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Ochako had always been his ultimate goal and his greatest achievement. She was perfection and purity personified in such a small frame, busting at the seams with brightness and happiness. Izuku’d always thought that she was the perfect match for him. Granted, they’d agreed on morals, ambitions, opinions and values ever since they'd met, and even then there was so much more in her that made Ochako irresistible for him.
She was the perfect complement for Izuku and every single day he loved her some more. Her positivity often made him forget about his baseless insecurities and worries. Ochako was the perfect woman and support; a true angel.
You, on the other hand, were nothing like his wife and that awakened a visceral feeling in him, too akin to hatred to ignore. Both your personality and looks were strikingly different. You were tall where she was short, lean where she was robust and modest where she was exuberant.
You were opposites, which could only justify your devilish looks and persona: you were sin personified, a walking porno in your unnecessary loud heels, perpetually glossy, red lips and your petulant quietness. You were a succubus, an astute evil creature that plagued weak men’s dreams and waited for a chance to ruin resolves and break up families.
He saw it in the way you cocked your head to the side to look at him when he spoke, eyelids drooping in an almost defiant manner. He noticed the poison dripping off the corner of your smirk every time he went on rambling, expanding his ideas on topics which might be a bit irrelevant for others.
You were the new English teacher at UA, the new addition to the renowned high school. A few years younger than him, you didn’t cower in the slightest before him nor any other man. In every meeting, your soft voice was heard, your opinions and views worded briefly but effectively (something he had yet to achieve even after years of his professional career), and you stared at him as he choked on his own speech. You were brave and daring.
Unfeminine, he should say.
“Mr. Midoriya!,” you’d called out to him one day in the middle of the hallway. “Could I have a little chat with you?”
You click-clacked loudly and quickly as you caught up to him, your narrow hips swaying swiftly while you waved at a few male students on your way, all smiles and squinted eyes. Izuku, on the other hand, stood there awkwardly waiting as those same students passed by his side and pointedly ignored him.
“Sorry to bother you, mister,” you sighed unapologetically, picking a strand of hair that was sticking to your lip gloss and putting it behind your ear.
“No problem, miss. Can I help you with something?”
It was the first time he was actually exchanging more than a dutiful greeting with you and he wasn’t really sure of why it was even happening.
“Oh, it’s nothing! I just wanted to clarify a little misunderstanding.”
Izuku hadn’t had enough proof to confirm it before, but whenever you were near him, you did stand with your back straighter, which, if anything, made you a few centimetres (even) taller than him. Unnecessarily rude.
“You see, my kids have been telling me that you’ve told them to leave the homework I have assigned for the last possible minute.”
The accusation had taken him by surprise and he found himself at a loss for words, because he had, in fact, told them just that. He’d worded it differently, that’s for sure, yet the implication was the same and the brats had ratted him out rightfully so. Truth be told, he should’ve foreseen it, knowing that being a responsible and serious teacher was nowhere as popular as being a lenient and laid-back one (like he knew you were), despite guaranteeing statistically better results in his classes.
Once again, the devilish smirk framed your statement and the subtle, mocking glint of your eyes made fun of him silently. You continued belittling him as if you had any right to.
“I understand your subject is of utmost importance to you and that a foreign language might be unnecessary in the syllabus by your standards and I respect that, but,” and you put special emphasis there,” it didn’t occur to me that you’d be one to feel threatened by a bit of harmless reported speech.
“Surely, you wouldn’t want our kids to lower their grades by procrastinating on doing their due work. It’s best for them to start it now while the information is still fresh. Knowing how hard the topic is for them, the results won’t be very good if they don’t make use of the two weeks I’ve given them before the deadline.”
Taking advantage of his inability to sputter out a complete sentence as a response, you had the gall to fix the collar of his shirt, smoothing your hands where it was bending awkwardly before you delivered the final blow:
“A characteristic of a good teacher is to be flexible, Mr. Midoriya. You might just be too used to older customs.”
You fucking bitch.
Izuku couldn’t think well.
It was hot and stuffy in the teachers’ room and it was clearly affecting him. That paired with the unbearable noise of the fan spitting hot air left and right while he tried to hold the sheets of paper down with his pencil case was driving him crazy.
