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Fangirl Exposed

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You’d thought nothing of leaving Mirai alone with your mother as you met up with a friend you hadn’t seen in ages. It’s not often you visit your hometown, but you still have many people you care about in the small city, Rin being one of your oldest pals.

Mirai insisted he didn’t mind, even encouraged you to go out for lunch.

“I enjoy talking with your mother. It isn’t a bother, I promise.”

So you had left the two to their own devices, happy that they get along so well, not that you ever thought they wouldn’t.

Mirai is a stoic man, but he’s rarely ever cold. He doesn’t typically start conversations, but he has no problem with continuing interesting back-and-forth. Your mother, though somewhat of a chatterbox, is just generally easy to like. She’s very warm, always smiling and laughing, and has the patience of a saint.

Also she’s always, always happy to speak with your boyfriend.

She had been thrilled when you called her all those months ago to gush about your new relationship. In fact, she had squealed some on your behalf.


“I just bumped into him downtown!”

Literally. Two huge hands found your shoulders to steady you as you apologized profusely, looking up at him—at Sir Nighteye—with wide eyes. Then he told you he liked your All Might themed Converse, and that was all it took to pique his interest.

You can still remember the way your heart leapt into your throat, how your palms had sweat as he actually engaged you in further conversation. A steady stream of ‘be cool, be cool, be cool’ running through your mind, and against all odds, you were able to.

Yes, you blushed, and yes, you giggled just a little too much. It was Nighteye for Christ’s sake, All Might’s sidekick, in all his 6'7", navy suit, bespectacled glory. He was so handsome, and it had taken real mental effort to not just sigh dreamily and melt into a puddle at his expensive shoes.

Mirai apparently liked your giddy nature, though. Enough to offer you lunch. Enough to ask for your phone number. Enough to date you.

It’s still surreal to think about sometimes. You had been a huge fan for a long time, first of the Number One hero, but once All Might took Nighteye on as his sidekick, your focus had shifted. You just couldn’t help but admire him, so severe all the time, blank expressions a complete contradiction to All Might’s broad grins. Often he was overshadowed by the boisterous hero—hard not to be—but you only had eyes for the lanky sidekick. Eloquent in interviews (you’ve watched far too many), quiet but kind at meet-and-greets, Sir Nighteye was your dream man through your teenage and young adult years. The amount of time you spent thinking about him—fantasizing…

But, you never told him. Still haven’t. After nearly a year of being in a committed relationship, Mirai still thinks you’re simply a fan of heroes, that that’s where your knowledge comes from, and while that’s true, it isn’t the entire story.

You’d like to keep your fanaticism for him a secret. Though you doubt he would run for the hills if he ever found out, it would still be mortifying, probably for both of you.

The first sign of trouble when you walk into the house is that the front room is empty. The living room, the kitchen, there’s no sign of your mother or your boyfriend.

You hum, squinting in suspicion as you put your to-go box up then venture down the main hall. The light is on, but all the doors are closed except for one: your old bedroom.

“Oh, god,” you mumble, walking faster as two familiar voices meet your ears.

It might not be bad. She could just be showing him the bare bones—the desk you did all your studying at, your old stuffed animals, the boxes of comics stacked in the corner (you really do need to bring those to the apartment). None of those things are bad. You don’t have a problem with her showing Mirai any of this.

What you do have a problem with is—

“No, mom, tell me you didn’t get into the closet!”

Both of their heads snap up as you slide into the doorframe, your nightmare confirmed.

Sitting on the floor, a couple boxes between them, your mother and Mirai stare up at you, the woman looking sheepish and sorry while your boyfriend’s mouth curves into a subtle smirk that makes your stomach drop even more.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t know you hadn’t told him."

"Why would I ever tell him?“

"Why wouldn’t you tell me?” He sounds far too smug, as he should be. He’s surrounded by all kinds of paraphernalia of himself—figures, plushies, shirts. There’s a set of replica glasses on the top of his head, and he’s holding a signed calendar, oh god, not the calendar. Twelve pages of All Might and Sir Nighteye in heroic poses (probably in front of a green screen).

“Toshinori had to beg me to do this stupid photoshoot,” he says, shaking his head as he starts flipping through the booklet. “They just had us in front of a screen—” called it, “—told us they’d photoshop all the rescue scenes after we left. I just didn’t understand why the shirtless photos were necessary."

