#pwp fics

The bedroom was warm with late afternoon light, gold pouring through the gauzy curtains, and you'd had the house to yourself for hours. It wasn't often that all of the Jackson's were out at once.

Michael was working on something with Tito at a studio in the city, and he'd left you that morning with a slow, promisin’, sexually driven kiss against the doorframe; the heat of it had trailed you around all day like a hand, possessive, at the small of your back. It was infuriatingly annoying and it was riling you up.

By mid-afternoon you'd given up pretending to read your books. There was no patience for dense college textbooks. You'd read all you could take, but they were no longer serving as a distraction to your impending horniness.

You'd crept up to Michael's bedroom and fished the little pink vibrator out of your bag; a gift from your girlfriend weeks ago, after a conversation centered around 'spicing' it up in the bedroom. she pressed into your hands with a wicked grin and a: 

trust me, you'll thank me. 

Now you were sprawled across his pillows with your sweatshirt rucked up, chasing the ache he'd left you with, the low buzz of it lost under the record still spinning lazily on his turntable; Love Rollercoaster, loud and woozy in the glimmering afternoon light.

Thank god for new technology.

You were close. So close to it. You were almost sprinting after it deliciously, the music a backdrop of how you were feeling, building with intensity.

The song had warped into something dizzy and psychedelic, swelling in time with the heat low in your belly, and you pressed the buzzing toy harder against yourself, sprinting for the finishline.

Your head was full to the brim of him; his veiny hands, his wet, hot mouth, the weight of him on top of you, the way his rounded innocent eyes peered up over your pubic bone whilst he ate you out, the feeling of your hips rolling up into the line of his cock in his slacks on the couch, the sound of his breath coming fast and ragged whilst he neared his—

You didn't hear the car. You didn't hear the front door either.

You heard nothing until the bedroom door swung open and Michael walked in blazenly, peeling off his jacket, mid-sentence, totally distracted.

"—and Tito kept sayin' the bassline was fine but it was draggin', I could feel it draggin' the whole—"

You scrambled.

In one frantic, graceless motion you jammed the vibrator under the nearest pillow—that ridiculous Alice in Wonderland caterpillar cushion Michael adored—yanked your sweatshirt down to something less incriminating, and sat bolt upright against the headboard covering your naked bottom half with the duvet, heart slamming, face on fire.

"Hi!" you said, far too brightly.

Michael stopped. Blinked. He looked wrung out, curls sort of flat on top where the headphones had pressed against, dark smudges under his eyes where he'd messily drawn on his eyeliner; but something in him clicked the second he really looked at you.

"...Hi," he said slowly.

"How's the track?"

"A bit nonsensical, I guess." His eyes hadn't left your face, and you knew exactly what he was clocking: the flush down your throat, the sheen on your lip, your chest still going too fast.

He saw everything. He always did. "You okay? You're all—" He gestured at the entirety of you. "Red and sweaty."

"Well, uh, it's hot in here."

"It's really not that hot in here, Mother has the heat off because of the weather." He stared at you for a moment longer and then sighed dramatically.

He was clearly too tired to chase the reasoning as to why you seemed to be lying. He crossed to the bed with a low groan, toeing off his loafers.

"God, I'm wrecked. Eight hours arguin' with my brother about one silly line of sheet music." He flopped face-first across the mattress beside you, sighing into the duvet like he was lowering himself into his grave.

"Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Tito has wiped me out. He really did it this time."

You bit down on a slightly hysterical laugh, painfully aware of the small hard shape buried in the bedding inches from his hands. "Poor baby."

"Mm." He stretched then, luxuriously, the way he always did—arms flung up over his head, hands sliding up under the pillows, his whole long body arching out with a contented little sound—

And his fingers closed around something.

He went still.

You stopped breathing.

"...What's this," he mumbled into the duvet, eyes still shut, his hand pawing at it. He dragged it out from under the pillow and lifted his head to squint; small, pink, smooth, faintly ridiculous in his long fingers. He turned it over and frowned. "What is this? Is this one of those gadgets—"

His thumb found the button.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzt.

The thing roared to life in his hand and he startled so hard he nearly flung it across the room, jerking up onto one elbow.

"Oh."

The single syllable hung there. You watched the realisation land on his face; the buzzing toy, your scarlet face, the rucked-up sweatshirt, the way you'd been sitting up bright-eyed and breathless when he walked in… every piece clicking into place at once behind his eyes.

His gaze lifted to yours. Very, very slowly.

"...Oh," he said again. Completely different. Low. Almost delighted??

A grin breaking across his exhausted face, the studio forgotten, all that quiet knowing focus kindling. He let it keep buzzing in his hand just to watch you squirm.

"You were busy," he said, "while I was gone."

"Michael—give it back—"

"What even is this?" He held it up out of your reach, examining it like he'd unearthed an ancient relic, fascinated and perturbed in equal measure. "I have never ever—where'd you even get this?"

"My friend gave it to me, okay, it doesn't matter—"

"Your friend..." He turned it over, thumbing it off and back on, jumping a little each time it buzzed. And then; because he was, underneath it all, just a guy, he brought it to his nose and sniffed it.

"MICHAEL."

"What!" He reared back, blinking, like he'd done something perfectly reasonable. "I wanted to know if—"

"Why would you smell it—"

"I don't know!" He was laughing now, scandalized at his own hand. "It's instinct! You see a thing, you wanna know—I wasn't thinkin'—"

You lunged for it; but he held it up out of reach, and then you were both gone with laughter, helpless, you behind your hands and him snorting into the pillow, the awful mortified tension breaking apart into something warm and giddy, the way it always did with the two of you. You could laugh in the middle of anything.

"Okay—okay—" He wiped his eyes, still chuckling, and thumbed it off. The sudden silence was louder than the buzz had been. The record was now scratching repeatedly on the plastic label.

He set the small bullet on the nightstand, deliberately, out of your reach, and turned the full weight of that focus back on you, all the tiredness burned clean out of him. "Very chill. Very normal. Nothin' to see here."

"Don't start," you warned, fighting a grin.

"You missed me that much, hm?" His voice had dropped now, gone soft and velvet, that teasing dark thread winding through it as he started crawling toward you across the bed, slow, all liquid grace, backing you gently into the headboard. His hand came to rest high on your thigh, thumb stroking. "Couldn't even wait for me to get home."

"You left me like that this morning," you accused, breathless, your laugh going unsteady. "Kissin' me like that and then just— leaving. What was I supposed to do?"

"Mm. I did do that, didn't I?" He didn't sound remotely sorry. He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm, his exhaustion transmuted entirely into something low and hungry.

"So tell me, baby. Did you finish? Before I walked in?" His teeth grazed your jaw. "Or did I get home right in time?"

You couldn't answer. Your face answered for you.

A slow, knowing smile appeared on his face. "You didn't." He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the grin he gave you was pure wicked warmth.

"You got yourself all worked up with your little pink toy... and you didn't even get to finish," he said in mock horror.

"...No," you admitted, mortified and molten in equal measure.

"That's a shame, baby." He kissed the corner of your mouth, slow, his hand sliding higher, his thumb tracing the crease of your hip. "All that. And nothin' to show for it." His mouth moved to your throat, where your pulse was hammering. "Lucky for you I'm home now."

He kissed you then, and it wasn't with the claiming heat of some nights you'd shared together, but something slower, fonder, a smile still pressed into it, his tongue licking warm into your mouth as his weight settled over you and eased you back against the pillows.

You melted into it, your hands finding the hem of his t-shirt, sliding up the warm plane of his stomach—but he caught your wrists, gentle, and pressed them back to the pillows with a soft tut.

"Nuh-uh. Not yet." His grin was wicked. "You don't get to touch yet. You had your fun without me—now it's my turn."

"That's not fair—"

"Mm. Life's not fair, m'girl." He worked your sweatshirt up your body, his knuckles dragging over your ribs, baring you to the gold afternoon light, and the teasing softened into something rawer, his thumb skating the underside of your breast. "Look at you. Already all flushed up for me and I barely touched you."

"That's your fault—"

"you got yourself into this mess" He dipped his head, his mouth closing hot over your nipple, and your back arched off the bed. "Mm. I'm gonna fix it. Gonna take real good care of you. Make up for leavin' you all day." His hand slid down your stomach, down between your thighs, and the first brush of his fingers through how wet you already were drew a groan out of him, low and undone, his forehead dropping to your collarbone.

"God. Y/N. You're soaked."

"I told you—"

"I know. I know you did." His fingers slid through you, slow, finding the slick aching heart of you, circling, and your hips chased his hand helplessly.

"And you tried to hide what you'd been doing, too." He clicked his tongue, mock-scolding, his mouth curving against your skin. "We don't hide things in this house."

"Michael—" you gasped, as two of his fingers sank into you, his palm grinding against your clit, picking up right where you'd been left aching.

"I've got you, m'love," he breathed, his rhythm slow and sure and devastating, watching your face come apart with that dark, rapt focus.

"Got you now. You can finish for me this time." A soft, wicked grin. "Much better than that little pink thing, hm?"

He worked you slow, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face, his fingers curling into that spot that made your hips jump while his thumb kept a lazy, maddening circle.

You were squirming, already close again; you'd been close for hours at this point—and he knew it, the little wretch, watching you climb and deliberately not letting you get there.

"You're doin' that on purpose," you panted.

"Doin' what?" All innocence, his mouth twitching against your skin where he was trying to pepper kisses along your neck.

"You know what—"

"I'm just bein' thorough." He lowered himself and pressed a kiss to your sternum, grinning against your skin. "I had a long day. I gotta concentrate on what I'm doing." And he eased off again, right as you tipped toward the edge, until you made a sound of pure outraged frustration and smacked his shoulder, and he laughed, totally elated, that bright real laugh, catching your wrist and pinning it gently to the pillow.

"Okay, okay," he relented, eyes dancing. Then a thought visibly arrived behind them, wicked and curious, and his gaze slid over to the nightstand. "...Hold on."

"Michael—"

"No, no, I wanna—" He reached over and plucked the vibrator up again, turning it in his fingers, that concentrated frown back on his face like he was studying a piece of equipment in the studio.

"Show me how you had it. When I came in. Where were you—" he thumbed it on, the buzz filling the room, and grinned at his own daring— "puttin' this?"

You buried your face in your hands. "I'm not—oh my God—"

"C'mon. Show me what you were tryna hide from me." He was laughing now, nudging your knee wider with his own, the toy humming in his hand. "I'm nosey, remember? I gotta know what I'm competin' with."

"You are not competing with it—"

"No?" He pressed it, soft, right where you needed it, and your whole body jolted, a cry breaking out of you. His grin went molten.

"Hm. There?" He circled it, watching you arch and grab fistfuls of the duvet, his own breath catching at the sight of you. "Oh, you like that. Look at you, baby. Okay. Okay, I see. I'm learnin'."

He was good at it, the teasing... that was the infuriating thing; of course he was, he was good at everything. he set that focus on reading you, easing the vibration against you and pulling it back, his face inches from yours so he could watch, his free hand pinning your arm to the bed so you couldn't intervene.

You were a mess, gasping, hips chasing it, and he was loving every second, soft little encouragements falling out of him;

that's it, there you go, let me see, you're so pretty like this

"Michael, I'm gonna—if you don't—pull it away—" you choked.

"I know. I know, baby, I've got you—" And this time he didn't pull back. He held it steady, his mouth on your throat, and you came apart with a cry, shaking, your hand flying to grip his wrist as it crashed through you. He worked you through it, gentling, murmuring into your skin, until your body felt like jelly and you were trembling against the pillows.

He clicked it off and set it back on the nightstand. Kissed your slack mouth, smug and tender at once. "There she is. M'beautiful dirty girl."

"I hate you," you breathed, with absolutely no conviction.

"Mm. You love me." He was still hard against your thigh through the blue denim, his own breath uneven despite all his composure. He pushed himself up off you and rose to stand beside the bed, looking down at the wreck of you; sweatshirt rucked up under your arms, skin flushed and gleaming, completely bare from the waist down, while he stood over you still dressed, disheveled, curls wild, eyeliner smudged. The contrast made you squirm.

"All day," he murmured, his fingers going to buttons of his white shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion to bare the lean plane of his stomach, the dark trail of hair below his navel and the little patches of white skin at his hip bones.

"I been thinkin' about you all day. Arguin' with Tito over one stupid line and the whole time I'm picturin' gettin' home to you." The belt came next, the metallic clink of it coming loose, then the button of his jeans. "And I walk in and find you already started without me."

"You left me like that—"

"I know I did." He shoved his jeans and briefs down and stepped out of them, unhurried, without a trace of self-consciousness, fully bare now and achingly hard while you were still half-tangled in your sweatshirt. He was magnificent, all long lines and elegant tension, the tip of him flushed dark pink.

"Lucky for you I'm home now. No more waitin'."

He leaned over the bed, his hands sliding under your hips, and dragged you bodily to the edge of the mattress until your ass was just off the side. He stepped between your splayed thighs, his hands rough and warm on the insides of your knees, pushing them wider.

"No more toys," he muttered, his eyes locked on where you were open and wet for him.

He grabbed his dick firmly and guided himself to your entrance and pushed in, slowly, so slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as your heat enveloped him. It was a deep, stretching, filling sensation that had you arching off the bed, a low moan dragged from your chest.

"That's what you needed," he breathed, sinking to the hilt and holding there, his head dropping forward.

He began to move then, with a rhythm all his own, not too eager, but devastatingly deliberate. Long, deep, rolling thrusts that struck something deep inside you on every stroke. His hands were on your hips, controlling the pace, holding you open for him. Deep, thundering thrusts.

