And if not, then Childe wasn’t a Harbinger for naught.
It takes him a few days until he’s able to find the time to meet up with your parents, though, honestly, it’s more like barging into your home unannounced and demanding answers. He has a job - a serious job, after all, one that demands his presence and takes true effort and work, unlike that shitty excuse of meat your parents wanted you to marry - and he had matters to attend to – after all forging evidence for a possible execution isn’t easy and he wants to be prepared, it was one of the few times where he wanted to come in with a proper battle plan.
He had it all planned out if things went south, a few reports here, some testimonies there, a lengthy transcript or two, a handful of bank reports, and soon your parents would look like traitors to the crown and be sentenced to public execution.
All he had to do was confront them in person. He wasn’t sure if your parents would be home, he hoped so as to not prolong such a troublesome process any longer, but he was willing to wait. He was getting his answers today, one way or another; he’d free you from this horrid arrangement and whisk you away to give you the life you truly deserved.
Luckily for him, you live in the same neighborhood as you always had, so no time had to be wasted searching for your family’s whereabouts. It had been a long time since he’d had the chance to come back to his childhood neighborhood and he can’t help the giddiness in his heart as he strolls through memory lane while making his way down the streets you two shared a childhood in, it looked almost the same - a few differences here and there like a new house or someone’s place having been renovated, but it felt just like home. His parents had long since moved houses into a fancier side of the city, the money Childe managed to bring home as a Harbinger long since allowing them the luxuries that had once felt impossible, but he almost wishes they hadn’t as he spots your family’s humble abode, his heart longing back to the days of your shared youth.
It’s a two story house, built with strong wood made to resist Snezhnaya’s harshest winters and the cold summers, the roof was made of strong wood and designed so that snow would fall as to not sink, the front yard still held the swing you’d begged your parents for on your tenth birthday, the mailbox was still slightly crooked from the time he had head-butted it when racing you back from the park, the flowerbed still held the same flowers and plants that were able to withstand Snezhnaya’s harsh weather, the tree somehow still seemed to harbor the countless balls you two had gotten stuck there back when you were in your preteens; it was like it had been frozen in time, the only true difference he could spot was your older figure sitting on the front steps looking as if you were waiting for something, maybe someone; maybe him.
His heart stops as do his steps, he’d been so busy the last couple of years he hadn’t been able to pay you a visit in person, he’d had a few soldiers patrol the area before, but nothing could prepare Ajax for the surge of emotions that coursed through his body as he laid eyes on you.
Your body was taller and you had grown into your features, but you were still you - your eyes still shined with the hope and love he’d long since lost while your lips were still as tempting as he remembered. There was no doubt it was you, he’d recognize you anywhere; no matter how much you changed. But you looked sad, your lips downcast, your eyes filled with tears, and your frame hunched over, it was clear you were cold by the shaking of your frame but you didn’t falter - still sitting down with a flimsy blanket wrapped around you as you waited.
The scene made him pick up his pace, he was desperate to reach your side; what had happened? Why did you look so sad? Were you hurt? His men had not informed him of anything happening that would explain the crystal like tears that pooled in your eyes, just the sight was enough to have his blood boiling and fists shaking as he wondered who was responsible for the pain you so openly displayed.
Have you found out about Andrei and your parents’ sins? The thought of them being the reason for your sorrow made him grow dizzy with rage, but the negative feelings can only last so long as he has you in his sights. Your mere presence seemed to lull his emotional heart into a more tranquil state.
“[Y/N]?” Childe asked, he was only a few feet away from you but he didn’t dare walk closer, “Is that you?”
“A-Ajax?” Your eyes widened, hope evident in your voice and it’s like all traces of the previous pain in your face had vanished, “Oh, Ajax!”
You hesitate for a second before breaking into a smile when you realize it really was him. It almost looks like you want to burst into tears and he’s sure he probably doesn’t look any better, seeing you in the flesh after so long felt like a dream and as if every moment without you until now had been but a nightmare, he can’t help himself from running towards you and throwing himself into your arms. He looks older, definitely more mature, his is build stronger now - probably due to the fighting and training he endured as a Harbinger, you thought - but his smile was still the same, perhaps a bit empty but it still filled your heart with a warmth that could battle Snezhnaya’s unforgiving cold. It felt right to have him back in your arms as if time had never been cruel and taken him away from you, you could have sweared your worries disappeared the moment you took in his warmth.
His white coat floats through the air as he lands between your arms, and you can feel his smile in your chest as he hugs you tight.
He was finally home, he thought, in your arms and back in the neighborhood that had raised him - he was with you and that was all that mattered, the man was filled with so much ecstasy he could almost forget why he’d come here.
“What are you doing here?” You ask him, your voice is shaky and the ginger feels himself melt at the familiar tone of your voice.
“I should be asking you that,” he laughs, his eyebrows becoming furrowed in concern as he speaks, “it’s freezing, darling, you shouldn’t be outside.”
“I… I was waiting for one of your letters,” you whisper shyly, during your time away from each other - weekly letters had been your primary source of communication, something you’d learn to love and charisma as one of the few forms of contact you and Childe could have without your parents knowing his dangerous job and position.
“You’re so cute,” he coos, he feels a weight lift off his shoulders as he realizes you were safe, if anything he feels ashamed he hadn’t been able to send you anything and caused you such pain, his heart aches as he tries to wrap around his head he may have hurt your feelings, his gloved fingers find your cheek and squeezes it tightly, “however, it’s too cold for you to be outside with just a blanket, my love.”
“I know,” you shake your head, you go to lift a hand to wipe the stray tears that had escaped you but Childe takes care of it for you as he delicately caressed your face, “it’s just, I hadn’t heard from you in almost two weeks and I got worried, I thought… maybe something had happened in Liyue and you’d gotten hurt.”
“O-oh… I’m sorry,” his deep blue eyes look downcast as he processes your words, “I never meant to worry you, I had so much to do and to say that instead of a letter I decided to come meet you in person, i-isn’t that better, love? I simply couldn’t be away from you any longer, it’s my fault, though, I should have told you so earlier, ahh… I can’t believe I’ve made my angel cry.”
A poor soldier would have their head cut off tonight, he thought, for he was certain he’d sent a bag full of letters meant to last you at least a full season to be delivered everyday to you while he arranged for this mess to be solved.
You nod as stars fill your eyes before shaking your head as if assuring him you were alright. You loved Ajax and you had loved him for almost all your life, from the moment you met him you’d been charmed by his boyish good looks and charisma, of course a few things had changed, but he was still your sweet Ajax, the boy who’d stolen your heart and kept it safely within his arms for as long as you’ve known him.
“Come on,” you signal him to stand up with a soft pat and the man has to stop himself from begging for more of your touch, “let’s go inside, you must be tired and we have so much to talk about.” He nods and lets himself be pulled up by you as you giggle and smile about finally being able to talk face to face after years of not being able to physically see each other.
