CW ABUSE NONCON FINGERING CAPTIVITY FORCED PET PLAY STOCKHOLM SYNDROME
you have been a bad, bad dog. with each minute that passes, your heart beats faster and louder in your chest, natural reflexes choosing flight over anything. the closer the rumbling from toji's vehicle gets, the more you want to run and hide in the back of the closet, or shove yourself into a cabinet—somewhere that he can't find you.
it's unfortunate that your faults weren't even your own. one of toji's little friends—shiu, you think—used the spare key to break in and take a nasty little video of you. sent it to him while he was working, knowing good and well that he can't leave in the middle of the day. he had himself and a pet to take care of.
despite how incredibly enraged toji may be, you can't bring yourself to do much other than curl up on the floor in front of the couch. knees tucked under your chin, cheek resting on top and staring directly at the door. thick leather that encases your neck begins to feel like a noose, impending punishments weighing heavy on your mind—the leash that connects is laid lazily across the floor, waiting to be tugged.
sounds of keys jingle and the scrape of metal from the door makes you sick. there's a metaphorical cloud of anger around toji as he enters, may as well be steaming out his ears, but he takes his time unpacking his day before dealing with you. keys thrown on the wall, shoes toed off next to the door, work shirt covered in the day's baggage unbuttoned and thrown somewhere you can't see.
toji steps heavily toward you, irises staring daggers into you so hard you begin to feel pricks along your skin. he's looking at you with that disappointed look he used to get when you would express that you wanted out, but this time there's more anger behind it, like he's disappointed and wants to kill you off at the same time. the bones in his knee pop as he squats down and taps the floor, giving you a little whistle, instructing you without words—and no words are more dangerous than if he came in the door cursing at you. that's another thing you had to learn over time.
you scurry to him, tripping over your own clumsy limbs in a hurry, leash constricting around your arms as you crawl. tears already dot your lash line as you settle in front of him on your knees, hands folded in your lap, bottom lip quivering in a mix of emotions. your eyes search his face for a glimpse of what he's feeling, and his tight jaw and twitching eyelid are more than enough to tell you that you're in trouble.
you're surprised when you feel a hand rub against your cheek, stroking your jawline so sweetly that your immediate reaction is to lean into it, eyes closing and a satisfied sigh leaving your nose. at first, toji was a cruel owner. brute force and beatings, he had no patience to train or reprimand nicely. he's of the mindset that pain is what teaches a dog, it forces them into submission and forces them to listen. he started to come around over time—and like this, you forget all the pain and suffering you've been through to be this good.
with your cheek still resting in his palm, toji uses his other hand to fix your collar and untangle your leash, turning it so the embroidering rests right against your jugular. his finger drags to underneath your chin, making your head nod up to look at him.
"wait here, don't move."
toji gets up with a groan, turning on his heel and toward the hallway. doors open and close at the other end of the house, and your head tilts in inquisition, wondering what he's doing without you. normally—and as long as toji's in a good mood—you are attached to him the minute he walks through the door, following him like a lost puppy because that's basically all you are to him.
minutes pass as you wait, but you aren't scared anymore, that sense of security having come back after toji pet you for a minute. footsteps begin to get louder as toji makes his way back to you, closer and closer until he's standing in front of you. his jaw is still closed tight, eyes narrowed as he looks down at you—he's got your leash wrapped around his hand before you can process what's happening.
toji pulls you hard enough you collapse onto the ground, unable to do anything but flail around as he drags you through the house. your collar crushes your trachea, your heels dig into the floor below you and you curse the hard wood because there is no traction. instead, your hips burn as you're hauled down the hallway and towards the bathroom, your fingers coming to your neck in a desperate attempt to separate the leather from cutting off your airways.
the door to the bathroom is broken down as toji slams it open, two of his fingers digging directly into your collar and pulling you into the space with him. he uses his leverage and pure strength to throw you into the bathtub, ice cold water plugging up your sinuses and freezing your skin. water splashes over the sides of the tub as you try to gain footing, arms weakly pushing yourself up and your knees coming under you, assuming your natural position on all fours.
you try and cough up the water in your lungs back into the puddle toji threw you in, saliva dribbling down your chin into the ripples. it mixes in with the water and the sweat from your earlier struggle, all a nasty soup of shameful things you did today. fear is the only thing you can process in your head, along with the guilt that already begins to rear it's ugly head in the back of your mind.
a pitiful whimper falls from your lips when you feel toji's rough hand right over your mound, calloused fingers feeling all between your sore folds. his touch is not loving or soft like he's become recently, that sweetness was only granted after a long while of discipline—and you've done more than just broken his rules.
toji's grumbling something to himself so quietly you can't make it out between the sloshing of water and the ringing in your ears. something, something, clean the fuck up, something, something, fucking digusting. rough digits begin to breach your hole, scratching against your sensitive insides and causing you to whine even more. it hurts.
it hurts more when you hear toji grouse something else as he fucks three of his fingers into your cunt, an insult obviously directed towards you.
"filthy fucking bitch."
your head snaps to look at toji, the sting in your chest outdoing the pain he's lashed upon you everywhere else. he's never called you that before, not even in the midst of your roughest training days—it was always bad girl or bad dog or something of the sort, he would normally let his actions do all the talking.
another scrape to your insides and you understand what your prized owner is doing, he's cleaning you, scraping out the evidence that another man was there. you let out a sob at the feeling of his blunt nails against your walls, digits roughly curling to scrub your insides from the filth of his friend, voice scratchy and small due to a long time of no use. pathetic tears are starting to roll down your cheeks, turning into full on blubbering the longer toji goes on.
filthy, digusting. bitch. the words repeat over and over in your mind as you cry into the depths of the tub, bad dog, bad dog, bad dog. you disappointed the one person that you always hoped to impress, the man who's best friend you supposedly are. you'll never be that again, you think, this mistake is a permanent mark on your record. truthfully, you'd rather be taken out back and shot rather than go back to the pound, but bad dogs don't deserve a comfy home and a loving owner like you've got.
the loss of toji's fingers brings you out of your guilt trip, then gently tugged back by your collar so he can take the stopper out the drain. you want to scream out, say no, clean me, please clean me, but your vocal cords can't push the words out. he stands up, watching the water drain and you curl back up into a ball, beginning to shiver from the cold, physically and mentally—but you'd never complain about that as long as he'd keep you.
"dry up," toji demands, throwing a soft towel at you and reaching for the door, "and go get me a beer, make yourself useful."
your ears perk up and his commands, warmth inside your heart rivaling the cold around your skin, watching your owner leave with loving eyes. his footsteps recede and you're beaming inside, he still has use for you, after all.
Idk if soldier boy would actually care if you smoked, but if he did, he would do some vile shit if he caught you.
♱ ... soldier boy ... ♱
18+ MDNI
“Don’t put it out.”
You blinked up at him in confusion from the siding you were leaning on, surprised he wasn’t snatching it from you and putting it out on his hand.
“Take another drag doll, hell, light one up for me.” You slid one out of your fresh pack, timidly holding it up to his lips. He grabbed it and the lighter, taking a deep drag. “Doesn’t do shit for me but I know you like watchin’”
You nodded slowly, a soft smile appearing on your face now that you know he’s not mad. You finished your cigs together in silence, and you stubbed yours out, ready to head back inside.
“Smoke another with me.”
You laughed nervously, already feeling keyed up from just the one. “I’m okay. You’re welcome to another if you want it though.”
“I said, smoke another with me.” He turned to you, and had that look in his eye you had learned to be afraid of.
You cautiously grabbed another from the pack, taking much shorter drags this time and trying to let the smoke escape from your lungs quickly.
“I can hear what you’re doing. Smoke ‘em how you normally do.”
A headache formed as you kept taking hits, and by the time you were done you had a nauseous pit in your stomach.
“Can we go inside now?” you asked timidly, hoping he was done with whatever point he was trying to make. “I’m cold.”
His gaze locked with yours, cocky and mean. “Another.”
“Please?” you tried again, your brows knitting together.
“Unless you want me to fuck that ass raw you’re smokin’ another.”
Two more later your vision was woozy and you felt sick to your fucking stomach.
“Had enough, doll? Still feel like smokin?’” he asked, looking down at you.
“Yes,” you said, not remembering when you had sat down against the side of the house.
“Oh she still feels like smokin’? Light up another for me then.”
“No, I meant I’ve had enough.”
Ben squatted down to look you in the eyes when he said “then say that next time I ask.” He put one he had already lit between your slack lips, hand firm on your jaw to keep your mouth closed. “Another.”
Tears leaked down your face as you inhaled, blowing the plume of smoke right in his face just to spite him.
“That’s how it’s gonna be? Was gonna let you be done after this but now I got one more with your name on it.”
You pounded your head against the siding, hating this, hating him.
“Just doin’ what’s best for ya, doll. Good luck trying to smoke after this.”
You didn’t even consider yourself a smoker. You always had a pack on deck, but only bought a new one every few weeks. Surely not often enough to warrant this.
He shoved the next one in your mouth once you were finished, a sick smirk on his face. “If you behave, this is your last one.”
You got about halfway through before you turned to the side and vomited. With those damned reflexes, Ben already had a grip of your hair ensuring you didn’t get anything dirty. You cried, feeling disgusting and woozy, the taste in your mouth borderline toxic. Ben pulled you into his arms, pressing your face against his chest while he carried you inside. You pounded on him a couple times, pissed at him for being a fucking asshole, but you felt too dizzy to do anything more than that.
“Doll, I told you I don’t want you fuckin’ smokin’. Next time, hell, if you can even stand to look at ‘em, tell me and I’ll make you cum it out.”
thinking about ben (dubcon) fucking you and making you piss yourself out of fear, then he makes fun of you for it :>
"How the fuck do you even get yourself in this situation, huh? Letting yourself get fucked raw by an old man and hardly puttin' up a fight. Was at least expecting some cryin'."
You would have responded if you could. He had you pressed up against the wall in some storage closet he found, his fingers pressed halfway down your throat. Your mouth had gotten all foamy from the way his fingers pressed at and worked your tongue, and you could feel the drool leaking out of your mouth and down your neck.
"Messy little thing, aren't you? Leakin' the same cheap shit out of her mouth and her cunt."
His hips hit the fat of your ass at a furious pace, and through your haze you wondered how you could possibly feel him so deep when he's not bottoming out.
His free hand palmed at your ass, squeezing and pulling the flesh for the satisfaction of watching it spring back into place.
"It's fucking winking at me, you know that?" Then he seemed to consider something. "But pretty young thing like you maybe doesn't know that. Anyone touched you back here, doll?" He asked, thumbing at your puckered hole. You were still dry enough to not worry about him slipping in, but his thumb pressed and tugged at the skin all the same. Your body felt clammy with anxiety, feeling totally stuck in your situation. Impaled on his cock and fingers, nowhere to go and no way to get through to him. You tried to shake your head, get the idea out of his before he fixated on it, but that only seemed to intrigue him more.
"Fuckin' anal virgin. Fuck wish I didn't know that. Nothin' fuckin' sweeter than a sweet little thing getting thumbed and fucked for the first time on the same night. Bet you'd cry so pretty while you're getting split open. Even more than you are right now," he said lowly, referencing the tears that had started to fall freely down your face.
You tried to use your tongue to push his fingers out of your mouth, but all that did was make him shove them impossibly deeper. You were shaking like a leaf, barely able to support yourself with the desperation weaving through your veins and the way ben was bullying your cunt.
The hand that was thumbing at your asshole shifted to grip your hip, manipulating your position so his cock could hit that deep, gummy spot inside of you. You screamed around his fingers, only a pathetic, muffled whine coming out.
"God aren't you fuckin' sweet. Pussy soft as silk and mouth quiet as a kitten."
With each stroke you felt more pressure on your bladder, his cock feeling the same as someone pushing on your tummy.
"Oh, that's what's got you squirmy all of the sudden," he murmured in your ear, his fingers sneaking around to palm at your stomach. "Broads like you are too fuckin' worried about bein' clean, bein' picture-fuckin'-perfect, bein' demure, shit pisses me off. Don't play in the damn mud if you don't want to get dirty." He increased the pressure of his hand with each word, and the speed of his thrusts had you so on edge that you couldn't think straight about what your body is doing. You heard ben's groan before you realized what was happening, and you squeezed your eyes shut while you waited for your embarrassment to be over. You felt the hot liquid streaming down your thighs and pooling at your feet, and the way your cunt spasmed around his cock made stopping impossible.
"Know I said I like my girls dirty but you just took that and fuckin' ran with it, didn't you? Pissed all over our legs like a dog." His hips were pounding into you wildly, his voice going ragged in your ear. "Pegged you for a whore but didn't think it would be this easy to make you my bitch. You're lucky I'm feelin' nice and I'm not gonna make you lick that shit up off the floor"
a/n - please try to read the 'fuckin' anal virgin' line in his voice it's so good I can actually hear him saying it
Synopsis: You are one of the few people in the world without a soulmate. When your friend finally meets hers, you give her the brightest smile, pretending not to feel that ache in your chest. But her soulmate is a bit strange, and you feel like you're the only one who notices.
(Warnings: yandere, dark content, manipulation, infidelity, rape/noncon, afab reader, tw selfharm(not done to mc))
Unmei was your best friend in the entire world.
You met her when you two were still learning to read and write. You were neighbors, classmates, practically attached at the hip. There was a running joke in the neighborhood that you two were sisters in a past life.
She was with you on the night of your 13th birthday, when not a single name scrawled itself in black ink on your wrist.
You’d cried for days. All you’d ever wanted was a soulmate. Finding out the universe decided you didn’t deserve one was heart crushing.
Back then, Unmei looked at her own soulmark with disgust.
“Well, if you don’t have one, then I don’t want a soulmate, either.” She’d declared with a large grin, wiping away your tears. “Besides, Geto Suguru is a stupid name, anyway.”
Even back then, you knew it was a joke. Not a promise. She just wanted you to cheer up. She wasn’t agreeing to be a spinster with you.
Still, when she called you with the news, something broke within you.
“-He’s great! He’s so great!” Her voice crackles through the phone. “I’ve never met someone so kind and gentle. And his face! He’s so handsome. It was love at first sight.”
She excitedly tells you how they met, how he’d tapped her shoulder in the library, asking if she knew where to find a book. She’d only seen a glimpse of his badge, his name, and then the rest was history.
The more she talks, the more you sink. You could almost imagine what she looked like as she spoke. Her cheeks would glow with a warm pink. There would be a sparkle in her eye that makes her look younger. It was so selfish of you to drown in misery when she’s so happy. She’s your closest friend. She deserves better than someone so jaded.
You’re glad she isn’t here in person. You don’t want her to see how bitter you feel.
You close the hole in your heart with cement and faux delight.
“He sounds great,” you hear yourself say.
“When can I meet him?”
❤︎
You’ve never seen someone so tall before.
He wasn’t dressed to stand out. The simple, black coat drapes perfectly against his lean figure. His hair is coiled into an elegant bun, showcasing his neck and black earrings. His face is sharp and edged with beauty.
Unmei tugs him over, looking at him with bright, glimmering eyes. Love. You can see the truth stamped right on her face.
She slides into the seat across from you. He mirrors her. The whispers and noises within the cafe hush their voices a bit.
And yet, you can hear his voice clearly. Low and gentle.
“Did I say it right?” Geto asks right after he says your name. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Unmei flushes.
You spot the expensive watch hanging off his wrist as he reaches over to shake your hand.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says.
“Change,” his purple eyes murmur, “the end of it all.”
The next hour passes with small talk and introductions. Unmei is the main talker, with Geto adding something in every so often. They work well together; you quietly observe, sipping on watered-down iced coffee. They fit. Pieces of a puzzle. Made for each other.
They are soulmates, after all.
“-It’s why I wanted you to meet him so bad,” Unmei tells you when you finally tune in again. “You two are so similar! It’d be nice to have all of us hang out sometime.”
“That would be nice.” Geto nods along before directing his gaze at you. “Perhaps you could bring your own soulmate, too.”
Your throat tightens. Unmei blanches. You can sense her about to redirect, but you figure it’s best if you bite the bullet now.
“I don’t have one.” You tell him, forcing your voice to sound light.
It takes a second for people to understand what you’re telling them–that you’re one of those. You wait for Geto to get that shameful look of pity everyone gets the moment you tell them. You’ve spent years like this, but it never stops stinging.
No pity. No sympathy.
He leans forward. His eyes sharpen.
“Really?”
You shrug, avoiding his gaze to sip on your coffee. You can still feel his eyes prickle on your skin even after Unmei changes the conversation.
Hours later, she texts you: sooo what’d you think????
You write exactly what she wants to hear.
He’s perfect for you:)
❤︎
Your second interaction with Geto happens without Unmei.
Some days, you liked to wander: turn your brain off, stroll through random shops, admiring the various knick-knacks you could never justify the price enough to purchase. Today, your feet led you into a small bookstore.
The door alerts to your presence with a cheery jingle. The man at the front spares you a lukewarm smile as you trek into his store. The smell of paper and ink greets your nose. It’s a cozy place. Quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling city just outside.
One of your favorite authors recently published a new book. You weren’t sure if this bookstore had it, but you told yourself it wouldn’t hurt to check. You scanned the rows and shelves, drifting around the store to see if you could spot it.
You were so distracted, you didn’t notice him until you quite literally walked into him.
Hands reach out to steady you. Firm but gentle. You look up as a bundle of apologies is ready to spill from your lips. They die once you look into sharp purple eyes.
Geto smiles when his hands release your shoulders.
“Careful there.”
You reanimate at his voice. You step back, mindful of how close he was.
“Sorry,” you tell him, “I–I didn’t see you.”
“I could tell.” His grin widens, and you sheepishly glance down.
“This is a very welcome coincidence,” he continues, “I didn’t know you liked literature as well.”
You helplessly shrug, trying not to show your discomfort. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Geto. He seemed like a nice person, but you were not ready at all for a one-on-one interaction with your friend’s new boyfriend.
“Yeah,” you say when the silence gets too long, “I was just here to see if I could find something in particular…” Just then, your eyes drift up.
You catch the title just then. It’s sitting quietly on the top shelf, leering at you. If only you’d found it sooner, it seems to goad at you; you wouldn’t be stuck in the most awkward situation in the world.
Geto catches your gaze. He glances up at the book.
“Is that the one?” He asks.
You nod. He reaches up and lifts it from its respective spot. You expect him to hand it over immediately, but he seems more interested in examining the cover.
“That sounds interesting.” He comments before handing it to you. “Would you recommend it?”
“I haven’t read it yet.” You admit. “But I’m a big fan of the author.”
He hums in acknowledgement. That’s when you notice his own stash of books he had tucked under his arm.
“You’re a horror fan?” You ask.
“Not particularly,” he admits. “I just wanted to branch out. My friend is a huge horror fan. These were mostly his recommendations.”
You nod. “Unmei also likes horror. The genre at least.” You blab on. “Back when we were in high school, she’d force me to watch all sorts of slasher movies, and then she’d get so scared she’d beg me to let her sleep over.”
On those days, you’d wake up to her snoring all over your pillows. Later, when you teased her about it, she’d laugh it off with red all over her face.
Those days were tinged with nostalgia–back when it was just you and Unmei.
You expect Geto to appreciate the snapshot of his soulmate’s past. That’s why he’s making small talk with you in the first place, right? To get to know her better.
Something flickers across his eyes. It was barely a moment before his face changed to deep sincerity, but you caught it.
Boredom.
You were stumped. How could someone be so blatantly uninterested in their soulmate? Or maybe it was you he couldn’t care less about? Or perhaps you just imagined it entirely?
You feel like you should confront him about it.
“Sorry,” you say instead, “ I need to head out now.”
“Of course.” He immediately steps aside to let you pass through the cramped shelves.
You expect that to be the end of it, but you can hear his footsteps behind you.
You almost considered abandoning your book entirely, just so you could escape the bookstore. Instead, you flash a tense smile at the cashier, who beams back.
“Find everything okay?” He asks.
