The hero academic

One week down. Fifty-one to go. Fifty-one more weeks of his dick being trapped in this… thing.

Izuku wasn't a very sexual person. Perhaps he was a late bloomer, but he rarely thought about his dick. But once Kacchan had put the cage on, it was all that occupied his thoughts. Every shifting made the plastic tube rub against him. When he walked, it was uncomfortable. When he sat, it was torture. When he peed, it was…

He didn't even want to think about peeing.

However, today marked one week since putting it on, which meant he got a special reward: Kacchan was going to let him take it off temporarily so he could wash it. The dumb cage had a hole in the end, which meant water could get in and he sorta could wash it in a bath, but nothing would compare to being able to take it off and really rub himself. For the cleansing.

As a bonus/silver lining, he'd also get to see Bakugou. Izuku knew there must be something wrong for him to consider that a positive thing. Every time he was around the other boy, tragedy struck. It had gotten to the point where the sight of his once-upon-a-time friend made his heart rate spike, his breathing come short, his nerves boil and simmer with panic. Maybe he was addicted to it. Maybe he was a nasty little pervert, just like Bakugou said.

No. I'm trying to get better. That's what this is. Exposure therapy.

Deku was definitely planning on getting exposed.

Bakugou's house was the same as always: small yet pristine on its little plot of land. His parents were workaholics, almost never home, which meant that once Izuku crossed that border, there would be no chance of anyone coming to save him. He would be completely at Bakugou's mercy.

The cage felt tight in his pants.

Izuku knocked on the door and waited. Just standing still was impossible, so he fidgeted, trying to ignore the bundle of energy between his legs. It felt like the more time passed, the harder it was to go about his normal business. Instead of getting used to it, he noticed its presence more. It wasn't like glasses or a hat or another object of clothing that, when worn often enough, became an extension of the body. This was a permanent intrusion, constantly reminding him of its presence. Like a leech that bloated the more blood it sucked, it was getting worse over time.

The door swung open, and there stood Kacchan. Izuku had thought he would look smug, maybe even lascivious. After all, he was a sadist who took pleasure in demeaning and humiliating Midoriya. Instead, he mostly looked irritated.

"You're late," he growled. "You know, some of us are going to a super competitive school. I can't spend all day taking care of your little fish stick."

"U-um, is this a bad time? I can come back-"

Bakugou grabbed him by the collar and yanked him inside. Deku yelped and flailed, but it was mostly to keep his balance. He didn't actually want to resist too hard. After all, he needed this.

"All right, try not to waste too much of my time," Bakugou snarled. "Follow me."

He led him to the bathroom, a wide expanse of tiled floor that made their footsteps echo. Like the rest of the household, it was decorated with a style and flair that spoke of someone who cared. That someone definitely wasn't Kacchan.

Bakugou shut the door behind them, the door jam snapping solidly into place.

"Take it off," he ordered, gesturing to Midoriya's clothes.

"W-what? You're not gonna watch the whole time, are you?"

"Course I am. How else am I going to guarantee that you don't rub one out?"

Izuku spluttered, unable to make intelligible words. He had sort of assumed that's what these weekly sessions were for. He could wash and get relief and then go back to another week of misery. That he would be forbidden from any sort of orgasm was news to him.

"So you're saying you're not gonna let me… you know… do anything at all? For an entire year?"

This was enough to finally bring that trademark feral grin to Katsuki's face.

"It's just hitting ya, huh?" he chuckled. "For a whole year, your body belongs to me. The parts that matter, anyways. Now strip."

Izuku fully intended to protest, to dig his heels in and insist that this wasn't what they agreed to and he deserved some basic decency, but Kacchan was giving him a dangerous look. It was the kind of borderline savagery that went straight to Deku's gut, had him so confused that he didn't know what he wanted.

He wanted his clothes off. It was too hot in here, the walls too close, Kacchan was right there. Izuku grasped at his short and tore. It was over his head, falling to the ground like the discarded remains of a butterfly's cocoon. His pants followed after. The outline of the cage was visible through his briefs, making him look like he was half hard. Maybe he would be in a situation like this, had that been an option. As it was, his beleaguered dick was stuck in the soft setting.

Kacchan's eyes were on him, looking him up and down like a mysterious tupperware he'd just pulled out of the fridge and didn't fancy opening, like he was afraid the contents had gone foul ages ago.