You feel like a teenager again as you lead Ajax into your house, your heart beating like you were confessing your love for the first time - the excitement was practically the same, your head felt fuzzy from the warm feeling holding Childe’s hand gave you; you had missed him terribly. You feel like you were about to explode into a million piece from excitement, your head filled with everything you’ve ever wanted to say to Ajax’s face ever since he left, all the news that felt too important to simply write out and that had you hoping a day like this would finally come, you’re scared of coming off too intensely but your heart truly feels like it’ll burst from joy, unfortunately your excitement comes to an abrupt end when you finally drag him into your living room. You turn around to offer him a drink or something to eat, the trip from the capital all the way over here was a couple hours long and he’d always had quite an appetite, but you’re faced with a look of disappointment and slight anger as he looks around the room, your heart sinks - just seconds ago he was all smiles and laughter as you two embraced each other in the harsh winter, having created a warm paradise between each other, but now he looked as if he couldn’t stand to be in your house and you wonder if maybe you’d angered him somehow even though you logically knew you’d done nothing other than invite him inside.
Maybe you were overreacting, you think, you’d been quite paranoid as of recently, your family had been distant and you’d been feeling lonely and anxious for a while. It’d been an embarrassingly long time since you’d had guests over, at least, guests that mattered to you and hadn’t been your parents’ friends or siblings spouses. The look in Ajax’s face makes your stomach churn; had something happened?
“Are your parents home?” He asks, his voice tinged in a mixture of distaste and sadness, it’s lower than when he’d spoken to you earlier and you wonder what could have happened to create such a drastic change in his behavior. If you took the time to notice you’d see how his eyes glare at the family portrait; the two traitors clear as day as they embraced their children, Childe couldn’t help but see them in a new, more negative and hateful light.
Not after two weeks of research, not when he was now certain they wanted to get in his way.
“No, they said they weren’t coming home until later tonight, but if you want to stay till then I’m sure they'd love to see you again,” you try to reassure him thinking he was perhaps saddened at not being able to see your parents, it’d make sense since, unlike you two, they hadn’t been able to keep in touch since the young man’s career in the Fatui began.
“I… I don’t think I want to meet them, no,” Ajax shakes his head, his hair bouncing as he makes his way to your sofa, his legs tremble slightly – cowards, he thinks, not even able to show their faces, “I actually came here to talk to them but, ha… now that I’m here I’m not too sure.”
“Hmm, how so?” You ask, your heart - which was already quite nervous at his sudden change of mood - sinks further, a sudden uneasiness fills your lungs.
He’d come here in hopes of finding you parents and confronting them with his findings, he would have offered them a chance to redeem themselves and cancel the wedding without you even finding out about the secret dealings they’d been making in your name, but they were not here, you were. Maybe, he could change his battle plan, if he couldn’t talk to your parents… why not simply talk to you? If he’d offered a higher sum and never asked you himself, he’d be no better than that lowlife and your parents, not that you’d reject him - but the thought of steeping as low as they did made him sick.
“What are your thoughts about marriage?” The question is so sudden and unrelated to the previous topic you instinctively frown.
“Marriage,” you sit down opposite of him, it feels like you’re in a job interview as he questions you, “I mean, I’ve thought about it but I’m not sure I want to get married, at least not now, I’m not too sure I’d want to give it all up; I mean, I have a job and friends, there’s so much to do, so much I want to do… and I can’t say I’d be able to do it all if I was married. I’d like to travel and, I… I don’t know, learn more I guess, I feel like if I settle down it'll be once I’m more, you know, confident or mature?”
You trail off awkwardly, it was true - the only times you’d ever seriously thought about marriage often included you being significantly older and, most of the time, with an already retired Ajax — though you wouldn’t admit that to his face unless you were certain he felt the same. You’d rather keep that last part hidden, if not for fear of making him uncomfortable, for the sake of your heart and fear of being brushed aside. Your parents had made it quite clear; you were no marriage-material, you’d be lucky if you even manage to get a partner at this rate, and you doubted a man as accomplished as Tartaglia, Ajax, the 11th Harbinger, would settle for a average, clumsy, pessimistic small town girl such as yourself.
He stays quiet as if a million thoughts were racing around his head; that wasn’t the answer he particularly wanted, he’d rather hear you’d been fantasizing of marrying him, hear you ramble on and on about how you’d been waiting for him and were just about ready to go down the aisle with him and promise yourself to one another but he was glad you weren’t against the idea of marriage, even if he wished you’d been more open about doing it sooner rather than later; but that would change, he was sure of it.
“And, uh, what about you?” You ask, the air felt heavy and you desperately wanted to ease the tension, only one thought was really running through your head that you were too afraid to ask; “What was going on with Ajax?”
“Me?” The question snaps him out of whatever mental trance he’d caught himself in, “Well, I want to get married, the sooner the better, I want to have a family, but it’s gotta be with the person I love the most in this world, I couldn’t bring myself to imagine living without them.”
Neither the words themselves nor the sentiment are crazy, even if you’d only just gotten to know him, it was obvious Ajax wanted a loving family to call his own and it was a pretty common desire for many, it more so was the way his eyes seemed to bore into your own as he spoke, as if he were trying to let you know it was you who he was talking about. You flustered at the thought, it was perhaps selfish to think it was you he was talking about but the thought pleased you nonetheless even if your parents’ words echoed in your mind.
“That’s, ah,” you mumble, breaking eye contact and looking elsewhere, trying to calm your beating heart, you should stop being so silly - he was here to talk with your parents, not you, both of you meeting was mere coincidence, nothing else, “really nice, I hope you find them soon..”
“You do?” He smiles, seemingly pleased with your words, but it’s significantly weaker than usual.
There’s an awkward silence as you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’d come here to propose. You know it sounds crazy and incredibly sudden but the mention of marriage and wanting to talk to your folk, the fact he’d made the time in his incredibly busy schedule and travels to come over to your house, it made it sound like he had ulterior motives for coming here and just the thought of them had you flustered. You may have just said you wanted to hold off on marriage, that you doubted someone like him would even think of being your partner, but you felt certain that if Ajax asked for your hand you would agree with no hesitation – out of a pitiful mix of love and desperation.
You’re unsure of what to do and are about to speak up, willing to say almost anything to move the conversation forward and away from the topic, but he beats you to it and breaks the silence first.
“Listen, dove… I-I love your parents and I wouldn’t accuse them of something like this if I didn’t have evidence, okay?” He lies through his teeth, after finding out the way they were so willing to get in between you two he could barely stand the thought of them now, but he’s lucky the rest of the words come easy, “I really didn’t want to believe this either, but I have many a reason to suspect they may be trying marrying you off soon to a stranger.”
“W-What?” You breathe out, you struggle to process his words, it’s as if they’d bounced off your brain and floated off elsewhere, “M-marrying me off? What’s - what do you mean?”
No, no, no way.
You feel yourself grow tense and light headed.
What sort of messed up prank was this? There was no way… right?
“It seems they found a member of the Fatui,” he shakes his head, “a guy named Andrei Galkin, and they’re planning to marry you off to him, so I decided to ask around - it seems like it’s been a topic for a while now, money may be involved too, the reason I came here was to… have a talk with your parents, see if I could change their mind.”
