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esote-rika · 24 days ago

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lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well.

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since.

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything.

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals.

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing.

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic.

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together.

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.”

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions, you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak.

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him.

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost.

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him.

That’s inaccurate.

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification.

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body.

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat.

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices.

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body.

Soft. So damn soft.

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat.

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience.

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh.

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock.

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his.

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength.

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face.

There’s nowhere else he would rather be.

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed.

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock.

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs.

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust.

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him.

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!”

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.”

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

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emoisthenewemu · 25 days ago

Text

Homie Hopper! Pt.2

Bonus: Senior Year!

College MHA boys x F! Reader

Pt.1 here!

In which after getting your little heart broken, you get passed around your local University’s hottest friend group! Everyone needs those slutty College years!

Cw: SMUT, problematic behavior, p in v, lots of different kinks n stuff, i went overboard a bit on Todorokis and Shinsos, sub! Shinso, name calling, reader has female anatomy, reader essentially gets passed around

A/N just wanna say idk why shinso has to be the villain it just felt right😞sorry bae ily

Shoto Todoroki as The Pretty Boy!

-Shoto Todoroki, who is friends with the whole group you ran through last year (and still hook up with on occasion) but doesn’t come around much

-Shoto Todoroki who you had no idea lived right around the corner from you-in a much nicer neighborhood with his brothers

-You run into him on a late night run to the convenience store, in an oversized hoodie with bling on it, it catches his eye as he peruses the aisle next to you

-Shoto Todoroki, who makes you so nervous you cannot even make eye contact as he says a friendly hello to you. You know each other and would occasionally bum off one another’s notes after a missed class. He’s the Pretty Boy and everyone knows it, himself included.

-He thinks it’s cute to watch you squirm. He’s always made you nervous, it was obvious. He likes the way you fiddle with your necklace, his eyes darting down to the unzipped part of your hoodie that shows cleavage.

“I like your sweater” He compliments.

“Oh thanks! It’s super cute, right? I just bought it!” You exclaim excitedly.

“Mhm super cute” He nods nonchalantly and simply waves goodbye, leaving you all but twirling your hair alone in the aisle.

-He never had to try hard with girls, he probably could have just asked you that first night to come home with him and you most likely would have said yes. But he likes the chase, watching your face get hot and eyes flick down to his grey sweatpants. He knows what he is doing.

- So he keeps it up a little longer, choosing to subtly flirt with you on these late night run-ins. His compression shirts get tighter, sweats hanging looser on his hips.

And you, well your shorts get even shorter and sweaters begin to grow more unzipped.

-Shoto Todoroki, who finally asks if you want to head back to his place with him to ‘watch a movie’. You agree of course, and he keeps an arm wrapped around your waist the whole walk home making small talk about school of all things. If only you knew the perverse images flashing in his head.

You walk past his two hot older brothers-who are sitting on the couch watching some action movie and smoking a blunt. You wave politely and Shoto rolls his eyes at the way they do not even attempt to conceal the way they are checking you out.

Oh well, he’ll just have to fuck you loud enough for both of them to hear.

-Shoto, who always gets what he wants. You’re on top of him, kissing his neck and chest, jerking him beneath his sweats as he grips your ass-smacking it occasionally. “So impatient” He tsks as you roll his sweats down.

“Cant wait for this dick, can you?”

You shake your head no and he grabs you by the hair, pulling you close for a sinful kiss. “Use your words”

“Want you to fuck me….you’re so hot” You whine and he kisses you again, biting at your lower lip.

“Good girl”

-Shoto Todoroki, who has your legs folded in such a way that it hurts. Your ankles and wrists bound by his hand as he pounds into you relentlessly.

Of course he has good dick, he’s perfect, even his dick is pretty!

-He is groaning and cursing on top of you, free hand going to choke you and pinch your nipples.

“Mm, Shoto!”

“Yeah say my fucking name” The bed is creaking and slamming against the wall, if you weren’t so fucked out you would worry about his brothers being able to hear. But obviously he doesn’t care about that.

“Shoto!” You whine, squealing when he snaps! his hips so meanly. It hits that spongy spot that makes your tummy feel funny. “Too much, too much!”

The two of you had established a safe word, icyhot. And you had yet to mutter it so he ignores your complaints, slamming into you like he would die without your pussy.

