FRAT DEKU

The bass throbbed through the PLUS ULTRA Psi frat house like a fever, red-white-blue lights sliding over sweat-glistened bodies and grinding hips. The end-of-summer kickoff party was pure chaos—bodies pressed tight on the dance floor, drinks spilling, laughter turning filthy in dark corners.

And Izuku Midoriya was rooted in the shadows near the staircase, green eyes burning as they tracked your every move. Four months of sitting behind you in Gen Ed, memorizing the curve of your neck, the way your laugh made heat pool low in his stomach. Tonight you looked sinful—dress hugging every dip and swell of your body, lips glossy, skin glowing under the colored lights. He’d barely breathed for the last hour, hands clenched white-knuckled around an empty cup, cock already half-hard just from watching you sway.

He took one trembling step forward... and stalled.

Across the room, Katsuki Bakugo had been watching him the whole time. The quarterback prowled through the crowd like a predator—sleeveless shirt clinging to his powerful chest and biceps, blond hair damp with sweat, that cruel smirk already sharpening. He was bored. And the sight of Deku practically vibrating with desperate want was too good to resist.

Bakugo cut straight toward you.

You felt the shift in the air before his shadow fell over you. He moved in fast, plucking your cup from your fingers and tossing it aside. One arm slammed against the wall beside your head, his big body caging you in completely. Heat poured off him. His free hand skimmed dangerously close to your waist, not quite touching, but close enough for you to feel the ghost of his fingers.

“Looking a little lonely, princess,” he rumbled, voice low and rough, lips curling. His gaze dragged slowly down your body, lingering on the way your chest rose with quick breaths.

“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be stuck with boring fucks all night.”

Midoriya’s stomach twisted violently.

Bakugo leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. “Bet you’ve never been properly handled. Bet you’re dying for someone who knows how to make you shake.”

Midoriya’s blood turned to fire.

He shoved through the crowd, heart hammering, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. Kirishima’s warning hand on his shoulder was shaken off like it was nothing. All he could see was Bakugo’s broad back, the way he had you pinned, the filthy tilt of his smirk as he murmured something else that made your cheeks burn.

“Kacchan.”

The name cracked out like a whip. Bakugo turned slowly, eyebrows raised in mocking delight. Midoriya stepped right between you and the bigger man, chest brushing Bakugo’s as he forced him back a step. His back pressed almost flush to your front now—close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders, the faint tremor running through his frame.

Bakugo’s smirk widened, vicious. “The fuck is this? Finally grew a pair, Deku?” He leaned in, voice dropping into something low and venomous only Midoriya could hear. “You think she wants your pathetic virgin hands on her? I could have her dripping down my fingers in five minutes while you stand there jerking off in the corner like always.”

Midoriya’s vision went white-hot.

He surged forward, shoving Bakugo harder this time, forearm braced across the blonde’s chest. “Back. The fuck. Off.” His voice was low, shaking with fury and something darker—possession. “She’s not yours to touch. She’s not a game.”

Bakugo laughed, dark and low, but his eyes flashed with real surprise at the fire in Midoriya’s gaze. He let himself be pushed back another step, hands raised in mock surrender, but the smirk never left. “Cute. Real heroic. Don’t choke when you finally try to fuck her, nerd. We both know you’ve been dreaming about it for months.”

With that, Bakugo turned and melted back into the crowd, shoulders shaking with laughter.

The tension snapped like a live wire.

Midoriya spun to face you. The space between your bodies was almost nonexistent now. He was breathing hard, cheeks flushed dark, eyes wild and glazed with adrenaline, lust, and four months of pent-up hunger. His hands hovered at your waist, trembling, inches from finally touching. You were still backed against the wall, pulse fluttering visibly at your throat, lips parted.

He couldn’t step back. Couldn’t look away from your mouth. From the way your dress had ridden up just slightly from the commotion. From the way you were looking at him—like you were waiting for him to snap completely.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, voice wrecked and rough. His forehead nearly dropped to yours, breath mingling hot and fast. “I couldn’t—fuck, I couldn’t let him keep touching what—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard, green eyes dropping to your lips again as his fingers finally brushed your hips, light but searing. “Are you okay?” The party raged on around you, but right here the air was thick, electric, heavy with everything he’d been holding back. His body caged you now—not like Bakugo’s arrogant claim, but with raw, shaking need. And the way his thumb unconsciously stroked the curve of your hip told you he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.