There was a single, long table in the middle, a few chairs scattered around the space for the staff to use as they saw fit, a water dispenser, a small fridge and a microwave in one of the empty corners. There were some plants, too, for decoration, as well as a few Kandinsky prints on the walls he never quite understood, but he guessed helped to make the room feel less sterile, if only a little.
You were sitting across him, diagonally, as far away as possible. Thankfully. Your laptop was on top of the table, a bit to your left while you typed in it and consulted the book to your right. Behind those, there was a water bottle (surprisingly bright coloured for your usual low-profile, pastel choices), and a plastic container with strawberries you were eating out of.
Unlike you, Izuku preferred taking real notes and writing on paper to taking shortcuts. He believed that students learnt from example, and there was no better example than teaching them the importance of hard, honest work.
That meant that he had a pile of assignments to grade, the notebook where he kept track of his students’ marks, his calculator to add up the results, and a separate planner where he wrote down his weekly lesson plans, homework and whatever he felt like the students needed to work on.
He had to strain his eyes to the right, head locked in place, to scan your corner without you noticing. Not that he had any problems with you noticing, of course, he just didn’t want you getting the wrong idea and thinking too highly of yourself. Especially since he was simply looking at you because he couldn’t stand your lack of decorum.
You had a plethora of aggravating characteristics. Your hair, for instance, ticked him the wrong way. You’d always manage to make it look messy in an informal, almost vulgar way. Sure, it was quite hot and wet, and he himself had curly hair and knew the struggles of it, but he was aware of how to keep it as tame and inconspicuous as possible. You had apparently missed those life lessons.
You’d normally arrive with your long hair loose, bouncing left and right with every step and clack of your heeled soles. In the morning, you looked quite composed; it certainly wasn’t the worst. The problem was meeting you at the end of the day.
The passed hours, paired with the humidity and the movement of your fingers running through it repeatedly throughout the lessons resulted in the worst possible outcome. The locks became completely disheveled as if you’d just got out of bed and you’d spent at least several hours tossing and turning on it. That wasn’t all, though, because your smudged makeup only further exacerbated the utterly fucked-out look you seemingly enjoyed sporting.
He had to actively avoid crossing paths with you if he didn’t want to pop half a hard-on in the middle of the corridor with all the kids leaving the establishment.
Today, you’d opted to tie the curly mess up. If the situation had been different, he would have applauded the choice, but given that it was you in question, and you never seemed to do the right thing, the hairstyle was just as untidy as your loose hair, if not more. The haphazardly tied bun left a lot of locks stranded and he sat there watching while the stray curly little tresses licked at the soft skin of your blushed cheeks and neck with every turn of the fan, much like you were obscenely licking the strawberry juice off the tip of your fingers.
God, were you doing it on purpose?
In between swigs of water, you typed a bit on your laptop, grabbed a strawberry, picked the leaves off with your long, sharp nails and ate them in two bites. All of them in exactly two bites despite of the size.
With the first one, you’d encircle those glossy lips matching colours with the fruit and sink your teeth around the middle of it. A droplet of thin juice would start running down your bottom lip as you chewed, shifting the way light reflected on it, but you would only swipe your tongue across its plum flesh when the red teardrop was on the verge of falling.
In the second bite, you’d continue typing with your left hand, pop the remainder of the strawberry in your mouth and give a few kitten licks to your soiled fingers. Then, you’d dry your hands on a paper towel to your right and resume your writing undisturbed until you repeated the whole process almost like a ritual.
He watched it every single time, interrupting his grading in order to watch the outrageous show before him. Severely indignant, of course, and in the meanwhile he used the opportunities to take a few bites off his own lunch: a simple sandwich his wife had prepared for him. He used to go to work with elaborate bento boxes, but with the new family addition, it was harder for Ochako to prepare something fancy and he wasn't skilled enough to do it himself. Judging by your lunch, you weren’t any better than him yourself.
Somewhere around the end of the break, you decided to take off your reading glasses (wow, he hadn’t even spotted them before that), leave them beside the laptop and stretch your arms and back. The gesture carried no negative connotation in itself, but it exposed the outline of the undershirt below your cream coloured blouse, and with it, the unmistakable imprint of your puffy nipples underneath the thin layers of summer clothes, and the overall shape of your tiny tits.
