Chapter Text
Izuku clicks her pen, then stops, realizing the rhythmic click is probably annoying the person next to her. She drops it onto her notebook and sighs, resting her chin in her hand as she stares out the lecture hall window. Outside, the campus quad is a mess of people. Some are practically sprinting to beat a deadline, while others are just lounging on the grass, completely carefree. She isn’t sure which side she envies more today.
College is just exhausting like that. It’s this weird, heavy mix of having total freedom but feeling like you’re constantly under pressure. No one forces you to go to class anymore, and you don’t have to wear a stupid high school uniform, but the pressure to figure out your entire life is always just hanging over your head.
Honestly, she thought things would have changed by now. She was still the same quiet girl who got perfect scores on exams but had no idea how to talk to people at parties. Academics made sense because they had rules. You study, you get the grade. But she was still totally failing the social syllabus of college.
She doesn’t do the whole nightlife scene. While the rest of her floor is getting dressed up to go out, she’s usually sitting in her oversized sweatpants, staring at a computer screen until her eyes blur. Her circle is tiny. Just a few good friends, a solid scholarship, and a future she’s trying hard to be excited about.
Total nerd, she thinks, a little self-deprecatingly.
A loud laugh from the back row snaps her out of her thoughts, and she doesn’t even need to turn around to know exactly who it is. It’s the department’s favorite group of overachievers. The kind of popular kids unique to college who run the major clubs, ace every exam, and still manage to treat a hundred-person lecture hall like their personal living room.
Right now, they’re slouching in their seats and whispering inside jokes, acting like the professor is just background noise because, frankly, the material usually is beneath them. It’s a frustratingly competent, effortless kind of confidence that naturally draws everyone’s eyes their way.
Izuku tells herself every day that those high school popularity tiers don’t matter anymore. But looking at them, she knows exactly where she fits. She’s the quiet girl in the front row. The one people only notice when they need to copy the notes they missed. And usually, she’s fine with that. Usually. Except her stomach does this weird, painful flip whenever he speaks.
Katsuki Bakugo.
He’s devastatingly attractive, which honestly feels unfair for a lecture. His ash-blonde hair is always a messy, spiked disaster that she secretly wants to run her fingers through, and today he’s wearing a faded black hoodie with the sleeves yanked up to his elbows, revealing veins and forearms that look like he spends his free time lifting heavy equipment instead of just sitting at a desk. He oozes this terrifying, effortless confidence that makes people just... look at him. Including her.
Her gaze slips. It always does. It’s like a bad habit she can’t break. She glances up, pretending to look at the projector screen, but her eyes slide a few feet to the left, catching the exact moment Katsuki throws his head back and laughs at something his friend says.
Her stomach does a stupid, complicated flip.
It’s completely pathetic. They’ve never spoken a single word to each other. They’re in the exact same program, they share the same brutal workload, and they’ve spent the last two semesters sitting in the same rooms, but they exist on completely different planets. He’s the guy everyone wants to be around, and she’s the girl who gets asked for a spare pen.
But as she watches him lean back in his chair, locking his hands behind his head with that trademark, arrogant smirk, Izuku swallows hard and forces her eyes back down to her keyboard. Her hands are suddenly a little warmer, her heart beating just a bit too fast, completely trapped by a crush she has absolutely no business having.
This is pathetic, Izuku thinks, her chest tightening as her heart does another ridiculous, frustrating flip. He doesn’t even know my name.
The worst part is that she can’t even blame herself for noticing him. Katsuki is just there. He fills up whatever room he walks into, always a little sharper and always louder than he needs to be.
He takes up too much space. He moves through the department like the laws of physics are just a suggestion, leaving this constant, irritating trail of noise behind him. Izuku sees snippets of his life on other people’s Instagram stories and hears about it in the hallway whispers: the packed house parties, the rotating circles of friends, the casual hookups he collects like cheap souvenirs. A smirk over a shoulder, a low word muttered against the bass of a speaker, a shared ride back to his apartment, and he’s gone before the sun is even up.
It isn’t just his loud, abrasive charm that keeps her hooked, and that’s the actual problem.
Aerospace engineering is still a brutally male-dominated field, and as a girl who already naturally shrinks into the background, Izuku knows exactly how loud she has to fight to be heard. Katsuki, however, has a zero-tolerance policy for bullshit.
The first time an upperclassman in their propulsion seminar tried to talk over her and steal credit for a thermodynamics script she’d spent three sleepless nights debugging, Izuku had just bitten the inside of her cheek and stared at her shoes. She was prepared to let it go.
Katsuki wasn’t.
During the floor for questions, he hadn’t even bothered to raise his hand. He just leaned back in his chair and tore the guy’s logic to shreds, using his knowledge on fluid dynamics like a weapon. He exposed the guy’s total lack of understanding in front of seventy people until the room went dead silent and the guy was sweating through his shirt.
Katsuki hadn’t done it to play the hero, he did it because he genuinely loathed incompetent frauds. He had forced the room to respect the integrity of the data. And by extension, he had protected her.
Izuku thrives in the margins. Her entire life is a carefully calculated equation of predictable routines, neatly organized notebooks, and strict schedules. There is a safe, necessary comfort in keeping her head down and letting the rest of the campus blur past her like background noise. While he’s out burning through the night, her hours are spent under the lonely hum of a cheap desk lamp, turning pages in a silent room. She likes and needs her structure.
And yet, Katsuki constantly sets the curve. He pulls the highest marks in the department, captures the professors’ attention, and ruthlessly dominates every lab. It’s maddening. She’s completely consumed by envy for the exact traits she pretends to hate.
As soon as the professor closed his laptop, everyone stood up and started packing their bags. Izuku moves like she’s on autopilot. She shoves her laptop into her tote bag, jams her earbuds into her ears without turning the music on (a universal shield against small talks) and bolts for the double doors.
She takes the corner by the vending machines entirely too fast.
Thump.
It feels like walking face-first into a brick wall. The impact rattles up her spine, knocking the breath straight out of her lungs. Her tote bag slips from her shoulder, hitting the floor with a heavy, sickening clatter. Her pencil case bursts, sending cheap plastic pens rolling in every single direction under the feet of passing studnts.
