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show me where it hurts and i’ll lick it better ♡ (pro hero deku x reader 18+)

warnings: 18+ explicit.. pwp, shameless smut (F/M) post timeskip izuku midoriya (pro hero/ teacher) x reader (F)

words: 13,897 (…you read that right)

tags: pwp, rough sex, overstimulation, begging, orgasm denial/ control, edging, dacryphilia, degradation, angry sex, jealousy, crying during sex, teasing, light dom/sub, multiple orgasms, marathon sex, floor sex, praise kink, no use of Y/N duhh, safewords, spanking, post-canon, manhandling, penetrative sex, no protection (don't be like them), mean midoriya izuku, light BDSM, oh deku the brat tamer you are, porn with 2 seconds of plot, sex but it feels like an argument, topping from the bottom, safe sane and consensual

summary: so curtesy of OFA, izuku here has an ungodly stamina in bed and you unfortunately, with a huge ego and no self preservation, decided to challenge that :) ooooh... filth ensues. literally *all day, all night* thanks deku and thanks OFA.

notes: originally posted on ao3 here, apparently the x reader girlies live on tumblr so here i am. title is inspired by ethel cain (from unpunishable, fire song) connects to another pwp fic, but also can be read as a standalone, part 1 is here

Three weeks had passed since the night with Izuku and life had unceremoniously shoved you back into your rhythm. You practically chained yourself to your professional life, a fresh focus so sharp, one you hadn’t felt in so long.

You were busy, very busy.

Because when you were busy, you wouldn't think about him.

But who were you kidding? You always thought of him. It was the worst at night, when the adrenaline pent up throughout the day faded, you'd lie in bed drifting on the verge of sleep and the memories would ambush you.

You'd touch yourself, trying to replicate the fire he'd ignited, but it felt like you were clumsily rubbing rocks together, only mustering up pathetic little sparks.

Fucking annoying.

You had each other's contact and he'd text every now and then. A "Hope you're not breaking any bones out there" after a particularly nasty villain fight you were in made the news. "Are you ok?" followed by a link to some article that mentioned an attack in your prefecture, that you'd deliberately left on read for three hours before replying, dryly "yeah".

Nope, not texting first, you'd tell yourself, staring down at your phone in between shifts. The ratio is off. I texted last time. It's his turn. Actually, actually— I texted first that one time, so he needs to text me two— no three times at least before I can even consider.

You keep these dumb, prideful tabs in your head. Because yes, it was that deep. You had to prove to yourself you were not desperate. It had already been a humiliation ritual the way you had practically thrown yourself at him that night, no shame whatsoever.

Sure, you felt great in the heat of the moment, fueled by all that built-up desire and exacerbated by alcohol. But in retrospect, after you had started psychoanalyzing every little detail of the interaction, you were positively cringing every time your own words from that night jumped back to haunt you.

It was an unending cycle of shame.

It started that evening after, the shame when you rushed to the last open corner store to buy a contraceptive.

Shame when you had to cover the ungodly amount of bruises he had carelessly littered across your shoulders to shield yourself against the prying eyes of the media. Shame when you, as a result, found yourself at the store again, buying another tube of concealer. Shame when you forced yourself out on a night, desperate to fish for another warm body to bring home.

Shame when you'd then close your eyes with them, to imagine him.

So this texting framework you came up with was just you clinging onto any semblance of dignity left.

You would not, under any circumstances, be the one to go back and ask for more, especially not after how needy you had acted. No matter how bad you needed him, you were not going to be the one initiating.

On one shift, patrolling the bustling commercial district, you, like an absolute idiot, walked straight into a pole all because you were too transfixed on a giant billboard of him splashed across the side of a skyscraper. It was just something generic, not suggestive in the slightest, just a professional campaign shot for a hero safety initiative. He stood there, smiling that bright, media-friendly smile alongside other top pros.

He still looked so polished, so untouchable. It was a stark, brutal contrast to the feral man who had been fucking you useless into a mattress weeks ago.

Even after touching so intimately, after your bodies had intertwined and you'd felt the very thrum of his life under your fingertips, he somehow seemed more out of reach now.

You would occasionally cross paths with him in your line of work, but he was constantly overwhelmed with people— sidekicks, reporters, colleagues. You were just another planet in his crowded orbit.

So for three weeks, you had said a total of zero words to each other in person.

He was the nation's favorite, a shining star of hope and charisma. He had press conferences and charity events on top of a class of little aspiring heroes to teach and god-knows-what-else.

He was busy and important, you had to meet him right there.

If he was so busy being important and all, then so were you. You lost yourself in your work, taking on extra patrols, volunteering for the most difficult missions.

For the most part you enjoyed it, but then, of course, there were the dreadful, dull parts— paperwork and worst of all, meetings. It was already hard enough to stay awake with how brutally you'd overfilled your own schedule, but at least your usual work had some action to keep you going.

Now, trapped in a sterile conference room, you could hardly focus. You found yourself drifting off during an annual meeting on safety regulations, just a bureaucratic nightmare.

You wanted to doze off so badly, but you were also surrounded by the most powerful heroes in the nation. The sheer gravity of the room was sobering enough to keep you awake.

Your eyes scanned the room, landing on Izuku, several seats down. He looked sharp and attentive, nodding along as a commissioner droned on.

And just like that, you weren't so tired after all.

I'll just stare at him so I don't fall asleep.

The way he tapped his pen against his notepad, the serious furrow of his brow as he listened. You’re supposed to be a respected colleague right now, but all you could think about was how that focused intensity felt when it was directed at you, your body, exposed and pliant underneath him.

Look at you, when he pulled back to stare down reverently at the marks he'd left.

Look at you, he'd taunted as he saw you sobbing, spasm and convulse uselessly.

Look at you now, voice raw and primal as he fucked you into oversensitivity. What about all that talk from earlier? Look at you now.

Look at you, hot breath fanning against your ear as he leaned down. Someone’s gonna think I’m torturing you, and then had done exactly that, hand unrelenting, rubbing right where he was nestled deepest as he watched you struggle and writhe and—

A piercing, high-pitched alarm ripped through the room, accompanied by flashing red lights. The room full of the most powerful heroes in Japan erupted into chaos. Chairs scraped back and everyone began moving swiftly toward the exits.

You stumbled as you followed suit, your sleep-deprived body betraying you.

A strong arm shot out and wrapped around your waist, catching you before you could face-plant into the floor.

"I've got you," a familiar voice in your ear. Izuku.

He steadied you, his grip firm and sure and then he was practically guiding you, his body like a shield as he maneuvered you both through the panicked crowd and out into the bright afternoon sun.

Outside, the plaza was a mess of heroes and support staff. The alarm blared for another minute before abruptly cutting out and a harried looking building engineer came out with a megaphone.

"False alarm, everyone! Sorry about that! A sensor malfunctioned. We need to evacuate for a full system reset. The building is closed for the rest of the day. All meetings are postponed!"

A collective, relieved groan went through the crowd, followed by a wave of good cheer. Everyone was free. You were free. The exhaustion and relief washed over you. Time for a nap.

You turned to leave, mentally canceling your evening plans.

"Hey."

You stopped. It was Izuku. He was standing there and for the first time in a while, no longer surrounded by people, his full attention fixed on you.

The sun caught in his hair and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

"Are you okay?" his brow furrowed with genuine concern, "You seemed… out of it in there."

"Just tired," you mumbled, feeling your face heat up as your stupid brain flashed the incriminating montage of thoughts you just had about the man standing in front of you. "Long week."

"Right," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

An awkward silence stretched between you. He was studying you.

"You know," he started, his voice hesitant. "I've been trying to figure something out."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. "What?"

"When I see you, like just now— or back at the event, or when we see each other sometimes for work— you look at me…” he trailed off, searching for the words. "Like you're— I don't know. It's just really intense. But then when we text, it's— it's like you're two different people. I don't get it."

This was far too embarrassing, what are you even supposed to say? Admit you’re a big loser?

Okay time to run

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," he said, earnest. "I just— I don't understand. And I'd really like to."

He’s rubbing the back of his neck. It was such a classic Izuku gesture that it completely disarmed you. He looked away for a second, toward the dispersing crowd, before turning back to you with a quiet resolve.

"There's a cafe just down the street, we could talk. Or, you know..."

A faint blush bloomed under his freckled cheeks, his eyes darted away from yours.

"We could just... not talk."

Oh

"Okay let’s just get out of here," you managed. You turned before he could see the full extent of your blush, leading the way with quick steps. Your heart beat so rapidly you could hear it in your ears. He followed right after.

You had no plan at all, just trying to get out of the busy open street, anywhere you could breathe. When you made it around a random corner, bright afternoon light out of view, you looked back momentarily.