"You feel that?" he grunted, his breath hot. "That's real. That's me."

You could only nod, your fingers scrambling against his sweat-slick back, your legs hooking around his waist to pull him deeper. He was everywhere, his scent, his weight, the sound of his skin against yours, the ragged puff of his breath.

But Michael's curiosity was a retched thing at times. It never switched off.

Halfway through a deep, grinding stroke, he stopped. His eyes, squeezed shut in concentration a second ago, snapped open; dark, hazy with pleasure, but a familiar glittering curiosity cutting clean through the fog.

His gaze darted sideways, landing on the pink vibrator where it still lay on the nightstand.

A slow, almost reluctant grin touched his swollen lips.

"Hold on," he rasped.

He pulled out of you abruptly, the sudden emptiness a shock. Before you could protest, he'd reached over and snatched the toy up. He stared at it in his hand, then at you, then at his own painfully hard cock, glistening with your wetness.

"I gotta know," he said, as if apologizing to himself. "Just… once. To see what all the fuss is about."

He thumbed the button.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzt.

He didn't hesitate. He pressed the buzzing head directly against the sensitive spot just under the swollen head of his cock.

The reaction was immediate and violent.

His whole body jerked as if electrocuted. A shocked, strangled sound—half-gasp, half-yelp—ripped from his throat. His knees buckled, and he had to throw a hand out to catch himself on the nightstand, knocking the lamp sideways. His head dropped forward, a shudder wracking his spine.

"Oh—Jesus—" he choked out.

He tried to drag it down the shaft, but his hand was trembling violently. The vibration was clearly too intense, too direct, overwhelming a body already wound past its limit from being inside you.

His hips began to stutter in tiny, frantic circles, completely involuntary. His breath came in ragged, punched-out pants.

"Too—GOD—it's too much—" he gasped, but he didn't let go. His curiosity was warring with sensory overload, and curiosity was losing.

His movements became jerky, uncoordinated. you witnessed a fine tremor run through his thighs. He was biting his lip so hard you thought he might draw blood, his eyes squeezed shut, his face a mask of agonized, over-the-edge pleasure. You'd seen him feel good so many times before, but this was borderline painfully pleasurable.

He was hovering on the brink, his body taut as a bowstring, controlled solely by the relentless, alien buzz of the vibrator. You could see the exact moment his control shattered.

His hand spasmed around the toy, holding it tight against him as his hips gave three sharp, abortive thrusts into the empty air above you.

"uhmhh—" The warning was a breathless, desperate unintelligible plea, but it was too late, he couldn't come back from it.

With a gut-deep groan that sounded pained, his body convulsed. \

He spilled in thick, hot pulses across your stomach and the rucked-up fabric of your sweatshirt, completely undone by it. His eyes had opened at that point, watching the ordeal happen in front of him, watching you and the shock at his premature release..

The vibrator fell from his limp hand, vibrating pointlessly against the carpet as he collapsed forward, catching himself on his forearms beside resting arms, his entire body trembling with the aftershocks.

He was panting, wrecked, his forehead pressed to the duvet beside you. A long moment of stunned silence hung in the room, broken only by the record scratching and the distant hum of the fallen toy.

You looked down at the mess cooling on your skin, then back at his bowed head. A slow, triumphant smile spread across your face.

"You," you said, your voice dripping with smug satisfaction, "are dead meat for that, Jackson."

He groaned, the sound muffled by the bedding. He didn't lift his head. "Shut up," he mumbled, utterly defeated. "It was a.... curious... inquiry."

"You inquired yourself right into an accidental finish," you teased, poking his heaving shoulder.

He finally lifted his head. His face was flushed, his eyes dazed and more than a little embarrassed, but a reluctant grin was tugging at his mouth. He glanced at the mess on you, then back at your face, his grin turning wicked. "Yeah, well." He glanced down again. "Looks like my curiosity made a mess of you, too."

He leaned in, his intent clear, and you laughed, kissing him lovingly on the mouth.

taglist:

First, went your pants — short’s tonight, the Texas summer was hot. You left them on the floor right where they slipped off your legs. 

He was rock hard in an instant. Because he knew that pair of panties. Black, simple, with a lace trim. He’d sat here a couple nights ago with them wrapped around his cock. Stroking himself until he’d cum all over them. 

It was nasty work, and wrong on so many fucking levels  and he knew that but at the same time, he couldn’t fucking care less. Messing with your AC unit was easy enough, and the way you asked him every time if he could take a look. “Damn thing isn’t working again,” while twirling your hair around your finger. Who’d deny you when you asked so sweetly? 

Neighbourly duties, ’s all. And who wouldn’t help you? Clocked pipes, loose porch step,  the busted AC unit or  helping you carry your groceries inside. Any reason he got to get into your house, to spend time with you. He’d pocket a pair from your hamper. Keep them for a bit. Like a trophy. Nose pressed into the gusset while he jerked off to you every night. Once he’d cum all over them he’d find an excuse to get back into your house. To return them. Slipped back into the laundry hamper. Always expecting you to find out this time around. But so far he’d gotten away with it. 

“Fuck,” he grunt, fist working his length steadily. Across the yard, you’d disappeared into the bathroom, to wash your face and brush your teeth and hair. By now you’d stripped down to just the black lace trimmed panties and a matching black crop-top he just knew you didn’t wear a bra under. 

But he would need to wait until you lost the top too, once you stepped out of the bathroom, to know for sure.

God the amount of times he had fantasised about watching you get ready from up close. Laying in your bed and waiting for you to crawl into bed beside him—-

His hand moved faster, twisting on the upwards motion when you walked back into your bedroom. His cock twitched when you reached for the hem of the top that rested barely a hand width below your glorious tits. 

Yeah. Just like he thought. You’d been bare under. Fucking tease. 

His breathing grew laboured, a string of quiet moans slipping past his lips. “Fuck babygirl,” he watched how you got the body lotion from your nightstand like you did every night. What a sight you were. Right there on display for him. Massaging the lotion into your arms, your shoulders, your chest. And you don’t even turn away from the window, no doubt convinced that since his home was the one facing your bedroom across a narrow strip of grass, no one could see you. Except here he sat, like every night, fingers around his cock, watching how your hands moved down, down, down until your fingers dipped past the waistband of your lace trimmed panties to ease them along your thighs and lower after that until they too dropped to the ground before your bed. 

Because of course, you slept naked. 

His balls drew tight, the sight of your body on display like that for him enough to sent him over the edge with a quiet moan. His hot release coating his fingers instead of your smooth skin. Fuck the thought of painting your skin with his cum or better yet flood your womb was enough to make his cock twitch again. 

Oh what he wouldn’t give for making you his. For making sure no one else ever got to see you like this. 

Joel could still make out your shape, barely covered by a thin sheet when he settled into bed too. Turned towards the window. Always turned towards the window now. 

“Night babygirl.” He breathed into the darkness, already having decided he’d need to pay you and your laundry hamper another visit.

──────────

He couldn’t hear you. Which was a true fucking shame. God what wouldn’t he give for hearing the quiet breathy moans slipping past your lips, or be the cause for them—- but alas. Joel could do nothing else but watch. Mesmerised, his cock in his hand, fist pumping steadily, while you wound yourself on bed and through the sheets. 

You must be ovulating. He counted three so far and there was no saying what he missed before coming up here to shower… who was to say how often you’d cum before that? 

At first he’d only watched. Legs falling open, fingers moving, teasing your own breast and the way you’d bowed off the mattress when you’d cum. Back arched, mouth open before laying in bed, catching your breath. But then you’d pulled a vibrator from the nightstand, and he’d gotten his cock out. 

Working himself while you’d quickly cum again. A responsive one, weren’t you? 

“God babygirl,” he groaned, his fist moving harder, faster. He’d wanted to draw it out, to time it and cum with you, but his balls draw impossibly tight when you shift onto your belly, hips rolling steadily against the toy. With a grunt he spilled his cum over his fingers for you, like he so often had since you moved in. 

And you’re still going. Hips rolling, bucking against the toy. 

It’s an impromptu decision, and not at all thought through. Fingers wiped, pants pulled up again, he’s at your front door not even three minutes later. 

“Just a moment, ‘m coming,” your voice run through the house, breathy and needy and god why the fuck did his spent cock twitch? He wasn’t some fucking teenager anymore. 

“Sure you are,” he huffed when it took another minute before he could hear you coming downstairs. Wearing one of your crop tops and shorts you’d no doubt thrown on quickly and with nothing under. 

“Joel, hi,” you greeted him, opening the door hair mused, voice still a little breathy and if he looked closer — which was what he always did, he could see that you were on unsteady feet. 

“Hey,” he greeted you and fuck he could swear he smelled it on you. The faint traces of sex and an orgasm, or two or three. He’d bet your thighs were still slick. “Finally got time to look at the shower,” you’d complained about a lack of pressure a while ago. “Unless’s a bad time?” 

“N-no,” your cheeks flushed while you stepped aside. “Not at all, come in.”

“Won’t be long babygirl,” he offered, voice low as he stepped past. 

The shower was upstairs. In your ensuite, leading him right through your bedroom and yeah. The room smelled fucking glorious. Giving him an idea of what he would find if he buried his head between your thighs. 

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” you apologised, “Just–just got up.”

“’s fine.” Unmade bed, yesterday’s clothes — the red panties you’d worn yesterday, still on the ground in front of it. Joel had half a mind of waiting for you to turn around and pocket them. But his attention was drawn to the toy that just laid out in the open, on top of the sheets, for him to see. A rose shaped thing, red and obvious. Like you had wanted him to see. 

His brain short-circuited, and without another thought he’d abandoned his way into the bathroom and stepped towards the bed. Reaching for the damn thing. So that’s what had you arching and withering in bed. 

When it should be him. 

“Joel?” your head popped around the corner, eyes widening when you spot him examine the toy. “What are you… –-fuck, forgot to put it away, I—”

“Got somethin’ better,” he remarked.

“What?” You tried to snatch it from him, mortified, but he pulled his hand away. 

“Said, got somethin’ better.” 

You scoffed, for a moment your fingers itched to harshly connect with his fingers but then, then… You were still horny. Unable to take the edge off. Too so because he’d interrupted you. “Fine,” your arms crossed, “Prove it!”

The grin that settled onto his lips when he placed the toy onto the nightstand, you could tell that he’d been waiting for an opportunity like that. 

Before you could even comprehend, he was on you. Hands on your waist, lips crashing against yours and in an instant you melt, fingers finding his hair, lips parting to his tongue, pupils dilated and panting when you part. 

“Gonna take real good care of you now babygirl.”

──────────

He’d dreamed of this, of his face buried between your thighs, your fingers in his hair and a composition of moans filling the room. “You taste divine, babygirl,” he moaned, one of your thighs hooked over his shoulder and all you can do was whimper when his tongue sunk back into you again. Before dragging up all the way to your clit to circle around it just to drag down again. 

You’d cum once already, he’d rubbed you over your shorts. The lack of panties pressing the seam just right against your clit that you’d been moaning and bucking into his touch while his tongue had laved attention to your nipples. Crying out his name before he’d fully undressed you. 

When he’d finally pulled your shorts down your legs the cotton had been soaked. “See how much better Daddy’s touch is over the toy?” Under any other circumstances and if this wouldn’t be Joel, you’d be instantly turned off. But instead you’d clenched around nothing, desperate for his touch. 

He made you see stars again, with his lips around your clit and two of his fingers inside of you. Fingertips dragging again and again over that sweet, sweet spot even after you’d clamped down hard around them.

“Think y’re ready f’me,” his voice was rough, had turned to gravel. 

“Mhm,” you nodded eagerly, his fingers still lazy moving inside of you. 

“S’you agree now,” he chuckled. “‘m better than that thing?”

“Jury’s still—-” the out disappeared into a moan when he bit your nipple. 

“Gon’ get you hooked on this fat cock,” he promised, shedding his clothes and fuck, he was thick, veiny and leaking pre-cum. You’d always assumed, from how he’d carried himself, that he definitely a big dick but there was a huge difference between assuming and actually seeing it with your own eyes. “Gonna want nothin’ else but me ’n my cock.” A promise, you know he’d keep when he sunk into you in one hard thrust.

The stretch, despite your previous orgasms bordering on painful for a moment before pleasure follows it hot on its heels. 

“’s like you’re made for me,” he moaned into the crook of your neck. “Fuck,” he groaned, beginning to move. “Squeezin’ me like the good girl you are.” 

You can’t even form a coherent thought let alone form a reply. Reduced to a string of moans and Daddy’s that fell from your lips while your approached your third orgasm and he was chasing his. You fall apart before he does, overstimulated and with a cry. But Joel’s right there behind you, spilling deep inside of you with a grunt before you could tell him he needed to pull out. 

He didn’t immediately pull out after either, drawing you into his arms.

“Fine,” you sighed, once you were sure you’d manage a conversation. Your walls still clenching around him “You win.”

“I win?” 

“You win. Your got something better.”

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Told ya,” he teased, lazily kissing you. “Gonna remind ya every time ya forget.”

He sends you a text on a Saturday noon. Sleep over today? You react with a pink heart, grab your essentials before running down the street to his pretty house. It feels different than usual when he lets you in and takes your bag from your hands. A lot more romantic than usually, a lot more intentional with your favourite flowers on the table, a nice lunch on the stove and the sqeaky clean living room.

"Oh you cleaned up really nice, Mister Riley! Wow..."

Not that he was dirty, usually. But it just felt fancy.