-“Stop whining” He finally releases your wrists, pushing your ankles all the way to your ears as his strokes try to find their own rhythm. This position has you squeezing him so tight it’s hard to move sometimes. “You wanted this shit, huh? Always staring at me in class”

You squeal, his calm voice grounds you in a way. Even if his words are filthy. “Wearing those slutty little clothes to the store. You walk around like that?”

“Just wanted you t’look at me” You whine, his eyes go down to his cock disappearing into your folds. He’s so deep and you’re so wet, your slick almost suctions to his thighs-leaving a sloshing noise every time he pulls his hips back.

-“M’fucking looking” He nods, jaw agape and panting like a fucking dog. “Can’t take my eyes off this slutty pussy”

“Gonna watch you cum on this dick” He speaks determinedly, eyes glazed over with something feral as his thumb goes to rub your clit. “Know you want to”

-“Yesyesyes!” You cry out, throwing your head back and gripping the sheets. The sounds are downright pornographic-his own grunting and the occasional moan mixed in with the wet noises from your sloppy pussy.

He’s close, and you are too.

-His thumb begins moving faster and you’re starting to shake. He watches your stomach quiver, forcing your legs down even though they try to break free of his grip. You’re certain there will be bruises left over tomorrow with the way he holds onto you.

-“Cumming Shoto!” His eyes never leave the way your release comes spilling out, onto his thighs and stomach. He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, watching you come undone before his very eyes.

He doesn’t even realize he forgot to put a condom on, now actively shooting ropes inside of you-he can’t remember the last time he came this much.

“Don’t worry, m’on the pill” You mutter, lazy eyes fluttered closed as he softly thrusts into you.

His heart drops, what a shame.

-Shoto Todoroki, who misses you when he moves away. He always hearts your stories and slides up on your posts and promises to come and see you. But he never does.

Hitoshi Shinso as The Shitty Ex!

-Hitoshi Shinso, your ex boyfriend who comes knocking (banging) at your door one night. He’s on his knees spewing bullshit about how the time apart made him realize how much he needs you.

It only took sleeping with half of the girls at his College to understand that.

-But he regrets it! He feels so stupid and terrible so ‘pleasepleaseplease take me back! Im sorry!’

“These other girls could never love me the way you do!”

-You laugh right in his face, arms crossed as you look down in disgust. “Are you high?”

“Whatthefuck no!” He hides his face in his hands with a big sigh. He looks…..pathetic. Eyes baggier than usual, messy purple hair as he finally gives up on the kneeling and sits back against the wall. Pulling out his vape, he hits it, all the while looking you in the eye. “I just miss you”

You roll your eyes, sitting down right next to him and snatching the puff into your hands. “Hitoshi…I think you’re just lonely”

He stays quiet as he thinks of what to say. It seems all words are lost on him. “I would do anything”

“Anything?”

-For some terrible, sick reason seeing him so whiny does something to you.

You suppose you have Denki to thank for what happens next.

-Hitoshi Shinso, whose whole body twitches when you deny his release for the second time. He’s whining, hips bucking up into your touch as you jerk him lazily, hand barely wrapped around his cock.

“Say it!”

“No!” He shakes his head furiously side-to-side, ears and chest turning red with how flushed he is. His chest heaves up and down.

“Then you don’t get to cum” You let go of him and his hand immediately to shoots out to grab yours, pulling it right back to the place he needs you the most.

“M’sorry” He whimpers, eyes scrunching shut as he imagines you giving him what he wants. How fat his load would be, you would be so pleased with how much he has built up for you! He feels so embarrassed and ashamed, it’s all so dirty. The worst part of it all is how fucking hard he is.

“I’m sorry! Been so bad! Soso bad-fuck!” He shudders when you grip him tight, but that’s just it. You do nothing else, causing him to take matters into his own hands.

He starts fucking your hand, so needy and sloppily as he moans and groans about how bad he’s been. “I’m a bad boyfriend! I’ve been so bad, need you t’punish me!”

oh. You didn’t tell him to say all that.

- Hitoshi Shinso, who cums on the spot with the loudest groan you have ever heard in your life when you slap him across the face. It wasn’t even hard or anything, he just liked it way too much.

-Hitoshi Shinso who does not shut up when you start riding him-nails raking down his chest. You’re honestly annoyed because you still hate him! You just wanted to use him the way he used you!

