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Chapter Text

The sun hung low over the U.A. training grounds, casting long, distorted shadows as Shoto Todoroki and Momo Yaoyorozu concluded their individual practice.Their understanding of one another deepened by shared battles and quiet moments. Yet, a particular curiosity had taken root in Shoto’s mind, an insistent thrumming beneath his calm exterior whenever Momo activated her Creation quirk.

He had watched her, often, under the guise of observing combat strategy. During a recent simulated disaster, when Momo had swiftly conjured a reinforced scaffold to prevent a building collapse, Shoto’s gaze had lingered, not just on the architectural marvel, but on the process itself.

He watched her whenever she activated her quirk, noticing the subtle shifts, the almost imperceptible changes that occurred around her chest. It was a fascinating, almost alien process, and it stirred something primal within him. Her quirk, he’d mused, was undoubtedly tied to the very essence of her being, and by extension, to that magnificent, generous curve of her chest, which seemed to swell and diminish with her creations.

He wanted to see it, truly see it, beyond the fleeting glimpses afforded by their hero suits. He wanted to understand, not just the mechanics, but the intimacy of it.

Momo had required a large, heat-resistant barrier. Her brows had furrowed in concentration, a soft light emanating from her skin, particularly vibrant around the sternum and the upper swell of her breasts. The fabric of her hero costume, designed for flexibility, had stretched taut as the energy coalesced. It wasn’t a sudden pop, but a gradual, almost organic blossoming. A shimmering membrane of her very cells would momentarily appear, translucent and iridescent, before solidifying into the desired material. One could almost see the intricate dance of molecules, the gathering of lipids and atomic structures, as they wove themselves into existence. There was an internal hum, a subtle tremor that ran through her body, a testament to the immense energy expended. Her full, ample chest, a natural repository of the lipids her quirk utilized, seemed to breathe with the effort, rising and falling with a potent, silent power. Then, with a final surge, the object, perfectly formed and solid, would seamlessly push through the outer layer of her skin, leaving no trace, no wound, only the lingering warmth of creation.

Shoto’s breath had hitched, his eyes tracing the subtle contours of her form as the barrier materialized. Even after all these years, it was a marvel. But his mind craved more.

He wanted to see the source, the very point of inception. He wanted to feel the heat, understand the magic. The thought alone was enough to make his dick harden, a tight, insistent pulse in his trousers.

As he finished cooling down some molten debris with a casual wave of ice, Momo called out, her voice bright and unburdened. “Todoroki-kun! A quick sparring match, perhaps

“I feel my long-range combat suffers from my reliance on close-quarters creation. You … excel at both.”

Shoto turned, a faint blush dusting his cheeks at the unexpected, yet welcome, offer. “Alright, Yaoyorozu.” He couldn’t deny the opportunity to be closer to her, to witness her movements without the distraction of quirks. They met in the center of the mat, bowing formally.

They began with simple tactics, their quirks suppressed. Just hand-to-hand, bodies in motion. Momo was agile, surprisingly swift for her elegant frame, her punches precise, her kicks powerful. With each dodge, each weave, each lunge, her generous chest swayed and bounced, a rhythmic dance against the fabric of her training gear. The movement was hypnotic, a soft, undulating motion that mirrored the tightening in Shoto’s groin. His dick, already hard, grew almost painfully so, a testament to his burgeoning desire. He found himself subtly adjusting his stance, his focus wavering between her fluid movements and the captivating rhythm of her body.

Momo lunged forward, a quick jab aimed at his shoulder. Just as her fist connected, a feather-light tap rather than a full strike, Shoto moved. He brought up a hand, not to block, but to gently cup her fist, stalling her momentum. He stepped in close, his body pressing against hers, and lowered his head, his lips brushing the delicate curve of her ear.

“I’m curious about your quirk, Momo,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver through her.