“D-do you even have proof?” You ask with a shivering voice, heat rushes to your cheeks as you begin to feel hot in embarrassment and anger; your parents were meaning to sell you off to some man? This had to be a joke Childe was playing, you’d known he’d become a bit off after the Abyss incident and you knew his time as a Harbinger probably messed him up, but this wasn’t funny. It was disgusting, the mere prospect has you trembling as you try and grasp what on earth was happening. However, the more you look at him, you wonder if this is a joke at all. You studied him and his expression, desperately trying to see anything on his face that’d indicate this was a sick prank from his part, a cheeky smile or maybe lack of eye contact - anything would do, you felt yourself begin to hyperventilate as you realized how absurd it’d be for him to come all the way to a village hours away from the main city to play such a horrible joke on you, one he must have known would cause you pain and anguish — you doubted he’d want to see you like this, at least you hoped he wouldn’t want to see you like this.
Oh, the realization makes you grow lightheaded, he was probably telling the truth.
“There’s correspondence between them and his family, there’s also a wedding venue booked under their names,” Ajax mumbled, his voice a mere whisper against the sound of your beating heart, he pulls a few files from his coat and hands them to you - your last name is printed on the cover and you quickly open them and browse through the pages, your heart sinks, “I also found money transactions between your family and the Galkin family, about… I’m sorry but I can’t —“
“How much, Ajax?” You feel stiff and your hands start shaking making it hard for you to continue flipping through the countless reports, photographs, records, bank transactions, and letters, your blood feels terribly cold as you try to calm down the whirlwind of feelings that coursed through your body, but you couldn’t bring yourself to calm down, not when your family, your parents of all people, have seemed to been able to calmly put a price on not only your love but your person as well.
“About 900,000 Mora,” he mutters, cold blue eyes avoiding your gaze as he continues, “to Uncle and Auntie from Andrei’s family.”
“900,000 Mora…” You feel your heart shatter as Childe brings a comforting hand towards your shoulders, his calloused fingers massaging your tense muscles, “You’re… you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I’d never lie about such a thing,” he approaches you slowly, Ajax continues speaking as he envelops you with a hug soon after removing the papers from your trembling hands,“this pains me as much as it pains you.”
All of this was true, it’d taken him a long time to gather it all, but the reality was simple and cruel;
your parents had begun arranging for your marriage to an older Fatui soldier for after his retirement.
“Why… why would they do this?” You mutter, feeling sorrow slowly fill your lungs up - making it harder to breathe comfortably, “H-how could they? How could they? Why… Ajax, w-why?”
You felt like an idiot, just minutes ago you’d naively thought you may be getting proposed to by your childhood lover, a childish and hopelessly romantic thought, but now you’re sitting in your living room, on the verge of a breakdown as you tried to think of why on earth your parents would be willing to accept such an offer on your behalf, why they’d use you - their daughter - for Mora.
“Shhh, it’s okay, let it out,” he brings your head into his shoulder, caressing your back in a soothing manner, “it must feel horrible, I’m sure.”
And so you sit there, sobbing into your old friend as you try and process the information presented in front of you. It takes you a good couple of minutes to calm down, by then you two have once again sat down on the couch.
“What am I going to do?” You bury your face into your hands, your body shook as you thought about having to confront your parents once they arrived now with the knowledge you had.
It takes Ajax a couple of seconds before he speaks up, he needed to make it seem like he hadn’t been thinking of this from the moment he’d gotten his hands on the evidence himself; “I have an idea but...”
Your head shoots up in record speed, you could practically feel your neck crack from the sudden move but you didn’t care, you were desperate for a solution - no matter how good or bad it may be; “Oh come on, just spit it out, nothing could be worse than this.”
“Marry me.”
Your eyes widen and your breath hitches; “M-Marry you?”
He nods, sapphire eyes staring you down like a hunter would prey - you didn’t like the way he was looking at you.
“Why?”
“Why?” He echos, you can see him stifle a laugh, “Because it’s either that or marrying some lowlife named Andrei who paid to wed you.”
You feel your body stiffen at the harsh words, they were true but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to hear. You avoid looking him in the eyes, your hands anxiously twiddle each other.
“… and what if you’re wrong?”
“What?” He asks as if he couldn’t believe what you had just said.
“What if my parents aren’t marrying me off…”
“Darling,” Ajax laughs but his eyes didn’t seem to have gotten the memo, “are you doubting me? I gave you evidence, it’s right there.”
“Not necessarily,” you look away, you couldn’t help but wonder why you needed to explain yourself, “but, come on, I can’t accept this, it’s too sudden and mom and dad, t-they’d never do this to me, right? I’m their daughter, you know? They love me, they said they did and you don’t do this if you love someone, right?. So… so w-what if you’re wrong?”
“Wrong? There’s no other interpretation that makes sense of what we’ve both seen. Why would I lie to you about this? Come on, love, look at me, do I look like I’m enjoying this?” He questions you, “Look at me, come on, listen to me, if it were up to me,” he grabs your chin when you refuse to meet his gaze, his dark blue eyes stare deeply into your soul; they don’t shine the way the once used to, “I would have asked them for their blessing and proposed to you in the plaza, I would have had a ring ordered from Liyue costume made for you, I’d organize for their to be flowers of every color imaginable, even arrange food and music too, there would be hundreds onlookers who’d die to experience a fraction of the joy we would be feeling, I would have invited my family and yours, I’d have you wearing a custom dress, you’d be the happiest woman in Teyvat if I’d have my way… but look where we are instead, can’t you see? This isn’t what I wanted for us, this isn’t what I wanted for you, but we still have time, we can still fix it. But before that first, you have to believe me and get it through your head; this is who they are, this is what they’ve done, your parents don’t love you any more.”
“…” You can only look at him in shock as you feel tears swell in your eyes because it was not far fetched to say that the last few months your family had been distant, that they’d begun to act strange, and that you’d been short on cash for Tsaritsa knows how long, it hurt because a part of you felt like this was plausible. Because it was true, you were the youngest and that you didn’t exactly pull your weight the same way your siblings did, it was true you’d been more of a casualty in your family’s life but that didn’t mean they’d sell you off. No, they had treated you with love and kindness, they’d been there for every big step in your life, they loved you… right? They’d never do this to you, they would never accept Mora in exchange for your hand in marriage. They would never trade their love for you for some Money… right?
Maybe their love was ensuring you had a better future, one where your lover took care of you even if you didn’t exactly choose them, it was true your love life had been awfully stale, that the only person you’d ever been interested in who had also liked you back was in the army, and that you were never quite able to secure a full time job, it was always part-time and you were always booked the least compared to your coworkers. It was true you didn’t have many friends, most of the people your age had moved away by now, you were the only one of your siblings who wasn’t married or dating someone, out of all of your siblings you were the only one who seemed to remain the same no matter how many years passed. Maybe it was exactly what this was, a misunderstood, misplaced, and ill-fitting way of showing their love; but maybe you hated the thought this was their way of expressing it more than you were moved they’d tried at all.
“Shhh, my love,” you didn’t quite catch when Ajax had started wiping your tears away nor when he had managed to get so close, but at that moment – the moment where your whole life felt so uncertain and shaken – you were willing to ignore it all, “it’s okay, I know what you’re thinking… My offer still stands, you can still marry me.”