“We did,” Geto tells him cheerily. He stands right next to you. You can almost feel the coat he wears brush against your shoulder.
Sometimes you wish you weren’t so nonconfrontational. Maybe you would’ve fought a bit more when Geto casually plucks the book from your loose grip, placing it on top of his own stack.
“All together, please.” He tells the cashier, before he turns to you. “I got it.”
“No, it’s fine.” You’re finally able to speak up. It’s too late. The man is already grabbing the bag and saying his regards to the worker behind the counter. He holds the door open for you.
You meekly thank him.
“I can pay you back.” You immediately say.
Geto shakes his head. “It’s fine. Think of it as a gift.” He hands your book into your twitching hands. “A token to the start of a good friendship.”
You had this bad habit of feeling indebted to someone if they paid for you, to the point where you would bend backwards for them if they asked.
Something tells you that being in that situation with Geto is a terrible idea.
You still accept, thanking him as sincerely as you can.
“That reminds me.” Geto continues, pulling out his phone. “We should exchange contacts. We do share a favorite person after all. It would be wise to keep in touch.” He tells you with a steady grin.
Your stomach flips. You don’t want to. You genuinely don’t want to.
But the book is heavy in your hands.
When Geto offers to walk you to the station, you finally gather the courage to decline. You thank him repeatedly for his kindness, slipping away before he can coax you into doing anything more.
He was nothing but polite to you
Kind even.
But there’s something so horribly wrong about Geto Suguru.
—
Geto and Unmei moved fast.
They became an official couple one week after they met. Two months later, Unmei moved into his place.
They moved fast, as most soulmates do. After all, if two people are destined to be together forever, why wait? Why not get the hard part over with first so you can enjoy forever more?
At least, that’s how you saw it.
The party was subdued but extremely upscale. Geto’s apartment was something else entirely. Luxurious floors with open spaces. When you looked outside the spotless glass, you could see the glimmering lights of the city far beneath your feet.
You felt like you could fall through the glass and crash into those lights. You’d shatter into a million pieces, twinkling like the stars above.
“Would you like another drink?” A voice asks.
You glance up. Nanami Kento’s eyes remain on you. You suddenly remember what you were doing.
You look down at your cup—just water. You were driving home tonight. “I’m fine, but thank you.”
Nanami nods, taking a swing of his own cup. The amber-colored liquid swirled around the glass.
Out of all of Geto’s friends, you think you liked Nanami the most. He was quiet, straightforward, polite, and a complete gentleman. He was one of you, you later found out—someone with un inked wrists. When Unmei dragged him across the room to ‘keep each other company’, you thought it was another one of her schemes.
Well, it definitely still was her scheme, but you didn’t mind it too much. Nanami was good company. He was much more preferable to Geto’s other friend. The tall one with blue eyes and white hair. The one that kept staring at you like he knew something you didn’t.
“So how do you know Geto?” You ask.
His lips thinned. You almost smile.
“Old classmates.” He tells you. “He, along with a couple of others, was in the grade above me.”
He seemed exhausted even thinking about it. You wonder how wild his upper-level students were.
“What about you and Unmei?” He asks after a bit.
You hide your smile behind your glass.
“We were practically raised together.” You start. “Attached at the hip, ever since we were kids.”
You two used to plan your weddings together. She wanted her kid to marry yours. Every day you were at each other’s houses. Every weekend was slumber parties and sleepovers.
When kids used to mock you for not having a name, she was the one who defended you. She was the one who chased off bullies and wiped away your tears.
She’s been in your life all your life. You can’t remember a time she wasn’t.
“Hm,” Nanami comments, “you two sound close.”
“We are,” you agree, even when you can taste the uncertainty on your tongue.
She stood a little way away. Unmei looked borderline unrecognizable from the one you knew just a few months ago. Her hair was pushed up from her face, a stark contrast to the looser hairstyles she used to prefer. Her dress was sleek and glamorous. She probably wore hundreds of dollars on her wrist. She blended right into the elite group she was currently laughing with.
Nanami keeps talking about something. You hum along, unable to take your eyes off of her. You keep watching until you can’t anymore.
Sometime later, you find yourself on the balcony. The murmur of the crowd has dwindled behind you. It’s cold, you didn’t bring a jacket. There are goosebumps littered across your arms, but you don’t want to go inside yet. You’re not sure if you can continue looking at Unmei as she changes into something you can’t reach anymore.
There it was again. That bitterness. The guilt washes it down all over again.
Footsteps. Someone takes their place right next to you. At first, you think it’s Nanami’s attempt to restart the conversation.
Geto leans over the railing, watching the city below.
“It’s a pretty view, isn’t it?” He asks, voice gentle and soft. “It’s a huge reason why I bought this place.”
You flex your fingers. The air suddenly gets colder.
“Yeah.” You give, listening to the muted sounds inside. “It’s beautiful.”
That’s the truth. The city lights twinkled and buzzed with life. Part of you wanted to sit there and count each one. You might be stuck there for years.
“It’s even more beautiful in the mornings,” Geto continues, “there’s a gentle fog that covers the city, and the horizon is this pale pink. I really hope you see it one day.”
You shift, a bit uncomfortable by the confession. You’re sure he doesn’t mean anything by it.
“You have a lovely home.” You finally say. “It’s very beautiful. I’m sure you're ecstatic to share this with Unmei.”
A genuine smile lifts your face as you think back to the times Unmei gushed about meeting her future soulmate. She’d planned everything: the house, the car, the dog. You’d sat there quietly, listening, just happy to be in her life.
“I bet you must have waited years to finally meet her.” You tell Geto as you admire the view. “You’re a very lucky man.”
You expect a laugh. You expect a bashful acceptance.
“I never wanted to meet my soulmate, initially.”
For the first time in the conversation, you truly look at Geto. He’s staring right back. His purple eyes are darker in the dim lighting. They’re almost a muddy brown.
“When I was younger, I had a grim opinion of soulmates.” His jaw tenses. You catch the movement. “The idea of having someone I was tied to by fate used to sicken me. It felt like control. It felt like something cosmic wrote out my future, and I was entirely helpless to it.”
You can’t pull your eyes away. Whatever you were hearing, no matter how jarring, felt honest. You were drawn to it–a bee to a flower.
“I think now, I’ve mostly changed my mind.” He shrugs. “The bond isn’t truly control. Rather, it’s a path, guiding us to something far more desirable.”
You blink. What could you say to that?
Thankfully, Geto doesn’t let you fluster for long. He steps ever so slightly closer. It’s already too close, but you can’t move. You’re stuck in your spot. Paralyzed.
“And, if anything.” He leans down, voice suddenly hushed. “I’d consider you the lucky one.”
“Me?”
He smiles. Amusement laces his lips. Long fingers reach for your arm. He slowly turns your hand, showing your blank, un-inked wrist.
“Yes,” he tells you, “this is truly lucky.”
You see it then. It flashes right across his purple eyes.
Jealousy.
It’s so hateful, it nearly makes you panic. You stumble back, out of his hold. The meeker part of you urges you to run. As far as you can. Run before–
“Are you alright?”
Concerned sincerity etches across Geto’s face as he reaches out to stabilize you. Hands press on your shoulders before they slip away.
You avert your gaze.
“I’m fine.” It’s too sharp. You force yourself to soften your tone. “I guess it’s a little chilly out.”
Geto barely wastes a moment. He slips off his jacket and settles it onto your shoulders before you can protest. His cologne clings to the leather. The smell of sandalwood and cinnamon.
“Keep it.” He stops you when you try to take it off. “Stay out here and enjoy the view a bit more. It’s truly breathtaking.”
You watch as he slips back inside, playing the perfect host to his guests. The air is still cold, but you can finally breathe again.
Later that night, Suguru gets on one knee and proposes.
Unmei says yes.
❤︎
There’s a way to reject the soul bond. You’ve seen it happen exactly once in your life.
You were fourteen, watching from the stairs as your mom comforted your next-door neighbor. She was one of the unlucky ones. Her soul bond was filled with nothing but rage and possession. You could see the evidence of it on the bruises on her soft skin. The swelling black eye.
She kept mumbling something of how sick she was to be tied to him. How she’d rather have no soulmate than one so vile. Your mother kept hushing her, insisting on calling the police, letting her stay the night.
She’s not listening. It’s like she’s in a trance as she rises on two shaky feet, drifting towards the kitchen. You find yourself following.
She pulls out a knife, and your mother screams when she digs into the ink on her own wrist.
She stopped bleeding before the ambulance arrived. There’s a gigantic smile on her face the entire time she’s talking to the paramedics.
You’ve never seen someone look so free before.
❤︎
Planning a wedding takes time and money. It’s a good thing that Geto is swimming in the latter.
The restaurant is upscale and practically swathed in elites. You feel very much out of place with your dress that probably wasn’t even worth the cheapest thing on the menu. Geto assured you plenty of times that this was his treat. Ever since the proposal, you’d been swamped in wedding preparations. This dinner was supposed to be a thank you.
Tonight is a celebration of two people.
You, the maid of honor.
And Gojo, the best man.
The two of you sat across from the engaged couple. Unmei was beaming the entire night. The ring was glistening on her finger. You’ve seen it all over her social media, not to mention the hours she spent gushing about how perfect the ring and the proposal was.
But you remembered she hated cluster rings. She used to call them tacky. And she’s told you her perfect proposal over and over again. She’s always wanted it somewhere outdoors, where they’re alone and surrounded by nature.
The complete opposite of how Suguru did it.
“I can barely sleep.” Unmei gushes to you while the two men continue their own conversation. “The wedding is still two months away, but I can barely sleep.”
You give her a comforting smile, taking another sip of your water. Dinner was already eaten, but you hadn’t tasted a single thing. It felt like cement sludge down your throat.
“I bet that’s normal,” you say, “It’s your day. You should be excited.”
“Most nights I just dream about flower arrangements.” She frowns before she sits up again. “Shit, the flowers. Please tell me you—“
“Don’t worry, I already booked the florist you were talking to,” you immediately coddle. “Everything is going to be perfect.”
She visibly relaxes, leaning back in her seat. “Only because you’re here.” She tells you. “I only got this far ‘cuz of you, y'know that?”
You smile. Her face brightens.
“Oh!” She exclaims. “Are you planning on bringing anyone? Someone special?”
The two men gradually quieted. You arch your brow.
“Probably not,” you say, “besides I’ll have a lot of stuff to do on the day of. I won’t have time for a date.”
“What about bringing Nanami?” She pipes up. “I’m sure he can entertain himself while you’re busy.”
Someone’s gaze stings your skin. You ignore it.
“Why would I bring him?”
She scoffs.
“Don’t act like that.” She chides. “I saw how into you he was at the party. Please tell me you got his number.”
You did. And you two text every now and then. Non-soulmates are rare, so even if you don’t end up in a relationship, it’s nice to keep in touch.
“Nanami?” Geto echoes, finally making it known that he was eavesdropping.
Unmei turns to him with a smile. “I introduced them a while ago. Aren’t they just perfect for each other?"
‘Is she saying that just because neither of us has soulmates?’ You try not to feel so harshly about it.
Geto smiles, but it lacks any warmth.
Gojo turns to you.
“I didn’t know you met Nanami?” He sports a wide grin. Almost like a sneer.
You shrug. “We talked for a bit sometime back.”
“I feel bad for you. I know I’m not supposed to talk crap about my juniors, but that guy is so boring.” He rolled his eyes. “He was even worse in high school, if you can believe that.”
“I didn’t think he was all that bad.” You counter.
“Ah, I get it.” Gojo nods. “You’re into the quiet, studious type of guy.”
You shift in your seat. “It’s nothing that dramatic.” You respond. “He was just really nice.”
“Hm.” Gojo takes a swing at his glass. “I guess I see wedding bells in your future, then.”
“Satoru.”
Geto’s voice is clipped. His eyes have shadows. Gojo puts his hands up in an ‘I surrender’ motion. There’s a lazy smile on his mouth. The atmosphere is so strained that even Unmei’s smile weakens. You take another sip of your water. You really wish you’d ordered something stronger. You had no idea tonight would be this tense.
Unmei quickly turns the conversation to something else. She brings up more wedding plans. The rest of the night is spent ignoring the elephant in the room.
Sometime after that, you and Gojo end up outside the restaurant, alone. Unmei and Geto are still sorting out the bill. You spot them lingering inside. Unmei is talking animatedly to a waitress. Geto is scrolling on his phone.
You don’t have much in common with Gojo, and you’re happy to keep the silence as the two of you wait. He, however, doesn’t seem to share your thoughts.
He leans over as you watch the engaged couple.
“So, how long do you think they’ll last?”
You glare up at him. He grins.
“That’s not funny.” You immediately rebuff. “Why would you say that?”
Satoru shrugs.
“C’mon, you can’t say you’re the tiniest bit doubtful they’ll stay together, right?”
You shake your head.
“They’re soulmates,” you respond. Their companionship was written in the stars from the start. They are a certainty. “It’s tradition.”
“Soulmates don’t always stay together,” Satoru says, “and Suguru isn’t one for tradition.”
You say nothing. Gojo only takes it as a sign to pester you further.
“Wanna make a bet with me?”
You narrow your eyes at him.
“I’ll bet all the money I have that they’ll break up right before the wedding.” He thinks for a moment. “Maybe on the day of: Suguru loves being dramatic.”
Your lips curl into a sneer.
“I thought you were supposed to be Geto’s friend?”
What kind of person bets their friend’s relationship will fail?
“I am his friend,” Gojo argues. “I’m only saying this ‘cuz I know him so well. No offense to your bestie, but she’s not his type.”
“No.” He tilts his head, studying you. “He prefers someone a bit more…docile.”
You shift, trying to hide your discomfort underneath his gaze.
“They’re coming out.” You watch as the couple shifts closer. “Please don’t tell them you’re betting they’ll break up.”
Gojo laughs.
“Aye, captain.”
❤︎
Unmei stumbles into your apartment at 1 am.
You’d forgotten you’d given her a spare key. When you woke up to muffled footsteps and murmurs, you thought someone was robbing you. The influx of emotions you felt as you rushed out with a baseball bat, only to discover your friend draped across your couch.
Your very drunk friend draped across your couch.
“Unmei?” You shake her shoulder.
She barely moves. You do it again. She finally groans.
“Hi.” She rasps out. Her throat is groggy with exhaustion and alcohol.
“How…” You try to find the proper words. “How did you get here? Did you drive?”
“Uber.” She murmurs. “Sorry…I…sorry. Didn’t–didn’t wanna go back. Didn’t wanna see him.”
Her words are stilted, but you think you’re starting to get the picture.
“Did you and Suguru get into a fight?” You ask gently.
She laughs. It sounds bitter.
“You have to talk, to fight.” She tells you, and you want to press her on that, but she’s talking again.
“Suguru’s sad you don’t like him.”
“What?” You lean closer so you can hear her properly.
“Suguru–” She snuggles deeper into your couch”--he’s sad you don’t like him. Why do you not like him?”
“I like him.” You try to smile. “Of course, I like him. Why wouldn’t I?”
Her eyes are open. The way she stares at you makes your defenses weaken.
“I don’t know, Mei.” You eventually respond. “He’s always rubbed me the wrong way. I…I just find him a little weird.”
You want to tell her about the strange quips Geto’s made. The stuff Gojo said at the restaurant still eats at you. You want to tell her all of those things.
Unmei doesn’t let you.
She sits up so fast, you’re almost worried for her. You’re about to tell her to be more careful, but then you notice the look in her eyes.
Spiteful.
It’s directed solely at you.
“Are you fucking joking right now?” She spits out. “My soulmate is going out of his way to be nice to you, but you’re calling him weird?”
You have to back up as she stumbles to her feet. Her words are slurred and hard to decipher, but the intent is as clear as day.
“He doesn’t even like you.” She rants. “Why would he? For fuck’s sake you don’t even have a soulmate, and now you’re calling mine weird? You’re jealous. You’ve always been jealous of me, and I’m so sick of doing charity work.”
You blink. It feels like your heart’s been torn in two.
“Unmei…?” It’s the only thing you can even think to say to someone who you thought loved you. Tears well in your eyes.
Unmei knows how sensitive you are about soulmates. She always knew. As bad as your fights got in the past, it’s the one line she hadn’t crossed.
Until now.
She realizes what she said. Unmei slumps almost immediately, fully breaking down.
“I’m sorry.” She blubbers. “I–I’m so sorry, I just.”
You push aside your feelings as you always have to accommodate hers. She buries her face in her hands. Her shoulders shake. When you wrap your arms around her shoulders, she easily leans into your warmth.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” She sobs. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” It’s not. “You’re having a bad day. Just sleep it off, okay? We can talk in the morning.”
She says nothing as you leave her on the couch. Minutes later, you return with a blanket, gently settling it over her still body.
“I saw him with another girl today.”
You freeze. Unmei stares blankly at the wall.
“He barely talks when we’re alone. He never talks. I don’t even know why I followed him, but I saw them together. They got into his car.” Her voice cracks. There’s a muted voice in the back of your head to comfort her.
You don’t move.
“I don’t know what they did. I…I just don’t know. That’s part of his job, right? Sometimes he takes his clients out to dinners and stuff.”
She looks up at you. “And–and everything’s so different when we’re alone. He’s so much warmer with you. Whenever we plan something, he’s always asking if you want to come along too. I just don’t get it.”
The apartment is quiet. Distinctly, you can hear a clock faintly ticking somewhere.
“Do you think he’s cheating?” You ask.
“Do you think he would?” Unmei asks right back.
You think of being honest. You think about telling her you genuinely don’t know. Then, you remember the anger in her voice just minutes prior. The hurt is still fresh on your mind. It’s instinct to cower and placate after you’ve been burned so harshly.
Just like always, you tell her exactly what she wants to hear.
“Of course, he’s nice to me.” You hear yourself say. “He probably feels bad for me.” Because you have no soulmate.
“Unmei, you don’t see the way he looks at you.” Does he ever look at her?
“He can’t stop talking about you.” You can’t remember a single conversation you and Geto had about her.
“He loves you. I’m sure of it.” Are you?
A shy smile creeps up on her face. You can feel yourself shatter.
“Really?” She asks.
You settle beside her, squeezing her fingers.
“Trust me.” Words feel like sand on your tongue. “You are going to make each other so happy.”
She’s smiling. You think you’re smiling too, but you’re not sure of anything anymore.
She closes her eyes again. You sit there for a few minutes. When you think she’s asleep, you get up to leave, but her voice stops you.
“I thought she was you.”
“You what?” You ask.
She nuzzles the blanket closer to her face.
“The girl. I thought she was you, but she wasn’t. She looked like you. It was the weirdest thing.”
You think she’s about to say more. She doesn’t.
The next day, Unmei acts as if nothing had happened. She’s laughing and talking during breakfast. You still think about what she said, hours after she left.
❤︎
The week before the wedding, you finally decide you no longer want to be friends with Unmei.
You don’t hate her, you could never hate her, but it’s clear you might’ve valued your friendship differently than she did.
You don’t think you want to boycott the wedding entirely. It’d taken months to plan. The money was already spent. You don’t want to ruin her big day.
But you don’t think you’ll be taking her calls as frequently. You don’t think you’ll drop everything for her anymore.
For now, you just want a bit of distance.
Now that you’ve decided to no longer prioritize her, your life is slowly becoming easier. Instead of doing everything yourself, you’re delegating tasks to the other bridesmaids. You actually make time for yourself instead of fizzing with nerves by the phone, wondering when she’ll call you to her side.
You can finally breathe again.
But old habits die hard.
I need you. Please come.
Unmei texting you in the middle of the night wasn’t a huge issue. But she never sends you this type of message. Formal, short, panicked.
You stare at the words, reading them over and over again. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this again.
But what if she needed you?
You’ve been to Suguru’s apartment a few times after the party. It was mostly to pick stuff up or help Unmei. There’s usually a lively atmosphere with warm lights.
Tonight, as you tap on the door, you can’t help but notice how cold the atmosphere feels.
He doesn’t leave you waiting. Geto opens the door with a pleasant smile on his face. His grin widens when he locks eyes with you.
