null's batcave

“I have a confession to make,” he started, and you frowned immediately.

“What?” You blinked a few times. “R-right now?”

“Yeah,” he replied simply.

“I grabbed your phone today, ‘cause mine died. I just wanted to check the weather… and a notification from Twitter popped up,” he said, thrusting into you again, slower this time, like he wanted you to feel every second of it. “And I looked.”

“Izuku— Now… ngh, now’s not the time to talk a-about that,” you stammered, your voice shaking, your brain barely holding it together.

“In fact— now is actually the right time,” he chuckled, hips rolling again. “You created your little world there,” he continued, the teasing slipping. “The tweets about me are so bold.”

“You shouldn’t know about these,” you shook your head quickly. Your worst and nastiest thoughts flashed behind your eyes. You felt an immense embarrassment, instantly regretting that you still haven’t deleted them.

“I already made my top three. Do you wanna hear them?”

“Izu—” you moaned, louder this time, because of course he chose that moment to move again.

“Do you?” he asked again, not letting you escape.

You squeezed your eyes shut, exhaling hard.

“Fine— God, tell me,” you gave in, because there was no way he was dropping this. Not now or... ever. He could be such a menace and always at the worst moments.

“Okay—” he chuckled softly. “There was a tweet about you wanting me to bend you over my desk, rip off your tights, and fuck you from behind while your face is— smushed against the surface. Is that right?” he said, like he didn’t know. Like he hadn’t probably read it.

“Yeah— everything is correct,” you muttered, trying to steady your breathing, your hips betraying you as they moved up to meet his.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmured, almost thoughtful, as his large, scarred hands found your hips, holding you right where he wanted you. “This could have been solved a long time ago…”

“I posted this— ugh, right after we met,” you explained, breath coming out uneven.

Izuku smirked.

“So what… I just smiled at you and you already imagined me bending you over?”

“You smiled really nice,” you let out a small, breathy chuckle.

He grins and shakes his head.

“Okay— next one,” he quickly says. “It was about me stripping you naked, putting you in my lap, spreading your legs and fingering you in front of a mirror,” he said, voice dipping just slightly as his hips snapped into you again, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips.

“So? When did you write this?” he asked, his impatience slipping through, making you groan.

“Ah— when… we went out for drinks and— I was pretty drunk,” you struggled through the words. “You helped me to the bathroom and there was this big mirror and I just… thought about you holding me… and you know…”

“Even when you’re drunk, you fantasize about me?”

“That’s when— I do it the most,” you squeezed your eyes shut as he hit that spot again, your legs trembling around him.

“Are you ready to hear the last one?” he asked suddenly, stopping completely.

The loss made you whine instantly as he pulled out, leaving you empty.

“Yes,” you panted, looking up at him.

He was on his knees between your spread legs, hovering over you, his body sweaty, his cock glistening with your slick, abs on display, chest rising and falling. He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing his curls back.

“This one we can actually try—” he said, that teasing smirk back on his lips.

Before you could react, his hands were on your shoulders, flipping you over, your face pressed into the pillows. He guided your arms back, pulling your hands together behind you.

You frowned when nothing happened for a second— then shivered when you felt it.

A pressure— something cold around your wrists.

The black whip.

“What’s missing?” he hummed, dragging a hand to his chin like he was thinking it through, eyes scanning you slowly.

“Ah— right!”

His hands came down to your hips, lifting you slightly.

“Yes, just like that— arch for me, yeah?” his voice softened, and even without seeing him, you could feel that smile.

Once you were exactly how he wanted, he brought himself back to you, his hand gripping your ass as he dragged the tip along your wet folds, making your breath hitch—

Then he pushed in slowly.

You felt everything. The stretch, the way he filled you again, every small movement sending shivers straight through your body. A whine slipped out as you pushed back against him, trying to get more, faster— but he clicked his tongue.

“Now— don’t rush this,” he scolded, slipping back into his teacher mode just for a second. “Tell me when you wrote it.”

You groaned.

“Ugh— when… that villain attacked during the sports festival… and— ngh!” your voice broke as he moved again, deeper this time. “You used your black whip to stop him… you were so good at it… the way you moved it…”

“Izuku— please, move faster,” you cried, trying to shift again, but his hold didn’t budge.