"Yeah, thought it'd be nicer. 'nything to drink, doll? Tea, coffee, soda."

"I can just get it myself."

You're basically living with him at this point.

"Alright, settle where you want."

You watch him from the kitchen table as he brews some coffee for himself. As always his thick arms move in a mesmerizing manner, the sleeve on his left arm absolutely gorgeous. It'd be a lie if you said you don't want it wrapped around your neck as he finally fucked you properly. Quickly biting your lip to at least try and not ruin your panties, you look away.

"How's the day been 'til now?"

He sits down, opposite from you, his broad frame taking up much more space than you did.

"...slept quite well. Had some breakfast and just scrolled on my phone. Nothing special."

"Yeah? Y'dream anything?"

You shake your head. It was not the right time to bring up the wet dream you had of him taking you apart on his tongue.

"Really?"

Sometimes it feels like he saw right through you, like your body was telling him things without you knowing. Ears hot, you quickly nod.

"Come, sit on my lap."

You jump up like you've been waiting for him to say that all day, settling on his thik thighs, your skirt hiking up a bit as you do. His brown eyes follow your movement, his arm coming around you, resting on your thigh.

"Good girl."

There was a heat coming from between your legs. Not just your own cunt drooling, begging for attention like you hadn't been rubbing your clit all morning trying to relieve some of the tension but failing miserably. No, there was something under you, something pressing into your ass. Curiously you raise your gaze, but Simon just ignores it, sipping on his drink as his hand gently squeezed at your leg.

Minutes pass and you rest your face into the crook of his neck, reveling in his body heat, eyes closed.

"'ve been thinking 'bout your wishes recently, love. I did promise, didn't I?"

His words send an anticipating tingle down your spine. There was no second-guessing what he meant.

"So...you wanna do this?"

"R-right now?"

"If you want to, love."

That was a surprise. You thought he'd put up more of a fight after last time.

"Yes, please."

It's a meek whine that held all the restless nights.

Mister Riley's tongue was rubbing against yours, both arms tightly wound around your soft body as he made out with you until everything felt sticky and warm and you're shivering for air. Even then, he just moves down to your neck, biting into the sensitive skin.

"Ngh-...o-ouch..."

God you were adorable and there was nothing between him and your body.

"You ever play with yourself, doll?"

One hand wanders down, cupping your clad panties, two fingers pressing into the wet spot.

"S-somtimes."

"What do you do?"

"P-put a finger in. And rub my clit."

"And no one's ever been down there?"

Might as well make you even more flustered.

"O-only you."

What a honest, pretty thing.

His lips finds yours again, easily guiding you to open your lips so he could tongue-fuck your mouth until your brain leaked out and your heartbeat raced. You moan into him, little hands desperately clawing into his shirt.

Your face is hot when he pulls away, eyes dazed as you collpase into him. there was blood rushing everyhwere, his touch alone making you want to rub against his leg until you made a creamy mess all over his jeans.

"Feelin' worked up, doll? Your cunt's burning a hole 'nto my pants."

You whine pathetically, emphasizing it with a desperate grind into him.

"Lemme help you undress."

He unbuttons your shirt for you, slides it off and neatly puts it to the side. Some kind of shyness washes over you, now that it's finally happening. A turmoil in your tummy and you suddenly feel so naked. A Hand snakes to your back, unclasping your bra and your soft chest bounces out of their restraints. Perfect squishy and soft, sensitive skin he could play with.

His hands cup your boobs, gently pushing them apart to let them bounce back, your nipples hard and pebbled, perfect against his calloused palms.

"Fuckin' hell, you're gorgeous."

The whimper you let out when he flicks your nipple is music to his ears.

Pressing his face into your chest, he takes a whiff to your utter embrarassment, his tongue starting to trace along every edge and curve.

"W-what are you doing, M-mister Riley?"

Sqeaky, a bit ashamed. Little girl doesn't even know what foreplay is.

"Just appreciating your pretty tits, love. Feel bad?"

"N-no."

There was just something about the way you looked like you could cry any moment whenever he did didrty things with you that turned him on immensely. The way he knew he could make you cry and still you'd always crawl back because you needed his loving.

"Alright then."

He dives back in, now sucking on a nipple, makig obscenely loud sounds as he detaches with a pop, letting his saliva dry all over you. You bite your lip, let the nervousness in your stomach mix with the nice, warm feeling of having him close to you.

When he pulls away there are soon-to-be bruises on your chest, little red splotches and a few bite marks. Mr. Riley looks very happy, staring at you and that was good enough for you.

"Skirt off, sweetheart."

You shuffle down, pulling it from your legs and push it far away. Fishnets and panties the only thing seperating him from your needy cunt.

He leans over, rips a small hole into your crotch, suffocating any remarks you could have thrown at him by slobbering into your underwear, mouth connecting to your drooling mound. Your legs open wider, your clit throbbing, strained into a little bump under the cotton.

The sensation is muted, not as intense as when he had you sitting on his face. You can only keep grinding, hoping he'd quickly take off your panties, too.

"M-mister R-riley."

An impatient whine earns you a soft smack to your pussy and you flinch.

"You need to be ready, silly girl. Otherwise I'd split you in half."

You gulp, relaxing again. He wasn't wrong, but you needed more.

When he finally rips your panties in half and slurps at your bare hole, it's like heaven. Hot tongue against your clit, both hands holding you by your hips. All his teasing had you drenched, your cunt dribbling copious amounts of slick from your hole. Sweet, sweet slick he lapped up and swallowed. Your first orgasm builds slowly, washing over you when he prods a finger into your tightness and it's far too much. It hurts but you finally feel full, his middlefinger reaching deeper than you ever managed.

"God, you're tight. We're gonna be here a long time, love."

He wasn't joking when he said that. Your virgin cunt somehow refused to take more than two of his thick fingers, burning far too much despite all preparation. Of course Mr. Riley was prepared, though, now working in a smaller dildo in and out of your pussy, your ass raised in the air so he'd have an easier time fucking the silicone into you, squirting some cold lube directly into you every now and then to make sure it was slippery enough.

Slow, dreadfilled minutes stretch, the dildos getting thicker as he worked you open with them, your legs trembling every now and then when you felt too full. You don't process any thoughts anymore, taking everything he gave you with low moans, your clit swollen and hot, earning a few soft strokes when you managed to work up a size.

Four fingers finally managed to slip into your walls, a little gape whenever he pulled out to admire your stretched out cunt. You were so good, let him ruin your body just so he could fuck you. His perfect girl, working so hard just to take a cock so much older than her.

"You did so well, love."

A sweet kiss to your cheek and you mumble something incoherent as answer. Whatever, he was going to fuck your brains out anyways.

He was so, so thick. His fingers were nothing against his monsterous cock now attempting to slip into you, tip already nudged in an inch or two. You feel your legs quivering, trying to adjust to something so massive inside you, laying flat on yoru stomach with no option to move. His weight was pressing his cock into you, all 240-something pounds put into making you cunt open up.

Simon knows he'll be obsessed with fucking you in prone the moment you look so helpless, smaller body trapped under his with no way to run away. And you want it so badly, arms comign back, trying to get him to go faster.

"Y'feel perfect, love. You're perfect."

A low groan in your ear that pulled a droopy smile onto your lips. All the sweet praise he gave you for taking the burning stretch like a champ made it bearable.

"Here we go."

The rest goes in with one smooth motion. Your eyes widen, the throaty groan you wanted to let out dying in your throat. You could feel him in up to your chest, nudging into all the right places, kissing your cervix.

A few minutes of slowly rocking your body until you adjusted is all you got until he couldn't hold back anymore. Every thrust had him pull out most of his hard length, slamming back down so his tip would scrape into the underside of your clit, bumping into the entrance of your womb. Your nails were digging itno the mattress, every stroke pleasureably intense and addictive, your whole body trembling.

With your clit pushed into the rough material, which was soaked through by your juices, he easily makes you cum again, the drag of his cock pushing you so wide it felt strange, unnatural.

He feels you clamping down, switches to slower thrusts to gently fuck you through it. The moment you relax again, cunt slackening, he pulls you up until you were back against his chest, now bouncing you in his lap. All the times you had sit on his thighs, this was what you dreamt off; fucked open on his cock, two fingers on your clit, tapping it gently as if he wanted to coax another orgasm out of you immediately.

You don't do anything, don't need to, as he lets your bodyweight fall onto his girth, going deep. His other hand snakes around your stomach, suddenly pressing down onto your abdomen. You whimper out some cut up moans, eyes rolling back aggressively and you start squirting on the spot. Hot, gushing liquid splashes into the sheets, your clit convulsing in little trembles, cunt walls fluttering. You let out a scream, your legs slowly losing feeling in a way that you didn't want him to stop.

His own orgasm follows quickly, a long, hot spurt of cream seed shooting into your walls. Finally, you have him inside you, finally he came inside you.

He was you dressed in nothing but one of his shirts when he carries you back to the kitchen after you were less dizzy, feeds you some food and water, kissing you sweetly before bending you over the kitchen counter, looking at his cum dripping out of your cunt. The tight thing was looser, unable to hold his spend without it flowing out. Might as well eat your cunt as dessert.

So with your feet barely reaching the ground, he digs in, scooping out the mix of you and him with two fingers to empty you out for another round. You whine and complain weakly, but when he threatens you stop you become all pliant again, a second slap to your swollen folds enough to keep you obedient.

Your back against the couch, legs folded up against your chest in mating press, he sinks his cock back in. It disappears into you like you were made for him, taking every last inch, so sensitive that it's easy to make you squirt around his cock, again. Only now he can see your face, the tears in the corners of your eyes, the way they roll back and your pretty mouth falls open to let out the adorable noises.

But he finds it endearing all the same, enjoying it, even.

He loves it even more when you start doing it more often in public. He’s able to see the hunger in your eyes from a mile away and it sends a chill down his spine each and every time he catches you.

He’s posing with nonchalance for their concept photos when you first arrive, eyes darting over his form and caging your bottom lip between your teeth. He had acknowledged you with a curt smile and a nod of his head before continuing with the shoot, his own body wanting nothing more than to greet you fully in a warm embrace and kiss to your already swollen lips.

Though, as soon as the opportunity reveals itself, you’re beating him to it. You cross the set with a few quick strides in his direction before melting against him, ducking your head beneath his chin to press an innocent peck to his jaw.

He welcomes you with a tight squeeze around the hips and continues to rock you back and forth while you breathe in his scent.

“Missed you so much,” you admit with a pathetic whine. You weren't normally this needy, much less in public, but today felt different. It felt.. wrong, for once, waking up to an empty bed and a phone full of updates from his weverse, yet not a single message from him directly to you.

You knew he was busy. Hell, your relationship had been built off of his grueling schedule, back when he was promoting his second album with his group and you becoming a staff member of a sister company. He was beyond unavailable and yet you found it difficult to keep your eyes off of him. Unbeknownst to you, he was equally as desperate when it came to your attention. The few instances where your schedules would align left the both of you scrambling against the clock to further familiarize yourselves with one another, and eventually build a connection from a few fleeting glances and brief conversations.

Fast forward to now, things had only progressed in both of your careers, your lives busier than ever. You’ve been officially dating for three years and whilst primarily kept under wraps, your heart longed more and more for the opportunity to remind him of your devotion to him.

Much to your embarrassment, your loyalty presented itself with an unexplainable urge to swallow him whole and take every inch of his skin between your teeth without an ounce of shame.

Hence your current predicament; Seuncheol had his arms thrown lazily around your frame as you swayed, ever so blind to the scheming smile gracing your features. You leaned back, arching yourself against him as he questioned you with pinched brows.

To his surprise, you’d managed all the strength you had and utilized his obliviousness to your advantage, yanking him by the back of his neck and crashing your lips together with haste.

His hitched breath encourages you to move impossibly closer, your chests beating against one another with every jolt of your racing hearts.

The sheer intensity of the kiss is short lived when you detach from him with one last smack of your lips. Drunk on the high you’ve fed him, Seungcheol attempts to chase your lips, urging you to continue.

His silent pleas amuse you, enticing you to lean in towards his ear and whisper,

“Be good for me, Cheol. Go do your job and make me proud.”

You send him off with a playful nip to his cheek, your canines grazing the skin gently, cautious of the hours worth of effort his makeup artists have put in. His eyes follow your retreating form as you find your place behind the cameras.

He’s an hour and a half into taking naturally candid photos around the rented estate, and it’s driving you nuts.

The setting does little to ease your eagerness to claim him right then and there, offering a much more domestic and personal light to his preexisting bachelor aura.

He’s a fucking housewife, your mind offers you to no particular request. Your grip on your jacket’s strings falters when a deep, raspy voice presents itself near the cusp of your ear.

“Did he mention the next shoot to you?”

“Hm?” You respond, sparing Mingyu a passive glance before settling back on your deity of a man leaning over the terrace.

“We’re going swimming, if you wanted to join afterwards.”

“Why would I join?” You reply coolly.

“Well considering how much you’re drooling right now from him just standing there, I figured you’d want to indulge in having him in less layers for a few hours once we wrap up.” He grins.

Your skin burns from where he perches his chin on your shoulder, striking your body in flames as you try your best to shove your thoughts away. You can’t just indulge in your boyfriend’s near nudity just for a few hours. You know you don’t have that kind of self restraint when it comes to seeing him topless and unblemished.

“Mingyu, respectfully,” you turn to him slowly. “Get lost.”

His laugh reverberates against your arm as he tosses his top half against you, bracing himself as he catches his breath. Your sneer recoils into a smile as you catch Seungcheol’s curious glance from across the room.