“Come in.” Geto pulls the door back.
You hesitate, but eventually you step in. Not much has changed since your last visit. There are fresh flowers in a vase. Something’s cooking in the kitchen. Still, the apartment feels emptier, somehow.
“I wasn’t expecting you.” Geto smiles. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
You give an awkward smile, shifting your weight.
“I’m sorry, I won’t be here for long,” you tell him before shifting your gaze to the bedroom, “Is she in there?”
Geto tilts his head.
“Are you looking for Unmei?” He slowly asks.
When you nod, he shakes his head.
“She headed out for her bachelorette party hours ago.”
For a moment, you thought you misheard him.
“Her what?”
“Her bachelorette party. I’m so sorry, I assumed you were with her. It’s why I was surprised you showed up.” He admits sheepishly.
“Bachelorette party.” You repeat.
She told you she didn’t want a bachelorette party. She called it a cliché. And now, when you decide to put your feelings aside and reach out, you find out she left you in the fucking dust as she enjoys her night.
You were so fucking done with her.
“Right.” Your throat feels tight. “Ok, then…I should go.”
A firm hand on your shoulder stops you from walking out the door. Geto stares at you with an empathic frown on his face.
“You shouldn’t leave like this.” He urges.
You try to pull away. His grip barely budges.
“Geto, it’s fine–”
“You should eat something at least. It’d be rude to send you away after you’ve been such a good friend to my fiancé.”
That stung even though you know he didn’t mean it like that.
“Okay.” You relent. “Just for a bit.”
He smiles.
“Oh, and call me Suguru from now on.” He suggests. “I think we’re close enough to drop the formalities, right?”
Suguru manages to get you to sit at the dining table. It was already set for two. A little while later, he comes back with two plates and a bottle of wine.
The food smelled delicious, but it tasted like ash in your mouth. You couldn’t find it within yourself to enjoy it. Betrayal made everything taste like nothing.
You don’t consider yourself a drinker, but Geto manages to refill your glass twice throughout the night.
Eventually, Suguru acknowledges the elephant in the room.
“Did you two fight?”
That actually made you laugh. It’s harsh and bitter. You gulp down the last of your wine.
“No,” you say, “I just didn’t fall to her feet this one time.”
That’s all you were for her. Not a friend. Not a companion. You were just some pet she could keep at her side. Bark when she said bark. Sit when she said sit. Roll over when she said. She was treating you like a dog who forgot a trick or two. You feel so pathetic.
You’re so upset, you have to stand up. Suguru only watches you pace back and forth.
“I’ve put up with her bullshit for months, y’know?” You don’t think you’re talking to him at all. You’re just ranting. “Whatever she wanted, I got her. I’ve spent hundreds of hours planning her perfect day with her. And yet, the one time I give an opinion, she immediately blows up at me and–and says all this awful shit, and I have to forgive her.”
Suguru rises with you, blocking your path. You look up at him. He’s blurry from all the tears in your eyes.
“She’s stressed with the wedding,” he tries to console. “I’m sure she isn’t trying to do any harm.”
You shake your head. Somehow, you find yourself sitting on the sofa. Suguru’s joined you. You can still taste the wine on your tongue. You’re drunk. You’re erratic. You’ve stopped giving a fuck.
“What about the stress she’s putting me under?” You argue back. “I tried to be a good friend to her, and she constantly treats me like garbage. And it’s all because I don’t have a soulmate? When has that ever mattered for her?”
Unmei had always protected you from anyone who mocked you for being incomplete. Other. She was your shield.
You can still remember her voice ringing through your head. The hatred. You’ve always been jealous of me, and I’m so sick of doing charity work.
You bury your face in your hands.
“All I ever wanted to do was be there for her.” You sob into your fingers. “Why is she shutting me out like this?”
You wanted to go back to how things were months ago. Back when you had someone so close, it felt like having a sister. Back before–
Suguru gathers your limp form in his arms. The scent of sandalwood and cinnamon overwhelms your senses.
“You poor thing,” he coos, and you melt into his calming words because you’ve never felt more alone in your life. “It must have been so very hard on you.”
You don’t know how long you sit there, snuggled into his chest, crying your heart out. It feels like minutes pass before your tears stop flowing, and your breathing slows down.
He pulls you away from his chest. You follow. You’re still heartbroken, but now you’re embarrassed for crying on your best friend’s fiancé’s shoulder. You look up, opening your mouth to apologize.
Suguru’s lips meet yours.
It’s barely a brush. You feel his fingers caress your cheek before you pull back.
“What are you–” your voice dies in your throat “What–”
“You want to feel better, don’t you?” He asks, voice terrifyingly gentle. “I can help with that.”
Your mouth opens and closes like a fish. When he tries to touch you again, you jump up.
“I didn’t…I never…” Your mind is spinning. You don’t know what to say.
“She’s your soulmate.” It’s the only thing you can think to say. “How–how could you think of doing that to your…”
Suguru tilts his head.
“We both know how stubborn she can get.” He speaks slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. “Look at how much you do for her. You are constantly bending over backwards. Aren’t you tired of doing all this charity work? Don’t you want someone else to take care of you for a change?”
Something clicks in your mind.
Charity Work. Unmei’s words, but that didn’t sound like her at all.
It sounded more like something Geto Suguru would say.
“It’s you.” Something cold splashes across your spine. “You’ve been putting a wedge between Unmei and me for months.”
He’s tried separating you from her as soon as he walked into Unmei’s life. All this time, he was speaking cruelties into her ear about you, manipulating her, turning her against you.
And Unmei fell for it because she thought her soulmate could never hurt her.
Suguru stands up. His smile is gone. You’ve never seen him like this before. You’ve seen him upset, bored, amused. This is different.
Every emotion on his face is gone. It’s like he’s stone.
He calls your name. It’s a warning. You don’t heed it.
“No, no,” you hiss out, “I don’t know what sick game you’re playing, but I’d never break her heart like this, no matter how angry I am at her. I’m not like you.”
You start for the door. You needed to find Unmei. Fuck the petty fight. Fuck everything. You needed to find her and explain everything to her so that things could return to normal.
You never make it to the door.
There’s a harsh grip on your wrist. Before you can even struggle, you’re flung back against the couch. You collapse on top of the stiff pillows.
Suguru’s quick to cage you in. Within moments, he’s trapped you underneath him. A hand reaches up to trap both of your wrists. His body is right in between your legs, pressing himself right up to you.
You kick. You scream. A hand clamps down on your mouth.
Suguru waits patiently as your rebellion tapers out. You lie underneath him, panting and utterly defeated.
A tear trickles down your cheek. He wipes it away, adoration at his fingertips. It makes you sick.
“I really wanted our first time to be romantic.” He sighs, genuinely sounding disappointed. “I spent the entire day planning our little date. And then you had to get all hysterical.” He clicks his tongue.
“I think you’re spending a bit too much time with my fiancé, Dear.”
You flinch at his words. He grins.
“At the same time, I can’t say I’m not happy with how the night ended.” He releases your mouth. You prepare to yell again. “You can scream if you want to, dear. I’m sure you’d like the whole floor coming by to watch me fuck you. I don’t mind an audience.”
Horror rushes down your body.
“What do you mean?” Suguru says nothing, leaning back to release his tie. “Geto-Suguru,” you beg. “You can’t really mean that. You can’t do this. What about Unmei? What about your soulmate?”
“I thought I told you this already.” He wraps the tie securely around your wrist before considering you.
“Soulmates are paths, guiding us to our true destination.”
He presses his forehead to yours. You lay there, utterly helpless, staring into his purple eyes.
“Through her, I was able to find my true other half.” He confesses. “Someone that perfectly fits me.”
If he were another man, if he had another name, you might have fallen in love right there.
But this man has your friend’s name written on his wrist, and it makes you want to vanish into the Earth.
He rises back up with a grin.
“What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.”
You’re shaking your head as he reaches down for your shirt. It’s pulled off of you within moments, revealing your bare flesh. Your skin trembles against his fingers as he explores the skin on your stomach, pushing his hand up until it reaches the bottom of your bra.
Your tits are exposed to the cold air as he grabs them. Curious. Exploring. Nausea builds in your stomach.
“You should relax, love.” He urges as his hand travels down. “You could make yourself sick from all that crying.”
He acts as if he cares for you, even when you know he couldn’t care less. You can feel his heat pressing up against your thigh. It’s a blunt foreshadowing of his true desires.
The silk against your wrists tightens every time you move. The wine isn’t helping either. You feel sluggish, almost feverish. You lie there, completely limp, watching as he picks at your pants. They don’t have much of a fight before he’s dragging them off your body completely, leaving you with just your cotton panties.
The cold settles on your bare thighs. A large hand settles on your upper leg. He squeezes. You jolt.
Suguru’s kissing you again. It’s harsher than the first time. More teeth, like he intends to swallow you whole. He squeezes your chin, keeping you in place so he can continue to devour you. For a moment, you debate biting his tongue off, before you quickly bat it away. The thought of him getting violent, even worse, terrifies you.
But how could he get worse?
He pulls away with a satisfied sigh. The hand on your thigh lifts to your clothed slit. You don’t realize you’re wet until his fingers slip underneath your panties.
There’s a slight hitch in his breathing.
“Is this for me?” You can practically taste the victory in his voice. “How sweet.”
A few moments later, your panties are torn away, too. Your legs are tangled with the thin cloth, leaving you utterly defenseless as he spreads your thighs apart.
“No,” you’re telling him. “Don’t–No, no–”
He hushes you with a quiet whisper, and then his mouth is on your pussy.
Your thighs immediately fall onto his shoulders as he ate you out. There was a rhythm to it. His tongue lapped at your slit before curling at your clit. Immediately, you reacted. Your thighs flexed, threatening to clamp over his head. Something hot coiled in your belly as he sucked on your pussy.
Your protests eventually gave way to sharp gasps and whines as he continued to tongue-fuck you. You think you’re still crying, but its interrupted by another toe-curling mewl. You don’t have the ability to hold them in. They force themselves past your lips and into the frigid air. You could feel Suguru smile against your clit. You’re so wet you’re probably dripping all over the couch, but you think Suguru couldn’t care less.
He lifts you up by the hips. You let out a yelp as he crams his tongue into your hole, drinking the entirety of you.
“That’s it.” His voice is muffled by your pussy. It’s slurred. Drunk. “Lemme’ hear you.”
You obey, helpless to do anything else. Your mind is swirling with self-hatred as you feel yourself approaching the edge. You can’t do anything to stop it. Your hips move by themselves. Your pussy clenches.
Your orgasm was a tiny hitch before you completely came apart. Suguru keeps you there, latched onto your clit like a man starved, until you finally come down from your high.
You lay there, panting, completely spent. Suguru rises from his spot in between your legs. He wipes at his face, never taking his eyes off of you.
The kiss he gives you is terrifyingly soft. Almost sweet. You can taste yourself on his tongue. He gently holds your chin like you’re the most delicate thing in the world.
If you closed your eyes, you could pretend it’s anyone else. Not Suguru. Not your friend’s fiancé. Not her soulmate.
But Suguru doesn’t care about you enough to let you have that fantasy.
“Look at me.”
His voice is too soft to be demanding, but the order is clear from his tone.
Slowly, your eyes drift back open.
Suguru stands over you as if this were his rightful place. You can see his cock, fully unfurled from his pants. The mushroom tip has a bead of glistening, white pre-cum as he slowly aligns it to your battered pussy.
You think the worst part is his eyes.
Soft. Gentle. He stares at you the way no one else has.
Love.
You want to cry again, but you think you’ve run out of tears.
His nonchalant demeanor is cracked. His pupils are flared with lust. He grunts when he slides his swollen tip across your folds. Pussy juice is smeared all over his cock as he does it again and again.
“I’ve waited so long for this.” He sighs, and you don’t think he’s talking to you. “No one is taking this away from me.”
Not even you.
You should be grateful he cares enough to be gentle. His cock is huge, big enough to split you at the seams if he wanted to. You still he lowers himself into your hole. Immediately, your walls flex, squeezing his cock.
Suguru growls and bits his lip. It’s clear whatever control he has left, he’s only holding it by a hair.
It’s almost a relief when he fully sheathes himself inside you. He nearly collapses, face ducking into the crook of your neck. Your toes curl when he hits a spongy spot inside of you that nearly makes you see stars.
“Fuck.” He hisses, voice sharp. “That’s it. That’s it. Just take it.”
It’s an unsteady pace. Brutal, almost mind-breaking as he continues to fuck himself into you. You can hear his ragged breathing in your ear as he drives himself deeper and deeper into your cunt. You can barely keep up with the motions. Your thighs shake with the momentum.
You think you’re saying something, and then your mind is wiped clean with another thrust. It’s an endless cycle of torturous pleasure.
“Suguru–I–I can’t.” You’re blabbering. “I can’t, I just can’t–”
“You can.” He urges back, fingers reaching down to rub your clit. You arch, back lifting up from the pillows. “I know you can, darling. Look at that. Look at you. Look at how well you take me.”
“This was how it was always meant to be.” You can’t decipher the tone of his words. Your mind is too preoccupied with the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock. “You were practically made for me.” A broken wail passes out from your lips. He laughs.
At this point, you think he’s too far gone to even know what he’s saying.
“I love you so much, darling.” He leans back into your neck, biting down on the flesh. “No one can take you away from me. You are all for me.”
At least, you hope that’s the case. You can’t bear to think his words have a semblance of intent.
Your mind goes white as you cum on his cock. Your eyes roll back, your back arches up like a bitch in heat as you fall off the edge. Your pussy milks him, clamping down hard as you ride your high.
There’s a moan in your ear before something hot pumps into your pussy, painting your insides with white. There’s so much, even with his dick still plugging your cunt, some still manages to leak out, dripping down your ass.
He takes a shaky breath, and then he’s kissing you again. That same delicate touch he loves to take after he breaks you. You can taste the festering love through his lips and tongue. You let him, too exhausted to fight back.
You think he’s saying something. You can’t hear him over the throbbing in your head. The tone he uses is soft as lips press against your temple.
And then, his cock slips out of your ragged cunt before slamming back in all over again.
❤︎
Mei<3 Missed Call(23)
‘Where are you’
‘Where are you’
‘Please dont do this to me’
‘I’m begging you’
‘I love you so much’
‘I’m sorry for everything I’ve done’
‘Plase don’t do this to me’
‘He’s my soulmate, why would you take him from me’
‘Please don’t do this to me’
…
‘You’re just a selfish slut. Take him then. See if I care.’
Ever since you woke up, all you could do was stare at Unmei’s texts. You’ve read them over and over.
The words never change. Each line cuts you deeper than before.
You’re no longer on the sofa. Sometime last night, Suguru must have moved you. You sit up on a luxurious king-sized bed with silk sheets. Your body is aching and sore. There are marks all over your body.
The man who made them sleeps peacefully right next to you.
You’re still naked. It hurts to move. All what you can do is read Unmei’s texts over and over as you wipe away the sharp tears trickling down your cheek.
The curtains of Suguru’s bedroom are open. It’s early morning. The beginnings of a sunrise creep over the horizon. Buildings are obscured by a light fog, and you can barely make out the outline of the city. The sky is illuminated with pinks and light oranges. It’s the prettiest sight you’ve ever seen.
You don’t notice he’s awake until Suguru’s muscled chest presses against your back. You flinch as his head settles into the crook of your neck. He inhales your scent.
“I told you, didn’t I?” He murmurs against your skin. “It’s a beautiful view. You’ll get to see this every day, from now on.”
You don’t bother batting him away. You just stare down at your phone. There’s no new message from Unmei. She blocked you hours ago.
Fingers pluck your phone from your loose grip. Suguru adjusts himself, wrapping an arm around your waist as he sifts through her panicked messages. He clicks his tongue.
“Never expected anything more from her.” He sighs before he tosses the phone in the mess of blankets. He kisses your neck. “She’ll probably come by today. Hopefully, she’ll move out without much of an issue.” He remarks casually. Dully. Complete disinterest.
Why? You want to ask him. Why you? Why would he–why would anyone–hate you enough to do this?
But then, you remember the look of love he gave you as he rammed his cock deeper. You don’t know how you’d be able to hold yourself together if you saw that again.
For the sake of your sanity, you ask:
“What did you tell her?”
Suguru’s fingers curl around your stomach. You can hear the slightest hint of irritation in his breath.
“Nothing.” He eventually confesses. You want to yell at him, call him a liar. You don’t get the chance.
“She must have felt the bond sever.”
You notice it, just then.
The wrappings on his wrist.
Your heart is pounding in your chest as you grab at it. Suguru lets you unravel his work, silently watching each layer of gauze drop away.
It’s ugly. The skin is raised and irritated. It will probably leave behind a scar.
Not a single trace of Unmei’s name is left on Suguru’s skin.
You want to scream, but your voice is frozen in your throat.
Ben likes to make you spread your pussy apart so he can shoot his cum all over your clit and when you whine that he’s not breeding you like promised he hits you and calls you an ungrateful slut
i think if soldier boy ever got married he'd be like those 1950s husbands and spank his wife if she messed up but like.. not playfully
fully take her over his knee and just smack her ass a few times with little muttered reprimands, “that’s not how you behave and you know it, doll,” smack “how dumb is that little brain of yours to do something like that?” smack.
lazy saturday morning sex while he rasps in our ear about how he thought about you all night and just couldn’t help himself anymore…he’s wrapped around your back, his hands are cupping your breasts and thumbing at your nipples, he’s nibbling the back of your neck you realize what an absolutely perfect fit your ass is against his hips and crotch and
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤstalker! izuku midoriya x reader ── .✦ university au!
౨ৎ tw / cw (18+); yandere-implied izuku, law student! izuku, possibly ooc izuku, dry-humping, fingering, face-fucking, missionary, use of panties as a blindfold, praise-kink, piss-kink, alcohol & drug use, invasion of privacy, reader has a v, reader has a twt acc, violence [if some tags don't show up in this part, it will be in the next part]
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.
꒰ care to note, this part is very like internal monologue, though...the next part i fear...oough prepare... part two here!
౨ৎ wc; 21k
"oh," izuku hummed out, amused as he soaked in the layout of your twitter blog. his eyes scanned the cute cat profile picture, smiling tenderly at your bio. it was nothing explicit — to be honest, there was nothing about it that seemed relatively interesting.
there was nothing about the account that indicated it could've been you; no trace, no sign, nothing about an age, or a name. he scrolled absentmindedly through your account, singing a quiet melody to himself, absorbing the person you were, the stuff that made you happy, the stuff that made you sad, little quiet blogs of your day that no one cared about. this was you blended into the internet without a care in the world.
his attention flickered to the tabs of your profile, noticing your likes were public. this was great for him! he could know actually what you liked, your interests, the content that you indulged in. maybe from there, he could slowly bleed into your life...
with a fast tap of his thumb, the page loaded almost instantly. izuku propped a pillow behind his neck, arm supporting his tussled hair as he began binging your likes.
you liked romance anime, that was cute. shounen, specifically. it was a undeniable observation that you loved other people’s daily rants, stories of nonsense, ‘am i the asshole’ stories that you’d find on reddit — all posted and liked within a timeline of 3-days.
izuku scrolled further down, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. something warm swelled in his chest from being able to digest parts of you like this. in a way, this was intimate to him, never would he have been able to know you like this just from your instagram posts alone. he’d have to pay hitoshi extra for this, simply just for gratitude, of course.
as he further swiped, the content began changing, bit by bit.
“f—fuck, right there!”
izuku’s eyes widened, quickly turning down the volume on his phone. heat bloomed across his freckled cheeks at the video, eyes dazed as his focus trained on the explicit movement on his screen: a close up shot of a man fucking into a woman, pussy making obscene slick sounds as she moaned.
