white hot forever ♡ (teacher deku x reader 18+)
warnings: 18+ explicit.. pwp..mainly smut (F/M) post timeskip izuku midoriya (pro hero/ teacher) x reader (F)
words: 7,057 (sushi writes a normal wordcount? *gasp*)
tags: light dom/sub, teasing, smut, porn without plot, post-time skip, post-canon, aged-up character(s), characters are pro heroes (my hero academia), teacher midoriya izuku, pro hero midoriya izuku, rough sex, crying, crying during sex, overstimulation, orgasm denial, orgasm control, orgasm edging, multiple orgasms, shameless smut, dacryphilia, mean midoriya izuku, safe sane and consensual, begging, safewords, established safeword, degradation, degradation kink, praise kink, manhandling, masochism, unprotected sex (dont be like them), no beta we die like bakugo, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, no use of y/n for reader-insert, we are bffs with camie because i said so!, sex toys, not plural there is just one vibrator, vibrators, why is the vibrator a plot device, 2 idiots, miscommunication, miscommunication that leads to great sex, bratty reader lol, oh deku the brat tamer you are
summary: rage baiting your bf so he fucks you harder or something. ig this is trilogy now…just pure filth, can very much be read standalone but it does connect well to the other parts. fyi there is a safeword. in honour of the last time skip ep. he's looking as fine as ever omg not even my exams can stop me from writing
notes: on ao3 here, as you can probably tell by my tagging methods. title taken from tulsa jesus freak by lana del rey, part 1 is here, part 2 here
The public saw Deku as this consecrated thing. They plastered his freckled face on screens and sold his smile to children, a beacon of hope.
They knew the fury, of course, the way his green lightning would crackle and how he could easily level a whole city if he so wished to, but they framed it as a righteous wrath, the necessary fire of a true hero. They'd still coo over his blush during interviews and swoon when he'd awkwardly rub the back of his neck, completely oblivious to the fact that the same frightening strength that could crumble concrete was redirected into something far more depraved behind bedroom doors.
What the public didn't know was how absolutely indecent he was, what he did to you, sin after sin. He'd slap your ass until it was raw, bite to draw blood and throw you around, manhandling you into whatever obscene shape he wanted.
He'd make you take it, split you open to the point it felt more like a beating. He'd bend you over, spread you wide and fuck you until you were a sobbing, begging mess.
And you would fight back. You'd rake your nails down his back with all intent to hurt and spit witty, defiant remarks, curses upon curses right in his face.
He would talk back to you and it would be the most obscene thing. His dirty talk was never crude. He wouldn't call you a slut or a whore in some corny, guttural way. He'd sound exactly like the hero on TV, his voice infuriatingly clean and rational. I told you to relax, he'd sigh, his tone so patronizing as he folded you in half. Put it back in. He'd demand, annoyed, like he was a disappointed teacher, not a man rearranging your insides.
The contrast was such a mindfuck— the smooth, articulate condescension combined with the physical torment, the arguing over who was in control while his body proved his point over and over.
The lines between sex and straight-up fighting would blur so beautifully, a screaming mess of limbs and insults— the roughness, the violence, the fury, the rage. Whatever this was, you would never want it any other way.
Why did you enjoy being basically bullied by him in bed? Maybe it was the contrast— the fact that you got to see this rare, terrifying side of him.
The way he was the nation's darling, shiny, sparkly and adored all over, but between your legs, he was so far from heroic.
So why the fuck is he holding back now?
Now that you're officially 'together,' he’s done a complete 180. You fucked after the second date, though 'fucked' is an exaggeration. He touched you with such reverence, his hands ghosting over your skin with a tenderness that made you want to scream.
And it wasn't that teasing lightness, the provoking kind of touch that was a weapon to put you in your place so he could laugh at your desperation; I haven’t even done anything yet.
This was genuine softness. The fury and the bite is gone, banked into a low, simmering ember.
Fine. Once, twice. Being made love to, it's cute and it's okay— or whatever— but it became the new normal. And no, that was not okay.
Where is that rage? Whatever happened to that intensity that bordered on violence? You'd jab and poke and slap his arm a little too hard, trying to provoke the aggression back out. But fuck that guy.
When he gets his hands on your flailing body, you start to feel like an angry puppy, he just holds you so firm, so lovingly, with amusement in his eyes, and god, you still end up melting into him at the end.
