Kyoka Jiro.
The name echoed in Takumi Hayase's mind like a lingering melody.
He sat alone at a secluded table in the UA library, the late afternoon sun filtering through the tall windows in warm, golden shafts that danced across the polished wooden surfaces.
Takumi leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming idly on the edge of a notebook, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He was excited, genuinely so, at the fact that she was now aware of his "situation." Jiro, observant, punk-edged Jiro with her ear jacks that could unravel secrets from the air, had peeked behind the curtain last night.
The voyeuristic thrill of it, her hidden eyes on him and Momo, added a new layer to his game. No longer just conquests; now there were witnesses, threads to pull, emotions to manipulate. Blackout hummed subtly at his feet, shadows coiling like eager pets, ready to extend and sense, to predict her every twitch and tremor.
This second life of his, whatever twist of fate or quirk evolution had granted him this enhanced existence, had been nothing short of exhilarating. No great run-ins with villains or teachers sniffing too close to his secrets; things were unfolding as they should, a steady crescendo of control.
Momo had blossomed under his influence, her confidence blooming like a flower in spring soil. She'd confided in him about her insecurities, and now she carried herself with a subtle edge, her posture straighter, her quirk creations more daring.
He'd even promised to help her redesign her hero costume, something less restrictive, more empowering, accentuating her curves while allowing for faster lipid conversion.
Yes, life was good. A soft thud interrupted his reverie, Jiro slumped into the chair across from him, her purple hair slightly disheveled, as if she'd been running her hands through it in frustration. She wore her standard uniform, but it seemed rumpled, like her thoughts: the skirt a bit askew, the tie loosened at her neck, revealing a glimpse of pale collarbone.
Her ear jacks dangled like vigilant antennas, twitching faintly. She stared deeply into his eyes for a moment, those sharp, amethyst orbs boring into him with a mix of accusation and vulnerability, before averting her gaze, cheeks flushing a soft pink.
Envy simmered there, Takumi could sense it, a green-tinged fog clouding her usual cool demeanour, young love's first bitter sting intertwined with the awakening confusion of sexuality.
"I'm here," she announced flatly, her voice carrying that signature edge, like a guitar string plucked too hard.
Takumi met her eyes with a deadpan expression, unflinching. "I know."
She fidgeted, her fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the table, perhaps an unconscious beat to some internal song of turmoil. "I want to have that discussion. About... everything."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, his voice even and inviting. "You can start anytime."
Jiro exhaled sharply, her ear jacks coiling tighter as if bracing for impact. "How did it happen? You and Momo."
"By studying," he replied simply, a hint of amusement in his tone. She snorted, a derisive sound that echoed her skepticism.
"Right. There are a ton of girls you could have chosen from. Why Momo?" Takumi raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by the directness, Blackout had predicted curiosity, but not this pointed envy.
He tilted his head, studying her: the way her lips pursed in frustration, the subtle flush creeping up her neck, a young girl's grapple with desires she couldn't yet name.
"Are you an option?" Her forehead scrunched, brows knitting in confusion and denial, shaking her head vehemently.
"No! That's not…" He cut her off gently, his voice shifting to something more philosophical, a guiding thread to pull her through the maze of her emotions.
"It was natural, Jiro. Normal. People connect in ways that surprise them, sometimes through intellect, sometimes through shared vulnerabilities. Momo and I... it started with her deciding to confide in me, but it became more because we saw parts of each other no one else did. You should focus on yourself, or on becoming a hero. That's what UA is for, right? Building strength, not getting lost in these tangles." Jiro's eyes flickered back to his, a storm brewing behind them, envy for the intimacy she craved but couldn't claim, the budding ache of young love unrequited, and the swirling questions of her own sexuality, pulling her toward girls like Momo while boys remained enigmas.