Before you could even talk, he grabbed your face with both hands. The wind was knocked out of you as his lips crashed down. You let out a startled gasp that he immediately swallowed.

Then he let you go abruptly, stumbling back as if he’d been burned.

"Sorry. I just really needed to do that. I'm sorry if—"

You shut him up immediately, surging forward and reconnecting. It was a bite, all the hunger and desire and frustration from the past weeks poured into it, your foreheads clashing, desperately conveying yes, yes, yes, I want this.

He retaliated, bit back, pushing you against the rough brick of the wall, devouring you with an intensity sharper than that weeks ago.

Just as soon as he had you pinned there, he pulled back.

"We should go somewhere," he rasped, forehead pressed against yours.

"No, stay," you whined, dragging him back, tempting him with another kiss.

"No. We're leaving," he said, voice firm as he backed away completely.

You pouted. "You're no fun."

"Mhmm," he hummed.

You tried grasping at him again, pulling him back, but he simply turned and started walking. He ignored you and you ended up getting dragged along for a few steps before you caught on and hurried to follow.

You were practically running to keep up, following his lead through the bustling city, dazed. You ended up at the nearest hotel minutes away.

The moment you walked in, a waft of floral scent and cold air hit you. The ceilings were high enough to echo, polished marble everywhere.

This is so wasteful just for a fuck.

"Okay, c'mon, let's just go to mine," you whispered, trying to pull his arm.

"No," he said, voice flat.

"We can go somewhere else. There's probably another place close," you bargain.

"I live like 30 minutes away. It's not that far," you attempted again when he didn’t respond, your voice small as you neared the receptionist.

"It is too far," he stated, not even looking at you.

The door clicked shut and you barely had a second to register the sheer size of the room before you were slammed into the wall. His mouth was on yours immediately, more like a collision than a kiss. Frantic, teeth and tongue, foreheads clashing together in a dizzying, painful thud that only spurred you on.

You shoved back against him, a confession I need you, I need you. He bit down on your lip, a sharp, stinging reprimand. You retaliate, sinking your nails into the skin of his neck.

"Off," he chanted against your mouth, his hands fumbling, clawing at the zipper of your hero suit. "Off, off, off—"

“No you,” you bite back nonsensically, ripping away at his suit with more vigour, practically wrestling him naked.

"Want you now," he pulls, gripping your waist "now, now, now" chanting, dragging you towards the bed.

"Yes, yes, yes," you were nodding so hard it hurt your head, frantically pushing in the same direction, a whirlwind of grasping, clumsy, aggressive motions, all coordination lost to a singular, primal need.

His eyes were so clouded with desire, a look that matched your own so beautifully

You were overcome with the urge to maul him, to scratch everywhere. I need you so much, I want to hurt you, like cuteness aggression but twisted into something carnal and violent.

"I want you now," he repeated, kissing you incessantly while crowding you until you stumbled back, hitting the edge of the bed.

"I need you now," you one-upped him, pulling him, dragging him down with you into the soft sheets. In a smooth, practiced motion, you flipped him over, straddling him, breathless. "Need you now."

He didn't even entertain it for a second. "No," he snapped as he grabbed your waist, agitated.

"No, let me," you pried his hands off and slammed his shoulder down, ready to devour him.

"No, you don't," he flipped you over again. It was raw strength, that previous playfulness wiped clean, bordering on painful as he pinned you down.

"I want to— let me—" you were flailing.

"No, no, no," he met every bit of you struggling with increasing strength, his movements so fast and dizzying. His gaze was borderline predatory and utterly devoid of any teasing, a frightening focus set on one thing.

"Ha— ah— god, what— Fuck, hold— ah— on," you gasped as he hoisted your legs up, not even giving you a chance to breathe. "Hmh, tight, tight, wait, hold on—", you reason breathlessly, trying to adjust and wriggle out of your painfully compromising position.

He didn't let up, every plea flying straight over his head.

You shakily snaked your hands up to grip the backs of your own knees, pulling them toward your chest. The shift relieved the sharp strain from your hips where his weight had pinned you.

He slammed in with no warning, your whole body jolted up the mattress.

"Ha— fuc—k— you're so—" you couldn't even finish your thought, he was fucking downwards with such intent and focus, like he wanted to drill you into the mattress, practically folding you in half.

“Mhm”

His frantic energy seemed to cool off with each thrust, like he was fucking every pent-up emotion into you. Your legs shook uselessly in tandem with his rhythm.

"S-sorry— ha—" he muttered against your ear, breath tingling ever so softly it made you shiver.

He lifted off of you, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your knee, then another your ankle. His hips stilled, settling into a slow, deep grind.

"Are you okay?" he sounded so sober all of a sudden, that aggression faded.

Then he stopped altogether. You were breathless for a moment, chest heaving.

"Fucking continue," you slapped the arm he looped around your legs, the resounding sound so sharp you winced a little.

Oops, too much.

"Ouch. What was that for?" he looks down at the faint pink of where your hand had connected, genuinely offended.

The shift was immediate. His usual softness vanished again, replaced by a silent, barely contained fury. He didn't wait for an answer, simply moved, pulling back and slamming into you again, harder this time. The force was enough to make you scream, a raw, involuntary sound ripped from your throat.

"I will continue," he panted in reply, muttering in between thrusts. "All day. We will be here for so long"

"Whatever. You're—" you stuttered through the relentless assault, "You're all talk."

"No. You’re all talk," his rhythm hitched, causing you to whine in protest.

He went completely still again, his body hovering over yours. "We are not stopping," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I'm serious."

"You just— did," you stuttered, amused, albeit mildly confused.

"Why do you have to be so difficult?" He's practically grinding his teeth. "I'm not joking. We are not stopping, and I'm warning you. Do you remember the word? I don't want to hurt you."

Ugh

"Yes, yes, yes," you said, waving a dismissive hand. "Just keep fucking going, my fucking go— ah—"

He was back at it again, punching into you and you were no longer able to think, screaming and flailing. He’s robbed you of any control, ripping shameful sounds from your throat with every thrust.

Fuck that is not me. Fuck. Fuck. Ew.

You tried muffling yourself, a hand flying to cover your mouth, your teeth sinking deep into your own fingers. You sound borderline pornographic.

Ew. Ew. Ew.

You toss your head into the pillow, an added layer to drown out anything and everything. He pushed your head to the side with a firm hand.

“No— no, why are you hiding? Don't hide."

His hips stutter as he reaches to grip your wrist, surprisingly gentle as he tries to guide your clamping hand away. You swat his touch reflexively, fucked out but still so stubborn.

Before you could even process, he flipped you with a single, powerful motion, grappling until you were down on your knees, chest against the mattress and ass pushed up in such an obscene way.

“Wha— ha—”, you gasped as he dragged your hips back, your body flush against his in an instant. He wrestled your arms behind you, clumsy at first, then pure, devastating strength crushed them together once he had your wrists pinned against your lower back.

"Stop hiding from me," he demands, sheathing himself inside you again in one smooth stroke.

Defiant, you crashed your face into the sheets, successfully muffling your startled scream.

“No hiding.” he repeated, one arm sliding under you, grabbing you by the chest.

“Leave me—” you hiss, twisting your face back into the dampened mattress as you feel another noise on the verge of escaping.

He hauls you up before you could do so.

“Ha- ah—”

He’s dragging your hips back to slam them down, the angle punishingly deep.

“Wait— Izuku— wha—” you babbled, trying to reason, feeling far too vulnerable and exposed.

“What are you gonna do now?” he slurred, delirious yet triumphant, holding you with a rough grip. His other hand snaked around your front, roughly gripping your breast like a vice to hold you in place as he continued to fuck into you from behind.

“Why? Wha—” your protests twisted into distressed, needy cries. His calloused hand on your chest loosens, only to pinch you, grabbing a nipple and rolling it between his fingers. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You had nowhere to hide, nowhere to bury your face.

“Exactly. Yes, yes,” he murmured appreciatively against the bare skin of your neck before delivering a sharp bite to your pulse point.

“Ha— ah— too much—”

“No. More, more, more,” he disagreed feverishly as he used his strength to force your back into an obscene arch.

He released your wrists and that hand came up to tangle your hair, gathering it into a bunch and rolling it tight like reins, immobilizing you completely as he continued pounding. The tension made your scalp sting. So much, so much, so much.

"M’close— close, close," you sobbed. That familiar tightening in your core close to snapping, pulling every muscle taut. Every fibre in you focused on the frantic, climbing tension. Yes, yes, yes.

He stills abruptly and dropped you from his grip. You flopped down uselessly, face flat on the mattress.

“Huh? Izuku— what—”

He pulled out. And just like that, it was gone. The intoxicating pressure snuffed out in an instant.