“Oh— you are so undisciplined…” he sighed. “At least the villain listened when I told him to give up.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“You, on the other hand…”

He let you go insane a little— before finally giving in.

His grip tightened on your hips as his pace picked up, harder and faster, making your whole body jolt with every thrust. The rhythm broke into something sloppy, his control slipping just as much as yours. Grunts and groans left his lips, mixing with your broken cries and moans for more.

You could feel it— every twitch, every movement— until he pushed through a few more thrusts before pulling out, warmth spilling across your lower back.

Your body jolted slightly, your own release hitting you right after, everything going white for a few seconds.

You were left breathing hard, completely spent, barely aware of anything until you felt the pressure around your wrists finally disappear.

Izuku leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder, already reaching for tissues in order to clean you up.

“Izuku,” you panted, and he looked at you, worried something might have happend.

“Don’t you ever look at my Twitter again,” you tried, but your voice came out weak, barely convincing.

He laughed at your weak threat, then shook his head.

“But look at the fun we had,” he pointed out easily.

You've seen him around the building a few times, never really having too many chances to talk to him aside from when you run into him in the basement.

He lived a quiet life, totally different from the side of him the world sees. The only people you'd ever seen filtering through his apartment were his mother and some of his high school friends.

He was well-known in the building, and he definitely brought the establishment a good name - the kind of person to carry groceries for neighbours, or treat the building staff to dinner as a thank you. It seemed like hero duty never really stopped for him, even when he was off the clock.

Yet even someone so perfect can hold secrets so shameful.

Today was one of those not-so-dreadful days.

You chose to go downstairs later than usual in hopes of not running into the man. Work was kicking your ass, already running late to an important meeting at the agency. The bags under your eyes would be noticeable to anyone, even if they were standing 20 feet away. And although you're sure an interaction with Izuku Midoriya might make your day a little better, you wouldn't want to be caught dead looking like this. 

But of course, the universe had different plans.

"C'mon, please," you huff. You're on your knees in front of the machine, the loud noises echoing repeatedly, as if it were angry. Frustrated, you settle on choosing a different one. The sounds of the former still playing in the distance.

Before you can make it to the next one, you feel your body collide with something. The hard force sends your freshly washed clothes tumbling to the floor. You groan at the sight of multicoloured fabrics covering the ground, heat rushing to your cheeks before you bend to pick them up. 

A scarred hand reaches out at the same time as you, fingers brushing as you pick up the articles.

Just great. And of course, he's caught you on the worst possible day.

"I'm really sorry," he says, placing the clothes back into your basket. 

You watch as he picks the items off the floor, each piece slightly more provocative than the last. A faint blush covers his cheeks as he picks up the last piece on the ground, a green ball of lace sitting between his fingers. You try to ignore how he holds them for a moment longer than the rest before you snatch them out of his hands, shoving them to the bottom of your basket.

"No, it was my fault, I didn't see you there," you say, standing up awkwardly with your laundry basket resting on your hip. Your gaze finds the pile of now dirty clothes resting in your arms. 

He notices the slight gloss in your eyes, shoulders raised and arms fidgeting with the plastic basket. You've never been the most talkative type, but he can tell the usual whimsy you carry is missing today.

"Looks like I'll have to wash these again," you giggle, hoping to break the awkward silence and calm your racing heart. Silently, your mind is spiralling. The clock on the wall mocks you with every tick, your boss's voice growing louder and louder in your head. When he stays quiet, you're certain he's thinking that you're a total mess. 

"I can wash them," he says.

You blink at him, a small hesitation before you speak.

"Are you sure? I can always do it when I come back," you question.

"No, no. It was my fault anyway, so please, I insist. If you stop by my apartment after work, I can have it ready for you," he says, bright smile plastered on his face. He doesn't leave much room for debate, taking the hamper from your hands and making his way towards an empty machine. 

Eyes fixed on his back, you watch as he throws your clothes and his into an empty machine. The appliance is surprisingly much more obedient for him than it's ever been for you. 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"O-ok. Yeah, thank you. I'll come by tonight," you say, your words rushed, legs already guiding you to the exit. The clock's ticking fades into the background as you ascend, green hair disappearing in the distance. You don't hear his response as you rush up the stairs, worries long forgotten, and your mind already shifting to the next task that awaits you. 

