The hallways of UA High buzzed with the usual after-class chaos, students chattering about quirks, training sessions, and weekend plans, but in the quieter corners, where the afternoon sun slanted through the windows in lazy golden beams, something felt off.
She watched them from afar, hidden behind a vending machine or a half-open door, her heart twisting in ways she couldn't quite name.
Takumi and Momo had been inseparable lately, their heads bent together over notebooks in the common areas, or walking side by side toward the dorms, laughing at some shared joke that no one else seemed privy to.
It started innocently enough, right after that group study assignment from Ms. Midnight, but now? It was constant. Lingering glances, casual touches on the arm, the way Momo's composed demeanor softened around him.
It gnawed at her, this unspoken shift, like a chord struck out of tune in a song she was trying to compose. In the privacy of her thoughts, as she leaned against a locker pretending to scroll through her phone, she wrestled with the confusion bubbling inside.
Why does this bother me so much? She was at that age, fifteen, going on sixteen, where most girls in her class were giggling over crushes, doodling hearts in their notebooks, whispering about which boy had the cutest smile or the strongest quirk.
But boys? They felt... distant. The ones in her class were mostly idiots, loud, immature, always posturing like they were the next big hero without putting in the real work.
Bakugo with his explosive temper and even more explosive ego, making everything a competition; Kirishima, sweet but dense as a rock, all "manly" talk and no subtlety; Kaminari, the eternal flirt who short-circuited his brain more often than not, chasing skirts like it was a sport; Sero, chill but forgettable, taping things up for laughs; even Midoriya, with his endless muttering and hero worship, felt too earnest, too overwhelming.
And the quieter ones? Like Todoroki, aloof and pretty but cold as ice, or Tokoyami, brooding in his shadows like a wannabe poet.
They were all so... unlikeable, wrapped up in their own worlds, never really seeing anyone else. She didn't get the appeal, didn't feel that spark when she looked at them. It made her wonder if something was wrong with her, if she was missing out on some rite of passage that everyone else seemed to navigate so easily.
But girls... that was different. Her mind wandered there sometimes, unbidden, like a melody she couldn't shake. She thought of her female classmates, each one vivid in her imagination, their features etching themselves into her thoughts with a clarity that made her cheeks warm.
Ochaco, with her round, rosy cheeks and that bubbly energy, her gravity-defying quirk matching her light-as-air personality, cute, approachable, like a friend who'd lift you up literally and figuratively.
Mina, all vibrant pink skin and horns, her acid quirk as sharp as her dance moves, body confident and curvy in ways that turned heads, her laughter infectious and wild.
Tsuyu, frog-like and straightforward, with those big, honest eyes and lithe limbs that moved with graceful efficiency, her calm demeanour hiding a quiet strength that felt reassuring.
Toru, invisible but full of spirit, her presence announced by giggles and the subtle shimmer of her outline, mysterious, fun, making you imagine what lay beneath the unseen.
And then... Momo. Oh, Momo. Her heart skipped a beat just picturing her, tall and elegant, with that long, silky raven hair cascading like a waterfall, her figure perfectly proportioned, full breasts straining against her uniform in a way that was both regal and alluring, her dark eyes intelligent and kind. Momo's quirk was a marvel, creating anything from nothing, but it was her poise that captivated, that princess-like grace from a world of wealth and refinement. They were so different, she and Momo, her with her punk rock upbringing, earphone jacks dangling like rebellious accessories, music blasting through her headphones to drown out the noise of expectations; Momo, polished and proper, tea parties and textbooks, every word measured and every action thoughtful.
Yet, they'd connected so easily, from the first group project where Momo had praised her sound strategy in a mock battle, to late-night chats in the dorms about heroes and dreams.
Laughter shared over stupid jokes, a brush of hands that lingered a second too long, it felt natural, electric. She never would have imagined it, this pull toward someone so opposite, but now? Now Momo was drifting away, spending all her time with him.
That boy from their class, tall and handsome in a generic way, dark hair, sharp features, a quiet demeanour that bordered on mysterious. Basic, really, nothing special. He kept to himself, scores hovering just below average on tests, quirk seemingly unremarkable.
Why him? Why now, ever since Midnight's assignment paired them up? It didn't make sense, and the more she saw them together, Momo's smile brighter, her posture relaxed, the more it stung, a discordant note in her chest that she couldn't resolve.
Enough was enough. She couldn't just watch anymore. Spotting him alone in the courtyard, leaning against a tree with his bag slung over his shoulder, she marched over, her ear jacks twitching with nervous energy.
The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows that seemed to dance at his feet, but she ignored it, steeling herself.
