Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“All right, you’ve made it in. That’s half the job done already.”

Iida holds back a grimace towards the voice crackling in his ear, schooling his expression into something pleasantly neutral if not interested.

“Tech team is going dark now. The rest is up to you, Ingenium.”

The hero releases a slow breath and puts on a shaky smile. Hopefully his nerves come across as ‘cute but eager newbie’ rather than give away his anxieties over taking on this mission as a whole.

Dispatch dressed him up in a loose dress shirt and dark pants for the first encounter. Really, Iida looks like he could just be attending another meeting if not for the way the shirt is unbuttoned down to his navel and the pants are faux leather. (Less worrisome to get fluids on.) He’s even foregone his glasses, messy bangs hanging loosely in his face like when he was a teenager. Combined with the weak sexual stimulant he’d taken upon arrival as part of the extensive entrance process, Iida looks more like a debauched CEO than an off-duty hero.

This could actually work in his favor.

The club staff member who vetted him push the disoriented man through a door and offer a lascivious, “Enjoy!” while staring at his ass as he goes.

He tries to let the act spur him on despite his discomfort. He’s here as Iida Tenya, a simple man seeking simple pleasures. Not Ingenium, the hero investigating a lead in a mass abduction case.

Running a hand through his already mussed hair, Iida looks around to gain his bearings. Instantly his sensibilities are floored by the overwhelmingly, outlandishly sexual nature of everything his eyes land on everywhere.

People are crowding the dance floor, bodies pressed against each other as one would expect from any club. Enough to be a fire hazard but not enough to stop the lewd gyrations of their bodies or “throwing it back” as Ashido tells him. Only, here, the boundary between ‘minimally clothed’ and ‘full nudity’ is less of a line and more of a gradient.

Iida has never seen so many breasts, penises, and vaginas out while still technically having clothes on.

There’s a bar wrapped around a liquor shelf that towers all the way up to the second floor balcony. Even the bartenders seem to follow a dresscode where the only rule is to show as much skin as possible. The exception to this is the gloves they wear while preparing drinks, though Iida suspects it has more to do with preserving the flavors of the beverages than overall hygiene.

The bar has the typical accoutrements. Chasers and house drafts on tap. Scattered shot glasses and money changing hands near-constantly. However, beside caddies of napkins there are similar ones offering condoms in all sizes and textures. People use the lube dispensers generously like hand sanitizer. 

Iida watches as a bartender goes up to a man, naked from the waist down, sitting on the counter and pulls what looks to be a glass sounding rod from his urethra. To his utter shock, the bartender drops the thick, hollow rod into a long island iced tea which he passes to another man, giggling as he puts his mouth on the end which had been in another hole not too long ago.

Amidst the boosted bass thumping from subwoofers on raised posts and typical bar chatter, choruses of moans resound from every direction. A particularly loud groan points Iida toward an androgynous-looking person in a sheer babydoll raising themself from one of the barstools to reveal a stout, ribbed dildo attached directly to the seat.

The toy comes away slick and shiny, presumably one of the person’s friends giving a cheeky wink before bending down to lick it.

Dear All Might, do they even clean those things between uses?

The further Iida ventures into the club, the more he feels like he may pass out as well as regrets taking on the mission.

The investigation. The abduction cases. There are missing people’s families waiting for their loved ones to come home, he reminds himself

His resolve strengthens until he sees the sign for the restrooms. It points to a wall of Czech gloryholes, each one filled with a mouth or someone’s rear end waiting to be filled.

Iida desperately hopes he can hold it until the end of his initial reconnaissance, resolving not to drink too much of what anyone gives him.

“Funny, I didn’t expect a legacy hero to be on my guest list tonight. A single selfie here could tank your Hero Rating in an instant, my dear Ingenium.” A man approaches Iida who appears the most clothed of anyone in the building. Fine brocade jacket. Tailored pants. Salt and pepper hair tied with a silk cord. Anyone would think the man had found himself at the wrong establishment. However, he seems all too familiar with Iida’s almost virginal bewilderment towards, well, everything.

This is Sweet Release, a bar not so secretly hiding an extensive kink den and sex club for all types of the depraved. It is also the suspected last known location for several of the Public Hero Safety Commission’s abductees. And its owner is top of the suspect list for leading the abductions.