Momo's punch, already soft, softened further, her knuckles barely grazing his bicep. She froze, a breath catching in her throat as his warmth enveloped her. Shoto continued, his voice barely audible, “Mind if I see it? Properly?”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She didn’t hesitate. A warmth spread through her, a mixture of surprise and something far more potent. “What… what would you like me to make? ” she asked, her voice a little breathless as she leaned into his touch.

A slow smile touched Shoto’s lips, a rare, genuine expression that made her own eyes widen slightly. “A pencil,” he answered, the mundane request almost comical in its contrast to the charged atmosphere between them.

"Very well,” Momo replied, a shy smile gracing her lips, which made a faint blush creep up Shoto's neck. He watched her, captivated, as she led him away from the open training area, towards a secluded spot under the sprawling canopy of an ancient oak, its thick trunk and dense leaves offering a natural, secluded haven.

Nestled between the gnarled roots, where shadows danced and no prying eyes could see, Momo turned to him. The air thrummed with unspoken need. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and trusting, as she reached for the zipper of her training top, slowly drawing it down, revealing the creamy expanse of her décolletage. The fabric parted, exposing the upper curve of her full breasts, the soft valley between them, and the delicate skin of her sternum.

Shoto’s gaze was fixed. He watched, mesmerizing. Momo closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating. He could see the subtle flexing of her muscles, the almost imperceptible shift beneath her skin. A faint, ethereal glow began to emanate from the very center of her chest, right above where her breasts met. It wasn't harsh, but soft, almost inviting, like the internal light of a dying ember, growing brighter. The skin there seemed to stretch, not painfully, but with an incredible elasticity, as if becoming liquid. He could almost discern the faint outlines of the forming object beneath her flesh, a subtle distortion in her skin. 

His dick tightened further, an urgent, aching throb. He wanted to reach out, to touch that glowing spot, to feel the magic of creation under his fingertips.

Then, slowly, gracefully, a perfectly formed wooden pencil, unsharpened and smooth, began to emerge. It was an astonishing sight—seamless, organic, as if it had simply bloomed from her body. The pencil pushed through the last membrane of skin with a soft, almost imperceptible sigh of displaced air, slick with a microscopic sheen of moisture, before detaching completely.

Momo, flushed and breathing lightly, opened her eyes, the glow fading. She held the pencil out to him, her hand trembling slightly. Shoto, his heart hammering against his ribs, took it. The pencil was warm, carrying the residual heat of her body, and impossibly smooth. As his fingers closed around it, the intimacy of the act washed over him.

It had come from inside her. He felt an electric jolt, a profound arousal that started in his fingertips and shot straight to his groin.

Momo watched his reaction, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she saw the almost pained intensity in his eyes. She reached out, her fingers gently tracing the hard line of his jaw, her thumb brushing against his flushed cheek. Her touch was tender, questioning, filled with a nascent desire that mirrored his own.

“Momo…” Shoto breathed, his voice raw, his eyes locked on hers. “Mind if I touch it?” His gaze flickered to her exposed chest, still faintly flushed from the exertion.

Momo’s blush deepened, spreading across her cheeks and down her neck. Her eyes dropped momentarily, then met his again, unwavering. “Would you… would you feel weird touching it?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Shoto’s hand, still clutching the pencil, rose slowly to cup her cheek, his thumb gently stroking her skin. “It’s not weird for me,” he murmured, his eyes conveying a depth of admiration and desire that stole her breath away. He gently pushed aside the remaining fabric of her top, his fingers trembling slightly as they finally, reverently, touched the soft, yielding flesh of her breast.

A shiver racked Momo’s body, a low moan escaping her lips, a sound of pure pleasure and surprise. Her skin, beneath his touch, felt like fire, electrifying every nerve ending. He felt the warmth, the softness, the incredible truth of her body. His fingers explored the curve, the weight, the delicate texture, and Momo arched into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut, a soft, guttural sound escaping her throat. He leaned in, his lips finding hers, a kiss that started soft and hesitant, then deepened with immediate, consuming hunger.