His posture tenses while raking his eyes over you and mingyu, taking a moment to readjust before continuing his scene. The photographer calls for a break just a few moments later, satisfied with the outcome.

Your body is moving before you register it, slipping out of Mingyu’s reach with one last glare before you’re crashing into Seungcheol’s rigid chest.

“Baby,” he says softly, taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist before placing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “Are you staying for the whole shoot?”

“Do you want me to?” You ask coyly, having preemptively cleared your own schedule in favor of following his.

“I always love having you here, you know that.” He smiles.

“Then I’ll stay.” You say and rise on your tip toes to plant a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Aren’t you two tired of being this clingy?” Mingyu invades your bubble in just a few seconds, separating your bodies with a sudden jut of his hip to yours.

You scowl at him as you’re rudely tossed to the side. His shit eating grin grazes his stupidly handsome features while returning your attention to him.

You two had always been at each other’s throats, both playfully and unwittingly at times. He was your best friend, nonetheless, but it sent Seungcheol’s mind reeling with how kittenish you became when he was around.

Something in his chest twinged with envy and had jealousy rearing its ugly head every once in a while when you two stood too close together, shared a meal during his turns to film or pose for photos, or even as you bantered and bickered in front of him.

He knew it was nothing. Knew you loved him too much to replace him so easily, nevertheless with his own friend and group mate.

“You’re just jealous, Gyu.” You huffed while snaking your arms around Seungcheol’s middle again.

“Me? Jealous?” He gasped, feigning an appalled expression while placing a hand to his chest.

“Yah,” Seungcheol growled. “Get lost before I call Heejoo and tell her you’re moping around on set.”

Mingyu’s eyes wander to the ground at that, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck as he begins backing away solemnly. The mention of his current situation-ship seems to strike him a lot harder than you’d both expected, and you smirk at his crumbling confidence.

“You’re a dick for that.” He grumbles toward your boyfriend, unable to hide the sudden flush peeking out from under the collar of his shirt.

Seungcheol grunts at him once more, sending the younger man away with another dismissive threat before finally turning his attention to you.

“Will you help me put some sunscreen on before the next set?”

The following hour of camerawork concludes with a brief discussion about tomorrow’s expected schedule, all the more exhausting and seemingly endless as the last. You can see the fatigue draped over Seungcheol's features from where you stand, plummeting your heart into your stomach as you continue to watch him, mingyu and the team wearily deliberate future activities and propositions for upcoming promotions.

With a supportive clap to their backs, the team dissipates around them to end their workdays.

You take the remaining opportunity after the last staff member's departure to approach your boyfriend, your hands instinctually attached to his neck and puling him toward you. He moves pliantly, allowing his head to fall into the crook of your shoulder and neck as he exhales tiredly.

"Long day, bunny?" you remark quietly, raking your nails across the nape of his neck.

"Too long," he grumbles, ignoring the nickname you know normally grinds his gears any other day. You feel his muscles returning to their tense state as he removes himself from you begrudgingly.

"Can you stay the night?" The light in his eyes flicker with something akin to hope before clouding with uncertainty at the sound of your defeated sigh.

"I have a meeting early in the morning. Have to meet with the company to discuss some upcoming solo works." Your words fall on deaf ears as he's already groaning and pouting, choosing to disregard your excuse in favor of throwing a short-lived fit.

"I can have someone drive you early in the morning?" His offer hangs heavily in the space between you, an offer you really want to take him up on.

To your misfortune, calling out for today was enough of a reason for your company to dismiss you of your duties permanently should you choose to do it again.

The short notice had thrown your team for a whirlwind, a mini crisis plaguing the workplace and blowing up your phone for the entirety of your time spent watching Seungcheol. You were ashamed to admit it out loud, but you'd give anything to quit and replace your priorities with becoming a stay at home simp for your boyfriend. You'd give anything to watch him all day long, cling to him at every beck and call, and devote yourself to being the best version of yourself you could be for him.

Were you insane for thinking that far? yes.

Were you that serious about him? also yes.

You couldn't help the pained complaint that escaped your throat upon seeing his face fall. It shredded every single piece of you to know you couldn't stay, and even more so when he began to beg for you to.

"Please? at least for a few hours? 'Till I fall asleep?" His eyes drift between yours, searching for any bit of redemption, consideration, confirmation.

Removing your hands, you smooth over your features to look at your watch, noting the late hour and the dread pestering your mind. Your notifications peer back at your for a second, reminding you of the dedication you had to your work for the following morning.

It would only be a few hours, you consider.

A beat of silence passes by before you inevitably agree with a nod of your head. "Okay."

To say he's elated would be an understatement. He's over the moon at your response, immediately linking your fingers and dragging you inside the airbnb, shifting his direction towards the bedroom as you enter.

"I'll take a shower and then we can watch a movie!" He suggests after leading you to the bed where you sit patiently, smiling as he trips over his own two feet while dashing toward the bathroom.

God, you can't believe he's yours.

"Did you know you had a mole here?"

Seungcheol meets your eyes through the reflection of the mirror, watching you trail your nails down his spine as he finishes his skin routine at the bathroom sink. You've since changed into a spare set of his clothes, a simple t-shirt that drapes over your dips and curves and ends just past the apex of your thighs.

His gaze lingers for a moment longer than it normally does, mouth subconsciously watering at the sight of you.

"I don't think so." He chuckles softly while returning to his process of unfolding a face mask and spreading it across his features carefully.

"Your back is so..." your voice drawls with a pensive hum, considering your words intently before continuing. "boring."

"Huh?" He turns in your grasp, catching the faint smirk pulling at the corner of your lips.

"It's just missing something." You utter.

"Like what?" he murmurs, his lips pursed in effort to keep his mask from slipping.

Your grin spreads along your face, head cocking to the side as you maneuver your hands over the expanse of his bare chest, raising goosebumps in their wake.

"Could use a little more me on it."

You spot the shift in his demeanor, shoulders tensing slowly, eyes sharpening, and the veins in his neck straining as he swallows dryly. You don't give him a chance to act on his desire, gracefully pinning his wrists against the counter and slipping your tongue out to lap at the flushed skin of his neck.

His groan rumbles from between your pressed chests, audibly forfeiting all control as you continue to press open mouthed kisses to his throat. His hips buck desperately when he feels your teeth graze just past his jugular, sinking deeper into his flesh with every breath he gasps.

"Baby," he whimpers against your persistence. You pull back, relishing in the subtle chase of his lips toward yours, halting just out of his reach with an arched brow.

"Bunny?" you counter, urging him to proceed with what he needs to say.

"Can't." He whines, overwhelming mortified with displeasure for having to restrain himself.

"Can't what?" You probe innocently, inching closer once more, guiding him back to you by the draw strings of his shorts. He lulls forward without resistance, drawn to your lips with nothing except a mere inch between them.

"Can't be marked. Not now." He says petulantly, eyes downcast as he drops his head, dejected.

Your heart thuds against your rib cage at that, growing restless as fondness ebbs away at your brain, turning it into mush. He knows you so well, knows that you need to mark him up, leave your presence on his skin for everyone to see how taken he is.

Love smothers your senses, your head cloudy and full of him. Your everything. Your person.

You reach to curl your fingers through his blonde, wet strands, tugging with enough force to lift his head once more. He moans quietly at that, his own hands finding purchase on your hips as he stares at you through his dark lashes.

You smile and tap his bicep with your free hand. You notice his eyes trailing your features hungrily before placing a gentle kiss to his muscle, right below his shoulder.

"'S okay, Bunny." You coo.

His arm flexes under the warmth of your fanning breath, fidgeting at every peck of your lips you lead up his arm and toward his chest.

You freeze once you've reached his collar bone, slowing your breathing and blowing a long, heavy exhale that mists over his already clammy skin. You smirk triumphantly at his muted mewl, watching his chest rise and fall erratically.

"I won't mark your pretty skin just yet," you reassure calmly, your hand still twisted in his hair as you pull it experimentally once more, lavishing his skin in praises when he moans.

"Stay still for me, m'kay?"

You don't wait for his response before sinking your teeth near his clavicle with pressure, not enough to break skin but plenty to stimulate both him and you when he ruts against you.

"Gentle," He reminds you through brief, measured breaths.

"I know, I know." you chide and release your grip on his hair briefly to instead hold his throat between your hands.

His eyes peer down at you for a short moment before flashing you a playful grin. You mirror it with your own before squeezing lightly at his neck, reveling in the meek sound he coughs out.

"So pretty," you murmur lovingly. "All mine to play with however I want. Whenever I want."

To his dismay, his nod is restrained and dismissed by you when you apply just a bit more pressure, your gaze darkening as he wraps a hand around one of your wrists, wordlessly pleading for more. You oblige and wedge your knee between his thighs, now aware of how engrossed he truly was upon feeling his pulsing erection against your bare skin.

"Is this why you wanted me to stay so bad? So you could be manhandled by your pretty girlfriend? Hm?"

Your hands release him, dropping to your sides as he heaves a few labored breaths, his eyes never once leaving your retreating form as you saunter toward the bed, patting the space beside you once you're perched at the edge.

He carries himself on wobbly legs to where you sit, landing ungracefully onto the bed with a soft "oof" before reaching a hand out toward you. You link your hands together momentarily, allowing yourself to soak in the appearance of his current state; dazed, spent, and utterly beautiful with every inch of his skin painted a bright red by an angry flush.

"Roll onto your belly for me, Cheolie." you direct.

He does so without complaint, damningly compliant to your every command. You absentmindedly trace shapes into his spine, your lips curling into a smile each time he flinches against the brush of your nails.

He rests his head against his folded arms, unintentionally flexing his muscles at the broadness of his shoulder blades. You chuckle, quietly shifting your attention to the taut skin, lowering yourself to place lingering kisses.

A sigh creeps out of his deflating body, audibly enjoying your attention. You proceed to kiss your way up, pausing to nip at the fat of his arms playfully and releasing a giggle of your own when he claims he's ticklish with a laugh.

You bite back the quip on your tongue, choosing to focus more on his twitching hips by running your hand over the smooth skin of his arched lower back. He hums, satisfied, and groans when your begin to pull his shorts down his thighs, allowing them to fall aimlessly to the ground.

He jolts upright when your hand collides with a loud smack against his ass, immediately coiling into himself with a yelp.

"What, you can do it by I can't?" You joke when he replies with a harmless glare.

"I'm not letting you peg me, if that's what you're leading up to." He chastises with narrowed eyes.

You feign a look of betrayal, simultaneously guiding him onto his back once more as you move to straddle his hips.

"Tough, I really wanted to see your cute little ass all perked up for me." You can't hold back the devious giggle that threatens to escape you, fully leaning against his chest to stabilize yourself.

"You're insane." He huffs with an eye roll.

"Yeah, but it's kind of cute." Your smile lingers a moment longer as he presses his lips to your forehead, soft and everlasting.

It's then that you lift your head and laugh once more, your fingers reaching to remove his face mask he'd long forgotten.

"I was really trying to keep a straight face!" You giggled. He levels you with a bashful scowl, turning away from your gaze as you settle down with a quiet sigh.

In the blink of an eye, your playful character is gone, replaced by your previous deviant nature.

"You're gonna be the death of me." He murmurs against your skin when you begin grinding your clothed pussy onto his exposed cock.

"I better act quick then," You retort while reaching down and clutching onto your panties to pull them side, angling your sopping folds to trail over the head of his cock.

"Fuck, Bunny. You're so fucking perfect." You groan into the dip of his shoulder, pressing yourself harder against him. His grip on your waist returns, clambering against your ministrations.

"Just— just take me already." He grits out through a particularly sharp inhale. "And don't call me bunny— shit —while we're fucking, jesus."

"You got it, Bunny." Your voice cracks ever so slightly as you begin your descent down his length, abdomen flexing with every ragged breath you take as he breaches your entrance. The stretch is painful, tearing you apart no matter how many times you've taken it. Tears spring to your eyes, threatening to spill before you finally settle, flush to his groin with a shaky breath.

"Oh fucking hell," He moans deeply. He recovers with a sudden shift of his hips, stripping you of all power you previously obtained.

You lurch forward with a startled mewl, your face falling between the crevice of his jaw and throat. Your mouth latches on helplessly, teeth grazing the stubble of his chin and biting down impishly.

He returns the favor, pausing to rip your (his) shirt off and tossing it aside hurriedly, attaching his mouth to the mound of your breast, nibbling at the supple flesh and grinding up into you when you elicit a borderline pornographic moan.

"Please, Cheol, please." You moan against his ear, grinding against him feverishly. Your begging fuels him further, ripping every ounce of self restraint out of him, replaced with an insatiable appetite only you can satisfy.

"You're so beautiful, baby. I'm gonna let you mark me as soon as all of this is over. Soon, my love. So soon." His attempts to soothe your desires warm your insides, your knees near gelatinous as he rams into your pulsating heat without a second regard or worry.

You feel his pace quickening with every plunge, your own movements futile in contrast with his. Your back hits the mattress in a flash, your legs forcefully pinned to your sides as he impales you over and over.

Your moans melt into short, wispish screams when you feel his mouth latch onto your breasts again, leaving deep, bruising indents from his teeth.

The mere idea of him biting you, the same way you've done with every given opportunity in the past, has your legs clenching against his waist, your teeth clamping around your lips as you feel yourself release into the euphoria of your climax.

"More, Cheol, please more—I want—I need more." Your cries fill his chest with pleasure and vanity, thrusting him head-first into the deep end of your satisfaction. He comes with a choked out cry, muffling the sound into your chest as he curls inwards, pumping himself dry into your tightening core.

