ꉂ ᵎᵎ cw/tw: 18+, softdom!brattamer!izuku, sub!fem!afab!brat!ex-childhood best friend turned (ex-)childhood bully!reader, pinv, cunnilingus 😛, college!au, the concept of bakugo katsuki being a plot device for sex, angst (?), the discussion of switch!katsuki, bisexuality (lol), you argue ooc izuku, i argue izuku if he was peak, no verbal consent (implied), CNC elements, toxic elements, jealousy that could(‘ve) be(en)solved by communication + maturity + polyamory, physical violence (reader slaps izuku in da face)
ꉂ ᵎᵎ a/n: self indulgent cause thats the magic of fanfiction + convoluted tags cause i found it funny
ꉂ ᵎᵎ a/n 2: this is a reblog from my old account
ꉂ ᵎᵎ synopsis: you’re assigned on a class project with your ex-childhood friend/ex-childhood bullying victim after not talking to eachother for five years
ꉂ ᵎᵎ w/c: ~4k words
“deku,” you call out curtly, not yet bothered enough to take your eyes off your laptop’s screen, “stop doing that.”
“midoriya,” he corrects suggests as a polite alternative to call him. calloused fingers stop drumming the desk, as per your request. “or izuku, if you want to stop pretending like you haven’t known me since we were kids.”
out of the corner of your eye, your gaze follow his hands as they settle on his lap. “we haven’t talked for like, five years. i’m not doing that.”
“oh,” his eyebrow cocks, head tilting as he studies your body language, “but you’re okay with calling me something mean instead? don’t you think it’s time to quit all that?”
he speaks so casually about your behavior as if you’re some petulant child. as if you and katsuki didn’t make high school a living nightmare for him. as if it was all some sort of… mild nuisance at most. it already embarrasses you to think about how you’ve treated him in the past. more often than you’d like to admit, your heart wrenches up at night over bullying him, the guilt seeping into it. his composure — every time you’ve been around him in a group setting since entering university, and especially right now — just made it worse. but it was just something about being alone with him that made you like this; you couldn’t help it.
you resist the urge to bite the inside of your cheek and instead offer a flippant shrug. “i’m just… used to calling you that,” you say in a casual defense.
the chuckle that promptly fills the air is a swirl of disbelief and amusment. “really?” he questions, “wouldn’t you be more used to ‘izu-chan?”
heat creeps up your cheeks. the only response you can muster to his teasing about the childhood nickname is a scoff. you aptly force your attention back to the group assignment, pretending to focus. he does the same — although not without that stupid smirk still tugging at his lips.
now you remember why you get so mean with him. nobody else in the entire world pisses you off like midoriya izuku. the sooner you finished this stupid project, the sooner you could leave izu-chan’s deku’s stupid apartment. especially, his stupid bedroom. with all his stupid comics and figures on the shelves. stupid posters that littered the walls. not to mention, his stupid face. eyes. freckles. lips. adam’s apple. collar bones. arms. abs. hands. thighs. dic—
it’s only when he clears his throat do you snap out of your blatant study of his crotch. you don’t have a guess for how long you’d been ogling him for.
“distracted?” he asks simply, tone casual and infuriatingly knowing.
“no,” you reply, implicitly telling him to drop it. you shrink into your seat, suddenly invigorated with a never-before-seen concentration on your computer’s screen. “i was just…” you begin, before shutting up, struck with the realization you didn’t have to explain yourself.
“just what?”
“nothing. do your work.”
he’s nice enough not to push it any more, giving a kind-sounding hum of acknowledgement. yet, the silence that follows does nothing for your overthinking. instead, you fall deeper into embarrassment as you worry about whatever assumption he’s possibly formed. therefore, for the sake of your dignity — you convince yourself — you break the silence to try to explain.
you glance up at him again, your chair creaking as you — for some reason — inch just a little closer. “what size shirt do you wear?” you ask with an exasperated sigh, one that would make no sense to him, unaware of the storm of thoughts behind it. the question comes off as random as you’d think it would and bitchier than you meant it to be. izuku ultimately thinks nothing of it though.