You choke on nothing as he holds the calendar up to show you what he’s talking about, as if you haven’t stared at the picture for literal years.

A younger Mirai crouching, forearms resting on his thighs as he balances on the balls of his feet. His brown shoes are shining, dark slacks perfectly tailored to his long legs, suit jacket open to reveal nothing but flesh and muscle.

He had no right to be so hot back then, and he has no right to be now, as he looks up at you with raised eyebrows and a growing smile.

"Explosion in the background is a little cheesy, but the rest turned out at least halfway decent.”

“Oh my god.” You step in further and snatch the booklet out of his hands, fight the urge to hit him with it.

You don’t think your face has ever been this hot, your intestines this knotted. You feel like crying, maybe throwing up. This humiliation is so much worse than you could have ever imagined.

You still don’t think he’ll leave you, but he’ll never be able to look at you the same way as before, and that might be even worse.

“How did this even come up in—” you grit your teeth, shake your head. “Nevermind. Just… Mom…"

She understands the look you shoot her, not quite daggers but still sharp, and stands up.

"Okay, okay, I’m just going to make some tea."

She pats your shoulder as she passes, muttering one more apology that you shrug off before shutting the door behind her.

It’s silent between you and Mirai as he blinks up at you, but you can’t meet his gaze, just suck on the inside of your cheek and pad over to the bed.

If he had known that day, there’s no way he would have been so interested in you. He would have thought you were some kind of stalker, and rightfully so. You used to scour the internet for photos, interviews, video clips, anything. Merchandise of him became family members’ go-to holiday gifts for you, though it was a little harder to find than that of most heroes.

You obsessed through the All Might years and continued on when they split and Mirai opened up his own agency. You’re nearly positive there’s an aluminum sign with the Nighteye Agency logo somewhere in the back of your closet; it used to hang over your door.

A couple of old notebooks are on the floor, too, all closed, but you still know what’s inside them: fan letters you never had the guts to send, your name and his scribbled in margins surrounded by hearts, doodles of his eyes and hands. You drew his hands a lot.

It makes you cringe.

"You’re upset,” Mirai sighs, getting to his feet.

You scoff and look to the side as he approaches, not at all surprised when he stands between your legs and uses gentle fingers to tilt your face forward again.

“I’m embarrassed,” you clarify, though he’s not wrong. You could strangle your mother right about now, but you can sort of see her side. She assumed you had told him, that your admiration had gotten the best of you one day.

That saying about 'assuming’ has never hit home quite so hard.

He sounds genuinely confused when he asks, “Why,” but that doesn’t stop you from frowning at him when you finally meet his eyes.

“Are you joking right now?"

"Do I look like I’m joking?"

The corner of your mouth twitches upward, and you motion to his head, grumbling a quiet, "I mean, it is kind of hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing two pairs of glasses.”

“Hm.” Mirai purses his lips then jerks his head down quickly, making the replica glasses slide down and land crookedly on his nose over his real ones. Completely straight-faced, he asks, “What about now?"

You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

"I feel like they make me extra intimidating.”

You lose yourself to a bout of giggles, and Mirai allows himself to grin, obviously relieved as you relax.

He takes both pairs of glasses off and sets them on the mattress next to you then bends to rest his head on yours, cupping your face in his hands.

“You do realize I made a complete fool of myself while trying to convince All Might to take me on as his sidekick, right?"

You never really thought of that, but it makes sense. Mirai is, and always has been, a fanboy. Proud of it too.

"How so?” You still press, hoping that hearing some of his cringe-worthy stories will make you feel better about yourself.

“Well, for one, I recited all of his own stats within ten minutes of meeting him. Thought it would get my foot in the door as his analyst or something.” You can feel the way his features shift and know he’s making a pained expression. “In reality, I just came off as overbearing."

"You still got the sidekick gig, though."

"Yeah, after pestering him for weeks. I also may or may not have written a persuasive essay and sent it his way."

You fall back on the bed laughing loudly, and Mirai follows your form, curling over you and burying his face in your neck.

"Oh, man—hah—d'you remember how long it was?"

He groans, setting your skin on fire, and you hook your legs around his waist out of habit.

"Close to six-thousand words. An opening that included a thesis statement, five paragraphs of why he should take me on, five of the possible downfalls—just to prove I was thinking of every side—”

“Of course,” you nod in false understanding.

