𐔌 catching print | multi .ᐟ ֹ ꒱ִ
ᝰ.ᐟ cw: 18+, suggestive, awkward, playful/gentle teasing, embarrassment, light degradation, namecalling, light flirting, light humiliation (?), touya and shiggy may be a little mean, pervy!fem!reader, pre-relationship, features: kirishima, denki, sero, shigaraki, shoto and touya todoroki ( possibly ooc, don’t kill me, okay ?)
ᝰ.ᐟ synopsis: catching print w/ the boys
ᝰ.ᐟ a/n 💬: multis are hard … sorry if some of the dialogue is hard to see (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞, but i changed my layout once again ! tumblr now has black text instead of purple and i like the way it looks on my enddd yayayay
eijiro’s voice is a little breathless already, shoulders settling against the bench as he adjusts his grip on the bar. you’re right behind him, hands hovering where they should be, close enough to help — but not to touch.
you nod, giving him a quick “yeah! yeah, go ahead,” and he doesn’t hesitate for even a second, he trusts you completely.
his reps start smooth and steady. you’re watching — at first. tracking the bar, his breathing, the rhythm of it. but somewhere in the middle, when he shifts slightly to steady himself, your focus slips. just for a second. your eyes drop without thinking, catching the way the fabric of his shorts pulls and settles with each movement, and before you realize it — you’re staring. not even intentionally, right?
your eyes slip lower to the solid print straining against his gym shorts, thick and unmissable, and you stare at his bulge there, mesmerized by how it fills out the fabric, mentally ranking him high: definitely a girthy one, the kind that'd stretch you just right—
“…you still with me?” he asks, voice strained but light, snapping you out of it as he sits up.
you realize your eyes were glued way too low, staring at his bulge as it moved with him. “y-yeah,” you answer quickly, eyes jumping back up. “you’re good!”
he finishes the set with a sharp exhale, racks the weight, and sits up, rolling his shoulders. everything feels normal for about half a second — until he pauses mid-reach for his towel and glances at you.
he’s quietly aware, his gaze dips for a split second before returning to your face, softer now, a little amused. “y’know,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a small, awkward laugh, “usually my spotter’s watchin’ the bar.”
he tilts his head, following where your attention was. “were you... checking me out?” there's no accusation, just playful curiosity, his red eyes sparkling.
your cheeks heat up. “no, i was just— zoning out.” but even as you say it, you steal another glance, staring briefly at his bulge again, confirming his solid d.
he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, a little flushed himself. “zoning out, huh? looked pretty focused to me.” he flexes his legs a bit, like he's testing, and damn if it doesn't make the outline more pronounced, feeding right into your pervy thoughts as you stare once more.
heat floods your face instantly as you try to recover, words tripping over themselves, but he just shakes his head, he shifts a little where he’s sitting, suddenly aware of himself too, like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind until now. “…that a thing you do?” he asks after a moment, genuinely curious.
you hesitate, then sigh, giving in. “n-no, it’s called catch printing…”
he repeats it slowly, then glances down again, this time with some actual understanding. there’s a pause while he processes, shoulders shifting slightly before he clears his throat, a quiet laugh slipping out under his breath.
“…so you were—” he starts, then cuts himself off, shaking his head. “man…”
he tries again, softer this time, a little shy but still curious. “…did you, uh… come to a conclusion?”
“eijiro!—“ you groan, covering your face.
he laughs, hands coming up in surrender, but he doesn’t move away. if anything, he stays right there, warmth lingering in the space between you.
“…sorry, sorry. just caught me off guard,” he says, still smiling faintly. then he shifts again—subtle, but noticeable now that you’re both more aware of it.
there’s a small pause before he adds, quieter, almost to himself, “…kinda makes me wanna prove you right, though.”
“nah, wait, watch, this is the best part—”
denki sprawled on the couch beside you, legs manspread wide in those loose joggers, already halfway into your space, shoulder bumping yours as he shoves his phone closer, replaying the same instagram reel like it somehow gets funnier every time.
he’s laughing before the funny part even shows, leaning into you without thinking, completely caught up in it.
you lean in too, trying to follow along — really, you are — but the proximity makes it a lot harder than it should be.
somewhere between him shifting closer and getting comfortable, your attention slips. just briefly. your eyes flick down without thinking, catching the faint curve there, not huge but teasingly curved, enough to spark your imagination, and you stare at his bulge, eyes tracing the shape through the fabric, slotting him mid-rank, possibly a b.
“…yo,” he’s already watching you, just grinning wide and knowing. “whoa, what’s that look for?” denki says, pausing the video as he peers at you.
you freeze instantly, like you’ve been caught mid-thought, and slowly look up. “huh? nothing,” you reply too fast, but your mind's still tracing that print, wondering how it'd feel twitching under your touch, your eyes having just been staring at his bulge so intently.
he smirks, shifting so his thigh brushes yours. “you sure? ‘cause your eyes were like, laser-focused down there.” he wiggles his eyebrows, but there's a hint of real curiosity, his own gaze dropping briefly like he's checking himself, aware of how you were staring at his bulge.
you laugh it off, but inside you're buzzing — pervy habit kicking in hard. “n-nobody’s worried about you, denki.”