“Shit,” Izuku mutters, her face instantly exploding into a brilliant, burning flush.
“Watch where the hell you’re going,” a rough, familiar voice snaps.
Izuku drops to her knees, her hands scrambling across the floor out of instinct to clear the way before she causes a bigger scene. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking—”
She reaches for her stray highlighter, but a hand easily twice the size of hers gets there first. The fingers are broad and thick, a heavy silver ring wrapped around his thumb as he casually pins the highlighter to the floor.
Her hand freezes an inch from the floor. She stops scrambling entirely, the ambient noise of the hallway suddenly dropping away as she forces her eyes upward.
Katsuki Bakugo is looming right over her. He’s slouched, balanced easily on the balls of his feet. Up close, his presence is almost overwhelming. His ash-blonde spikes are a chaotic, messy disaster, a few sharp strands cutting right across his brow and shadowing his eyes. His jaw is locked tight, his expression carrying that raw, habitual irritation that tells her she just majorly inconvenienced his afternoon.
Excellent. Perfect. Of course it’s him, because the universe apparently has an incredibly sick sense of humor.
Katsuki blinks, his annoyed expression shifting into something unreadable as he actually looks at her face. He doesn’t apologize, but he drops into a heavy crouch right in front of her, his movements entirely too solid and close in the hallway.
Izuku mutters another breathless apology, frantically gathering her scattered notebooks. Katsuki reaches out, his large hands casually sweeping up three of her pens in one motion. He isn’t being sweet, but he isn’t leaving either, and his sudden proximity is making it impossible for her to breathe.
“I’ve got it, thank you.” Izuku murmurs, her voice small as she tries to snatch a loose piece of scratch paper from the floor, but she’s a second too late.
His hand closes around the folded, crumpled sheet. It’s the page she was messing with during the last twenty minutes of the lecture. There are no cheesy hearts on it, instead, it’s an incredibly accurate ink sketch of the side of his face, surrounded by frantic, chaotic math equations she was using to distract her hands.
Katsuki glances down at the paper. His eyes linger on the sharp lines of his own jawline drawn in her messy ink. A slow, dangerous smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, looking like he just caught her red-handed.
“Didn’t know you were paying such close attention, front row,” he says, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. He slides the paper across the floor toward her, his fingers brushing against hers for a microsecond longer than necessary.
Izuku’s face burns a brilliant, nuclear red. Her heart races so hard it echoes in her ears. She shoves the paper into her bag, messily pulling the zipper shut, completely frozen by the sheer weight of his attention.
“Yo, Bakugo! You coming or what?” a guy’s voice calls out from down the hall, breaking the bubble.
Katsuki doesn’t look back at his friend. He keeps his eyes locked onto Izuku for one more agonzing second, his smirk widening just a fraction at how flustered she is. He gets to his feet, tossing her last pen into her open lap, and turns on his heel to stroll away like he didn’t just set her entire brain on fire.
The crowd of students blurs past her as the hallway starts to empty.
Izuku slowly lets out the breath she’s been holding, gripping her tote tight against her chest.
“What the actual hell...” she whispers to the empty floor.
Later, she tries to undo the damage in private. The room is dim, the door is locked, and the low, steady hum of her cheap desk lamp is the only witness. She kicks off her sneakers, and collapses onto her mattress, still wearing her oversized t-shirt. She’s exhausted, but her mind is running too fast to let her sleep.
Every time she closes her eyes, she’s back in that crowded stairwell corridor. She feels the blunt, solid impact of his chest. She sees those scuffed sneakers, the heavy silver ring on his thumb, and the slow, arrogant curve of his mouth when he looked at her scratch paper. “Didn’t know you were paying such close attention, front row.”
“Get out of my head,” she mutters to the ceiling, her voice cracking in the quiet room.
It’s an order her body completely ignores. A low, restless ache is already settling deep between her thighs, heavy and demanding.
The memory of his low voice makes a hot, sharp shiver slide straight down her spine. Izuku lets out a ragged exhale, closing her eyes as she reaches down, her hand slipping beneath the waistband of her shorts.
She doesn’t do this gently, because she’s too frustrated for gentle. Her fingers slide over the thin cotton of her underwear, pressing hard against her own slick heat until she groans into the empty room, her hips automatically tilting up to meet the pressure. It’s a bitter, necessary routine, a desperate attempt to burn off the restless energy Katsuki left under her skin.
But the friction isn’t enough. With a quiet curse, she hooks her fingers into the fabric, dragging her underwear down past her hips. The cool air of the room hits her skin for a split second before she burrows her hand between her thighs. She pushes two fingers inside herself, the sudden, tight stretch making her breath catch flat in her throat.
She moves her hand in a rhythm that feels almost punishing, closing her eyes tight as her mind fills entirely with him. In the dark, she can pretend the heavy weight of her own hand is his. She can pretend the rough, uneven breaths echoing in the quiet room belong to him, hot against the shell of her ear.
Her free hand claws into the mattress, her fingernails digging deep into the sheets as she tries to anchor herself. Her hips chase her fingers with a frantic, messy desperation, completely unraveled by a guy who doesn’t even know her name.
Her underwear clings damp against her skin, the fabric pushed ruthlessly aside by her own trembling hand. Each stroke is frantic, a little messy at first, and then entirely deliberate. Her fingers slip, circle, and press hard against her clit, as if she could physically force the memory of him out of her system inch by inch.
Her hips rock against her palm in short, needy stutters. She chases a rhythm she can barely maintain, her breath catching with every fresh surge of heat. God, she wants him. She wants the terrifying, heavy weight of his attention, wants to feel entirely consumed and overwhelmed by him, even if it’s only happening behind her closed eyelids.
He lingers everywhere, now. He fills the empty spaces of her room, settles into the thrumming ache behind her eyes, and leaves the phantom imprint of his solid chest pressing her flat into the mattress.
Her internal walls pulse tightly around her own fingers at the thought, a sharp spark tightening deep in her belly. She imagines him crowding her into the mattress, watching her unravel with that arrogant, possessive smirk. “Look at you. You’re totally ruined for me, aren’t you?”
The thought alone tightens something deep in her belly, a sudden, sharp ache that makes her walls pulse violently around her own fingers.