"We're in our first year," she countered, her voice gaining strength, laced with defiance. "Hyper-focusing on stuff like this is normal. Crushes, feelings... it's part of growing up. But I don't get it. Why am I feeling this way? Like... like something's wrong with me for caring so much about her, about what she's doing with you."
Takumi softened his gaze, leaning in as if sharing a profound secret, his words weaving a philosophical tapestry to help her unravel the knots.
"Nothing's wrong with you, Jiro. Feelings aren't binary, they're a spectrum, like music. You can love the bass line of one song and the melody of another, or blend them in ways that surprise you. Envy... that's just the shadow of desire, isn't it? You're envious because you see in Momo what you want for yourself, connection, vulnerability, the freedom to explore. Love is chaotic; it's envy wrapped in hope, sexuality blooming like a riff you didn't plan but can't stop playing. Be open-minded about it. Ask yourself: is it her you want, or the courage she has to chase what feels right? Either way, it's valid."
She listened, her tapping fingers slowing, the tension in her shoulders easing as his words sank in.
Jiro had always been the observer, the listener, her quirk amplifying the world's sounds, but her heart muffling her own. Envy had been her companion since childhood, watching posh girls like Momo glide through life while she scraped by with punk anthems and second-hand guitars. But now, it mingled with love's tender shoots, admiration for Momo's grace turning to something deeper, a pull that made her question if boys were ever the answer, or if her sexuality leaned toward the soft curves and shared whispers of girls.
Takumi's words resonated, a mirror held up to her soul: open your mind, embrace the chaos, let envy fuel growth rather than poison it.
As the conversation wound down, the library filling with more students, the rustle of pages, muffled conversations, Jiro leaned forward, her voice dropping.
"When did you first... do it? With her. And where?"
Takumi smirked, a sensual glint in his eyes as he pointed subtly toward the bathroom stalls at the far end of the library, the doors gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
"Three weeks ago. Right there, in one of those stalls."
Jiro's eyes widened in shock, her flush deepening to a crimson that spread down her neck, imagining it, the confined space, heated breaths, bodies pressed in secret intimacy.
The sun filtered in stronger now, casting a warm glow on her skin, highlighting the subtle curve of her lips parted in disbelief. More people wandered in, their footsteps a distant hum, but the air between them thickened, charged with unspoken sensuality, the way his gaze lingered on her, tracing the line of her jaw, the twitch of her ear jacks as if they yearned to hear more forbidden sounds.
He smiled wider, tilting his head with a playful, inviting angle, his voice dropping to a low, velvet murmur that sent a shiver through her.
"I need to use the bathroom."
————
Takumi leaned against the cool tile wall of the men's bathroom, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead like a distant swarm. The library's hush extended even here, broken only by the occasional drip from a faucet, but his mind raced with anticipation.
Jiro, Kyoka Jiro, with her sharp tongue and hidden vulnerabilities, had nodded in that stunned silence, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and unspoken hunger.
He could feel Blackout stirring at his command, shadows extending subtly through the building's undercurrents, influencing the subtle urges of passersby.
Not control, not for the strong-willed like her, but a nudge, a whisper in the ether to draw a crowd at just the right moment.
He smirked to himself, his cock already half-hard in his pants at the thought of her reactions, the thrill of pushing her limits in this public-yet-private sanctum.
The door creaked open, and there she was: Jiro, slipping in with hurried steps, her uniform dishevelled from the day's end, skirt riding up slightly on her thighs, tie askew, purple hair framing a face flushed with nerves.
Her ear jacks twitched like live wires, picking up every amplified sound in the echoing space. She locked eyes with him, breathing heavily, before blurting out,
"I... I want to feel what Momo felt. Show me." Takumi's smile widened, predatory and inviting, as he pushed off the wall and guided her into the farthest stall, the same one where he'd claimed Momo weeks ago.
The door locked with a click that echoed like fate sealing itself. Jiro stood there, back against the partition, her small frame trembling slightly under his gaze.