“Imamura Kouhei, at your service. How may I indulge your interests tonight?” He’s a bit of an older man, giving an almost grandfatherly smile to Iida as if he were an old friend and not a public authority that could get the whole place shut down with a single phone call.

That’s not what he’s here for, though. If anything, he should be trying to get on the man’s good side. Iida mentally reaches for the script the investigation team helped him prepare beforehand.

“I— I’m not sure, really. I came in on a whim. Work has been tough lately. It’s always been tough but now people expect me to be the one to do something about it. I’ve barely had any time to myself and… Well, I heard from a friend of an acquaintance that anyone who comes here is able to,” Iida lowers his head subtly and looks up through his lashes with the most angelic innocence he can muster, the kind that just begs to be tainted, “let go?”

The words are like a trigger for the club owner who straightens his posture upon hearing them. “Say no more, Ingenium. You’ve come to the right place. Would you be more comfortable if I called you Iida-san?”

“Umm, while I’m here, it’d be nice if you just called me Tenya.” He attempts a smile. Imamura Kouhei is known for finding the most straight-laced, unassuming people and turning them into paradigms of hedonism. The kind that star on the home page of porn sites and the thumbnails of cam show compilations. It was discussed with the mission team earlier, Iida’s character had to be one that the man couldn’t resist taking and twisting into his own obscene creation.

“Tenya.” The man savors his name like rich chocolate on his tongue, leaning in closer to stroke a soothing hand over the nervous hero’s arm. He’s handsome for an older man (and a potential criminal) but Iida reckons he’d have to be to charm so many people into…

He doesn’t know yet. 

That’s what this investigation is for. People who come to Sweet Release go to friends, family, and coworkers touting amazing experiences with near-religious fervor. They make a few return visits and then are never seen again. It’s up to Iida to find out what it is about this place, about Imamura Kouhei, that entraps those people. Why they haven’t returned to their homes in days, or even weeks.

“I must thank that ‘friend of an acquaintance’ you mentioned. There really is no better place for ‘letting go’ than Sweet Release. Allow me to personally accompany you so I can ensure you get the best experience here,” says Imamura. “So to start, from now until you leave this place tonight, you will be calling me ‘Master.’”

Iida startles at the request, remembers himself and the part he has to play in this investigation, and nods. “What… What should I do first, Master?”

“Come with me.” The hand on Iida’s arm returns. Stronger. It pulls him along into the fray, nearing the bar that breaks dozens of health codes simply by existing. “Ouka-chan! My new guest Tenya here is feeling a bit twitchy. First timer. You know how it goes. Could you make him something to help settle his nerves?”

Iida stands slightly behind Imamura, watching as the bartender bites her lip and sets about making him a drink. ‘Ouka-chan’ is wearing only a black string bikini. Her scarlet hair is tied up in pigtails with thick ribbons entwined around them. A few bar patrons have already ‘spilt’ their drinks on her, leering as she pouts with her arms pressing her breasts together.

Unfortunately he is not immune to the sight, nor the mild aphrodisiac he’d taken earlier which still manages to affect him. The crotch of his faux leather pants are uncomfortably damp. His thighs will probably chafe.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Tenya?” Imamura guides him towards the barstools. The very same that had something extra attached, meant to make sitting more comfortable for the clubbers as opposed to less.

“How…” Iida swallows, eyes fixated on the bulbous tip of a hefty seven-incher that is open for him to sit on. “How do I…?”

“You’ll have to strip, of course. At least from the waist down. You hardly seem comfortable in those pants anyhow,” Imamura remarks, far too casual in throwing out a suggestion for Iida to bare his lower body. In public, no less. “If you’re not up for it, that’s totally understandable. Don’t push yourself, but I really think you’d feel better if you loosened up a little.”

The mission goal compels Iida to go along with whatever Imamura says. If he can appeal to the club owner like this, he’ll be that much closer to learning the whereabouts of their missing persons.

“Yes… Yes, Master. I do think I’ll feel better getting out of these.” Iida reaches for the waist of his pants, undoing his belt and the zipper before pushing the tight material down his thighs.