"Hey, Takumi," she said, her voice casual but edged with something sharper. It was Kyoka Jiro, her punk style unmistakable, short purple hair spiked just so, earphone jacks coiled at her lobes like weapons, her uniform modified with a subtle rock edge.
Takumi looked up, surprise flickering across his face for a split second before he masked it with his usual neutral expression.
"Jiro? What's up?" She crossed her arms, trying to play it cool, but her heart hammered like a bass drum in her chest.
"What've you and Momo been up to lately? You've been glued at the hip since that study thing with Midnight." He straightened a bit, that surprise deepening, but he recovered quickly.
"Oh, that? We've just been hanging out. She's been helping me study, my test scores aren't exactly top-tier, you know." Jiro nodded, recalling his middling grades, nothing disastrous, but not standout either.
It made sense on the surface, Momo being the academic powerhouse she was. But it didn't ease the knot in her stomach. "Yeah, I get that. Mind if I join next time? Could use some pointers myself."
Takumi hesitated, then an odd glint sparked in his eyes, a sly, knowing light that made her skin prickle.
"You'll have to ask Momo about that. She might say no." Confusion furrowed her brow.
"Why would she say no? We're all classmates." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone.
"Because she likes me, Jiro."
The words hit like a sonic blast, whiplash snapping through her. Her ears rang with it, a flush creeping up her neck.
"What?"
"Momo has a crush on me," he repeated, slower this time, as if savouring the impact.
"She loves me, or at least, I think so. The way she looks at me, the extra time we spend."
Anger surged in Jiro's chest, hot and unbidden, mingling with a threat she couldn't place, jealousy? Betrayal?
Her fists clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Why did this feel like a punch to the gut? Why did the thought of Momo, elegant, brilliant Momo, falling for him make her want to scream?
"There's no way," she spat, her voice rising with disbelief and fury. "No way she'd fall for someone so... bland. You're just like all the other guys in our year, even the seniors. All you do is ogle her like she's some trophy with tits, something to gawk at and claim. It's disgusting."
Takumi's response wasn't anger or defence; instead, a weird smile curved his lips, predatory, confident, like he held a secret that could unravel her. He stepped closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered,
"I've done a lot more than just stare, Jiro." Her eyes widened, shock freezing her in place as she stared at him, a dirty look twisting her features, disgust curling her lip, outrage flashing in her gaze.
"You…what? You're lying, you pervert..," But before she could unleash the tirade building in her throat, he cut her off, his tone casual but laced with that same glint.
"If you want proof, come to my room at midnight. See for yourself."
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, heart pounding, emotions churning in a storm she couldn't name, anger, confusion, a deep-seated ache that felt like loss.
What the hell is going on? she thought, her ear jacks drooping slightly as the weight of it all settled in.
Midnight... his room... proof? The idea terrified her, intrigued her, pulled at that ambiguous thread in her soul.
But as the shadows lengthened around her, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just stepped into something irreversible.
———
Jiro stood in the dimly lit confines of Takumi's dorm room, the door clicking shut behind her like a finality she couldn't escape. The clock on his nightstand glowed midnight, the witching hour casting long shadows across the simple furnishings, a single bed with rumpled sheets, a desk cluttered with textbooks, and a closet door slightly ajar. She was in her pajamas, soft cotton shorts and a loose tank top that clung to her skin from the nervous sweat beading on her back, her purple hair tousled from the restless hours leading up to this.
Her cheeks burned a deep crimson, ear jacks twitching involuntarily as if trying to pick up the rapid thrum of her own heartbeat.
Takumi sat on the edge of his bed, topless, his lean, sculpted torso on full display, muscles etched from training, a faint sheen of sweat glistening under the low lamp light, making him look both vulnerable and dangerously alluring. He watched her with that quiet intensity, his dark eyes unreadable.
"What... what are you planning?" Jiro stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, arms crossed tightly over her chest as if to shield herself from the vulnerability clawing at her insides. The air felt thick, charged with unspoken tension, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd walked into a trap of her own making.
Takumi leaned forward slightly, his bare shoulders rolling with casual ease. "You wanted to understand the love Momo has for me, Jiro. I'm going to show you."
His tone was calm, almost gentle, but there was an undercurrent of command that made her stomach flutter. Her eyes widened, a stutter escaping her lips.
"Do I... love her?" She paused, the words hanging heavy, her mind racing through the whirlwind of emotions she'd buried deep. The way Momo's laughter echoed in her thoughts, the warmth of their shared glances, it terrified her.
"I... I don't know." He nodded, as if he'd expected that.
"It's fine. You might come to understand your feelings more after what you see and hear tonight."