Shoto's tongue traced the line of her lips, asking permission, and Momo's mouth parted, inviting him in. Their tongues met, a dance of growing intensity, exploring every crevice, every soft part of each other's mouths. His hand, still on her breast, kneaded gently, his thumb brushing over her already hardening nipple through the sheer lace of her bra. Momo gasped into the kiss, her own hands reaching up, tangling in his bi-colored hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until it was a ravaging feast of sensation.

He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down her jaw, along the column of her neck, tasting the salty sweetness of her skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His lips found the delicate hollow of her throat, where her pulse beat a frantic rhythm. He pushed her top further down, exposing more of her generous, creamy breasts. He wanted to devour her, to taste the very essence of her, the source of his fascination.

His tongue dipped and swirled around her right nipple, tantalizing and teasing, before he took it fully into his mouth, sucking gently, eliciting a sharp, choked cry from Momo. Her back arched, her hands tightening their grip on his hair, urging him on. He suckled deeply, his other hand cupping her left breast, massaging it, rolling the peak between his fingers. He felt the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the desperate gasps for air. He licked and suckled, alternating between the two, making her moan and writhe against him, her hips beginning to grind against his, a silent plea for more.

His mouth moved lower, past her navel, down the soft curve of her belly, until he reached the delicate lace of her underwear. He tugged it aside, his fingers finding the damp, warm entrance to her pussy. Momo gasped, her body trembling violently, her legs parting for him without conscious thought. He buried his face between her legs, inhaling her musky, sweet scent, his tongue flicking out to taste her, a shiver running through him at the pure, uninhibited flavor of her arousal.

He found her clit, swollen and throbbing beneath his tongue, and began to work it, sucking and flicking, swirling and teasing, driving her to the brink. “To … Todo .. roki - … k – kun” Momo cried out, a guttural sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, her body bucking and heaving beneath his ministrations. She was on fire, consumed by the delicious torture he inflicted, her fingers digging into his scalp, pulling his head closer, urging him to go deeper, harder. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her hips arching wildly, chasing the exquisite sensation he brought forth.

“You taste so … good, Momo” After what felt like an eternity, but was only a matter of minutes, Momo screamed his name, her body convulsing in a powerful, earth-shattering orgasm, her legs trembling uncontrollably. She came hard, her pussy flooding his mouth with her cum, a taste he savored, a testament to her pleasure.

Shoto pulled back, his face wet, his eyes blazing with desire as he looked up at her. He stripped off his own sweatpants, revealing his painfully erect dick, throbbing and engorged. Momo, still trembling, reached for him, her hand closing around his shaft, guiding him to her slick, swollen entrance.

With a soft groan, Shoto pushed, slowly at first, into her tight, wet heat. A sigh of pure contentment escaped them both as their bodies connected, two halves finally made whole. He paused, letting her adjust, letting them both savor the exquisite feeling of being utterly, completely intertwined. Then, with a gentle thrust, he began to move, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm, each stroke a declaration of shared passion.

Momo wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her nails lightly raking his back. She matched his thrusts, her hips rising to meet his, moaning his name with every delicious penetration. “Yes .. oh–yes Todoroki”. The air was thick with their shared cries, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the scent of their mingled arousal. He picked up the pace, driving into her with increasing urgency, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Momo arched her back, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, her head thrown back, exposing her throat, a silent invitation for more. “You … like that huh” Shoto smirked.

He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging deep, mirroring the rhythm of his hips. He pulled gently at her hair, tilting her head back, exposing her neck, as he continued his relentless pace. She clung to him, her body quivering, building towards another climax. He felt her inner walls clench around him, milking him, and he groaned, a primal sound of nearing release.

With a final, powerful thrust, Shoto spilled himself deep inside her, “Shit” his cum hot and thick, filling her with his essence. Momo cried out again, her body seizing in a climax that mirrored his own, their combined pleasure echoing through the secluded training grounds, a testament to their mutual curiosity, their shared desire, and a love that had finally found its most intimate expression.