Not that he would ever leave you high and dry, though. All your physical needs are met on paper, but there's a huge difference between him muttering encouragements while softly coaxing you until you spasm all over, then gently letting you go after and the way he fucked you the very first time— unrelenting, unforgiving, tying you up, pinning you down and forcing you to listen and take, take, take, take, even when you lost count of how many times he had made you cum, screaming and oversensitive like an exposed wire.
You missed that fucking obscene, turbulent, primal fucking from before. What happened to the back and forth? The degrading, the teasing— that sadistic, evil little game he played with such glee, so hot and so cruel.
You missed the challenge, the fight.
"Uh, babe? You know you could, like—talk to him, right? Enter your communication era?"
You glanced up from your coffee to see Camie, not even looking at you. She was too focused on reapplying her lip gloss, making kissy faces at her own reflection in her tiny pocket mirror.
Why you sought advice from her every time, you didn't know, since she really just stated the obvious in every case.
"How— how would I even say that." The thought alone made you blush so hard it was dizzying. You buried your face in your hands, uncomfortable with the butterflies threatening to tear your stomach apart and make you puke right then and there.
She shrugged simply, finally looking up from her mirror. "Hey, Izuku, babe. Fuck me like you hate me."
You spat your coffee out so abruptly it burned right through your nose.
Communication my ass. You can make things work without saying them and you could pull strings and get the cards to fall in line. It had worked before— sort of.
Your first attempt was making him jealous, that should be a good enough hit to get that anger to resurface.
"Wow, he looks really good here," you remark, holding up your phone to show him a hero magazine spread that came up on your feed of Todoroki.
Izuku leaned in, his eyes bright. "Oh, he does! That's a great action shot. It's a brilliant tactical application..."
He proceeded to go on a ten-minute tangent about ice-based structural support. You felt your eye twitch. No jealousy. Not even a flicker. And you had to endure another one of his endless rambles.
"Dynamight looks fantastic here."
That was his best friend, that had to stir up something. Right?
His reaction however, was so light and airy, that you felt guilty about even considering this a viable plan in the first place. How did you misread him so badly?
He glanced at the picture of Bakugo, mid-explosion and literally cringed. He looked at you like you'd just announced the sky was going to turn green. "Uhh— Kacchan? Really?"
Alright, second attempt. You'd go celibate. Maybe he just needed to be desperate.
One month in and you started seeing the effects; it absolutely worked. He started getting frustrated, but in a confused, kicked-puppy kind of way. He'd try to initiate, kissing you and you would absolutely crumble, letting him, but you'd just stop him when things started going there, literally denying yourself like the crazy fuck you are.
He would back off every single time, ever so respectful of your boundaries.
"Sorry," you'd mumble, avoiding his eyes. "I just haven't been feeling it."
"Oh— okay, that’s totally fine," he'd say softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. It was so sincere, it made your stomach twist with guilt. He was so accepting, giving you the ‘space’ you lied about needing.
After month two, he seemed to have started accepting that, settling for brief kisses, sometimes heated make-out sessions and instead of motioning for more, he had automatically just backed off, not even thinking of going there.
You were struggling far more than he was. So much more.
So you went to the damn store despite yourself and bought a fucking vibrator, avoiding the cashier’s gaze as you tapped your card. What have you become?
That thing was highly efficient but oh so clinical. It got you there without a doubt every single time in record speed, but it felt empty and your imagination only goes so far.
Why were you denying yourself heaven? Well, you were playing the long game.
And fortunately, your scheming had worked out once again, but in an unexpected way.
It’s already a whole thing, the fact that you even let him on your bed. That’s your sacred girly cavern and he’s carelessly destroying your perfectly curated bed setup and the neat row of cushions, but you can’t even be mad with the way he’s kissing you, every brush with his lips a little taste of heaven.
"Hey, Izuku, careful," you mumble against his lips. He nudges a fluffy throw pillow with his elbow, sending it tumbling towards the edge.
You try to grab it, momentarily disconnecting. "Izuku, wait..."
It's too late. It falls to the floor with a soft thud.
"Okay, okay— I'm sorry," he giggles against your lips. He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, then dips down, all lean muscle and effortless grace, to retrieve the traitorous pillow and place it back on the bed.
Now that you're not kissing, you find your voice again. "You messed up my whole arrangement," you pout.
He comes back up, looking genuinely apologetic.
"Oh! I’m sorry." he says, already starting to fix it, meticulously putting the cushions back in their designated spots, a little frown of concentration on his face. As he shifts the largest one against your headboard, a flash of silicone peeks out from the mountain of fluff.