"Baby," his hand leaves your waist to settle on your sweaty cheek, caressing the crimson skin as he adores your spent features. "You did so good, my love. so good for me."

You groan softly in reply, motioning for him to lay beside you with a limp wrist. He chuckles softly and gently pries himself free of your tight cunt with a groan.

“One more round?” You mumble into the pillows, peeking an eye in his direction to catch the faint grin on his dewy face.

“Give me ten minutes.”

“Shit,” he hisses. “Slow down.”

Your tongue slips between the slit of his cock, catching every last drop of his seed from his second release.

If there’s anything you’ve learned about your boyfriend in the past three years of dating him, it’s that he’s prone to over sensitivity after his second high. While you can recover relatively quickly after an orgasm, his stamina is overmatched by the mere pain of reaching another climax so short apart.

It’s something you both teetered the line with, not knowing whether it was right or even possible to milk him for as many rounds as he could. But, much like the rest of your ideas and suggestions, he couldn’t say no to you.

So you pumped his cock even faster, watching his jaw slack and chin quiver with a cry as he came down from his third match.

“You’re doing great, bunny.” You encourage, slowing your pace down to run a stripe along the side of his length with your tongue.

His brows dip and another moan escapes him. “You’re— you’re killing me.”

“Mh,” you hum. With a final tug to his half hard cock, you trail your lips over the smooth surface of his inner thigh, relishing in his breathy exhales.

“You’re always so good for me.” You say.

The tip of your tongue traces the faint stretch marks of his upper thigh, nearing the edge of his hip where you still.

The pads of your fingers skim over the flesh before you’re leaning forward and clamping your mouth down full force, undoubtedly leaving a mark this time.

You hear his choked shriek of pleasure and pain, the sudden grip on your hair paired with it.

“Fuck! ‘M gonna come again.” His voice lilts, pitched higher than usual.

You continue to pepper kisses along his waistline before meeting his opposite thigh with another skin-breaking bite. Your moan pulsates against the irritated skin, soothing the burn and easing the mark against the fat of his thigh to an eventual bruise with the flat of your tongue.

“Can’t take anymore.” He cries desperately, loosening his fingers wrapped around your disheveled locks as he comes down from his final release.

You give in to his whining after another brief moment of caressing the enflamed skin. You carefully ascend up his hiccuping body, tiny pecks littering his bareness before you connect your mouth with his with the upmost tenderness you could possibly muster.

“I love you so much.” You speak quietly against his lips.

His eyes remain shut, fluttering in and out of consciousness as he nods his head in response.

“Love you too.” He murmurs.

Laying your head on his chest, your entire being laxes against him, fully satiated and enraptured in his presence. A hand creeps up your waist, squeezing your side carefully as his body deflates beneath you with a deep exhale.

You could never truly thank him enough for indulging in your antics. You’re aware your love languages are drastically different; yours being entirely unhinged and bordering aggressive, where as his is prevalent in his gentle mannerisms, gift giving and pure compliance when it comes to you.

Nevertheless, the love you both have for one another surpasses all expectations and continues to surprise you day after day, year after year.

Even if you have to hide your love bites from the public eye.

< A/N: fin! this took a lot less time to write than i anticipated, despite the fact that smut tends to discourage my creativity. but! after getting all of my thoughts out and returning to the storyline with fresh ideas and inspiration, i was able to pump out a pretty decent chunk of raunch to satisfy my expectations for my first time writing smut.

that being said, i hope this flows well and encourages you to leave a comment or repost! feedback and suggestions are always appreciated. :) thanks!!!

Izuku Midoriya, the literal saviour of the world that you would never forget seeing on screen as a teenager, happens to also be a teacher at your school. He had just started that year and wasn’t even your teacher, he was assigned the first years while you were in your last.

During your time at UA you had only crossed paths with him once. He made a guest appearance in your class during hero history and oh how your cheeks burned when you saw him pull his sweater off in the middle of the lecture, his shirt underneath slightly caught between the bottom of it and for a brief moment lifting up both fabrics to expose the most perfect set of abs you've ever seen, straight out of a commercial. 

The admiration from afar had ended one day. Every time that memory resurfaces your whole body heats up and thus, you never want to think of it. And the fact that it was such an innocent and brief interaction added to the embarrassing aspect of it all.

You were just training, routinely sparring with a classmate after lessons, when none other than Mr Midoriya walked past the training grounds. The moment you felt his gaze in your direction, all focus was lost. You felt nothing but that shameful burn coursing through your entire body. You were so incredibly riled up that you tackled your opponent in a fit of rage, forgetting about your quirk and exerting pure, brute force.

“Hey, no fair! I thought we were training our quirks, you can’t just…” your classmate rambled on, but you heard nothing, your senses focused entirely on Mr Midoriya, who was now in range. 

He didn’t even say anything, just flashed a small smile at you as he passed on his way to the exit, but that split second of direct eye contact made you burn. You looked away immediately, fearing what your degenerate mind would do if you held that gaze for even a single second longer. You hoped to god that you weren't visibly blushing, despite feeling near drunk from the heat spreading in your cheeks.

You would replay that memory, spinning that sliver of an interaction to hell and back. Luckily, but also unluckily for you, he never taught your class again in your final year. Soon enough your cohort had graduated, meaning you wouldn’t have to face your stupid schoolgirl crush again.

At least that’s what you had thought back then. Even years after graduating, after making a name for yourself and achieving all those heroic aspirations you had as a little girl, you could never let go of that longing you had for that fuckass green-haired professor in your senior year. 

The truth is, when you put all morals aside, you couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t at least try with him. Even just once, anything would suffice to smother that flame that had been lit since high school. 

And you had gotten that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity this evening. You and pretty much the rest of your class and the whole of hero society were gathered one night for some charity event, something about raising donations for quirk awareness.

Fuck if you actually cared, you were there with one goal and one goal only.

You moved through the whole event on autopilot, a practiced smile plastered on your face. Your brain was completely off as you went through all those firm handshakes, polite laughs and promises to 'catch up soon' with your former classmates who were now doing all kinds of hero work across the country. It was all on schedule and unfortunately a necessary part of the job you’d chosen. But your real mission wasn't on the schedule.

You spotted him near one of the open balconies, a quiet island of green hair in a sea of sequins and dark suits.

Izuku Midoriya. He was nursing a drink, looking unfairly handsome in a tailored dark suit that did little to hide the powerful physique beneath. He was slender in frame but the moment he shifted his weight, you could see it all— the hardness and muscle underneath. Your breath slightly hitched as you watched him adjust his tie, the motion pulling the fabric taut across his chest and forearms. 

Throughout the night, your brain was a factory of dumb excuses. Every time you mustered the courage to move, a new obstacle appeared. He’s too busy, you’d think, watching him get pulled into a conversation with a stern-faced head of a major agency. He’s with them now, I can’t just interrupt. Then, a group of his former classmates would swarm him and you’d shrink back, turning to another conversation to distract yourself. He’s catching up with old friends, it would be rude. He was the number four hero after all, a living legend. Of course, he was a magnet for people, there was hardly a moment where he wasn't surrounded by a constant stream of admirers, colleagues and officials vying for his attention. 

You watched him laugh at something an older hero said, his head thrown back, the line of his throat exposed making your heart skip a beat. You saw him patiently explain a technical point to a young sidekick, his hands moving with an earnest energy that was so uniquely him. Each observation was a fresh wave of longing.

After a few drinks for confidence and a flurry of praise from your various interactions throughout the night, you felt bold. You’d felt his glance in your direction a couple of times, quick, curious looks that you pretended not to notice, but each one sent a tingle through your stomach. You were practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect that your stupid teenage crush, the one who seemed so unbearably out of reach, might actually think you were desirable.

Surely it couldn't be that hard. You were a flirt when it came to all the other men and women in your life. This was just… more difficult. That embarrassing crush was such a liability. 

Pull yourself together, you thought, a wave of annoyance washing over you. You were a pro hero in your own right, climbing up decently high on the ranks yourself. You were no longer that silly schoolgirl back at UA. You got this, you tried to soothe yourself as you finally caught a glimpse of him alone. Nows your chance. You downed the rest of your champagne in one go.

You walked over, heels clicking confidently on the marble floor. "Hey, Midoriya," you started, your voice smooth and casual.

He looked up and it took him a second to place you. His eyes, a startlingly vibrant green, scanned your face. A polite, professional smile immediately settled on his lips. "Oh, hey!"

You waved a dismissive hand, leaning slightly against the railing next to him, letting the cool night air brush your skin. "I saw your latest quarterly report, by the way. The takedown of that smuggling ring was impressive. The way you utilized your environment to contain the villain's quirk was textbook."

His eyes lit up, that dorky, earnest passion instantly surfacing. "Oh! You read that? Thanks! It was a tough one. His viscosity quirk was a nightmare to contain without causing structural damage. I was worried the whole building would come down. We ended up having to coordinate with the local fire department to dilute it."

"Absolutely," you purred, letting your gaze linger on his lips for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "Though I think you downplay your own analysis. Your quirk-factor breakdowns are still required reading. They're incredible."

A faint blush dusted his cheeks. "Ah, well, I just write what I think about. It's nothing special." He took a sip of his drink, his eyes darting away for a second.

"I disagree," you said, your voice dropping a little lower. "It's very special. So, rankings are out tomorrow, right? Any bets on where you'll land? I have twenty bucks on you cracking the top three."

He choked on his drink slightly, coughing into his hand. "T-top three? No way, that's— I'm just happy to be doing my part. Mirio's been having an amazing year and Nejire is always a contender. I think I'll probably stay around the same."

"How humble," you teased, stepping just a little closer. 

You let your fingers 'accidentally' brush against his. He flinched, a tiny, almost imperceptible jolt, but he didn't pull away. You held your fingers there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, a silent test, before slowly retracting them.

You saw his throat bob as he swallowed, his gaze fixed on the spot where your hand had been. You decided to push, just a little.

"You know," you began, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made him lean in ever so slightly to hear you over the distant music, "for all the talk about stats and strategies tonight, no one's mentioned how different you look out of uniform."

It was a compliment wrapped in a layer of plausible deniability, but the heat in your eyes made your meaning crystal clear.

He let out a breathy, awkward laugh, the sound breaking the tension as he immediately reverted to the gesture you knew so well: rubbing the back of his neck. "I, uh, I don't really have a choice for these things. My agent picked out the suit."

"Well, your agent has excellent taste," you said, your voice dropping even further. You let your eyes drift appreciatively over the sharp lines of his fitted jacket, down the knot of his tie and back up to meet his gaze. "But it's not just the suit, Midoriya." You were eyeing him shamelessly now, letting him see exactly what you were thinking.

The tension was so thick you could taste it. He was flustered, the blush on his cheeks deepening to a lovely crimson, but he wasn't running. His body angled towards yours and you could see a flicker of something else in his eyes, a spark of interest. 

He cleared his throat. "You can call me Izuku, by the way." He paused, his eyes searching yours.

"Izuku," you tested the name on your tongue, "I like that."

The two of you spent a decent amount of time talking after that, the initial tension melting into an easy, engaging rhythm. The ballroom, with its suffocating crowds, faded into the background. Feeling clammy from the heat wafting out the venue, from the crowds and all the sweating bodies pooled inside, you decided to get some air. You stepped out onto the back terrace. It was quieter here and, thank god, a much more comfortable temperature for the both of you. 

Just as you were about to suggest going somewhere more private, a voice cut through your bubble. "Hey! I was looking everywhere for you. Just wanted to say bye before I go."

You turned to see a former classmate, who gave you a quick hug. Her eyes, sharp and analytical, darted between you and Izuku before a look of pleased surprise crossed her face. "Oh! Mr Midoriya! I didn't expect to see you over here," she said, her emphasis and a pointed look making it clear she knew exactly what she was interrupting. 

It wasn't exactly a secret that you had this blithering crush on your teacher, especially among your friend group, who were split between either fawning over the pro hero with you or mercilessly teasing you for your silly infatuation. 

You knew in that moment exactly what she was thinking, the heat and thrumming in your chest from earlier, before you had made your move, returned once again.

Izuku's polite smile was firmly back in place, though it looked a little strained. "It's good to see you. Congrats on going independent."

"Haha, thanks, teach," she said with a bright smile. "Best decision I ever made. And you?" She turned her gaze back to you, her tone turning teasing. "Still trying to get the scoop on all the top heroes? Some things never change."

You forced a laugh, trying to steer the conversation. "Just networking. You know how it is."

"Well, don't let me keep you," she said, completely missing the tense undercurrent. She gave Izuku a respectful nod. "It was great to see you, sir. Tell Mr Aizawa I said hi next time you're at UA." Then she looked at you, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Don't stay out too late."

With a final, friendly wave, she disappeared back into the crowd.

You tried to play it cool, forcing a nonchalant shrug and looking back out at the city lights. "Haha, yeah. It's been a while."

Izuku was no longer looking at the view. He was looking at you, his friendly expression completely gone. It was replaced by a sharp, calculating focus. He was replaying her words, putting them together with your familiarity, the mention of UA and the way you seemed to know him. 

Realization dawned in his eyes. "You were my student.”

“Barely” you shot back, defensively “We had one class together and trust me, I would remember. It doesn't even count, honestly.”

“That’s not the point,” he shakes his head, features hardening in disapproval. “I was a teacher and you were my student, even if it was just for a single class. It just doesn’t feel right. I can’t do this—”

“Oh come on,” you roll your eyes dramatically, “Whatever. You were eye-fucking me all night from across the room, you thought I didn’t notice? You’re only acting like this now with all your morals and bullshit after you found out. You didn’t even recognize me before.”