"What the fuck, Izuku? Why? Why?" you shrieked, pure rage, twisting around to kick him, but he just dodges simply, completely unfazed by your outburst. He holds his hands up in surrender, yet there's a familiar glint in his eyes as he slowly inches away from your squirming figure.

"Oh, were you going to come?" he asked, patronizing, “Sorry, I couldn't hear you very well. You kept hiding." He shrugs simply, a small smirk forming on his lips.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you were crying pitifully now, the tears hot on your cheeks "What about what you were saying before? I need to finish, please."

"I said we're not stopping," he clarified, his tone maddeningly reasonable. "I didn't say anything about you finishing."

He trailed the points of his fingers up your spine, making you shiver. You could feel the shift in him, the way he got even harder at the sight of you squirming under the pads of his fingers. Fucking sadistic.

"You're so mean." you choke out, glaring daggers.

"Mean?” he repeats, this time genuinely exasperated, green eyes wide and appalled at the mere suggestion, “I'm helping you. We're not stopping for a long time. I'm trying to help you so you can get through it."

"What the fuck does that mea—"

He forced you back down onto your stomach before you could finish, pushing in, the change in position so swift you felt like you were being thrown around like a ragdoll.

He was inside again, but not moving this time, just still and wriggling forward with fierce intent, brows scrunched tight in concentration.

"Closer, closer," he murmured, eyes completely fixed on where you were connected. He pulled you impossibly deeper, not even thrusting. Somehow his new, twisted goal was to impale you as deep as possible on him, ignoring your distressed cries completely.

"Okay, okay, please," you babbled in resignation through tears "Enough, enough."

You could see the slight bulge of him on your lower belly and he fucking caressed it in awe, as if you weren't crying, squirming, screaming because of it. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him while he began moving again, so very slow.

"What? Too much?" he coos as he’s leaning down, overwhelming you with his frame, but his free hand is tracing delicate lines down your arm, his lips brushing over yours like a secret.

A phone call is here! A phone call is here!

Alright. What the fuck?

He froze, buried deep inside you.

"What is that?" you groaned, the sound muffled against his shoulder.

"Uh, sorry—" he panted, his voice strained. "It's my phone."

The moment was gone, yanked back down to earth by how insanely unsexy the sound of All Might's shrill, cheerful voice was.

"Seriously? That's your ringtone?" you teased, incredulous.

He pulled back, pink blooming under his freckled cheeks in such an endearing way.

I’m gonna bite him.

"Sorry," he mumbled, tone so jarringly different now.

He started to pull out, but you clenched around him, a desperate, silent plea to get him to stay. It was no use. He was sobering up real fast, ever so dedicated to his work.

He fumbled for his phone on the floor, breathless when he answered "H-hello?"

You just laid there, heart beating far too loudly in your ears and tingling all over, still spread on the mattress. The intense, desperate need from moments before had been replaced by a surreal, buzzing quiet, the sound of his professional voice on the phone so bizarre to you in your current state

Curious about what had interrupted your taste of heaven, you turned to watch him, your eyes following him as he distanced himself from you, pacing around the room.

He sounded so clean again. So polished. There he was again, pro hero Deku— the version you would keep on a pedestal in your mind, too shiny, too bright and too hot a star to get close to without getting burnt.

But he was right there, right across the room from you, naked.

You stared, fixating on his back.

In the heat of it all, you’d scratched him and hadn’t even noticed. The thin, red lines stood out against the shifting muscles of his shoulders. The fresh redness of yours blended with the fading, silvery scars he had acquired through years of hero work, forming an intoxicating masterpiece across the canvas of his back. That contrast sent butterflies to your stomach— well— more like a nest of feral hornets.

And you couldn’t look away, fully embracing the heat that surged through you from the view. This picture perfect hero just fucked me.

"Mhm, yeah– I'll try to get to it, I think we can reroute the patrol routes to cover the gap, it's mostly low-level traffic so it should be fine, we just have to—"

He sounded so stern and focused. The professionalism felt insane in this context, right next to the disastrous looking bed, humid mess of sheets and you laying there, exposed and spread.

The fact that he could be so pristine and composed while you were a messy, wanting wreck just for him. It made your stomach clench.

You turned your face away from him again, staring up at the ceiling, restless and throwing impatient glances back at him that he couldn’t even see, too focused on whatever conversation he was having. Whatever the fuck just happened— being turned on by him on a call— meant you needed him back more.

You want him back. Now.

Let the call end. Let the call end.

"Alright, just send over the incident reports, yeah- uh—" His voice was closer now. You snapped out of your trance and found him right back at the bed, his eyes transfixed on you.

You gave him a confused look. What are you doing here?

He kept staring intently, taking in your naked form so shamelessly it made you shiver with the urge to curl up. He had stopped speaking entirely, green eyes raking you.

"Ah, sorry, I was just thinking, yeah—"

He couldn't stop looking, his eyes hungry even though you just stared back, utterly confused.

"I'll need the final analysis before I can approve the—"

He slithered back into bed, moving back to where he had been almost as an afterthought.

"—so just make sure they get that to me by morning."

You tensed next to him, eyes widening comically when you finally pieced together what he was planning.

He slowly, slowly slips himself back into you.

“—and cross-reference it with the witness statements. We need to make sure there are no discrepancies before we—"

Your eyes darted wildly between his absent expression and where you and him were connected, still on the call, silently screaming, what the fuck are you doing? He didn't even see your expression; his eyes completely fixed on where you were joined, entranced and almost helpless, like you were a magnet pulling him in.

Wish granted, but not at all how you had expected.

It wasn't a focused fuck at first; he was torn between the call and you, starting with languid, slow, deep strokes.

"Oh, um, can't— I'm off duty," he said, reminding what sounded like an intern on the other end. "Yes, yes, I know I'll be in early tomorrow, but I gotta go, I'm a bit occupied right now."

"Uh, no, I can't do that— I have to go."

The professional decorum was faltering. His eyes finally snapped out of the trance and locked onto your helpless expression.

Something flickered in his eyes.

He thrust again, once, properly, hard and fixed right where he knows you'll scream. And he was looking at you expectantly, so evilly entertained when you struggled to stifle the moan he ripped out.

"Okay— fine, yes, yes." you could practically hear his eyeroll as you tried to focus on keeping quiet. "Uh— no, I can’t do that—"

Under normal circumstances you would probably wonder what had agitated him, but now you were razor-focused on staying silent. He kept thrusting, purposefully targeting you now.

"Listen, I'll talk to you tomorrow," his voice was so cool and polite, despite the sinful things he was doing. "Mhmm, hmmm," he was nodding along to whatever the other person was saying, speeding up even more, impossibly so.

You were looking at him, horrified, pleading. Your hands clamped over your mouth again in that familiar way, but this time it was worse, it wasn’t an instinct, it was intent and desperate with genuine fear. You hoped desperately that your expression could snap him out of it but it had done the exact opposite— he seemed to be fueled by it. Sadistic Fuck.

"Just make sure the perimeter is secure before you clock out."

He was still just boredly thrusting, almost playfully now after seeing your reactions, smiling ever so slightly while he continued fucking into you. He couldn't even hide his amusement.

You were so close, eyes squinting shut in focus, tensing around him with a razor-sharp aim. He’s off guard, he won’t notice, he can’t stop you now. Yes, yes.

“Of course, yeah— don’t worry about it.”

He pulled out of you immediately and smiled, shaking his head in mock disapproval. No, he mouthed, like he was disciplining an angry puppy or something.

It took everything in you not to hit him.

“Alright, then. See you tomorrow,” he smiled blithely, tracing his fingertips torturously light over your torso, tilting his head in appreciation as you squirmed under his infuriatingly delicate touch. “Mhmm. Bye, bye.”

The second he placed his phone down, you lunged.

“What the fuck is wrong with you—”

He caught you mid-air, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle and he was giggling.

Oh this fucker. You thrashed in his hold, genuinely trying to land a hit, but it was like fighting a mountain. Your fists beat uselessly against his chest as he simply held you, his laughter growing as he watched your furious, ineffective struggle. With an effortless shift of his weight, he maneuvered you back onto the mattress, pinning you beneath him with ease.

"M’ sorry about that," he chuckled while dipping his head to press a soft, teasing kiss to your nose.

"No— you're not," you managed to gasp out, the words catching in your throat as he continued nipping away at you. You could feel the grin on his lips as he placed light, hasty kisses all over your seething, squirming form. All your anger slowly corroded away under his incessant, soft kisses.

"Hmm.. I just can't help it," he murmured, his voice a low hum. "Look at you."

Look at you.

You sighed in relief as he nudged his way back in, so slow it made your back arch. He was kissing you again, teasing and gentle all over, lips tracing patterns on your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. It was so loving it made your heart squeeze.

"You know— you looked so— hot— on the phone" you admitted through the sharp breaths he was stealing from you.