He doesn't see it at first, his attention on arranging the smaller, decorative pillows. He reaches for another one and his hand brushes against it. He pauses. His head tilts, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. He slowly pushes the other pillows aside and the entire thing is revealed
He stares at it. You stare at him.
He’s grimacing, his freckled face scrunched up in a way that would almost be funny if you weren't currently dying of mortification. His eyes slowly lift from the vibrator to meet yours, utter bewilderment— a look that basically says uh, hello? I'm right here?
"Why— uh— do you have… that?"
It's already bad enough that you have it, but him finding out is every worst nightmare combined. If embarrassment could kill, you would have died a while back when purchasing that thing, but now you're experiencing a second fucking death. So much for your great masterplan.
“I’m just confused," he starts, his voice small and tight. "You— whenever we talked or whenever I tried to— uhm— touch you for the past few months, you wouldn't let me. And I thought you said you weren't in the mood. Every time— I assumed— I just thought you weren't feeling—”
“I’m okay with that! It’s totally fine if you don't want to, but then why do you have— this? I just— am I not doing it right?”
You could see the way he was spiraling. He started rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous habit you knew all too well, but this time it looked different. His fingers digging into his own muscles as if he could physically wrench an answer from himself, it pained you to even look.
"Are you not finishing? I mean— that can’t be, I know you are— but— what? I don't understand— am I not… enough?"
The last word was barely a whisper and it was terrifying.
“No, no, no, fuck— Izuku, no!” you scrambled, horrified by how much pain was in his voice. You launched yourself forward, grabbing his hands, desperate to make him stop sounding like that. "It's not you, it’s not like that."
He let you hold his hands, but his shoulders were still slumped, his eyes fixed on that silicone fucker still lying on the bed. "Then... what is it?"
“It’s— I—” and then your throat when dry. How are you supposed to explain all those winding paths of thoughts, the plotting and then your embarrassing desires to top it all off.
"You should talk to me," he said softly, finally looking at you, his gaze earnest and pleading. "Tell me what you want. You know I would never... I would never judge you or anything, really. I want to have conversations with you, about anything."
Your head darted back to Camie, how she just said that shit so simply and unabashedly in a cafe on a sunny afternoon, like she was reading the news. Time to channel your inner Camie. You could almost hear her voice in your head. Hey, Deku, babe. Fuck me like you hate me.
But not you. You couldn't say that. It sounded weird. Fuck this is so corny. Ew. Weird. The words felt alien in your mouth, a language you understood perfectly in your body but couldn't speak with your tongue. How you could be so prudish when you talk despite the way you act, you don’t understand at all.
"I want you to be more rough," you finally blurted out, the admission feeling clumsy and loud in the quiet room and you immediately felt a wave of humiliation tackling you for just those mere words, wanting to retract them right as they tumbled out.
"And... I don't know. I was trying to get you angry."
Great confession. Fantastic fucking job.
His eyes widened, the hurt slowly being replaced by pure confusion. "Oh. But I thought... I thought you wanted it to be more gentle. I felt bad for pushing you like that in the past."
"I— no—" you said, your voice cracking. "It's—ugh—"
Why would the words settle at the tip of your tongue and then sink right back down like sediment?
"It's just... the way you were before. I— I liked that."
He was quiet for a long moment, processing. "So... when you were pushing me away... you were trying to get me to... push back?"
You just nodded, feeling your face burn.
A slow, dawning understanding spread across his face, followed by something else. "Oh," he breathed out. "Okay."
He looked from your embarrassed face to the vibrator on the bed and then back again. A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk on the corner of his lips.
"So—" He moves closer, closer, until your back hits the headboard, slow, languid small kisses resuming from before the whole fiasco. He nips at your bottom lip, his voice low against your skin. "Do you want to... then?"
You nod, melting under him, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.
He stops. And then he backs off completely causing a pathetic whine from you.
"Okay," he says, settling back on his heels with a smirk. "Since you have so much trouble talking to me, I think we could— hm— work on that right?"
You stare back, dumbfounded. "Huh? What does that mean?"
"I want you to tell me what you want. Talk to me." He crosses his arms, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I'm not moving until you say what you want me to do." That damn teasing spark is back in his eyes, brighter than ever.
"Okay," you huff. "Can you, uh, please take my clothes off?"
He reaches down, grabs your left ankle and yanks your sock off. You wait for him to continue but he just sat there, sock dangling in hand.
"Izuku, are you fucking stupid?"