“Shut upp” You groan, cupping his mouth as you try and tune out his words. The moans are hot, his yapping not so much. “Never said you could talk”

Holy shit he had no idea he would ever be into something like this. Your words make his eyes roll back, gripping onto your hips like he might lose you as he beings to fuck you back.

“Fuckk!” You cry when he pistons his hip in tandem with yours-allowing himself even deeper inside you, reaching all the way into your special spot.

-You throw your head back, so lost in the feeling of trying to meet each other’s movements that you take a hand off his mouth. Your hips rolling sensually over his, an unmistakable sloshing sound forming between the two of you.

“Pussy’s so good. Missed it so so much, mygoddd” He rests a head on your tummy, his lower half stuttering and twitching in an attempt to get more of you. “Loveyouloveyoulo-“

“I said shut the fuck upp” You stop, looking into his wimpy eyes that are so full of emotion. He keeps fucking you, but you grab his face to make him look at you. “You want me to gag you?”

You honestly meant it as more of a warning. But the way he frantically nods yes tells you everything you need to know.

-Hitoshi Shinso, whose whole body trembles when you grab the pair of panties that had previously been discarded and stuff them in his mouth. The whites of his eyes are the only thing you can see in between tufts of sweaty hair. It doesn’t stop the noise of course. If anything he becomes even louder than before.

At least he’s not talking.

-“Mmmm yes….much better” You coo, hips moving up and down so fast you can hardly think. You are soo glad your roommates are out of town.

Mostly because they would be so pissed that you’re fucking your ex!

-Hitoshi Shinso, whose moans and whines get louder the closer he is to finishing. His muscular body is drenched in sweat-abs and chest messy with his cum.

His arms absentmindedly wrap around your waist, thrusting up into your pussy as he chases his release. And a rough tug of his hair when he hits a certain spot deep inside is enough to make him finish again.

-Hitoshi Shinso, who is an absolute mess-his body feels so weak and hot. Sweat covers him entirely, lungs gasping for air as you slowly ride him. For a moment you think he might pass out with how exhausted he looks.

Taking the panties out of his mouth, you push some of his hair out of his face. He leans into your gentle touch. “You okay?”

“Yeah” A breathless whisper is all he can get out as you both catch your breath. And then he kisses you, so passionately and full of want that your teeth knock together for a second.

His hands slide their way down to your hips, guiding you to slowly move up and down. You whine at the ‘draaag’ of his thick cock inside your walls. Mouth open as you look down and listen to the lewd noises. Even worse is his cum dripping out of you-making a mess.

“Use me”

-Hitoshi kisses you again. “Use me to make you cum please, please. Wanna watch you do it”

- You do what you’re told, using him until you’ve cum twice and his body is limp, sprawled out across the mattress.

That is until you throw his clothes at him and tell him to get the hell out of your apartment.

-Hitoshi Shinso, who for some reason is surprised you are making him leave so soon. He mentions something about cuddling but you shut that down completely. Walking out into the hallway-he just has to ask.

“Where the hell’d you learn all that?”

- You giggle in response but the smile is wiped right off your face when you spot your favorite friend group rounding the corner!

“Toshi’ whatsup man!” Denki is the first to say hello, dapping him up with a sly smile. “S’been a while”

Shinso is still looking at you, he doesn’t understand why you look so scared.

“Sub bro” Sero daps him up in between bites of whatever snack he got at the store.

The boys look at you. You look at them, you look at Shinso like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment you forgot they all went to the same High School.

And Kirishima, who is usually quite friendly only nods and passes by your ex without a second glance back. This surprises Hitoshi.

And Bakugo, who was never very nice to begin with does not even look at the man you use to date-only you with his perpetual mad face, he makes a point of stretching his body uncomfortably to get by him without touching your ex.

And Shinso watches the way they all say hi to you, the lingering touches, the change in their voices as they greet you. He certainly notices when Denki and Sero (being the messy bitches they are) give you a kiss on the cheek before entering their friends’ apartment. Kirishima gives you a half hug, looking back at Shinso with an unreadable expression on his face.

-Although unsurprisingly Bakugo decides to be the pettiest, hugging you tight. “You good?” He whispers in your ear.

And you nod, assuring that your ex was just on his way out and you’ll call your neighbor should any problems arise. He accepts that answer.

-Katsuki Bakugo bids you farewell with a slap on the ass, right in front of your ex boyfriend’s eyes. You don’t miss the evil smirk on his face as he closes the door, leaving you with wide eyes and a hand over your mouth.