"Will you... silence the stall?" she asked, voice husky, glancing around as if expecting shadows to swallow the noise.
He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the air between them. "Momo didn't need it silenced. She took the risk... and loved it."
Before she could protest, Takumi closed the distance, his hands cupping her face with surprising tenderness, thumbs tracing the sharp lines of her jaw, feeling the heat radiating from her skin.
Their eyes locked, his dark and commanding, hers wide with a storm of envy, curiosity, and budding desire. He leaned in slow, savouring the hitch in her breath, the way her lips parted instinctively. The kiss started deep, passionate, a collision of mouths that spoke volumes unspoken. His lips claimed hers with firm pressure, tongue slipping past to tangle with hers in a wet, exploratory dance.
Jiro gasped into it, inexperienced but eager, her hands fisting in his shirt as she pressed back, tasting him, salty and commanding, a flavour that made her head spin. He deepened it, one hand sliding to the nape of her neck, tilting her head for better access, the other gripping her waist to pull her flush against him.
Their breaths mingled in hot, ragged bursts, tongues swirling in rhythmic fervour, her soft moans vibrating against his mouth like the bass line of a forbidden song. The kiss built, turning feral, nips at her lower lip, sucks that left her swollen and wanting, a prelude to the fire igniting between them.
Takumi broke away first, his breathing steady but eyes dark with lust. He unbuckled his pants with deliberate slowness, freeing his ten-inch cock, thick, veined, and throbbing, the head already glistening with precum.
Jiro's eyes widened, a mix of awe and nerves, but she didn't pull away. "On your knees," he murmured, guiding her down gently.
She complied, her pajamas, wait, no, she was still in uniform, but the fantasy blurred in the heat, kneeling on the cold tile, her hands tentative as they wrapped around his shaft.
He groaned as she stroked, then leaned in, her tongue flicking experimentally over the tip before taking him in. She sucked with growing confidence, lips stretching around his girth, tongue swirling the underside as she bobbed, taking more each time, four inches, then six, gagging slightly but pushing through.
The wet slurps filled the stall, obscene and intimate, her saliva coating him in shiny trails. Takumi's hand tangled in her hair, guiding but not forcing, feeling the velvet heat of her mouth envelop him. Pleasure coiled tight in his core, her inexperience adding a raw edge that made it hotter.
"Deeper," he urged, and she obliged, hollowing her cheeks until he hit the back of her throat. The pressure built, his balls tightening, and with a guttural moan, he climaxed, thick ropes pulsing into her mouth, salty and hot.
Jiro's eyes watered, but she held on, swallowing some before pulling back, spitting the rest into the toilet with a cough, the white streaks swirling down the drain as she wiped her mouth, flushed and breathless.
Not done, she stood, her hands shaking as she stripped fully naked, peeling off her uniform blouse to reveal small, perky breasts with pierced nipples glinting under the light, then her skirt and panties, exposing her toned, pale body, purple hair cascading wild. Her pussy was already slick, lips swollen with arousal, a neat trim of dark hair above.
From her pocket, she pulled out a strip of condoms, her voice firm despite the tremble. "I can't risk it. Not like her."
Takumi nodded, watching with hooded eyes as she tore one open. Kneeling again, she placed the condom on his tip with her mouth, lips rolling it down his length in a slow, sensual descent, her tongue teasing through the latex as she sheathed him fully.
The act was erotic, intimate, her breath hot against his skin, eyes locked on his as she worked, the rubber stretching taut over his girth. He pulled her up, turning her to face the door, bending her slightly for access.
The sex began like his first with Momo, slow, guiding. His hands roamed her body, cupping her breasts, pinching her pierced nipples until she whimpered, then sliding down to rub her clit in circles that made her thighs quake.