"Hey, that’s not nice! You didn't even specify. I'm just gonna assume—”
He sighs, but it's a loving, exasperated sound. "You swear a lot for someone who's so shy when talking about sex."
"Okay, Jesus! Can you just— can we— I want to touch you."
He takes your wrist gently, guiding your hand to his face. A grin is threatening to break through his serious expression. "Yeah, of course. Is this fine?"
"Hey, just tell me what you want.”
“You're making it real fucking difficult— stop playing dumb!"
"Dumb?" He gasps in mock offense, a giggle escaping him. "How could you say that about me?"
This wasn’t so fun anymore, after months of celibacy, your tolerance for his stupid teasing was at an all time low, irritation slowly overtaking your horniness.
"Mhm," he hums, his eyes gleaming. "I'm waiting for you to say something."
"Still waiting," he adds, looking down at your wrist he's still holding and tapping it with his finger.
You bury your head in your hands, fucking groaning in frustration. "Okay, okay! I am fucking sorry for being a terrible communicator. I don't know why, it's just hard to ask for this stuff, I—. Okay, please just fuck me. Fuck me the way—"
You trail off, the words still catching in your throat. Unfortunately, you still had trouble saying it explicitly and descriptively, but hey, big brain, there's always a way.
"The way you did when we first met. When I pissed you off. When I—when you thought I was… using you."
He seemed to understand immediately despite the way you, the sex riddler, were tap dancing around the subject.
"Okay— we can… we can do that."
The joking, teasing from before faded, replaced by a raw, flustered intensity. He was entranced, his gaze no longer playful but burning with a sudden, focused heat.
It wasn't so funny anymore.
He finally leaned back in, the shift in gravity pulling him closer. He hooked his fingers under the hem of your shirt, knuckles brushing against your stomach as he slowly, torturously, lifted it over your head. It was your greatest relief, anticipation building with each shedded layer of fabric.
But then he stopped. His hands stilled on the hem of your underwear.
"Oh my fucking god— what now?"
What you didn't expect was for him to reach over you, his arm brushing your thigh as he grabbed that damned vibrator from the pile of pillows. He held it up, examining it with the same critical eye he'd give a new piece of hero tech.
"Show me how you use this," he said, his voice genuinely curious. He motioned for you to take it. "I want to see."
You were immediately embarrassed and hot all over, this was so unexpected, something you had never thought about before.
"Show me," he insisted, his curiosity somehow outweighing his own pent-up desire. He was ever so eager to learn and genuinely frustrated when you rolled away from him in embarrassment, as if you were denying him the answers to a crucial problem. "No, no, I want to see, please."
"Izuku, c'mon," you whined, trying to tempt him, your voice dropping. This had to work. You were both desperate, not just you. "Don't you want to just...?"
But he just shook his head, his gaze fixed on you and the device in his hand. His intrigue was the same as his love for finding out about quirks, so unyielding. "Please?" he repeats.
And you whined, those words sending a shiver through you. Were you turned on or humiliated or both? You had never ever done this before and suddenly felt shy, exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.
He pressed the thing into your hand, his fingers closing over yours. "Come on, please. I want to see." he urged, his other hand gliding down to slide your panties off, leaving you completely bare.
This was starting to feel like too much. All bare, him making you do this guilty pleasure in front of him, his gaze so intent, hungry— curious. Your shaky hands wrapped around the smooth silicone, your thumb finding the switch. You pressed it, the low thrum of the motor suddenly felt deafeningly loud in the quiet room. These were familiar motions, but with his watchful eyes on you, they felt foreign, clumsy.
This was something sacred you did only for yourself, under the covers in the dark, and now it felt like a violation, how intensely focused he looked at you. He wasn't even meeting your eyes, just fixed on your own hands, between your thighs.
"How does it— how does that feel?" his gaze didn't move at all, like he was hypnotized.
"Uh—it's—good, I guess—" you stuttered out, torn between embarrassment and a desire that was starting to win. You couldn't focus, couldn't feel the same way you did when you did this privately, especially when he came closer. He planted a hand beside your head, caging you in, his eyes still fixed on your motions. It surprised you when you felt the tension build so suddenly, your body betraying your mind, and you involuntarily threw your head back in a gasp.
"Not so fast," he said, his free hand shooting out to pinch a nipple. "Not yet."