As soon as the door shuts, Izuku feels his shoulders drop. His hands coming up to cover his face as he feels heat spread throughout his body. He finds a seat in the corner of the room, thighs pressed together tightly as he tries to ignore the growing sensation.

You live in the apartment across from him. Your door is constantly decorated for the nearest holiday, and the sweet scent of baked goods and vanilla drifts through the cracks and into his complex. You leave dog treats for the neighbours' pets, water bottles, and granola bars neatly arranged on a little stool in the hallway.

It was hard not to know who you were, and he's never considered that a problem before. Until knowing so little about you stopped feeling like enough. 

Subconsciously, he started seeking out more chances to see you, timing his laundry trips so they lined up perfectly with yours. Over time, the two of you would fall into easy conversation in the basement laundry room, passing the hours talking about things like work or the current hero rankings. And slowly, it became his favourite part of the week.

And not just for the conversations the two of you shared. Especially not today.

He's always been proud to be a pro hero, helping people was his pride and joy. So, when he finds himself getting hard just at the sight of your underwear, the guilt is immense. Every time he sees you, he can't help but be infatuated, studying every blink, every twitch, the way your tongue brushes along your teeth.

He's not sure why you've got such a hold on him.

It was unethical. He knew that. What would the world think about the current #2 pro-hero imagining such suggestive things about an innocent civilian?

The creaking of the stairs pulled him out of his spiralling thoughts. Mrs. Tadashi, the elderly lady from two floors up, graces him with a small, warm smile.

"Could you help me with my laundry, dear?" she asks, arms already reaching out to steady herself.

He ignores the way his heart races, moving to her side in aid, grateful for the distraction as he tries to mask the flush creeping across his cheeks.

…

Work was brutal. You somehow survived the day after being completely chewed out by your boss. Your head is pounding, even the soft click of your apartment door closing reverberating through your skull. 

Before you let yourself get too comfortable, the interaction with the pro floods back into your mind. 

Of course, the one time you're looking and feeling your worst is when you run into him. The thought of your clothes scattered on the laundry room floor, the way he blushed at the sight of your panties - makes heat rush through your body.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face, suppressing the thought as you head to his door.

The first time you knock, you're met with silence. The only sound was small groans from the other side of the door. 

'Maybe he's working out,' you think.

After a few more knocks, the door swings open, and the green-haired man is standing intimidatingly close to you. You can't resist the way your eyes trail over his body, realizing that he's not anywhere near as put together as he looked before. 

Hair dishevelled, and his face flushed light pink. His abs are on display, boxers peeking out from the waistline of his sweats. If he was working out, he definitely didn't look nearly sweaty enough for the amount of noise he was making a moment ago. 

He notices you're staring, clearing his throat before asking you to step inside while he grabs the clothes from his room.

"Sorry! Hope I didn't bother you…" You trail off, eyes wandering as you take in the sight of his apartment. It's modern. Sleek. The All Might posters and figurines on the shelf are the only real pop of colour. 

Well, that, and something else.

On the arm of his couch rests a small mound of green decorated with small flowers, a white substance barely visible on the material. 

Your face flushes as soon as you see it. You did not just walk in on your neighbour having sex, did you? 

As he returns to you, laundry basket in hand, the floral scent of the dryer sheets fills your senses.

"Here you g-"

"Thanks!" you say, cutting him off, grabbing the basket and heading out the door, "promise I won't make a habit of this. Enjoy your night!" you yell, door shutting in his face, leaving him at the entrance, both confused and flustered. 

You dump your clothes onto your bed, folding them before putting them in their rightful place. You've been at this for an hour now, since the interaction with Midoriya. Constant excuses popping up in your mind for what could describe the scenario.

Maybe he was just working out, or maybe he'd pulled a muscle. Maybe he spilled something on the couch and used a lace towel to clean it up?

That last one didn't seem too likely.

…

Where the fuck was it?

Your clothes that were once so neatly folded now covered the floor as you rifled through drawers and laundry baskets. 