Delicately, caught on the razor thin wire between anticipation and dread, Deku rolled his briefs down. There it was, his cock tucked into his cage. Bakugou observed him a moment before exhaling in what Izuku could only assume was disdain.

"Hands behind your back," he instructed, pulling out a silver chain from his pocket. On the end of it dangled a key, small in size but large in importance.

Deku did as he was asked, slipping his hands behind his back. He also spread his knees wider, because even without being asked, he figured that was the polite thing to do. Bakugou squatted down. His face was expressionless, a mask that Deku couldn't read. However, he took his sweet time actually unlocking the device, moving slow like he was purposefully trying to draw out the torture. As he tugged the tube off, Deku could feel the slight drag, the dry slide over his skin and then the blissful balm of open air. He was free.

Immediately he moved to touch himself. It was less sexual and more compulsive. After so long, he just wanted to feel, to have that part of himself back. Bakugou smacked his hand away.

"Don't try anything disgusting," he sneered. "I'm right here."

Izuku huffed. It wasn't like he was planning on jerking off right in front of the other boy. He just wanted the luxury of reassuring himself he still had a dick. But apparently he was to be denied even that courtesy.

Bakugou directed him to the shower head— a long, snake-like thing that could stretch across the entire room.

"Get to work," he ordered. "I don't want to sit around forever."

So under Bakugou's watchful gaze, he did. Midoriya gave himself a cursory rinse, head to toe, before grabbing the provided washcloth and soaping up. He pretended like he was concerned with cleaning every part of his body, like he wasn't dying to focus on his dick. If Bakugou wasn't here, he'd have both hands wrapped around the thing, welcoming it home with a big hug, letting it know that he had thought about it every second it was gone-

"Gross!" Bakugou hissed. "At least pretend to have some self restraint while I'm right here."

Deku's fantasy's had gotten the better of him, and his dick was swelling hard even from the thought of freedom. It had been cooped up for so long that it wanted to stretch its muscles, like a cat waking from a nap. It wasn't Deku's fault.

Grumbling under his breath, Bakugou stalked over and snatched the shower head from where it was perched. With the ferocity of a predator snapping the neck of a helpless rabbit, he twisted the water on. High, and cold. He blasted it at Deku, focusing the stream on his cock.

Yelping, Deku did his best to cover himself as the first blast of cold water hit him. However, when he shielded his crotch Bakugou shifted his attention to his chest. Izuku only had so many hands, but the water was infinite.

"Stand still!" Bakugou ordered over the hiss of hose. "You're making this harder."

Bakugou was making it softer. The cold water did the trick, and soon Deku's dick hung penitent and flaccid from his body. The boy himself was a shivering mess, hugging at his body as if to hold the last remnants of warmth.

"Hands behind your back," Bakugou ordered.

"But I'm not done ye-"

"Hands behind your back!"

He sparked a little, his anger manifesting in a crackle in his palms. It was enough to cow Deku into submission. He did as he was told, standing with his arms behind his back while Bakugou slipped him into his prison. When he was done, the blonde stepped back to admire his handiwork and smiled.

"We're done here. Get dressed and leave."

Now that Izuku was safely sealed away, Bakugou had lost interest. He wandered from the room, not even bothering to see if Izuku complied. After all, it wasn't like he could do anything dirty like this.

Deku wasn't sure what he was expecting from this encounter, but he couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment.

Well. One week down. Fifty-one to go.

Month 2

Deku used to not think about sex. He thought of himself as fairly celibate and not interested. However, it turned out there was a world of difference between "I masturbate occasionally" and "I masturbate never." The never was killing him.

Six weeks in wee wee jail. Every week he would show up to Kacchan's house for a brief, tortuous session. He always got hard. Just the act of letting his dick touch fresh air was enough to get it going, and his body was screaming for release. Kacchan responded with disgust and the hose.

It had gotten to the point where it was distracting. He'd be sitting in class, thinking of how much he just wanted a chance to fondle himself, to reach down and run a finger along his length. It was as persistent as a bug bite, this constant need to touch, to scratch. When he managed to break away from that line of thinking, he would daydream schemes to get the cage off. Maybe he could practice lock-picking. Maybe he could get some wire cutters and break out. Maybe he could negotiate with Kacchan.

Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could still get off with the damn thing on.

Before, he had masturbated maybe once every couple of weeks. His libido was low, he had other things to do. Wham, bam, back to 2chan. Now, he masturbated every day. Or at least, he tried to.

