Thread by @rowanafterdark

When Keigo joins the League, of course they have to haze him. Make him prove his loyalty. Show how dedicated he is to serving each and every one of them.

They choose his body, of course. He lies back on a table and someone ties his ankles to the table’s legs, forcing

his thighs apart while a thick curtain drapes over his belly, leaving just his sex exposed.

Then they take turns breeding him. He doesn’t get to see who’s fucking him, only to feel as one big cock slides into him after another, each thrusting into his warm, welcoming cunt

and occasionally thumbing at his dick, which is harder than it has any right to be. He doesn’t want to be enjoying this—it should be just a job, just another thing he’s doing, but there are so many hands toying with him and voices keep promising him that they’ll give him

what he’s craving. Use him /properly/, for once, so he never has to doubt that he’s desired. God, who’s inside him now? Someone’s fucking him, stretching him, and even when he squirms he’s only held down and shushed. It could be Twice, he seems like the most gentle—

but the thrusts are dominating, hard, slamming against his ass and thighs until they tingle with redness. Or is it Shigaraki, the king taking what belongs to him? Masked Mr. Compress, rubbing the fat head of his dick through the folds? Keigo wonders absently if it could be

Toga the shapeshifter, using one of her comrade’s blood to exact her authority over him—something sharp presses against his thigh almost the instant he thinks it, and his hips arch in sudden need. When did he start enjoying this? Getting fucked like a whore, unable to see who’s

using him as a cumdump, doing nothing but taking out their pleasure inside his pussy and leaving it creamed and ready for the next one. He cums almost on accident and there’s laughter from all around, before another dick slams home and he screams, back arching hard.

So good...he never knew it could feel so good to be used and abused like this. Again and again, each of them as relentless as the last. The burning-hot hands that sear his thighs must belong to the scarred arsonist, Dabi, but what about the cool touch that soothes them away?

Who spanks his swollen cock when he feels cum dripping out of him? Whose nails scratch red lines onto his thighs, and whose thumbs dig into his hipbones when another orgasm rips out of him, unloading deep inside his cunt with a groan? He doesn’t know, can’t tell,

and by the end, he sobs and begs and pleads for all of them in turn.

At least when he’s finally untied and lifted, limp and exhausted, someone whispers in his ear that he made it in.