You've never been the type to dress up just for a man, of course not. But even you deserved to feel nice after the week you'd had. Nothing wrong with wanting to wear nice panties on a first date, right?

The only problem is, they're nowhere to be found.

Your favourite pair. The only pair in your closet you'd ever justify spending over fifty dollars on. It had your initials embroidered on the waistband in white lettering, contrasting with the black lace of the fabric. It was an impulse buy on a random night, your best friend flaunting a matching pair. It didn't cover much, but that was sort of the point.

You'd taken a load down to the laundry room earlier today with Midoriya, having gotten a little closer to the green-haired man since your last interaction. It was possible that it got mixed with your other clothes, though it was highly unlikely. And weirdly enough, this hadn't been the first time things had disappeared for no real reason.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Fuck.

His hand freezes around his length, the material wrapped around his fingers suddenly falling to the floor. 

Knock. Knock. 

A soft call of his name came from the hallway.

He stumbles to the door, stuffing the fabric into his pants pocket. 

When he opens the door, you're standing there. A small smile sits on your face, eyes bright as you look up at him.

His gaze drops to your outfit before he can stop himself. The way the dress hugs each curve as if it were made for you. The way your breasts spill just over the top of the material, thighs exposed, and the curve of your ass visible to the naked eye.

He's never seen you like this, and he's not sure if he should be anxious or horny.

"You going out?" he asks, hands clasped in front of him, as he leans against the door. His mind races as he waits for your answer, hoping, praying that maybe you were just overdressed for a night out with friends. He tries to hide the way his smile falters, fists tightening at the thought.

"Yeah, just some guy from work I met the other day. Which brings me to why I'm here, actually," you start, eyes inspecting his face. "I'm missing this … thing from my closet, and I just wanted to know if maybe it got mixed up with your stuff a few weeks ago." 

He blinks. Green eyes squinting before he speaks.

"Oh? Well, you'll need to be a bit more specific…" he starts, scratching at the back of his neck. What you do miss is the way his heart pounds in his ears, his stomach twisting as he awaits your answer. 

You hesitate before you respond.

"Well, it's a little embarrassing, but I'm missing a pair of… unmentionables."

"Unmentionables?"

"Mhm," you hum.

"You mean, like underwear?

"Something like that," you start, the embarrassment of your request suddenly hitting you like a freight train. 

"Uh-huh… Well, what's it look like? Describe it to me," he hums, smiling at the way your thighs clench at the thought of the fabric. You roll your eyes at his question, annoyed at how he seems amused by your embarrassment. The question hangs between you two in a beat of silence.

"Well, it's black," you start, the door frame around his stature suddenly becoming much more interesting. "It has white lettering on the waist-"

Odd.

Barely visible from the angle that you're standing at, but clear enough to recognize the initials on the waistband. Your initials. 

In Izuku Midoriya's pocket.

There was no way.

"You know what, it's really not important," you laugh, pushing the thought down to the deepest pits of your mind. To think your neighbour had stolen a pair of your underwear was ridiculous. A pro hero at that.

He's confused at your withdrawal but doesn't think much of it.

"If you say so. I'll look around my place and see if I can find it. You still need me to grab those clothes from the dryer?" he questions, closing the door behind him and stepping out into the hallway. 

The realization of just how alone the two of you are settles, the faint hum of the elevator down the hall being your only companion. 

Right. 

You'd forgotten that you asked him to bring your clothes up, already predicting you'd be running late for your date tonight.

Your gaze flickers back down to the pocket of his sweats before you can stop yourself.

Black lace. White Stitching.

Your initials.

Your stomach flips.

Izuku Midoriya was many things: awkward, polite, almost painfully sweet. He was not the kind of man who stole a woman's underwear

..Right?

And if he did, what could he be doing with it? The thought lingers longer than it should, images of possible scenarios flooding your mind. The idea of him having the material wrapped around his fingers, intricate black lace between each digit. His hand wrapped tightly around his cock. If it were your underwear, does that mean he'd be moaning your name? 

You can't deny that he's popped into your head a few times at night, when you're so close to release and need just a little something to push you over the edge. And it does, he does without fail.

Heat creeps up your neck, quickly shoving the thought away with a shake of your head. You clearly needed to get laid if you were jumping to that. 

