𝙃𝙚'𝙨 𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙚.

You flip the letter over and skim the instructions, the same as they always are expect this time there is an extra line to add, maximum security level ten, as if you had to notate some sort of alert to the mailroom for an extra thorough check of this particular piece of mail. You bite the inside of your lip, toeing off your kitten heels before padding over to your computer with letter in tow.  

The request comes as a surprise, mostly because they listed a specific inmate instead of your usual list of inmates who wished to receive mail but had ties cut from their own families or needed some semblance of someone on the outside to speak with. Never asking you to address some sort of conversation with someone who sounded like they didn't want to have one at all. 

Snarling your lip when you read the affiliates that you needed to avoid as if their government names gave you any idea of who they were, some of them anyway. 

Two with whom you were already exchanging letters with weekly. 

Your usual routine to wind down from work is lost to your undying hunger of who this person was. Although you had to admit Bakugou sounded eerily familiar. 

A quick search brings up his villain name,  Ground Zero, captured during a raid of some sort and he alone needed several heroes for his capture. His quirk was dangerous, explosions detonated by sparks along his forearms and palms from his sweat that contained nitroglycerin and it seemed as if his mental health was just as stable as the fuel to his quirk. 

Looking at him wrong set him off and he was powerful enough to level buildings from just a few juls of output from his intense explosions. Still curiosity killed the cat and you delved deeper. 

Wondering how Izuku, aka Deku, who was quirkless and Eijirou, aka Blood Riot who could harden his skin, which you knew from their letters, got caught up with a living, breathing nuke. 

Thankfully most of the documentation and footage involving Katsuki's arrest was released to the public with redactions and edits of course but what you needed was the raw data. 

Finding unofficially released footage from Mirko's body cam, the only surviving body cam between the pursuing heroes. It starts right in the midst of the action, sirens wailing  and people screaming in the background as the scene unfolds. Ground Zero and Mirko exchange blows evenly while Endevor tries to ambush him from behind. The hulking blonde smirks, as if he had no blind spot, swinging his large arm backward hitting Endeavor right in the mouth, hard enough it sends him flying.  Katsuki's bromine eyes flicker to what must be vantage points off camera as if searching for something. 

"Got that pesky ass four eyes on me huh? I'm hurt ya don't wanna play with me properly, hops." He dodges a kick to the chest, sliding back and it's obvious his prowess as a fighter is unmatched, even with his quirk silenced.

"Shut the fuck up. Ya talk too much."  Shifting her weight to fein a kick that he catches, pinning her thick leg between his sturdy ribs and strong arm as he wears the nastiest smile. One that Mirko wipes off quickly with a swift kick from her free foot straight to his handsome face. Turning his cheek and blood arcs from his mouth, still he does not stagger nor falter. 

He even still has her leg pinned as she stands awkwardly, back arched to him and her bunny tail twitches. The viewer can only see the ground and her free leg but the mic still very much catches what he says next and you're sure the smile he was wearing earlier comes back tenfold. 

"Careful hops, ya get any rougher with me and I'll cum." 

His laugh echoes shortly after and the sound should not cause your stomach to flip the way it does before the footage abruptly ends. 

Taking the time to scroll through a few more pictures and articles, trying to find where it all went wrong when really none of that was your business, still it killed you to know. 

And when you fail to find anything, fail to find that butterfly effect that puts his whole life askew, it does little to quell the uneasy feeling that gnaws at the pit of your stomach. If anything it fuels it yet still you rummage your desk for stationary and a pen. 

Sealing away the envelope once you were done and setting it by your purse to grab in the morning when you think you'll be braver. 

Or maybe less brave as you hesitate by the mail drop off box, your train fast approaching the outside terminal before you shove it into the slot quickly. 

Too late to take it back now. 

Besides what were the odds he'd even send one back?

"B-001174, got mail." The guard grunts as he slips the already open letter under the cell door, finishing his rounds before the doors would open and the inmates could roam about the pod as they saw fit. 

Katsuki snarls, he didn't get mail, letters or pictures or even the cult following he once had he'd scared 'em all off. Tired of all the stupid bullshit they spewed at him, the ideals they placed on him or the words they shoved into his mouth. Worst yet were how they justified their actions, their own wrong doings in the name of Ground Zero, too pussy to even own up to their own actions. Katsuki hated that as much as he hated liars. 

Besides he didn't ask for all that shit, didn't care. He just wanted to watch the world burn. 