"Hmmmm, really?" He nipped at your earlobe, making you shiver.

That familiar feeling returned far too fast for you to admit, coiling with an intensity that made you uncomfortable. The way he had left you on the edge earlier made it impossibly harder to hold back now.

"Mmmm— no, don't, don't—" , he pulls out when he feels your traitorous clench, shaking his head as he parts from you, despite you wrapping his back with desperate legs.

"Whyyyyyyy?" you whined, defeated and teary. No more strength left to kick or bite back. He kisses your forehead so soft and earnestly, it felt like an apology.

"I just want it to last longer," he explained, his voice gentle, no teasing in his tone this time. "I want to have you—" he kissed your cheek, his lips lingering. "—as long as possible." Another kiss, to your temple. "—I don't want to overwhelm you."

Oh.

The breath hitched in your throat. A sudden, overwhelming wave of fondness washed over you. You had been so certain he was just toying with you.

His lips trailed lower and lower, a silent apology melting all your thoughts away. Your eyes widened as you felt his breath, warm and damp, fanning against your inner thigh. You threw your head back with a sharp gasp, your entire body trembling.

And when he stops, it's so unsettlingly still,

You stared down, seeing the messy green curls of his head, fixed between your open legs, not looking up. He was strangely fixated on something.

"Izuku?" you muttered carefully. He remained there, unmoving, unresponsive, just breathing. And you could feel the rhythm of his breath against your skin, it was growing more and more rapid.

You gave his head a careful, testing shove.

"Uh— is something wrong?"

No response.

You leaned up on your elbows curious, trying to get a better look.

When you finally met his eyes, they were completely unreadable. Your eyes wandered just a fraction before you finally understood.

There was a faint, purplish bite mark on the soft, delicate flesh of your inner thigh, almost hidden where your leg met your hip.

And it wasn't from him.

Some girl from the bar last week. You had already forgotten all about it and any evidence that night had left behind.

"Uh, Izuku? Are you okay?" you tried, his demeanor revealing nothing.

He was silent, so very silent.

"Uhm— c'mon, let's just—" you stammered, scrambling to get up, to distract him, to do anything.

It all happened so fast. Before you could even reach him, he’d flipped you over, pressing a hand down on your back with such force it stung straight through to your spine. He hauled you up by the waist, dragging your ass up in such a rough, degrading way.

"Wait— what—"

And he bottomed out in one go. A thrust so sharp, it was aimed to hurt. Each stroke was cruel, deliberate.

"Wait, Izuku— what—", you tried desperately to come up with something, anything to appease him, but nothing came out but ragged, pitiful gasps.

His movements were relentless. Your head was spinning wildly, your body confused, not knowing whether to run or submit. The pressure built, bordering on painful. He doesn't utter a word.

Through the haze, your panic sets in as you feel yourself too close to the edge of the bed, threatening to spill off.

"Hold on— hold—" , your arms flailed backwards, desperate for purchase, anything to stop the fall.

“Wait—p-please—AH–”

You thumped onto the floor, your head pounding from the impact. You weakly tried to get up, shaky arms clambering for the edge of the bed to stabilize yourself. Before you could even stand, he's jumped down right next to you. You hardly recognize the look in his eyes, he looks near possessed and it makes your blood run cold.

"Uh, wait, wait—" you scramble to get up.

"No. Stay."

He presses you down, rolls you over with such brutal ease you felt flimsy. He slides in again, deep and punishing, his hand splayed on your belly pinning you in place. A choked cry tears from your throat. His palm flattens against your stomach, pressing down, thumb rubbing mercilessly over the taut skin where he was connected.

The sheer depravity of it—being taken like this, on the fucking floor—sends a shameful heat through you.

"Can you just— just calm down— we can… we can talk…"

"Talk?", he's practically sneering, "Talk? About what?"

"I don't know, I don't know—" you whine shakily, the angle too much, his force too much, all of it too much. "Please, please..."

"Hmm, no." He rocks into you. "What is there to say— hmm?" He wipes a damp strand of your hair from your cheek, so gentle, so out of place, it feels condescending.

"Just stay right here," he murmurs "Take it."

"Okay— okay— fine," you pant, throwing a hand back in surrender, your eyes wide and frantic. "You win. You— I'm sorry— just hold on—"

His hand shifts, finding your clit. Your hands fly to your hair, pulling, clinging to your sanity. You fight with every fiber of your being to hold out, for him.

"Wait, wait, no, I’m close, wait, please—" You swat blindly at his arm, trying to snap him out of it, trying to alert him because of his own words earlier "Please, I'm close— can't hold—"

His thumb pressed harder, circling with ruthless precision.

"No, no, no, what are you doing? I thought— I can't—"

“Mhmm”

"Please, please— wait, I can't hold it—"

"I don't care. Then don't."

Your body betrays you, a violent shudder racks your frame as you convulse around him. So intense you felt your vision go black, everything was spinning.

"Already? You're so easy," he laughs, humourless. His tone was no longer teasing, not at all. It’s so bitter and demeaning. There’s a venom you had never heard in him before, ever, it made your skin crawl.

He’s utterly unbothered, watching you squirm with cold, detached eyes, still driving into you with the same intensity. The friction starts turning from pleasure to a raw, unpleasant sting, your senses far too overwhelmed and he’s still punching into you with frightening accuracy. You kick back, your heel connecting hard with his thigh. It’s enough to startle him, to make him still. You take your chance, scrambling away, backward on the floor.

"Where are you going?" His hand shoots out, fingers tight wrapping around your ankle as he dragged you back across the carpeted floor. He tugs one of your hands closer to his groin, then guides his still hard cock into it.

"Put it back in," he demands, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth.

"Huh? What—" Your gaze drops to your own hand, limp and useless. He grips your wrist and impatiently tugs you, motioning you to slip him back in.

“But i just came— it’s enough—”

"Put it back," he repeats, agitated. He doesn't wait for you to comply, forcing you, making you line him up. You whine, eyes wide and pleading. Heat floods your face.

"C'mon," he ushers in his disappointed-teacher tone, shaking your wrist, so hard it slaps his cock right against your oversensitive clit, making you wriggle your hips away at the contact. He folds himself over you, his weight pinning you, forcing your legs back, back, back until your knees are pressed to your chest.

"In”, he snaps. “Now.”

“Alright- alright—“

You give in, letting his hands guide you. He settled in so deeply, right there, right where it felt most intense and you couldn’t even back away, crying at the overwhelming sensation.

"You're so mean..." you sniffle, barely audible.

"I'm being mean?" He scoffs, exasperated. "Mean? Yeah. Ha, sure. I'm mean." He sloppily jabs an accusatory finger at your damp forehead. "You'rethe one who’s mean." He pushes against your forehead once for good measure, before gliding his finger down the side of your sweat-damp face absentmindedly.

He takes advantage of your panting, open mouth, slipping his finger in almost as an afterthought. You let out a confused, muffled moan as he sunk deeper and deeper. He stares at you, in thought, forcing in a second finger around your dampened cries before giving an experimental push.

You gag around him immediately, eyes wide with confused shock. For a second, something flickers in his eyes as he watches you—the tip of his fingers pressing against the back of your throat. You're crying, pitiful and muffled, silent tears tracking through the mess on your face.

"You’re the one whose mean," he repeats, almost a whisper, pupils blown wide and fixated on your helpless expression, gagging around his fingers "I'm giving you everything you want. How can you— how can you say I'm mean?"

He finally disconnects his fingers, a thick string of saliva connecting them to your lips. He wipes it onto your own cheek.

"What the fuck are you saying?" you pant, squirming away from his touch.

“Stop swearing so much,” he mumbles as he dips his head down, mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping and biting everywhere.

"I don't care, fuck you," you slur nonsensically, defiant.

"God, can you just stop swearing?"

He pulls back, looking down at you with genuine annoyance cutting through the haze. "Why can you not just—"

“No. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you—”

Before you can process it, he's shoving something into your mouth, gagging you.

It's your own underwear, you were being smothered by your own underwear. It's so absurdly lewd, you could cry. Your eyes go wide, appalled. You slap his arm, not even slightly guilty about the sharp, stinging crack this time.

He catches your wrist in a vice-like grip, stilling you instantly.

"Hm? What?", his voice low and so infuriatingly sweet "I'm doing you a favour. You like hiding, right?" He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I’m not mean. See how nice and considerate I'm being."

You contort your head, wrenching to the side to spit out that nasty, damp piece of fabric. You look up at him, defiant, elated by your small, successful rebellion.

"Fuck. You."

He yanks your captured wrist back, forcing your hand to where it was earlier, wrapping around his cock as he pulls himself out of you completely.

"Put it back in," he demands, a condescending smirk on his lips.