“All wrapped up with a conclusion."

You stay silent for a few moments, mulling this over, then snicker, "Okay yeah, that’s pretty bad.” Not that you have any room to judge.

Mirai’s response is sinking his teeth into your neck, effectively pulling a surprised squeal from you, though that quickly dies in your throat when you feel his tongue run over the skin he’s trapped between his incisors.

“Mm, not here,” you breathe, thighs tightening around him.

You feel him chuckle against you before he pushes himself up to look at your warm face again.

“Right. Mother’s house."

"Mother’s house,” you repeat, more to convince yourself not to pull him back down on top of you.

Mirai clears his throat, straightens his collar, then tells you, “Moral of the story is: you don’t have to be embarrassed. I understand.” He pauses, letting that smirk curl back onto his face before adding, “Though, it’s a little strange seeing it from the other side."

"Tch." You sit up and smooth the wrinkles from your shirt. "Yeah, believe it or not, you have fans of your own. Not everyone is an All Might groupie."

The term implies that their fans were/are willing to sleep with them, and you wish you had worded it better, but it isn’t far from the truth. You’re all too aware of the Sir Nighteye body pillow tucked into the farthest corner of that god-forsaken closet. The things you used to do with it, far beyond late night cuddles…

You shudder the thought away, waving Mirai off when he raises an eyebrow. You have the real thing now. Still hard to believe.

"Well, little fangirl—” you glare and he runs his knuckles over the apple of your cheek. “—let’s finish visiting with your mother, and then we can head back home."

Agreeing, you slide off the bed only to stop when your boyfriend says matter-of-factly, "We will be bringing some of that merchandise back with us, though."

"Oh, will we?"

Mirai grabs his glasses and puts them back on only to make a face and remove them just as quickly. "Yes, not those, though. Those are awful.” He picks up the real pair, nearly sighing in relief when in place, then leads you out of your bedroom, flicking the light off as you go.

A chapter of your life closed at last.

Or, so you think it is.

You look up from the textbook you’re reading at the sound of the front door opening and closing and smile when Mirai comes into view. He moves through the apartment silently, setting down his briefcase, pausing at your seat at the kitchen table to kiss you on the top of your head, then disappearing into the back for a few seconds. When he re-emerges, he’s lacking both his suit jacket and tie, shirt untucked with the top buttons loose.

So handsome, you muse to yourself, pretty sure your eyes are glazing over with adoration.

“How was work?” You prompt, watching a little too closely as he moves about the kitchen, already gathering spices from the cabinet above the stove in preparation for dinner.

“It was fine.” He lines the little containers up in a very particular order, all labels facing outward, not a single one out if place. “I left the patrolling to Awata and Moashi while I stayed at the agency to research."

"New case?”

He shakes his head. “Revisiting an old one, actually. We found out—” He stops as soon as he turns to face you, looking at you head on for the first time since getting home. “What are you wearing?"

Glancing down, you’re reminded of the shirt you pulled on that morning, one from back in the day, long before you met Mirai.


It’s a black t-shirt one size too big and faded with a green and yellow logo printed on the front: Sir Nighteye’s Foresight Academy. Rin had gotten it for you at the height of your obsession, and while it had stayed tucked away in one of the boxes of shame for a couple years, it felt good to wash and wear it again.

Aside from that, your attire is made up of comfortable cotton panties and a pair of polka-dotted fuzzy socks to fight the chilly tile. You have a feeling Mirai isn’t questioning either of these articles, but you still try, "The socks?” with an innocent expression.

Mirai chuckles and paces over to you, scratches your scalp with long, gentle fingers, tilting your head up with the motion.

“You’re very cute when you act clueless,” he coos. You know there’s a 'but’ coming, are proven correct when he continues, “But we both know you aren’t at all."

Biting your lower lip, you glance away then mumble a muffled, "Is it too much? I can get rid of it, if it embarrasses you."

"It doesn’t embarrass me,” Mirai shakes his head. “It… flusters me.”

You lean away from his touch to stare up at him in poorly hidden surprise. “Does it now?"

You can see the faintest hint of pink tingeing his cheeks, the way his eyes dance downward to your chest, and he purses his lips—more than likely at the fact that you’re obviously not wearing a bra.

Oh, he likes this. He likes this a lot, apparently.