"Relax," he whispered, echoing his words to Momo, positioning his sheathed cock at her entrance. He pushed in gently, inch by inch, her tight walls yielding with a wet slide, the sensation electric even through the barrier, hot, clenching velvet gripping him like a vice. Jiro gasped, her hands bracing on the door, back arching as he filled her, the stretch burning into pleasure.
He thrust steady at first, pulling her hips back to meet him, the slap of skin soft but building. But then, the door to the bathroom swung open, not once, but in quick succession.
Six students filed in, drawn by Blackout's subtle influence, a psychic nudge Takumi had woven earlier, timing their urges to converge here. Laughter echoed, voices overlapping: "Man, that class dragged," one said, heading to a urinal. Another washed hands, splashing water loudly.
They clustered, chatting about quirks and crushes, their eyes flicking curiously to the one occupied stall, the door rattling slightly from Jiro's movements, the faint sounds of heavy breathing slipping through despite her efforts.
Takumi grinned inwardly, his cock hardening further at the risk, at Jiro's wide-eyed panic reflected in the metal. They noticed, the group pausing, one whispering,
"Someone's in there... sounds like they're... nah, probably just sick." Laughter rippled, another knocking playfully on the door. "You good in there?"
The attention was palpable, voices crowding the space, making every thrust feel amplified. He didn't cover her mouth, as promised, letting the challenge heighten it all.
Switching to slow, gentle back shots, he held both her arms behind her like reins, pulling her onto him with each deep, languid stroke. The position arched her back beautifully, her ass cheeks pressing against his hips, pussy clenching tighter from the fear. Jiro bit her lip hard, blood beading slightly, stifling moans into whimpers, her body trembling, tears of overstimulation and thrill streaking her cheeks. The cinematic intensity built: the stall's confines closing in like a pressure cooker, the outsiders' noises a chaotic symphony, pissing streams hitting porcelain, faucets running, footsteps shuffling, contrasting the intimate slick of his cock sliding in and out, her juices foaming at the base through the condom.
Takumi felt every quiver, her walls pulsing in rhythm to her suppressed cries, the envy in her eyes from last night now mirrored in raw, desperate pleasure.
He thrust deeper, grinding against her G-spot, feeling her body buck silently, her ear jacks coiling wildly as if trying to block the external din but amplifying her internal storm.
The climax crested like a tidal wave, Takumi's thrusts faltering as he buried deep, groaning low as he came, hot spurts filling the condom in powerful pulses.
Even through the latex, Jiro felt it, the warmth spreading, the twitch of his cock against her walls, pushing her over into a silent orgasm, her pussy spasming wildly, squirting faintly against his thighs.
As she dropped to her knees, gasping, he pulled off the condom, milky cum sloshing inside, and dropped it into the toilet with a plop, flushing it away as the group finally filtered out, their voices fading like a retreating storm.
His bare dick hung out, still semi-hard and glistening. "Clean up now," he commanded softly, voice laced with satisfaction. Jiro nodded, dazed and feral, her eyes locking on his length with newfound hunger. She lunged forward, sucking ferociously, lips sealing tight, tongue swirling voraciously around the head, then taking him deep with aggressive bobs.
No hesitation now; she deepthroated with abandon, gagging but pushing through, hands stroking what her mouth couldn't reach, nails grazing his balls. The sensations were overwhelming, wet heat, suction pulling at his core, her moans vibrating through him like electric currents.
Takumi's head fell back, hands in her hair, guiding the frenzy as pleasure rebuilt in lightning strikes. The climax erupted cinematic and explosive: he pulled out at the peak, stroking himself as thick, large drops of cum shot across her face, ropes landing on her cheeks, lips, forehead in heavy, pearlescent splatters, dripping down her chin like forbidden rain.
Jiro gasped, eyes half-lidded in bliss, the warmth and stickiness marking her, a rush of shame and ecstasy flooding her senses, the great feelings cresting in waves of release, her body quivering from the intensity, the taste lingering on her tongue as she licked her lips, utterly claimed in that moment of raw surrender.