“And then what?” You sobbed, holding his gloved hands tightly against your cheek, “What am I going to do after that?”
“You’ll move in with me,” he responds matter of factly yet his tone is still soft, as if he feared speaking too loudly would scare you away, “and we’ll tell them together and you’ll make your bags and we’ll be on our way away from all of this mess. Please listen to me, sweetheart, as of right now, I’m the only choice for you – it won’t be bad at all, it’ll be lovely in fact, don’t you want that?”
“…”
“Please, please trust me, I only want what’s best for you,” he continues, ignoring your silence and instead continuing to caress your skin, “I’ve worked with Andrei, he’s no good, he’s older and cranky, he’s always in a bad mood, he won’t satisfy you, and I don’t want you to be miserable, I mean look at you, is this what you want? Hear me out and put trust in me, you won’t regret it; I’ll get you out of this, I promise.”
“But…”
“I love you and I know you love me,” he whispered, drawing closer to you, his voice low as he slowly leans into your lips, he stops right before they can touch his own, “and I’m sure you’ll grow to love this too.”
There’s a silence as you let your options cross your head, you feel yourself grow overwhelmed, being struck with grief and regret in such strong waves you have no choice but to simply give in to the only secure stone you currently see in the storm that was brewing in your mind.
He loved you, he said so himself, and he’d protect you, he’d promised. You could trust him, you had to trust him; you had no one else.
“I’ll… I’ll marry you.”
“That’s my girl.” He boasts, his face – which is now close enough for you to smell the mint in his breath – breaks into a smile before he’s leaning into your face to kiss you; You reciprocate the action and close your eyes, secretly hoping that today was but a nightmare.
You feel his gloved hands wander around your body, the leather-like material is smooth as his skilled digits play around. There’s barely any time to breathe as he continues kissing you until you grow dizzy from the lack of oxygen entering your lungs.
You had always liked Ajax, always dreamed of marrying him, but as your dreams were coming true you couldn’t help but feel suffocated by the circumstances that brought it up.
“Darling,” he moans, as he finally parts himself from your abused lips, “you’re not kissing back, don’t tell me you –“
“Ajax,” you interrupt, your voice barely above a whisper as you desperately try to dive into his eyes, seeking an answer, “why are you doing this?”
The question spoke for itself, no further clarification was needed; why had he come? Why had he revealed your parents’ plans? Was it even as awful as he made it seem? Why did he care? Why now? Did he really want to marry you or did he just feel responsible for you? Why did he bring himself into this mess? Why you, why him, why, why, why, why? Simply; why?
A part of you couldn’t quite believe what you’d heard, you still struggled to grasp the idea that your parents would even think of giving your hand away for Mora, and yet the intensity in his voice, the anger in his tone as he relayed the information he’d gathered could have convinced anyone, you doubted he’d lie about something as severe. If this was the truth, it’d been revealed to you too quickly, you’d been expected to get over it too soon, one moment you find out your parents were getting rid of you and your trust in the most materialistic of ways and the next you’ve been proposed to by a man you hadn’t seen in person for over half a decade. You can’t help but wonder if you said yes because you loved him or because you were desperate, for what - you didn’t know.
“Because I love you,” he speaks, his dull eyes finding yours and you wonder if they’d always lacked light, “I love you… and I’m not letting anyone get in my- our way.”
In his head, this was the only way to have you, this was the only way to love you, he was going to save you.
He doesn’t stop to wait for your response before he’s picked you up with ease, years of training and hard work evident by how nonchalantly he walks around your house and goes up the stairs, ignoring all the other rooms and picking up the pace the closer you got to the destination; you were going to your bedroom, you realize, the one you’d been occupying since you were a child. You never thought your house to be small but the speed in which he was walking made you aware of how short the distance between your bedroom and living room was.
“Ajax, what are you doing?” You whimper, you hold on tightly to the ginger, you’re so close you can smell his cologne, afraid he’d let you do if you let up even for a second.
“I’ll show you,” he continued down the hall, there’s an edge to his voice that gives you a chill, he sounded almost angry but with whom you did not know, “I’ll show you why I’m doing this.”
You two finally make your way to your bedroom where he kicks the door open and plops you, quite unceremoniously, down onto the mattress. He kicks off his shoes and wiggles his heavy coat off before climbing the bed with you, he tugs you around until you’re below him.
“You’re doing all of this too fast, calm down,” you argue, pain and sorrow still evident in your voice and it hurts his soul to hear it, “you don’t have to prove me anything, I…”
“Everything I’ve said is true, love,” the red-head insists, “and I’m doing this equally for me as I’m doing it for you.”
You don’t respond, instead you opt to look away; his gaze was becoming too intense and it was making you feel funny in ways you hadn’t felt before.
“Look at me,” his hands find your jaw and he redirects your gaze forcefully, “you’ve already said yes, unless… don’t tell me you,” his eyes darken as they narrowed, an almost animalistic look took over his features, “you lied and you don’t want to marry me.”
“I… I do, I’ve always wanted to, but,” It’s embarrassing to admit but you do so anyway in fear of creating a misunderstanding between the two of you, everything was going so fast you were struggling to keep up, “but… is this really how you want to do it?”
You were certain you could take things slower, maybe wait for your parents to come home and talk to them, you didn’t understand why he was in such a hurry, was this healthy? Was this okay?
“Yes,” it seems like he can sense your hesitation so he continues, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” His words held so much certainty you almost feel stupid for even questioning him, he drew near your lips once more before engulfing your mouth in a kiss, this time with much more vigor than before.
His teeth nip at your lips, begging for entry and you shyly grant it, slowly parting your mouth open. It’s all so messy as you feel his tongue enter your mouth, the muscle seemingly had a life of its own as it mapped your mouth, teeth clashed against each other as if he were desperate to dominate you.
His hands find your waist and insists on pushing you further into the bed, molding your body into the mattress, as he rubs your sides with slow, sensual movements that light your body ablaze. The contrast between the continuous attacks on your lips and the soft stroking of your body left you dizzy, he handled you as if you were made of porcelain and yet ravaged you like a beast when granted access.
You unknowingly whine as your lips finally part, taking a deep breath of air in the process, a thin strip of saliva connected you both, a lewd indicator of the passion Ajax wished to imprint on you. You’re both panting, clearly riled up from the heated kiss, but the man on top of you insisted on letting his hands work their way through you. Your eyes trail downwards where his gloved digits traced the shape of your body, the way they glide across your curves and dips was hypnotizing, and you miss the way a smirk overtakes his features as he realizes how tightly he’s got you wrapped around those very same fingers.
You feel his breath before you hear his words; “Can I take this off?”
His voice is barely above a whisper yet his question rings around the room like a scream, you feel yourself grow hot under your clothes; the same ones he’d just asked to remove off of you.
You’re too embarrassed to answer him, still slightly hesitant to continue going, you can feel your cheeks heat up into a burning mess and you’re scared that if you speak you’ll make a fool of yourself, so instead you nod slowly, trying to calm your racing mind, moving your eyes elsewhere in hopes you wouldn’t have to see the smug look his face was sure to take.
However, he’s quick to catch your face and redirect your gaze back to himself; “Thank you.”