He's so forceful this time, he's practically doing it for you, his grip tight as he guides your own fingers. You seize up immediately as he buries himself to the hilt, flailing wildly, but your scream is muffled as he shoves the makeshift gag back into your mouth.

"I'm being so nice," he whispers right against your ear as he stills his hips, now focused on scouting out your weak spots and latching onto them. A feather-light, mocking kiss right under your pulse point, the tenderness making you flinch.

"You love this."

A sharp bite on your collarbone, hard enough to make you cry against the damp fabric, your back arching off the floor.

"You're— you’re using me," his mouth hovers over the sensitive skin of your shoulder, "and I'm giving you— everything— you want."

His head dips lower and his teeth scrape against your nipple before his mouth closes around it, sucking harshly. Your hands fly to his hair, tangling in messy green strands.

"How can— how can you say I'm mean?" he pants against your wet skin. "How can you curse at me like that?"

He finally rips the drenched fabric back out. Your gasp for air twists into a broken moan as he shifts to grind his hips in torturous circles.

His hand presses down deliberately on the bulge in your belly where he's nestled right against your deepest, weakest spot.

"Ah, ha—" you gasp a hiccupping sob, squirming away from his evil caress.

"Too much?" He stills for a fraction of a second, the pressure of his hand lifting just enough to let you suck in a ragged breath.

"M-h, yeah—" you nod shakily.

"Hm." He tilts his head, feigning concern. "That's too bad."

He drives into you, punctuating his words with deep, grinding thrusts.

"Cause I—" thrust "don't think it's—" thrust "enough."

His hand comes down again, not a press this time, but a sharp, stinging slap directly against your clit. The shock of it makes you scream.

"Too much, please, too much— I can't— I can't—"

"Then use your word," he mutters, his hips still, buried deep inside you.

You lay there panting, tingling from the sudden stillness. You watched the tense line of his shoulders, the way stared down at you, momentarily sober, his own chest heaving. When he realized you weren’t going to respond, you could literally see the frustration return to his eyes.

"Can you stop fucking pretending?" he snaps "It's getting annoying."

"Fuck you." you spat, shredded raw from overstimulation.

"What should I do with you?" he sighs with a condescending disappointment, glaring down at you squirming on his cock.

You're clawing at his back now, nails raking across his skin in a desperate, futile attempt to retaliate. The floor, despite the carpeting, is becoming unpleasantly grating against your spine, each of his punishing thrusts exacerbating it.

"God— ha— can you just fucking finish?" you pant, completely overexerted.

"You’re so—" he pants, his rhythm becoming erratic “—difficult.”

"Mhmm," you buzz, so overwhelmed you can barely form a thought, just a wave of frantic, desperate energy.

"M' close... okay, just hold on—"

With a final, deep groan, he emptied inside you, his body shuddering as he blows off the last of his steam. Then he rolled over, collapsing onto the floor beside you, not looking at you once.

"Uhm… are you okay?" you asked after you had collected yourself, your voice small in the sudden stillness.

Sure, fighting with him was kind of fun in its own twisted, sick way, but you were starting to get worried about that sudden shift.

"Yeah." he replied, back still turned against you.

What a liar.

"No, you're gonna tell me—" You push yourself up and grab his shoulder, turning him over, forcing him to face you. He’s still not meeting your eyes.

After a long stretch of silence, he finally spoke.

"How often do you do…" he gestured vaguely between you and him, sharp and awkward "...this?"

You watched his shoulders tense up instantly. He won't meet your eyes, his gaze fixed on a loose thread in the carpet. He looked almost… hurt by the question.

"Uh… every now and then," you replied vaguely, trying to keep your own voice light.

"So— uh— am I just another one of your…" he looks up at you briefly, expression unreadable "You know…"

"What?" you blurt, suddenly feeling small by the confrontation.

How can he even suggest that? How can he possibly think he’s just another one of those “you knows” on a Friday night, when the entire, miserable point of those nights was to try and forget him? He’s upset about being a number in a line, but he’s the reason the line even exists.

“I don’t— I don’t know what you’re talking about", you settled for. Deny, deny, deny.

"Mhmm," his eyes slide away from yours again, drifting toward the wall.

"This isn't—" you’re scrambling, putting up a confused act "What does that even mean?"

He just rolled away, curling into himself on the floor.

"Hey, hey," you protest, reaching out to pull on his shoulder. "Don't just—"

He resists for a moment before flopping onto his back with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. He doesn't say anything. Just briefly lifts his hand, gesturing vaguely at your thigh with a tired expression. Right.

"Okay, that— that was—"

But there’s no reasonable excuse to get you out of this one. A cat bit me? I got burned? No. It's damning evidence— a clear, very human, bite mark, teeth and all, in a place that could only mean one thing. Well, shit.

I fucked a random girl to distract myself from you? No, you can't say that.

"Uh, I— during the meeting earlier," you begin, scrambling "I was looking at you so I wouldn't fall asleep." You conveniently leave out the part where you were thinking about him fucking you senseless. This was your own roundabout way of somehow defending yourself, somehow proving him wrong.

His expression doesn't change.

"I was on my knees praying because I couldn't stop thinking about you," you blurt out, "I'm not even fucking religious." You look at him, searching "I'm not joking”, you add for good measure.

He just stares back, unamused.

"And then— I saw this billboard. Something about a safety initiative — you were in it— and I walked straight into a pole. A pole. Because— I was staring at your face."

Still nothing.

And now he’s not even facing you anymore. Great. He’s rolled onto his side, back against you again. You sigh in defeat, but still reach out to shake his shoulder lightly, just wanting a glimpse of his face. Why is he hiding?

He doesn't budge, a stubborn, dead weight.

With a huff, you pushed yourself up, leaning over his curled-up form to peer down at his front.

And that's when you saw it.

He's hard again. Unmistakably.

What the fuck? Didn't he literally just finish? Yeah, unfuckingdoubtedly. You could still feel the slick between your thighs, it was leaking out just minutes ago and there’s still a small wet patch on the carpet from it.

What the hell?

But that's not all. He's curled his face into his own bicep, trying to hide it and the tips of his ears, the only part of his face you can really see, are burning a bright, pink.

A slow, sly grin spread across your face. You leaned in closer, your hair brushing against his arm. “Izuku," you tease, poking at his arm lightly. "Are you blushing?"

He made a muffled, disgruntled sound into his own arm, curling up even tighter.

"Aw, don't hide from me," you purr, reaching out to gently trace the shell of his burning ear. He flinched at the touch.

"It's just… I'm a little confused. I thought you were mad at me." You let your hand drift down his side, your fingers skimming over his ribs.

"But this…” you gently tap him, right on the head of his cock, "tells a different story."

He finally moved, just enough to glare at you from over his shoulder, but it’s more endearing than it is scary. His face was flushed, his green eyes glassy and dazed. Cute.

"It's a biological reaction— it’s not like I can control that” he grumbled, curling away with more vigour. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't mean anything?" you grinned, leaning down, pressing a soft kiss to the flushed skin of his shoulder. "It means something to me."

You shifted, swinging your leg back over to straddle his thighs, pinning him in place and centering yourself over his, somehow, hard cock. "It means you're not as mad as you pretend to be."

He huffed, turning his face away again, but he didn't try to fight you.

He just looked… wrecked. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing shallow and a fine sheen of sweat beading on his temples. He looked almost feverish.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice softening slightly. You leaned down, your lips brushing against the nape of his neck. "Okay."

You rocked your hips against his, a slow, deliberate grind. He lets out a choked groan, his head falling back against the carpet. His hands fly to your hips to hold you in place.

"Please," he gasps, his voice ragged. "Please don't stop."

You couldn’t help smiling. You lean down, your lips hovering just above his. "I thought you were mad at me," you murmur, low and teasing.

"I am," he breathes against your parted lips, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Hmm, sure, sure," there's a teasing lilt to your voice, but your movements are anything but.

You rise up slowly, almost letting him slip out of you before sinking back down, a deliberate, rolling motion that steals the air from his lungs. Every time you take him in it's an unspoken apology, a confession.

He's panting now, raw, breathless, his hands gripping hard enough to bruise. You lean down, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the bridge of his nose, then to the constellation of freckles scattered across his cheekbones.

"You're so pretty," you murmur, almost as an after thought, taking him in.

"F-faster," he gasps out, eyes squinting shut in concentration, his voice strained. "Please."

Well who would’ve thought.

You smirk, slowing down instead, a maddening, teasing roll of your hips that has him squirming underneath you. "What was that?"

His eyes snap open and they're dark, dazed, a stormy green burning with need. "Don't— don't tease," he pants.

"Well that’s very rich coming from you.” you hum against his cheek, leaning down to nip at his jaw. “So it’s only okay when you do it?"