“the fuck?” izuku frowned, scrolling further, only to come across a plethora of porn, all taken with a similar low quality resolution — all liked by you.
he didn’t want to pry further, all he wanted was to see what you were interested in, the things you liked, stuff that he could use to his advantage to merge into your life — not this.
but he couldn’t stop. the videos were filthy, majority of the short clips consisting of some form of explosive cumming from the male. so, you had a little breeding kink? that wasn't something he was sure he liked; besides, he didn't want kids yet.
he scrolled further, a faint tent growing in his sweats. it wasn't the porn that turned him on, it was the fact that you were leaving yourself bare and open for him, openly liking these filthy pornos, probably getting off to these, knowing you don't even have a man to recreate these with. he wondered if you touched yourself to these, did you like having your fingers inside of you? or were you the type to stimulate your clit. he thinks the latter.
his face turned into a grimace at a particular video that caught his eye. piss. golden shower. the first video was of a woman opening her mouth, lips spluttering as she drowned in piss, gurgling with a sweet smile on her face. the next was of a woman pissing on her partner mid cowgirl.
eurgh... to be honest, this was disgusting. izuku felt his cock soften at the videos, quickly swiping out off twitter — he'd seen enough. he stared up at his ceiling, eyes moving to watch the fan, an unchanging heat simmering in his chest.
his thoughts of you didn't change. how could they? you were this sweet thing he's had his eye on ever since bumping into you at the art club, so what if you got a little piss and breeding kink? maybe he could accommodate, or if that didn't work, maybe he could fix the way you thought — get rid of that porn addiction you obviously have. yeah! that sounds like a good idea, and in a way, he'd be saving you.
happy with his decision, he set his alarm for the next morning, snuggling in his sheets with a grin on his face. he knew exactly what to do, and how to make it work — how to make you fall for him.
𐙚
in the art room, you sat snugly in your leather seat, eyes eager as you drew in your sketchbook of some of your favorite fictional characters. the room was quiet, dust particles floating in the air, sunlight beaming through the glass windows and onto your skin.
for as long as you could remember, you loved drawing, painting, sketching, you name it. the feeling of graphite smooth on the underside of your palm, imagination coming to life on grained paper, brought something pleasant in your chest. it was a gateway from of your stressful academic life.
"that's a nice drawing," a gentle voice hummed out from behind you.
you almost flinch from the sound, instinctively covering your sketches with your arms. the page crumples a bit, bending at the corners as you turn to look at the voice.
oh, just your luck.
of course it had to be the cute law student, izuku midoriya.
you closed the notebook completely, leaning your chest over the cover, mustering a kind smile in an attempt to cover up the heat creeping up your neck. embarrassment twisted in your chest.
it’s childish, he shouldn’t see this.
you've seen him a couple times around here, nose buried in his note-book, scribbling notes no one's ever seen before. he was pretty popular around here, always bringing friends over, using the art room as a third-space. you and him have never talked before, but, you always noticed him. how could you not?
izuku was the law student everyone seemed to like without trying. he was soft-spoken, unfailingly kind with a voice that sounded like honey on toast, and eyes that always lingered like he was really listening.
he carried that boyish warmth in his features — gentle unruly curls, an expression that softened easily — balanced by his more mature features. a sharper jawline, a scar drawing down the right side of his cheek that wondered where he'd got it from, quiet confidence settling into the angles of his face, making him… distracting in a way you tried not to think about.
he was unfairly very nice to look at. you knew you never had a chance with him, so you never really thought about it.
you’d heard he’d recently received some sort of recognition award from the dean, mentioned in passing during lectures and whispered about in the halls, though he never brought it up himself. he didn’t seem like the type to.
izuku took a step back, moving into the chair swiftly beside you. "sorry, i didn't mean to scare you," he said, syllables practically dripping with honey, tone quiet and measured. "i just noticed you sketching some anime. i also like anime, too."
you scratched the nape of your neck awkwardly, arm still guarded on top of the cover. "y—yeah, it's nothing, though. just saw something like it the other day, so..." your lips thinned into a tight line, something panicked swarming in your chest. "i don't really know that much about anime so..."
izuku's lips curled upwards, leaning against his palm as he saw through your lie, noticing the undeniable blush on your cheeks. "if you don't mind, can i please look at your drawings? i won't judge," he asked, gesturing to the protected notebook as if he was testing his luck. "promise."
you paused, eyes drifting somewhere else in the room. suddenly the dried and crusty paintbrushes, brittle from misuse looked interesting.
you thought about his words, fingers trembling as you slowly pried the book open. it didn't take much convincing for you to nudge your book towards him, your pinky remaining secured on the edge of the page. "sure...yeah, yeah you can."
izuku shuffled his chair closer to yours, shoulders faintly brushing as angling his head so he could inspect you sketchbook. "thank you."
oh god.
he smelt so nice, especially up close. you almost felt as if you've just been winded.
the air around him hung with something masculine, warm, woody. you tried replaying to his words, but all you could think about was how pleasant he smelt, and the way he was practically invading your senses.
izuku waited for a fraction of a second for your response. seeing that you weren't going to say anything, his eyes narrowed onto your drawings, fingers thoughtful as he traced each sketch.
his eyes fell on a sketch of two characters kissing, thoughtful as he noticed a more intimate, vivid sketch below — a saliva string connected by two heated tongues.
"oh! um, please ignore that," you stammered out, face deepening a shade of red. a familiar twist of shame nestled in your chest as you resisted the urge to cover your face with your hands, wishing to melt into your seat and disappear.
izuku laughed, thoughtful as he turned to page to calm you down. "don't be embarrassed, it's really detailed. i like this detail here," he pointed at a fresh page which included a plethora of suggestive hand sketches. "these hand drawings are really good, mind me asking what they're meant to be doing?"
"i don't really know," you mumbled, pulling the sketchbook away already. you hadn't realized how explicit your sketches were until someone else was seeing it.
"seems pretty intimate," he commented, letting you close the cover once more. "i'm sorry, i hope you aren't embarrassed — there's nothing wrong with the content of your drawings at all. i hope you know that."
you nodded, chin tucked downwards as a feeble attempt to avoid his kind gaze. "i'm sorry i can't show you more."
izuku leaned back against the chair, observing you with understanding eyes. "okay, that's alright. i just want you to know that you're a very talented artist."
you turned to him, eyes still partially drawn away from his. "do you really mean that?"
"yeah, of course," izuku replied. "does it seem like i'm lying to you, y/n?"
your movements paused, hands stilling on the wooden table. "y—you know my name?"
izuku chuckled at your shock, his laugh warm against the quiet. "of course i know your name, y/n. you're always around here."
with an awkward laugh, "oh, that makes a lot of sense."
"my name's izuku midoriya, just if you were wondering as well," he added in quickly, hand reaching out.
of course you knew who izuku was. but you weren't surprised by his humbleness.
after staring at his hand for a while, you reached forward, your sweaty palms connecting with his calloused one — the contact so light and feathery. izuku, upon noticing the stiffness in your shoulders, adjusted immediately, loosening his grip.
“Izuku,” you repeat quietly to yourself, as if the name was something new.
he smiles at the sound of his name, small and careful. when he speaks again, it’s even softer, measured like he’s choosing each word with intention.
“...i really hope you didn't think i was judging you,” he says gently.
your shoulders sink a fraction, tension easing out of you in a way you hadn’t noticed was there. you look down at your sketchbook, thumb worrying at the bent corner of the page.
“i always feel like… if someone sees it, they’ll think it’s weird,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “or immature, or something.”
Izuku hums — quiet, understanding. he doesn’t contradict you right away, doesn’t rush to fix the feeling.
“i don’t think that at all,” he says eventually, voice low and reassuring. “didn't i tell you before i like anime? i wouldn't lie.”
you glance up at him, caught off guard by how certain he sounds—still soft, still gentle, but anchored. his expression is open, kind, unbelievely charming.
“just thought you were pretty cool, is all,” he adds quietly, almost like a vow, “I won’t ask you to show me anything you don’t want to.”
the words settle deep in your chest, warm and steady. that was the first time the two of you had properly talked.
the following days were filled with izuku popping by the art room. he didn’t hover invasively around you, solely maintaining a gentle greeting every now and then.
you’d nod curtly, passing him a quiet smile as your gaze followed his back down the sand-stone hallways — light filtering onto his curly hair.
you drew a little sketch of him absentmindedly, eyebrows fixed as you tried envisioning him from your last interaction. it wasn’t meant to be anything stalkerish or obsessive, it was just something that popped into your mind one day!
with your bottom lip tucked beneath your teeth, you carefully outlined the angle of his jawline, moving to draw his kind eyes. when you were done, you held your sketchbook back, analyzing the sketch from a distance, only to frown in response.
he looked insanely off here. was it the eyes? his nose maybe? or did you draw his lips too low.
“woah, my brows are pretty thin in this.”
“oh—omphh!” you scooted in your chair, almost sending yourself into an accident. “i—it’s not…if’s not what it looks like, i’m really sorry, i can rub it out if you feel uncomfortable, i swear!”
izuku’s intrigued eyes softened at the tremble in your lip, the way your hands began to shake as you reached for an eraser.
“hey hey hey, it’s okay,” he whispered out, hands reaching to pry to sketchbook back open. “may i look?”
your heart slowed in jagged rhythms, the remnants of your shock lingering as soft thumps patted against your ribs. you nodded, choking out a short response. “of course… go ahead.”
izuku eagerly pulled out the chair from beside you, plopping his bag beside him on the floor. the thump was relatively loud against the marble — an obvious indication of the volume of textbooks in his bag.
he leaned close, giving enough room for proximity. “you make me look pretty in these,” he commented thoughtfully, fingers drifting to trace the faint graphite where you’d erased and redrawn.
your face heated, a wobbly smile making it hard to even speak at all. “ah, really? heh.”
“yeah! i look really charming here,” he smiled as he pointed to another sketch at the corner of the page. “goodness, you’re incredible.”
his praise sent a shiver down your spine, sending heated waves across your chest. “i…i just drew what you looked like.”
izuku smirked to himself before it was quickly neutralized by surprise. “well then… i must be pretty then, is that right?”
you remained silent, eyes fixed on the sketch before you, mustering half a nod.
izuku noticed immediately.
izuku let out a quiet, thoughtful hum. “hey,” he said softly, leaning just a little closer. “you’re okay, right?”
you nodded again, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the page. “yeah. i just… didn’t expect you to see it.”
“mmm.” his smile was small, reassuring. “i kind of figured.”
you glanced up at him, startled. “you did?”
“a little,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “you get that look when you’re nervous, not that hard to tell.”
your heart squeezed at how easily he noticed.
he looked back down at the sketchbook, eyes gentle. “i really like these though,” he said, voice calm but sincere. “i'm kinda flattered.”
“i'm glad,” you murmured. “yeah...”
izuku chuckled quietly, the sound warm. “do you draw everyone you meet? or am i a one off exception.” he paused, glancing at you through his lashes. “if so, i don’t mind that at all.”
your face heated, your expression already giving away the answer. “this is so embarrassing.”
“yeah,” he said softly, smiling. “but not in a bad way.”
he reached out, fingertips hovering before lightly touching the corner of the page. “the rest of me looks accurate,” he noted gently. “i liked how you included my scar.”
you swallowed. “i didn’t want it to look wrong.”
“it doesn’t,” he said immediately. then, quieter, “it looks really nice.”
he closed the sketchbook carefully and slid it back to you, his fingers brushing yours in a way that felt electrifying.
“if you ever want to draw me again,” he added, voice almost shy despite the confidence beneath it, “you don’t have to hide it. i’d be okay with it.”
the way he said okay with it made your chest ache — gentle, steady, sincere. izuku midoriya was so kind...
𐙚
izuku grumbled to himself, staring at the pile of work layering the corner of his desk. he'd already completed a whole two, maybe it was three, hours of full-focused study, and he still had another case-study to go through. luckily, he started already, so he wasn't too stressed.
and besides, he deserved a break. after all, he's managed to maintain a smooth, impressive gpa after all this time, who's telling him he isn't allowed to have other hobbies outside of academia?
deciding so, izuku checked your twitter blog, refreshing the page with a swift swipe, eyes focused on the immediate difference of your posts.
misocats353368p
19012026.
today was really nice! i did some really cool sketches (won't show them), but someone saw them, which is kinda rare. anyway, i did some baking after my lectures and tutorials, this is what i made!
that was really sweet.
izuku smiled to himself, clicking on the photo of the blueberry cheesecake you had made, that honestly, looked underbaked. he doubted it'd taste any different, and it'd still taste delightful and flavorful, filled with the most delectable jam beneath the cream, and...
izuku turned his phone off, face down onto his desk. he stared down at the tent in his pants, sinking against his chair as he tilted his head back to inspect the ceiling without purpose. he softly palmed himself through his sweat, eyes fluttering as he mounded his hand around his erection.
he didn't know necessarily why he had this much interest in you to begin with. he wasn't sure if it was a crush, infatuation or boredom for some change in his life.
to start off — if he thought hard enough — he'd realize that he didn't really have any romantic feelings towards you, and that he was just chasing something interesting.
need less to say, that didn't mean he didn't want to get closer to you; to know you inside and out, but the feeling in his chest, it wasn't tender, nor was it delicate. he didn't know what it was, and a part of him knowingly felt bad about it.
maybe he just wanted to be your friend.
with a grunt, izuku came in his pants, sticky, and opaque against the grey of his sweats. he watched unintentionally, eyes fixed on the way it oozed through the material, beading into thick clumps on the surface of his crotch. it was so unexpected, but he had no time to question his body.
after izuku took a shower, washing off his sins and the haunting thoughts of you, as well as his feelings, he found himself back under the study lamp, warm against the back of his hand.
a notification dinged on his phone, loud and obnoxious. with a slightly impatient sigh, izuku unlocked his phone, reading the short brief message sent to him by a fellow member of the same society he was in — under a phone number izuku forgot to save.
xxx-xxx-xxx (maybe from ua. university???)
hey man, we proceeded with your management details for the networking ball, so it should be all sweet for next week.
also catering is all sweet and planned.
also iida said he was all good to scan tickets on entrance.
izuku felt relief settle into his shoulders, a tension he's been aware of for weeks finally coming to a cease. networking ball was coming, and it's taken quite a significant toll on his own mental health, despite it being something that should be fun. the planning, all rigorously thought out by him, took an absurd chunk of his time, and he was hoping by the time this was all over, he'd be able to have more free time.
maybe he'd go back to normal after this.
the following days, were probably easily described as hell. there was always someone in the committee that found a loophole to his organizing, even though there really wasn't any.
at the final meeting till the ball, izuku wanted to rip his hair out. the room casted with stale lighting, hung over the faces surrounding the oakwood table. familiar faces shared across different majors, all dedicated to get the ball running smoothly. yet, it felt that the workload all this time, has been placed onto him.
"izuku, have you considered the other employers that have made last minute—"
"yes, yes i have. i've already done that ages ago," izuku mumbled out, tone flatter than he'd intended.
"okay, then... just also checking, ITP wanted to run their program—"
izuku peered up from his laptop, a smirk filled with annoyance simmering beneath his expression. "riko, yes. i've considered it. everything you're listing down just to list, i've already dealt with it."
the other faces in the room laughed nervously at izuku's words, eyes flickering back down to their screens to organize any last finishing touches.
izuku took a moment to breath, posture straightening. "i just wanted to focus on our positions for next week, which shouldn't be too hard," he said, a little more softer now. "after this, i reckon we can wrap it up."
for the next following hour, conversations filled with thoughtful decisions and meaningful inputs filled the air, and by the end of it, izuku could feel light flitering from the end of the tunnel.
"thank you all for your hard work! i'll see you guys the day of the ball, 4pm sharp," izuku hummed out, nodding to each member, waiting patiently for the room to filter out before he locked up.
he already knew where his body wanted to take him, and he already knew what he wanted to see.
the afternoon sun casted a warm glow, long shadows slanting across the pavement, painting clouds with amber hues. the air felt cool against izuku's neck, anticipation nipping at him as he made his way to the art block.
by the time he reached the room, pearlescent rainbow glass muting the shadow of you inside, he felt all the oxygen he's been depriving himself of finally come back. of course you'd be here.
instead of sneaking behind you — a silly habit of his — he decided to make his presence known.
"hi," he said softly, careful to not disturb the other students in the room minding their own business.
you smiled softly, movements slow as you adjusted to his presence unrushed. this was good, just what he wanted.
"oh, hi izuku!" you squeaked out, voice a bit wobbly, despite him knowing it wasn't on purpose. the way you said his name sent a satisfied swell throughout his stomach, cresting into something victorious as he settled beside you.
"what are you working on today? how were classes?" he asked, tuning in on the way you didn't flinch this time, fingers continuing to sketch soft details on the open page.
you flushed at his question, a look of surprise spreading across your face. it was as if this was the first time someone's asked you this many questions. "it was okay..." you replied, almost too fast and dismissive. "oh, i'm just drawing some anatomy, i got inspired today."
izuku leaned further, attention fully fixed on the careful movements from your hand. he tried to give himself time to understand your dismissiveness to the latter of his question, but decided maybe it was nothing. "really? inspiration from?"
you paused at his words, lips tucked into each other.
izuku's eyes creased tenderly at the sight, amusement written all over his face. "anime, maybe?"
you nodded, subconsciously leaning into your palm to hide the faint blush on your cheeks. "yeah...something like that."
izuku laughed as he pulled out his equipment from his bag, opting to savor this moment with you as much as possible. after all, he deserved it.
"mind if i stay here, and get some work done?"
you glanced up fully, wandering eyes skimming over his hands, prominent veins and tethered skin clasped around his ridiculously-sized textbook as he fiddled through the pages worn with time.
"yeah! that's okay," you replied, voice rejecting your quiet nature as you quickly turned back to your drawings. "if...if you want to talk, or if you just want to sit in silence— just let me know.."
izuku perked at your words, surprisal blooming his features. "what would you want? i can do both."
you kept your eyes on the ligament you were sketching out, brows furrowed. "maybe...sit in silence?"
izuku nodded, happy. "we can do that. of course we can do that."
with that, izuku strained his focus to the work before him. suddenly, the load of content and high-volume reading didn’t weigh heavy anymore.
maybe this is what he wanted the whole time. maybe he really just wanted to be your friend; to bask in your delicate nature as you lived in the center of it. maybe he just liked the calm within you, the brightness in your eyes that flickered whenever you were in your own little world.
the scent of you, powdery and light, brought a calm haze to him that he couldn’t even phantom. it worked like meditation within him, drawing out a euphoria as his mind filtered from all the stress earlier. with you beside him, everything wrong, everything stressful in his life, seemed to water in your essence.
the room hummed quietly, the ac whirring at a freezing temperature by the time the sun kissed the horizon, deep blue cascading the sky into a lilac purple.
he hadn’t noticed this whole time, but somewhere within the hour, you’ve switched from drawing to studying too. he wanted to question you on what you were studying, but the way your brows knitted in concentration, lips pursed in thought — he couldn’t have. he didn’t want to.
instead, his eyes flickered back to the case study he was meaning to wrap up.
he waited till you initiated the goodbye, which never came. izuku set down his pen, a smile faint on his face. “we should pack up, hey?”
his eyes scanned through your unbreakable focus, furrowing at the way your shoulder tensed when you wrote something down.
“y/n?” he said softly, careful. he closed his textbook, the sound alerting you from your trance.
you startled, eyes blinking rapidly as if you’d just surfaced from underwater. “oh—” your gaze flicked to the window, then back to him, sheepish. “i’m sorry. i didn’t realise how long i was… like that.”
izuku smiled, small and apologetic. “no, it’s okay. i just—” he hesitated, fingers brushing the edge of his notebook. “it’s getting kind of late. i didn’t mean to interrupt you if you were in the middle of something.”
“no,” you shook your head quickly. “thank you, actually.” you let out a quiet laugh, breathy. “if you hadn’t said anything, i probably still would’ve been here.”
his brows knit, just slightly.
“…still?” he echoed, not questioning, just simply processing.
you shrugged, a little embarrassed. “yeah. i tend to lose track of time when i’m trying to get something right.”
izuku leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to you in that thoughtful way he had — like he was carefully rearranging pieces in his mind. “so,” he said gently, “you’re kind of a perfectionist.”
you froze for half a second, then smiled crookedly. “aha… i guess i am.”