Izuku opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He stares at you contemplating and all flustered, you close in on the space between the two of you. His whole body went rigid.

“I can’t do this to you” he repeated.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You can't? Or you won't?" You leaned in even closer. "I'm not a student anymore, haven't been for years. And I'm standing here right now telling you I want you. Are you really going to say no to that?" 

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut as if your presence is causing him great physical pain. “Shit—” he gasps, clamping a scarred hand over his mouth.

“Stop pretending like you don’t want this.” you breathe against the shell of his ear. “Where is that energy from earlier, huh?” you taunt, so close to him now your voice a low, mocking whisper. You’re so close now that you’re standing between his legs. “You actually thought you were being slick? I could literally feel your eyes all over me. Oh but don’t worry, I liked it.” 

You laugh a little at the way his eyes widened at that last admission. You were so close now, you feel his heavy, constrained breaths against your cheek. That slight flush on his freckled face and hardly contained desire in his eyes egged you on.

His hand was trembling. You watched, fascinated, as a war played out across his face. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking furiously. For a thrilling second, his eyes flashed, raw power. He looked like he was about to lunge, to finally give in. His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a heartbeat, you thought he was going to kiss you, to devour you right there against the wall. But then he squeezed his eyes shut, took a shuddering breath and when he opened them again, the hero was back, albeit a fractured, desperate version.

"Please," he whispered, the word raw and broken. "You don’t know what you’re doing"

“Oh I do. You have no idea how badly I want you, wanted you all the time. You have no clue how much I actually wanted you, even back at UA.” you grew bolder now, arms wrapping around his neck. Your hips finally touch his and oh, you could feel the hardness pressing against your thigh now, just another thing to fuel your fire.

The friction was electric, and you felt him twitch against you, a thick, hard pulse that answered your question more clearly than words ever could. A strangled sound escaped his throat, half-groan, half-protest. His hands, which had been gripping the wall behind him, flew to your hips. For a moment, you thought he was going to pull you closer, but instead, his grip was firm, holding you still, stopping your motion. It was a losing battle and you both knew it. 

“Maybe even back then, I would daydream about seeing you after classes, for whatever silly reason. Then you, in the most cliche, pornographic way, spreading me out on some desk in a random classroom and having your way with me.” You continued. His pupils were blown wide, black practically swallowing up the beautiful green rings of his iris.

“Maybe I knew you were going to be here tonight,” you smirk. “And maybe I plotted this entire interaction because I wanted to rile you up and because I wanted you that badly. And you can get off your moral high horse, because I know you reciprocate.” you pointedly grind your hips forward, right at the evidence of his arousal.

“In fact, I bet in reality...” you giggle, maybe flying too close to the sun now. “The fact that I was your student is turning you on, you’re just feeling too guilty about it because you want to be all righteous. In reality, you’re just as bad. Great old hero, saviour of the whole world Deku, really just wants to bend his student over and—”

"Enough," he ground out, strained, "You need to... you can't..."

You ignored his fractured plea, your voice saccharine "Or what, sir? What are you going to do to me?" The title was the final twist of the knife.

"Are you going to put me in detention? Are you going to teach me a lesson?" You pulled back just enough to look him dead in the eye.

That was it. The last thread of his composure snapped. 

That somehow flipped a switch. There was always that switch in Izuku, the one that flipped between the regular, slightly awkward man and the hero Deku. That rare, terrifying version of him, full of deathly determination and raw power, only reserved for the most sinister of villains. That look caused a strange stir in your chest and for some reason and started bleeding into his expression just now.

“Seriously? Seriously?”

He’s glaring down at you, fury mixed with lust. 

“Struck a nerve, huh?” You really never knew when to stop.

The next thing you knew, you were flipped around, back against the wall where you had previously, pridefully cornered Izuku. He slammed arms beside your head, completely caging you and leaned down, biting at the junction between your ear and bare neck. 

His teeth work their way torturously down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of burgundy and faint violet as his knee pushes up between your legs. You gasp at the contact. His sudden assault on you left you completely breathless and unable to continue your thoughts, your body only being able to grind back against the knee lodged between your legs to relieve the burning desire in your chest.

“Do you even think about what you’re saying?” he hisses as he leaves a particularly harsh suck right below your pulse point that makes you throw your head back in a breathy moan. The motion left him a wider opening to attack your throat, leaving more wet, sharp bites against the open expanse of skin.

“You seriously came here like this just to provoke me?” he continues as his one hand now slips under your dress to slide down your waist, the other pinning your one wrist tight against the wall as you writhe against him. The multitude of sensations and your inability to escape them had you reeling. 

Despite the brain fog his ministrations had caused, you muster out, “Are you gonna keep talking?” you glare up at him defiantly, though your voice has lost some of its previous confidence “or actually fuck me?”

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, you see him consider it. His eyes flicker from your lips to the darkened alley behind you. But then he snaps back into reality, straightening up, the raw hunger in his eyes blanked. You were still somewhat in public. Sure, no one was around, but it was still risky. He seemed to sober up immediately at the realization. 

The goading had worked, but not in the way you'd expected. He didn't lose his cool, not completely. He looked like he wanted to ravage you, but somehow he had the restraint of a god. The anger and annoyance in him were palpable, and frankly, he looked terrifying to you with how he was holding back. You realized you had completely misjudged the situation, you wanted him to break but this terrifying control was something else entirely.

You stared at him, breathless.

"We’re done here."

Your heart sank.

"What? No, I—"

"We're leaving," he cut you off, his tone leaving no room for argument. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed more analytical than stressed. "Too risky here. Sure there’s no one around but we’re in the back alley of one of the biggest hero events this year, someone will come out eventually." He was thinking out loud, assessing the situation like a mission plan. He looked back at you, his gaze sharp and decisive. "We're going to my place. Now."

The command was so simple, so direct, it sent a shiver down your spine. You could only manage a dumb nod. "Okay."

Before you could process the thought, he was grabbing your hand, his grip firm and unyielding. He pulls you from the alley, back through the throng of people, his long strides forcing you to practically run to keep up. He doesn't say another word. He leads you out of the ballroom, into the cool night air and to a sleek, black car parked at the curb. He opens the passenger door for you, a gesture that feels so jarringly polite after what just happened that you’re momentarily speechless.

You slide into the leather seat, your heart hammering against your ribs. The ride to his place is a special kind of torment. You’re practically in heat, your eyes glued to the way his suit jacket stretches across his broad shoulders, the way his forearms flex as he grips the steering wheel, the veins on his hands standing out. You’re eye-fucking him shamelessly, but he doesn't seem to notice or care, eyes focused on the road dutifully like the law-abiding hero he is.

He’s all normal again and it drives you crazy. He went from the verge of snapping to this in a flash. He is scarily silent, his eyes fixed on the road. You’re melting next to him. He usually rambles like crazy, you’ve seen enough interviews to know that. But him being deadly quiet the whole ride home sent chills down your spine.

For some insane reason, your dumb confidence reappeared the second you were in the comfort of his apartment. 

You had all your past escapades completely wrapped around your fingers and you thought it would be no different this time. You loved letting the controlling side of you bleed into the bedroom.

The second he closes the door behind him, the click of the lock echoing like a starting pistol, you were all over him. You crashed your mouth against his, kissing hard, all teeth and tongue and impatience. Whatever happened back there in the alley was nothing, you were in control again. You ravaged him, pouring all the hunger for your former teacher that had been building up for years into this one moment. You were going to destroy him, you wanted to see him wither under you, gasping and panting and completely undone.

Somehow, you managed to both land on his couch, a tangle of limbs and desperate hands. You straddled him, all confident and cocky, certain you were about to get exactly what you wanted. He’s gasping for air when you finally disconnect from the bruising kisses, his lips swollen and red.

Oh, how beautifully disheveled he looked. His suit, an upscale version of the casual clothes he’d wear back at UA, was rumpled beyond repair. His green hair was a mess, a few strands plastered to his sweat-slicked forehead. You let your fantasies run wild. You had him right there, your teacherunderneath you.

"Look at you," you purred, grinding your hips down against that hard ridge, straining against his slacks. "Did you think this was how your night was going to go, Mr Midoriya?"

You didn't wait for an answer. You shifted, your hands moving to his belt, your movements sure and practiced. You peeled his slacks back, and finally, there it was. No more imagining. The sheer, thick weight of him in your palm made your own breath hitch. You stumbled off the couch, sinking between his knees on the floor. He attempted to pull the straps of your dress down, his hands clumsy with desire, but you batted his hand away.

"Ah-ah," you tsked, shaking your head. "Not yet."

You took him in one swift motion, taking him as deep as you could. You were diligent, your head bobbing, making a show of it, your tongue tracing the thick vein on the underside as you hollowed your cheeks.

See? you thought to yourself, a smug sense of satisfaction washing over you. None of that schoolgirl bullshit. I'm grown. You were trying to prove it to him, to yourself, that you could be here, on your knees, taking his dick down your throat and still be the one in complete control. You looked up at him through your lashes, expecting to see him lost, undone. But he wasn't.

His head was tilted back against the couch, his jaw tight, but his eyes… his eyes were open. They were fixed on you. There was no desperation in them, no mindless pleasure. He was watching you, studying you almost analytically. He was cataloging your every action and the smug confidence you felt just moments ago began to curdle into something else.

He brought a hand up, not to touch you, but to rest his scarred fingers against his own lips, as if in thought. The sight was more unnerving than any aggressive move he could have made.

Fuck this, you concentrated harder, hollowing your cheeks and giving him your best doe eyes, moaning around him. The reverberations caused him to gasp, a sharp, broken sound that was music to your ears. You did it again, a longer, deeper moan and felt his thigh muscles tense under your hands.

Ah ha. You're not so immune after all.

You continued, alternating between deep, punishing sucks and smooth, twisting motions of your hand. He faltered, his hips giving a small, involuntary thrust upwards. You were slowly fraying away at his composure, he was panting, his scarred chest rising and falling in ragged bursts.

"Ah— shit," he gasped, his voice strained. "The… the angle. When you do that… it's…"

His words trailed off into another sharp hiss of breath as you swirled your tongue just under the head. His hand left his lips, his fingers digging into the leather of the couch beside him.

"You're… surprisingly methodical about this," he panted out, words strained and his eyes struggling to stay focused on yours. 

And then he spoke again, his voice a low, steady murmur that sent a chill down your spine. "Your technique is good," he said, his tone borderline conversational, as if he were critiquing a training exercise. "A little too much wrist action on the upstroke, but your gag reflex is impressive."

Your movements faltered. The heat in your belly turned to ice. You pulled back, your lips swollen, a string of saliva connecting you to him before you broke it. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

This has quite literally never happened to you before.

He just kept smiling that unnerving smile. "I'm just making observations," he continued, his green eyes glinting in the low light. "Now if you’re done messing around…"

He reached for the straps of your dress, his calloused fingers sliding them down your shoulders. The light brush of his hand against your bare skin made you visibly shudder, a betraying tremor that had nothing to do with cold.

Now you were pissed off. This wasn't how you had planned this.

"Hey! We're doing what I want," you snapped, the words sounding silly and petulant even to your own ears. You swatted his hand away as he worked on the other strap. You went to jump back on his lap to assert yourself, but this time, he wasn't letting you.

He caught you easily, his hands firm on your waist, stopping you mid-motion. You were strong, of course, as any hero would have to be. You didn't really think you could overpower number four, but the thought of trying had made you triumphant when you first pounced on him. But now… he was not holding back anymore.

"Hah," he let out a short, amused breath, unimpressed by your feeble attempts and you pathetically squirming against him. Then his expression went serious. In one fluid, terrifyingly easy motion, he flipped you over, throwing you onto your back on the couch and caging you beneath him.

You struggled against his grip now. You were seriously putting all your strength into it, your muscles straining, but you genuinely could not overpower him. His grip was unyielding. You could not even budge.

“Fuck”, you panted. That thought sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated lust through you. He was this strong even without a quirk. The sheer, raw physical power he was exerting without a hint of effort was intoxicating.

He seemed to sense the shift in your struggle, the way your frantic pushing turned into something else. He scooped you up as if you weighed nothing, lifting you from the couch. You flailed in his arms, not to escape, but to test his limits. He just held you, his expression thoroughly entertained by all this.

He carried you effortlessly towards the bedroom, tossing you onto his bed unceremoniously, like you were a stack of papers for him to grade. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your head was spinning wildly. You bounced on the mattress, a gasp torn from your throat as he was immediately over you, caging you. The switch happened again. All that playful, terrifying restraint was gone, replaced by a raw, consuming hunger.

He was biting you all over, eating you alive. You’re gasping, overwhelmed under him and he hasn't even touched you between your legs yet. He's just holding you down, his hands pinning your wrists to the mattress above your head as his mouth attacks every sensitive spot he can find. The crook of your neck, the hollow of your throat, the delicate skin just below your collarbone. He wasn't kissing you, he was marking you, leaving a trail of sharp, stinging bites that bloomed into purple bruises.

You’re so confused. You’d never been with anyone this meticulous, this borderline sadistic. He looked like he was practically getting high off of this, his pupils blown wide and his expression crazed as he watched you writhe and suffer, unable to escape his mouth. 

He took his sweet, sweet time.

You’d had your fair share of hookups, most of them saw foreplay as a chore, something to be rushed through to get to the main event. Izuku looked like he could happily do this, just devouring you with his teeth, for the rest of the night.

And you were starting to get so restless.

"Please," you whimpered, trying to grind your hips up to meet his, to get some friction, anything. "Izuku, please."