"Huh?" you whined, slowing your movements. "Izuku—"
His hand slammed over your mouth, his eyes finally snapping up to meet yours. His pupils were blown so wide it would have concerned you under normal circumstances, but now, it just spurred you on. Fuck, that hunger was so beautiful. You pressed harder, grinding the lively thing against you faster, the friction against his palm over your mouth only adding to the intensity.
As soon as he got his hand on your mouth, he removed it and grabbed your wrist, lifting it and stopping your movements completely.
"Hey," he warned, his eyes locked with yours. "I said not yet. We haven't done anything in months. You don't get to finish with this thing." He shook your wrist for good measure. "That wouldn't be fair."
You whined and nodded, your hand starting to move his slowly again, gliding the buzzing toy gently back and forth. That clinical precision suddenly felt so much more heated with him above you, his hands right there with yours, surrounding you and watching you like you were a specimen he was dissecting alive.
You couldn’t help but arch against him when he traced delicate doodles over your chest, feather-light touches flitting between nipples. Your eyes fluttered shut, basking in it all.
"Hey, no no, look at me," he gently tilted your chin up. "I want to see you."
The hunger, the intensity of him staring back, was almost challenging. Lustful, predatory gaze meeting your quivering one. You struggled to keep them open; it was becoming too much. You were panting, breathing loud and erratic and an involuntary shake tore through you like a fucking seizure at the depravity of it all.
"I’m— I’m close," you whispered over the faint buzzing.
"No," he tightened his grip against your wrist and pinched a nipple again. "Stop it."
And you did, drawing the thing away from yourself. You tried looking away in the wake of the embarrassing whine that left you, but he turned your face back, more rough this time.
"No, look at me. I want to see you."
It was like he was intent on studying your every reaction to this foreign device, like you were a test subject. The way he was obsessively forcing you to meet his eye, so he could take it all in and store it in his massive library of a mind, a mental folder he could use to torment you later.
"Can I continue, please?" you were breathless, the buzzing hovering faintly in the air against nothing. "Please," your eyes closed involuntarily with pleasure. He patted your cheek gently, another reminder.
"Okay," he whispered, leaning into your ear. "Stop whenever you’re too close."
You whined again but obeyed, bringing yourself right to the edge before stopping right there, drawing the thing away despite how badly your senses were screaming at you.
"You’re so pretty," he muttered, eyes fixed again below. Was he fucking staring at you where you thought he was? Seriously? Was this like a scientific experiment to him— the way he was watching you and your body so analytically?
Oh, those words— something about them made you so weak.
You sped up, thighs tensing in a way that made the vibrations hit in the best way. He noticed right away, tracing fingertips against your thigh curiously and it sent chills down you. Too much. Too much. Getting lost in pleasure, legs shaking the more you continued, tensing, tensing.
He patted your face gently when he realized you fell back into the habit of closing your eyes, his gaze meeting yours right when you were on the edge, watching you, eyes ablaze in all-consuming fire, watching you tense more and more.
So, so close. You didn’t stop. Dangerously close. Completely gone, ready to crash in that beautiful, familiar way.
"Hey," he warned, expression turning sour.
"Hey," he repeated, louder when you ignored him.
You continued, legs shaking so hard they could near give you a cramp.
"Stop that," he said firmly, grabbing your wrist and tearing it off you. You jumped, eyes snapping open, panting as he moved his hands away.
"Fuck," you could barely breathe, the corners of your eyes slightly damp. "Fuck, I was so close."
"I know," he whispered, stroking your hair, his finger gently caressing a tear away. "But I told you to stop." He kept stroking your hair. "You can keep going, but I want you to stop yourself, okay? Save it for later."
You nodded with a moan and as soon as you resumed, he bit down hard on the skin of your neck. You could feel him smirking against your skin when you cried out from the sharp, sudden pleasure.
"Hm, you know, it's funny," he murmured, his voice low against your throat. He bit down again and another squirm wracked your body. "You're more responsive to this... than using that."
"Well, fuck, of course—" you panted as he disconnected, his eyes back to meet yours. "Because it's you..."
He grips your chin again, this time not to reconnect your gazes but to tilt your head down further.
"Look at you," he whispered in your ear, gripping you tighter to turn your head towards your body below. You whined again, feeling closer and closer, but he didn't seem to motion to stop you at all this time. Teary eyes stared into intense, unreadable ones.
"Fuck—" Oh, you were so so close, right back there again, so fast after the last few attempts and he didn't stop you.
It all crashed, wave after wave to your horror.
"You really have no self control, huh? What did I tell you?”