“mm.” he hummed, nodding once. “that makes sense.”
you glanced at him. “does it?”
“yeah,” he said easily. “the way you focus. you don’t stop until it feels finished to you. not just done.”
the warmth in your chest was unexpected. “…you noticed that?”
he laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “i notice a lot, i think.” then, quieter, almost uncertain, “i mean— i do the same thing. i think. maybe.”
you paused, studying him now — really looking. the way his shoulders held tension even while relaxed. the way his notes were meticulously annotated, all messy, but still there, detailed.
“…i think you have perfectionist tendencies,” you said gently.
he blinked. once. then smiled, slow. “yeah,” he admitted. “i was afraid you’d say that.”
your laugh came out softer than you expected.
and for a moment, neither of you moved — like you’d both just recognised something familiar in each other, something quiet and unspoken, sitting comfortably between you.
the two of you packed up slowly, neither rushing, the quiet stretching comfortably between movements. izuku slipped his pens back into their case with practiced neatness, while you carefully slid your notebook into your bag, fingers lingering on the cover as if reluctant to close it.
outside, the campus had softened into night.
lamps lined the pathways, casting warm halos over the concrete, cicadas humming faintly from the trees. the air was cool — not cold, just enough to raise goosebumps along your arms. you adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder as the two of you began walking, steps falling into an easy rhythm.
it felt natural. too natural.
izuku walked beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed but attentive. every so often, his gaze flicked your way — not staring, just checking. like he wanted to make sure you were still there.
“did you park on campus?” he asked casually.
“no,” you replied. “i usually just walk.”
he slowed a fraction. “all the way home?”
“yeah,” you nodded. “it’s not too bad.”
he didn’t respond right away. instead, he glanced at the darkened stretch of road beyond the gates, brows knitting almost imperceptibly.
“…it’s pretty late,” he said after a moment.
you shrugged lightly. “i don’t really notice the time when i’m studying.”
he smiled at that, fond. “yeah. i can tell.”
the gates creaked softly as you passed through them, the world outside campus quieter somehow, more exposed. cars passed occasionally, headlights washing briefly over the pavement before disappearing again.
izuku cleared his throat. “hey,” he hesitated, then glanced at you. “i could give you a ride, if you want.”
you stopped walking.
not abruptly — just enough that he noticed immediately and halted too, concern flickering across his face.
“oh— sorry,” he said quickly. “i didn’t mean to put you on the spot or anything, i just thought—”
“no, no,” you shook your head, heat creeping into your cheeks. “it’s really nice of you, i just… i think i’m okay. i wouldn’t want to bother you.”
his eyes widened slightly. “bother me?”
“yeah,” you laughed quietly, embarrassed. “you’ve already been here so long, and i know you’re busy, and—”
he cut you off gently. “hey.”
the single word was soft, but it stopped your spiral instantly.
he turned toward you fully now, expression earnest. “you wouldn’t be bothering me. at all.”
you hesitated. “i mean… it’s my choice to walk. i don’t want you to feel like you have to.”
izuku exhaled slowly, thinking. “it’s not that i feel like i have to,” he said. then, more quietly, “i just don’t think i’d be able to sleep if i let you walk home alone this late.”
your heart stumbled.
“…oh,” you murmured.
he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a little bashful. “that probably sounded dramatic. sorry.”
“no,” you said quickly. “it didn’t, i get it.”
the streetlamp above you flickered softly, bathing his face in warm light. you noticed things you probably shouldn’t have — the faint tiredness under his eyes, the loosened collar of his shirt, the way his shoulders relaxed when you didn’t immediately shut him down.
you looked away first. “you’re… really considerate.”
he smiled, small. “i try.”
the two of you resumed walking, a little closer now than before. your arms brushed once accidentally and neither of you moved away.
“where do you live?” he asked.
you told him. his brows lifted. “that’s not close.”
“…i know.”
he hummed, thoughtful again. “yeah. i’m definitely not letting you walk.”
you laughed, startled. “izuku—”
“i mean,” he corrected quickly, smiling sheepishly, “only if you’re comfortable. i don’t want to pressure you.”
you slowed again, turning the decision over in your mind. you weren’t afraid — not of him — just unused to being… looked after like this.
“…would you really be okay with it?” you asked quietly.
he met your gaze without hesitation. “yeah. i would.”
something in his voice — steady, certain — made your chest ache.
“…okay,” you said at last. “if you’re sure.”
his smile bloomed instantly, brighter than the streetlights. “i am.”
he led you toward the parking lot, steps light, like a weight had lifted from him. his car wasn’t far — a modest thing, clean, well-kept, obviously not within your budget. he unlocked it quickly and moved without thinking to open the passenger door for you.
“oh,” you said softly. “thank you.”
he froze for half a second, then laughed quietly. “right. sorry. habit.”
you climbed in, smoothing your skirt over your knees as he shut the door gently. the interior smelled faintly of clean fabric and something warm — coffee, maybe. comforting, woody.
when he slid into the driver’s seat, there was a brief, charged silence before the engine turned over.
“…i’m glad you said yes,” he admitted, eyes still on the road as he pulled out.
“me too,” you said before you could overthink it.
he glanced at you, surprised, then smiled with that boyish look.
the drive was quiet in the best way. not awkward, just calm. the kind of silence that felt shared rather than empty. streetlights blurred past, casting soft shadows across the dashboard.
the road unspooled quietly beneath the headlights, a familiar route izuku could probably drive with his eyes closed, but tonight, he was more aware of the way the steering wheel felt under his palms, the way the accelerator felt more sensitive tonight, the low hum of the engine, the steady rhythm of his own breathing. and you.
you sat beside him, small movements only, tucking your hands into your sleeves, gaze drifting out the window as the city lights passed in soft blurs. you looked calmer now. like something heavy had finally been set down, and you were trusting him. he realized, dimly, that his chest felt lighter too.
izuku had been calling it a lot of things in his head. concern. attentiveness. curiosity. he’d analyzed it from every angle, turned it over like a case study, tried to label it cleanly so it wouldn’t spill into anything messier. obsession felt too sharp a word, but it hovered there anyway, the way his thoughts circled back to you without permission, the way he noticed the smallest changes in your expression, the way silence felt different when you were in it with him.
but sitting here now, he felt something shift. it wasn’t urgency. it wasn’t even that familiar, buzzing anxiety he got when he cared too much. it was ease, simplicity.
he liked the quiet with you — they way that it didn’t demand conversation, didn’t make him reach for explanations or justifications. the kind that let him exist without performing, without solving, without proving anything at all.
he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, just once, careful not to linger. your lashes cast soft shadows against your cheeks, lips parted slightly as you breathed. peaceful. present.
he thought, suddenly, that maybe he’d been wrong to frame it as obsession at all.
maybe he just liked being around you.
liked the way time softened when you were near. the way the world felt less sharp at the edges. the way he didn’t feel the need to be switched on — heroic, driven, composed — but could just be... izuku, quietly driving a car through half-lit streets with someone he trusted beside him.
a breath of air, he thought. that’s what you felt like.
his grip on the wheel loosened without him realising.
maybe he hadn’t wanted anything complicated from you at all.
maybe he just wanted to sit next to you, walk with you, study in the same room, make sure you got home safe, hear you talk about the things you cared about. notice the way you furrowed your brows when you were thinking too hard and gently pull you back before you disappeared into yourself.
maybe he’d wanted to be your friend this whole time.
the thought didn’t disappoint him the way he might’ve expected. it didn’t feel like a step down, or a consolation prize. it was normal, how it should've been.
he breathed out slowly, a small smile ghosting across his lips as he turned onto your street.
you shifted beside him, glancing over. “is everything okay?”
“yeah,” he said easily, meaning it. “just thinking.”
you smiled, soft and tired, and looked back out the window.
“…you know,” he said eventually, “about earlier.”
you looked at him. “yeah?”
“the perfectionist thing,” he continued. “i didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”
“i didn’t take it that way at all.”
“good,” he said. “because i feel like you care a lot. but… that’s not something i’d want you to lose.”
when the car slowed near your place, your heart sank just a little — the night already slipping away from you.
he parked and turned the engine off, the sudden quiet settling between you.
“thank you for the ride,” you smiled bashfully.
“anytime,” he replied. then, softer, “really.”
you hesitated, fingers tightening on your bag strap. “um… maybe next time, i won’t stay so late.”
he chuckled. “maybe next time, i’ll just remind you earlier.”
you smiled, stepping out of izuku's line of vision.
𐙚
izuku had memorized the schedule down to the minute.
doors at seven, opening remarks at seven-fifteen, first rotation at seven-thirty. networking clusters evenly spaced, lighting adjusted warm but not dim, music low enough that conversations wouldn’t strain.
he’d triple-checked the seating chart, colour-coded the committee roles, walked the ballroom twice before guests even arrived.
everything was set. that was supposed to be reassuring.
instead, he felt oddly restless as he stood near the entrance, blazer smooth against his shoulders, tie sitting exactly where it should. people filtered in steadily now, familiar faces, polite smiles, introductions layered over one another like static. he greeted them all easily, instinctively slipping into the role he knew well: capable, composed, dependable.
this was what he was good at.
“midoriya,” one of the committee members called quietly, clipboard tucked under her arm. “the west tables are ready.”
“great!” he nodded. “thank you.”
he took a breath, scanning the room.
it looked beautiful — he could admit that much to himself. soft gold lighting reflecting off polished floors, banners hung just right, the low hum of conversation building like a living thing. maybe over exceeding the budget was worth it.
and yet, his eyes kept drifting back to the entrance.
he told himself it was habit, he was just monitoring flow. making sure check-in was smooth. but every time the doors opened, something in his chest tightened, then eased — a quiet, unconscious rhythm.
don’t overthink it, he told himself. he’d done that enough lately, especially with you.
“you okay?” another committee member asked as she passed him a glass of water.
“yeah,” he replied easily. “just making sure everything’s running on time.”
she smiled. “of course you are.”
as she moved away, izuku let out a slow breath. his reflection caught his eye in one of the tall mirrors lining the wall. he looked put together, more than usual. he’d spent longer than he cared to admit choosing his tie, adjusting his collar, smoothing his hair, curls still messy.
still, there was that faint, persistent thought he hadn’t been able to shake all evening — the sense that something was missing, or perhaps waiting.
the doors opened again.
and this time, his breath caught for real.
it wasn’t dramatic. no music swell, no sudden silence. just the simple, unmistakable feeling of his attention snapping into focus.
you stepped inside.
for a second, he didn’t recognize you, not because you looked unfamiliar, but because you looked different. dressed up, softer and sharper all at once. the satin fabric you wore moved when you did, catching the light, and suddenly he was acutely aware of how underprepared he felt for this version of you.
you glanced around the room, tentative but curious, fingers brushing the strap of your bag before you let it fall. you looked like you were deciding where you belonged, how to blend in, but really you stood out.
izuku forgot the schedule.
forgot the rotation times, the carefully planned flow of the evening. all he could do was stand there, heart doing unhelpful and frantic in his chest as he watched you take a few steps forward.
you hadn’t told him you were coming.
the thought landed with surprising weight.
of course you hadn’t, you weren’t on the committee. you weren’t required to update him on your plans. and yet, a small, irrational part of him felt caught off guard in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
you looked… so nervous.
he noticed it immediately. the way your shoulders sat just a little tense, the way your gaze flicked between clusters of people before settling on nothing at all. it was the same look you got when you were thinking too hard, when you were quietly bracing yourself.
without thinking, his feet moved.
he stopped himself halfway.
you're your own person.
still, his attention stayed tethered to you as he forced himself to greet another guest of another company, respond to a question about seating, nod politely through small talk that suddenly felt distant and unreal.
when he looked back, you were further inside now, talking to someone he didn’t recognize. you smiled politely, hands folded in front of you.
that was… new. a warmth swelled across his chest at the sight of you easing.
but, something unfamiliar tugged at him, not jealousy, exactly. just awareness. the quiet realization that you existed in rooms he didn’t always control, that people saw you the way he did, maybe even for the first time.
it shouldn’t have unsettled him, but it did.
izuku retreated to the side of the room under the pretence of checking timing, though he already knew everything was running smoothly. his thoughts felt louder than the ballroom now.
he wondered what had convinced you to come to this. curiosity, maybe. obligation, or perhaps you’d simply wanted to step outside your usual orbit, test the edges of something new.
the idea made his chest tighten, and that's where he caught his obsession for you. it was filled with a careful kind of concern, one that might have been compromising.
would you be okay?
he watched as you laughed softly at something someone had said, the sound lost in the larger noise of the room but visible in the way your shoulders loosened. okay, okay, good. you weren’t uncomfortable.
still, he felt that familiar urge rise to check in, to ground you, to make sure you weren’t disappearing into yourself.
he resisted it. for now.
this was your space too, after all. you weren't this little project for him anymore, you were a genuine person.
as the first official rotation was announced, the room shifted, people rearranging themselves as planned. everything working exactly as it should. izuku straightened, refocusing, slipping back into his role, he had to focus.
but every so often between introductions, between nods and handshakes his gaze drifted back to you.
and each time, he felt it again. that quiet, undeniable truth settling deeper with every passing moment:
he’d organised the entire night. every detail, every position, every outcome. except for you.
he wasn't sure if he could handle that.
“midoriya,” a familiar voice called, pulling him from his thoughts.
he turned just in time to be greeted by a small cluster from his law cohort, all dressed sharper than usual, expressions bright with that polished ease people wore at events like this.
“wow,” one of them laughed lightly, eyes flicking over him. “charming as per usual. the venue's gorgeous.”
another nodded in agreement. “seriously. better than first year.”
izuku felt heat creep into his ears. “ah— thank you,” he said quickly, waving it off. “it was a team effort.”
“still,” the first added, teasing. “you always look like you belong at these things.”
he smiled, polite and practiced, answering their questions, accepting the compliments with a kind of careful gratitude. this was familiar territory, his domain — praise delivered cleanly, friendly.
past the hum of conversation, past the clink of glasses and low laughter, his gaze landed on the far side of the room — near one of the smaller tables tucked just off the main flow.
he was halfway through excusing himself from another conversation when it happened.
not a sound. not a call of his name, just the feeling, similar to a gravitational force.
that sudden, unmistakable pull in his chest, like something tightening and warming all at once, made him look up without thinking.
and there you were, all kind and polite. you’d spotted him across the room.
he saw it instantly, the way your posture shifted, how your eyes widened just a little before brightening completely. your mouth curved into a smile that was entirely unguarded, relief and recognition woven together so naturally it caught him off balance.
oh.
his breath hitched, barely noticeable, but real.
you raised a hand in a small wave, already stepping toward him, weaving through the clusters of people with careful determination. he watched you approach, unable to look away.
he hadn’t realized, not really, how much he’d wanted you to see him here.
“izuku!” you said when you reached him, voice warm, eyes still shining. “i was wondering if you’d be here.”
he laughed softly, a little breathless. “yeah. um—” he gestured vaguely around the ballroom. “i kind of had to be.”
you blinked.
your gaze swept the room — the banners, the committee members, the smooth orchestration of movement — then snapped back to him, incredulous.
“you didn’t tell me you planned this whole thing.”
his ears flushed instantly, all solid confidence flushed down the drain under your warm eyes. “oh—i didn’t plan all of it. i mean, i was on the committee, and—”
you stared at him for a second longer before laughing, the sound light and genuine. “izuku.”
the way you said his name, fond, amused, all in that pretty tone, sent that tingle through him again, sharper this time, lower.
“you’re incredible,” you added, shaking your head. “this is amazing. it's really nice here.”
he rubbed the back of his neck, smiling shyly. “i’m really glad you think so.”
“of course i do,” you said easily. “i mean—look at this.” you gestured around again, eyes sparkling. “it’s kind of perfect.”
perfect. the word landed heavier than it should have, more meaningful, more like a praise.
he glanced at you, noticing the way your excitement softened the edges of your nervousness, how standing here with him seemed to ground you just a little. your shoulders weren’t as tense now. your smile came easier, you weren't like the person he talked to a week ago.
and something in him eased in response — it meant you were getting comfortable with him.
“are you enjoying it?” he asked gently. “really.”
you hesitated, just a fraction, then nodded, a bit certain. “yeah. i am.” you smiled again, smaller this time. “i just needed a second to breathe earlier.”
he nodded, unsurprised. “yeah. i thought maybe.”
you tilted your head. “you did?”
“mhm.” he smiled. “you get this look when things get loud, didn't we talk about this before?”
your eyes softened. “you really do notice everything...”
he laughed quietly. “i try not to.”
there was a pause. and in that moment, izuku was aware of how close you were standing now, how easy it would be to stay here all night. how easy it would be to just drift away from the crowd and be with you.
“i’m glad you came,” he said finally.
your smile returned in full. “me too. especially now.”
the room shifted around you as the next rotation was announced, voices rising and moving in waves. someone brushed past, apologizing quickly, the noise swelling to a loud crescendo.
izuku hesitated, then gestured toward the quieter edge of the room. “do you want to walk for a bit? i can show you where we planned the less overwhelming spots.”
your eyes lit up again, all in that way izuku adored. “i’d love that.”
as the two of you moved together, izuku became aware of how different this felt from everything else he’d orchestrated tonight. schedules could be adjusted, lighting could be fixed, conversations could be guided. everything would've been fine.
but this — the warmth in his chest, the way your presence softened the sharpness of the evening — wasn’t something he could ever plan.
it just happened and for the first time all night, he stopped thinking about whether everything was running perfectly, because standing beside you, watching your face light up like that — that felt more than enough.
izuku heard the next rotation announcement clearly this time.
seven-forty five. cluster b and c transition. something about the west table rotate clockwise. exactly as outlined. exactly as prepared.
he felt the familiar reflex rise — the instinct to move, to oversee, to ensure nothing slipped through the cracks. it had lived in him for so long it felt automatic, like breathing, especially in this lived role.
but then he stopped, he didn’t need to.
every contingency had been accounted for, every loophole closed. he’d walked the room twice, briefed the committee, adjusted for worst-case scenarios that never came. the system didn’t hinge on his constant presence anymore, there was nothing more he could do.
tonight was already perfect.
the thought settled, solid and calm.
all he just needed to do was enjoy the night himself.
he let his shoulders drop, just slightly.
he glanced at you again, the way you stood beside him, eyes following the movement of the room with a quiet curiosity rather than obligation. you weren’t measuring outcomes or impressions, you were just like him. just trying to enjoy the night.
and suddenly, the choice felt easy.
fuck talking to other people.
fuck the endless cycle of introductions and polite interest and performative charm. he’d done his part — more than his part. the night didn’t need him to keep proving it.
what it hadn’t planned for was you.
he slowed his pace, matching yours again, attention narrowing deliberately. when another committee member’s eyes flicked toward him from across the room, searching, he met her gaze briefly, calm, assured, then nodded once.
a silent it’s fine.
he turned back to you, voice warm. “hey. do you want to sit somewhere quieter, even quieter?”
you looked surprised, then thoughtful. “aren’t you busy?”
he smiled. “i was. not right now. i think they can handle.”
something in his tone made your shoulders ease immediately. “okay,” you said. “i’d like that.”
as the two of you moved toward the edge of the ballroom, the hum of conversation continued uninterrupted. people rotated, laughed, exchanged cards. the night unfolded exactly as he’d designed it to.
he took a seat across from you, the space between you unhurried, intentional. the windows beside you reflected soft light, the city beyond blurred and distant.
for the first time that evening, izuku wasn’t tracking time.
fuck talking to other people, he thought again, this time without heat. without rebellion.
the ballroom noise had softened into something distant here by the windows, the music reduced to a low thread beneath conversation. the table between them was small, round, intimate — two glasses of water, one abandoned dessert plate, the soft reflection of light rippling across its surface.
izuku rested his forearms lightly against the edge, posture relaxed in a way he rarely allowed himself. he should’ve been scanning the room, checking on guests, but he didn't want to.
instead, he was watching you.
you were speaking — something about your classes, your schedule — your hands moving slightly as you talked, fingers tracing shapes in the air without you realising. every so often, you paused to think, gaze lifting briefly toward the ceiling before returning to him.
he nodded along, listening. really listening. at least, he tried to.