Izuku choked on the last bite of his sandwich, which stopped your stretching session and drew the chocolate of your eyes to him.
“Easy there,” you mocked and his cheeks flared as he fought for his life through a coughing fit. “No need to rush with your lunch, Mr. Midoriya.”
Ignoring the disdainful comment, Izuku couldn’t believe your lack of decency and shameless need for attention. He understood that considering the size of your chest you might not require the support Ochako did, but you couldn't just forgo altogether wearing basic underwear in a place full of hormonal kids and predominantly male staff.
By the time he could breathe normally again, your personal items had been safely and neatly stored away in your bag and you were ready to leave his pathetic self to choke to death in the stale room, but you stopped shy from opening the door.
“You know, Mr. Midoriya?,” you started, not even bothering to look at him when talking. The way you addressed him always rubbed him the wrong way. It was almost as if it were amusing for you to call his name, hardly able to contain your laugh like you had some sort of internal joke starring him. The last thing he wanted to do was feed your little fantasies of superiority. “For someone who’s so adamant on not using technology, you have awful handwriting.”
He clenched his teeth at the sudden insult on his honest abilities, a bit lost for words. “It gets the job done.”
“Barely,” you accused, pointing at the large pile of still unmarked papers with a tilt of the chin. It made his eyebrow twitch.
“I don’t remember asking for your advice, miss.”
You smirked again, now clearly entertained by the bite in his answer, a gleeful gloss veiling the previous scorn in your eyes.
“Good point.” And with that, you left without looking back, the clack of your shoes echoing down the corridor. As per usual, you trampled over his mental peace and sanity just to leave him completely agitated afterwards.
The last ten minutes of his lunch break, Izuku spent them holed up in a bathroom stall rubbing a quick one out and he arrived at his following class five minutes late.
“She said what!?,” asked Ochako, his darling of a spouse, while their dinner cooked, she fed their child and he corrected the tasks he had left from earlier that day. Feeling a bit betrayed, he spotted the amusement on her face.
“I’m serious!”
Izuku had been telling her about the encounter that day, purposefully omitting the details about how he’d been paying too much attention to your attributes to do his job and especially leaving out the visit to the restroom.
“Don’t worry your head so much over that, honey.” she laughed off easily.
“I just can’t stand that woman.”
“Maybe she likes you and she’s just teasing you.”
She’d meant it as playful banter by the wiggle of her brows and strident laugh, but he couldn’t avoid the chill he felt running down his back and the emotional reply that left his lips.
“Oh, don’t even joke about that!”
He was lucky Ochako rightfully took the blush blooming underneath his freckles as a sign of uncontained disgust and didn’t mistake it for hopeful giddiness.
“Don’t you think you’re drinking too much?”
“I don’t remember asking for your advice,” you recalled, tongue in cheek. The alcohol you’d drunk already had you kind of buzzed and smiley like you usually were around the students.
He had to bite his tongue and breathe deeply to suppress a mean retort.
Izuku hadn’t thought much of it when he’d been invited to have some drinks after work. He figured it would be the same people that always went for a drink at the end of the week, so he didn’t see the reason why he shouldn’t accept the invitation this time.
So it seemed, it had apparently been some teacher’s birthday and the whole personnel had been invited, which included you by default. That messed up with the prospect of having a quiet night out considerably, and determined beforehand how much time he was going to spend there.
He didn’t pay attention to the seating arrangement. Izuku only took the place next to one of his former teachers, his favourite one actually, because he knew that he wouldn’t be disturbed there. If he had just looked to the other side, he would’ve realized in time that he was sitting next to you as well.
Despite his terrible selection, nothing was going exactly wrong. He ate his food, drank his beer and chatted with his colleagues. If anything, it was a bit louder than usual, but nothing aggravating. You didn’t talk to him nor look his way. You didn’t interact much at all with anyone there for the record. You simply downed drink after drink in silence, a smile plastered on your face yet wordless.
He was surprised that your cup was thoroughly stained with your maroon lip gloss and your mouth was still shining as if there was no tomorrow.
“I’m just trying to be nice here, miss. I’m worried for your safety. How are you going to get home when you can’t even walk?”