“Don’t be shy. You can show off a little here. In fact, we encourage it.” Imamura turns back to the bar for a second. “Look, your drink’s ready. Come sit so you can drink it.”

He kicks off his pants, suddenly not caring where they ended up or that the floor they landed on is covered in sticky alcohol and plenty of other fluids. Left in simple white briefs, Iida gets up on the stool and hesitates, hovering just above the head of the attached toy.

“Go on. Put that pretty pussy to work and sit on that fucking cock.”

Iida reels. How did Imamura know when he hasn’t taken off his underwear yet?

Nonetheless, the material comes away with strings of slick as Iida tugs it aside and slides down.

“Hmph, it’s a shame you decided to stay covered but you’ve proved you can take a hard length pretty well,” the older man jokes. It’s not really funny, or it’s supposed to be? Should Iida laugh?

He tries for a light chuckle but what comes out is a trembling moan. “Hah."

The toy inside of him isn’t particularly long but it fills him well, pressing harshly on his walls as they clench and release sporadically around the bright red silicone. With trembling fingers, Iida reaches for the drinks Imamura holds out to him and takes a sip. “You were right. It’s less… daunting to let go when everyone else is doing the same, if not more. Do you do this for all new patrons, Master? Or just the heroes?”

Iida doesn’t think he’s pushing for answers when he’s already spied a few rookies and a handful of early retirees around the club. He even acknowledged a few with a nod or a wave that Imamura definitely noticed. Honestly it shouldn’t be a surprise for heroes, be they Pro or not, to seek this place out when Heroism is perhaps the most stressful field of work.

Before he can get a response from Imamura, another presence slides into Iida’s space. They lean over the bar to give a friendly stroke to the current “strawholder” and rest a supportive hand on Iida’s shoulder to do so.

Then the hand slips down, parting the sides of Iida’s open button-down. Rough fingertips glide over the smooth swell of his pecs, reaching a nipple then resting there. The person strikes up a conversation with a different bartender who highly resembles Ouka, a bejeweled collar on her throat reading Kikka. As they speak, Iida’s nipple gets rolled absentmindedly like some kind of fidget. It hardens under the attention, both of them visibly pebbling through the thin shirt.

He could move. The hero in Iida wants to, reasoning that the touch is a restraint. It prevents him from moving and reacting as quickly as he can without hurting others in the process.

He doesn’t though.

“You don’t seem uncomfortable with other people’s touch,” Imamura remarks, blatantly enjoying the show of Iida getting his chest felt up. “As humans, we crave that sort of familiarity and intimacy with one another, but because of societal norms there’s a limit to how close we can be. It’s enjoyable, though, isn’t it? Being touched and able to touch as freely as your heart desires?”

“Mn. Mhm.” Iida hums a half-answer. The hand on his pec grows insistent, massaging the muscle with a sort of attention Iida usually only receives from his own hands but feels nowhere near as satisfying. His hips start to rock subconsciously, copious amounts of clear fluid dripping from between his legs as he bounces shallowly on the seat.

“Oh, you’ve barely touched your drink, Tenya.”

Without thinking, Iida reaches for the glass. His straw is normal paper with diagonal red stripes, not like the glass ones he actively wanted to avoid. Though unsure exactly what sort of cocktail prepared for him, he sips it down in large gulps, forgetting his earlier self-declaration not to drink so much.

More hands find their way to Iida’s chest. Another comes to rest on his thigh. Imamura watches on approvingly.

“Do you like being felt up, Tenya?”

“Oh!” Iida shivers when a slim hand creeps into his briefs. “I do. I like it.”

“Do you like when people grope those massive breasts of yours? Or that prim little cunt that hasn’t seen its full potential?”

“I— Yes. I want it, Master!” He pushes the glass back onto the counter, not wanting to drop it.

“Say it louder, Tenya.”

“I want them to touch my- my genitals.”

“Hm? You’ll need to be more specific than that.”

A hand finally delves into Iida’s slick-drenched folds, fingers forced into the nonexistent space between his walls and the dildo.

“I want them to touch my pussy!”

Imamura smirks. “Well? You heard him.”

Before he can do anything about it, hands are pulling off Iida’s shirt. His underwear is ripped apart at the seams. Iida realizes he should feel utterly humiliated to be disrobed so aggressively in front of so many people but he doesn’t care about that right now.