“so i’m technically in law,” you were saying, voice calm, a little hesitant. “but it’s a double degree.”
that caught his attention properly.
“you are?” he asked, surprised. “law?”
you laughed softly, shyly. “yeah. i don’t usually advertise it.”
“why not?”
you shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. the motion was small, unconscious, yet it did something unsettling to his chest. “i don’t know. i guess i don’t feel very… law-coded.”
he smiled at that. “what does that even mean?”
“you know,” you said, amused. “confident or outspoken. ready to argue at any given moment. kinda like you.”
he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “that’s not all of us.”
you glanced at him, eyes warm. “i suppose...”
something about the way you said it — not complimentary exactly, just observant — made his breath hitch.
“what’s the other degree?” he asked.
“arts,” you replied. “i like the balance. something structured, something… softer.”
he nodded slowly. “that makes sense.”
and it did. everything about you made sense in that quiet, inevitable way, like if he’d been paying attention properly all along, he would’ve seen it coming. you were this ball of comfort that bleed into his life, filling it with sunshine.
you continued talking, explaining how you ended up there, how one degree grounded you and the other let you breathe, the one that let you be yourself. he watched your face as you spoke, the way your expression shifted subtly with each thought — earnest, careful, a little self-conscious when you worried you were rambling.
“sorry,” you said suddenly, smiling apologetically, flashing him that meek look. “i’m talking a lot.”
“no,” he said immediately. “please don’t stop.”
you blinked. “oh.”
he cleared his throat, heat creeping into his ears. “i like hearing you talk.”
your smile softened, something gentler settling into your features. “okay.”
you kept going, and that was the problem.
because the longer you spoke, the harder it became for him to stay anchored to the words themselves. his attention drifted — not away from you, but deeper into you. into the way the light caught on your cheekbone when you turned your head. into the faint curve of your smile when you found the right phrasing, all so sure of yourself when you did. into the way you looked at him when you were trying to make sure he understood, the slight furrow in your brows.
he did understand, of course he did.
he realised, with a quiet jolt, that he’d stopped thinking in sentences. stopped analysing, categorising, planning, everything around him, you. his thoughts came slower now, softer, reduced to simple impressions.
beautiful. you were so beautiful it dulled everything around him.
there was no other word that fit.
not in a dramatic sense. not in a way that demanded attention. just… undeniably, painfully beautiful in the way you existed so naturally in front of him.
he’d seen you before, of course — studying, walking through campus, sitting across from him with notebooks between you, you were sweetly addicting like that. but tonight, something was different. maybe it was the way you’d dressed, or the way the dim lighting softened everything it touched. maybe it was the way you seemed more open, less guarded, like you’d decided — just for tonight — not to hide. this was you.
he swallowed, forcing himself to refocus as you asked, “what about you?”
“me?”
“yeah,” you said. “how did you end up in law?”
he almost laughed at the timing.
“uh,” he started, then paused, collecting himself. “i think i always knew. in a way, i think it was something i always wanted to get into.”
you leaned forward slightly, attentive. “because of justice stuff?”
he smiled. “that obvious?”
“kind of,” you admitted. “you have that look, like you care a lot.”
the words landed gently, but they stayed, bringing him a sense of deja vu.
“yeah,” he said quietly. “i do.”
you nodded, satisfied. “that makes sense.”
he found himself smiling back without thinking, something warm and gnetle spreading through his chest.
this, this was dangerous.
not because it felt wrong, but because it felt easy, because sitting here with you didn’t require effort or performance or vigilance. because for the first time all evening, his mind wasn’t split between ten different responsibilities.
it was just you. it was the only thing filling his mind at this point.
you paused, noticing his silence. “are you okay? you’re doing that thing again.”
“what thing?”
“staring,” you said gently, observant.
his breath caught.
“sorry,” he said quickly. “i don't mean to.”
it was your turn to interrupt him. “it’s okay, i'm not judging.”
you held his gaze, unbothered. maybe even a little curious, something inviting beneath your gaze.
for a moment, once more, neither of you spoke.
the space between you felt fragile, like something easily broken if either of you moved too quickly — izuku didn't want that.
izuku felt the yearning then — properly, unmistakably. not sharp or desperate, but deep and steady, like a current pulling at him from somewhere beneath his ribs.
he wanted to reach out. not to touch you, not yet — just to exist a little closer. to stay in this pocket of quiet longer than the night technically allowed.
he wanted to know you. not in fragments or shared moments, but fully — your habits, your contradictions, the way your mind worked when you weren’t trying to be careful. he didn't want to just know what you liked, what your interests were surface-level, he wanted to know the mundane things, your routine, which food you liked because it reminded you of your childhood. he wanted to absorb all of you.
and the realisation scared him, just a little.
because he didn’t want to rush it. this wasn't just the meek girl in the art room who stayed afterhours, this was someone he genuinely...
whatever this was, it deserved patience.
“…i’m really glad you came tonight,” he said softly.
you smiled, something tender in it. “me too.”
and as the night continued around them — the networking, the conversations, the perfectly planned flow — izuku stayed right where he was, trying to memorize the feeling of this moment.
he wanted to engrave you into his skin, breath you in like oxygen and hold you like you were the only form of matter on this planet. the sound of your voice. the warmth in his chest. the quiet certainty that for once, wanting something didn’t feel like a problem to solve.
it just felt like something to hold.
he tried, really tried, to follow what you were saying.
but you looked too pretty. so fucking pretty, it almost felt unfair.
the golden lights hitting the shine of your dress, caught the warm light every time you moved, clinging to you. it glowed softly, the fabric pooling and shifting when you breathed, constricting around your chest when you leaned forward, when you laughed under your breath.
and your eyes — god.
they looked endearing under the lights, softened by the glow, thoughtful and gentle in a way that made his chest ache. you listened the same way you always did, fully. like every word mattered. like people were worth holding space for. there was something so mindful about you, so careful, and it made him want to be careful too.
your cheeks were flushed, not with nerves exactly — with kindness. with warmth. like the room hadn’t overwhelmed you after all, like you’d found a way to exist inside it without losing yourself, allowing yourself to be free around him. the color bloomed there naturally, and he had to stop himself from staring at it, from wondering what it would feel like to cup your face and feel that warmth beneath his palms.
and your hair.
pulled up, neat and intentional, a careful updo that spoke of time and patience. not rushed. not careless. soft intentional curls framed your face, falling just loose enough to shadow the softness of your cheeks. gentle. deliberate. beautiful in a way that didn’t try to be anything else.
he swallowed, pulse loud in his ears.
if he had known how gorgeous you'd look under these warm lights, under the disco ball above iridescent against your skin, he might've just planned a second ball just to see you like this again.
get it together, izuku.
but he couldn’t stop thinking about how much care must’ve gone into this. how you’d probably stood in front of a mirror, adjusting, fixing, hesitating — wondering if this was too much or not enough. how you might’ve almost undone it, almost chosen something safer, something smaller.
and yet here you were.
sitting across from him, hands folded neatly, voice soft, eyes bright — completely unaware of the way you were undoing him piece by piece.
he realised then that this wasn’t just attraction. it wasn’t novelty, or the dim lighting, or the elegance of the night.
it was the way you existed so gently in the world.
and fuck — he didn’t know what to do with that yet, so he stayed quiet. he listened. he held the moment carefully, filing this image of you carefully into his mind.
because wanting you like this — silently, reverently — felt too important to rush, far too valuable to treat as a little project.
the ball thinned out gradually.
not all at once — just in small, polite waves. conversations wrapped up. coats and blazers were collected. laughter softened into goodbyes. the music dimmed, almost imperceptibly, like the room itself was beginning to exhale.
izuku noticed it the way he noticed everything.
he’d already been thanked three times; already assured that it had gone beautifully, that the night was a success, that the committee could handle the rest of the cleanup. someone mentioned the afterparty in passing — a loose plan, informal, nothing he needed to oversee.
he nodded. smiled. filed it away. and then forgot about it entirely.
because you shifted in your seat beside him, smoothing your dress as you glanced toward the exit.
“i should probably head off soon,” you said softly, eyes creasing in that apologetic sense. “it’s getting late.”
something in his chest tightened — not sharply, just enough to register.
“yeah,” he replied. “i was thinking the same.”
you stood first, slipping your bag over your shoulder. the movement drew his eyes again, traitorous, lingering. the golden shimmer of your dress caught the light one last time, and he felt that familiar ache settle low and steady.
you waited for him without asking.
he stood, too.
the walk toward the entrance was unhurried. the room looked different now — emptier, less demanding. the work was done. the night had unfolded exactly as planned.
except for this part.
he stopped near the doors, the cool air from outside brushing faintly against his neck.
izuku hesitated.
he’d offered before. a few days ago. the night at that time, felt simpler. because he didn't feel this strongly not too long ago, but this felt different — heavier somehow, more deliberate.
“um,” he started, then cleared his throat. “do you want a ride home?”
you blinked, surprised — then smiled apologetically. “oh, it’s okay. i can just grab a taxi.”
he nodded automatically.
and then, in his head, something stalled. what was he thinking?
a taxi meant waiting. standing alone under streetlights. a stranger behind the wheel. it meant letting you disappear into the night like you were just another variable, another thing he didn’t need to think about.
and that, that felt wrong.
uncomfortable. an inconvenience.
the thought surfaced unbidden, clear and undeniable.
it’s never an inconvenience when it’s you.
the realisation startled him with its honesty.
he looked at you again — the way you stood there, composed but tired, eyes slightly lidded, still soft around the edges despite the long night. the way your fingers curled lightly around your bag strap, like you were already halfway gone.
“please,” he said instead, more firmly this time. “really. i’m heading that way anyway.”
it wasn’t a lie.
not exactly.
you hesitated. “are you sure? you’ve probably had a long night.”
he almost laughed.
“yeah,” he admitted. “but this part’s easy. can't let a pretty girl going home alone can i?”
you studied his face for a moment, like you were weighing something — then nodded. “oh! uh— okay, if you’re sure.”
“i am,” he said, without hesitation, already guiding you.
outside, the night air was cooler, quieter. the exterior of the venue's lights cast long shadows across the pavement as you walked side by side, close enough that your arms brushed once, neither of you moving away.
his car wasn’t far.
as he unlocked it, you paused, glancing back at the building. “you did really well tonight,” you said. “everyone could feel how much care went into it.”
the words settled warm in his chest.
“thank you,” he replied. “that… means a lot.”
you smiled at him — soft, genuine — and he felt that ache again, deeper now. how was he going to handle this...
you slid into the passenger seat, dress gathering carefully around you. he closed the door gently, then took a second before walking around to the driver’s side.
as he started the engine, he felt the pull of the rest of the night somewhere behind him — the loose invitations, the unspoken expectations, the afterparty he hadn’t even mentioned.
he didn’t think of it as a sacrifice. he thought of it as a choice.
and as he pulled away from the curb, the city lights stretching ahead, izuku realised something quietly, undeniably true about himself, and about you.
there were a lot of things he was willing to rearrange.
but when it came to you, nothing about this felt like an inconvenience at all.
the car settled into a gentle hum as he pulled onto the road, the city lights sliding past the windshield in slow streaks of gold and white. the heater was on low, just enough to take the edge off the night air. everything felt muted in here — insulated, almost private.
you broke the silence first.
“i talked to a lot of people tonight,” you said softly, gaze turned toward the window. “more than i thought i would.”
“yeah?” he glanced at you briefly, then back to the road. “how was it?”
you smiled, small and thoughtful. “good! a little overwhelming at first, but… good.”
he nodded, encouraging, letting you set the pace.
“there was this girl from corporate law,” you continued. “she was really kind. she told me about her clerkship and how scared she was at the start.” you laughed quietly. “which helped, actually. made it feel less… impossible.”
“i’m glad,” he said. and he meant it — deeply. of course you could handle yourself.
you shifted in your seat, fingers brushing the fabric of your dress absently. “i don’t know if i’ll hear from any of them again,” you added. “but it was still nice. like… proof i can do it, you know? talk to people. be in those spaces.”
his chest warmed at that.
“that’s not nothing,” he said gently.
you looked at him then, eyes catching the dashboard light. “yeah. i think i needed to be a bit like you tonight.”
there was a pause, comfortable but full. the kind that let thoughts stretch without pressure.
he listened to the way your voice softened when you spoke about the night, the way pride threaded quietly through your words — not loud or boastful, just earned, rightfully so. he found himself wanting to catalogue it all. the cadence of your speech, the way you chose your words carefully, like you didn’t want to overstate or undersell the experience.
he admired that about you. the balance. god, you were so pretty.
“i kept thinking i was saying the wrong thing,” you admitted with a small laugh. “but then i realised… most people are just happy someone’s listening.”
he smiled, nodding as this thumb drummed against the rim of the steering wheel. “that’s true.”
you glanced back out the window. “i think that’s why i liked it more than i expected. it wasn’t about impressing anyone, just connecting.”
the word lingered.
connecting.
tonight was a success. no, it was more than a success.
he felt it settle somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and warm. he wondered if you realised how naturally you did that — how you drew people in without trying, how your attention felt like a gift rather than a transaction.
he wanted to tell you, how your caring nature drew him in effortlessly with the least amount of words possible. he didn’t.
instead, he said, “you’re really good at that.”
you hummed, unconvinced but pleased. “maybe. i’m still not sure i belong in rooms like that.”
he tightened his grip on the steering wheel for just a second.
“you do,” he said quietly. “even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”
you turned toward him again, studying his profile. “you really think so?”
“yeah,” he replied without hesitation. “i wouldn’t say it if i didn’t.”
something softened in your expression — relief, maybe. trust. it made his chest ache in that familiar way, the yearning curling gently rather than sharply now, beckoning him to feed into it.
you leaned back into the seat, exhaling. “thank you. for tonight. and for the ride.”
“anytime,” he said. then, softer, “i’m glad you came.”
you smiled to yourself, eyes drifting closed for just a second. “me too.”
the rest of the drive passed quietly, but it wasn’t empty. it was filled with the sound of your breathing, the rhythm of the road, the shared understanding of a night well-lived.
izuku kept his focus on the street ahead, but his thoughts stayed with you — with the way you spoke about the people you met, not as stepping stones or opportunities, but as moments. experiences. proof of your own growth.
he realized then that this was what he wanted to know about you. not just your ambitions or your plans, but the way you processed the world. the way you took meaning from small, human interactions. he wondered how you felt about him.
as he turned onto your street, something in him tightened again — a quiet reluctance.
the car slowed. the moment thinned.
but he held onto it carefully, storing it away.
because even if you never heard from those people again, even if the night faded into memory, this — this conversation, this calm — mattered.
and as he pulled to a stop, izuku knew one thing that was absolutely true. tonight hadn’t been about networking at all.
it had been about you finding your place.
and him realizing how badly he wanted to stay beside you while you did.
𐙚
the networking ball might’ve been the best thing izuku’s ever planned yet.
not in a technical sense — sure, catering as beyond expectation, speeches inspired and the schedule ran without collapsing in on itself. those were things he already accounted for, no surprise there.
the following week, izuku received praise. not just from the students, but also professors he was working closely with.
he hadn’t done it for recognition — god, no, that never even entered his mind. nor had he done it for the networking, not really. he wanted something that felt intentional, a means for students to still enjoy their university days without feeling guilty for compromising on studying. something that didn’t feel hollow or transactional.
and somehow, after all of the budgeting, negotiations, it worked.
students were able to line up with companies for further work, people got to have a good time, new perspectives were unveiled for those stuck.
committee members drift past him in the hallways, offering quick appreciative thanks, light teasing about finally relaxing. someone claps him on the shoulder, while another jokes about him being “charmingly competent, as per usual”.
izuku smiles, polite and warm, accepting the praise with content that all went well.
and, he should feel done. the mission was complete, it should just be back to the books now, the days should unfold normally.
he grabs lunch on the go, grumbling to himself about forgetting to meal-prep the night before. he tucks himself into a quiet spot in the law library, answering emails, cleaning up any missed content he might’ve let slip through the cracks of his schedule before moving to his next lecture.
the campus hums around him, familiar and unremarkable. this is the moment he gets to sink in the sun’s warmth on his skin, the noticeable cool breeze on his arms and neck.
at one point, while crossing the quad, he thinks he catches a glimpse of you near the arts building — just a flicker of your hair blending with the moving crowd. by the time he looks again, you’re gone.
he remembers the way you’d looked at the ball — endearing, beautiful, everything tender and loving in between. it was enough to have him spiralling, doing everything he could to make you his, but that wasn’t right.
he shook his head slightly, refocusing on the green ahead of him. things should be ordinary, but the only thing out of place, was his mind.
the lecture ended with a collective mundane sigh. this lecture was particularly content-heavy, and by the time the professor had taken off his glasses and shoved his laptop into his bag, izuku already knew he’d be reviewing the whole thing from scratch tonight.
on the way from the lecture hall, he decided to take a detour. his feet shift direction, pivoting him down a familiar corridor without much thought.
the day had been long, but manageable. but really, it’s only been manageable because a part of you has occupied his thoughts, while the other half blurred with case notes and the low hum of the aging professor echoing faintly in his head.
the art building is quiet at this hour.
he slows as he reaches it, already feeling your presence, already anticipating you. the air changes immediately — it’s warm, welcoming with the faint smell of paint and paper, and definitely something mineral he hasn’t dealt with before.
he should head home, review the notes in his room, add to the pile of work he already has accumulating on his desk. but, how could he not see you? just because he felt guilty about getting hitoshi to practically discover your twitter account, and that he may have jacked off to your liked videos. but he’s changed, right? he only wants to know you for you, now.
the hallway is mostly empty, footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor as he walked past closed doors, ongoing tutorials till heard from within. for the majority, most of the lights are off, and the vast of the building had already begun settling into its evening rest.
except for one sector, the one he goes to most afternoons, the one he used to go to just to ease his mind, but was now just to see you.
a glow spills from the art room, rainbow panels dull against the sun’s setting, a thin line of the afternoon’s last sun cutting across the floor.
izuku slowed, breathing shallowing. this was, undoubtedly, his favorite part of his day whether he wanted to argue it or not. he approached closer, peering in through the open doorway with an idle intention of saying hello — or maybe just confirming if you weren’t even there at all.
just when he was to enter the room, the sound reaches him first, soft, uneven, pained.
his chest tightened instinctively as the realization settled in.
you’re seated at your normal spot, shoulders hunched, sketchbook open and forgotten beneath your trembling hands. your head is bowed, hair falling to cover your face, but can already tell what state you’re in with the way your body shakes.
his body moves before he can even think of what to say.
“hey hey,” he says softly, tone gentle as he slots himself beside you, careful to not invade your personal space.
your head snapped up, panic flashing evident across your face, raw as if you’ve been caught. you scrub at your cheeks with the heel of your hands, shaking your head frantically.
“i—i’m fine, izuku,” you sniffle out quickly, too quickly. “sorry, i didn’t think you were going to come by—”
“no no no, please don’t apologise, please don’t. it’s okay,” izuku reassures, tone softening even more. “i didn’t mean to intrude, i just heard you…couldn’t leave you crying here alone.”
you look like you might bolt. your breath stutters at his words, feelings collapsing even more, chest hitching like it’s trying to decide on imploding in on itself. you turn away purposefully, shoulders curling inward.
izuku recognizes it immediately — the way you're panicking even more now.
“okay,” he murmured, calm even as his heart hammers against his ribs. “okay, okay, it’s okay, deep breaths for me. you’re safe.”
you shake your head, fingers digging into the edge before they move to hold izuku’s, body still turned away from him. “i’m being stupid.”
izuku’s eyes widened at your words, more than your touch. “hey, no you’re not.”
he moved around you, crouching down before you slightly so he’s not towering over you, keeping his movements slow and visible, gently grabbing your clenched fists and rubbing small circles over your knuckles.