“Then, Mr. Midoriya,” you said playfully, looking him straight to the eye for the first time, a sly streak across your face as you leaned just a tad closer before whispering: “You’ll have to make sure to get me home safe.”
Leaving Izuku with his mouth open, you turned your back to him and rummaged through your bag until you got a pen and a pink sticky note pad, then started to jot your address down in a hyper-feminine-cursive-print-hybrid handwriting.
“I’m married!,” he whisper-shouted when he regained control of his jaws and seized your wrist.
“I know...” You turned to look back at him, face veiled in confusion before a spark of realization hit your features.
Thankfully, the rest of the staff had chosen that exact moment to roar with laughter at something someone else had said. Otherwise, all the attention would’ve been drawn to the two of you. Well, actually, mostly you, the one laughing like a maniac, head thrown back and all, and him by proxy, whose face looked like it was about to blow up as he recoiled in his seat.
Suddenly, Izuku felt all too warm and breathless. He had to loosen his tie a bit lest he wanted to suffocate as the generalized laughing subsided.
“Oh, my gosh!” you gasped, still chuckling animatedly and sort of covering your mouth with the little square of paper. “I’m not asking you to fuck me, geez!” You smacked his arm lightly, gave him the note and turned your head to the side as your cheeks dusted with pinkish embarrassment, too, ignorant to the way Izuku was left completely aghast by your language and the stupidity of his overactive imagination. “I’m just asking you to drop me off at home when I black out, silly.”
He settled to keep further interaction with you to the minimum the remainder of the time you spent at that bar. He even managed to change seats in the middle of it, leaving you to your own devices for the most part and trying to leave that humiliating exchange behind.
Apart from that, from you, he’d had a really good time. Usually, he tried attending all these drinking get-togethers with his peers and former teachers. Being a UA alumni had many perks and he felt really comfortable there, at home, often looking back on his journey and personal growth with the other attendants.
Inevitably, though, that growth carried new responsibilities and duties that made him decide to cut the night short. And so, while the rest made plans to move the party to the next bar, he got himself ready to go back home. In fact, he was getting his back patted by one of his former teachers as a farewell when both men heard someone calling your name worriedly and turned their heads to watch the scene unfolding.
“Sit down, I’m calling you an uber!” It was one of the few female teachers, phone in hand, who was babysitting you while you tried to stand in your stilts unsuccessfully. You giggled stupidly when your ass hit the seat with a thud and your black pencil skirt rode up your thighs.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the PE guy approaching the duo and sitting beside you, resting one of his hands on the newly exposed portion of your nylon-covered legs to whisper something in your ear that made you laugh in the middle of chatting with the stressed woman standing.
“I can take her home,” Izuku offered, getting closer to the group, and the lady's face lit up with relief while the guy’s fell. “I’m just about to leave and I can drop her off on my way home. We live close by”
“Oh, really?! Midoriya, you’re an absolute saint!”
His phone buzzed repeatedly and Izuku pulled it out of his right pocket. It was Kacchan:
that your work wifey?
cute
gonna fill her cunt now?
ha
send me the vid later loser
Izuku rolled his eyes, green curls shaking as he shook his head and typed a misspelled, crass reply before putting the device away.
Against his better judgement, he’d sent Kacchan a picture of his current situation: You sprawled on the back seat of the taxi (because he didn’t use uber), your head resting on his lap, one of your hands on his knee and your hair cascading down the leg of his trousers. Knowing him, sending that picture had been the wrong move. He wouldn’t see the end of it the following time they met.
For now, Izuku put one of your locks behind your ear so he could look at your face more clearly before calling your name. No answer. He shook your shoulder a little.
“Miss, we’re close to your place.”
You grumbled and burrowed your face in the crevice between his closed legs, close to his knees. He winced, trying not to think about the remains of your gloss on the fabric of his slacks. He shook you again, firmer this time.
“C’mon, don’t go sleeping on me. I gotta get home too, you know?” It was like talking to a wall: you made another sound, but never opened your eyes nor sat up for as long as the ride lasted.