"You—" he grits out, his hands sliding from your hips to grip your ass, pulling you down harder against him. "Just— move."

"Like this?" you ask, your voice syrupy sweet as you obey, lifting up almost completely before slamming back down. The force of it punches a moan out of both of you.

You set a rhythm, steady, back and forth that has his hands scrambling for purchase on your hips. The room fills with the obscene sounds of your bodies connecting, again and again and again.

His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth slightly parted as he pants and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

"Y-yes," he stammers, "Like— that."

His praise sends a thrill straight through you, egging you on. You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, your hair falling around his face. The new angle lets you grind down on him and you feel his whole body jerk.

"Fuck, yes, yes," he babbles "Don't stop, please don't stop."

You're not going to stop. You can't. The coil in your stomach is winding tighter and tighter. You watch his face, the way his brows are furrowed in concentration, the way his freckles stand out against his flushed skin. You're completely lost in him. With a final, shattered cry, you convulse, fluttering so tightly and you feel him pulse in response, a familiar warmth filling you from the inside.

You collapse onto his chest, boneless and giggling, feeling triumphant.

"Hah," you pant against his skin. "You finished."

His head is still thrown back, his eyes shut. He looks so beautiful it makes your heart ache. His eyes flutter open, green, bright, meeting yours.

"No— uh— I haven't."

Your stomach drops.

Shit.

"Oh— you— you didn't?" you sputter, exasperated.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You push yourself up, determination warring with the ache in your muscles. You can't leave him like this. You force your tired body to continue, grinding and squeezing tight around him even though your abdomen screams in protest and you're whining, overstimulated, with every motion.

Come on, come on. Your hips are moving desperately now.

"So beautiful," he groans, his hands tightening on your waist. You cant your hips desperately in response, weak.

"Mhmm, pretty, pretty, pretty," he rambles, against your sweat-damp skin. His thumb brushes against your cheek every so lightly and you shudder all over.

"God, I can't, holy fuck," you gasp, pleasure bleeding into discomfort. "Ah— ah— fuck."

Persevere. Fuck.

But your body betrays you. You can't torture yourself any longer, the sensations too sharp. Too much, too much, too much.

"Fuck— Izuku—"

"Sh, sh, sh," he murmurs, one hand rubs comfortingly up and down your back, trying to soothe you, while the other grabs your face, a bit rough, to tilt it towards him. "Shhh, look at me. Look. You're okay, it's okay."

But you halt, your body giving out. You collapse on top of him, no longer able to force yourself to move, to hit yourself right where it hurts. You're sobbing into his shoulder, inhaling him.

All your senses are screaming. You feel him inside you so distinctly, like he's carving into you, even though you're sitting completely still.

"Too much, too much, please, ple—" you chant, "Too much, I can't, Izuku, please— please—", your pleas muffled into his skin where your head is buried in helpless defeat.

You're spasming involuntarily around his length, each clench sending a fresh, agonizing shockwave through you.

He suddenly thrusts his hips up, testing, just lightly, but it feels like he's punching into a deep bruise. You shriek, your head snapping back.

"Ple— please," you sniffle, tears streaming down your face.

He frames your face gently with his hands, his thumbs catching a fresh tear. "Sh, sh, shhh."

As you calm down eventually, his hand slips slowly from your lips, now brushing your tear-streaked face, tracing each wet path with a thumb in awe. "Pretty."

He does it again, thrusting up, this time not a test, but hard and purposeful. You wail.

"C'mon, you can do better," that awful teasing creeps back into his voice. He stills, deciding to just lay there, looking up at you from the ground with a smug face.

"Come on. Don't get shy now. Finish what you started. Move, okay?", to emphasize, he grabs you bruisingly by the hip, lifting you up like you weigh nothing and slams you back down.

"I can't, too much, please," you sob.

"No, you can. C'mon, keep going."

You try. You really do. You force your trembling thighs to lift and drop, thrust. The feeling overwhelming, hot, sharp. But you falter again, trying to bury your face into his chest, stopping the movement.

He fucking spanks you.

"Keep going," he demands. When you ignore him, sobbing into his shoulder, he strikes again, harder.

"Ha! Fuck, why—" you choke out, pitiful.

“You’re the one who wanted to be on top so bad so keep going”, he delivers another spank over the same spot, "Keep going. I'm not done yet."

You oblige, bitterly, tears of pure overstimulation clouding your vision as you force yourself to ride him, sloppy and weak. A deep, burning ache starts in your thighs, climbing higher with every agonizing roll of your hips. This is starting to feel more like a training exercise than sex.

“Hnngh— can’t,” you sob, faltering as your legs threaten to give out completely. “M’ tired.”

You pause just slightly, a moment of weakness, but his hand comes down, sharp and unforgiving. The sting makes you yelp, and you jolt back. When you don’t move he lands another. One. Two. Right over the same spot, before you finally acquiesce, rolling your hips so pathetically weak.

"There we go," he pants. "Pretty."

You whine and try to lay your head down on him again, but he puts a firm hand against your chest, stopping you.

"Don't be lazy."

You cry out in frustration, trying to go faster, but you falter the moment his hand comes to rub your clit. The touch is impossibly gentle, soft but it catches you off guard. It’s too much, too much.

"Fuck, fuck, it's enough!" you shriek, hand swatting against his chest frantically.He catches your wrist easily, firm but not painful, all while still pressing soft, light kisses to your jawline.

“Enough?”, he hums against your neck, his tone deceptively gentle right before he thrusts up again.

It's so deep, so much.

Every nerve ending in your body is on fire.

"Enough, enough—"

"It's never enough," he states, simply. His hand slides down, under where you're connected to him, his fingers finding your clit and start rubbing, so sharp, so cruel.

"Enough— you're so— fucking greedy—" you cry out.

"No, never, never" he chants like a prayer, mindlessly, thrusting up. You're sobbing, tears flowing freely now.

"Please, please, just a second, a second, please…" you try to reason with him, your hand patting furiously at his chest, pleading.

"Alright, alright, shhh.”

He finally takes pity on you, stilling for just a moment. His hand gently grabs the back of your neck, so softly, tilting your head down.

"Look." And then, as if to make an example, thrusts again, emphasizing the spot deep inside where you're connected. He presses against it.

“God— fuck— Izuku— enough—”

"Shhh, sh, sh," he whispers against your lips. "I wanna come. Finish what you started."

"I can— I can suck—" you offer, desperate.

"No, I don't want a blowjob," he cuts you off, his voice firm. "Keep going." Then, to soften the blow, he kisses you, ever so gently.

"Pretty."

You whine at the praise.

God, you're so useless, brain turning to mush, obliging now with newfound motivation just from him saying a singular word, bouncing up and down dutifully.

“Mhmm.”

He suddenly grabs your ass, gently and then you’re both off the ground. He lifted you, still impaled so deeply, the angle shift making you squeal.

“Sorry,” he slurs, as he places you on the bed, wrapped around you still and never pulling out. “Floor kind of hurts my back.”

God, he's so cute. I’m gonna eat him.

Now he's on top again, caging you, kissing you all over, gentle, before he thrusts again. “Mm, since you’re so lazy,” he murmurs through a languid, deep stroke, “I’ll do it. Since m’ so nice. Remember?”

“Ah ha—”

“Sh, sh, sh, okay, it’s fine,” he pants, not slowing, hypersensitivity screeching at you to run but you have no way out this time around.

“You can take it. It’s okay.”

Something about him saying sweet things to you while you're practically being torn apart by him was so dizzying.

‘Mkay, yes—”

“Mhmm, good, good, good,” he slurs. “You can take it.”

God, you both sound insane.

“Yes,” you agree dumbly, suddenly with the overwhelming desire to swallow him whole. Wanna be yours, yours, yours. You squeeze around him tighter, despite the burning ache. Wanna be yours.

“Yours,” you mumble as an afterthought.

“Hm—” his pace is getting wonky, “Take it. Take it,” he's chanting, going mad. “You can take it?”

“Yes, yes, yes, anything, yes, take me, take me, take anything, anything”

It was just pouring out in streams.

“Anything?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

Then somehow he coerced another one out of you, and he followed suit soon after with a deep, shuddering groan. And you're both laying there. A fucking mess.

For a long while, neither of you spoke, just panting, a boneless, sweaty tangle of limbs

You'd stumbled in here in the bright afternoon and now, the only light in the room came from the city glow bleeding through the massive window.

He shifted beside you, propping himself up on an elbow. His hair was a disaster, and his face was flushed. He looked so soft.

"Hey," he started, his voice cracked slightly. "Can I ask you a question?"

You hummed in response, too tired to form words.

"When you said... 'anything'..." he trailed off, and you could feel the heat of his blush even in the dim light. "Did you... mean that?"

“Uh— what do you—”

Your own face grew warm when you realized. Oh, god.