You run the tip of your tongue over your front teeth, lips curving into a sly smile.

"Well, well, never would have taken you as the type to get off on something like this.”

“I’m not getting off to anything. Yet.” He thinks for a moment, gaze shifting to the small hallway that leads to the bedroom, then carefully asks, “How’d you like to live out an old fantasy?"

Your jaw drops just enough for him to notice the shock, and golden eyes darken as yours fog over with something much darker than the adoration you previously felt: desperation.

"Y-you mean like roleplay?” Your breath is already coming out in stutters.

Mirai takes a step back, releasing his hold on your head and leaving it to loll backward lazily.

“Is it really roleplay if we’re just ourselves?"

He has a point, but…

"Let me get this straight. You want me… to act like the starstruck fangirl I used to be—”

“Still are,” he clicks his tongue.

“Whatever. You want me to be that while you're… Who exactly?”

“Your favorite pro hero, of course.”

It’s very rare that Mirai ever comes off as cocky, but you’ve boosted his ego quite a bit over the last few days, so it sort of makes sense.

“Sir Nighteye,” you specify, and he licks his lips. Like he’s hungry for it.

Taking everything into account, your hesitance and embarrassment versus his interest, it doesn’t take you long to decide, “Okay yeah, I’m in.”

It starts with dinner, sitting across from each other as you both replay all the small talk you made months ago with a few more interesting questions sprinkled in.

“How long have you been a fan?"

You finish swallowing the kimchi in your mouth and answer honestly, "Years, since the team up with All Might.”

“Ah, they came in droves for him.”

“I mean…” You push food around on your plate, test the waters when you say, “He was the number one hero.”

“But your focus was elsewhere,” Mirai states more than asks, keeps his eyes on you as he wipes his mouth with a napkin.

It’s odd the way your face heats when you’re put on the spot. This isn’t the first time Mirai is learning of this. You already got that feeling of dread over with.

Yet it isn’t entirely behind you. Your cheeks burn. You can’t meet Mirai’s gaze. A hysterical giggle threatens to bubble out of your throat. You feel every bit as smitten as the day you first discovered him.

Only now you can’t hide your nerves behind a screen or comic book. You’re entirely exposed for Sir Nighteye to see.

“Y-yeah, it was,” you manage, swallowing only to find your mouth is drying up despite the spicy meal. Chancing a glance up through your lashes, you correct yourself. “Is. My focus is elsewhere.”

He doesn’t smile, but you can still see amusement dancing in those golden irises. He’s having fun with this little game. That’s good. You, however, feel like a weak-kneed school girl.

Mirai hums, drums his fingers on the table next to his half empty bowl. You didn’t even make it that far, and you wish you could say eating light was in preparation for the evening’s activities, but in reality, it’s just because you’re nervous.

“Getting shy?"

The lower tenor of Mirai’s voice makes your whole body pulse, a sensation that’s only amplified when he reaches into the pocket of his slacks and procures one of his weighted seals.

One restless habit is traded for another as he begins twirling the rounded stamp between dexterous digits. You zero in on the movement like a predator, taking your lower lip between your teeth and biting to suppress any embarrassing sounds that threaten to leave your mouth.

"Did you hear me?” Your eyes snap up to his face, wide and guilty, and Mirai tilts his head to the side. “I asked if you were getting shy."

You shake your head, unable to speak. Heart pounding, stomach flipping, thighs clenching—you can’t think about anything other than his god damn fingers. Fingers you’ve spent far too many hours fantasizing about, fingers you’ve felt many times already, fingers you want to feel again. Now.

"No?” Another head shake that solidifies your lie. “Do you have any questions for me then?"

The seal flips over and over again, a little party trick Mirai can perform without even thinking about it. It’s all one fluid movement, smooth as butter, and should be impossible. His stamps are roughly six pounds—six pounds he makes look light as a feather, and fuck, you’re staring again.

"Um, I—” A sip of water grounds you again, and you force a shaky smile as you try, “Can you tell me, uh, a little bit about your Quirk?"


You nod, and Mirai scoots back in his chair then stands, setting the seal down in favor of grabbing both bowls from the table and walking them to the counter to pack up as leftovers.

"What would you like to know about it?"

"Well, how does it work?"

"You don’t know?"