“You fucking kidding me?! You fucked him?” Your ex boyfriend looks so pissed and also a bit like he might cry. “And Kirishima! Why the fuck was he looking at me like that?! You fuck him too?!”

Your silence is the only answer he needs but as he now stomps down the hall the wheels in his head turn. The whole encounter was so weird and awkward that it makes him think. And the more he thinks, the more afraid he is to accept the truth. Hitting the button to the elevator, he looks back at you for the final time in his life.

“You fucked all of them, didn’t you?”

-Hitoshi Shinso, who cries on the drive home.

And last but not least!

Izuku Midoriya as The Unexpected Freak!

-Izuku Midoriya who is the smartest guy you know! The two of you had a few classes over the years and he carried you through quite a few of them. You always thanked him with coffee and sweet treats though so he never minded!

He’s such a cutie patootie! Although the two of you don’t see much of each other anymore seeing as he’s busy trying to complete his double major. You heard that he also does volunteer work on the weekends with kids and the elderly! How sweet is that?

-Izuku Midoriya, who does not hesitate to help you out when you ask him to tutor you for one of your finals. With the end of College right around the corner-you are desperate to pass.

-The two of you study for a while, although he finds himself a bit distracted. He heard about you and Shinso and well, Bakugo happened to tell him how much of a slut you are-you’ve slept with quite literally all of their friends. So he imagines sweet little you who has always seemed so cute and innocent completely fucked out beneath his friends, whining, begging for more.

Your perfume smells so sweet and flowery, you’re sitting closer than you ever have before. In a tight little shirt and pretty pink sweats that hug your thighs in the best way possible. I mean, how could he not be distracted?

-You ask him a question but he doesn’t answer-too zoned out on the pink lacy bra peeking out beneath your top. He can only see it because of how close you’re sitting and he blushes once he realizes you caught him staring!

“You okay Izuku?”

“Yeah…..I just wanna see something really quick”

-Izuku Midoriya, who has you on your knees mere minutes later-choking on his fat cock. Tears streaming down your face as you gag, attempting to pull off and breathe.

But he doesn’t let you, a firm grip of your hair is enough yo keep you in place. His large hands-that you were staring at earlier cup your head when he starts to fuck your mouth.

-The gargling and gagging noises are downright obscene as he fucks your throat roughly. Sniffles and whimpers as you try to catch whatever breath you can.

-Izuku Midoriya is quite vocal about the way you suck his cock, taking many moments to admire you. His dirty words and actions downright shock you. Who knew such a sweet boy had such a freaky little side to him??

“Mmm doing so good pretty girl, m’dick looks sooo good in your mouth”

“So sloppy baby. You like having your mouth stuffed, huh?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full pretty, such bad manners”

“Hah….look at you slurp this dick up. Never expected you to be so nasty yn”

-Izuku Midoriya who rubs his girthy, wet cock all over your face-slapping you with it lightly. He spreads it across, precum mixed with saliva and tears as he slaps the tip on your lips.

“So fucking nasty, bet you’d let me fuck your throat till’ you can’t talk anymore”

-“You look so pretty like this” His toes are curling as you guzzle him up, pulling off with a loud pop every now and then as you go give attention to his balls. “Shitshitshit gonna cum all over your messy face. Gonna ruin your pretty makeup, yeah?”

-“Ohhh yeah, just like that” He sighs in relief as he takes control again by pulling your hair, guiding you up and down. “You’re a good cocksucker….wish I knew that sooner”

-You’re sososo horny. Seeing someone so endearing act so filthy really has you going. You’re sucking him off like you’ll never get a taste of it again. You speed up your movements, flipping between downright suckling on the tip and swirling your tongue around it.

It seems to be working, judging by the way his knees (and dick) twitch. His moans get louder, breaths beginning to grow more shallow.

-Izuku Midoriya who begins jerking off before painting your face white with ropes of his hot cum, eyes stuck on the way your fingers pick up a bit of it and you lick them clean.

“S-shit. I needed that” He admits.

-Izuku Midoriya who promises that if you pass your final with a higher than 70 percent, he’ll fuck you!

#mha smut #mha #bnha x reader #bnha smut #izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku smut #midoriya smut #shoto todoroki #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki smut #hitoshi shinso x reader #hitoshi shinso #shinso x reader #shinso smut #my hero academia #bmha

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