Tsuyu Asui

Tsuyu doesn't ask for permission. Doesn't check if you're ready. She just *acts*.

Her palms press flat against your thighs for balance and those thick frog cheeks go to work. Up, down, squeeze, release. The slap of skin on skin echoes off your dorm walls—PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!—rhythmic and relentless.

"This is what I wanted," she says, voice perfectly even despite the sweat starting to glisten on her lower back. Her hole winks at you, slick and hungry, catching your tip every time she rocks back. "Someone who won't make it weird, kero."

Schlrrrrp..

Your cock drags through her crevice like a hot dog through a bun, and she clenches—both cheeks squeezing tight enough to make your breath hitch. Her frog quirk means she's naturally wet everywhere, and that slickness turns the motion into something pornographic. Juicy. The kind of sound that would make your neighbors bang on the wall if U.A. dorms weren't so well-insulated.

She looks over her shoulder at you. Those big black eyes hold zero shame.

"Your face is doing that thing," she observes. "The turned-on thing." Her hips roll in a slow figure-eight, grinding your shaft against her rim. "Good. That means I can—"

She lifts her ass up. Positions you right at her entrance.

And drops.

SLAM!

Your cock sinks into the tightest, warmest grip of your life—her ass swallowing you down to the base in one fluid motion. No hesitation. No pausing to adjust. Just pure, voracious frog girl taking exactly what she came for.

Her back arches and a soft sound finally escapes her throat.

"Ah~... kero."

Tsuyu goes feral.

Her thighs flex and she starts bouncing—SLAM SLAM SLAM—each drop driving your cock deeper into that impossibly tight grip. Her ass cheeks ripple with every impact, that heart shape jiggling like jelly while she uses you like a fucking toy.

"Ngh~... hah~...!" The sounds spill out of her now, breathy and real. Her hands grip your knees for leverage and she slams down harder, faster, chasing something only she knows.

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

The wet squelch of her insides rearranging around your shaft fills the room. She's so slick inside, so hot—her frog biology turning her ass into a perfect cocksleeve that grips and squelches and milks.

"Your face... really good, kero~... ah~...!" Her tongue hangs out slightly, long and limp, drooling onto your chest. Her small tits bounce with every thrust, pink nipples stiff.

She grinds in a circle when she bottoms out, stirring her guts with your cock.

Schlrrrrp!

"More," she demands. Blunt. Hungry.

SLAM!

"Hah~...!"

SLAM!

"Mmf~...!"

SLAM.

Your balls tighten. That pressure builds—fast and brutal—and she feels it. Her walls clench around you like she's trying to strangle your orgasm out of you.

"Cum," she says. Not a question. An order.

She drops her full weight down, taking you to the hilt, and squeezes.

Your cock erupts.

SPPPVVLUUURT~!

Thick ropes blast deep into her guts—pulse after pulse after pulse—filling her clenching tunnel with white heat while her ass continues working, milking every last drop.

"Kero~..." she sighs, satisfied. "Warm."

---

The common room sprawls empty around them, afternoon sun cutting lazy rectangles across the floor. Tsuyu's got herself curled up on the opposite end of the couch, bare feet tucked beneath her thighs, a half-empty water bottle dangling from those long fingers. Her hero costume's replaced by something simpler today—an oversized olive-green hoodie that swallows her frame and soft cotton shorts that ride up her thick thighs when she shifts.

She blinks. Slow. Unhurried. Like a cat that's decided the sunbeam belongs to her now.

"Likes and dislikes, kero." She rolls the question around in her mouth, tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek. "That's broad. You want the surface stuff or the real answer?"

She doesn't wait for clarification.

"Surface level's easy. I like rainy days—the way everything smells after, you know? Petrichor. That's the word." Her head tilts, dark green hair sliding over one shoulder. "I like swimming. Being in water feels right, like my body remembers something my brain doesn't. Cold water's better than warm. And I like sitting with people who don't need to fill silence with noise."

Her huge hand wraps around the water bottle, squeezing absently. The plastic crackles.

"Dislikes. Hm." A long breath through her nose. "I don't like when people expect me to read their mind. Say what you want. Mean what you say. It's not hard." Another slow blink. "I don't like drama for drama's sake. And I really don't like being underestimated. People see the frog thing and assume I'm either weird or weak. Neither's true."

She shifts, pulling one foot out from under her to stretch it across the cushion toward him. Her toes flex—webbed, slightly longer than normal, but somehow still cute in a strange way.

"Deeper stuff now, kero?"

The question's rhetorical. Tsuyu's already talking.

"I like stability. Routine. Waking up at the same time, eating the same breakfast, knowing what comes next. Chaos makes me tired." Her wide mouth presses into a line—not quite a frown, just thoughtful. "Being a hero's chaotic by nature, so I guess that's ironic. But the job itself, I can handle. It's the interpersonal stuff that drains me. Friends fighting. Misunderstandings. People saying one thing and meaning another."

She brings the water bottle to her lips. Drinks. Sets it down on the coffee table with a soft thunk.

"What I really like, though..." Her voice drops half a decibel. Not secretive. Just matter-of-fact. "I like feeling full. Physically. Like something's there, inside me, pressing against all the right spots."

Those big black eyes fix on him. Steady. Unembarrassed.

"Sexually, I mean. Specifically anal." She says it like she's commenting on the weather. "Regular sex is fine. It does the job sometimes. But it doesn't hit the same way. There's this spot—inside, in the back—and when something presses against it right, my whole body just..." She makes a vague gesture with her hand, fingers spreading then clenching. "Lights up. Every nerve firing at once. Can't get that from vaginal. Tried. Multiple times. Different anatomy, different wiring."

She pulls her other foot free, stretching both legs out now until her webbed toes nearly brush his thigh.

"I figured this out when I was sixteen. Experimenting. Everyone talks about the front door, nobody talks about the back." A small shrug rolls through her shoulders. "So I did my own research. Toys. Fingers. Learning what angle, what pressure, what pace." Her tongue flicks out—shlip—wetting her lower lip. "Turns out my prostate equivalent's way more sensitive than my G-spot ever was. Or maybe I just don't have much of one. Bodies are weird like that."

She's watching him now, gauging his reaction with those unblinking frog eyes. Whatever she finds there seems to satisfy her, because she continues without pause.

"What I don't like—people who get weird about it. The guys who hear 'anal' and think 'degrading.' Or the ones who assume something's broken in me because I prefer it that way." Her nose wrinkles slightly. "Nothing's broken. Different bodies respond to different things. Mine responds best when I'm being stretched from behind. Simple biology, kero."

She reaches for the water bottle again, takes another sip. Sets it down.

"I also don't like rushing. Sex that's over in five minutes because someone couldn't control themselves." A flat look accompanies this. "The best feeling builds slow. Starts with pressure, builds to stretch, then becomes this... fullness that makes everything else disappear. Hard to get that when someone's jackhammering away like they're trying to set a speed record."