You let him pick you from the bed to fiddle with the claps on the back of your dress, his fingers are swift in figuring out how to free you from your outer layers, it’s almost amazing how quickly he’s able to take your clothes off until you’re clad in your modest undergarments.
Due to Snezhnaya’s unforgiving winters you often layered multiple articles of clothing and prioritized warmth over aesthetics, the thought your underwear might be underwhelming doesn’t cross your mind until you’re left with your thigh-length woolen socks and plain bra and panties. You wonder if maybe the sight would be disappointing for a man as well traveled as Childe, he’s probably seen much more appealing bodies and clothes during his travels, but that idea goes as quickly as it comes when you finally see his reaction to your partially bare body.
Even though he still wore multiple layers, you could see the way his chest had begun to fall and rise unsteadily, his cheeks have taken a feverish glow, and his breath has become noticeably ragged, the hands that held the clothes he’d recently taken off your body were clearly shaking, his fists tightened their grip on the soft fabrics of your garments until they wrinkled. His eyes never left you, even as they traveled through your body, mapping out every nook and cranny he so desperately wanted to mark and savor, he didn’t dare let his gaze wander as if afraid the minute he did you’d disappear and he’d wake up in his office, cold and alone.
“Hah…” Ajax lets out a soft moan as he takes in the sight in front of him, he feels weak and bothered as he watched your breasts rise and fall as you breathed, he lets his eyes go downwards until he’s face to face with your covered pussy and he feels his underwear slowly moisten as he catches sight of a small wet patch that had formed in your panties.
“Don’t look at me like that…” You mumble into your arms, your body instinctively tries to hide itself but your friend doesn't allow it. The minute he feels your legs try to bundle together he slots himself in between them and throws your clothes away so he can fully grasp and force them apart.
There’s silence as you both stare at each other, waiting for one of you to make the first move and fully pass the point of no return.
Surprisingly, this time it’s you who grows impatient and drags the ginger down to meet your hungry lips.
Maybe it’s because right now, Ajax felt like the only person who cared about you and you felt desperate to feel comforted, you felt betrayed and hurt and you craved to be reminded you were loved. It wasn’t healthy and a part of you felt guilty, like you were using him for momentary comfort, as if you’d forced him to come and offer his hand in marriage, if you were smarter and stronger maybe you would’ve realized what was going on and could have stopped it. But he’d said he loved you, right? You loved him, you knew you did and he’d gone and declared his love for you first, even when you were kids he was always dedicated to reminding you of his adoration, but your parents said that too and where did that lead to? He wasn’t doing this out of feeling obligated to care for you, was he?
Maybe this was a mistake, you probably should not be initiating sex with a man you haven’t seen in person in years after he came to tell you your parent had sold you off to marry some rich old, gross soldier, you instead should have sat down and talked for longer, tried figuring out what was going on and perhaps find a solution that didn’t include you marrying your childhood sweetheart, not out of love but out of fear of being forced into an arranged marriage with a stranger. But the fact of the matter is that you didn’t do that, you let yourself be dragged along by his passion and desperation, you now laid in bed making out with Ajax as you desperately tried to push the thoughts of self-doubt and disgust away.
You try to focus on the present without thinking of the past nor the future; The almost one million Mora your parents had pocketed didn’t mean anything, there was no Andrei Galkin, Ajax had never left you, the Fatui didn’t exist, there hadn’t been any betrayal or hurt feelings, you were safe and you were free, there was nothing. In this room, at least for this moment, all that existed was you and Tartaglia.
His shirt is a barrier between your greedy hands and his naked body that’s becoming increasingly annoying as you parted your lips to grant him access to your all of mouth, which he gladly accepts as your tongues caress each other in a sloppy manner, you feel your teeth sometimes clash with his own but you’re too focused on tugging at his clothes, trying to get them off with the least amount of space between you both to care. They could rip, you didn’t care, you wanted to feel his body and warmth, you needed to feel alive.
Your body is starting to feel tingly, your nipples feel hard against your bra and your lower region becomes needy. You want him to touch you more but his hands are busy fiddling with your hips and waist, alternating between the two spots as he caresses and pinches your skin.
You both seem hesitant to let each other go even if it’s for something as necessary as catching your breaths, but even if things seemed to have slowed down it didn’t mean something isn't happening.
“Ajax,” your voice is soft and breathless, you feel your lungs beg you to not speak, “take ‘em off, wanna touch you…”
You gesture at his clothes, slowly running a finger around his chest and stopping at - where you guessed - his nipple was and pressing down hard.
A deep grunt of approval escaped the man’s lips at the feeling and it took him a second to nod, busy trying not to focus too much on the way he felt his cock throbbing, and back off to make way for him to take his clothes off. Childe refuses to completely climb off you, instead leaning backwards to unbutton his shirt and click off the harness he wore, his coat falling behind is his figure, and his shoes long since thrown elsewhere, his pink nipples are clearly sensitive as his eyes shut off tightly as his clothes graze them, his whole body felt on fire - as if your mere presence were an aphrodisiac to the man. Next is his pants and socks and he does his very best to be as quick as humanly possible, they’re all off in record speed and he’s soon only wearing his underwear.
The minute he’s done, he’s thrown himself back onto you as if trying to make up for the few seconds he’d parted from you.
You’re flustered as you finally feel his skin freely come in contact with yours, as if the situation slowly began sinking in just then. Not to mention, you’d caught sight of his raging boner through the thin layer of fabric that constituted his undergarments. It looked big and thick and you wondered, if you even reached that point, if it was even possible to feel good from such a thing pounding on your hole, it looked like it’d hurt more than anything. But a greedy part of you was desperate to find out how it’d feel to have all of him inside of you, to have his fat tip caressing the deepest corners of your body, painting your gummy insides white.
This time, you both skip the kissing and go straight to touching each other, this time more shamelessly and with less hesitance. Your hands find his neck and you pull his head into the crook of your neck where he dedicates his time to litter kisses across the area, you let your hands wander across his shoulders and neck, softly scratching the skin under your nails whenever he kisses a particularly sensitive spot. On the other hand, Ajax let his hands travel across your chest and cup your breasts, he molds the flesh like a stress ball, tightening his grip and pulling at them like they were toys. The feeling of your bra coming into contact with your hardening nipples makes you whimper and moan while your body contorts in an attempt to meld deeper with the man on top of you.
Your movements are restricted and awkward as you were currently caged between the bed and him, but you do your best to communicate your growing neediness.
“A-Ajax, mhmm~!” You gasp, his teeth gnaw at a spot in your neck that has a shot of neediness reaching your privates in electrifying waves, “… more, I wan’ more…”
You can feel his lips curve into a smirk as he hears the desperation in your voice but he’s not better at concealing the very obvious way your words affected him; “My dove wants more? Hah—haha, a-aren’t you such a cute ‘nd needy little thing.”
You huff slightly at his teasing words but you can’t deny that the way he addressed you as “his” made you grow increasingly horny. He seems to hear your soft complaint and finally parts with your neck, which was now littered with hickies and love bites, to allow himself to gaze deeply into your eyes.