You were humming all over, vibrating with a mix of fear and adrenaline. It didn't help the way his gaze darkened, that sadistic sparkle returning to his eyes, that terrifying glee and excitement you could sense. He was so looking forward to fucking you up for this.
"This is really disappointing," he sighed, shaking his head with a condescension that made your stomach drop. "I gave you one simple instruction. Just one. And you couldn't even manage that unless I was there to stop you."
He tossed the vibrator away, dismissed to the edge of the bed. After months of (voluntarily) denying yourself (idiot), he settled between your legs, heavy and suffocating, his eyes burning into yours. The stretch when he entered you bordered on pain, like it was your first time all over again.
You tried to scramble back, your oversensitive body screaming at the contact, but he grabbed your hips.
"Hey, hey, don't run," he pulled you back effortlessly and you shrieked like you were actually being stabbed from the new angle. "No, no, come stay here. You don't get to run now. You asked for this, right? You wanted this. Stop moving."
He interrupts you mercilessly with another thrust, uncaring for your pleas. "And whose fault is that? I told you to stop. I was trying to help you, but you just have no. Self. control."
Each thrust sent you crashing against the headboard. There was a sick, twisted thrill in it, seeing the side of him you had been starving for finally returning.
He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand. "Hmm, maybe I should tie you down, it would be easier for the both of us" he mused, glancing at your bed posts.
"No, no! You would— you would ruin my bed— it’s ugly."
Hey, kinky shit is cool and all, but you were not going to be desecrating your beautiful four-poster with some tacky bdsm paraphernalia. Being in possession of a vibrator was more than enough, thank you very much.
He ignored your comment, pushed inside you deeper, purposefully grinding his pelvis in a way that rubbed right against your clit, raw and oversensitive from the vibrations earlier. You sobbed, your body arching off the bed. It was too much, too fast.
"Please, Izuku, I can't—" you pleaded, tears leaking from your eyes.
"I don't care," his hips snapped against yours. "You lied to me and made me wait for months— let me have this. It's not my fault you couldn’t follow instructions."
He was unrelenting, watching you with that analytical hunger, taking in every sob, every shake, every desperate gasp.
He stilled, his thrusts halting as his eyes drifted to the flashing screen at your bedside table. You couldn't see who it was from your position, but he answered that question for you.
"Huh? Camie?" he muttered.
You barely had time to reach out, fingers aiming to mute the device and tell him to ignore it, but before you could, he gripped the phone, a cruel curiosity flashing in his gaze. He didn't move, didn't pull out, remained buried deep inside you.
"Well that's not nice, that's your best friend," he interrupted smoothly, his tone mocking. "Say hello."
Before you could argue, he reached the phone before you, pressing the green button.
You stared and gaped at him, eyes blown wide, mouth falling open in silent horror.
You mouthed something useless, unintelligible. Your hands flew up to cover your face, absolutely mortified and humiliated.
"Babes! You won't believe what just happened," her chirpy voice crackled through the speaker.
You remained frozen, utterly silent. Until, without warning, he thrust, one single, intent motion aimed right against your weak spot. He pulled out until only the tip tugged at your entrance, then in one swift, brutal stroke, slammed back inside, making you jolt.
Your body trembled, the bed creaking slightly beneath you. He didn't even blink, simply held the phone toward you, pressing the speaker button. You sent the fattest glare you could muster up his way, sharp and admonishing, but he just met it with a blithe nod toward the phone.
"Y-yeah," you stammered. Oh, you sound so fucked. She’s going to interrogate you later for sure. "H-hi, Camie. Wha— what's up?"
He had that evil cheshire grin plastered all over his face and he rolled his hips in slow, casual thrusts. Your head tipped back, vision going blurry, while Camie rambled something over the phone— words you barely processed, too overwhelmed by the stretch and the steady press of him inside you.
"That— that's nice, Camie."
"You good, babe?" she asked, voice laced with suspicion.
In that moment, he halted, buried deep. His hand came down to press over your belly, cruelly precise over the spot where you were connected, where your skin bulged slightly with him. You choked on a moan.
"Oh my god," you whined, high-pitched and wrecked, tears involuntarily squeezing out of you as your vision went blurry.
"Babes?" Camie's voice sharpened with confusion.
But he didn't give you the chance to answer. With a flick of his thumb, he pressed the red end-call button and tossed the phone carelessly into the corner. Then, with a firm grip, he yanked you down the mattress, dragging you closer until you were flush against him.