“…you weren’t even watching,” he says, tilting his head, eyes flicking down deliberately this time before returning to yours. “were you?”
“mm, no,” he cuts in, laughing under his breath. he shifts his legs slightly just enough to feed into those perverted thoughts of yours — and leans in closer. “you were definitely lookin’ somewhere else.”
your face burns as you try to deny it, but he’s not buying it for a second. if anything, he looks more entertained the longer you try. “that’s crazy,” he murmurs, like he’s genuinely impressed.
you huff, crossing your arms, trying to recover some dignity. “…it’s just a thing.”
“…a thing,” he echoes, clearly amused.
you hesitate, then mumble, “catching print.”
there’s a beat of silence, then his expression lights up instantly. “ohhh,” he drags out, grin widening. “nah, i’ve heard of that.”
of course he has, that chronically online bastard.
he nudges you with his shoulder, clearly enjoying this way too much. “you just look and guess, right? people be ranking it and everything.”
you don’t answer, which is basically enough confirmation for him.
“…damn,” he laughs, leaning back slightly before glancing down at himself like he’s actually evaluating. “so what’d i get?”
“what?” he presses, grin sharpening. “you started it.”
you hesitate, then mumble it under your breath. “…an a.”
there’s a moment of silence — which is rare when you’re with denki, just long enough to make you regret saying anything.
“an a?” he repeats, mock offended.
then he readjusts slower this time and looks back at you with narrowed eyes, playful but a bit intense. “…you sure about that?” he murmurs with a lick of his lips.
your breath catches as he leans in just a little closer, voice dropping into something quieter, more teasing. “wanna test that theory, pretty liar?”
hanta’s voice is absentminded, attention focused entirely on your notebook as his pencil moves like he’s been given full creative control. one arm hooks loosely behind your chair, leaning into your space like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you glance down and, sure enough, there’s another little spider-man doodle creeping into your notes.
“you’re ruining my work,” you mutter, though there’s no real attitude behind it. you love hanta and his random doodles.
“nah,” he hums, tilting his head as he adds another line. “i’m improving it!”
you roll your eyes, but your attention doesn’t stay there. it drifts without meaning to, pulled downward for just a second. then a second longer.
“something on your mind?” hanta asks, voice light as he feels your eyes drawing down to stare at him.
“not at all,” you say, but your pulse quickens, pervy gears turning as you imagine unwrapping that, your stare having been so obvious.
he chuckles softly, “you’ve got that look... like you’re measuring me up or something.” his dark eyes glint with amusement as he continues sketching.
you shrug, playing cool, though your gaze flicks down once more — staring at his bulge to confirm the promising length. “….just watching you draw.”
“…mhm, y’know,” he says casually, causing you to freeze. he’s still drawing and hasn’t even looked at you yet. “…that’s not really what you’ve been starin’ at.”
your head snaps up too fast, denial already forming as he finally glances over, one brow raised, a small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth. “you always this obvious?” he murmurs with a smug smirk.
you look away immediately, heat creeping up your neck. “just... catching print,” you admit under your breath, the words slipping out after all that staring.
“…ah,” he tsks out loud, with no surprise.
you blink, surprised. “…you know?”
“kinda,” he shrugs, spinning the pencil between his fingers now. “seen it on tiktok, denks showed it to me.”
you groan under your breath, which only makes him laugh softly. “so what,” he continues, leaning just a little closer, voice dropping slightly, “you really are sizing me up or something?”
“mm,” he hums, unconvinced. then he shifts where he’s sitting — casual enough to pass, but not accidental, then taps your notebook like he’s bringing the focus back, even though his eyes are still on you.
“c’mon,” he adds, quieter now, “don’t go quiet on me, i would like to know…”
you don’t answer, and that silence says more than anything else could and he watches you for a second longer before his smile deepens into something a little more playful. “…guess i’ll just have to give you something better to focus on next time, maybe i’ll give you a taste later,” he mutters with false nonchalance laced in his voice.
“wait, you skipped a step.”
shoto slides your notebook back toward you, pen hovering as he points out the mistake with quiet precision. you nod, following along, trying to stay focused on what he’s saying — but your attention slips, just briefly, right? your eyes dart, catching the straight, firm print against his uniform pants.
"is there something wrong?" he asks, interrupting your thoughts as he’s looking up at you.
you blink. “what? no.” your voice comes out too quick, and you shift in your seat, hoping he doesn’t notice the heat creeping up your neck. “just... the equation’s tricky. keep going?”