His cunt is filled and his skin is heated. The roaming graze of fingers on every part of his body is a balm, and the places he burns hottest are his chest and predictably, his pussy.

The investigation and the extensive research it entailed meant Iida hasn’t had much alone time lately. None of the Team Idaten members have but Iida is always the one willing to go above and beyond for his team. Meaning he hasn’t properly played with himself in months. His pussy has been neglected and it shows.

Iida shifts in his seat in an odd sort of cat-and-mouth chase between the fingers in his cunt and the one spot where he wants them to be. A small part of him realizes that he’s quite literally naked in a bar, masturbating with sex toy furniture while he lets other people take liberties with his body, but what does he care? Everyone else is doing it too.

“Master, I’m—! I’m gonna come. Master, please let me come. I need to come. Please. Please, Master.” 

“What a good boy. You’ve done so well for me tonight and our friends here would surely agree. Go ahead and come, dear. You deserve it.”

With a squeak, Iida clenches done on the toy and the fingers in his cunt and squirt sprays in every direction.

“Damn. Dude’s like a fountain.”

“I can’t believe Imamura-san got into his head so quickly.”

“Forget that. I can’t believe the Turbo Hero has a fucking pussy.”

—

Iida leaves Sweet Release with all of his clothes—fully intact if not a little damp—and returns to Idaten HQ looking almost no different than when he left.

“What happened in there, Ingenium?” The tech team pounces on him. “The video and audio feed we were getting from you suddenly cut out. We couldn’t reach you at all!”

“I—” Iida frowns then blanches at the realization that he can’t recall any of his conversation with Master- with Imamura Kouhei at all.

Chapter Text

The first attempt to get any read on Imamura Kouhei is a categorical failure.

The conference room dedicated to these strange abductions buzzes with activity like a frantic beehive. Tech speculates on whether Sweet Release has a staff member whose Quirk can negate technology, but it has to be sophisticated enough to not interfere with the club’s own systems. Toxicology keeps pestering Iida about his condition, whether he feels any fatigue, brain fog, nausea, fever… a whole compendium of symptoms probably found in some textbook. 

He has to remind them that, other than the blanks in his memory, he feels fine. Humiliated, certainly, but he can’t say his physical state is any worse than it is after a grueling run or training simulation.

While everyone else seems to find fault with the circumstances of the mission and their insufficient planning, Iida can only blame himself for how things went wrong. As the sole field agent in this operation, he feels responsible for letting Imamura get to him in a way he can’t pinpoint throughout the entirety of their interaction

Even Tensei says there was nothing to be done and kindly doesn’t push him to reveal much more about the glimpses of things—sensations, mostly—that he can remember.

Iida isn’t satisfied, though, and he won’t be until this case is settled and they have a verdict on whether the owner of Sweet Release is truly guilty or not. So, seeing as their initial results were inconclusive, the only thing left to do is repeat the experiment.

Both his doctors and Idaten’s in-house psychiatrist cleared Iida of having any remaining influences from Imamura or otherwise. The hero spearheads the planning of another operation. He speaks with nearly everyone involved, getting their ideas on how they could prove successful this time around.

Many blame the ‘sexual stimulant’ that had been offered at the beginning of it all, wondering if there’s a way for Iida to somehow get out of taking it on his next visit. Only, the staff were incredibly persistent in pushing the drug, emphasizing its importance in creating a comfortable experience for all clubgoers. For the sake of the mission, Iida had readily given his blood for testing but nothing has been revealed yet by means of creating a counteragent.

Tech resignedly admits that they may have to send him in without any gear. On the off chance that there is a Quirk user detecting the use of their equipment and blocking it, there’s really no use in Iida having it at all.

Dispatch’s solution is to put Iida in an outfit more befitting of the club’s vibes. Though Iida isn’t sold on the effectiveness of changing his attire, the new outfit is received well.

“Oh my. Did you change your wardrobe just for me, Tenya-kun?” Imamura raises his glass of bourbon towards him in appreciation.