Chapter Text

The scent of her lingered, a phantom touch on his skin, a ghost in his mind. Shoto Todoroki couldn't shake it. Every time his memory replayed the secluded training ground, the way her body had arched against his, the soft gasps that had escaped her lips, a deep blush would creep up his neck and warm his cheeks. He still felt the phantom pressure of her breasts against his chest, the slick slide of their bodies. It had been raw, passionate, and utterly consuming, far beyond anything he’d anticipated with the usually reserved Yaoyorozu Momo.

Now, in the sterile environment of their advanced heroics class, the memory was a vibrant, embarrassing flicker. His hand instinctively found the pencil resting on his desk. It was an ordinary writing tool, yet to him, it was a relic, created by her Creati quirk, summoned from the very essence of her body, and he knew, with a certainty that thrilled him, that it had formed from the skin of her breast. He brought it subtly to his nose, inhaling. It smelled like Yaoyorozu. Like her skin, a faint, sweet, natural musk that permeated his senses and made his blood thrum.

"Todoroki-kun,” Izuku Midoriya’s voice was a soft, hesitant interruption. “You keep putting that pencil on your nose… like you’re trying to balance it.” Midoriya’s eyes, ever observant, held a curious glint.

Shoto’s head snapped up, the blush deepening. He quickly lowered the pencil. “It’s my habit of thinking,” he mumbled, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, though his voice felt strangely thick.

Across the room, Momo, who had been listening intently to their instructor, stiffened. She glanced at Shoto, her eyes wide, and a delicate pink blush blossomed high on her cheekbones. She knew exactly which pencil he meant. She knew its origin. His simple explanation, so careful, had not fooled her.

The class drew to a close, and just as Shoto was gathering his notes, Iida Tenya, ever the diligent class representative, approached Momo. “Yaoyorozu,” he began, his hand chopping the air decisively, “I was planning a study session in the library this afternoon for the upcoming analysis exam. Would you care to join and perhaps lend your exemplary intellect to the cause?”

Shoto’s hand clenched around his textbook. A pang of something sharp, unfamiliar, tightened in his chest. Jealousy. It was a low, simmering heat he hadn't expected. He needed to be near her, wanted to monopolize her attention, and the thought of her and Iida alone, even for academic purposes, chafed him.

Without thinking, Shoto blurted out, “Can I study with you guys?”

Iida turned, momentarily surprised, then his hand chopped again. “Of course, Todoroki-kun! The more, the merrier! I’ve already invited Kaminari, Ashido, Aoyama, Sero, and Hagakure. My plan is to gather those who might benefit most from extra assistance to ensure no one falls behind.”

Shoto felt a wave of relief, quickly followed by a small, amused huff. Iida, in his earnestness, had managed to deflate any lingering romantic tension by turning it into a general academic intervention. It wasn’t a bad idea, Shoto conceded, even if his primary motivation was entirely selfish.

After class, Shoto made a quick detour to the commissary, grabbing a small assortment of sweet buns and chocolate-covered pastries. He wasn't sure why; perhaps a peace offering, perhaps an excuse, perhaps just an impulse to bring her something nice.

When he arrived at the library, the vast, echoing space was almost empty. He scanned the tables and saw her, sitting alone at a large oak table, surrounded by textbooks and notebooks, her elegant fingers already making neat annotations.

“Where are the others?” Shoto asked as he approached, his voice a little softer than usual.

Momo looked up, a soft smile gracing her lips. “Iida-kun is talking to Midoriya-kun about something… and the others, well,” she suppressed a giggle, “they’re currently taking a small lecture from Mr. Aizawa about their recent poor test performance. They’ll be here soon, I imagine.”

Shoto felt a small, triumphant surge. He had her to himself, for now. He sat in the chair beside her, pulling it close, and gently set the bag of sweets between them. “I brought these,” he offered, pushing them towards her.