There was a promise in his words, dark and inviting, that sent a shiver down her spine. Before she could respond, Takumi raised his hand, and something materialised in his palm, a small, inky black ball, swirling with shadows that seemed to absorb the light around it.
Jiro's ear jacks perked up, sensing the subtle hum of energy in the air. "What is that?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion and curiosity.
"This," he said, holding it up, "is how I silence a room." With a flick of his wrist, the ball expanded like a veil unfurling, a shimmering black screen reminiscent of those cursed domains in old anime she'd binge-watched, stretching outward in rippling waves until it enveloped the entire room, sealing them in a bubble of absolute quiet.
The world outside faded; no distant dorm chatter, no creak of floorboards. "Now, no one can hear us from outside. Not even you could, if you tried to leave."
He met her doubtful gaze, his expression steady.
She crossed her arms tighter, sarcasm dripping from her tone to mask her unease. "So you've been hiding your abilities, huh? Mr. Mysterious with the shadow tricks."
Takumi shrugged, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. "There's no reason for anyone to know. They might see more worth in me than I actually have." His words carried a hint of bitterness, a vulnerability that surprised her, making her heart ache oddly for him, this quiet boy who'd always blended into the background, undervalued like a forgotten track on an album.
"Go in the closet and hide," he instructed next, nodding toward the half-open door. Jiro blinked, confusion knitting her brows. "Why the hell would I do that?"
"Momo's coming," he explained simply. "She doesn't know you're here, and I don't think she should. It might... complicate things."
The thought twisted in her gut, the idea of Momo getting the wrong impression about her being in Takumi's room at midnight, especially if that "crush" nonsense was real. Reluctantly, Jiro nodded, slipping into the closet amid hanging shirts and jackets that smelled faintly of his cologne, clean, earthy, with a hint of spice.
The slats in the door provided a clear view of the room, like peering through prison bars. She huddled there, heart pounding, the confined space amplifying her breaths as Takumi stretched languidly, his muscles flexing under his skin before he moved to the door.
A soft knock echoed, and he opened it to reveal Momo, standing in the hallway light like a vision. She wore silk pajamas, a loose top that draped elegantly over her full breasts, the fabric shimmering like moonlight on water, and matching shorts that hugged her hips, revealing long, toned legs. Her raven hair fell freely around her shoulders, unbound from its usual high ponytail, framing her face in soft waves that made her look ethereal, vulnerable.
Jiro's heart raced, a painful skip echoing in her chest at the sight, Momo, her Momo, here in the dead of night.
Takumi greeted her with a warm smile. "Hey. Come in." Momo stepped inside, her cheeks tinged with a shy flush as the door closed.
"I always worry someone might catch me sneaking over," she admitted, her voice soft, laced with that refined lilt.
"You worry too much," Takumi replied, pulling her close. She giggled, a melodic sound that twisted Jiro's insides like a knife.
"You might be right," Momo murmured, her voice dropping to a husky whisper as she sat on the edge of his bed, hair cascading like a dark river.
She looked up at him with eyes heavy-lidded and smoldering, an expression Jiro had never seen, raw desire, unguarded want. "Come here..."
Jiro's breath caught in her throat, shock freezing her as Takumi obeyed, bending down to capture Momo's lips in a passionate kiss.
It was deep, fervent, his hands cupping her face, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.
Their mouths moved in sync, tongues dancing in a wet, heated tangle that made soft, sucking sounds echo in the silenced room. Takumi pulled away briefly, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs, firm, possessive squeezes that made Momo gasp.
"You want this?" he asked, voice rough with need.
"Of course," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him back in.
The kiss intensified, lips bruising, breaths mingling in hot pants as they crawled onto the bed together. Takumi's hand ventured lower, slipping under her shorts to her crotch, fingers tracing the damp heat there through the silk. Momo arched into his touch, a soft whimper escaping as he rubbed her clit in slow circles.
Jiro felt her heart hammer wildly, a surge of rage and sorrow bubbling up, she wanted to burst out, scream, tear him away from her. How dare he touch her like that?
But she was rooted, transfixed, the scene unfolding like a forbidden dream. Takumi peeled off Momo's top, revealing her bare breasts, heavy, perfect orbs with dusky nipples hardening in the cool air. No bra, just soft, flushed skin begging for attention.
He ripped away her shorts next, exposing a black lacy thong that barely covered her glistening pussy, the fabric soaked and clinging to her folds. His cock bulged visibly in his pants, straining against the fabric like a caged beast.
Momo's hand reached for it, rubbing the outline with eager strokes, her eyes dark with lust. "Silenced the room?" she asked breathlessly, her voice a sultry purr.