“i am, izuku,” you sob out, hot tears spilling down your cheeks and falling onto izuku’s hand. your breathing stutters again, before easing at his patience. “i am… i’m sorry. so so sorry…”
“hey,” izuku says again, quiet, thumb still tracing slow circles, completely ignoring the way your tears patter against his skin. “you don’t need to be sorry, not for this, just let it out, okay?”
you shake your head at his words once more, frustration making its way to your pained features. your grip tightened in on itself as you try to make sense of izuku’s touch, warm and comforting.
“i didn’t mean to make it weird,” you whisper, words barely holding together, though it seems like you’re speaking more to yourself. “i swear i didn’t…”
his brows knit, confusion and concern flickering across his face. “y/n…what’s going on, sweetie?”
the endearment slips from his lips accidentally, and it definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you’re too distressed to even care.
you don’t answer right way, your eyes focusing on his kind ones as you try to calm down, your breathing evening out a little now, just enough for you to swallow, shoulders still curled inward.
“someone said something about m—me,” you say finally, voice choked and raspy.
his thumb stills, hovering mindfully over the delicate skin of your knuckle. “yeah?”
you nod, the dam of tears almost unleashing. “they—they said i was weird.”
the word sits heavy between you, ugly and sharp in your mouth.
honestly, it wasn’t as bad as izuku thought it would be. but, that being said, he’d never undermine your feelings if that was something that really hurt you.
izuku exhaled slowly through his nose, processing your words. “i don’t think that’s true. how could that be true?”
you let out a small, broken laugh. the sound ripped from your throat raw, eyes downcast now. “you don’t really know me. they’re probably right.”
“maybe not,” he says gently, shifting himself closer so your knees are almost touching his chest. “but i know that crying over something like this doesn’t come from nowhere.”
your lips tremble at that, nodding shamefully.
“i didn’t mean to,” you repeat, quieter now, voice hushed. “i wasn’t trying to— i wasn’t trying to do anything wrong.”
he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, seeing that you’re obviously devastated about something that had happened throughout the day. the thought set something ablaze and uncomfortable within him, heat swirling in his chest at the thought of someone hurting you like that.
“i don’t think you’re someone who does things with bad intentions,” izuku started. “i think people mistake your quiet, thoughtful nature for indifference.”
your shoulders sag, tension leaking out of you with exhaustion. tears spill freely now, more devastatingly calm this time, as if he’s just cracked a code.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper again, voice cracking. “i don’t know why i’m like this— i thought— i thought that the networking ball, i proved myself…”
izuku frowned at the sight before him, you collapsing in on yourself, defeat cementing painfully in your chest. “don’t apologise for being yourself. if you want, you don’t have to explain everything to me.”
that, seems to be what finally breaks the lock you had on.
you let out a sob, real and pained. your head dipped forward as you struggled to pull yourself back together.
izuku stays right where he is, patiently carrying whatever weight he can. he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t fill the silence with reassurances. he just keeps that same, steady tempo of circles into your knuckles, like he has all the time in the world. because with you, he really does.
eventually, your breathing eases out again, sniffles filling the silence instead.
“thank you,” you sighed out, worry still painted all over your face.
“of course,” izuku replied kindly, tone still careful and mindful of your emotions.
you sit there together for a moment longer, allowing the art room to settle back into its usual hush. when you finally straighten, posture recorrecting itself, your hand slips from his, wiping at your cheeks with the sleeve of your jumper.
he was meant to do that. it’s too late now.
he doesn’t comment on it, instead he moves to sit in a chair, legs slightly strained from the crouched position he was in. his eyes drifted briefly to the sketchbook still open on the table before returning to you.
“hey,” he says after a beat, voice still hushed. “can i ask you something?”
you glance at him with a wary look before it’s neutralised. “okay, go ahead…”
he offers a small, reassuring smile at your dismay, assuring you that he wasn’t going to interrogate you.
“do you mind telling me who said that about you?” he asks gently, tone clipped more than he’d like. “only if you want to.”
“i don’t want to make it a big thing,” he adds easily, like an afterthought to what he’d originally asked. “i just don’t like the idea of someone making you feel like that, is all.”
you hesitate, the name cautious on your tongue. your fingers twist together, a grimace making its way to your face, worry etched into every small movement.
“it was adam,” you say finally.
the name comes out oddly softer than it should.
izuku blinks once, registering the name before filing it away.
“adam trideschi?” he repeats, the name falling off his tongue slowly, simply making sure he heard you right.
you nod. “yeah, he—” you stop abruptly, lips pressing together in thought. “maybe he— i don’t know, izuku. i don’t want you to like go up to him or anything, or talk to him about this. i don’t think he was trying to be cruel. it was probably just a joke. i’m just— i guess i’m just sensitive.”
izuku’s jaw tightened at the sight of you overexplaining yourself for him, as if you’re trying to compensate for whatever flaw you’re insecure of — though to him, there’s nothing you need to prove to him.
“what kind of joke is that?”
you shrug, shoulders lifting and falling quickly. “the kind that lands wrong i guess. i mean, i’ve always been a crybaby…”
that’s all you say, nothing more.
he took a deep breath, gaze drifting somewhere past the table as he absorbed this new information. adam. law cohort, same year as the both of you. the name rings a bell, familiar in a way that he can place a face to the name, despite the fact they’ve never been close.
“thank you for telling me,” izuku hummed out after a moment. “that was really brave of you.”
you look up at him, eyes bloodshot and tired, uncertain. “you’re not upset?”
he shakes his head immediately. “never. why would i be upset with you?”
your shoulders ease at that, relief swelling across your features as let out a choked laugh. “i just don’t want drama,” you add in quietly.
“i know,” izuku assures. “and it doesn’t have to be, okay?” he pauses, still lost in thought. “if he says something like that again, you don’t have to deal with it alone. okay?”
you nod, eyes shining faintly as tears line your waterline. “o—okay.”
izuku gives you an empathic smile, warm and considerate as he pushed himself up from the chair. he hesitates for half a second, fingers curling at his side like he’s debating something personal.
“for what it’s worth,” he mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck, moving up to his undercut, a little sheepish. “i’m kind of a cry baby too.”
your brows lift, surprised.
“seriously.” he huffed out a quiet laugh, the embarrassment settling into something certain and natural. “i just hide it better now.”
something in your creased brows soften, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your mouth despite everything.
“so,” izuku continues lightly, bag by his shoulder, “you’re in good company. no judgement here. i think i cry harder than you.”
he could never leave you alone like this — especially after what happened.
the walk to the car is quiet, and the ride home was already implied by the way he clung to your side. the campus is hushed around you as you move beside him, steps small, arms folding loosely around yourself as if you’re still bracing yourself.
the drive is gentle. no music, just the soft hum of the engine and the streetlights sliding past the lightly tinted windows.
you talk a little — unsurprisingly not about what has happened. just smaller things, and he knows it’s your way of distracting the thoughts in your head. you talk about how cold it’s gotten at night, how the semester feels longer than it should. and all izuku offers is attentive nods, meaningful comments that make you huff a breathy laugh.
when he pulls up outside of your place, neither of you moves to get out right away.
he can still see it. and it hurts for him to realize the truth.
you’re still hurting, and from whatever really happened today, something you definitely didn’t let him know about — you’re drowning in it.
the engine idles before he completely turns off the car decisively.
you stare at the dashboard, fingers picking at the strap of your bag. izuku watched you from the corner of his eye, heart tugging uncomfortably in his chest.
“hey,” he says softly, filling in the silence of the outside, the distant sound of the wind whistling.
you look at him, as if you’re silently pleading something.
“do you feel okay going inside by yourself?” he asks, hand hovering over the steering wheel.
you hesitate, and it’s written all over your face, the way your lips tremble say you choke out a reply. “i’m okay.”
he nodded slowly, choosing to accept it, watching as you slowly step out of his car. then, pauses. swallowing. he shouldn’t take advantage of this moment. he shouldn’t take advantage of this moment—
“this is— okay, you don’t have to say yes.”
you wait, movements halting immediately at his gentle voice.
“but,” he continues carefully, seeing the way your shoulders relax. “would it be okay if i came in for a bit? just to make sure you’re settled. i can leave whenever you want.”
there’s no expectation hidden in his sugared tone, no leaning closer, no pressure. just a kind offer.
you turn, searching his face — the earnestness, the concern he isn’t trying to hide — and something inside you eases.
“yes, please….”
the relief that crosses his face is immediate, but restrained, concealed beneath the rationality of the situation. “okay, let me carry your stuff then.”
you almost refuse, but izuku can see the way your eyes gather down to his biceps, a light blush coating your puffy cheeks before you hand over your bag.
“thank you, izuku.”
“hmm.”
you step inside first, flickering on the light as izuku lingers just behind you, your bag bunched at his shoulder with ease.
the house is quiet, empty. simple.
you freeze for half a second, urgency swirling into your expression as you pad to — where izuku assumes to be — your room.
“um—” you say quickly, voice slightly pitched with a nervous laugh. “i just— just need to clean my room really quickly…um, you can grab your stuff from your car while you wait if you want to stay for a while and— um, study…since it takes you a while to get home.”
izuku’s eyes light up at your invitation, nodding eagerly, your words flying over his head. “sure.”
as he made his way to the front door, he turned to look at you who’s still standing in your original spot. “by the way, your home is really nice, i promise you i’m not judging if your room's a bit messy.”
your face heats instantly. “i know! i just—it’s embarrassing.”
the sight of you flushed like this, to him, it’s endearing. he nods in response to your flusterness, a light look on his face as he jogged to his car, gathering his bag from the boot.
izuku returns back inside of your house a minute later, unable to hide the smile flush on his face, bag slung over his shoulder, shoes nudged off neatly outside like he’s trying not to impose.
“sorry,” he says lightly, maintaining eye contact with your shy ones. “you’re right. it is so cold out there.”
“it’s okay,” you reply, a little too quickly before softening your tone, steady. “um, you can come into my room now — unless you want me to make food, we can do that.”
“that’s okay, thank you for the offer. but if you haven’t ate, i don’t mind hovering around either.”
you shake your head, pointing to the empty containers where you must’ve eaten from throughout the day.
you hover for half a second, fingers intertwining playfully as you gesture down the hall. “my room’s just— here.”
izuku nodded, following behind you without question.
the space is meek. small, but warm. it’s lived-in in a quiet way, a neat bed, desk pushed up against the wall, soft amber light from a flower lamp pooling the walls. everything looks tidy, but not sterile. in fact, it’s cozy.
you step aside to let him in fully, giving him a curt look. “sorry if it’s cramped.”
“it’s fine,” he intercepts immediately, waving a hand. “it’s really nice in here, y/n.”
he means it. he likes— no, he loves it. it’s adorable. it’s you. this is you, the version of you he’s been searching for, where you rest, where you hang out. it’s as if izuku’s unveiled another intimate layer of you, and you’re entrusting him with it.
you move around him cautiously, straightening something unnecessary on the desk, fingers brushing the edge of one of your heavily annotated textbooks before pulling away awkwardly.
“you can, uh, sit wherever,” you add, nervous energy creeping back into your voice. your eyes dart around the room, shrinking in on yourself when you realize the only place to really sit…is your bed or the floor.
you perch on the edge of your bed, smoothing your skirt out of habit. the room settled into a quiet that feels different from the rest of the house, charged. closer. something intimate but not quite.
izuku glanced around once more, polite and unobtrusive. “you have a lot of books,” he observed.
you laugh softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “yeah, kind of a problem.”
“i get it,” he beamed, a warmth spilling from his cheeks and out his ears as he realized just how in your life he was. “same.”
he sat down beside you, his stronger frame sinking the mattress. his posture is precise, attentive in the way he’s trying to respect your humble abode.
for a moment, neither of you spoke as he plopped his bag down on the floor.
then, izuku breaks the silence gently. “do you…want to study? or we can just sit and talk, either’s okay with me.”
you hesitate, rooming the options. “we can study,” you say. “yeah, that’d be good. i mean, yeah we probably have a lot of work to do.”
izuku’s already reacting with compliance, reaching into his bag and pulling out his laptop. “okay.”
you stand again, too fast as you stumble to your desk. “i’ll just grab something,” you say quickly.
“take your time,” he hummed out easily, already flickering his eyes back to his screen, reviewing his typed out notes from today’s gruelly lecture.
you turn away, and just for a moment, izuku catches the way your gaze flicks to the one place in the room you were careful not to touch, a closed box.
whatever’s there stays hidden, and izuku assumes it’s best not to pry. if he were to guess what was inside of that box, tonight might turn into something else. and tonight wasn’t that night.
you plop yourself back down across from him, taking the headboard, expression calm, hands steady. the night resumes its quiet rhythm. you question if he’s comfortable where he is, and he says it’s fine.
it’s until he’s about three quarters of his notes and the syllabus when he notices the air in the room shifting.
attentively, he gave you a glance, noticing your attention drifting from your own work and onto him.
it’s subtle, fleeting almost. but he catches it swiftly. he sees the way your gaze lingers, the almost imperceptible pause when it lands a little too low, a little too close to his mouth, and even lower. when you notice he’s caught you, yor dip your head into your laptop, humming quietly.
it makes his breath hitch, a heat spreading uncontrollably throughout hin.
you clear your throat softly, breaking the silence. “thank you…for earlier, you know…comforting me, even though you really didn’t have to.”
his fingers pause on the keyboard, screen dimming. “of course,” he replied, voice steady even though his chest feels strangely tight.
“even if i probably looked really gross. heh.”
there it is again, that self-deprecation you wrap yourself in. it’s softer now than when you were crying, but all in the same way, damaging. this is what he was worried about earlier — going inside, sitting in your room in silence, allowing adam’s words to replay in your mind. that wasn’t okay.
izuku closed his laptop, giving you his full attention, not before autosaving his work.
you’re sitting cross legged across from him, shoulder relaxed against the headboard, eyes earnest in a way that makes it hard for izuku to think properly. there’s a faint blush tacked onto your cheeks, the rosy hue lingering from something emotional rather than embarrassed this time.
“you didn’t.”
you blink. “pardon, sorry?”
“look gross,” he clarified, fingers clasping over his politely, not intentionally.. “you just looked like you were having a rough time, which you were. that’s excusable and it’s okay.”
you smile softly, as if you were trusting yourself with this, before dropping your gaze to your lap. “still.”
a sigh left izuku’s lips, leaning back against the heels of his palms. “if that’s gross,” he says lightly. “then i think i look horrific crying.”
you laugh at his words, allowing his comfort to ease into the room, filling it with a warmth that overpowered the amber tones from your lamp. there was a pause, and somewhere in that silence, izuku notices a lot about you.
he’s aware of you in a way that feels new now — it’s not overwhelming, just a lot. and he’s happy to take that load. the way the lamplight catches in your hair, relaxed and effortless, the way you keep worrying your soft bottom lip between your teeth like you’re holding something back. his gaze instinctively flickers down there before he can even stop it.
to your lips.
your soft, plush, kissable—
he looks away almost immediately, heart thudding, fingers curling into themselves. he should focus.
he doesn’t realize what you’re doing at first. he’s too busy focusing on slowing his heartbeat and quieting his mind to even notice.
you’re on your knees, a needy look in your eyes, shifting closer, slowly and careful until you place yourself right beside him — shoulder to shoulder.
“y/n…”
your hand finds the fabric of his sleeve, fingers curling there as if you’re testing your proximity.
“hey— “ he starts softly, but you lean in instead.
your arms wrap around him, tentative at first, as if it’s something foreign to you. then, tighter, melting into something you’ve been longing for. your cheek pressed against his shoulder, breath warm through his jumper, and izuku freezes for half a second before instinct takes over.
his arms come up around you, just as gentle, securing you in a blanket of affection. he holds you like he’s afraid of startling or hurting you. god, the thought of him even making you uncomfortable sickens him.
your grip tightens once, and it’s an uncharacteristic notion from you, but izuku just lets it happen. he simply takes it.
you pull back slowly, your hands lingering on his chest as you lean away, still within close proximity. when you lift your head, your eyes flicker, once to his half-lidded eyes, then to his slightly open lips.
izuku swallows, suddenly vulnerable in your orbit.
he sees it then, the clear opening, you hesitating to take it. there’s a want hidden beneath your lashes as you peer straight at his lips.
the room feels very small all of a sudden, hot and charged. electrifying at his tips.
“you’re not weird or gross,” he says quietly, almost without thinking. “god, how could you ever be…”
your lips part, like you’re about to say something, like a response to his dialogue. but he doesn’t let you.
fuck it.
izuku leans in first, closing the distance slowly enough that if you wanted to stop him, you could. when his lips meet yours, it’s soft, velvety, moving against yours unhurried.
you taste so good.
you make a small sound, something quiet and needy muffled between your tongues. your hands tighten around the fabric on his chest, anchoring him and pulling him closer. the kiss deepens, gentle, unmeasured as izuku pressed his tongue against yours, groaning.
his hands move to your jaw without thinking, slotting it perfectly just beneath your ear. and for a moment, nothing else exists. not the art room, not the crying that happened earlier, not izuku questioning his feelings for you — because now it’s true.
kissing you like this, finally tasting you, this was worth the obsession. it was worth figuring out if he liked you, or if it was infatuation. because now he’s certain; with you in his arms, all mush and affectionate against his lips, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here.
when he finally pulls back, a string of saliva connecting between your tongues, izuku’s face heated a warm red.
“was that okay?” he whispers.
you nod, eyes bright and almost desperate, cheeks that pretty tinge. “more…”
he smiles, soft and relieved, a little awed at your affection.
he leaned in once more, a little more passionate now, rougher. one second, you’re leaning into him, knees brushing his, the next his hands are on your hips, gilding you closer until you’re settled onto his lap.
you let out a quiet, surprised breath, hands flying to his shoulders.
“izuku—“
he paused, pulling from the kiss once more, eyes searching yours with a generous concern. “is this okay still?”
your answer is in the way you stay, the way your hips move lightly against his, nudging the growing tent in his pants.
that’s all he needs.
his arms wrap around you, sliding beneath your top to feel the bare skin of your back as you lean in again. the kiss deepens, lips moving together with a familiarity that makes his chest ache, like this has been waiting just beneath the surface the whole time.
your weight settles fully in his lap, movements warm and pressed close, and izuku becomes acutely aware of how this is making you feel right now. he can feel it. the way your delicate fingers slide up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his curls with need, the way he can feel your heat beneath your skirt and through your panties.
fuck, you weren’t wearing shorts underneath.
he lets out a soft sound against your mouth, moaning into the kiss as you rock against his erection, tiny mewls spilling out in response.
the kiss grows unhurried but hungry in a quiet way — all lingering touches and stolen breaths. his hand settles at your waist, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles like earlier, only now it sends a different kind of heat through him.
you pull back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against his, both of you flushed and unsteady.
his heart is pounding. yours too — he can feel it.
“…we can stop,” he murmurs, even though his arms don’t loosen. “anytime.”
you shake your head, breathless smile tugging at your lips. “don’t want to.”
something in his chest twists — soft and overwhelming all at once.
he kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring it. like he’s afraid if he rushes, the moment might break and rewind.
and as you sit there together — tangled, warm, entirely focused on each other — izuku realises this doesn’t feel reckless.
he knows he shouldn’t have come inside your home. he saw you crying earlier, chest heaving with panic. you should be resting up, probably sleeping. but he just can’t help it. he might be the most selfish human alive right now.
it feels right. too right, even with that quiet, guilty voice in his head. but he doesn’t care, not right now. not especially when you’re so compliant on top of him, grounding your pussy against his crotch like you need him.
and for once, he doesn’t overthink it. he just holds you closer and lets the moment carry you both.
still, he couldn’t believe it. him being in your room, the soft glow of your lamp casting warm shadows across crumpling sheets, wrinkling from movement.
his heart pounded unrelenting in his chest, hammering against his ribs as he soaked in the scent of you, the essence of your lips, the soft warmth teasing his cockhead beneath his pants.
you were driving him absolutely insane.
the way you moved, your clothed pussy unforgiving against him, felt as if you’d claimed every inch of him for yourself. it was greedy the way you were humping him, needy sounds flooding the room.
he could feel the dampness spreading, warm and slick, marking him. and the worst part about it, izuku wanted to return the act. he wanted to put his warm cock inside of you and take you right here, ruin you from anyone else if there was any. but this isn’t how he wanted things to go.