Getting you into the car was easy enough, you were already tired and there was no one around. The problem was getting you out of the bar. You’d refused to go home just yet, claiming in slurred garbles that you wanted to keep drinking when there was only you and him left. The rest had already set off for the following location about 15 minutes prior to that.
He’d had to take your shoes off and pull down your skirt when it hiked too high up on your way out. He hoped you wouldn’t give him an earful later for your stockings and the damage they’d got at the sole… nor the hole he’d ripped open with his watch in the middle of your thigh trying to keep your modesty intact.
He left the bar with you in one hand, your head on his shoulder and arms circling his waist. Your feet made the occasional effort to take a few steps, but for the most part they dragged across the floor while he carried most of your weight forward. As if that wasn’t enough, he had his own backpack on his free shoulder, your surprisingly heavy bag hanging off his elbow and your heels at hand.
He had to drop your combined belongings and your limp body with kilometric limbs inside the vehicle before getting himself inside and spending a good minute fumbling around trying to find the note you’d given him. By the time he’d dictated the driver your address and calmed down enough to rest his back on the seat, you’d already made yourself comfortable on his lap long ago.
That’s when he’d snapped a picture in a sudden tipsy impulse and sent it to Kacchan with a text saying: All it took was a few drinks for her to stop being a cunt lol. It was supposed to be funny, a witty albeit bitter comment, but the idiot blonde had to make it sexual and now he was feeling self conscious for having your face so close to his crotch.
Maybe the alcohol was affecting him more than he thought, he mused as his thumb stroked your jaw and cheeks when you shifted positions one more time. Prompted by one of your sudden movements, his finger grazed over your made up mouth and he was surprised to see some colour being transferred to the pad of it.
Would those lips leave a red ring around his dick as well?
The car came to an unexpected stop in front of an apartment complex and the man at the front seat announced you’d arrived at your destination. Izuku shook you fiercely, more for his own sake than yours, as he looked for his wallet and paid for the ride. You sat up with an annoyed whine and smacked the thigh that had been your pillow up to that moment, sending him a nasty look.
“We gotta go, missy, chop-chop!”
He helped you out first and then went back in to gather your possessions. When he turned to look at you, you were staggering a bit and looked wide-eyed and pale, none of the mischievous drunkenness left.
“What’s wrong?,” he asked as the car left with a low rumble.
“I don’t feel very well,” you murmured, looking almost faint.
He tried to make quick work of getting you in your apartment before you could be sick on his suit. He had to wrestle with you and the bags and the shoes, force you into telling him where exactly your keys were and when he finally opened the door, you wanted him to take you to the bathroom.
He had to drop everything at the entrance and rush with you there, shoes still on, where you suddenly didn’t feel like puking anymore.
You were, hands down, the most insufferable drunk ever and he’d had to put up with both Kacchan and Kirishima before at the same damned time.
“I’m about to pee myself,” you announced out loud, but didn’t ask him to leave.
He tried regardless when he saw you already pulling your skirt up to give you some privacy, but upon noticing how you were grappling and failing to pull down the thin tights stubbornly clinging to your skin, he desisted.
“Let me help you with that,” he sighed instead.
Just like that, as if it were the most common thing for you to do, you dropped your weight on him, hanging off of his frame and burying your face in the crook of his freckled neck. Izuku didn’t say anything, but couldn’t ignore the goosebumps prickling across his skin at your warm ethanol infused breath.
He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of the black pantyhose and tugged them down with your underwear past your buttcheeks, as far as his arms let him without having to bend down. You didn’t need instruction or guidance to sit on the toilet bowl, but you kept holding onto him.
“Stay.”
Unwittingly, you hugged his leg and pressed your face right below his half hard junk while you emptied your bladder. After finishing he'd tried handing you a bunch of toilet paper to clean up, but ended up sort of patting you dry himself as per your sniffled out request, trying not to dwell too much on the feeling of plushness through the sheets of paper.
A wild experience by his standards. As a matter of fact, he had never been in that kind of situation with Ochako or any other woman and he was certain he would never be.
He hadn’t even pulled your tights back up all the way when you started pawing at his chest, trying to turn your face away from him, whining about how you wanted to throw up all over again. He groaned as he finished pulling the thick waistband of your hose over your bony hips and turned you around without bothering to adjust your skirt where it belonged.