“depends on the fit. large. extra large.”
“in men’s, right?”
“you implying i wear something else?”
“what? no — i was just clarifying…” your brows knit together as you bite back something mindlessly snippy. “you’re... big,” you blurt out instead, heat rushing to your face once more the moment you realize how that sounded.
“…now i really think you’re implying something else,” he teases. the confidence he had gained since entering college was incredibly irksome to you, to the say the least.
“i- ew, no, yuck. that’s — it’s just that you’re… bigger. as a person. compared to how you were as a kid. y’know — scrawny.” you stumble over your words, scrambling to explain while keeping your eyes anywhere but on him.
he sighs, lowering his head onto the desk, arms and cheek pressed against the surface as he glances you over. “sure,” he replies, like he doesn’t believe you. his tone and behavior only serves to get you more worked up.
"you were!" you exclaim, “you were arguably smaller than most dudes at U.A.” you notice then that that annoying ass smirk was still plastered on his face and you can’t stop yourself fast enough from slipping back into immature habits. “whatever,” you sigh, feigning apathy. “i bet that it’s still small.”
you don’t know what exactly you were trying to accomplish with that childish jab, but it was only digging you deeper into the hole that you already made for yourself.
“still?” izuku asks, questioning your word choice — not so much confused, but tickled. it makes you hesitate, forced to reconsider whether he actually does have a big dick. and worse, whether he’s always had one (which is something you obviously, never thought about before). something in the air shifts as he leans back in his stupid gaming chair, his body angled a little more towards you.
“...yeah,” you say, voice not nearly as convincing as you wanted it to be, trying to ignore how your pulse has quickened.
at first he says nothing, seemingly lost in thought, before a quiet laugh slips out — like there’s a joke that you’re not in on. because there is.
“what? what’s so funny?” you demand, brows furrowing the way they always do when you talk to him.
amusement yet again laces his voice as he recomposes himself. “you and kacchan are both just… so bad at flirting. he said the exact same thing.”
the cogs in your head begin to turn, along with a pit forming in your stomach. a dawning realization about the nature of your childhood friends' relationship, and even yours, slowly creeps over you. however, you’re either too in disbelief to connect the dots, or too unwilling to.
“what?” you ask, voice now uncharacteristically small.
the rough warmth of his hand settles on your knee as he speaks. you don’t move it — can’t— too caught by the sight of his face slowly leaning close to yours. his voice is low and careful, like a parent letting a child in on a secret. “you and him don’t know how to flirt,” he repeats. "you guys get all mean when you like someone because you're too embarrassed by your feelings. it's okay, i've never minded. it just gets a little old when we're this age."
you become agitated as he talks down to you. additionally, a flicker of something — jealousy, maybe — twists in your chest. you don't even know who exactly it's towards, but the strange, hollow feeling like you're being left out gnaws at you.
"i, i'm not flirting with you, dumbass," you scoff, trying to recover. "are you stupid?"
he laughs, low and amused. “he said that too.”
“okay, well, he wasn’t flirting with you either,” you say, a little too quickly — as if you’d know. the words come out half in defense of your best friend's honor, and half in defense of… whatever it was that exists between you and him. "he wouldn't do that."
"what makes you think he wouldn't?" izuku asks simply, although he doesn't allow you to the chance to make your case. "you think i don't got a pretty face?"
“because he hates your guts, moron,” you snap, voice sharp. "and, because... " your words trail off as you are unable to put into words the complexities of you and katsuki's relationship.
izuku mimics your hesitation with a playful pout. “because… it makes you less special?”
your face burns. "you don’t know what you’re the fuck you’re talking about.”