When the release finally hits her, it’s completely silent. There’s no sound in the dark room except for the frantic rustle of the bedsheets. Her mouth opens in a breathless gasp that never quite lands, her eyes squeezed shut and her toes curling into the mattress as her body jerks, trembling from the force of it.
Slowly, the high fades, leaving her chest rising and falling in shallow, heavy stutters. The sheets stick to the sweat on her skin, and the air in the small room feels ten times heavier than it did before.
She pulls her hand away, staring blankly at the ceiling as her heartbeat slowly calibration back to normal.
Nobody ever needs to know about this. What happened in the dark belonged in the dark, and Katsuki Bakugo never had to know just how much space he occupied in her head.
Weeks pass, and the absolute worst part about a perfectly good Saturday morning is that other people are awake to ruin it.
Izuku is violently dragged from the depths of a dreamless sleep by a loud, heavy fist rattling the thin wood of her dorm door. She buries her face face-down into her pillow, groaning as the sound echoes inside her skull. She utterly resents whoever thinks ten in the morning is an acceptable time to be conscious.
Another knock. Sharper this time, and totally unapologetic.
She drags herself out of the sheets, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand as she unlatches the lock. She’s fully prepared to tell whoever it is to go away, but stops short. Any irritation she has evaporates when she sees Ochaco is standing there, beaming with a smile that is entirely too bright for this hour, holding a tray of lukewarm coffees like an offering.
“Oh good, you’re not dead,” Ochaco chirps, stepping right past her into the small room without waiting for an invitation. “I was about to call campus security. Drink this. We’re going to a party tonight.”
Izuku just stares at her, her brain stalling out on the word party. She doesn’t even bother answering. She just turns on her heel, walks straight back to her bed, and falls face-first onto the mattress, pulling the duvet back over her head.
“No,” Izuku’s muffled voice speaks into the fabric. “Absolutely not.”
Ochaco doesn’t back down. She sets the coffee on the cluttered desk and drops onto the edge of Izuku’s bed, unbothered by the wall of blankets.
“Come on, Zu,” Ochaco says, giving the blanket-wrapped shoulder a firm shake. “You’ve spent the last three weekends staring at aerodynamic simulation models until your eyes turned bloodshot. If you run one more stress-test file or look at another propulsion blueprint, your brain is going to literally liquefy.”
Izuku squints against the glare, pulling a pillow over her face to block her out. “My brain is fine. My GPA is fine. I don’t do parties, Ochaco. You know this. There are people there. Loud people.”
“Exactly! People who aren’t professors or those who talk to you exclusively about fluid dynamics” Ochaco says, entirely unbothered as she reaches over and plucks the pillow away.
“Look, it’s a house party over on College Ave. Himiko’s hosting it! Literally half our department is going to be there. Even Iida and Shoto are showing up, which means it’s practically a mandatory academic event at this point.….. and honestly? I want to hang out with you outside campus!”
Izuku slowly rolls her head to the side, peering out from under the blanket with one skeptical eye. “You just want me there so you can ditch me the second Himiko talks to you.”
“I would never,” Ochaco gasps, entirely lying, though a massive grin breaks across her face. She leans closer, dangling the coffee right above Izuku's nose. “Look, if it sucks, we leave after one drink. I promise. We’ll walk over, get a little distracted, and be back in bed by midnight. Deal?”
“Fine, but if someone spills warm beer anywhere near my sneakers, I am walking home alone,” Izuku mutters, her voice rough and gravelly with sleep as she finally sits up and snatches the coffee from Ochaco’s hand.
Ochaco beams, her smile practically triumphant. “Deal. Pick an outfit that says ‘I have a life outside the library.’ I’ll pick you up at eight.”
It’s been barely twenty minutes, and Izuku already wants to go home.
The bass shivers straight through the soles of her sneakers, the cheap string lights pulse in dizzying rotations, and everyone in the crowded living room seems to be having the exact kind of high-energy night she is far too exhausted to commit to.
She stands idly by the wall, looking down at the outfit Ochaco had cheered her into wearing. Her top is soft and fitted paired with a button-up denim skirt that hugs the heavy curve of her hips and the comfortable fullness of her thighs.
It’s a good outfit. When she’s alone in her room, Izuku actually loves how the denim frames her shape, well aware that she’s always carried her weight in soft, rounded lines. But at school, she uses oversized sweaters or shirts like shield to blend into the background. Wearing this here, where anyone from her lectures might see her stripped of her usual uniform, makes her feel entirely exposed.
She doesn’t even have her usual long curls to hide behind anymore. She’d chopped it all into a messy, textured pixie cut a few months ago, and right now, the short style leaves the soft slope of her jaw, and her freckled neck completely bare to the room.
Feeling entirely exposed, she hovers near the structural safety of a hallway doorframe, nursing a lukewarm, vaguely fruity drink in a red plastic cup while she lets the chaotic pulse of the conversation blur into a distant hum.
Ochaco had vanished almost immediately, dragged toward the kitchen by Himiko with a breathless promise of “I’ll be right back, I swear,” leaving Izuku to fend for herself. She tries to scan the sea of faces for a lifeline, but Iida and Shoto are nowhere to be seen either. So Izuku just stands there alone, watching the crowd swirl past, until her eyes lock onto him.
Near the far wall, half-shadowed by a dying houseplant and streaks of blue strobe light, Katsuki leans against the drywall with the casual, infuriating grace of someone who owns every room he walks into. His jaw is set, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he listens to a guy next to him ramble on. He just offers a single-syllable grunt and a lazy, cynical smirk, completely unbothered by the chaos around him. He looks bored, and entirely unaware that everyone in his immediate radius is trying just a little too hard to impress him.
Izuku doesn’t even pretend not to stare. In the dark, away from the rigid structure of the room, the gravity of his presence feels twice as heavy.
Then, his head shifts. His sharp gaze cuts through the crowded room, and lands directly on her.
Recognition clicks instantly, sharp and immediate. Izuku freezes, her heart doing a violent, uncomfortable leap against her ribs as Katsuki detaches himself from the wall. He crosses the room toward her, slow and easy, navigating the packed floor like the crowd is actively parting for him.
He stops right in front of her, close enough that she can smell the faint, clean scent of his laundry detergent over the stale smell of beer.