“Oh, Todoroki-kun, that’s so thoughtful!” Her eyes sparkled, and she took a delicate pastry.

A comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated only by the rustle of pages and the soft sounds of the library. It was Momo who broke it, her voice hushed. “Todoroki-kun,” she began, her gaze meeting his, a faint blush returning to her cheeks. “Why do you keep sniffing that pencil?”

Shoto froze, the half-formed excuse dying on his tongue. He hadn’t realized she’d noticed, not truly. He’d been so careful, so discreet. His own face flushed crimson, the heat spreading from his neck to his earlobes. He could lie, but the truth, raw and vulnerable, felt too close to the surface, too powerful to contain. He didn’t want her to feel bad for him, but he also couldn't deny the depth of his yearning.

He looked away for a moment, gathering his courage, then met her intense, dark eyes. “I… I missed touching you,” he confessed, the words a low, husky whisper. His heart hammered against his ribs.

Momo’s breath hitched. Her blush deepened, spreading across her décolletage, the creamy skin visible above her uniform. A soft, warm tingle spread through her, a rush of heat that made her insides clench. “You should have told me sooner,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible, but laced with an undeniable warmth. She couldn't help but feel a thrill, a deep, primal satisfaction that he felt the same lingering desire. “Let’s prepare the lesson sheets while we wait,” she added, her voice a little shaky, trying to regain a semblance of normalcy.

As they began, Shoto found himself reaching for that pencil, the one she'd made, the one that smelled of her. He used it to underline a passage in his textbook. Momo saw the movement, saw the familiar, dark wood in his hand, and a fresh wave of heat washed over her. Their eyes met again, a silent understanding passing between them, a shared blush, a mutual awareness of the electric tension thrumming just beneath the surface. Her body felt hot, a simmering warmth that made her skin feel exquisitely sensitive.

“Todoroki-kun…” Momo couldn’t take it anymore. The proximity, the shared secret, the unbearable longing in his gaze. She leaned in, her lips finding his, a soft, tentative touch that quickly deepened into a searing, passionate kiss. His lips were firm, warm, tasting faintly of the sweets he’d brought. She moaned softly into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his bi-colored hair, pulling gently.

While their mouths were locked, her free hand found his, where he still clutched the pencil. She guided his hand, slowly, deliberately, down her body, past her thigh, until his fingers, still wrapped around the pencil, found the soft, yielding fabric of her uniform skirt, and then slid beneath it, finding her inner thigh, warm and bare. Her other hand, still in his hair, urged him closer. “I missed you touching me,” she breathed against his lips, breaking the kiss only for a moment, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

Shoto understood. His thumb, still on the pencil, traced the delicate lace of her panties, the heat of her core a burning beacon through the thin fabric. He shifted, subtly, his knee brushing against hers under the table. There were CCTV cameras, of course, a constant, silent threat, so they couldn’t move wildly, couldn't give themselves away. But his fingers were nimble, and the pencil, surprisingly, was an ideal instrument. He began to tickle her, gently, precisely, the smooth wood pressing against the sensitive flesh of her labia through the lace. “Hmmm … slower Todor–oki-kun”

Momo gasped, a soft, almost inaudible sound that she quickly disguised as a cough. She kept her eyes fixed on her textbook, pretending to write, her pen scratching diligently across the page. But beneath the table, her body was a symphony of sensation. Each gentle stroke of the pencil sent shivers through her, making her pussy clench and release. Soft, almost imperceptible moans escaped her, disguised as breaths, as sighs of concentration. The warmth in her core intensified, spiraling into a delicious, unbearable pressure.

Shoto watched her, his own face flushed, his dick growing hard against his slacks. He could see the subtle arch of her back, the way her shoulders tensed, the way her fingers clutched her pen, knuckles white. He continued his rhythm, slow and deliberate, knowing exactly what he was doing, what he was building within her. “Ohh … ssshi …tt” He aimed for her clit through the fabric, a gentle, teasing pressure that made her hips twitch involuntarily.