“yeah?” he teases, leaning closer, chairs right next to each other now. “you don’t think it's obvious how you feel about him? you've always followed him around, like a lost little puppy, doing whatever he tells you; it doesn't take a genius to work it out. or maybe...” his hand, no longer resting on your knee, slides deliberately up and down your thigh, slow and measured, your skin on fire beneath his touch. “maybe… you just don’t like sharing me with kacchan?”
your pulse surges -- in your chest, behind your eyes -- like something’s about to burst. you can’t take it. this new version of izuku, calm and sure of himself, unshaken by your presence -- it’s unbearable. five years have passed since you last spoke to him, and whatever dynamic you once had is long gone. you hate the way it feels, not having power over him anymore. what's worse is how precise his analysis is. forced to think about it, you can’t stand the thought of katsuki secretly harboring feelings for izuku all this time, nor the terrifying possibility that you might want izuku for yourself. the realization settles in your gut like a stone, too heavy, and too terrifying to face.
you know you should control yourself — that it’s wrong, childish, and violent — but your body moves faster than your mind. your palm connects with his cheek in a harsh slap, driven by the desperate need to reclaim the upper hand. you’re on your feet before you even register what you’ve done, shock gripping you by your shoulders as you can only wait for izuku’s reaction.
the man simply clicks his tongue, a low humorless chuckle escaping him as he slowly rises from his seat. then, his hands are on your arms, and the two of you engage in a wordless struggle, tension crackling between you as he wrestles for control without hurting you. in an instant, your back hits the edge of his bed. fear curls in your stomach as you resist— not because he'd do anything cruel, but because you know he has every right to put you in your place. you’ve always dreaded confrontation and especially, the accountability that comes with it.
no one speaks for a while. your chest heaves, each breath shallow and uneven, as he forms a cage above you with his arms, his hands gripping your wrists. apart from your breathing, the only sound in the room is the steady ticking of his all might clock on the wall. his face draws close, so close that your breaths mingle, yet his expression remains unreadable. he’s just watching you... studying you. then, finally, he breaks the silence.
“me and kacchan have fucked,” he says plainly, deliberately trying to hurt you without the need of raising a single hand. his eyes are locked on yours to gauge your reaction, observing as the jealousy stabs your chest like a knife, your expression crumpling as the information rips you apart. tears begin to well at the corners of your eyes and it reminds him of when you guys were kids -- how you’d pout if they ever left you out of playing with them.
you thrash, like a mouse caught in a trap. "get off me…! i'm sorry for what i did, but, fuck, it didn't even hurt you--"
“why are you so upset?” he cuts you off, the sickly sweet tone only deepening your guilt. “he didn't tell you? i'd say that sucks, but you guys left me out of everything else. hell, you made me the target.”
“i only did it because kacchan told me to,” you bark back, avoiding accountability, as well as the urge to cry.
“but that’s not really it, is it?” he presses. “you know what i think? i think, you're the greediest little girl i’ve ever met. you can’t handle not getting your way, which is why you went along with whatever he told you to do; because it got you what you wanted.”
"that's not true-- " you interject, but he cuts you off again, tightening his grip around your wrists, but not enough to hurt you.
"isn't it? because the way i see it, it was like killing two birds with one stone for you. you'd get attention from him because you'd do what he says, and attention from me because you’re were being a bitch. i think, you’re upset because you think i don’t have to work for his love ‘like you do’ -- but you don’t fucking get it. he spoils you. i am the one who has to work for it. so, do you really think it would've been fair if i just gave you what you wanted too?"
despite izuku's overall calm demeanor, the raw frustration mixed with jealousy simmering beneath his surface was unmistakable. it was a side of him that you hadn’t seen in a while. that’s why, when a warmth began to gather low in your core, you found yourself unable to say anything, afraid you'd give away your perverted arousal and inadvertently prove his suspicions about your feelings for him right.
unfortunately, he catches on quickly, your blown out pupils making you.
“you’re serious?” he asks, voice carrying both utter disbelief and something darker. “of course you would get off to this.”
you panic, clinging onto what little dignity you have left. “no, i’m not--”
“just stop.” the command is quiet, but it lands like a blow. in one swift motion, he wedges his knee firmly between your thighs, the pressure against your clothed sex sending sparks of pleasure through your body. your hips buck against him subsequently, unable to control yourself.
“see?” he demonstrates, almost amused if he wasn’t so ticked off. “were you even listening to a word I said?”
your ears ring with embarrassment. “i was...”
“then tell me what i said.”
your throat makes a strangled noise. "i'm greedy... and a bitch..."