Izuku flushed the toilet before crouching down with you. Your wobbly legs yielded under yourself and left you with no support save from his arms holding your ribcage from behind and the foreign thigh you’d taken as your seat. Once he felt the warmth of your clad thighs and lush lips, he regretted not having fixed your skirt.
“My hair…,” you whined, doing little to distract him from the feeling of your pussy rubbing against his pant leg every time you complained and shifted in his embrace, too sick and uncomfortable to form a complete request.
“What?,” he asked, a bit startled.
You didn’t repeat yourself, though. Instead, you grabbed his left hand and put it in the crown of your head, expecting him to get the message when you hovered over the toilet bowl and retched. In a hurry, he fisted the curls falling close to your face so they wouldn’t get dirty, yet nothing happened. You gagged a few more times with the same null results.
“I can’t!,” you heaved as tears sprang from your eyes. Your face was red from the sheer amount of effort you were doing in vain and drool trickled down directly from your bottom lip into the bowl in a consistent stream.
He tried scratching your scalp to soothe your discomfort, but it only made you fret more. Frustrated by his incompetence, you took his free hand near your sternum and shoved two of his fingers deep in your mouth to trigger your gag reflex. Luckily (for you), it worked that time!
Izuku was left stunned, completely flabbergasted as he stared in horror, the same digits that were cleaning you before buried in your oral cavity. His knuckles were scraped by your top teeth until he hit your uvula and some more. He felt your throat constrict violently around his fingertips pushing him back out before ejecting the alcoholic concoction you’d brewed throughout the night.
When you were finished, he made you rinse your mouth in the sink and washed the mess of sweat, tears, drool and puke off your face with water. If you felt his boner against your ass as he pressed himself flush against you and ordered you to gargle and spit, you didn’t point it out. He convinced himself that it was the only way he could balance your half limp body, but deep down he knew he was doing it mostly for his own sake.
You kept quiet when he returned to your room a while later, glass of water in hand, and saw you’d discarded the baby blue blouse and undershirt on the floor, exposing the same puffy nipples he’d seen weeks before. They looked a bit too big for breasts your size, but he was by no means disappointed. The image had a certain charm to it; it suited you all right.
He expected you’d be sprawled on the mattress like you’d been in the car, but you laid there quite demurely: your arms hugging your middle and your long legs stretching out to the end of the bed, barely ajar. Your chest was bare but your lower body was still covered in black nylon and your skirt was bunched up around your waist as he’d left it. The skin showing through the tears at the soles of your feet and thigh made a very appealing contrast with the dark material. Resting flat on the bed pushed the fat of your legs sideways, giving a fuller, rounder look to your slight curves.
No questions or complaints were uttered when he laid on the empty side of the bed after you’d drank the water. However, you looked at him intently while he made himself comfortable. You stared at him hard and long, lids heavy over your brown eyes as he scooted closer and grazed your clothed leg with his fingers.
“How do you feel?”
His whispered question came a beat after you’d finally closed your eyes. You didn’t answer.
“Tired?”
You hummed a confirmation at last, but still refused to speak.
Izuku took the lack of rejection and hostility as permission, a green light to let his fingers trail along the hole he’d accidentally ripped open on your thigh. It was much larger now; it’d grown bigger with all the previous ruckus and it was getting progressively worse as he hooked his nails under the frayed ends and tugged coyly.
Being so close to you, he couldn't resist the need to be even closer, to get in contact with as many parts of you as he could. He settled for using your shoulder as a pillow and you shivered. Whether it was for the forest green hair tickling your face or the fingers that decided to dig into the skin below the stretchy fabric, he didn't know.
“What are you doing?,” you asked with your eyes still closed, words a jumbled, tired mess he could barely make out.
“These are uncomfy, right?,” he asked, yet made no move to ease the discomfort.
Even if his fingers were gingerly diving into the furrow where your sex met your thigh, his focus laid on the plump nipples below his eyes. They looked so soft and pillowy, of an appetising colour that made him salivate with lust-driven hunger. He wondered how quickly they'd harden were he to pop one in his mouth.
A hand touched his over the thin net, stopping his musing.
“You're touching me.”