It makes Iida feel marginally better about the clothes he’d been stuffed into, primped and puffed by an entire makeup team to sell the look. After running out of a taxi with arms wrapped around himself to cover what he could, Iida had flashed his ID to the bouncers, subjected himself to the invasive security process, and popped that candy-coated aphrodisiac pill before looking for Imamura. The man was delighted to be sought out, praising Iida for his timely return to the club and eagerness to have more fun.

It may be the many magnetic gazes on his body that have Iida shivering in the heat of the crowded bar area, or it’s the fact that he’s dressed in a mesh muscle tank and denim shorts. He’s more suited to a beach-side bar in some tropical island than this hideaway in the heart of Shinjuku during late fall. Iida looks more like the others in attendance, save for Imamura himself, so that’s a step forward. Nevermind that Iida doesn’t know what direction he’s meant to be taking.

“The moment I saw you, I just knew you’d be a needy little thing,” Imamura muses. With a gesture, he has a scantily dressed bartender bring over another of what he’s drinking and places it in Iida’s hands. “Coming back so soon after our playtime last week, hm, I’ll start thinking you simply can’t get enough!”

Iida tells himself it’s an act as he stares into the dark honey depths of the whiskey and stutters, “And- and what if that were the case?”

“Oh? So you’ve had a taste, and now you simply can’t help yourself from wanting more? That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Ingenium. What would your fans think, knowing their favorite spends his evenings getting played with and used like a toy?”

Iida swallows thickly, all too wary of how Imamura’s eyes track the movement. He means to get the man to drop some clues on how he lured the abductees from their previous lives, and he’s willing to offer himself as bait to do so.

The aphrodisiac coursing sluggishly through his veins is an ample motivator but Iida downs half his whiskey and starts tugging coquettishly at his clothing. “I’ve never done anything like that before. How should I—?”

Imamura grins slyly. From his perspective, he must have Iida right where he wants him. “Well, for the famed Turbo Hero, I’m sure you can have your pick of anyone here if you’re just looking for an evening partner. Or you could have them brought to you. You’ll attract more flies with honey than vinegar, and the sight of you in this get-up is a great start. Show a little more skin and you’ll have the dogs come to heel in an instant.”

It’s the same feeling as last time. Iida doesn’t feel compelled in any way out of the norm to do as Imamura says or follow his suggestions. The desire registers completely as his own, if slightly fortified by drink and substance.

Besides, Iida’s had a look around at tonight’s attendees and spotted a few who piqued his interest. Getting their attention, however…

He gives a quick glance to Imamura to ensure he’s watching before taking the mesh tank off and flinging it in the direction of the bar. A cute twink catches it, meeting Iida’s eyes before taking a shy sniff of the shirt and moaning. 

In any other circumstance, Iida would find it ridiculous to be putting on a show like this. He starts feeling up his chest as he makes long, unhurried strides toward an unoccupied booth in clear view of the dance floor. Heads turn to follow his path, the number of potential takers growing the louder Iida groans and the harder he pulls on his nipples. Several people peel away from the dance floor, caught up in the promise of what Iida might offer.

Entrance to Sweet Release requires putting on one of three stickers. An orange sticker means ‘Not Interested’—this one is worn mostly by the voyeurs or those still hesitant to jump completely into the fray. Blue is ‘Ask first, fuck later.’ As most of the regulars at Sweet Release come for sheer pleasure, it’s never really a matter of who they hook up with. More so what kinks they’re interested in. The last, a vibrant hot pink is a self-explanatory ‘DTF.’ All of the staff wear pink stickers, as do the majority of people on the dance floor.

A steady stream of pink sticker wearers have come to hover around the booth Iida has now clambered onto, eyes fixed on the hopeful blue sticker on the side of his neck.

Perhaps putting distance between himself and Imamura isn’t the best course of action, but Iida doesn’t want to seem suspicious by sticking too close. He’s here posing as a fan of the club, not necessarily the club’s owner. And this way he can maybe get close to the other patrons, see if there’s any evidence of them being drugged or Quirked into wanting to come back to Sweet Release. Or worse, wanting to stay. Permanently.

His brief look around the building hasn’t shown Iida signs of the abductees, but for an underground establishment, the place sprawls wide like an ant colony. Iida can’t possibly check every nook and cranny with eyes on him and while wanting to keep Imamura in sight.