You do now but only because he told you himself a few months ago. There are only a few people aware of how the Quirk is activated and what all it entails. Those people are you, Toshinori Yagi, Mirai himself, and the records keepers at the Hero Commission. Other than that, Sir Nighteye’s Foresight is more or less a mystery.

Despite knowing the secret, it’s easy to play stupid. "No one really does, do they?"

Mirai doesn’t answer, just rinses the dishes and sets them on the drying rack. When he turns around, he’s toweling his hands off. His facial expression remains blank, completely emotionless—professional—when he asks, "Would you like me to tell you or show you?"

"Show me.”

It comes out too quickly, and you sink down in your chair just slightly while Mirai chuckles. He hangs the dish towel up, perfectly even as it folds through the ring, then steps over to you.

You track his movements as he crouches in front of you, about the same height for once, and you immediately start chewing on your cheek when he places a hand on your bare thigh.

“Touch,” he says first, locking his stare with yours. “Eye contact,” he continues, and you watch as his left eye changes hues, a steady gradient from honey to violet. “Activation.”

His features morph, suddenly concentrated, and you wait, feeling the heat of his skin against yours, the steady thump of your pulse in your neck, the throb between your legs as Mirai grazes the inside of your thigh with the pad of his thumb.

“What do you see?” You sound breathless. You are breathless. Anticipation is coiled tightly in your gut, compressed and ready for release.

Mirai’s posture tenses. His jaw slides forward as his grip tightens on your leg, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Mir—” You stop before the second syllable comes out, switching gears as you try, “Sir?"

That gets his attention.

"I see several things. Several indecent things, actually.”

His eyes refocus on you, purple fading back to gold at the same rate his mouth lifts in a smirk.

“You really are a fangirl, aren’t you?"

All the air in your lungs stills. Your skin prickles.


"You’d do anything for your hero, yes?” His hand slides higher up on your leg, fingertips grazing the elastic at the junction of your hip. “That’s what I saw."

You exhale a quiet, "Yes," and spread your legs further, something Mirai takes advantage of quickly as he just barely brushes over your covered slit.

It pulls a pathetic noise from you, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, completely fixated on the heat between your thighs, pushing against the cotton and basically purring, "Already soaking through your panties for me like a desperate whore."

Whimpering, you slide to the edge of your chair, reaching down shamelessly to pull aside your underwear and revealing to Mirai the effect he’s having on you.

His tisking only makes you hotter, a blaze running down the length of your spine as he pushes a finger into your dripping pussy.

"Do you throw yourself at just any pro hero?"

You shake your head quickly, canting your hips to encourage him to keep going.

"Just my—oh—just my favorite.”

A satisfied sigh escapes Mirai, and he curls his finger just right, making you jolt and moan only for him to pull it back out.

You open your eyes to peer at him in a drunken haze, a protest on the tip of your tongue, but it’s silenced by the wet digit that’s pressed to your lips, a silent demand for you to open your mouth.

Your own slick coats your taste buds as you clean it from him, fighting your gag reflex as Mirai shoves deeper inside, hitting the back of your tongue and causing saliva to pool in your mouth.

A second finger has you slurping, meaningless tears leaking from your eyes as Mirai stands up. He gives one thrust that finally makes you gag then lets his hand drop from your mouth, smearing spit down your chin as he does.

“Pretty little fangirl,” he hums in a thoughtful manner. “Always so generous with what you’re willing to give us heroes.”

You squirm in your seat, as impatient as you are excited.

“So, what are you going to give me tonight?"

"You already know, don’t you?"

Mirai chuckles. "I do, but I want to hear—”

A flash of confidence courses through you, just long enough to ask almost mockingly, “Would you like me to tell you or show you, Sir Nighteye?"

He sucks his teeth then shrugs as if he’s unfazed, but you can very clearly see that he’s interested. "Clever.”

Without another word, Mirai takes your hand and pulls you from your chair. You catch yourself against his chest but aren’t even given time to find your footing before he’s stopping to slot his lips against yours—firm, dominating.

You melt in his arms, pliant in every sense of the word. His tongue is warm and insistent as it explores your mouth, and you stroke over it with your own, sucking at the muscle for a moment before releasing it and leaning back to look up at him.

He’s flushed again, from his neck to his cheeks, and he all but pants, “How badly do you want this?"

"So badly, so so—” You tug him down into another kiss, hot and wanton until he pulls away to breathe.

“Have you fantasized about it before?”