You weren't accusing nor trying to stop him. You were simply pointing it out, as if you were trying to make sure he knew what he was doing. Contrary to his belief, your condescending nature was there, tamed by the alcohol but still somewhat present, and for a moment, it sort of made him feel like he was the one who’d spilled his guts in your bathroom minutes ago.
He turned his face to look at you and your heavy lidded eyes had opened once again. Your faces were so close that he could see patches of red still staining your parted lips and how the thin eyeliner he didn’t realize you were wearing had smudged and pooled in the outer corner of your eyes. There was, in fact, so little space between the two that if he raised his head a bit, it would be easy to press his lips against yours.
“Not really,” he shamelessly denied and stared right back with an intensity he wasn’t aware he could muster.
If it had been anyone else, he would’ve tried to play it cooler, to not seem so desperate. Having you laying there, though, was very hard to ignore. You were soft, pliant, and so fucking well-behaved for once. No shitty comments, sneers, or furrowed brows were left for him at that moment. There was almost nothing left of the demon that festered him every day. It was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence.
And yet, even if your body and stance were inviting, luring him into your trap, your eyes kept dripping that poisonous defiance that churned his guts and kept Izuku from doing as his body dictated. You fixed him with your eyes tauntingly, daring him to act upon his deepest desires like he would already have done were he man enough.
Izuku’s blood boiled with something more than anger.
Maybe he was a bit more buzzed than he thought… and he was less of a man than he’d once believed, because he should’ve either left or striked. Instead, he waited. His hand was the only part of him moving, slowly fondling your lower belly, waist, hips, legs and inner thighs underneath the hose, ruining them even further to unlock access to new stretches of soft, pale skin.
Like that, he waited. He waited through your attempts to remain awake as your eyes unfocused and rolled to the back of your head, fighting sleep as your eyes closed and opened several times in longer intervals before shutting close for good.
Izuku watched as your eyebrows twitched when he pressed feather light pecks to your shoulder, neck and jaw. “I’m gonna take these off, ‘kay?” No answer.
You didn’t move much as he rolled you onto your side, facing the window on your wall, and unzipped the black skirt. Pulling it off was easy enough, it glided off your legs with no effort thanks to the shiny material of your tights. He sat up to take it all the way off and smoothed his palms over the outline of your clothed legs, then bent down to place a kiss on the highest point of your hip.
The slip of cotton against nylon was nothing like the drag of that same stretchy nylon on your sweaty skin. He tried to roll you onto your back again, but you grumbled in refusal. He tried to tug them down by hooking his thumbs to the thick elastic waistband but couldn’t get it down enough without having to move and turn you around and, inevitably, waking you up. It was simpler in the bathroom where he could manhandle you some, but he didn’t want to disturb your rest. Thus, he let you be.
His arms encircled your frame while he peppered innocent kisses to your naked back and nape and let his erection press intently against the faint swell on your bottom. Having you for himself, unresisting, had him too worked up to think straight. His hips rutted against you rather boldly and you didn’t complain or jerk away from that. He sank his teeth at the base of your neck when he ground his cock on your ass just too good, and he would have continued to rub against you to completion, if it hadn’t been for the soft mewl you’d let out that reminded him of the otherworldly experience he was missing on.
He peeled his groin from your rear only to remove the barriers between your skin and his. His slacks were gone in no time followed by his boxers, but your pantyhose were still there and he didn’t have the patience to remove them. Since they were long ruined to begin with, he didn’t dwell much on it before he was digging blunt fingernails in it and ripping a hole at the crotch.
The lilac cotton panties were easily pushed to the side once he’d arranged your hips and legs to make your pussy accessible from behind. Izuku spat on his hand to lube his already weeping member before trying to push the reddened head between your plush, hairless lips. He cursed under his breath while he coated your folds with his saliva and precum before attempting to push past your entrance.
A severely scarred hand grasped your prominent hipbone while the other guided his cockhead back to your hole. You were exquisitely tight, albeit a bit dry, when he pushed in and tried to lodge the tip inside, but it didn’t catch, slipping out at the slightest cant of his hips. He tried again, blocking any diversion with his fingers to no avail.