"close, but i meant verbatim."
“i can’t do that!” you object with a whine.
his sigh follows, as if he expected nothing less. “then you weren’t listening.”
he straightens, releasing your wrists and sitting back on his heels. the silence stretches, heavy and uncertain.
“what am I going to do with you?” he murmurs at last — more to himself than to you.
“i’m not a dog…” you grumble, shifting onto your elbows. “you don’t have to talk about me like that.”
izuku scoffs, rolling his eyes. “you act like one. god, do you always have something to say? you pull that shit when you do it with him?"
you go shy at the subject. izuku can feel his dick twitch traitorously against his thigh in seeing the difference from your usual behavior and over the mental image of the you and katsuki.
“you don’t, do you?” he slowly works out. “fuck, lucky bastard gets you all… sweet and soft. doesn’t even have to do anything, and you fall apart. man, he doesn’t even fucking deserve that. shit, you telling me i don’t deserve that? it never crossed your mind that if you’d just tried to be nice to me, you would've got what you wanted?”
you open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. sweat sticks your hair to your forehead. you’re flushed. breathless. in other words, you look fucked out, and he hasn't even touched you.
"damn it," is all your ex-childhood best friend can say before crashing his lips onto yours. the kiss is searing, with years of foreplay yearning behind it. fisted hands tangle with hair before helping the other person take off their clothes — like it’ll kill them both to be wearing a shirt any longer.
"how’d you do it with him?" you ask breathlessly once the two of you break apart for air. even though it makes you insanely jealous, the gnaw of curiosity trumps the feeling.
"tell me what you think we did," izuku murmurs against the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking and biting. nimble fingers make quick work of your bra clasp and toss the garment aside.
you swallow hard as cool air kisses your newly exposed skin, nipples already pebbled from arousal. in a full palm grope, he plays with one of your breasts, while taking the other into his mouth. "kacchan bottomed?" you guess, sucking in your breath as he swirls his tongue around your nipple, a sound which he relishes.
he smiles at your theory, your nipple in between his teeth as he does so. he sucks on the stiff peak for few seconds longer, before releasing it with a wet pop in order to respond to you. "mhm. is he submissive with you or something?” he asks, wondering how’d you know.
a whimper is drawn out of you as a result of his ministrations. you shake your head. “he’s mean to me.”
“aw, poor thing,” izuku cooed mockingly. "rough?"
you answer with a meek nod, watching with bated breath as he goes to undo the button of your shorts.
“i’d figured that’s how he’d do it with a girl. when me and him did it,” izuku explains with a low voice, “he was really bossy. ‘cause he was desperate, y’know? it was cute. begged me to pound his ass hard.”
he lays a large flat hand against your lower belly, pausing his movements to demonstrate. “you could see it bulge right about here.”
your thighs clench automatically, feeling lightheaded at the thought of it all. “s’not fair,” you whine, needy and shameless.
“next time,” he promises, “it’ll be all three of us.” with a firm tug, he yanks your shorts down your legs and off of you, pleased with the sight of your positively soaked panties. his dick throbs almost painfully in his pants as he examines how your arousal clings to the thin piece of cotton. with a smooth movement, izuku hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them aside, finally able to drink in your naked form in its entirety. without much (no) hesitation, he unceremoniously dives forward, sealing his lips around your aching pussy, feasting on you with a single-minded intensity.
your thighs reflexively clamp around his head as your fingers thread throughout his hair. “shi— izu…” you pant, stifling a moan. his hot breath fans against your folds, lips suckling your clit, and a familiar smirk creeps onto his face at the pitch of your voice.