Wanted to set it on fire and Katsuki's philosophy was that anything was kindling. 

That everything is kindling. 

And he thinks he should just ignite the smallest spark despite the quirk "silencing" cuffs and let the letter be devoured by the heat of his palms. 

But the return address catches his eye, the name does. It's familiar in a way he can't quite place yet. Pulling the paper out of the envelope in the meantime. The first thing he notices is the faint almost perfumey smell of coconut from the paper, not from spraying the stationary but as if it were lotion rubbing across the parchment as you wrote in long looping letters, for a moment he finds the smell pleasant. His poisonous bromine eyes slide over the letter with ease. 

Dear Bakugou, 

I heard you don't get letters very often, if any, so I hope this one finds you well. The weather is warming up quickly, the cicadas are starting to scream even though it's barely June, we'll all be sweltering come August. Summer is my favorite season, do you have a favorite? Work slows down around this time and they usually grant us extra leave so we can enjoy the weather, which is quite nice. I hope you're getting to enjoy the sun as well. 

I know cooking is one of your favorite things, I can see why. It can be relaxing or make you feel good to nourish someone else. What other hobbies do you have aside from cooking? Any favorite books or authors? Maybe I can send your favorite one in! Just let me know. 

Do you have everything you need? Do you need any money for commissary? Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything at all, I'm only a letter away. 

Hope to hear from you and maybe soon I can call you Katsuki. 

Much Love

He snorts as he reads the last line and it finally dawns on him from where he knows your name. Lifting himself out of his prison cot with ease, the cheap thing groaning from his bulk as he exits his cell. Heading towards the neighboring cell that holds Deku and Riot, shoving his way into the too cramped space for the bulking men. 

"Ka-kaachan!" Izuku chirps, surprised to see the hot headed blonde out of his cell and especially surprised to see Bakugou in his own. Lingering by Izuku's half with a quirked brow, his eyes roaming until they found the hidden stack of papers. 

"Gonna grab breakfast with us?" Kirishima asks as he watches large hands snatch at the pile. Instantly Izuku stands, eyes darkening as he steps towards Katsuki.

"Put those down, Kaachan." It's that fake polite smile Izuku wears before a fight, the kind that never reaches his eyes and Bakugou doesn't heed the warning, "Please."

It's clipped and now Kirishima thinks to rise, doesn't want either of them to do solitary or to deal with the month long bickering if they do get into a physical fight. 

Katsuki looks over the letters, reading them quickly and appreciating that Izuku is meticulous enough to keep them in chronological order, each one signed off the same way. Much love. 

Such bullshit. 

Izuku shoves Bakugou when he still scowls down at the papers that also smell like coconut. Katsuki drops the letters unceremoniously and Izuku scrambles to keep them from hitting the concrete floor. Bakugou already on Kirishima's side who watches with a confused glare. 

"What are you-" But Kirishima doesn't get to say much else as Katsuki lifts the thin mattress from the metal frame to find the hidden letters. Tucked away safely as if the battle worn villain took comfort in the false words in shiny black ink. 

Same return address, same name, same bull shit sign off. 

"Katsuki!" Kirishima shoves him and the blonde hardly moves, Eijirou's skin half hardening out of habit before he tries to shove again. Katsuki hits his forearm harshly, a soft pop in warning although neither could do too much with the amount of sedation and silencing that came from the collar from around their thick throats. Izuku sans silencing cuffs, has no worries about a part of him being dulled. He was built like an ox with the metabolism of a pubescent teen despite being in his late twenties so sedatives or mood stabilizers hardly have any effect. 

Bakugou tosses the letters onto Kirishima's scratchy blanket before he scoffs. 

"Tsk, believe that bullshit?" He's rolling his eyes as he leaves the cell with nothing but the rustle of paper as they try to rehide what they act like is their dirty little secret. 

God weak hearted fools were so fucking annoying. 

Post through the prison system could take some time, especially when it came to newer exchanges. It could be anywhere between two weeks to two months before you saw a reply from Katsuki. If you got one at all. 

But the thought of his phantom reply slips to the back of your head what with your current workload and the other correspondents so when you see a sealed envelope the prison's return address you think nothing of it. 

Not until you open it to see an open envelope with your address but instead of your name is spelled out Fake Bitch. 

Blinking furiously you pull out the letter, unfolding it quickly to let your eyes scan over the page, each word burning into your retinas.