The mushroom head kept slipping out and sliding in between your inner labia as if it had manifested a mind on its own and it’d decided to hang out there rather than be buried deep inside you. Frustrated, Izuku realized he fell short due to not being used to the angle and he was annoyed that he couldn’t feed you enough of his shaft to build a pace at all. Why the fuck did you have to be so tall?
With a grunt, Izuku scooted down, dick in hand, and once again prodded at the small entrance but less politely than before. Granted, it was easier that time with the added drive and all, but it was also riskier. He heard you draw your breath sharply in the middle of your sleep and felt your clad thighs tremble against his.
He had to be much more patient than he would’ve liked, but at last he was inside. Massaging your curves and stomach, he waited until your walls relaxed a bit, getting used to the intrusion before moving again. It was uncomfortable, he could barely fit half of his cock in your cunt and he couldn’t move much if he wanted to keep said half inside, and yet he finally managed to work up a steady rhythm.
With his forehead pressed against the middle of your pale back and his sweaty hair plastered to it, he whispered reassurance and praise every time you twitched and panted in your sleep. The hand spreading your wet lips apart returned to your hip to caress softly and smear the mess between your legs when you gasped or stirred, and he tried to lull you back to unconsciousness with the rocking of his hips when you mumbled some incoherence while dreaming.
Despite the inconvenience of the position and his restraint, Izuku was getting off of you quickly. The tight clench of your moist muscles played the part, but it was most likely the power trip he was into, picturing the morning after when you woke up.
Would you remember him at your place? Would your face burn when you recalled him taking you to the bathroom? Would you look down at your messy pussy and find some of his cum still inside you? He could picture the look on your face: confusion, shame… maybe some hopefulness or even dread?
Oh, he could see it so clearly; the clack of your heels stopping altogether when you saw him again, your frame getting smaller, cowering in his presence, your face falling and turning white or red. It didn’t matter as long as he saw that confidence drain from you before everyone’s eyes.. What really mattered was that there would be no more disdain in your eyes. Instead, there would be meek avoidance and fear.
It didn’t take long for Izuku to carelessly bury his cock a few centimeters deeper and release in your already wet cunt, riding his high as he hugged you tightly and covered your savoury back in bites and kisses.
He only pulled out when your breathing evened out again and your starved walls stopped trying to awaken his already spent shaft.
Izuku was checking himself in the bathroom mirror, making sure he looked composed enough to conceal the main event of the night, but didn’t look too composed to give away that he’d just redressed. He also surveyed his clothes to make sure you hadn’t actually stained any of his clothes with your make-up, or at least that it wasn’t too evident if you had.
He returned to your bedroom partly because he had to pick up the tie he’d taken off in the middle of it all, and partly because he wanted to make sure you were still sleeping. He found the tie between the pillows, tangled in your hair.
He didn’t know why, but he felt like he had to be much more careful now than when he was pounding into you. So he tried to make himself as light as possible when he sunk his knee on the mattress, so the dip wouldn’t wake you up. It was unnecessary, you were sound asleep and you didn’t even stir even when he pulled your hair lightly with the tie.
He stayed there watching you for a short while. You’d shifted your position when he left, your chest pressed to the covers and your legs spread slightly wider as one of your knees bent up. The remnants of black pantyhose still clung to your skin while your panties had moved with you, now covering half of your sex.
Izuku leaned forward out of curiosity, because even after he’d felt and fucked you, he hadn’t actually taken a look at your pussy and it was very unlikely that he’d have another chance. He’d be out of his mind to miss out on such an opportunity.
His previous paranoia disappeared, overcome with compelling intrigue, as he moved your underwear to the side again and pinched at the bare lips, which were losing their previous luster to the stale air of the room, to take a quick peak. Your milky hole blinked shyly at Izuku as a fat drop of his seed ran down your folds towards your clit. Before he could register what he was doing, his scarred thumb was pressing hard on your neglected bud, collecting his own cum to guide it back where it belonged. He made sure to plunge his finger deep and pump it a few times for good measure so it wouldn’t seep out as easily.
A thought popped-up in his mind much like a notification does on a phone screen. He retrieved his phone from the back pocket of his trousers with his free hand and took a single picture with blinding flash of his thumb still hilted in your cunt before sending it to Kacchan with a hastily written text:
forgt to flim it lol