God, yes."

Mirai has you wrapped around him before you even realize what’s happening, walking back to the bedroom with long strides then dumping you on the mattress like a ragdoll.

He makes quick work of his shirt, then hovers over you, trails his lips down your neck leaving love-bites as he goes.

"Have you touched yourself while thinking of me?"

You can’t even begin to count how many times his face swam into your mind when you were younger, knuckle deep in your cunt, wishing your fingers were his. How much fucking abuse had that god damn body pillow taken from you? How many times had you climaxed with his hero name on your lips?

"Yes,” you groan, arching into Mirai as he runs a hand under your shirt, fingertips brushing over your ribs and making you wriggle beneath him.

“Yeah?” He pushes the t-shirt up over your stomach, your breasts, and flicks his tongue over one of your nipples.

He’s done it before, almost all of this, but it feels different tonight. You’ve allowed yourself to get lost in the fantasy, just a fan with her idol. It’s intoxicating.

Teeth are gentle as Mirai sucks the pebbling bud into his mouth. He laves over it, only moving to the other when you start pinching it between your own fingers in a failed attempt to replicate the sensation.

He sucks until you whine, pushing your chest out and shuddering, unsure of what you want from him now; more of his touch or less. You’re already so overwhelmed by him, head cloudy, body on fire, and when Mirai slides a hand down the front of your panties to toy with your clit, you nearly cry.

“Oh god, oh fuck, Nighteye.”

It feels far too natural to slip back into old habits, moaning that name like you have so many times while all alone in your old bedroom.

Mirai smirks against sensitive flesh, giving it one more flick before lifting his head. You can feel his eyes on your face, studying every expression you make while he plays with you—a slow back and forth over your clit as another finger easily slips past your entrance.

Almost in a frenzy, you reach for the button of his slacks, struggling with shaky hands but eventually undoing them and pulling his cock free. He’s already hot and hard, and when you swipe a thumb over his tip, you smear the bead of pre-cum leaking from him.

“Mm, feels good,” he rumbles, thrusting into your hand as he rubs at a spot inside of you that makes you flutter.

You can feel the way your clit is swelling under his ministrations, greedy for him as he rubs in slow circles.

“Please, Sir, please—”

“Please what, sweetheart?"

"Fuck me, oh god, I want you so bad.”

“You think your little pussy can take me with just one fi—”

“Yes, I can, I can, please, wanna feel you…"

He kisses you harshly, twisting the finger inside you in a stirring motion to stretch you just a little more before slipping out and standing to rid himself of his pants.

You stare at him, chewing on your lips as you take all of him in.

Sir Nighteye.

Mirai Sasaki.

Flushed skin, tousled hair, mouthwatering abs, and an almost intimidating cock.

All yours.

Straightening, Mirai moves to get back on the bed but stops halfway, shows a mischievous smirk then speaks four words that make you whimper: "I’ll be right back."

He walks out of the room, and you use the time to strip yourself and play with your eager pussy. When Mirai returns, he has a very familiar article of clothing in his hand. His tie. Just the sight of it makes you moan quietly.

"Hands out."

You obey quickly, keeping your wrists together as you extend your arms, and Mirai expertly ties you in a way he’s done many times before with rope.

The red stands out against your skin, polka dot pattern misleadingly innocent, and oh, you’ve thought about this too many times.

He crawls to sit on his knees between your legs, gripping your thighs and spreading them wide, then lining himself up.

"You tell me if it’s too much, okay?” A quick, affirming nod as you break out in goosebumps. Mirai grins sideways, a smile he reserves for you alone, and teases, “I’d hate to hurt my biggest fan.”

He cants his hips forward, pushing only the head of his cock inside you—just enough for you to be able to squeeze it—and Mirai groans low in his throat, slowly guiding the rest of his length into you.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you try to open up for him. Even as wet as you are, that burning stretch is still present, and you clamp down on him to feel every single inch.

“God dammit, you can’t—” he pants, uses his thumb to massage your clit again. It makes you tense more at first, but the longer he plays with it, the more you relax, and Mirai is able to start thrusting, shallow and slow but enough to make you cream around him.

“So pretty,” he says, words a little elongated like he’s inebriated. “Pretty little fangirl with a pretty little cunt.”