Now there’s a good number of orange stickers in the mix of happy viewers at The Iida Show. Satisfied with the potential witnesses he’s accrued, Iida slips a hand into the front of his shorts and proceeds to masturbate for them.

This is different from last time, where willing hands and a dildo chair had done most of the work for him. Iida’s face is aflame as he realizes that he’s publicly pleasuring himself of his own volition. He has a large live audience waiting to see if the shorts will be the next to go, equally determined in seeing what he might be wearing underneath. 

Iida’s fingers find his t-dick, rolling the swollen nub around until he feels himself become erect and rubbing uncomfortably against the insides of his remaining clothing. Worried that he’s not doing enough to hold the viewers’ attention, he places his pussy-drenched fingers in his mouth and sucks. A few swears from the crowd suggest there are people wanting to replace his fingers with something else, so Iida looks around at his options.

A slight girl with thicker hips somewhat resembling Kyouka rapidly thrusts her fingers in and out of her cunt while she watches Iida, making a mess of her tiny metallic boyshorts. The matching thin bandeau top is pushed high above her tits, showing off heavy nipple piercings with adorable heart charms dangling from the rings.

When their eyes meet, Iida offers a shy grin and says, “Would you like to come sit on my face?”

With her matching blue sticker on her chest, the girl agrees readily. Some of the onlookers help her get situated as she climbs onto the table where Iida now lays in wait.

Eating pussy is not particularly conducive to performing secret interrogations, but Iida hasn’t forgotten that fact in favor of wanting something in his mouth. The cunt dripping onto his face smells rather sweet and musky, suggesting he isn’t the first companion the girl has had tonight.

That’s none of Iida’s business, though, so he throws himself into pleasuring the girl with long, sweeping passes of his tongue through her sticky folds. She invites others to pull her hair and the heart piercings, whimpers rising in pitch as she starts rocking her hips against Iida’s lips. Her chubby pierced clit rubs against the tip of his nose and Iida finds his own holes feel a little neglected.

He awkwardly shimmies to push his shorts down, trying not to jostle the girl too much. Seeing what he’s trying to do, more helpful members of their audience come forward to pull the denim down to his ankles.

The jockstrap he has on underneath is a wet mess, heathered grey cotton stained dark from Iida’s arousal. His tdick pushes against the damp fabric which clings obscenely to the folds and contours of his fat pussy. One of his hands start rubbing it over the jockstrap, the other steadying the girl with a strong hold of one of her thighs.

She climaxes quickly, bearing down so that she all but smothers Iida. Her clit mashing against his philtrum. Iida just tries to keep his tongue moving, letting her take every last bit of pleasure from him. Soon, she climbs down from the table with a giggle and a kiss farewell on Iida’s cheek.

Now he’s just a man with cum-stained lips and no clothes on, save for a flimsy jockstrap, sprawled on a table others happily want to feast at.

“I would appreciate it if someone, anyone of you, would fill me up. I’m- I’m so empty.” It’s the first time Iida has made this kind of request so shamelessly. Last time he had the encouragement of Imamura that brought others to play with him. Now it’s just Iida showing the population of Sweet Release how fucking needy he is.

“Is that an open invitation, pretty boy?” A shorter man with impressively thick muscles shoulders past the edges of the crowd.

Iida simply whines and turns over. He raises his hips, tugging the jockstrap down to his knees in answer.

“Didn’t know you were such a slut, Ingenium.” The man sidles up to the table and spits directly onto the already glistening cunt lips before pressing two fingers in directly. “Shit… What are you doing here, still tight as shit? The folks ‘round here are gonna break you. Or, hell, they’ll sure fucking try.”

“Is that a promise?” Iida pants, starting to grow teary eyed. If the man doesn’t start moving those fingers, or adding another one, he might just combust from how pent-up he is.

“He’s really fucking asking for it,” says another voice in the crowd.

“Is that even allowed? Aren’t top 20 heroes supposed to be super righteous and not—”

“Whores?”

“Exactly.”

Iida keeps shaking his hips until a swat to his thigh makes him still.

“Patience,” the man from before urges with a firm but gentle dominance. “There’s no way you’re leaving here without getting fucked seven ways to Sunday. Not after that little display you put on.”