"Fuck—" you gasped, that beautiful high punched out of you once again. How he could so easily tear an orgasm out of you after the last you had not long ago, you don’t know.
"Ooh, again? That was fast," he giggled against the damp skin of your shoulder. He doesn't move, not an inch. He just stayed there, a heavy, unmoving weight inside you, letting you feel him as your own body spasms around it and it very, very quickly becomes too much.
"Enough. Stop that— fuck," you sobbed, trying to squirm away, to escape the unyielding pressure, but his hands clamped down on your hips, pinning you in place.
"Use your word then," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. He still wasn't thrusting. Instead, he began to grind, a slow, deliberate circle of his hips that ground the head of his cock against your oversensitive walls with excruciating precision, so evilly targeted.
"Fuck you," you choked out, vision going blurry from tears, eyes fluttering shut from the sheer intensity of it, but he wouldn't let you hide. He patted your cheek, sharper than previously, forcing your eyes open, demanding you continue holding his gaze.
"Word?" he asked, but it sounded more like a taunt.
"Fuck you, leave me alone," you whined, tears tracking hot paths down your temples, attempting to dodge him by squirming up higher against the headboard.
"Wooorddd," he sing-songs as he rips you back down, hindering your futile attempt. Then, he stopped grinding. He pulled back, just enough and then slammed back in, all your escape efforts being in vain, the thrust was so sharp and deep you screamed, nails digging into his shoulders with every intent to hurt.
"Hm?" He shrugs simply, stilling inside you once more, letting you absorb the aftershocks.
You should have been more scared of him stopping.
You watched it happen in slow motion. His gaze drifted over to the discarded vibrator, still on the mattress where he’d tossed it earlier. You could practically see the gears turning, the way his eyes narrowed as he looked at the device, then back to your wrecked face, then down to where your bodies were joined.
To your utter horror, he reached over and grabbed the discarded thing, turning it back on.
"Take it," he’s shoving it into your hand.
You wrapped your trembling fingers around it. He didn't pull out. Instead, he shifted his weight, settling deeper between your legs, forcing your thighs apart wider.
"Hold it right there," he ordered, nodding his chin. “What you were doing earlier.”
"Wait, wait, no— that's not fair,"
"Oh? I thought you liked this thing, right? I couldn't even stop you before."
"Please, Izuku, it's too much—"
"You had your chance, it’s not my fault you couldn’t control yourself," he said, his tone clean, rational and oh.
He pressed his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt and glared at you until you shakily pressed the buzzing head against your oversensitive clit. The sensation in itself on a usual day was more than enough but combined with two orgasms under your belt and him inside, looking at you expectantly— oh you might actually die.
"Keep it there," he said, voice hard.
It didn’t help that you just refilled the batteries last night, the vibrations were at an all time high and so cruelly steady, you secretly cursed yourself for that unfortunate decision.
"No, you’re going to keep it right there," he corrected when your hand started to drift away from the intensity. He grabbed your wrist, forcing your hand back down, pressing the vibrator harder against you. "Hey, keep it there. Don't move it."
Then he started to move, each thrust punching the air out of your lungs, driving the vibrator deeper against your flesh by sheer force of his hips. And it was far, far too much.
"Fuck, fuck, I can't!" you screamed, tears streaming down your face.
"You can," he said calmly, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest. He looked like he was solving a complex equation, his focus entirely on the way your body seized up around him. "You're being so dramatic. Stop moving your hand. Keep it steady. Is that really so hard?"
"It burns! Izuku, please, I can’t!"
"But you ignored me for months because of this," he said with a surprising bitterness, "I thought you liked this? You chose this over me. You chose this thing over telling me the truth." He asked it genuinely, his eyes wide and earnest despite the brutality of his actions. "Why didn't you just talk to me?"
"Izuku, please, I'm sorry— It’s too much, too much—" you babbled, your vision blurring white.
"Sorry doesn't change anything," he grunted, snapping his hips particularly viciously, forcing a broken sob from your throat. "Keep it right there. If you let go, I swear, I will tie that thing to you with blackwhip. And I'll leave you here just like this, then you’ll really get to experience ‘too much’."
You shrieked at the threat, your hand clamping down on the vibrator with a death grip, terrified.
"Hold it there. Finish again."
"I can't, it's too much!"
"Sure you can. You did it earlier, didn't you? I watched you," he taunted, recalling what he'd collected like battle strategy. "You love this thing. Look at how you're shaking. You came so fast before, let's see if we can beat your record."