He chuckled against your ear, a low, amused sound that vibrated through you. "Please what?" he mumbled, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. 

"Touch me," you demanded, your voice strained. "Stop teasing."

"Teasing?" He lifted his head, a faux-innocent look on his face that was utterly infuriating. 

"I'm not teasing. I’m testing you out. This spot, for example.” He leaned down and sucked a hard mark right over your pulse point, you cry out “Makes your whole body tense up."

"Fuck you!" you squirmed, pulling uselessly against his grip. "Just fuck me already!"

He laughed again, a real, genuine laugh this time and the sound made you want to scream. 

"You're so demanding. You really thought you could just waltz in here and have your way with me?" He shifted his weight, pressing his knee firmly between your legs, right against your clothed, aching cunt. The pressure was a torturous relief. 

He went back to his assault, his mouth moving lower, tracing the line of your ribs through the thin fabric of your dress. Every touch was a calculated torment. He was mapping your body, learning your responses and using them against you with a precision that was terrifying. 

He toyed with the straps of your dress again, peeling the fabric down your shoulders. You learned not to protest anymore after your last attempt, so you let him, breathless and pliant beneath his gaze. He stared down at your exposed breasts, his gaze so intense it made you blush like a virgin.

He didn't look away, shamelessly staring down at you. You were exposed, vulnerable and he was doing whatever he wanted to you while still fully covered. 

“Jeez, you perv,” you squealed, your hands flying up to cover yourself like a shy maiden. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Oh, you’re impossible,” he rolls his eyes “I’m the perv? After everything you were doing earlier?” He ripped your arms away from your chest. 

His head practically crashed into you and you were met with the surprising softness of his curls on your bare chest. His mouth latched right onto your nipple, a hand coming up to tweak and roll the other between his calloused fingers.

You wailed, the pleasure so sharp. He went from light touches and teasing licks to harsh, sucking pulls, making dark, possessive marks all around your breasts.

“Fuck, fuck, please-” you babbled, your mind going blank.

He was toying with you. He'd squeeze the soft flesh of one breast hard enough to leave faint red marks while his teeth grazed the other, his tongue swirling and flicking until you were a mess. Every touch sent shivers right down your spine and you could feel yourself pulsing.

No one had ever touched you like this before. 

He pulled back, staring down at you reverently, at the marks he'd left on your skin. "Look at you," he breathed. 

Then he slapped them.

Holy shit. You were going to die. This was heaven. You died and this was heaven.

You tried again, your voice a wrecked whisper. "Are you gonna fuck me or not?"

“You already tried that one. It doesn’t work,” his breath tickled against a certain spot just below your ear and you shook all over from the sensation, causing him to tighten his grip on your waist, pushing you further into the mattress and delivering a punishing bite right over the same spot on your neck, his finger twisting a nipple, hard. You nearly screamed.

“You need to calm yourself,” he has the gall to laugh, he’s laughing at how desperate you are. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Out of all the ways you had imagined Izuku to act, all the dirty fantasies you had about your teacher, this was not even close. The pure, picture-of-innocence Deku portrayed all over hero media was so far from the truth. Even you knew he had an edge to him, but this was another level. He was getting off on your desperation, a sadistic glee in his eyes as he watched you fall apart. 

You try grinding against him now, attempting to give him your best fuck-me eyes. "I need you, Izuku," you whine, your voice thin and reedy. 

"Please." You try again, staring up at him through thick lashes with a pleading look you know would have sent any of your previous lovers into a frenzy.

He is entirely unfazed. He ignores your request completely and proceeds to lick your nipples, only lightly, the wet tip of his tongue tracing slow, agonizing circles. He would do so over and over, not stopping even when you thrashed like you were being electrocuted, only holding you down harder.

"Shhh, just be still for a second," he murmured, wet against your skin "Let me see."

"See what?" you gasped, your back arching off the bed as he switched to the other nipple, giving it the same maddeningly light treatment.

"How sensitive you are," he said, as if explaining a simple scientific principle.

He suddenly switched from the light, teasing licks to a harsh, sucking pull, his teeth grazing the peak. The sudden shift in sensation was a shock, a bolt of pure pleasure-pain that made you cry out. He alternated between the two extremes.

You couldn't think.

You tried to get him to touch you, to put his fingers where you actually wanted him, to finally put his dick in you. But he would smack every one of attempts away dismissively.

You couldn't believe it.

As much as you loved foreplay, being caressed and worshipped all over, this was far too much, too overwhelming. He seemed to enjoy the fact that you couldn't handle his light touches all over and the way your body betrayed you.

"Look at you," he said, his voice laced with a wonder as he watched you struggle. "So sensitive." He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. "Cute."

You could cry. 

You grind against his clear, hard length, trying a new tactic, trying to maybe rile him up. You had no idea how he was so patient, how he hadn't even shown signs of breaking yet while you were close to tears.

He shrinks away from your motion. "No, I don't think so," he mutters, his voice a low warning. "We're not done yet."

He continues to suck bruises now across your chest, placing a particularly harsh suck right against your nipple. You scream.

You start losing it genuinely, all pride and dignity out the window. You start begging, tearing up as he continues to overwhelm your senses.

"Please, Izuku. Plea- please ah- plea-"

He shuts you up with a hungry kiss, all bite, muffling your desperate attempt. "You don't even know what you are even asking for," he teases as he disconnects from your bruised, parted lips. "Can you not speak properly? What happened to that talk from earlier?"

How long had he been playing with you? An hour? Two? Time had dissolved completely. You could practically feel yourself pulsing between your legs, a desperate, empty ache. In a moment of pure instinct, you attempted to squeeze your legs together for some stimulation, but Izuku's knee came down hard, parting them mercilessly and not granting you the reprieve you so desperately needed.

"Please fuck me. Please. I want you in me so bad. So bad," you babbled, the words tumbling out of you. "I will do anything please. I will suck you off— I’ll let you do anything please just— ah—" you choked out, the desperation fogging up all your thoughts until you were incoherent, a mess of pleas and whimpers.

"Ahh, you should've said earlier," he mocks, a smirk twisting his lips. He finally, finally grinds down against you, the rough fabric of his trousers a glorious, agonizing friction. "See what being nice gets you?"

He nearly rips your panties, throwing them to the side, fingers immediately finding your swollen clit, rubbing torturous circles that were just barely enough.

"Hah— ah— fuck—" you could hardly believe how drenched you were. You could feel the way your own slick smeared and stuck to your inner thighs when he dragged your panties off you.

"Fuck, Izuku—"

"So much swearing," he chastises, his tone that of a disappointed teacher. "You know, you were so beautiful when you were asking nicely. Now you're ruining all that progress again."

"Shut— ah— Shut up," you moan, your eyes losing their focus as he continues toying with your clit. His fingers were just barely there, the light but intent rubs making you completely lose focus.

“Fuck— fuck— you,” you snarled, annoyed at how he was dragging this out, at how he was enjoying your unraveling.

"Such a dirty mouth for a pretty face," he tutted, and without warning, plunges a finger into you. You jolt, your back bowing off the bed as if you’ve been electrocuted. His finger sets a punishing pace, slamming into that spot inside you, hard and unrelenting.

“Don't care— stupid, don't care—” you argue, your words broken by the force of his thrusts.

"I guess I'm not doing enough if you have the energy to talk back," he muses. The pleasure was searing through you, that feeling building up all too quick, way too quickly than you were familiar or comfortable with. "You can keep acting all high and mighty, but I can feel you." He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "You're so wet. Can you even feel anything?"

To emphasize his point, he slaps your cunt. The sound is so lewd, so wet, it echoes in the room. The sharp, stinging pleasure makes you gasp.

His finger suddenly slows down, pushing deep, nestling right there where you're most sensitive. He stops thrusting and starts rubbing, pressing hard against that spot, abusing it, rubbing it raw. 

You nearly shriek. 

“Can you feel it, there?” he was taunting, his voice a low, cruel whisper. "Can you?”

He emphasizes his point, finger pressing deep, massaging that spongy, sensitive patch with impossible focus. 

You start crying, tears spilling down your cheeks, not being able to hold back anymore.

"Asshole," you sob, still trying to be defiant. "Fuck you."

You are so close, the coil in your stomach wound so tight you can feel it vibrating through your entire body. 

And then he draws his fingers out.

"No! Fuck, close, close, I was so close—" You thrash against the bed, tears leaving wet patches on the sheets crumpled under you.

"I know," he says, sweetly. "I could feel you." He looks down at you, at the tear tracks on your face and the utter desperation in your eyes, admiring.

To your overwhelming relief, he plunges his fingers back into you, but slowly, so slow it’s a new kind of torment. The observant fuck he is, he knows just how to touch you, just where to rub at what pace. He knew your body better than you did at this point, it was terrifying.

You beg him dumbly, desperate for release, barely forming words. "Please, please, please, Izuku, I need—"

"Look at you, you can't even form a sentence. So dumb just from a couple of fingers." His voice is so sickeningly sweet.

"I'm not dumb," you muster out, a flash of defiance cutting through the blur. "I was top of my cla— ah—"

"Well really," he interrupts, his tone patronizing.

You nod, sloppily, way too far gone to form any reply. 

"Then, miss valedictorian, how about a little test? Since you're so. Very. Bright." He punctuates each word with a harsh, deep thrust of his fingers, his knuckles slapping against your flesh, making you gasp. 

“Huh? wha-“ you uttered, delirious

"So, let's start off easy," he begins, his fingers slowing to a maddeningly deliberate pace inside you. "Name the hero who pioneered the use of capture weapons in modern urban combat."

"Ah-ah, it's—" Your mind is a complete blank, a soupy mess of pleasure. "It's... Present Mic?" you guess.

"Wrong," he says flatly. "Try again."

"Uh... Midnight?" Another stupid guess.

"None of the above," he drawls. He flips you around harshly and you yelp as your face hits the mattress. 

He fucking spanks you, the sudden, sharp hit causing you to squeeze around his rough fingers impossibly tighter.

"Huh? You liked that." he observes, sounding way too satisfied with himself, and smacks you again, the other cheek this time. You cry out.

He leans back down, his chest pressing against your bare, sensitive back. It's so hot, so hot, so hot. He continues, breath a hot brand against your ear. "What was the civilian casualty percentage during the villain siege of Hosu City three years ago?"

"Ah- ah—" You can't lie. Even under normal circumstances, you were terrible with numbers. Despite being such a nerd back at school, the moment you left, you hadn't touched a single book.

"Ooh, disappointing," he says, and another spank lands, right next to the last one. The pain is sharp, thrilling. "What is the primary weakness of Water Hosing quirks?"

You were so close again, the coil in your stomach tightening with every punishing thrust of his fingers. "Ha— ha," you pant, so close, only focused on trying to cum, not wanting to alert him. You attempt to not squeeze around him, to betray yourself with your body's reaction.

"Ooh, too slow," he says, and he pulls his fingers out. He did notice. Fuck.

He uses that teacher voice again, scolding you. "You should be more decisive with your answers." He has the audacity to sound disappointed. "Are you sure you were top of your class? My first graders know better, those were the questions from their last midterm."

He's just messing with you now, but you had no strength to bite back.

"Another question," he continues, his fingers back at your entrance, but this time they're rubbing you lightly, feather-light touches that are somehow worse than the rough fingering from before. "Who was the first hero to successfully integrate support tech into their hero costume without a personal support engineer?"

You were going blank. His fingers are back, but the light, teasing touches are making you sob, crying in pure frustration. "No answer? Disappointing," he says, and another smack lands right by the last one, the pain blooming across your skin.

At some point, you completely stop responding to him, just moaning wantonly at every touch and the overwhelming feeling of his breath against your bare, sensitive back.

You were about to come again for the umpteenth time. Just from his fingers. The pleasure built to an impossible peak, before he pulled away completely.

"What makes you think you get to finish?" he asks, his voice cold. 

"Plea-please-"

“That was zero out of four.” he remarks wryly, "You couldn't even get a single question right. So much for being UA's darling pride and joy. I'm disappointed."

You felt like your soul was leaving your body at this point, utterly wrecked, splayed out on his bed. Defeated. Aching. And still so, so empty.

"Please..." you pleaded, the word a broken, pathetic whisper. You knew now that was his weakness, you had to try. He wanted to see you all debauched and begging, you even cried for him.

But he hadn't even put his dick in you and you were completely distraught, jaggedly breathing and staring up at him, entirely submissive.

Never in your wildest, wet dreams did you think Deku would turn out to be like this. The hero magazines painted him as a symbol of unwavering hope, a slightly awkward but determined boy-next-door who just happened to be the fourth strongest person in the country. This was a side of him you never could have imagined, the way he'd dissected your body with the same terrifying precision he used to analyze a villain's quirk and used every weakness against you.

"What do you want?" he queries, feigning confusion. You feebly attempt to grind your hips back against him, trying to convey your desperation with whimpers and squirms, your body doing all the talking your pride won't allow.

"Speak properly," he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I want to hear you say it."

"Please, you-," you choke out, the words so raw and needy you could hardly believe they came from you. What the hell has he done to you?

"What?" he pushes, relentlessly.

"I want you, please."

"Where?"

"Here, please, please," you sob, trying to reach back and guide him in. He shoves your shaky hands away.

"Nuh uh. I want to hear you say it."

"Please put it inside—" 

Fuck. You were not about to say this shit out loud like you’re in some corny porn film. You knew you were probably blushing all over, a humiliating heat creeping up your neck and face. Is he seriously getting off on humiliating you? Having begged and shrieked like an animal in heat wasn't enough already?