The climax hit her suddenly, fiercely. A silent explosion that rocked her whole body. Her eyes shot open, wide with shock and pleasure, her back arching almost imperceptibly as a silent scream built and died in her throat. Her breath hitched, ragged and shallow. Just as the last, exquisite shivers ran through her, the library door creaked open.

“Yaoyorozu-kun! Todoroki-kun! We are here!” Iida’s booming voice announced, followed by the chatter of Kaminari, Ashido, Sero, and Hagakure.

“Momo, I want more … tonight” Momo gasped again, a more natural sound this time, and quickly sat upright, forcing a strained smile as their classmates approached. Shoto, with practiced ease, pulled the pencil from beneath her skirt. It was slick, undeniably wet. He quickly grabbed a clean handkerchief from his pocket, discreetly wrapping it around the pencil before it could be seen, tucking it into his textbook. He picked up another, dry pencil and continued to write, as if nothing had happened, his face a mask of calm, though his heart still pounded.

As the study session progressed, the library filled with their classmates’ chatter and the rustle of pages. Momo, still feeling the delicious aftermath of her release, glanced at Shoto across the table. Her eyes widened. He had unwrapped that pencil, and oblivious to her gaze, or perhaps not caring anymore, he was bringing it to his nose again, inhaling deeply, a small, private smile playing on his lips. She felt a renewed wave of heat, a mixture of embarrassment and profound desire.

Later that night, the campus dormitories were quiet. In his room, Shoto found himself playing with the pencil, turning it over and over in his fingers, then bringing it to his nose, the faint scent of her, of their shared secret, still clinging to the wood. It made him hard, a pulsating ache that refused to subside. His dick strained against his boxers, a constant reminder of the delicious release he had given her, and the release he craved for himself. He wanted to go to her, to feel her skin against his again, to lose himself in her scent and taste. But going to her dorm without an agenda, without a reason, felt… weird. He just wanted to touch her.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. His heart stopped, then hammered against his ribs. He knew. He rushed to the door, pulling it open.

“Yaoyorozu …”

Momo stood there, bathed in the dim hallway light, wearing a silk nightgown that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her nipples, firm and erect, were clearly visible through the thin fabric, a tantalizing texture. Her décolletage was open, intentionally revealing a generous expanse of her cleavage, beckoning him. Her dark eyes, usually so composed, held a blazing intensity, mirroring his own desire.

“You … wanted to see me before you go to sleep,”  she said while fixing her hair.

He didn't speak. He just reached out, his hand circling her wrist, and pulled her into his room, closing the door softly behind them, the click echoing in the sudden silence.

She stumbled against him, and his arms immediately wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent, a heady mix of her natural musk and a faint, sweet soap. “I want more of you, Momo,” he mumbled against her skin, his voice rough with need.

He pressed her back against the door, his lips finding hers in a hungry, desperate kiss. Their mouths opened, tongues colliding, swirling, tasting. His hands moved from her waist, sliding up her back, exploring the curve of her spine, then cupping her ass, lifting her slightly. Her nightgown was soft, but he wanted to feel her skin. He broke the kiss, lowering his head, his lips trailing fire down her neck, over her collarbone, until he reached the inviting swell of her breasts.

He took one magnificent breast into his mouth, suckling, teasing the nipple with his tongue. “Ohh … hmmm, yes …” Momo gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling, not in pain, but in exquisite pleasure. His teeth gently scraped the sensitive peak before he suckled harder, his tongue swirling, a hot, wet circle around the already engorged nipple. He could taste her, a creamy, sweet taste that made his dick throb. He switched to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, his hands kneading her soft flesh, marveling at its weight and fullness. “Oh … Todor–oki-kun” She arched her back, pressing her chest harder into his mouth, a soft moan escaping her lips, a sound of undeniable pleasure that filled his room. He lifted his head, his eyes burning into hers. “You taste so good, Momo.”