"Maybe I should make you come as many times as you lied to me," he mused, his tone casual, terrifyingly so. "How many weeks was that? Let's do the math. You started this... what, two months ago? So that's... eight? Eight weeks. Eight times? Ooh, that doesn't sound good for you."
"Izuku— I'll fucking die!"
"You won't die," he said, condescendingly patting your cheek. "You're a hero's partner, aren't you? You can handle a little stamina training. Now, hold it still. You're moving it too much."
He kept taunting you, back and forth, voice a steady stream of degradation wrapped in that sweet, rational tone. "Look at you. You wanted me to be rough? Well, here. Is this what you wanted?"
You were sobbing, overstimulated beyond belief, your body a live wire of pleasure and pain. He kept going, driving you higher and higher, forcing you to hold the buzzing fuck against your clit while he ruined you from the inside.
It was too much—the combination of his brutal thrusts and the relentless vibration. Desperate for even a fraction of a second of relief, you lifted the vibrator just slightly, hovering it a millimeter above your skin, hoping to lessen the overwhelming attack on your nerves.
"Hey," he said, his voice sharp, cutting through the haze of your tears. "I know what you're doing.”
He grabbed your wrist, grinning ear to ear. “Helloooooo? Don't ignore me."
"What? I'm doing what?" you sobbed, exasperated, pretending to be confused through his continued assault. "You wanted—"
"No. I saw how you were holding it earlier," he interrupted, his tone analytical, like he was correcting a student's form. "Put it back."
Fuck. Why does he have to be so perceptive?
"You're cheating," he scolded, his grip tightening. "Hold it properly. Hold it."
He forced your wrist down harder, pressing the buzzing head flush against your swollen clit again. The jolt made you shriek, your back bowing off the mattress.
"Come on," his rhythm finally starting to falter "One more. Give me one more."
"Do it," his hips slamming into yours one last time, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you. "Now."
You shattered, your vision going white, your body convulsing around him as you screamed, the vibrator still humming relentlessly against you. He held you through it, grip tight, forcing you to ride out every single second of the overwhelming high.
That torturous buzz was shut off finally and you were left there splayed out, waiting for your vision to stop spinning. In the corner of your eye, you saw him reaching for the vibrator again.
"No! All Might! Almightallmightallmight." you shrieked, scrambling backward.
He laughed, endearingly confused, holding his hands up innocently, grinning at you. "I'm just putting it away!"
"Sure you are, you fucking asshole."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he chuckled, tossing it onto the nightstand. "But sure you don't want to try? I mean, it might be great endurance training. Hey, we could replace a whole workout with that— think about the cardio, the way it targets the core muscles..."
"No, Izuku, fucking no. Eight times? You actually scared the shit out of me. That wasn't funny."
"Okay, okay, sorryyy," he said, though he was still smiling, the sharp edges of his teasing melting away. He was holding you, the frantic energy of the room finally dissipated, leaving you both just content, wrapped around each other like two tangled vines.
Then you wince, the aftermath of it all cool and leaking out between your legs, staining your beautiful sheets. Ugh.
You whined, pulling away from him slightly, your nose wrinkling.
You nodded. It was funny, really. You hadn't asked and he had known exactly what you needed.
He scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest like a princess as he carried you toward the bathroom.
"You know," he murmured "It's funny. When we first met, you were talking so dirty... and now it's like you're a new person."
"I was drunk," you sighed, burying your face in his neck.
"Hmm," he hummed, his chin resting on top of your head. "But you really need to say things more directly."
"Yeah," you mumbled into his neck, breathing in the scent of him— sweat and something distinctly Izuku. You felt like you were crushing on him all over again in that dizzy, high-school way.
He turned your face toward his, capturing your lips in a gentle, deep, long kiss. You didn't disconnect, just stayed there, swallowing each other and letting the steam engulf you both. It felt strangely serene despite the rapid beating in your chest and your slight lightheadedness from him stealing every breath from you.
"But you're really good at... well, figuring out what I mean," you add.
Maybe you were content with that, twin flames dancing around each other.
a/n: i dont even like reading after care but my god writing it is an entirely different story.
bkdk fans pls forgive me. I am one of you guys. I literally love them together like i swearrr. I ship them in every universe but this one. They’re just bros this time (bkdk straight AU lmaooo)
someone enlighten me: what is it with phone calls during sex- what kind of goofy hyperspecifc kink is this— i’m sorry camie. I love you. I think trilogy is a good place to end this! love u broccoli man