"...you stopped writing," he notes as he tilts his head slightly, heterochromatic eyes steady. "you seem distracted." he sets the pen down, shifting in his seat — the motion making the swell more apparent for a breath before he picks up again, voice even. "if it's the notes, I can go slower." but the subtle pause in his gaze suggests he knows it’s not that at all.
you stiffen slightly. “i-it’s fine !— i’m listening.”
he doesn’t respond right away. instead, there’s a small pause and then his eyes drop subtle, like he’s retracing whatever just pulled your focus.
when he looks back up, his expression hasn’t changed much, but there’s something more thoughtful behind it now. "...what were you looking at?" he asks, completely serious.
you hesitate. “…nothing.”
there’s a pause as he studies you, quiet and observant in a way, before his gaze lowers again — this time slower, more deliberate. you feel it, the way he’s putting it together piece by piece. "was it something here?"
your stomach tightens. “it’s nothing, really.”
he doesn’t drop it, geez shoto.
"...it didn't seem like nothing," he replies, voice even. another pause follows, then, quieter. "...you were looking at me."
your face burns instantly as you grit out. “i wasn’t!—”
he tilts his head slightly, watching you. not convinced. "where...," he asks with a slight hesitation, "were you looking...?"
you stare at him, mortified, but he doesn’t look away — he just waits, patient in that way he always is when he wants an answer.
you exhale sharply. “…it’s just a thing.”
you hesitate, then mumble, “…people look and try to guess.”
you gesture vaguely, already regretting this. “…size.”
there’s a pause as he processes that quietly. "...based on how it looks through clothing," he repeats, slower now.
you nod, avoiding his eyes. “and they rank it. like — a, b, d. it’s stupid, sorry, shoto.”
there’s a little bit of silence for a bit, then, "...i see." you risk a glance at him, but he’s already looking down again. "..and you were doing that?.." he says.
you cover your face. “shoto—”
"was your estimate correct?" he asks.
he looks back up at you, completely serious. “if the point is to estimate, then accuracy would matter.”
you make a small, mortified noise of embarrassment, and his gaze softens as he watches you with a small grin. “if it makes you feel better, i’ll let you see…”
the patio is quiet, touya’s sprawled across the couch, legs spread, one arm thrown over the back while the other loosely holds a cigarette. smoke curls lazily into the air as he talks, voice low and disinterested.
you’re across from him, nodding along, trying to pay attention — but your focus slips, your gaze drifts downward into his lap and stays there.
your head snaps up immediately and he’s already looking at you, expression flat but edged with something faintly amused. not surprised in the slightest, though. “huh?—”
“what are you doing, huh?” he cuts in, sharp enough to stop you mid-sentence. your stomach twists as he exhales slowly, eyes dropping — following the exact same path yours just did before lifting again. “…you’re so fuckin’ weird,” he mutters.
heat floods your face as you try to recover, shaking your head, but he doesn’t give you much room to.
“you were so,” he adds, more firmly this time and you go quiet, open to his possible scolding.
he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he looks at you. “…that get you off or something?” he asks.
you hesitate, then mumble, “…n-no.”
he scoffs under his breath. “uh-huh...”
you huff, a little defensive, but he just watches you for a second longer before leaning back again, settling deeper into the couch. “…so what,” he continues, voice lower now, “you tryna figure it out?”
you don’t answer and he clicks his tongue, unimpressed. “…well if you’re gonna stare,” he mutters, “at least don’t act shy about it.”
there’s a pause, the air heavier now, before he adds. “c’mon, weirdo.”
the game glitches at the worst possible moment and he loses instantly.
“tsk, fuck!—” tomura leans forward, his irritation immediate. all of his fingers except his pinky tighten around the controller like he might snap it, but then he pauses mid-motion, something else catching his attention.
in the midst of his rage, your eyes drifted and settled on the way his loose pants slightly bulged, the outline capturing your attention. you found yourself mentally assessing him, considering him a risky b+, something that could easily decay your self-control. “…the hell are you staring at?”
you freeze, realizing too late that you’ve gone completely still, your gaze still longing on him. “n-nothing!—”
he turns his head slowly, eyes landing on you before dropping and following your line of sight without hesitation. “…you’re a pervert,” he says flatly, but there's a rasp to it, like he's not entirely mad — more so intrigued, scratching at his neck as he shifts, making the print more evident.
you swallow, heart pounding, “…caught me,” you mutter, voice small but laced with that thrill, after staring so blatantly and feeling bad.
he huffs, controller forgotten. “yeah, you’re fucking obvious. what, sizing me up like some creep?” his eyes bore into you, but he doesn't move away, legs parting just a fraction, inviting the stare, or maybe challenging it, despite himself.
“shiggy…,” your face burns as you look away, trying to deny it, but he cuts you off just as quickly. “no, no, don’t give me that. yeah, you are.”
you shrink back slightly, but he just leans into the couch, one hand coming up to scratch at his neck while the controller rests loosely in the other.
tomura's lip then curls, almost a smirk. “you're into that shit?” but his voice lacks bite as he leans back.
at your silence, a faint huff leaves him, something almost amused under it. “…hm,” he breathes, glancing over his shoulder, “…alright then.”
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