“So incredibly good.”

He slid his hands down her body, under the silk nightgown, finding the bare skin of her thighs, then her ass. He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, instinctively, beautifully. He carried her towards the bed, not bothering to turn on the main light, letting the soft glow from outside filter in. He laid her gently on the mattress, her nightgown riding high on her thighs. He knelt between her legs, his eyes devouring her.

“I really wished I was the pencil at the library,” he confessed, his voice a low growl, as his fingers found the soft, wet folds between her legs. He spread her gently, his thumb finding her clit, already swollen and throbbing from their earlier encounter and his recent ministrations.

Momo groaned, her hips lifting instinctively. “Do you want to use the pencil?”

“The pencil had enough of you …”

He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out, tasting her sweet, warm juices. He licked her clit, a soft, teasing swipe that sent shivers through her. “I want your tongue more” she gasped, her fingers burying themselves in his hair, urging him closer, deeper. He suckled her clit, a gentle, rhythmic tug, his tongue delving into her pussy, tasting her essence, a rich, musky sweetness that drove him wild. He used his tongue to swirl and press, tracing circles around her clit, then flicking its sensitive tip, eliciting a series of soft moans that filled the quiet room. “Yes … use your tongue more … on me” her legs trembled, flexing around his shoulders, pressing him closer to her hot, wet core. He plunged his tongue deeper, mimicking the thrust of a dick, filling her mouth with her own desire, until her body was trembling, on the verge of another release.

When he finally pulled away, her eyes were glazed over, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her pussy slick and crying out for more. He quickly shed his clothes, his hard dick springing free, already slick with pre-cum. He positioned himself between her legs, his eyes locked on hers, a silent question passing between them.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, guiding him, pressing her wet pussy against the head of his throbbing dick. “Momo … I want more” he pushed, slowly, feeling the exquisite stretch as he entered her, a deep, full penetration that made her moan, a long, drawn-out sound of pure satisfaction. He filled her, stretching her, his dick a solid, perfect fit.

He started a slow, deep rhythm, pulling almost all the way out, then thrusting back in, feeling her tighten around him with every stroke. “You’re so tight, Momo,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his lips finding hers again, kissing her deeply, passionately.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her body arching off the bed to meet his thrusts. They moved together, a symphony of skin on skin, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in gasps and moans. He changed positions, rolling her onto her stomach, entering her from behind, her ass high in the air, allowing him to drive into her with powerful, uninhibited strokes. He watched her hips sway, her back arching beautifully as he pounded into her, her cries of pleasure growing louder.

He pulled her back, sitting her on his lap, facing him, her legs wrapped around his waist, their bodies pressed together. “I like you doing this” Shoto said as she took control, riding him, her movements slow and sensuous at first, then picking up speed, her hair falling around them like a dark curtain as she bucked and ground against his dick, teasing them both to the brink.

He leaned back, bracing himself on his arms, allowing her to set the pace, watching her face as she rode him, eyes closed in ecstasy, her mouth open in a silent scream. “You’re so … hard … Todoroki-kun” .

He reached out, cupping her breasts, his thumbs circling her hard nipples, adding to the delicious chaos.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed her hips, pulling her down, dictating the rhythm as he drove into her, faster and harder, until they both cried out, their bodies convulsing, a powerful, simultaneous climax that shook the very foundations of his dorm room. “Oh shit … Momo” he felt his cum explode deep inside her, hot and vast, filling her with his essence, tying them together in a raw, primal bond. “Inside me … please Todoroki-kun”

They lay tangled, breathless and spent, the scent of their lovemaking thick in the air. Shoto held her close, pressing soft kisses to her hair, her forehead, her lips. The pencil, lying innocently on his nightstand, seemed to hum with the lingering energy of their shared secret, a silent testament to the undeniable, burning desire that now bound them, irrevocably, together.