"Yeah, if you don't mind. Hopefully, this will be the last time, but I promise, dinner. I'll make it up to you." You smile, eyes coming up to stare at his green ones. The small freckles on his more visible now than ever before.

He nods, a curt smile on his face as he wishes you a 'Good night' before shutting the door. A hand comes over his face as he tries to suppress the heat in his body. 

What the hell was he doing?

He looks down at his pocket, where the faint outline of lace presses against the fabric. Embroidered letters barely visible.

He told himself it would be a one-time thing. He promised that he'd come clean about it, tell you that it had just gotten mixed up with his clothes from the first time.

His chest tightens. You were going on a date. 

The idea of you sitting across the table from some jerk, laughing at his jokes, getting to see you in an outfit he so greedily wants all for himself. It makes his jaw clench.

He doesn't know you the way he does. The way your eyes shift when you're embarrassed, how your thighs clench when, or how you wear darker coloured lingerie, cause that's when you feel you look your best. And he definitely didn't deserve to see you in that dress.

But he's not sure he really deserves to either.

He shouldn't be thinking about you like this.

..So why couldn't he stop?

The guilt of his actions is all he can think about. As he tries to ignore the raging hard-on between his legs. He figures a distraction is the best option; maybe Mrs. Tadashi needs more help in the laundry room.

As he makes the trip downstairs, filling the basket with your clothes, his imagination runs wild. There are 4 pairs in this load, excluding the ones that should barely count for fabric. So many colours, and so many designs.

One last time won't kill him, right?

Wrong.

The thought of you in that dress has made him impossibly hard, so much so that his hand alone won’t get the job done. What starts with one wrapped around his fist quickly turns to two, the third clenched between his teeth. He watches as they move skillfully along his length, hands working to feel every inch. His head thrown back in pure ecstasy, hips bucking into the tightness of his palm as he teeters on the edge of release. 

He's so, so close. 

His hands move faster, eyes shut tighter after each pump. Images of you wearing each pair racing through his mind, a wet spot forming where your pussy and his fluids meet. He bites hard when he cums, white spots coating the material held tight in his hands. Tears swelling in his eyes at the feeling of his release and small moans of your name muffled behind the fabric in his mouth. 

His chest heaves, and his grip around himself loosens. The fresh pile of laundry is sitting tauntingly in the corner of the room. The underwear in his mouth falls out of his mouth, the lace material sopping wet as it collides with his chest. His cock sits against his stomach, angry,  red. Enough so that it hurts for him to move. 

His chest heaves as the last tremor leaves his body, the room around him slowly coming into focus.

If he does want anything to come from this, he definitely needs to say something. 

This had to be the last time.

…

By the time you step off the elevator and walk down the hallway toward your apartment, heels clacking against the tile, you want nothing more than to get out of this dress and forget the night ever happened.

That date couldn't have gone worse. 

Neito Monoma had to have been the most self-centred person you'd ever met in your life. 

The topic of conversation never got the chance to stray too far from him; he would never allow it. And in the brief moments when it did, your mind wandered somewhere far less appropriate.

Green hair. Freckles.

And the very clear outline of your black lace panties in Izuku Midoriya's pocket.

You know the idea of your neighbour stealing your underwear should be disturbing. But you just can't see it that way. 

And that makes this whole thing feel so much worse.

You don't have much time to dwell on it before a knock sounds at your door, the man of the hour now standing in front of you, laundry basket in hand.

"I heard you come back," he says quickly. "I thought I should return these". 

If this were true, and Izuku Midoriya was in fact stealing your underwear, maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to find out why.

I mean, you did owe him dinner.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," you start. "Did you want to come inside?"

"Huh?"

"Did you want to come in? I do still owe you that dinner," you smile, grabbing the basket, pulling him into your complex. 

As he walks through the threshold, you notice just how out of place he looks in your cozy apartment. The way he stands awkwardly at the door before you offer him a seat, eyes wandering, taking in the decorations around the complex. His eyes also can't help but land on you. Still in that dress from earlier, the way it rises slightly when you reach for ingredients on the top shelf.

That familiar feeling rushing through his body once again.

"You know," you say, opening another cabinet, "I've been thinking about that thing I lost earlier."