If nothing else, the exhaustion helped him calm down. It was like his body was giving him a consolation prize for being unable to cum.

'Aww, you tried for 45 minutes and couldn't get anywhere? Well, at least you'll be able to sleep without wet dreams tonight.'

And that was why he was here, doubled over on his bed humping a folded up pillow. It was gross and he was gross for doing it, and he couldn't even feel anything, but he had to do something. So he did his best to fuck away, hoping the occasional brief contact with the inside of his plastic jail would do something for him. He couldn't even fuck properly, since he couldn't get his dick up, but thrusting and fantasizing were a close second.

Maybe he didn't masturbate much, but Deku did have a sexual fantasy of sorts. Really it was more of a fixation. For as long as he had been touching himself, he'd been doing it while thinking of Katsuki. Maybe because the first time he'd felt any sort of sexual stimulation… it had started back then, almost a year ago now. The alley. The belt. The laughter. The sort of weird tension that had bubbled between them since childhood, coalesced to Bakugou's hand on his head, to two words whispered like wedding vows in his ear.

"Good boy."

It had been the worst moment of his life, and it had played on repeat for weeks and months afterwards. A funny thing happened when he repeated the scenario often enough. Somewhere along the way, the exact sting of pain faded. All that was left was the intensity. That's what Deku chased. That's what Kacchan evoked in him. That wild burning, like everything else in the world was aflame and it was just the two of them standing amidst that blaze.

More than anything in the world, Deku wanted to fuck Kacchan. That was the sum of his sexuality. He had a dick, and when he touched it he thought of his childhood friend. It wasn't quite a happy feeling, but it was a consuming one.

He imagined the pillow was Bakugou's ass, imagined pressing their bodies close together. The things Kacchan might whisper to him as they fucked.

"Is that all you can do?"

"Pathetic."

"I might as well do this alone."

But oh. Then Deku would really get into it. Would hold him down, a hand placed wherever was most available, his partner's throat, a shoulder, and he'd press and fuck hard enough to take his breath away. That was where the fantasies always inevitably led: to Kacchan reduced to a whimpering, incoherent mess beneath him. Not revenge, really. Izuku didn't hold grudges. But maybe payback in the kindest sense, a return of that intensity Kacchan had given him.

Izuku bunched the pillow up, rolled over so that it was on top. He thought about what Bakugou might look like in that position. The other boy was bigger, but his hips were slender, perfect for grabbing onto. So athletic, built for power and perseverance. He'd be so heavy on top of Deku, pinning him down even as they fucked.

Kacchan could talk trash, but when he was really enjoying something (the few times Deku had witnessed such an event as a child) he was quiet and intense. Would he still look the same as he did back then—brow furrowed, lips pulled back into a mix between a smile and a snarl? Izuku hadn't seen that look in years. He'd love to see it again.

Or better yet—Kacchan fucked out. Kacchan with his bangs plastered to his forehead in sweat like crop circles pressed into a field of wheat. Kacchan red everywhere. Kacchan with his dick dripping. Kacchan with bruises on his body, ones Deku had placed. Kacchan crying and shaking and too overwhelmed to move, just as Deku had been in that alley. Not revenge. Reciprocation. To give him an event so powerful he couldn't go back to what he had been before.

Because Deku wasn't the same after the event in the alley. He'd gone home and cried and been so sick he could barely move and he wouldn't get out of bed the next day because every time he tried there was a pain so sharp and sudden inside him that he was paranoid maybe the belt buckle was still in there, lodged out of reach. His mom had let him stay home, unsure of the source of her son's hysterics but sympathetic nonetheless. So Deku had been trapped at home in his thoughts, an endless cycle, and somewhere in that pain he had sought relief and found it with his hands on his cock. That's what release was to him: irrevocably intertwined with the image of Kacchan, of both torment and relief.

He'd done his best to put it behind him, but here he was almost a year later, and he was trapped in that cycle of torture, of endless humiliation at Kacchan's hands. This time, it was his fault. He'd signed on to this. So he rubbed the pillow against his caged cock, imagined it was Kacchan's face licking a slow stripe down him. Would Kacchan ever suck him off? Probably not. Not unless he was coerced somehow. But if he was… oh, his mouth would be so hot, and those delicately-lashed eyes would glisten as the cock hit the back of his throat. That would be an image to see.