You could never deny that Ajax’s eyes were the prettiest shade of blue you’d ever seen, they resemble sapphires and noctilucous jade but with less shine. When you both were younger you’d spend hours gazing upon them, admiring the intensity they held. Now, however, you can’t say you aren’t slightly intimidated as he gazes at you like a predator. His hands leave your body and you’re immediately missing the warmth they provided you, in fact, you’re about to complain and ask him to touch you again when he suddenly cups your clothed pussy with his hand.
His hand is large, his fingers are long and the palm is in no way small, which meant most - if not all - of your cunt was now being held in one of his hands. His thumb is hovering over your clit and you gasp as you feel him tighten his hold and trace his fingers across your slit and up to your sensitive nub.
You squirm, letting your bottom grind against his hands, slowly building up your pleasure until you’re letting out soft moans and whines. Tartaglia decides to aid you as he himself works towards getting his member hard and oozing with release by moving his hand across your pussy and grinding on your thighs simultaneously. Your mind grows hot and dazed as you sense your pussy begin to drool, you could feel the way your juices leaked, the wet trail they’d leave and traveled across your your entrance, down your slit and across your thighs, soaking your underwear with release; you wondered if Ajax could feel your excitement too.
You could certainly feel him. His cock had long since been hard and leaking precum, you could make out through hazy eyes and desperate movements a wet patch on his boxers. It looked so big constrained against the fabric, you wanted to free his cock and feel it inside your hole, any of them, his balls seemed to hold unceremonious amounts of cum as the wetness kept growing more and more visible to you, you wondered if he’d be willing to come inside of you if you asked.
You both work together, trying to make the other as aroused as possible until someone snapped and began demanding the intercourse you both clearly wanted.
You don’t want to give in, not yet, but he’s begun to tease your slit with his fingertips and you’re growing aggravated from the empty feeling in your cunt. You feel yourself clenching onto nothing, your walls closing desperately trying to find anything to grip onto, you are growing desperate to feel something inside, be it his fingers, his tongue or his cock — you wanted him inside of you, now.
“Ha… hah~” You can feel his tongue hanging from his open mouth, drool escapes his parted lips and coats your breasts, you’re surprised he’s managed to keep himself up for so long, all the training he’d endured paying off and allowing him to mount your thighs and grind his length against your skin, his expression is one of extreme arousal that makes you tense and grow lust-drunk, “T-Tell me… d’ya wanna feel my cock in your pussy yet, darling?”
“…! M—mhk?!” You let out a high pitched whine as a particular stroke of his hands delves momentarily into your clothed hole, you can feel your cum slowly dirty your underwear.
“Look at you,” he chuckles, his movements growing erratic, his ginger hair seems darker and less vibrant against his reddened face, “your… your pussy is beggin’ for me!”
“Please…” Your voice is barely above a whisper, your body still rocks alongside his own as he uses your body to get off and bring you close to a mind-numbing release, your voice wavers as your whole being is shocked from the pleasure Ajax’s hand toying with your clothed cunt brings, your legs twitch and your body keeps contorting and folding.
“Hmm, please what? I need you to tell me,” he mumbles, his voice takes a deep, desperate and animalistic tone as he continues, he takes his fingers and starts to circle your clit with an unimaginable force, “What do you want, huh? If you want me to fuck y-you, you’ll need to use your big girl words. Say; “I want my husband’s cock inside of me”, come on, ask for y-your husband’s cock…!”
“A~Ajax…! Please-uh…” Your body begins to hurt, your very own genitals seem to be burning in fire as you desperately try to soothe the ache in your womb and clit. You begin to rut against his hands at an embarrassing, almost objectifying, pace, absolutely desperate to cum and lift the cloud of lust that seemed to haunt you from the moment Ajax laid your body on your mattress.
“That’s not who I am,” he mumbles into your skin, his teeth beginning to bite and mark the flesh of your breast, “I’m y-your husband now, right? So, ask for it properly… hah~ won’t you?”
“… want my h-husband’s cock, I… inside of me, please,” you whine between heavy breaths, “I… want to fuck my—hah… h-husband…”
The moan that leaves his lips is loud and primal, his whole body shudders as he hears your plea. He didn’t think he could get any harder and yet hearing your shaky voice ask for him sends a rush of blood through his body and straight to his dick.
“Ahaha… that’s right, isn’t it? I-I’m your husband now,” an unsettling grin starts to form on his face, one that, if you weren’t so desperate and vulnerable, would probably have sent a shiver down your spine; it was an expression that resembled his face after ending a powerful opponent, one that meant victory was his, that he’d won, it was the face many people would see before departing the realm of the living, one of pure, unhinged bliss that could only be understood by a man such as himself, “I’m your husband, your husband… a-ah! Ha-ah, that means… hah, that means it’s my duty to fuck you, to make you feel good, a good husband makes love to his spouse, right? S-so as your husband, I get to be inside of you… a-and make you cum lots. Yeah, I… I’m going to be the best husband, you’ll feel good too… So be a good wife and take all of my love, ‘kay?”
During his incoherent rambling, which you barely could understand, he works to rid you of your underwear with desperate movements. His hands pull at the fabric with enough force that they tear, allowing him to rip the fabric off your hips and discard it on the floor. The cool air in your room hits your lower end and makes you shiver, your body had been previously engulfed by Childe’s warmth, the feeling of his own heating body and rapid blood circulation had sheltered you from the freezing temperature outside of the sinful haven between your bodies. The difference in temperature and its effect on you seems to have been noticed by your partner, who looks around the room trying to find a solution.
You want to hurry him up, tell him you didn’t mind the cold, that you just wanted to feel him inside you for the first time, but before you know it he’s pulling something from behind; his white coat soon is back on his shoulders, lazily throw on, barely holding up as he quickly pulls his underwear off. He’s quick and precise, never wasting a moment as he adjusts himself on top of you once more, this time with his bare cock leaking on your stomach.
“I’ll heat you up… inside and out, hah…” He mumbles, adjusting the coat so it covers both of you, the long, heavy material immediately worked wonders as your body regained its warmth.
You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him closer to you, you’re both trembling as he slowly lowers his pelvis to meet your own. You were right, he was big and he was long and thick, but he made sure to go slowly as he inserted two fingers to stretch you out in preparation.
Your slick facilitates the intrusion, there’s not much pain as he opens and closes his fingers, curling and extending them, as if trying to gauge how far you could stretch. His cheeks are a bright red, sweat runs through his forehead as he feels your body accommodate the feeling of his fingers. Ajax was big, always taller than most in your village, and his time in the Fatui had definitely contributed to his size – his shoulders were broad, his chest chiseled, and his fingers, the ones that slowly danced inside your pussy, were long and calloused. This was your first time feeling something other than your own hands and Ajax was making sure to show you all the places you could have never reached on your own.
You don’t even realize you’d begun panting, soft whines and moans had been leaving your lips forma while now, noises that only served to encourage Ajax further. But he had to stop, he needed you both to cum together as one. Your first time together had to be romantic like that, both of you climaxing together and coming undone at the same time.