He freezes in the chair.

"The thing?"

"Mhm, my 'unmentionables'," you giggle. Laughing at the name while placing a pot on the stove. "Did you ever find them?"

Green eyes snap to yours, intense, calculating. "Oh, right. The green pair you lost, right? With the flowers on it?"

You pause, brows raised and a smirk on your face. 

"I didn't mention anything about them being green."

He doesn't answer right away. 

His eyes flicker to the pot long forgotten on the counter, then to you. His jaw tightens as he runs through a dozen different excuses he could give you.

"…right," he says quietly, a faint blush on his cheeks as you laugh at him.

"Maybe you need to get your story straight, Midoriya."

The words come out light, almost teasing. But he knows what you mean. The look on his face changing instantly.

For a second, neither of you moves, before he changes that in an instant.

You're surprised when his hands grab at your neck, thumb tracing along the length of your windpipe. His hold is gentle, but tight. Like he's afraid that if he lets go, you might not be there. Like, this might not be real. You moan into his mouth as he squeezes, the movement forcing your mouth to open. He wastes no time slipping in his tongue, the muscle colliding with yours without hesitation. 

"Fuck you're perfect," he groans, hands wandering the valleys of your body. You slip your hand under his shirt, his abs tensing at the feeling of your cold fingers. Your hands fidget with the waistband, slipping into his pants and grazing over his cock.

Reluctantly, your lips part. Hands fidgeting with the zipper of your dress.

"Help me take it off' you ask, turning around and placing your hands on the counter. Thighs shifting against each other as you get more antsy by the second.

His hands trail up your sides, fingers tracking along the teeth of the zipper before they disappear.

"'M not sure I want to. Do you mind keeping it on?" he questions, hands rubbing along your thighs. 

You pause before looking back at him. He's on his knees between your legs, his eyes glancing at the spot between your legs.

"N-not that I don't want to see your body, you're gorgeous, just that, you look so good in it."

You smile at his answer, eyes rolling back when you feel him lifting it over the curve of your ass. 

You notice the way he pauses, eyes trained on the pair of panties hugging your curves.

"Izuku? Is everything okay?" you question, the position of your body suddenly seeming a bit too vulgar for the moment.

"Yeah just that, I've seen this pair before," he starts, thumb moving along your slit. The small patch of wetness growing with each stroke. "Couldn't help but picture you in it. Almost lost my mind just thinking about it."

You don't get a chance to respond to him, the feeling of him pulling the fabric down to your ankles being the only thought in your mind. You whine when you feel him nearing your heat. Hips writhing in anticipation.

"Please. Please, I need more," you moan, hands pushing your body back further in search of his tongue. He smiles at your desperation, gracing you with a small lick along your folds.

Your hands fly to his hair, breath hitching as he flicks his tongue. Each one reaching deeper than the last. Izuku Midoriya was acting like a starved man, hands holding you still as his tongue does all the work. Each time his mouth separates from your body, thin lines of your substances still connect you both.

Your thighs shake when you feel his finger press against your entrance, pushing it in until it reaches his knuckle.

"Is this okay?" he asks, standing up from the spot between your legs. His upper body pressed comfortably against your back, and his finger continuing its assault. You moan when you feel his cock against your ass, slowly grinding against your cheeks.

"Fuck. A-another one. Please. Izuku, hurry up," you whine, head turning to look at him. His lips find yours in a heated kiss. Not nearly as gentle as it was before. He smiles against your lips as he pushes another finger inside you, your slick allowing him to move effortlessly. He watches as your teeth dig into your lip, hole clenching as you near your release.

"Didn't like seeing you so dressed up for some other guy, baby. Made me feel so lonely," he says, fingers picking up in speed. You'd honestly forgotten about that guy, the only person on your mind that whole time being Izuku. The one who was fucking you so good right now.

"'M really s-sorry. Promise he was a j-jerk. 'M never gonna talk to him again. Only want you," you choke out, pussy clenching tighter around his digits. 

"You gonna cum?" he asks, fingers thrusting harder, faster. He smiles when you nod your head, coaxing you through every moment. His hand holds you steady when your legs twitch, his guidance being the only thing keeping you from smashing your head onto the counter.