"Please just—" you bury your flaming face into the crook of your arms, not being able to stare back at his challenging, predatory gaze.

"You can stop acting so shy," he sounds amused. "I just had my fingers in you."

You let out a breath of indignation. You can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. "Fuck— Izuku— please fuck me— please put your fucking dick in— please I nee—"

He cuts you off, slamming into you in one brutal, deep stroke. 

“See? It wasn’t that hard now, was it?”

The force of his thrusts shake the whole bed against the wall. You gasp, your eyes widening in shock as he finally, finally fills you up, the stretch so intense and deep.

"Listen," he's breathing into your ear in between thrusts, each word punctuated by the slap of his hips against your ass. "You don't know what you've gotten yourself into."

Then, as suddenly as it started, his movements ceased. He's still inside you, a heavy, throbbing, but his tone shifts, becoming gentle, a caring, genuine tone that feels completely alien right now.

“If you want me to actually stop, say 'All Might.' Loud. I won't touch you, we'll end this."

You huff, a disbelieving sound. "Huh? You think I can't handle this?" How you could even muster up that sentence was a mystery, especially after how he had defiled you for the past god knows how long.

He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, his expression now genuinely serious, all traces of mockery gone.

"Listen," he warns. "I'm serious. If you want to stop, use your word. Otherwise, I won't let you go. Okay?"

“Keep going.” you whined, you had no idea what possessed you. You wriggled your hips back, wanting him to continue, he ignored you, insisting. 

"Seriously? Say okay."

You give in, nod, "Okay."

Despite it all, you really appreciated this. You had never thought of needing a safe word in the past, but the gesture made you slightly warm and comforted inside, a slightly out of place feeling in your current predicament.

The switch flips again. His pace is punishing, deep, so deep it felt like he was bruising you from the inside out. How was he reaching in so impossibly deep? He was molded to you, the shape of him grinding against every fiber of you that needed it most.

"You feel incredible," he moans, his voice raw. "How are you so wet?"

You feel his hands grip your hips tightly, the pressure grounding. You clench around him, meeting his thrusts, arching your back and pressing your breasts into the mattress. The feeling of the rough sheets scraping against your sensitive, bruised nipples far too much.

"Relax," he notices you arching into him, trying to thrust back. "Just relax." He puts a hand on the small of your back, pressing you firmly into the mattress, forcing you to take exactly what he's giving. Your breathing is labored, dizzy, and you come up gasping, needing to breathe. Your head snaps to the side, panting like a bitch in heat. You stare up at him.

Holy fuck. He's so tall up there, a powerful silhouette against the dim light of the room. His shoulders are broad and sculpted, his chest heaving. His green hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes—his eyes are locked on you. He had taken his clothes off somehow, you have no idea when that happened, but the sight of all that toned, scarred muscle working above you is obscene. 

You probably looked so fucked out right now from his view, a mess of tears and sweat and need. All your snarky, witty remarks were being fucked out of you with every hard, punishing thrust.

You were so close, the coil in your stomach wound so tight you could feel it vibrating in your core. Despite how desperately you needed release, a small, stupid part of you wanted to hold out, just a bit, for him, for your ego, not wanting to cum before him.

You try to get him to slow down for just a second to catch your breath, your hand feebly pressing against the hard, sweat-slick plane of his abs. He just grunts, irritated that you're trying to push back and swats your hand away.

"I told you to relax." he slows his pace, pulling all the way, dragging against your walls. "Just take it." He slams back in, your screams muffled by his sheets.

You try again, your other hand pushing against him. "Izuku, wait, I can't—"

He grabs both your wrists, his grip like iron and wrestles them behind your back. "No, you don't," he snarls. He swats at your already sore ass a couple times, the sharp smacks making you clench around him.

"Why do you have to be so difficult?" He's talking down to you, filthy "Look at you. Can't even keep your hands to yourself."

Suddenly, you feel yourself being flipped over onto your back. He pins your hands above your head and in a movement so swift and skillful it makes your head spin, he fishes his discarded tie from the floor. 

He snaps the silk around your wrists, binding them together with a practiced knot.

"Can't you just keep your fucking hands to yourself?" he snaps, and oh, he was really getting annoyed, letting swears slip out. He was usually so clean and family friendly, even throughout the whole night, all those filthy moments not slipping up once. Hearing him talk like this was a whole new kind of thrill. 

You test out the binds, shifting your wrists around curiously and immediately tensing at the realization at just how tight he made them. You couldn’t get out of there even if you tried. You let out a distressed, high whine, staring at him like a caged animal.

He rolls his damn eyes and slips out of you, cleanly. As he pushes back, he deliberately misses you. You feel the him, hot and heavy, tracing around your sloppy, weeping entrance. He attempts to thrust in again, then pulls back.

"Oops," he fucking giggles, his voice dripping with false sympathy. He lines himself up, nudging against you and you brace yourself.

But he shifts at the last second, sliding smoothly, right past where you need him most. "Oh no, not again."

You sob again, a broken, desperate sound. Not more of this. You don't know how much more you could handle.

"Fuck, I guess you're just too wet," his voice filled with that mocking tone of his "Can't get a good grip." He tries again, this time using his hand to guide himself. You feel the blunt pressure against you, your body clenching in anticipation, and then—nothing. 

He drags the head slowly upwards, tracing circles around your throbbing clit. "Here? You keep squirming so much, I can't tell."

Your hips buck wildly, trying to force him inside, but he just laughs and pulls back. "Ah-ah. Patience."

He lines up for a third time. You're whimpering now, tears of pure frustration leaking from the corners of your eyes. You feel him press against you, a slow, deliberate pressure that feels like it might actually work this time. Your body surrenders. He starts to push in, just the tip and a ragged gasp escapes your lips. 

Then he stops.

"Wait a second," he says, his voice suddenly thoughtful. He pulls out completely, leaving you gaping and empty. You cry out in protest, but he just shushes you.

"I'm just thinking. What was that third question? The one you couldn't answer?" He taps his chin mockingly. "Something about support tech... right. You know, for someone who claims to be so smart, your memory is terrible. Maybe I should stop until you can give me an answer. It might help you focus."

"No, please, I don't know, I don't care!" you shriek, your voice ragged head shaking wildly.

"Wrong answer," he says, and with one, brutal snap of his hips, he finally slams into you, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden, unrelenting fullness after all that is your undoing. The change in angle, the sheer force of it, makes you cum right there, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your entire body convulses. 

“Ah— ah— fuck— shit—” It's a wave of pleasure so intense it wipes every thought from your head. Your vision whites out and all you can feel is the relentless, pounding pleasure as he continues to fuck you through it. 

“God fuck— that was— ah—” you’re voice hoarse, torn from pleasure. “Fuck— Izuku— god.” 

You blinked slowly, coming back to your senses, coming down from that high, but he wasn't stopping. He showed no signs of stopping, let alone slowing down. In fact, you felt him somehow grow harder inside you, his pounding becoming more deliberate, more targeted. Oh.

Oh, you were actually fucking terrified now. 

You looked up at him through wet lashes, sniffling. What met you were hungry, bright eyes, like he was hunting you down. Your arms flexed against his makeshift restraints, squirming at being bound like this.

Oh shit. Oh shit. 

You realized, terrified that he was not joking earlier. You should have taken that warning you dismissed and laughed off, too arrogant and too turned on. 

Your pleasure slowly tipped into overdrive, borderline painful, thrusting up into that spot that once felt like heaven. You shrieked, a raw, ragged sound that was half pleasure, half agony. The tie on your wrists dug in. Every instinct screamed at you to push him away, but you were completely immobilized. 

He fucked you like a man possessed. The way he was holding you now, hands squeezing around your waist, bouncing your helpless body back and forth, made you feel like a goddamn sex doll he was using to get himself off. Your bound wrists were useless above your head, your legs spread wide for his convenience. He was just using you, chasing his own pleasure. For some reason, it sent another unwanted jolt of pleasure through your ravaged body.

"Look at you," he panted, his voice a harsh, guttural sound you barely recognized. "What about all that talk from earlier? Look at you now." He punctuated his words with a particularly vicious thrust. “What was that you said earlier? You think I can’t handle it?  Something like that, right?”

The overstimulation was like a fire, consuming you from the inside out. It was too much, too intense, a pleasure so sharp it felt like it would split you open. You were sobbing openly now, begging incoherently, your body wracked with tremors. You had never felt so used, so utterly annihilated.

“Quiet,” he cooed, his hot breath fanning against your ear as he leaned down. “Someone’s gonna think I’m torturing you.” You shivered, unable to back away from the light contact that made you seize up all over. You were completely caged.

You attempt to shift, skirting your ass up the bed in small, slow increments, trying to angle him so he at least wouldn’t be hitting you right there, just a bit of relief. 

Just like that, yes. You thought, shifting back just a little more.

"Where do you think you're going?"

His voice was utterly devoid of the teasing warmth from before. Your escape plan had completely failed, a rough grip on your hips drags you back down, right back where you were, impaling you even deeper.

"Fuck— please— please—" you sob “No more please—”

"Too much?" he taunts "No? No more? Stop?" 

He leans down, his face inches from yours. "You know what to say if you actually wanted me to stop."

He pauses, his hips stilling for a fraction of a second and a genuine worry flickers in his eyes. His face is so close to yours, a wordless check-in. Hey. Are you okay? Do you actually want to stop?

You don't reply, panting, staring back at him through tears.

He huffs, a short, sharp sound of disbelief. "Oh, so you're just messing with me," he concludes, his voice hardening again. "Needy, pretending you don't want this just as much." 

His hand came down now, palm laying flat on your stomach, pressing and rubbing right where he was nestled deepest, an almost sadistic look in his eyes as he watched you struggle and choke on a sob to no avail. The pressure right on top of where he had you impaled.

"You were the one who wanted this. You begged for this. Now you're going to take every second of it. Okay?"

His other hand moves between your legs, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, harsh circles. The added stimulation is unbearable. 

"Crying as if you're not the one who had been provoking me all night." He delivers another and another hard thrust, sending you closer and closer to the edge of the bed with each one. "You. Wanted. This."

"Fuck! I... fuck, I can't," you sob, "I can't—"

"No. You can," he states, matter-of-fact.

Right as you're about to fall off the edge of the mattress, he hooks an arm around your waist, dragging you back right onto him. The angle is devastating, causing you to scream, your voice breaking.

And by some cruel miracle, you came again. It all happened so fast, the back-to-back pleasure shortening the intervals between your orgasms until there was no beginning or end. Through your daze, you noticed his thrusts getting sloppier, halting and stuttering more.

"Shit. You're so tight," he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. His continued thrusts were genuine torture now after your second time in a row. He was insatiable, every drag of his cock against your oversensitive walls a fresh agony.

"Izuku, please—" you try, blinking through tear-stained cheeks. "Please, I'll suck you off, use my mouth, my thighs, please, I can't anymore— fuck—"

"Shhh, just a bit, I'm close, I promise," he breathes, voice ragged. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, a stark, tender contrast to the brutal way he's been fucking you. "So good for me."

You keened at the praise, squeezing dutifully around his thrusts.

With a final, guttural groan, he buried himself as deep as he could and finally spilled into you. He stayed there, trembling and finally collapsing on you, his weight pinning you down.

For the first time all night, there was silence.

After a while, you started regaining your senses. You nudged him off you. He unties your wrists. You roll over to stare at the ceiling in complete disbelief.

"Holy fucking shit," you gasped, still shocked, your body going numb now. "In the nicest way possible, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

He laughs now, light and airy, no more of that teasing condescension. It was just the Deku you knew and saw before tonight, slipping back into his normal self. 

"I warned you." more laughs. 

You stare at the digital clock at the bedside table. Holy hell. It had been what, six? Seven hours since the night began, since the event that felt like ages ago. You were in bed for probably three or four hours. His stamina was genuinely terrifying.

"Four hours?" you manage to croak, turning your head to look at him. He was propped up on his elbow, a lazy, satisfied grin on his face, his green hair a mess. "Are you part rabbit or something? That's not human."

He just shrugged, a gesture that was so infuriatingly casual. "Hero training. Lots of stamina and endurance exercises. And from wielding One For All... might have to do with that. I picked up a few things from then."

"A few things?" you scoffed, trying to sit up and immediately collapsing back down when your muscles screamed in protest. "You call that 'a few things'? I think you just broke my vagina. I'm gonna need a wheelchair."

He winced slightly, a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes. "Ah, sorry. Was I too rough?" He reached out to gently brush a stray hair from your forehead, his touch now impossibly soft.

You smacked his hand away playfully. 

"Don't you dare act all caring now, you demon. You were a literal animal five minutes ago. You tied me up with your own tie!"

A faint blush dusted his cheeks. "Well, you kept trying to move. It was a necessary countermeasure."

He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "Besides, you didn't say the word."

You grin now. "I know." You shift, wincing slightly. 

"Are you always this... insane in bed?"

He groaned, flopping onto his back and rubbing a hand over his face. "Ugh, no. Not usually. It's... yeah, teaching and all that hero work," he sighed, "as much as I love it, it's been so much lately. Had no time to even think about sex. It was... that pent-up energy."

He turned his head to look at you now, a sheepish grin on his face. "Guess I had a lot saved up, glad you came along"

You narrowed your eyes at him, a suspicious look on your face. "Didn't seem like you were that pent up," you shot back. "What even was that? You were teasing me for so fucking long." You smother your face in your hands, blushing just at the thought. "Who even does that? Do you just have a really, really dark side I should know about?"

Pause.

“Anyways, wanna go again?”