There’s a feeling of emptiness and disappointment that follows the feeling of his fingers leaving your body, you’re about to complain when you see him bring his fingers to his lips to lap at the slick that had stuck to them. You’re mesmerized at the lewd image, gazing hopelessly at the way his face melted into one of pure pleasure as he tasted you. He makes sure to lick his fingers clean, his tongue lapping at the cum.
You catch his eyes and they soften, a lovestruck look taking over his features, you nod and open your legs wider than before; encouraging him to finally fuck you. He positions himself outside of your opening, making sure you grasp your legs and pull them as wide apart as he physically could without hurting you.
Even with the previous preparation, your breath is knocked out of your lungs as his tip slowly makes its way through your slit, past the muscles and finally inside your gummy walls.
He uses his arms to adjust his body, making sure to be as careful as possible as to not hurt you. This was your first time making love to each other, and he’d be damned if he were the one to cause you pain.
He gives you a second before pushing the rest in, he’s still slow, attempting to coax your body into adjusting to the feeling of being so full. His blue eyes are closed, his breath is heavy and you can feel the bed shake as he tries to control himself, you’re not faring much better, your head felt light as all your body could seemingly concentrate on was the feeling between your legs, your body was heating up and you could feel the warmth radiate off your skin.
You know he’s fully sheathed himself when you feel the soft “thud” of his balls hitting your ass, you’ve become hyper aware of the proximity and situation you’re in as his cock begins to throb inside of your pussy, his head comes to rest on the crook of your neck as you both adjust to the feeling of each other's body.
A moment passes, your walls that had previously been gripping Ajax like a lifeline slowly weaken, finally allowing both of you to relax and begin to experiment.
“I-I’ll start…” He mumbles, avoiding your gaze as if feeling shy, he begins to move around as if to grip the bed’s headboard, all while still inside you, his arms allowing him to cover your body from the world.
As you look up, you realize how he’s become all you see, his imposing frame and coat acting as a curtain blocking the outside from entering your view. Your heart feels heavy but you try and pay it no mind.
The movements are slow and clumsy at first, his cock never truly leaves your warmth fully, his tip always kept inside of your cunt - one way or another. The feeling is strange, you’re not used to the way his length would gaze at your walls or the feeling of the veins on his dick caressing spots inside of you that made you gasp and curl your toes. It’s new and it takes some adjusting before you begin to rock your own hips to meet his, suddenly it begins to feel good, really good in fact. There was something about the stretch, maybe it was the feeling of being so full, the way his cock curved and hit spongy spots in your pussy becomes addicting, or maybe it was the fat vein that decorated the underside of his cock, but it wasn’t long until you’re trying to entice a faster, tougher pace.
He takes his time teasing and easing you into the rhythm of sex, he wouldn’t tell you, but a part of him was scared that if he picked up his pace he wouldn’t be able to stop until you were leaking his cum - not to mention, he wasn’t sure he’d last long if he started to fuck you even faster. The feeling of your walls gripping him was divine, there are moments his thrusts grow unsteady and out of sync, as if his body was trying to take control and allow itself to set the animalistic pace he so desperately wanted, it’s these exact moments where his patience is tested, where he wants nothing more than to pick up your body and use it as a toy to fill with his semen.
“I wan’ more,'' you moan and he freezes as he feels your hips pathetically lift up to meet his heated thrust, your lower region coming up and rolling, rocking, and sloppily caressing his own pelvis in an attempt to suck him deeper into your sex, this was the first time you’d ever experienced such fullness and pleasure, your mind was numb and you’d forgotten all about previous sorrows, you truly wanted to feel more and more until all you could think of was Ajax’s cock and feeling good, “… wan’na feel my… my husband’s c-cock…?!”
At the title, the ginger truly can’t help the way his hips basically crash into yours, it was purely instinctual – just the sound of your calling him yours and acknowledging him as your husband, even if you’d only gotten engaged less than an hour ago, was enough to drive him mad with lust. He feels his head grow dizzy as thoughts of breeding you and claiming you as his take over. It’s as if a switch is turned on because from that moment onwards the atmosphere changed completely.
His previously considerate and soft strokes become harsh and rapid, you can feel your bed move rhythmically with his thrusts, your whole body jolts as he begins to fuck you with the sole goal of filling you so deeply your body was to be conditioned to respond lewdly to his mere presence. They’re deeper too as he now focused on feeling and claiming as much of your hole as possible, it’s impossible not to feel the way his cock imprinted itself deeply inside your body.
Your hands are desperate to grasp onto something, so you clutch at the sheets under you as tightly as possible, your body feels hot and heavy; your legs twitch and you're left gasping as Childe grabs your hips to adjust your position. You’re still lying down but your back arches itself to allow him easy access to your bottom, it’s surprising how easily he’s able to manhandle your body while never quite pulling out, always making sure to insert himself as quickly as he exited, never truly pulling out all of his dick.
The new position allows for him to hurry his pace, you’re soon moving like a rag doll with no control over your limbs. You’re left a moaning, whining mess as your brain struggles to process the waves of pleasure that bloomed from deep inside your pussy.
You feel your heart beating and you can almost hear the sound of your slick pouring out and lubricating your walls, making it increasingly easy to continue the Fatui’s pounding of your cunt. You’re not too sure if you’re even able to talk, the thought of forming a coherent sentence felt farfetched, all that leaves your lips are whines, sounds of pure pleasure and bliss that sound like an orchestra to Ajax.
He’s not doing much better, his vocabulary seems to have been reduced to declarations of ownership over you, boundless love, and immense pleasure. Your name soon becomes the only coherent sound leaving his lips as he lets his head fall back, his body almost working on autopilot as he allows his hips to ram inside you while his hands focus on teasing your nipples and forcing you to face his reddening face. His chest shines with sweat as he makes sure to fill the room with the sound of your skin meeting him and the growing wet mess between your merging bodies.
You’re both soon leaking arousal, Ajax’s cock starts to slowly redden and grow inside of you as he approaches orgasm, drops of precum start to form on the tip, and your torso starts to heat up as it feels heavier the better you feel; your cum is soon coating his dick white, a clear indicator he’d been inside your drooling cunt. You let go of the sheets and bring a hand to your clit, desperate to bring yourself closer to release.
“Ah-! Just like that,” Ajax exclaims, lurching forward as he feels your walls tighten around his cock, “tighten around me like that, fu–uck! I’m gonna cum, gonna cum in your pussy, gonna shoot my cum inside you… Haha–hah! You’re… you’re gonna be full with my cum, are you ready?”
You nod mindlessly, too busy playing with your clit and pressing kisses into Ajax’s skin. The feeling of being filled by your childhood sweetheart was intoxicating, it left you an overstimulated mess, moaning and whining as you gripped the man’s shoulders to bring him closer to you.
You couldn’t tell who came first, only that your final push was the feeling of Childe’s lips on yours. Maybe it’s the desperation you felt radiating off him as his tongue caressed your own, the way his hands tighten around your body as he begins unloading his cum begins seeping into your pussy and deep inside your body. You’re a shaking mess as you continue riding your orgasm on his dick, prolonging the pleasurable feeling by rocking your hips into his in an almost shy manner, it’s addicting and you’re left gasping and moaning for more. On the other hand, Ajax was trembling on top of you, his arms seemingly giving out as he collapsed into your body, allowing his head to rest beside your own on your pillows while his cock throbbed and painted your insides with his cum. He gives a few weak thrusts, as if making sure that his balls have been thoroughly emptied, before he looks over at your panting face.