Piece of shit, 

Such a pathetic fuckin slut, writing any and every desperate man behind bars you think is hot, hopin you'll get a conjugal visit. Already fucked everyone at surface level ya gotta try prison dick? 

Or is it worst than that?  Mommy and daddy didn't love ya enough? Didn't give ya enough attention so you look for it in anyone that'll give ya the time of day? Prey on those with no one to talk to knowing you'd get a reply out of desperation. 

Lickin knives all ya know sweetheart? Pretty fuckin scummy if ya ask me. 

Fuck off and die, 

Bakugou Katsuki 

Now you've received your fair share of mean and asshole letters but this? This was different. 

This felt personal. 

It was rule number one you'd given yourself when you were asked to start penning letters while in a shitty place yourself. 

And yet here you were breaking it for some asshat who thought the cityscape was his to destroy. 

Heart ringing in your ears as you try to calm yourself, counting your breaths until you finally could see straight. Penning up something simple yet effective telling yourself that even if he didn't reply it didn't matter. 

You drop it into the mail the next day, two weeks later the same guard is slipping another opened letter under Bakugou's cell door. A snarl to his lip, he didn't expect you to reply and if he was being honest he may have forgotten about you, still the envelope was addressed to his inmate number and no longer is his name written in your cute script. 

While you may think you know everything there is to know about life and me, I'd like to point out your position over mine. 

Last I checked I'm not miles and miles in the ground, under heavy security, among other things a civilian wouldn't be privy to. However I will put it into lame man's terms as it seems your cognitive abilities have declined. 

I'm not the one behind bars, asshole. 

Much Hate

Bakugou clicks his tongue, he was used to the insult, wore it proudly most days but he knew his first letter would go one of two ways.

One, you'd cry when you read it and never replied to him again, which was his hope or two there was a very slim chance he'd get under your skin enough you'd feel the innate need to respond and defend yourself. 

Bakugou does what he does best and burrows further under your pretty skin twirling the pen he finds in the library with ease as he takes to writing out a delicious reply. 

Mail from Tartarus normally came on Wednesday or Thursday as if someone at the facility always forgot to send it out at the beginning of the week. So it became a part of your routine to check your PO Box you set up in a prefecture over in order to preserve your safety should something ever go awry with any of your pen pals or to receive online purchases. Mail day used to be a day you looked forward to, something to help you get through the remainder of your work week but today it was a day you dreaded. 

The excitement from seeing the others' responses in the mail is overshadowed by one particular envelope that slips out of the Manila folder that all of the letters to the same correspondent were sent in to save postage. 

You should be reading Touya's letter or hell anyone else's for that matter, yet here you stood, going for that obnoxious scrawl as he still refused to spell out your name and instead gave you some horrible insult. 

Pathetic Slut

If lying to yourself by writing half ass disingenuine letters to prisoners out of pity makes ya feel like yer changing the world then by all fucking means write away sweetheart. 

Just don't be surprised when you get an asshole response from an asshole behind bars. 

Cause we both know that's what you think of all of us don'tchya? 

Die, 

Bakugou Katsuki 

It shouldn't bother you, it shouldn't burrow so deep into your skin that his inky words scratch at your bones. Like his fingers could dig around in the marrow like maggots yet still it makes your cheeks heat. Makes your eyes burn from frustration and lack of blinking as your palms sweat. 

Soles of your feet burning as you walk further into your apartment to rummage through the drawers of your desk.  Uncaring how things topple over as you furiously grab for a permanent marker, pens and books scattering over the hardwood floors. 

Heart pounding as it resounds through your body like metal striking a bell. Each beat faster, harder than the last until you think your vision starts to ehb at the edges from how much hatred burns away at any of the kindness you built up over the last decade. 

Snapping the marker in half by the time you're done writing your final letter to the asshole. 

FUCK 

YOU 

You don't read it, don't care if it makes it past screening and he never sees it at all. Shoving it into one of your personal envelopes on your desk slapping on a floral postage stamp before stomping down to the express box that sat just outside of your apartment complex. 

It takes a full week for you to calm down, another week to stop thinking about it daily, and one more week to even reply to the letters you got almost a month ago. 

An email comes in from the post office, alerting you to something being placed in your box. You hope it's the new sun dress you bought as retail therapy after a long week and an even bigger bottle of booze that you'd drained. Spending quite a pretty penny on something you didn't even really have an occasion to wear it to. 

More like a nice date, the type of dress you could dress up or down depending on what sorts of accessories you paired with it. 