“Look at that,” Katsuki murmurs. He tilts his head, his eyes tracking the dark circles under her eyes before dropping to her mouth. “The front row nerd actually left the library.”
Izuku chokes on her drink just slightly, the plastic cup crinkling in her tight grip. “I—yeah. Ochaco dragged me out. I do leave the library occasionally.”
Katsuki’s trademark smirk rises, sharp and knowing. He leans one hand against the doorframe right above her shoulder, effectively trapping her in a small, suffocating bubble of his own heat. “Right,” he murmurs. His gaze lingers as it drags lazily down the slope of her nose to the dusting of freckles on her bare neck, before it comes back up to hook into her eyes. It isn't polite, but it isn't aggressive either, acting instead as a deliberate, heavy sort of attention that makes her skin prickle.
“You got a name, front row? Or should I just keep calling you that?”
“Izuku,” she says. She clears her throat quickly, forcing her voice to stay level, though her fingers grip her cup just a fraction tighter. “It’s Izuku.”
Katsuki doesn’t break eye contact as he repeats it, his tongue rolling over the syllables in a low, quiet drawl that feels entirely too intimate for a crowded room. “Izuku. Huh.” His smirk tugs a fraction higher, and his thumb traces a slow, casual circle against the wood of the doorframe just inches from her ear.
Before she can completely lose her mind under the weight of his attention, a guy with bright, electric-blonde hair and a loud laugh cuts through the crowd, grabbing Katsuki by the elbow. It’s Denki. “Kats! Ei’s starting the drinking game in the kitchen, you’re missing out!”
Katsuki doesn’t immediately move. He looks at Denki’s arm on his shoulder, then looks back at Izuku, his eyes lingering on her flushed face for one more agonizing second. “Go back to our friends, Denki. I’ll be there in a second.”
“Hurry up!” Denki laughs, stumbling back out into the living room.
The space between them opens up slightly, but the air still feels thick. Katsuki rolls his shoulders, tossing his empty cup toward the trash can. He gives Izuku a final, intense look. “See you around, Izuku,” he says, using her actual name for the first time before turning to follow his friend.
Izuku lets out a ragged breath, her knuckles white where she’s gripping her plastic cup.
“Is he still seeing that girl from the track team?” a girl nearby whispers to her friend, her voice carrying easily over the thumping bass.
Izuku keeps her eyes fixed on the empty space where Katsuki just stood. She pretends to be entirely oblivious, but her ears instantly perk up.
The girl’s friend laughs, taking a sip of her drink. “Who, Haruka Saito? Nah, it’s just casual. They hook up sometimes when they’re bored, but it’s not like... serious. Katsuki doesn’t do serious. He just does whatever he wants, whenever he wants.”
He just does whatever he wants.
Izuku stares down at the melted ice in her cup. The words echo uncomfortably against the memory of what she had done in the dark of her dorm room just weeks prior.
It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just campus gossip about a guy who exists in a completely different universe than her. But as she looks back toward the crowded kitchen where the music is loudest, a strange, dangerous spark takes root in her chest.
She swallows the last of her drink, a quiet idea taking root in her mind. Maybe she didn’t need to stay away from him after all. If other people could have a piece of him without losing their head, then so could she.
She tossed her empty cup into a overflowing bin and pushed her way back into the thick of the crowd.
The music in the living room became louder, the heavy bassline rattling right through her chest and thudding behind her eyes. The air was thick with cheap cologne and humidity, blurring the faces around her into a warm, strobe-lit smear. For once in her life, she just let herself drift straight into the center of it. She was tipsy enough to let her rigid posture crumble, drunk enough to finally turn off her racing mind.
Surrendering to the heavy rhythm, she let her weight shift and her limbs lose their usual stiffness, moving seamlessly with the packed crowd. Her damp hair stuck to the back of her neck and her breath came a little shallower, but she didn’t care. For the first time all night, she wasn’t trying to hide in the margins
“Having fun?”
The voice didn’t cut through the music, it vibrated right against her skin.
Izuku missed a step, her head instantly snapping around, but a pair of large hands caught her by the hips before she could stumble. The grip was firm and steady, pinning her right in place against the crowd.
“Don’t stop,” Katsuki murmurs, his front stepping right up against her back, his chest a broad, solid wall of heat. “Keep moving.”
Izuku’s eyes widen, her heart hammering a frantic cadence that had nothing to do with the speakers. She didn’t even need to look up to recognize the sharp line of his jaw or the familiar, heavy scent of laundry detergent and alcohol.
“Why?” She breathes, the word nearly swallowed by the bass as she tilted her chin just enough to catch the glint of his red eyes under the strobe lights.
Katsuki leans down, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke, his voice dropping into that dark, quiet register he used when he actually wanted her to hear him. “Because you looked good moving like that. And I wanted to see if you’d keep doing it if I was back here.”
A sudden, sharp spike of heat shot straight down Izuku’s core. Her body answered before her brain could form a protest.
She didn’t step back. Instead, she let her spine settle against his chest, her hips easing right back into the rhythm, matching the heavy, deliberate sway of his body. Katsuki’s hands tightens on her waist, guiding the motion, until the rest of the crowded room entirely disappeared.
Izuku’s thoughts start to slip away in fragments. Her usual overthinking is completely drowned out by the press of heat behind her, and the way Katsuki’s rough breath hitches against the side of her neck every time she shifts against him.
Then, his lips grazed the turn of her jaw line. It was barely a touch, nothing more than the searing, damp ghost of his mouth pressing against her skin as if anchoring himself to her.
Izuku hitches a sharp breath, her chest tightening. It’s too soft to be heard over the blaring speakers, but the sudden tremor in her hips gives her away. Katsuki lets out a low, rough sound against her skin. It is not a laugh, just a dry, amused rumble of satisfaction.
“Look at that,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear as he speaks. “You’re sensitive.”
He doesn’t give her space to recover. His mouth follows the tense line of her throat, his lips dragging slow and warm along the column of her neck, moving from her collarbone up to her ear. The small, ragged sound that escapes Izuku isn’t controlled. It slips past her lips before she can even think to stifle it, a quiet admission of how easily he’s tearing through her defenses.