You were practically high moments ago, you'd said whatever felt right. But as you lay there, every muscle aching, you realized a part of you meant it. "Yeah," you murmured into the pillow. "Maybe."

"Okay," you hear him mumbling, so soft.

You shifted onto your side to face him properly. "Okay, my turn now."

"Huh?"

"Can I ask you a question now?"

“Oh— okay, yeah” a small, tired smile touched his lips.

"Okay," you started, suddenly feeling a bit shy. "So, uh... why the hell do you last so long? Like genuinely."

You felt his body tense slightly beside you. He let out a small, embarrassed huff of laughter and fell back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling.

"It's... a side effect," he said finally, "From One For All. Or, what's left of it. It changed a lot of things— my metabolism, my healing factor... my stamina. Well— it was way worse when I had the full power, but even after it faded, it never really went back to normal. It just... takes a while— and it’s always so..intense."

"Usually," he continued, his voice getting quieter, "I have to... hold back. A lot. It's not fair to whoever I’m with." He turned his head to look at you, his expression so earnest it made your chest ache. "Thank you for— uh— putting up with me."

Is this guy fucking for real?

You burst into laughter.

“Put— put up with you?”

“Uhm—” he turned to you, green eyes wide with genuine concern.

“God, you’re so—” you were still giggling, “S-sorry, I— just—” you let out a final shaky breath. “You know that’s, like, the best sex I’ve ever had, right?”

You were smiling now, meeting his gaze.

“Uh— oh—” he was rubbing the back of his neck. So Izuku. “T-thanks?”

You couldn’t help burst into another fit of giggles at that. Your mind flicked back and forth between this sweet, blushing man and the feral, relentless force from earlier.

"I wasn't putting up with you, or whatever " you said after a swallow, your tone turning serious. "That was incredible. So don't worry about it."

His cheeks turned a faint red dampened by the dim light, a few unruly green curls brushing against them ever so slightly. Oh Izuku.

"And... I do mean it.” you added, your voice softer. “You know.”

“Hm?”

“Anything."

You leaned down to kiss him. One freckle. Then another. Every freckle on his face, his shoulder, tracing constellations until you both drifted to sleep.

The combined exhaustion of overworking yourself and enduring what felt like a marathon of sex really took a toll on you. Tiredness crashed down like a ton of bricks, you haven't been knocked out like that for a while.

Yet your sleep-addled mind was still just consumed with him, clogging every pathway in your brain. He was all over, even in your dreams, haunting you in every corner. It felt hazy, more like a concept— just flicking images of him: his hair, his scarred hands rubbing your back, his voice drifting in and out. Look at you, look at you. Phantom touches against your most sensitive, aching parts, soft kisses, rough sex, the floor, everywhere touching, everywhere.

Even in your dreams, you could feel him touching. You, unconscious, are still rubbing your thighs together like an instinct to relieve the deep, persistent ache in your core. You felt thrumming, pulsing and then more and more, it was becoming more vivid by the second, too vivid.

Your eyes fluttered open in a dazy, dreamy state.

This wasn't a dream. It was very real. He was snapping the waistband of your underwear against you, pulling it around, smoothing his finger along the seam of the fabric, tugging the flimsy thing around like a toy. His head was nuzzled into your back, and he was whining like a fucking puppy.

“Oh my god,” you groan, your head still foggy with sleep. “You can’t be fucking serious.” You turn your head to see him, and he just smiles at you dopily.

“Mmm,” he sighs into your back, still tugging at your underwear impatiently.

“How do you still have energy?” you whine, defeated, burying your face in his tufts of green locks. You tensed the muscles in your thighs, squeezing your legs together to halt whatever devious plan he’s having again for just a moment.

“Mmmm,” he’s getting more handsy now, gripping the fabric on the side of your hip, motioning to slide it down all the way. “Please?”

He flashes the most disarming puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen, giving you a hopeful smile that makes you want to squeeze him.

Unfortunately, you were very, very weak.

“Okay, okay,” you sigh, exasperated. You let the tension drain from your legs, acquiescing, and he slipped it off expertly in one smooth motion despite his own equally exhausted state.

“Mhm, s’ not enough,” he slurs into your back, nudging his way back in, his cock hard and insistent against you. “Too pretty. Not enough.”

You tense immediately when you feel him breach you, a sharp gasp torn from your lips. It’s like he’s forcing the exhaustion out of you with every inch of him. ‘So- greedy—’ you squirm away when he wraps his arms around your chest from behind, shocked by how frigid they are.

“Mm, warm,” he sighs, pulling you desperately closer on another thrust. You flinch when your back connects fully with his chest, another shock of cold. He’s like a fucking panel of ice against you.

“Why are you so cold?” you try to squirm away from his grasp, but he’s latching on stubbornly. He uses his grip to pull you down, dragging you onto his cock with each roll of his hips.

“M’ your fault,” he mumbles, muffling his equally freezing face into your shoulder, tearing another gasp from you. “Keep stealing the blanket... m’ letting you cuz m’ so nice. Not mean.” He giggles, delirious, against your skin.

"Sorry," you mumble "Guess you can warm up now."

"Hmmm," he hums, vibrating against your back. He nuzzles into your shoulder once, fleeting, before his grip tightens and he flips your exhausted, useless body over. You have no energy to resist whatsoever, entirely pliant in his hands as he pushes you to your hands and knees, fingers gripping the sheets.

"Cold," he mutters, before hauling the entire duvet over both of you, the heavy weight of it creating a small, warm cave. You sigh into the pillow when he slides his cock in again.

A rough hand slides up the back of your thigh, settling on your ass, holding you open. “So pretty,” he mutters, hazy. He just squeezes, marveling at the way your body stretches around him.

He pulls out, only to fuck back in, over and over in short, impatient thrusts, like he can't get deep enough. His thick arms, chest, and everything surround you. His cock drives into you like a punch, too hard, almost painful, curved angled just right to push against that spot.

You wail. He slides out and fucks right back in, hitting the same spot with frightening accuracy and you shriek into the pillow. You're so exhausted, so tired you have no barrier to contain your noises, only the flimsy pillow beneath. Your moan catches in your throat but you couldn't stop it from pouring out even if you tried.

He continues to fuck you like that, over and over, drilling into that spot. Was he even trying to get himself off? It seemed more like he wanted to steal another from you. Fucking insatiable.

Pathetic cries and gasps poured out of you as you clutch his scarred arms like an anchor. It’s so good, it’s too much and you feel that blinding pleasure rise far too fast. Your eyes go wide in horror when you realize you can't hold it back, your body too tired, too pliant to resist and he shows no signs of mercy.

“God, fuck—“

It’s too early to come. And he fucks you through the orgasm, his relentless strokes pushing you past pleasure until you're tearing up again. Overstimulation kicks in, familiar, frightening. “Shit—ah, ah, Izuku— enough, c’mon.”

He whines deep in his throat, unwilling but slows his thrusting to little impatient grinds instead, base stretching you impossibly full. It feels worse like that, his thick length mostly still, hot, a constant demanding pressure filling you up to the point of shaking. Your trembling hands pry at his arms around you, holding you in place like a doll. He shakes them off impatiently, lost in his own world.

“Not in the mood,” he mumbles, his pace not faltering as he pulls you ever closer, content to torture you just like that.

You swat at him blindly, but this time he grabs your wrists, gathering them in one large hand and pinning them behind your back. He never stops moving his hips. You are so, so sensitive, every drag of his cock against you a fresh torment.

“Izuku please—“ you fucking whimper, biting the pillow to muffle the sound. “Please— ngh, control— your—“

“Mhhhh,” he murmurs, his voice distant and insincere. He slows his pace slightly, only to grind extra hard against that bundle of nerves, deliberate, cruel. Your voice is going hoarse.

“Just—” A long, hard thrust cuts you off.

“Yeah, yeah, so good. So so good,” he slurs.

There's really nothing you can do other than take it. You have a serious desire to drift to sleep, but his incessant punches against your most sensitive nerves are literally knocking you awake with every thrust. He’s dead set on chasing his end, delirious, exhausted, ruled entirely by his insatiable, unhinged libido. You feel his open-mouthed pants against your nape as he tries to bury more of himself inside you.

“Too much,” you slur, the sound practically being punched out of you with each breath.

“Sorry,” he hisses, guilty yet desperate. He drags his cock out practically all the way and fucks it back in with a groan. “I can’t—”

Raw power behind every brutal thrust, fucking every breath out of you with his vigour. Unrelenting, devastatingly unrelenting on your overstimulated nerves, making you cum again, like he's on a mission.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fu—“

Again. Whatever has happened to you, you're so sensitive that you come again, too fast to handle. He shows still no signs of stopping, fucking you throughout the whole thing, not missing a single beat as you gasp and cry through it.