“y/n,” izuku murmured against your mouth, breaths coming out short, breaking the kiss.
you shook your head, eyes dazed as your tongue chased his, not letting him pull away for too long. you rocked your hips harder, the wet slide of your clothed pussy lips against his bulge sending jolts of pleasure up his spine.
izuku gripped your waist trying to slow you down, something primal inside of him igniting in the way you were desperately chasing this.
he wanted to slow this down. he didn’t want to have to shove his cock in you tonight, especially not with how distressed you were earlier.
but fuck, you were a needy little thing; humping him through your soaked panties, the fabric of his jeans memorising the curve of your pussy lips. he almost remembered the type of porn you liked to watch when he stalked your twitter account.
this was you, you just weren’t afraid of hiding it anymore.
he didn’t really want to stop you, because a part of him deep down, wanted to claim you too. he was just simply trying to be rational here.
“izuku,” you breathed out, voice sultry with the way you uttered his name. there was a clipped hunger in your voice, shaky and unrestrained. you nipped at his bottom lip, a bit too hard, before soothing it with your warm tongue. “p—please don’t stop…need you…”
your hands slid under his shirt, palms flat against his rigid torso, careful as you only allowed your fingers to rest stationary against his muscles.
he hesitated, pushing you back at bit, fingers hovering around the hem of your skirt. “we should…you know i want this, but i don’t want to take advantage of you, okay?” his words felt weak as he said them, because he knew he wanted to take you here. if it was any other day, he’d have you bent over the art table, cock deep against your cervix if that’s what you wanted.
you frowned, the tender whine from your lips as you nodded. “oh— okay. that’s okay, ‘m sorry…”
izuku reached up to grab your face, thumb caressing your jawline. “nono i mean, we can keep going if you’d like. just wanted to check in with you first, nothing more than this, okay?”
you nodded, leaning now into his shoulder, face hidden against his neck as you continued rocking, hips circling deliberately now, your clit caught with each bump against his erection.
“feels nice, izuku…don’t wanna stop…” you shuddered against him, a fresh wave of wetness soaking the space where the two of you were connected.
“i know, i know, you can keep moving, i got you.”
izuku began grinding against you, gentle movements as he humped your pussy through your soiled panties. something dark, a familiar thrill, twisted in his gut, a beckoning truth that was just waiting to be acted upon.
he wanted this just as much as you. in fact, he probably wanted this more. from when he saw you at the ball, back to when he saw the filthy shit you probably touched yourself to, he should’ve known how sweet this pussy would be. he didn’t want anyone else to have access to this.
no, he couldn’t let anyone have access to this.
not especially how pretty you look, your sweet nectar soiling his erection.
“i’m so close…’m so— close!” you panted, nails moving to dig into his shoulders, your back arching as you desperately chased the edge.
izuku wrapped his arms tight around you, grounding you closer to him, whimpering lightly as he felt your pussy clench against the barrier of your panties. his heart raced, a possessive surge rising in him at your soft sounds, the way it should be so wrong to know what you sound like, all close and horny. but he wanted to swallow it all, take it in for himself, file it into memory so he can replay it the next time he jacked off.
“i got you, sweetie. come on, ride it out for me…you’re doing so good.” his words came out commandingly more than he’d intended, tone wrapped in tenderness. he thrusted up slightly into your caged form, meeting your grind with his own restrained buck.
“fu—hnnggh— “
you pulled back suddenly, shuddering at the loss of contact. your cheeks flushed deeper, scarlet hues softening your features. you bit your lip, eyes drooping to his chest before flickering up, vulnerable.
“you okay?” izuku asked, caressing your back in comforting circles.
you nodded, thoughts evidently trapped in your mouth as you tried navigating your next request.
“y/n?”
“can i have your fingers in me?”
izuku’s eyes widened, processing how small your voice sounded, almost hesitant. he searched your face, searching for any overlap in the moment that could’ve had you feel this way. but there was this look in your eyes, something beneath your gaze that held an underlying hunger, a faint promise beckoning him in.
the request hit him, stirring shadows in his mind where he wanted to corrupt you and mold you into this little sweet thing that was untouched from the world outside. he paused, his hands stilling on your back, processing his own buried impulses.
he wanted to, he wanted to. he wanted to do more than just finger you. he wanted to have you all pretty over his cock as he fucked you with the most upmost tender care, slow deep movements that’d seal everything unexplainable between the two of you.
he imagined visiting you at the end of each day, sitting in that art room, sunlight faint against your skin. the way your eyes lit up when you saw him, sketchbook open to whatever erotic-implied concept you were working on that day. he wanted to be the one who drove you home, the one you turned to when things went south. the one who was in your life like it mattered.
he wanted every inch of your life, every little cozy bit of your reality. he wanted to be in it. no, he wanted to be it.
the vision was fleeting, but vivid. it was his bound to you, the way your eyes locked on his as if he was the only person in the world.
the sight made his cock twitch, guilt and desire warring inside him. he wanted to give in, to feed that madness burning in every fiber of him.
he swallowed hard, pushing the dark visions down, but not far enough. maybe tonight, this could just be about you. making you feel good.
“yeah,” he said finally, voice rough with self-control as he nodded, giving in to the gravitational pull. “i can do that, of course.”
your eyes lit up, tears brimming your waterline as you allowed izuku to ease you off his lap, shifting the two of you back onto the bed. izuku carefully fluffed the pillow beneath your head, arranging the sheets thoughtfully around your legs, his touch reassuring as he positioned himself beside you.
“spread your pretty legs for me, okay?” he hummed out, slipping an arm beneath you and around your other shoulder, pulling you close to his chest. “i’ll take care of the rest.”
your body relaxed slightly under his attention, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you settled against him, knees parting meekly.
izuku smiled as he slid one hand between your thighs, brushing the drenched cotton aside — quickly noting to himself that you liked floral panties. your pussy was on display, folds slick and swollen, dripping with need.
izuku groaned, his erection twitching in the confinements of his jeans. you were so pretty. so undeniably, unmistakably gorgeous. he couldn’t see all of you, and he wish he could, but the sight was enough.
“your fingers are ticklish,” you commented, voice slightly shaky as you peered up at him.
“is that a good thing?”
you shrugged, blush deepening. “i think so.”
he traced your entrance, collecting the arousal on his fingertips, shuddering at the way you whimpered.
slowly, he pushed his index finger, feeling your walls snug around him, hot and velvety.
"a—aah!"
you were incredibly tight, your walls fluttering around the intrusion as he sank in knuckle-deep, enveloped by your velvety heat and the obscene wetness that coated him immediately.
“oh... you're so cute,” he breathed, his eyes widening at the sensation, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. but there was none — only pleasure, your lips parting in a soft moan as your hips lifted slightly to meet him.
he moved slowly at first, sliding in and out with deliberate care, letting you adjust to the stretch.
“that's it, just like that... you're doing so well for me,” he praised, his free hand coming up to stroke your hair, thumb brushing your temple in reassurance. the words spilled out naturally, sweet and encouraging as he added his middle finger alongside the first, stretching you further.
your pussy clenched greedily around them, pulling him deeper, and he curled his digits upward, searching for that sensitive spot inside.
“izu! nghh!”
when he found it — rubbing firmly against the spongy wall — you gasped sharply, your back arching off the bed as a rush of your juices soaked his hand. “yes, right there... my sweet girl, you're so responsive. i love how you squeeze me like this, so so pretty.”
he began to pump his fingers with more purpose, the initial gentleness giving way to a building rhythm.
the slick sounds of your arousal filled the room, mingling with your breathy cries, izuku's gaze stayed fixed on where his hand worked between your thighs, mesmerized by the way your folds parted around him.
“you look incredible taking my fingers... so wet and perfect for me,” he continued, his voice dropping to a husky murmur, praise dripping from every word as he watched your body respond. "want me to go faster?"
your clit peeked out, swollen and begging, so he brought his thumb to it, circling the nub in firm, steady strokes that made your thighs tremble.
sensing your growing need, without response to earlier, he picked up the pace, thrusting his fingers faster now, deeper, the motion turning insistent as he chased your pleasure.
your walls gripped him tighter with each plunge, your moans escalating into desperate pleas of his name. izuku smiled endearingly as he curled his fingers, massaging that spongy spot inside of you.
“izuku... oh god, please…” you gasped, and he leaned in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, breath mingling in the heated space between you.
“i've got you... you're so close, aren't you? come on, let go for me— fuck, you're beautiful,” he encouraged, his tone sweet yet urgent, fingers pistoning in and out with rapid precision, thumb flicking your clit harder to push you over the edge.
he could feel it building — the way your body tensed, thighs quivering uncontrollably, breaths coming in sharp, desperate gasps.
“izuku! think— think i’m gonna…something's!”
izuku sighed, chest heavy with the thoughts of your piss kink, but he was sure, he was so sure, that wasn't the case. his fingers moved faster, deeper, knuckles deep. god, he hasn't put this much concentration into something before.
“come on, baby, let it all out for me,” he whispered, his voice thick with adoration, thumb grinding harder against your clit to tip you over. "you're so perfect, taking my fingers so deep... i want to feel you come undone."
it hit you like a tidal wave. your back arched sharply off the bed, a high-pitched whimper escaping your lips as the orgasm crashed through you. your pussy spasmed wildly, squeezing his fingers in powerful pulses, and then you squirted, a hot gush of your release spraying out around his hand, soaking the sheets beneath you in a warm flood.
"that's it..."
he watched in mesmerized awe, the sight of your body convulsing, twitching against his touch, your folds fluttering and dripping with your arousal. every quiver, every soft cry that followed, sent a jolt straight to his core.
the intensity of it — the way you surrendered completely, vulnerable and beautiful in your ecstasy — pushed him past his limit. izuku groaned low in his throat, his hips bucking involuntarily against the air as his cock throbbed painfully in his jeans.
he couldn't hold back; the pressure built unbearably, and with a shuddering gasp, he came hard in his pants. thick ropes of his cum spilled out, soaking through the fabric in sticky warmth, pulsing with each aftershock as he rode out his own waves.
his free hand gripped your thigh tightly, grounding himself in the feel of you, that possessive fire flaring brighter in his chest.
”that's my girl... you came so hard, so good for me.” finally, he withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, bringing them to his lips for a quick, instinctive taste—salty-sweet, just like you.
"izuku..."
he gathered you into his arms then, pulling you against his chest as your breathing evened out, the warmth of your body seeping into his. that fierce protectiveness swelled again, tinged with the unspoken obsession that mirrored your own hidden depths, even as you both lay there, not yet bound by any label, but undeniably connected in this raw, intimate moment.
that night, he watched as your breathing settled into rhythm, conscious descending into a peaceful slumber.
𐙚
it was nice like this. the routine of seeing you, not forcing you into his orbit because he knew you were always just there, waiting for him. this was incredible, and with adam dealt with, you were happier than ever.
it isn't until later — much later — into their sweet, innocent routine, that the thought returns.
he's sitting in lecture, half-listening as the professor speaks at the front, pen moving mindlessly across his notebook before he scraps that measly idea and moves to typing on his laptop. the words blur, cases stack on top of each other, and everything still feels normal.
too normal, in a way that's so mundane to him, something must be off.
i've never see her here.
he frowns faintly, eyes drifting around the room without really looking at anyone in particular. he knows his cohort, he's good with faces, and incredible with pattern. he notices who sits where, who skips weeks, and who always shows up late.
and yet, he can't place you here.
not in this room, not in the shared common study areas where law students nest their noses into heavy, dusted textbooks.
but you told him you were in law.
law. double degree.
you'd never lie, and he believed you without question — so why does it feel so strange now?
maybe your timetable's different, maybe you took up different electives, tutorials at odd hours. law is like that sometimes — its fragmented, and makes students scatter across the buildings at unfavorable times.
still.
he's seen adam, he's seen people he barely knows. he's seen faces once, and filed them forever, but never you.
wait, but that wouldn't make sense. you had to be in law, how else would you have known adam?
the thought shouldn't matter, and yet, it lingers, prickling at the back of his mind. maybe he didn't know you as much as he thought he had.
most importantly of all, he needed to stop.
he catches himself, and exhales quietly, settling into the uncomfy chair he was on.
he needed to stop. he needed to stop noticing absences, filling in unnecessary gaps that potentially antagonised you.
you said you were in law, and that was enough.
he forced himself to tune back to the front, drawing his attention back to the lecture and the contents on the board that would most definitely be on the final. but, as much as he tried to let the words flow in through one ear, and out the other, the unease never quite disappeared.
you’d never lie — izuku knew that was one thing for certain. maybe this whole time, he realises with a faint, uncomfortable twist, that he’s been paying so much attention to you in the art room, all quiet and adorable with your sketchbook that he couldn’t comprehend you here. maybe you quietly linger the same halls as him.
maybe this is something he should bring up with hitoshi.
the cafe is tucked just off campus, far enough from the lecture halls where the noise thins out. the ground smells of rain-soaked concrete by the time izuku arrives, hair slightly damp by the afternoon shower.
hitoshi is already there when izuku arrives, slouched in his chair with a coffee thats gone lukewarm, eyes half-lidded at the sight of him.
“you’re late,” hitoshi said, taking a sip. “you know that i’ve got a study schedule outside of this sketchy business?”
“five minutes,” izuku replied with a light apologetic smile, sliding into the seat across from him. “that’s not late, come on.”
hitoshi hummed, rolling his eyes at izuku’s annoyingly kind, bright eyes. “for you? it is.”
izuku exhaled in defeat, slouching into the seat. “you know i’m one of your favorite people…why so mean today.”
“because,” hitoshi starts off, voice flattening, “every time you say that, you’re about to ask me for a favour. don’t even try denying it, i know.”
izuku paused, blinking. “...okay, first of all—”
“no,” hitoshi cuts in, setting the cup down. “second of all, what stalker crime do you want me to do for you?”
izuku winced, sinking shamefully. “you didn’t even let me start…”
hitoshi arched a brow, a light smirk daunting his tired features. “you don’t need to — i already know.” he paused, watching izuku’s eyes hang on the space before them. “come on, spit it out.”
“it’s about y/n,” izuku added, light returning to his eyes.
hitoshi sighs. it’s long and exaggerated, drawn out in a purposeful way to shame izuku. “why am i not surprised,” he says, disbelief threated through his words. “you’re still on this girl.”
izuku leaned back against his chair, scoffing as he folded his arms. “i’m not—”
“uh-huh, you’ve been ‘not’ on this girl for weeks.”
izuku opened his mouth, before closing in again. “...i’m just— i’m just trying to figure out if i’m overthinking.”
hitoshi remained silent, a laugh bubbling up his throat at his friend’s distress. “you most definitely are,” he says immediately after. “but, that doesn’t mean you’re wrong to check yourself, and i’m damn glad it’s with me, god— hey you know this is illegal, right?”
izuku relaxes at his words, pouting at the quarter end of hitoshi’s sentence. “of course i know it’s wrong, but you came to me with your business…so as a good friend…”
hitoshi studied him for a moment, reaching forward for his cup once more, swirling the last inch of coffee. “as a good friend,” he repeats dryly, “i’m obligated to tell you that i hate when you preface things like that.”
izuku huffs. “you’re the one who said you were glad it was you.”
“i am,” hitoshi says easily. “that doesn’t mean i like being morally compromised — this is so weird, but go on. just spit the rest of it out.”
izuku hesitates, brief and telling. “she said she’s in law,” he begins carefully, “and i believe her, i do. it’s just—” he frowns, eyes drifting toward the window. “i’ve never actually…seen her in any of the usual places, lectures, study rooms. nothing.”
hitoshi stared blankly, unimpressed. “and? you realise that people may have different schedules?”
“i just don’t know though,” izuku admits, quieter in thought now. “or if i’m just noticing things i shouldn’t be now that i’m so involved in her life.”
hitoshi snorted. “you definitely are.”
izuku shot him a look, brows knitted. “can we please be serious here.”
“i am,” histoshi says, settling the cup down after finishing it. “you’re great at pattern recognition, and that’s not always a blessing.”
he pulled his laptop out anyway, because of course he does. it’s not the same one he uses for all his other uni work, or anything personal. “double degree students get split all over the place,” he mutters, scrolling. “law’s a scheduling nightmare — ever thought of that, genius? different cohorts, rotating tutorials, electives in random buildings—”
his thumb paused, then he nods once, assured. “yeah, she’s enrolled. law. no funny business.”
izuku’s shoulders dropped noticeably, a sigh of relief immediate and unguarded. “i knew it.”
izuku doesn’t argue, still sitting with the confirmation.
“tuesdays and thursdays for tutorials, mid-day if you wanted to know,” hitoshi added. “arts-heavy electives this semester. that explains why you keep seeing her in the art room instead of your concrete nightmare.”
izuku let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “okay— that explains why we never see each other. while i’m in my lectures, she’s in her tutorials and— okay.”
“okay,” hitoshi echoes back with a mocking look. then, “so what exactly were you planning to do if she wasn’t?”
izuku stiffens, hit with the brutal alternate. “nothing…”
“right,” hitoshi says. “that’s what everyone says right before doing something stupid. especially you. look what happened,” he sighed out, motioning to the scar on izuku’s face.
izuku groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “i’m not planning anything, i just— well, someone said something to her. made her feel weird about herself.”
hitoshi’s expression sobered slightly. “and that didn’t sit right with you, hey?”
“no,” izuku said immediately, expression serious. “it didn’t.”
it most definitely didn't. but, the damage couldn't be reversed, especially with the way adam's been limping around campus now, a notable jaggedness to his breathing. what was done, was done, and izuku couldn't be more happier.
hitoshi watched him for a second, a faint smile at his friend’s commitment. “you’re lucky i think you’re a good person. okay, then here’s your answer.”
izuku looked up, eyes softening as the spiral in his mind ceased.
“she’s in law,” hitoshi began. “she didn’t lie. you’re not uncovering some hidden truth, and as your friend, if you keep digging past there, it stops being concern and starts being…something else, which i fear is already happening but that isn’t my business.”
izuku nods slowly, guilty. “i know.”
“do you?”
“...i’m trying to.”
hitoshi leaned back in his chair. “good. because you’re allowed to care. god you’re just so weird sometimes..”
izuku’s lips pressed together, thoughtful.
“also,” hitoshi adds, already reaching for his bag, “if you ever say ‘as a good friend’ to justify dragging me into this again, i’m charging you coffee. for the week.”
izuku smiles faintly. “deal. thank you, again.”
as they stand to leave, izuku feels steadier than he has in days. the facts are simple. clean.
before the two parted ways, hitoshi turned back to him, nodding certain. “just to talk to her, i’m sure she’d be ecstatic. oh, and it wouldn’t be as weird that way, too.”
you’re in law. you told the truth. he doesn’t need to fill in the gaps. why would you ever lie to him in the first place? that wasn’t you at all.
and yet, as he steps back out into the damp afternoon air, the unease doesn’t fully disappear, and he berates himself for it.
because knowing you’re here doesn’t explain why you always seem just out of reach.
and that question, quietly, stubbornly, stays with him. this isn’t something hitoshi can figure out for him. this is something he had to figure out for himself.
꒰ part two here my laptop genuinely hates long-worded fics so it was a bit hard to edit </3 but i hope you guys enjoyed...and are ready for part two!! if while reading this part, and you caught something....
bakugou saying attagirl. and since english isn’t his first language, i feel he heard it on tv once and then said it to you. assuming he’s used it in the right context, pronounced correctly, said to the right person (you). and he says it when you’ve done something well, something he’s proud of and you look up at him with these big shiny glowy eyes. you clutch onto his bicep and now he’s proud of himself that he made you look at him like that.
titsay
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
izzy806
kianamaiart
stormborns
snowghoul
yousharknotpass