Katsuki’s smirk brushes against her earlobe, his voice a dark, quiet rumble underneath the thumping bass. “And loud. I like that.”
His grip on her waist tightens instantly, his broad fingers digging into the fabric of her oversized shirt, anchoring her flush against him. He lets out a short, gritty breath against her skin. “Keep making noises like that. See what happens.”
“Oh my god,” she breathes, her head tilting to the side out of pure, thoughtless instinct, completely exposing the length of her throat to him.
The panic that usually keeps her locked down completely melts away, replaced by a heavy, coiling heat in her stomach. For the first time in all semesters, she just lets herself want him.
She leans back with intent, pressing her body fully into his. Her shoulder to his chest, hip to hip, leaving absolutely no space between them.
The reaction is instantaneous. Katsuki lets out a low grunt, his upper body going rigid for a fraction of a second before he melts into the contact. His hands slide from her waist down to the curve of her hips, his calloused palms heavy and possessive as he forces her back into the rhythm.
“Greedy too, huh?” his voice drops, rough and quiet right against her ear.
Izuku can’t muster the words to deny it. She just lets out a soft, shaky sigh, her body slightly trembling under his hands as the rhythm carries them. They move together, slow and heavy. Katsuki shifts his stance, his thighs bracketing hers as he guides their bodies into a slow, deliberate grind that completely locks her against him. Each shift of his weight pulls another quiet, helpless sound from her throat, entirely swallowed by the dark pulse of the music.
Katsuki’s breath is hot against her neck, the heavy, constant friction between them becoming entirely too much to handle in the middle of a crowded room. Izuku tries to keep her footing, her fingers twitching against her sides as her knees grow weak under the steady, relentless pressure of his hips.
Through the layered fabric of her top and bra, his thumb brushes deliberately right over the peak of her breast. The warmth of his finger catches against her sensitive skin, sending a sudden, electric shock of heat straight through her.
Izuku arches her back with a sharp gasp, the reaction entirely instinctive and desperate. “Oh… fuck,” she breathes, her voice cracking as she loses her grip on her own composure. The intense friction completely melts away her remaining restraint, and her hips roll back against him out of pure, unadulterated need.
Katsuki lets out a low, rough chuckle that vibrates right through her shoulder blades. “Fucking sensitive,” he mutters, his voice thick with heat.
His fingers twist slightly, pinching the apex of her breast through the cloth. A soft, broken cry slips past Izuku’s lips before she can choke it back. She buries her face into the crook of his shoulder, shivering from the sensory overload of the music and his touch.
Katsuki leans down further, his lips brushing the edge of her ear. “Wanna get the hell out of here?”
Izuku nods before the question even fully registers in her brain.
Katsuki doesn’t waste time. He slides his hand down to wrap tightly around her wrist, pulling her behind him as he cuts a ruthless path through the sweating, pulsing crowd. The living room is a dizzying blur of strobe lights and loud voices, but Izuku barely notices. She just keeps her eyes locked on his broad shoulders, letting him haul her out of the noise.
At the very end of the dim hallway, Katsuki doesn't hesitate, checking no handles and asking no questions. He just kicks open the last door, yanks her inside, and lets the heavy wood click shut behind them, plunging them into the sudden quiet.
The seamlessness of it hits her like a cold splash of water, her mind instantly spinning out into overdrive. This is Himiko’s house, not his, yet he moved through the layout with total, practiced confidence. A sharp twist of insecurity knots in her stomach as the pieces click together. Himiko is his close friend, which meant she probably kept this room open for him on purpose.
Izuku’s chest tightens at the thought of her knowingly giving him the keys to his own private corner of the house, fully expecting him to use it for his casual escapades. It makes her wonder just how many weekends he’s spent doing this exact same thing.
The sudden silence inside the bedroom is almost deafening. The thumping bass from the living room instantly muffles into a distant, vibrating thud under the floorboards, leaving Izuku to exhale a hard, ragged breath. Her chest heaves like she is finally coming up for air, her eyes straining to adjust to the dark, unfamiliar room while her mind desperately tries to shake the lingering, bitter thoughts of the girls who might have stood here before her.
But she doesn’t get another second to overthink.
Katsuki spins her around and shoves her back against the door. The impact isn’t painful, but it is heavy and absolute, his hands pinning the wood right on either side of her head. He crowds into her space instantly, completely cutting off the room and grounding her in the present.
Izuku swallows hard, her heart hammering violently against her ribs as she looks up at him. In the dim, ambient light filtering through the window, the resentful theories about his past vanish from her head, replaced by a spike of pure adrenaline.
His expression looks entirely focused, almost feral, and looking at him now, she realizes with a wave of heat that she doesn’t care about the girls who came before her. She doesn’t care if he’s just using her to burn off his own academic pressure. The realization that she is the one he chose to lock behind this door tonight sends a sharp, possessive thrill straight down her spine.
He leans down, his mouth hovering barely an inch from hers, his voice dropping into a rough, demanding whisper. “Can I kiss you?”
Izuku nods at the question. Then, his mouth is on hers. He tastes like cheap alcohol as his tongue slides deep past her lips as he claims her mouth entirely. Izuku lets out a muffled whimper, her hands flying up to grip his shirt as he presses his weight fully flush against her, locking them together so tightly she can barely tell where her own breath ends and his begins.
Katsuki doesn’t give her a chance to breathe. The second the bedroom door clicks shut, he hooks his hands under her thick thighs and hoists her up against the wood.
Izuku hitches a breath, her short denim skirt instantly bunching up around her waist as her legs wrap around his hips to stay airborne. He steps flush into her space, pinning her completely, and begins to grind straight up against her.
The contact is relentless. The blonde drives his hips forward in a slow, heavy rhythm, his weight pressing the hard ridge of his crotch against her pussy through the thin, slick barrier of her underwear. Izuku lets out a sharp, ragged gasp against his mouth. The rubbing against her over and over until she’s squirming against the door makes her fingers dig blindly into his shoulders to keep her balance.
Katsuki catches the sound, deepening the kiss as his tongue slides past her lips. He bites her lower lip just hard enough to sting, sucking the broken noises right out of her throat. Every deep, bruising slide of his hips makes her head spin. The friction is unbearable. With her skirt pushed up out of the way, there is absolutely nowhere to hide from the heavy, localized pressure building between her thighs.