You felt the thrum of his blood pumping, pleasure slowly dying down, twisting to agony. As if you weren’t already tired enough, this was going to make you pass out, but the force of each thrust keeps snapping you back out of your sleepy state, over and over and over.

“Izuku,” you whine, mostly muffled by the pillow.

“S-sorry,” he pants through his thrusts. “You feel— too good. Too good—”

“Mmm, too much, please— enough, enough.”

“Ah, sorry—I’m sorry,” he sighs, his voice slurred, still chasing his high. “Just a bit more. Just—”

“Please—” you whine, not even knowing what you’re asking for. Sleep? “I-zuku— please—“

You felt so silly, just stuck there taking it, on the verge of sleep only to be snapped back with another thrust. All you can do is clutch onto the sheets and the little sanity you have left, your mind getting dizzy, half from genuine exhaustion and half from dick.

You horrifyingly realized yourself tightening up again. “Haah, I can’t—“

You’re were completely pinned under his heavy body, him practically folding himself over you now with the added weight of the blanket. So hot, so hot, so hot. Your face was shoved against the damp sheets, wet with tears and drool. You’re starting to go lightheaded, the cave of the duvet becoming a hot, humid trap, circulating sex and both of your hot, heavy breaths, tainting your every sense.

“Wait, wait, wait— Izuku, too hot— too hot— just a second,” you babbled, half a genuine request and half a desperate attempt to stave off the yet another fucking orgasm threatening you.

It was surprisingly, thankfully, effective. He halts for just a second before slipping out, immediate relief that settling in from the sudden hollowness. You were practically burning inside, outside, around the ring—every part of you on fire, literally and figuratively. You just needed a breather.

He turned you over and the look in his eyes when you met them sent a chill down your spine. His pupils are blown to infinity, ravenous and insatiable. He looks insane.

“I, uh, I have an idea,” he sniffled, wiping the beads of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. “Come on.” He laid down now, over the duvet, motioning for you to get on top.

Fuck.

“Mhmmm, Izuku, m’ so tired, please— you can have me— anything else— just—“ you drop your head down, deflated, exhaustion swallowing every one of your senses.

“No, no, no— shh, I promise, just relax— I can— I can do it, just—“

He’s looking at you with those eyes that make you go so very weak. Fuck, fuck.

“Please, I need—“

You drag yourself on top of him with a sigh, but when you meet his star-struck gaze, you can’t help but oblige, a new fervor taking over. You straddle him and sink yourself onto him in one swift motion, the cool air against your back a welcome relief.

True to his promise, he pins your hips in place, thrusting up to meet you instead, while placing infinite, gentle kisses over your exhausted form. On the peaks of your shoulders, the tip of your collarbone, right above your breast, behind your ear, that spot over your pulse point that never fails to tear a shameful sound from you. You shiver under each contact, overwhelmed by him, by any and everything about him.

And when he thrusts up again, the angle so sharp and accurate, you cum. From a single fucking thrust.

“Shit, Izuku— wait— wait—“

“I know, I know— m’ sorry, sorry,” he stutters, but he doesn’t stop, not even close. He continues thrusting upward, hitting it over and over, setting your nerves ablaze.

“Wait, please, please— it’s my third— can’t— please,” you gasped, patting at his chest furiously.

“Sh, sh, just— a— bit— ha— hold on—“ his fingers were digging into your hips, his eyes scrunched in concentration. “Close, close— m’sorry.” The oversensitivity and his continued assault were far too much. You crumbled on top of him, bursting into tears, each cruel stroke snapping a hot tear loose, tumbling down your cheek in streams.

“Can’t anymore— fuck—“

“Sorry, sorry— close.”

You could only sob brokenly in reply, your head falling forward in delirium. His hand came up to caress the back of your head, steadying you, holding you right against his face. Your foreheads touch, and you bump the tip of your nose into his, focusing on how they would connect and disconnect, bumping in tandem with each thrust. You muster out a sweet smile at the motion, giggling, so out of it, your eyes staring so deeply into his sea of green.

He looked up at you, his face wet—with sweat or tears, you don't know—but so in awe. You were both panting into each other. He tilted your chin up lightly, connecting for a deep, deep kiss.

“So so close,” he chants as you part from him. You nod along furiously, dumb in another world. “Mm, sorry, just a bit more.”

In the corner of his eye, just slightly, there were sparkling, lingering droplets. Tears. Not sweat. They fall when he squeezes his eyes shut again, caressing his freckles ever so gently, hypnotically as they slide off his chin.

Your tongue darts out momentarily, suddenly overcome with the urge to devour him.

Salty.

You could taste your own tears intermingled with his on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to savor it. Forever. Taste him infinitely.

Closer. closer.

It's not close enough. You wanted to wear him, wanted to be welded together, wanted him in you so deeply, injected in your veins to have him overtake your every sense, to eat him alive, consume him, flesh, blood, bones and all.

When he finally came, it was so quiet, a gasp he muffled into your lips with a heated kiss, so soft, so gentle. Wet cheeks pressed together, fused into a mess of tears and sweat.

Instant panic sets in. You’re immediately awake, the tiredness and post-coital haze completely snapped away. You disconnect your sticky, damp foreheads and your aching, numb body, shifting back to the back of his thighs.

“Wait, hold on, Izuku—”

You dart your hand out, shakily, panicked, hurrying to catch the stray tears on his cheek. What were you thinking? He really fucked your brains out. Why were you licking his damn tears?

“I- I’m sorry”, he's crying, full on, staring up at you.

Your stomach turns to ice.

“What?! Why? What are you talking about? Why?”

“Uhm, did I… hurt you? I know you didn’t say the word but…” his voice is almost a whisper, a breeze against your damp cheeks. He’s looking at you with wet, teary eyes. And oh, he’s so beautiful, you couldn’t help it.

“No, no, why would you think that?” you’re panicky, reaching to stop another loose tear from trickling down, so much tenderness swelling in your heart seeing him like this. You cradle his face with trembling hands, like you were shielding the last flames on earth from a furious storm.

He smiles meekly. “Uh, it’s just—”

His eyes are so beautiful, you were staring into them in complete awe. He’s so beautiful when he’s crying.

“Uh… I feel bad about making you— uhm— put up with me for so long today. I’m sorry.”

“What?! No—” you groan, baffled, all concern snuffed out in an instant. Not this shit again. “No, no, this was incredible. I loved it.”

His already huge eyes widen impossibly more, staring at you with stars in his eyes.

“Okay, m’ sorry, I was just worried,” he murmurs, looking away again. You immediately tilt his face back, framing it in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

You couldn’t get enough of his teary eyes for some reason, every breath taken from you again. You sat still on top of his legs, just for a moment, taking every inch of him in with a new surge of appreciation.

You pull your faces together, so you could feel the universe stretch for a moment longer between your feverish foreheads and the tips of your noses. You want to cherish it for eternity.

Moments pass. You feel his eyes dart up to yours before he slowly parts himself from your hold, the tears now dried.

“Uh— what—” he starts, voice cracking slightly, his eyes searching yours. “What are— what…What is this?”

You sniffle, your voice so small as you avoid his intent gaze.

“It can be whatever you want.”

Silence. Uncomfortable silence. You could feel him thinking against you in that overwhelming Izuku-way.

“I want it to— uh,” he’s scratching the back of his neck again, so beautifully himself, a faint blush blooming under his cheeks as he mirrors you, looking off into the distance. After a pause, he brings his hands up to tilt your face to look at him.

“I want to take you out—” he settles. “On a date, I mean.”

What?

Is this real?

This is too good. He wants to take you out?

Fucking Izuku Midoriya?

“Wait— are you serious?”

“No,” he rolls his eyes fondly, laughing, but it’s not his teasing kind. “Yes, of course I’m serious.” He clears his throat, his voice soft but firm.

“Can I take you out?” he repeats again, his wide green eyes so, so bright they put the stars to shame.

The sun had started peeking out in the early hours of the morning, tinting his freckled face ever so lightly with an orange hue that you wanted to get lost in. You were utterly spent and ravaged, a filthy concoction of fluids spilling out between your legs and smearing all over and yet his words made you blush more than anything.

"You minx! Not you pulling number four!"

Camie, your best friend and colleague, was currently propped cross-legged on your desk at the agency. She was, of course, the first person you had spilled to about your date later this evening.

“Okay, but real talk, babes. Did you…"

She made an exaggerated wink.

"Camie, what the fuck?! We're at work!" you whisper-yelled, aghast. You immediately snapped your head down, hiding the dopey smile that appeared at the mere implication.

"Oh, babeeee," she squealed, dissolving into a fit of maniacal giggles "He fucked you gooood."

"Shut up," you groaned, shoving her lightly before adding,

"And no, it was the other way around."

Lies.