He lets you catch your breath before he moves again, kneeling between your legs to lap at your juices. Not a single drop going to waste. 

Your legs are bound by the material around your ankles, wetness collected at the base. It was even better than he could've imagined.

His tongue trails along your neck, open and wet kisses moving up to your ear as he frees himself from the confines of his pants.

He was bigger than you'd imagined. His cock grazes his stomach, small beads of precum sitting on his tip. A faint blush grows on his cheeks when he notices you're staring.

"'M gonna put it in now," he says, lining himself up with your entrance. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?"

When you nod your head, he pushes in slowly. His tip disappears, and then the midline of his cock. He doesn't get to continue at this pace, though; the feeling of your hips pressing back against him forcing him to bottom out.

Your eyes shut at the sensation, a faint burning feeling mixed with absolute pleasure.

"So needy for me, hm?" he asks, slowly picking up the pace with his thrusts. He watches the way your ass collides against his hips, the base of his cock disappearing each time. You're clearly not in the right headspace to give him a verbal answer, mouth agape, cheeks pressed against the cold marble. Small puddles of drool collecting on your face. The only thing you can do is nod your head, before you're moaning again. Your hole squeezing around him after each thrust.

Your arms flail, searching for anything to keep you grounded as his thrusts get harder, deeper. Izuku, ever the gentleman, takes hold of them. Both of them held in one of his hands, crossed tightly behind your back. His body leans over yours, dark green hair tickling your ear. When he's this close, you can hear everything: the small moans when you tighten around him, the way he tuts as he watches the tears flow down your cheeks.

"Do you know what I was thinking about when I had your panties around my cock?" 

You groan, arms resisting against him as you try to cover your face. He was so close, lips just a whisper away from yours, his thrusts unrelenting against your hips.

"Ah, fuck."

"Yeah? You wanna know what I was thinking about? Need you to answer me, princess."

You turn your head to face him, tears glossing over your eyes as you look into his.

"Was thinking about how - fuck, how perfect you'd look on my cock. And what you'd look like walking around with my cum between your legs."

Your eyes squeeze shut, the overstimulation of it all pushing you to your climax. You can tell by the small stutter in his hips that he's close to, his dick hitting depths just short of reach before.

"Please, baby. C-can I cum inside? Need to. Need you so bad." 

Your small moan of approval is lost in the sound of his groans. His head thrown back as he thrusts deep into you, fearful of the idea of a single drop going to waste. 

Your legs are shaky, the feeling of his body against your back being your only solace. Warmth flows throughout your body, small drops of cum dripping onto the material beneath you. The once dark coloured fabric is now painted with spots of white.

Hesitantly, he looks at where your bodies connect, the sight making his eyes shut, reluctantly pulling out of you before he starts something he's not sure will ever end. He takes to his knees again, face aligned with your heat. He watches as his fluids seep out of you in globs.

His hands reach for the panties by your ankles, dragging them up until they cover your ass. 

You whine at the feeling, the cold substance mixing with the heat of your pussy.

It was just too good.

He presses a small peck to the damp part of the clothing, pulling your dress down to cover it. He laughs when you don't move, body seemingly frozen against the countertop.

"Hey. Still with me? " he asks gently, arms moving to pull you up. He's startled when your legs almost give out, body fully resting in his arms. 

After opening a few doors, he finds your room, your body resting comfortably in his hold. He places you down gently before flopping on the bed next to you, an arm draped lazily across your chest. 

For a moment, neither of you speak. A comfortable silence taking over the apartment.

Your fingers toy with the waistband of his shirt before you glance at him.

"…So," you say quietly, "how long have you been stealing my underwear?"

His eyes shut for a moment as he lets out a small breath, like he's been anticipating this question all day.

"So you knew?"

"I had my suspicions. But when I saw my favourite pair in your pocket, it kind of sealed the deal." You laugh, turning your body to face his. Your eyes squinting in discomfort as you remember the substance between your legs. "'M gonna need those back by the way, they weren't cheap."

"Yeah … I'm not sure you can wear those anymore," he smiles, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.

You blink at him slowly, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling inside you.