“Fuck, fuck, fu—"

He presses his tip against your farthest wall, stilling to hold it there, and you shake as your body fights to accommodate his size. You clench in time with your heartbeat, a desperate rhythm of aching muscles, and when he pushes just a little harder, you sob out his name.

"Okay, okay, baby. Sh, sh…” he relents, curving over you to place a soft kiss on your lips before falling into a series of slow, deep thrusts.

You’re dripping, slick running down from your messy pussy, making the glide of his cock and his finger almost sloppy.

Mirai raises his other hand to grope your tits in a way that’s somehow both thoughtless and methodical, like he knows exactly how to do everything and can apply it even when he’s intoxicated.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you groan over the lewd squelches that sound with every thrust. “So fucking good."

"Everything you hoped for?” Mirai huffs, picking up his pace and watching as your face splits into a fucked-out smile.

“Yesss, my god—” You’re cut off by the two fingers he shoves into your mouth, and it feels like everything comes together at once.

You’re too aware of the tie chafing against your wrists, his cock hitting every delicious spot inside of you, the pads of his fingers against your tongue, and your brain seems to short-circuit.

It’s Sir Nighteye, Sir Nighteye, Sir Nighteye, Sir—

“Fuck, I’m—I’m—”

Your eyes fly open, taking in his handsome face and see more than hear him tell you, "Come for me, sweetheart. Come on my cock."

Every muscle in your body goes rigid for a moment before loosening entirely, and you gush around Mirai, every contraction making both of you moan and apparently enough to send him hurtling toward his own precipice in record time.

Senses clearing just enough, you register him talking again, watch his kiss-swollen lips move, voice low and breathless as he asks, "You ready for my cum?"

You nod, choking yourself on his fingers, but he removes them and commands, "Say it. Say you want it."

"I want it,” you moan. “Please give me your cum, Sir."

"Jesus, fuck—"

He rides out his orgasm, spilling warm seed into your pussy and fucking some of it deeper while the rest leaks out around him.

Mirai pulls out about halfway, grunting as your aftershocks make you squeeze his still twitching cock, ensuring every single drop is milked from him.

"Mm, what a devoted fan,” he muses, grazing a finger over the skin stretched around him. “Just letting me stuff you full of cum.”

You shiver as he rubs the digit up and down until he gently slides it inside of you, stretching you further.


It’s gone just as quickly, and you follow his hand with bleary eyes until it’s presented to you once again, smearing a line of cum and slick on your lower lip until you lick it off and then suck on it.

You can see the exact moment Mirai’s brain switches back to its default setting, a soft smile forming on his face as he stares at you.

“How was that?"

Giggling, you let go of his finger with a pop, feeling bashful when you look at him now.

"It was, um…” You take a shuddering breath and stretch out beneath him. “It was really fun."

And, you aren’t lying. The entire ordeal could have been extremely embarrassing, but it seemed organic. You almost feel a sense of closure.


He finally slips out of you the rest of the way, and you pout, about to whine, but he shushes it away with a gentle kiss.

“Yeah. Like, would-do-again fun.”

“Oh, really? So, better than the pillow in your clo—”

“Shh—shut the fuck up, do not ruin this for me!” You sit up halfway only to be pushed back down, and Mirai smirks down at you. “Cannot believe…”

He presses his lips to one cheek then the other, mumbles against your now scorching skin, “It’s honestly cute, the way you’ve been pining—”


Snickering, he nuzzles at your ear then apologizes, "Sorry, I’ll stop. But seriously—” you turn your head to look at him, your glare melting away when you find his eyes full of nothing but sincerity, “—I’m lucky to have you as a fan and even luckier to have you as a partner.”

You suck on the inside of your cheek, try to fight the tightness in your throat by swallowing and reflecting for a moment. If your younger self could see you now, cuddling with Sir Nighteye after toe-curling, mind-blowing sex…

“I feel pretty damn lucky too."

Mirai hums, bumping his nose with yours. "My little fangirl.”

You reply with the complementary but very sarcastic, “My hero,” only to squeal with when fingertips prod into the spaces between your ribs.

“What was that?” Mirai asks, eyebrows high and expectant. “Hm, what was that?"

"My hero! My—” You shriek and squirm, tears forming in your eyes. “—hero, you’re my hero! Okay, okay!"

He gets a few more jabs in before stopping, letting out a smug, "Hm,” as you catch your breath. “That’s what I thought."