She claws at his chest, her hands wild, needing anything solid to keep from drowning in the sensation. “Katsuki—wait, I’m—”
“Gonna cum through your clothes for me, baby? Just from this?” Katsuki cuts her off, his hips slamming harder, the denim of his jeans dragging relentlessly against her wet underwear.
The word hits her chest like a spark.
Baby.
It’s a mindless, dirty nickname used by guys at college parties who don’t care about names, but hearing it slip from his lips, in that tone completely wrecks her. She ceases overthinking, her fingers tightening around his biceps with a greedy, desperate strength as she tilts her hips, instinctively rolling her pelvis harder against his denim to chase the friction.
Katsuki notices the exact second her resistance snaps. He leans in closer, his teeth grazing her earlobe as he drags the word out again, lower and filthier this time. “Yeah? You like that, baby?”
That’s the final straw. Her body locks up completely. The heavy, grinding pressure of his jeans against her bare thighs and soaked underwear pushes her straight over the edge. She can’t form words, her voice breaking into high, sobbed syllables against his jaw. “I’m—Katsuki, fuck, I’m going to—”
“Then do it,” he commands, his mouth crushing over hers to catch the noise.
Her muscles seize in a violent, desperate wave, every nerve short-circuiting as she completely unravels from the friction. Her cunt tightens in a brutal spasm against the hard line of his thigh, her whole body trembling against the door. Her knees give out completely, but Katsuki’s grip stays tight and holding her up, and keeping her locked against him while she falls apart.
Izuku buries her face in his neck, her nails scratching blindly into his back as the tremors slowly ripple through her.
“That’s it,” He breathes, his own breath wrecked and shallow against her skin as he slows his pace, keeping his weight heavily pressed against her to ride out the aftershocks. “Good girl. You cum so fucking good for me.”
“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy,” The blonde mutters, his voice dropping into a rough, uneven drawl. The lazy, arrogant smirk is back, but his eyes are dark with an unblinking, heavy heat. “You really think I’m stopping after seeing you look like that?”
Before she can even think of a retort, he hooks his arms under her knees and back, hoisting her up against his chest.
Izuku instinctively grips his shoulders, her head resting against his collarbone as he carries her across the dark bedroom.
For someone who spends her entire life overthinking and trying to take up as little space as possible, the weight of his attention is suffocating. It doesn’t feel like a cheap hookup anymore; the air in the room feels thick, localized entirely around the two of them.
He lowers her onto the mattress, his gaze never breaking from her flushed face as she settles against the pillows. The bed dips heavily as Katsuki crawls up over her, his broad shoulders caging her in, cutting off the rest of the room.
Izuku lets out a shallow gasp, her chest heaving as she stares up at him. Her skin is still burning from the friction against the door, her eyes glazed, her lips parted and swollen. Her limbs feel loose and heavy, trembling with that specific, vulnerable exhaustion that only a hard climax leaves behind.
“Katsuki,” she whispers, her throat dry. “Kiss me.”
He lets out a low, rough breath of amusement, and closes the distance.
His mouth slides over hers, deeper this time, his tongue dragging slow and hungry past her lips like he’s trying to memorize the taste of her. Izuku lets out a faint, muffled whimper, her hands sliding up into his ash-blonde hair to pull him closer.
Katsuki pulls back just enough to breathe, his calloused thumb dragging roughly over her flushed cheekbone. He hooks his fingers under the hem of her top, the cotton bunched up from the hallway.
“Take this off,” he mutters against her lips. It’s barely a question. “I want to see you.”
She nods quickly, a sudden, nervous jerk of her chin that makes his mouth twitch into a faint grin. It’s honest. Every ragged breath she takes, every involuntary twitch of her fingers against his neck. She’s completely transparent under him, and they both know it.
He tugs the shirt over her head and tosses it blindly to the floor, then pauses, leaning back on his haunches to just look.
His eyes slowly track down the pale expanse of her skin. He doesn’t look past the soft, full curve of her stomach or the thick, heavy line of her thighs. He takes his time, his heavy gaze acting like a physical touch before he leans down and presses a hard, lingering kiss right into the hollow of her throat.
Izuku arches off the mattress with a sharp intake of air. He moves lower, his mouth tracking down her collarbone to her shoulder, each press of his lips hotter, and more deliberate than the last. She twists beneath him, her thighs rubbing together out of instinct as the ache between her thighs flares back up, heavy and demanding. Her fingers fist into the bedsheets, desperate for any kind of anchor.
When the blonde’s mouth hovers over her breast, his tongue brushing lazily over the peaked nipple, a broken sob rips straight out of her throat.
“Katsuki—fuck,” she cries out, her back bowing off the mattress as he sucks her into his mouth. He uses his teeth just enough to make her writhe before switching sides, his large hands sliding down to dig deep into the soft, plush curve of her waist.
His fingers sink easily into her flesh, clamping tight enough to leave marks as he pins her heavy hips to the bed, steadying her while he completely wrecks the rest of her composure. He moves lower still, his mouth dragging across her ribs, his breath hot against her skin as his lips brush just above her navel.
Izuku is a total disaster. Her brain is completely fried, her legs twitching uselessly against his sides while her fingers scramble for purchase on his tensed shoulders. Her thighs part further without her permission, her body entirely taking the reins.
“Please,” she pants, her head thrashing against the pillow. “Katsuki, I—”
She doesn’t even know what she’s begging for. She just needs the ache to stop, needs him to fill the empty space he’s creating. He hasn’t even touched her below the waist yet, and the anticipation is agonizing.
“Izuku.”
His rough voice fans across her stomach, sending a violent shiver straight down her spine. He leans lower, his mouth hovering just a fraction of an inch above the soaked waistband of her underwear. The heat radiating from his skin pools exactly where he isn’t touching her, making her pussy thrum with a desperate, heavy pulse.
“Can I kiss you here, too?” he asks, his voice dropping into a quiet whisper that cuts right through her.
Izuku stiffens, her pulse thundering violently against her ribs. She waits, her fingers locking tight into the sheets, caught in the suffocating space between panic and absolute desperation.