You’re trying to catch your breath, desperately trying to calm your heart down into a stable rhythm, while your body twitches in a post-orgasm afterglow. You’re sweating, your eyes shut tight as you feel your pussy swell around Ajax’s dick, which was very much still inside you, and grow sensitive. Even in this state, where you’re too shaken to do anything other than breathe and try to relax your body, he thinks he’s never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.
His hand, which trembled ever so slightly, travels to find yours and intertwine your fingers together. He subconsciously traces your ring-finger, trying to estimate your size, you’d accepted his proposal, going as far as acknowledging him as your husband, it was now his responsibility to find a suitable ring for you, one worthy of resting on your fingers.
He smiles, cuddling deep into your bare skin, pressing his softening cock deeper into you, which earns him a soft whine from you, essentially plugging his semen inside your pussy.
“… I love you, Ajax.” You mumble, eyes still closed shut, your voice drowsy and far away as exhaustion slowly catches up to you. Today had been hard on you, physically and mentally, you’d learnt more than you’d wished to have known, your relationship with those around you now forever changed; you’d agreed to marry your childhood friend in response to your parents’ betrayal, you’d given up your virginity to him and now laid in bed, struggling to know if you’d made the right decisions. An inner turmoil was growing inside you, a storm of emotions you were not ready to deal with, but right now, as you lay beneath the man who’d promised to save you, you decide to rest and let him take care of it, for now. Your breathing slows down, your body finally succumbing to sleep.
You’re too tired to hear the sound of the front door unlocking, your mother’s voice booming across the house as she calls out for you as she ushers your father and guests inside your family house. Ajax makes no move to leave your bed or even remove himself from inside of you, not even as he recognizes the distinct sound of footsteps that belonged to your parents moving around downstairs, grinnin softly as he hears your mother call out for you again, while your father talked to someone and merrily laughed, joking around, easing the tension of the first meeting between two people set up in an arranged marriage – where only one of them knew.
He can hear your parents talking, making an excuse at where you were, he can hear your mother climb up the stairs, he can hear her getting closer to your room.
What a lousy move, he thought to himself, to ambush you one day and try to dump the news on top of you like this, you didn’t even seem aware of guests coming over to your home at all, he frowned; he had expected more of uncle and auntie. Alas, he’d long since given up on them, he just hopes your mother doesn’t scream too loudly when she sees you two in bed together.
He’d hate for you to wake up to such an awful shriek.
There’s a knock on your door, Ajax smiles but makes no move to answer, and then another as your mother calls out your name. She sighs before threatening to open the door, Ajax has to stifle a giggle, pressing his lips into your shoulder to not let out any noise, too afraid to ruin the surprise for his soon to be mother-in-law, she hears no response, she clearly feels agitated and annoyed, he can hear it the way she knocks once more with a stern calling of your name.
There’s a second of silence before the door is swung open.
Ajax looks over to your mother, his coat covering both your naked forms enough that a semblance of modesty is kept but not enough that what happened between the two of you was misunderstood, it would be clear to anyone who could walk in, and he smiles, leaning his body into your own, further embracing you and pushing your sleeping face into his chest, he rolls over as a playful wave is sent her way, she stands frozen in place. Your bottom halves are still covered by the oversized coat, but the bruises and bites that litter your bodies are enough to paint a picture, his hand moves to caress your body, a smug smile takes over his features as he watches your mother try to come up with the right words to say.
“Hello, ma’am,” his tone is playful but the look on his face is one of pure venom, she looks beyond flustered but isn’t able to say a word; too shaken by the sight, the combination of her daughter and a man in bed together and the Harbinger’s insignia that seemed to shine with even the smallest movements from the ginger was enough to send her stumbling back, “it’s been a while, we have a lot to catch up on, huh?”
so, im back. 2022 has been a shit storm, im not gg to elaborate but yea. i wanted to get back into writing because i felt like it. im sure everyone following me is probably inactive by now but oh well.
dottore x fem! reader (dottore calls reader ‘princess’ once; he may be ooc idrk)
cw: nothing too bad. panic attack symptoms; dottore’s a little prick. it’s not much, just wanted to portray my feelings in a different setting; slightly suggestive at the end.
୨⎯ "our agreement is absolute." ⎯୧
his arrogant laughter pierces the air. each syllable of his mirth is scratches to your own ears, like nails on a chalkboard that makes your head spin. the doctor stands before you, a cheshire grin carved into his thin lips. your voice gets stuck in your airways and your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen. the ground begins to spin and you claw into the rocky surface in hopes to get a grip.
but you never did.
“oh, you just don’t know when to quit, don’t you?” he walks towards you with a grin. his blue coat sways as he walks before he crouches before you to meet your defeated eyes. his fatui sigil dangles in front of you mockingly. you bare your teeth at the sight.
“rich coming from you,” you almost spat. you would have, only if your mouth never went dry when he approached you.
“but the thing is, i succeeded in the end,” he smiles almost sweetly which elicits a scoff from you.
“you still lost the gnosis.”
“and you still aren’t good enough.”
glass shatters.
your chest constricts. you hear the sound of falling shards echo in your mind. the air runs thinner. you keel over, gasping for air as you cover your ears. there’s no use. you still hear your heart pounding, and the constant shouting of your loved one’s disappointment.
the world turns black and when light floods your eyes once more, you awaken to the sight of dottore peering over at you as he sat near the examiner’s table. blood rushes to your head as you sit up.
“you’re awake,” his voice pierces through your ringing ears once more. your stomach turns and your throat burns with acid.
you stay silent.
“your hatred for me is rather unhealthy; not to mention one-sided,” he looks at you sharply.
“fuck you.”
he sighs before turning towards you. he swiftly grabs the collar of your shirt and pulls him, your faces mere inches apart as his crimson eyes burn right through yours.
“listen here, and listen closely,” his voice drops much lower. “i’ve been very cordial towards you, i am merely asking for your cooperation.”
“i’m not working with you.”
he laughed once more before leaning closer. “oh, my darling. why ever did you think that you had a choice? we had an agreement, remember?”
you stare back at him, trying to find the correct words to talk back; but all you conjure up are images of the contract you had signed way back when he was a harbinger. silence ensues as he gazes at you.
“well?” he speaks up. “what would it be, princess?”
your silence is more than enough proof of your reluctant acceptance. he chuckles to himself and you feel the acid burn at the back of your throat even more.
“come here,” he grabs you by the waist to pull you closer to him, your legs now dangling off the table with him right in front of you. you stare at him intently, studying the mask he constantly wore. you wanted nothing more but to rip it off him to reveal the asshole behind it. he studies your face too, noting how the bridge of your nose curves perfectly and the fearful arch of your brow. he smiles.
“why? are you scared?” he whispers right in front of you and his breath fans your lips gently. “there’s no need to be scared; as long as you behave.”
“you’re not getting me that easily,” you quipped, your voice dropping to match his whisper. his cheshire grin makes its appearance once more.