"Of course," Takumi growled, his fingers dipping under the thong, two digits sliding into her slick entrance slowly, curling to stroke her inner walls.
Momo moaned in pleasure, the sound rich and throaty, her hips bucking as he pumped them in and out, thumb circling her clit.
Jiro couldn't believe it, the way Momo's pussy was positioned toward her view, lips parted and glistening, Takumi's fingers disappearing into the pink, wet heat.
It felt like a deliberate disrespect, a taunt, and yet... Jiro's thighs pressed together, a unwelcome warmth pooling between her legs.
Momo's moans escalated, volume rising in crescendo, raw, uninhibited cries as her arousal built, juices coating his hand in slick streams.
Then, a splash, she squirted, clear fluid arcing from her in pulsing waves, soaking the sheets.
Takumi pulled his fingers free, and Momo grabbed his hand, licking them clean with passionate fervor, her tongue swirling around each digit, savoring her own taste like nectar.
They kissed again, messy and desperate, before Momo pushed him onto his back.
She straddled his face, her bare ass, plush, round cheeks, settling over his mouth as she faced his cock.
Jiro wanted to look away, but couldn't, the euphoric smile on Momo's face, eyes fluttering shut as Takumi's tongue delved into her folds from below, lapping at her clit with wet, slurping sounds that filled the room. Momo moaned, grinding down, before leaning forward to free his cock from his pants.
It sprang out, huge and pulsating, veins throbbing along its length, at least 8 to 10 inches of thick, rigid flesh, the head glistening with precum.
Jiro had only seen such things online, but this was real, intimidating, and she touched her own lips unconsciously, wondering... No! Stop!
Momo took it slowly, her mouth stretching around the girth, lips sliding down inch by inch. Jiro marveled at how she managed, throat relaxing to take more, until she reached the base, deepthroating him with a moan that vibrated through his shaft.
Her pussy squirted again, juices dripping down Takumi's chin as she came, body shuddering in bliss.
He flipped her over, her mouth popping off with a wet smack. "Ready?" he asked, voice gravelly.
"Always for you," Momo purred. He slapped her ass, a sharp crack that left a red handprint on her cheek, before climbing atop her in missionary, delving deep with one thrust.
Momo's moans were unrestrained, legs wrapping around his waist as he hit harder, faster, his cock pistoning into her with graphic squelches, her pussy lips gripping him visibly on each withdrawal.
To Jiro, it was like witnessing a stranger, Momo, so composed, now writhing in ecstasy, breasts bouncing, face contorted in pleasure. Takumi slowed, pulling out to flip her into doggy.
Jiro had a front-row view now, the way his thick cock disappeared into Momo's slick, swollen pussy, inch by inch, her ass cheeks rippling with each thrust as she pushed back, moaning in delight.
The slapping sounds were deafening, wet, rhythmic flesh on flesh, louder than any concert Jiro had attended. Her ear jacks twirled wildly, trying to burrow into her ears to escape the onslaught, but failing.
A tear slipped down Jiro's cheek, but her heart pounded, hand slipping between her legs to press against the growing wetness, rubbing tentatively as shame and arousal warred within her. Takumi grabbed Momo's arms like reins, pulling her back as he thrust deeper.
"About to cum," he grunted.
"In my mouth!" Momo screamed, spinning around to open wide, wrapping her lips around him.
He erupted, thick white ropes pulsing down her throat as she swallowed greedily, arms around his hips to milk every drop, eyes locking with his in adoration.
They collapsed, cuddling, Momo's head on his chest, bodies slick and spent.
"Next time, more," she murmured. "But that presentation tomorrow... need to be sharp."
"You'll do great," he kissed her forehead, his gaze flicking to the closet, a jesting glint that pierced Jiro like a dagger.
Fifteen minutes passed in tender whispers before Momo dressed and left with a lingering kiss.
"Goodnight." Takumi locked the door, waiting a beat.
Jiro stumbled out, dazed, the room reeking of sex, hot, steamy, sticky, a primal mix of sweat, cum, and arousal that made her head spin.
She stared at the bed, sheets stained and disheveled, before Takumi's voice broke through.
"You okay?" She nodded shakily, avoiding his eyes, arms hugging herself.
"Do you see the love now?" he asked softly.
"The love Momo has for me, how she bares her body, screams for me, gives everything?"
Jiro shook her head, voice cracking. "I... I don't know."
"Do you love her, Jiro?"
"I think I do," she whispered, tears welling. "I want to know why, how... the things she loves, the tea, the etiquette, the chemistry books for her quirk... even you. I want to understand why Momo loves you." Takumi's expression softened. "I can help you understand. Tomorrow, I'll find you."