"Oh, Izuku … you're lucky you're cute."

green orbs find yours through the glass of the mirror, a knowing gaze etched on his face that only meant trouble. the tubes stripped from your grasp, quickly confiscated and wound tight in izuku's hand.

"waterproof, huh?" he mutters, staring at the product like a shiny new toy. his fingers brush past your shoulder as he points to another, "just like this one is? and this one?"

his mockery only sets you off, plucking the tube from his hand to tuck it away in your vanity.

"none of them work, izu. they just get all streaky and it ruins my face when i'm out with the girls ... i'm just checking for false advertising!" you huff, arms circled over his shoulders as you peer at him through decorated lashes. "don't you want me to look pretty?"

and izuku knows he shouldn't give in, shouldn't be a pushover just as he has been in times like these. but if his girl needs help, who is he to deny you?

"of course i do."

scarred hands trail the curvature of your body, tugging the hem of your shirt just enough to catch a glimpse of your bra. "but can't you look pretty without funding the entire company with my debit card?"

the smile on your face is answer enough, triumphant and cocky, like you knew just as well as he did that his complaints would fall on deaf ears.

even as you move him towards the soft sheets and press your body into his, he knows its only your feeble attempt to distract — a facade you both know he'll give in to the second your hand palms him through his sweats.

well, if he was buying the mascara, he deserved to test it just as much as you, no?

"i-izu .. izu, please—" you choke out a whine, face smushed against the pillows as you try to keep up. his pace is relentless — every slap of skin a punishing rhythm that brings tears of pleasure to your eyes.

the sheen on his face matches yours, green curls stuck to his forehead as he pants against your lips. warm breath mixing as he looks at you with a dazed stare.

“only the best for you, right? so we gotta — mmm — test it”

your eyes shut in pure bliss, lips caught between your teeth as you lose yourself on the way his hips slam into your wet cunt. a broken gasp slips free when he trails a hand down your front — squeezing over the valley of your breasts until it reaches your swollen nub.

the dam breaks.

"there it is" he coos, smile plastered on his face as a scarred hand swipes at your cheeks, flecks of black mixing with your tears. "think you can—fuck— you can count this one out too, princess"

the roll of his hips mixed with the circles on your swollen nub sends you into a haze, a feverish heat burrowing it's way into your chest as you writhe underneath him.

your fingers trench harder into the pillow, blackened tears forming a pool underneath you.

“izu-izuku, please. please.‘m gonna cum—“

the familiar coil building in your tummy as he moves against you in short, sloppy thrusts —each one forcing you deeper into the sheets. you splutter as he blanks a hand against your head, fingers entangled with the soft tendrils as he grunts against the shell of your ear.

the feeling only makes your cunt flutter, squeezing his length like a vice as tears spill down your cheeks.

“gonna have t’find one that can handle me, hm?” he starts, lips ghosting over yours as he speaks. “its okay, princess. i’m here to help now”

and if it meant you’d get to test them all like this - with the sheets stained black and your face smushed into the pillow…

you might need to add some more to your list.

© — tokkushin : all rights reserved. all works belong to me .ᐟ pls do not repost/copy, or feed into ai.

Izuku swears up and down that he could cum from just the taste of you on his tongue alone. You are so damn divine he just can’t fucking help himself. 

And when you drag your hands through his hair, pulling and tugging on his soft hair - Izuku swears he can see stars between his eyes.

He lives in between your thighs, wakes up with his tongue pressed against your clit and falls asleep once he gets his oral fix.

If it wasn’t for the way you’re begging him - pleading for him to stop - to slow down - to give you a break to catch your breath and breathe. If overstimulation wasn’t a problem then by the gods Izuku would be living with his nose bumping against your clit.

Forget about his own pleasure, he can jerk off to the memory of your thighs quivering - your cheeks flushing - your back arching - and the sound of your breathy voice, moaning out his name as you cum over. And over. And over again.

Until you’re nothing but a twitchy, sobbing, whimpering mess on your shared bed. 

And when he’s content with the state of your disarray, he’ll wipe his lips, flash you a sheepish grin and lean in to press his tongue against your own mouth, moaning softly.

Yea.

Izuku eats *your pussy like a starved man.

taglist [OPEN] : -

— DICK GRAYSON

— JASON TODD

— TIM DRAKE