“oh, so i’m ‘izu’ when i’m eating you out, got it,” he scoffs, lightheartedly. in response, your pussy flutters against his tongue causing him to let out a groan that vibrates against your mound. it ends up leaving you aching for more -- your greedy hole now practically sucking his tongue deeper with each lap. luckily, izuku nears his limit, willing to give you what you want.
his last final slurp of your pussy is straight-up nasty in its sound. as he sits back on his haunches, he wipes the glistening evidence of your arousal on his chin with the back of his hand. cooly, he wrangles off his belt buckle and zipper before shimmying his pants down, your eyes focused on his muscular thighs as he does so. you then watch as his boxers hit the floor, freeing his dick, which slaps against his abs -- the tip is flared and pink, with beads of pre-cum dribbling down its curved left-leaning length, all of which makes your pussy drool in anticipation.
as izuku reaches for a condom located in his nightstand, you stop him mid-motion. "i'm on birth control," you tell him, impatience and desire coloring your voice, not wanting to wait even a second longer. the information and its delivery can only make his erection twitch in reply.
that being said, he crawls towards you on the bed and aligns himself at your entrance. you mentally prepare yourself for the stretching sensation, but instead, izuku pauses, allowing merely the head of his shaft to just… nestle against your folds. a humiliating sound of frustration is ripped out from your throat.
"don't tease," you cry, reaching down to put it in yourself, only to have your hand intercepted by his firm grip.
“i’m waiting,” he says, voice infuriatingly steady.
“for?” you demand, exasperated.
“an apology.”
“oh my god,” you groan. “i’m sorry...”
“thank you for the vague apology.” his eyes glint; he’s clearly enjoying this. your hips jerk involuntarily as izuku's slaps his tip against your pussy. “why don’t we get a bit more specific?”
you rack your hazy brain for what he wants, trying not to get distracted by the feeling of his swollen head rubbing against your clit. the faint red handprint on his cheek jogs your memory fast enough. “...i’m sorry for slapping you.”
“and?”
“and?!” you repeat back, incredulous at this drawn-out torture. “i-- i'm sorry for being mean to you." the for years hangs in the air, unsaid but heard.
he hums, unimpressed. “hm. not as good as i thought it’d be. you know, when most people apologize, they usually mention what they’ll do better.” his tone is calm, deliberate, and not like he's fighting back the urge to shove his dick inside you. “so. what are you going to do to be better from now on?”
“be nice?”
“be good,” he corrects. “keep your hands to yourself.... talk to me like you do everyone else… say it."
“i’ll be good,” you whine, hands gripping his bedsheets in restraint, as you hope he can see how genuine you are (or at least trying to be).
it feels like forever goes by before he finally sinks himself into you, your own gasp catching you off guard as he does. he can’t help but moan shamelessly at the warmth coating his dick.
“fuck…” he drags out, hands gripping your hips tightly to ground himself, “this alone might make all of it worth it.”
every thrust is delicious, the slapping of his heavy balls against your ass a close contender in what you focus on, second only to the way the pulse of his dick feels inside your walls. you wrap your hands around his neck for support, unable to stop your whimpers and gasps.
as his cockhead gets caught on that spongy part inside, you can’t help but wrap your legs around his waist in an effort to get him to hit that spot again.
“r-right there?” izuku’s voice cracks as he swallows the gathering saliva in his mouth, sweat dripping down his forehead. for a moment, the careful composure he’d grown into slips, revealing the awkward, disheveled version of himself you were familiar with.
you frantically nod — yeah — hand reaching down between your sweaty bodies to rub at your clit as you feel yourself coming close to the edge. based off his sputtering pace, you assumed he was as well.
“can i? inside?” was all he could rasp out, not having the patience to form an actual sentence in a time as urgent as this.
“please,” you beg, barely a whisper, and it’s what undoes him. his hands find his way to your jaw, cupping your face as he kisses you once more, burying himself deep as he cums. you find yourself following him right after, the contractions of your walls making him hiss sharply against your mouth as he was now much too sensitive.
he collapses right next to you and the two of you lie there in each other’s embrace for a while, absolutely spent, bare chests rising and falling against each other. izuku brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes half-lidded, unfocused — a mindless sort of gaze that drifts somewhere past you. eventually, he slips himself out of you, milky liquid dripping down your thigh when he does. you watch as he slides off the bed, crosses to his desk, and picks up his phone. before you can even register, he snaps a picture of your exposed state.
“what are you— ” you start, but he lifts a finger, wordlessly asking for patience. for some reason — maybe exhaustion — you don’t argue. a minute or two passes, before he finally turns the phone screen towards you.
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