Katsuki doesn’t rush. His calloused thumb slides over the damp cotton of her underwear, tracing the firm line of her slit through the fabric. The friction sends a violent shudder straight down her spine, and her thighs part further without her permission, completely betraying her attempt at restraint.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs, peeling the wet fabric down over the full curve of her hips and thighs. He tosses the underwear aside and just stares.
The silence in the room stretches, thick and heavy. He isn’t even moving, he just stares.
Izuku twitches under the weight of his unblinking gaze. The urge to hide, to curl inward and drag the blanket over the soft roll of her stomach, hits her hard. Her thighs instinctively start to close, her knees trembling as she tries to retreat from the vulnerability of being looked at like this.
Katsuki’s hand clamps down on her inner knee, his fingers sinking easily into the plush skin of her thigh. His grip is firm and bruisingly possessive.
“Don’t,” he mutters, his voice rough, dropping into a low, uneven whisper that breaks the quiet. “Don’t hide from me.”
He uses his weight to nudge her thighs back open, until she’s completely laid bare under him. The cool air of the bedroom hits wet cunt, and Izuku jolts, her hips jerking upward as a muffled whimper catches behind her clenched teeth. It’s too exposed. Her cunt pulses with a heavy, glistening in the dim light.
Katsuki stares, his jaw set so tight the muscle tethers. “God,” he breathes, the word a dark, private confession. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby.”
Then, he sinks lower. There’s no hesitation left in him. He leans down between her knees, his large hands burying deep into the soft flesh of her thighs to anchor her weight, and buries his face directly into her.
His tongue catches her with a wide, heavy stroke from the bottom up. His tongue is thick and hot, catching the slickness of her arousal, marking her with a heavy, deliberate stroke that makes Izuku choke on a loud moan.
Her fingers claw blindly into the sheets, her knuckles turning white as she braces herself against the mattress. Her legs tremble uncontrollably against his shoulders. The physical reality of his tongue right there, heavy and wet against her skin, completely shatters the last of her control.
Katsuki lets out a low grunt, his breath hot against her inner thighs. “You taste fucking good,” he mumbles, his lips slick as he shifts his angle.
He centers his mouth directly over her clit, his lips wrapping around the swollen center as he sucks down hard, groaning straight into her. The deep, heavy vibration of his voice rumbles directly through her nerve endings. A sharp gasp tears from her lips, her body shaking as her hips instinctively buck upward, driving herself harder against his mouth in a desperate plea for more.
“Katsuki—fuck, don’t stop,” she cries out, her voice cracking, completely raw. “Please—I want to cum again, just do it, please.”
The blonde doesn’t answer with words. He uses his fingers to spread her wider, exposing the wet, pink center of her pussy as it clenches helplessly against the air. He dives lower, pushing his tongue deep inside her. It’s a thick and greedy rhythm as his mouth is moving with a punishing force that creates a loud, wet friction between them.
Izuku’s body lurches off the bed, her back arching so hard the mattress springs groan under her weight. A sharp, ragged sob bursts free from her throat, and she slams her face into the pillow to muffle the sound before she starts screaming his name.
Katsuki groans into her cunt, his voice thick and possessive against her skin. “Fuck, baby… so sweet. Can’t get enough of you.”
His mouth doesn’t stop. It’s filthy and sloppy now as his thick tongue driving straight inside her, his lips sealing over her wet slit in heavy, soaking kisses that make Izuku shake from head to toe.
One of her hands flies down to grip his ash-blonde hair, her fingers curling tight in a fist at the crown of his head. She’s pulling him closer, begging without words. Her moans are high-pitched and completely wrecked, her plump hips bucking down onto Katsuki’s face with a desperate instinct she doesn’t even remember choosing. Her other hand claws at the sheets, her knuckles white and trembling as the heavy weight of her thighs shakes uncontrollably against his shoulders.
Her breath stutters, the internal pressure building too fast for her brain to keep up.
“Wait—Katsuki—” she tries, but her voice collapses into raw air. Every syllable is completely shattered by the violent tightening of her core and the way the heat spirals out of her control.
Katsuki doesn’t pause. He doesn’t slow down for a second. He keeps his face buried deep in her slick, dripping pussy, his hands digging into the soft flesh of her ass to pull her even harder against his mouth.
“Fucking do it,” he growls against her wet skin, his voice muffled and ruined by her juices. “Cum all over my face, baby. I’ve got you.”
Katsuki’s teeth skim over her hypersensitive clit with a biting pressure and her body snaps.
Izuku arches so hard the old mattress groans beneath her weight, a choked, ragged scream tearing straight out of her throat. Her cunt clamps down hard on his tongue, her fingers clawing blindly into his scalp as her walls spasm in violent, successive waves.
The dam breaks completely.
An intense spasm rips through her core, and before either of them can even register the shift, a hot, heavy gush of liquid heat bursts straight out of her. The slick mess splatters hard across Katsuki’s chin and chest. Her thick thighs tremble violently against his neck, completely giving out as she squirts directly against his mouth, soaking them both in the dark quiet of the room.
“Katsuki—no, ah—what was—” Izuku’s voice stumbles out, a terrified, ragged sound. Her hands instantly flying down to push at his shoulders, her brain scrambling to make sense of the sudden, overwhelming wetness.
Katsuki is entirely paralyzed. He stays frozen between her legs for one breathless second, his eyes wide and completely dark as he stares down at the soaked sheets, a primal wave of possessiveness and awe slamming into his chest. He did that to her.
He doesn’t give her a single second to breathe, or to let that creeping self-consciousness take hold. With her slick still dripping down his chin, Katsuki lets out a low, feral growl and dives straight back into her crotch like a starving man. His mouth seals right over her swollen, overstimulated clit, his tongue flattening out to greedily lap up the fresh, hot juices coating her skin, and swallowing her taste.
Izuku literally screams. It’s a loud, raw noise that punches out of her chest, completely stripped of any restraint as her hips violently buck against his face.
“Wait! Stop! Please—Katsuki, I can’t—” she sobs, her head thrashing against the pillow, her throat burning from the noise. Her fat pussy is pulsing violently, the nerves so raw that the mere friction of his breath feels like an electric shock.