Taking the train three stops past your own to head into the post office. Turning the key to your decent sized box finding within the metal your promised package. 

And on top of that a familiar manila folder with the return address to Tartarus. 

You grit your teeth, holding onto the mail harder than you should as you take those three long stops back home. Swallowing thickly as you climb your steps, the folder and plastic bag package punctured from your sharp nails as you quickly press in your seven digit key code to get into your apartment and out of the sweltering mid August air.

When your door shuts it closed off the sound of the screaming cicadas and the few crickets that lie in the green space beside your apartment as you try to force yourself to follow your nightly routine. 

Remove shoes, take off makeup, eat, shower, sleep. 

But that damn folder was burning a hole into your fingers as you go to your desk, rocking your chair side to side before you just rip it open like you'd rip off a bandaid. 

This time the letter addresses you in a new way. 

Sweetheart, 

I dare you to come say that shit to my face. You fuckin better show up Saturday other wise I'll let your precious Izu and Eiji know just how much of a fake bitch ya really are. Imagine what it would do to them? Break their hearts I'm sure.  

Ya'd hate to mess with their progress wouldn't ya? 

Don't forget to wear something cute, it'd be nice to see some fat tits in my face at the very least. If a shitty woman like you even owns anything relatively sexy.

Fuck off 

Bakugou Katsuki 

You see red, breathing deeply as you re-read the letter again, who the fuck was this asshole? Black mailing you into visiting him so it wouldn't hurt your other correspondents because Bakugou was so fucking selfish. 

So black out angry you don't seem to wake up, not when you put yourself in that sleek summer sun dress that went to your mid thigh, not when you stare at your angry scowl as you apply light make up, and especially not on the hour drive and then two hour ferry ride to Tartarus. Especially not during the twenty minute descent in a cramped elevator box with a guard in front and behind you with AKs clipped to their chests, the sweltering heat seeping down this low in the ground due to body heat and poor ventilation of the prison. 

Not until the buzzer of the barred door in front of you screams its demands, that the handle was "live" and could be opened by the guard standing in the cage between the hallway that led back to freedom and the other where you could already see toxic bromine burning into your skin. 

This was a bad idea. This was a really fucking bad idea.  

You swallow thickly, it was too late to turn back now wasn't it? The door had already swung shut as the guard came closer to you for one final inspection.

"Dress is kinda short." Katsuki can overhear the guard mumble to you, can see how the guard's fingers twitch and for some reason his own do too. He watches how the guard lingers, how the man's hand press against your body and bunches up your dress as he pats you down a little too roughly. How you bite your lip when the man squeezes your ribs and under the weight of your breasts a little too roughly. 

Katsuki is starting to see red, sweat begins to collect on his brow. He hasn't even fully seen you at least not without an obstructed view but already he can tell he likes what he sees. 

Likes how the dress clings to parts of you you'd favor, the parts you want to really highlight. How the hem flusters higher with each step of your strappy flat shoes.

Loves the scowl that pinches up your cute face when the door buzzes to allow you into the room with him and another six guards. Likes how you straighten your spine as if you've gotten fresh resolve when you come in. 

Looking at him like he was trash and he smirks, like how you don't recoil from him despite how he looks now.  

Plexiglass spit guard with metal framing afixed to his face to keep more than his salvia to himself, more so to keep his gnashing teeth away from people's skin. How his throat is encircled with a thick black collar with a red light set far past stun and closer to kill that would send an electric pulse if he misbehaved but only if they could reach their remote fast enough. 

How the silver cuffs around his thick wrists chain him to the table top, thick forearms exposed from him rolling up his bright orange suit that was harsh on the eyes thanks to the flickering fluorescent lighting overhead. Soft ash blonde hair messy at the top with a self given undercut beneath, iris so bloody red it was as if he was born straight from the calf of Ares himself. 

"Hey Sweetheart." He purrs and his voice is pure sin. 

Pure fucking sin. 

Sending a jolt straight to your clit as his pretty lips curl up into a deadly smirk, showing his sharp canines. 

Bakugou can't contain the feeling of triumph that dances in his veins, purposely egging you on in his letter with the closest Saturday knowing you'd be allowed to come on such short notice. See, most visitors needed to have thorough background checks and intensive mental testing before coming to meet anyone in maximum security five hundred meters below sea level. 

But the conniving blonde knew you were special. 