Someone snaps a photo and the bright flash is a stark reminder of where Iida is and what exactly he’s doing. He’s meant to be asking about members of Sweet Release, if any have started staying longer or coming at unusual hours. He needs to inquire about the drugs everyone takes, whether there are some who refuse it or take more than absolutely necessary.

His mind is wiped blank of all the information he’s meant to gather when four thick fingers shove gracelessly into Iida’s cunt.

“Look how easily he took four of that guy’s massive fingers.”

“Fuck. I need to get a recording of this.”

“Just don’t share it publicly. Remember? You’ll get banned if any blue stickers show up on X site without getting their explicit approval first.”

“Damn. Should I ask?”

“You could try, but it doesn’t look like our hero’s in a state to give coherent answers.”

Even though he hasn’t extended the offer to touch to anyone other than this man, there still remains a sizable crowd that wants to see what Iida will have done to him. A good dozen or more people are there for the eroticism, or perhaps the sheer novelty, of seeing a well-known hero fucked like a cheap whore.

“Lucky guy. Pretty sure he’s the first to take a shot at Ingenium.”

“Bit of a tightass, I always thought. If I’d known how cute he was begging for cock, I might’ve become a fan sooner.”

“Tightass or not, I’d still fuck him. He looks so desperate for it.”

The comments getting tossed over his head make Iida dizzy with a need to prove them wrong while wanting to be treated exactly as they’ve said. Few people know the Ingenium legacy hero is trans. Fewer still know he hasn’t gotten a proper dicking since losing his virginity in his early years after graduating from UA. Since then it’s been an uphill battle establishing himself as a hero instead of just a product of his family’s empire. Though after tonight, there will be a large group of people who know him only as an eager slut, uncaring of who uses him as their cumdump.

The idea is both mortifying and thrilling to Iida who, prior to this mission, would have said the most hardcore sex of his life was being fucked doggy-style with a bit of hair-pulling.

Now, there are cheeky hands palming his ass and his tits. Someone is trying to press a dildo between Iida’s lips. The man from before is gearing up to fuck him on his behemoth of a dick. 

Honestly, Iida can’t wait.

He doesn’t have the experience to know what to do with his arms or how to hold back the obscene sounds that fall from his mouth when someone else is pounding into his pussy. The man fucks him rhythmically. Someone who knows what they’re doing, knows how to work with what they’ve got. The head of his cock batters Iida’s g-spot in an earnest attempt to turn it into mochi.

To the onlookers, though, he looks as good as a pornstar. Sounds like one too.

His lack of recent action really works in Iida’s favor. He wants to be good and feel good too. He chases after his own pleasure without restraint, moving his body with a certain greediness that only spurs the man to fuck him harder.

There will be time later to feel shame for letting a stranger use his body like some sex toy, or impressions of shame over events Iida can’t clearly remember. Yet in the moment, he’s certain he’ll be unable to forget the feeling of being just a warm, wet hole. A place to stick a cock into. Not a ranked hero. Not someone’s boss. Just a person’s plaything. 

—

“So…”

Neither Iida nor this fresh-faced intern are capable of meeting the other’s eyes.

“I haven’t told anything to the team leads! I just had the idea on my own to- to follow you and see what might happen. Like a double-blind study! Sort of? But I was there. I saw everything. I just can’t remember the ‘how’ of it all happening. It’s like I couldn’t bring myself to leave, except I didn’t even feel like I wanted to.”

Iida covers his face with his hands. ‘...I was there. I saw everything.’ Gosh, he can’t remember what ‘everything’ entails. Just that it was probably something he didn’t want his precious interns seeing.

“We won’t speak of this.”

“But, sir, the mission—!”

“I can’t, in good faith, reveal your actions to your direct employers when the responsibility of you putting yourself in a potentially dangerous situation falls on both of our heads. At the very least, I’ll be put on desk duty for a month but you may lose your internship.”

The intern pales, nodding frantically. “Yes, Ingenium-san. I’m sorry, Ingenium-san!”

“And don’t go back there again. For your own safety.”

The intern swallows but murmurs an assent. They can’t describe exactly all that happened that night. They remember it being hot though.