“You fucking can,” Katsuki growls against her wet flesh, his voice thick and completely unyielding. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”
Izuku gasps, her damp lashes stuck together, her vision totally blurred by tears. Her mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out except a shattered, breathless moan as he drags his tongue hard across her pussy again.
“My fucking princess,” Katsuki growls, his teeth grazing her mound. “So fucking sensitive. But I’m not done with you yet. Give me another one.”
Without an ounce of warning, he jams two thick fingers straight up her soaking pussy.
Izuku screams again, her back violently bowing off the mattress.
Her tight, fleshy cunt clenches down desperately around his knuckles, completely overwhelmed by the sudden intrusion. Her heavy legs flail, her heels digging into the mattress as she tries to push herself away from the source of the heat, but Katsuki’s weight is a solid wall. He pins her down by her thick thighs, his grip bruising, completely dominating her space.
“There it is,” he murmurs, his thumb finding her clit again, his tongue tracing the outer lips of her pussy while his fingers pump deep inside her. “Just let go again, baby.”
“I can’t,” Izuku whimpers, her head thrashing against the pillow, tears finally spilling down her flushed cheeks. “It’s too much.”
“You fucking can,” Katsuki whispers, leaning his upper body over her just enough to look her dead in the eyes while his hand keeps wrecking her below. “My perfect girl. You look so fucking pretty when you cry for me.”
“Kats—Kacchan!”
The nickname slips out of her throat, desperate, high, and completely trembling with terror and need.
Katsuki freezes. His hand stops instantly, his shoulders locking as his eyes snap into a dark, intense focus. He yanks his fingers out of her soaking pussy, and for a split second, Izuku thinks it’s over. She thinks he’s going to back off.
Instead, Katsuki slams the flat of his palm down. Hard. Right against her overstimulated clit, and the heavy, wet slap echoes through the small room.
Izuku screams, her back bowing violently off the mattress. Before she can even catch her breath, he hits her again, and again. Delivering a rapid succession of open-handed slaps straight to her dripping, swollen vulva. Each wet smack sends a blinding jolt of overstimulation directly to her brain, her plush hips jolting and twitching as her nerves completely short-circuit under the punishing pressure.
“Please! Kacchan, stop. I c-can’t!” Tears stream freely down her flushed cheeks, her thighs shaking uncontrollably beneath his pinned weight as her body entirely breaks down.
“You’re going to fucking take it,” Katsuki hisses, his voice rough and completely feral, his breathing ragged against her skin.
He slaps her wet cunt two more times, the sharp, fleshy sound filling the quiet room, driving the overstimulation straight past her breaking point.
Izuku breaks completely. A violent shudder rips through her spine, her hips stuttering in desperate, helpless spasms as the unbearable internal pressure explodes with nowhere else to go.
Another thick, heavy jet of liquid bursts straight out of her clenching cunt, soaking his palm and the sheets beneath them. She squirts violently for the second time, her pussy locking up in intense waves of release that leave her entirely breathless.
Katsuki lets out a low, ragged groan at the sudden gush of heat against his hand. “That’s it, Zu,” He mutters, his voice dropping into a low register as he presses his wet palm firmly against her twitching cunt to ride out the tremors. “My sweet girl. You look so fucking perfect when you fall apart like that.”
Izuku trembles beneath him, her lips parted as she lets out a final, shaky sob, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Her entire body shivers from the sheer volume of the overstimulation, her breath catching on every ragged inhale.
Katsuki sits back on his haunches, his dark gaze tracking the erratic pulse in her throat down to the rhythmic, helpless twitching of her wet cunt. It’s flushed red and slick, pulsing open and closed in the cool air like it’s missing the friction of his hand.
He slows his touch, his palm resting heavily over her cunt for a quiet second, feeling the aftershocks ripple through her soft flesh. He smears the excess wetness carelessly against the sheets before shifting his weight to crawl back up her body. He presses a hard, deliberate kiss to the tender skin of her inner thigh, a low hum catching in his throat before he trails his mouth up her soft belly and over the rise of her ribs. His mouth moves up until he’s hovering directly over her flushed face.
Katsuki leans down, planting heavy, scattered kisses all over her face before dragging his lips down her neck, sucking hard enough to leave dark, undeniable proof that she belongs to him. Then, using his rough thumbs, he smears away the wet tear tracks under her eyes. He’s uncharacteristically slow with her, kissing the damp outer corners of her eyes, then the other, before pressing his mouth hard against her freckled cheek.
“Hey,” he mutters, his voice dropping into a low rasp. “You good?”
Izuku sniffles, her throat too dry to produce much more than a broken whisper. “Everything... It’s too much.”
“I know, baby,” Katsuki breathes, his forehead coming down to rest against hers. “You took it fucking great. Come here.”
He shifts back against the pillows and hooks his arms under her waist, pulling her loose-limbed frame right into his lap. Izuku melts against him completely, her damp, sticky skin flushing flat against his chest.
Her heart is still hammering behind her ribs, her thighs bracketing his hips as she buries her face into the crook of his neck. Her arms lock around his broad shoulders with a tight, desperate strength, as if she’s terrified the reality of the room will dissolve if she lets go.
Katsuki lets out a low grunt, his large hand sliding into her messy green hair, his fingers anchoring at the base of her skull to hold her steady against him. “Calm down,” he murmurs against her hair, his rough voice dropping into a quiet, possessive rumble. “My good girl. My fucking beautiful girl. I’ve got you.”
He pulls the thin blanket up over her exposed, trembling shoulders, tucking her into his space until the rest of the room completely disappears.
“You’re fucking mine,” he breathes into the quiet, the words sounding more like a heavy confession than a boast.
Izuku stirs only faintly against his shoulder, shifting her weight to snuggle closer into the solid heat of his chest. Her brain is too fried to fully process the words, but her body answers for her. Her muscles going completely loose, entirely trusting his grip as the exhaustion finally drags her under.
Katsuki presses his lips hard against her damp temple, his fingers trailing absentmindedly through her hair as her breathing finally starts to level out into a slow, steady rhythm.
“Go to sleep, Izuku,” he whispers into the dark.
Izuku doesn’t answer, her forehead resting heavily against his collarbone as she completely passes out in his arms.