Knew the warden of Tartarus favored you and would allow you to skip these precautions, especially after what that dumbass thinks you've done. In less than a month of writing to him, that damn Deku finally added Inko-san back to his visiting list, actually came to the visit and cupped her hands. Murmuring on and on that her baby boy with the wavy emerald curls was okay. Inko cried and returned every month since.

No different for Kirishima either, adding Fat Gum, who was like a father figure to him during their shared time at UA, to his visitor list. Surprisingly Taishiro came, still comes, him and Inko car pool together. 

Not even a few heartbeats pass between the two of you before you feel your tongue slicing up the sensitive skin of the roof of your mouth. Of the hard bone of your teeth. 

"Fuck. You." The words drip with sticky poison that even one of the guards behind him flinches but not Bakugou. 

No never Bakugou Katsuki, the Ground Zero himself who leveled a city for the fucking fun of it 

He smiles, both sides of his mouth curling up and it should be disturbing how much he obviously gets off on your frustration, on your hate. But it isn't, it's almost mesmerizing how he looks at you. Like you're something to triumph and conquer, something he wants to keep for himself. 

With that you turn to leave, skirt fluttering from the movement and Katsuki can see the tattoo on your upper thigh, the ink making his mouth salivate as he wonders if he can find any more you've got hidden on that fine body. 

He lunges despite the rattling chains that keep him close to the table, still he has enough leeway to grab onto your arm in one giant hand. Foolishly you try to pull free. 

"Oh come on sweetheart. I've got a whole hour of play time for this. Yer not leaving, sit down." 

His grip on you is tight, his hand big enough to engulf half of your forearm and it gets tighter still. Hot palm making your bones creak from the pressure as he smiles up at you cruelly. All you can do is glare down at him, bore all of your hate where the two of you are connected, his skin feels electric against yours. 

"Ya know, I could probably still blow your arm off." He doesn't bother to say it quietly, chuckles when you look at the quirk silencing cuffs and collar he dons, "They ain't shit against strong quirks." 

Your eyes flash, anger spiking your blood and stupidly you strike. Hand stinging as badly as the tears that come to your eyes and threaten to fall past your lash line. Clawed fingers met with the metal framing of the glass spit guard mask that covers his mouth. Still one of your claws cuts his cheeks and he howls with laughter. 

"Like I said-" He yanks you down harshly, playful tone from his voice gone as your ribs smack into the edge of the metal table, puffs of hot breath fogging the glass of his spit guard, "Sit." 

The awkward angle forces your knees to bend, settling on to the cold metal stool while his warm fingers leave blossoms of black and blue on the skin. As if returning the favor for the cut. 

"I can feel your heart pounding princess,yer pussy throbin this hard too?" He licks his lips, laughs when you lean away from him in disgust, "Ya like it. All sluts play hard to get at first." 

Your eyes flicker to the guards behind him, all six pretend not to notice, panic shoots through your veins and the realization of just how bad of a fucking idea this was settles over you harshly. Like ice water flowing from the nape of your neck.  

He follows your gaze, even cranes his head like he didn't know who was behind him and exactly where they stood. 

"Oh them? They ain't gonna do shit. They're too scared of me. Blew a guy's head off last week." He smiles and one of the guards suddenly finds the floor interesting, "Do ya know how drugged up I am right now baby? How much force these cuffs have to use to bring my quirk down to half power?" 

Choosing not to respond you let your eyes fall back on his handsome face watching it snarl as you ignore him. 

Oh he'd make you see him. 

"What cat got yer tongue now ya scared cause I'm so strong? Invincible?" Your eyes narrow as he speaks the arrogance of this man is far beyond your comprehension. 

"You bleed like every other man." He loves the way you speak, how you wield that sharp tongue. How he wants it pressed and slashing over his own as he's two fingers deep into your tight cunt, moaning into his mouth. 

He brings the thick digits of his free hand parting gift you bestowed upon him. The long thin slash as rough pads bring smeared blood into view so he can lick away the dark red beads. 

"Bloody men are usually the most dangerous, you never know if it's his or that of another's." He lets his hot thumb roll over the cut, cauterizing the small wound hoping it scars. 

Eyes widening as he blatantly uses his quirk as if there weren't armed guards behind him. You're watching his eyes closely as he does and finally you realize what he said is true. There is a dullness to them that was lacking in the raw footage you saw all those months ago. 

Then his eyes were vibrant, sharp and slicing, much more intense then the hazy glare he gives you now. It didn't make him any less of an apex predator. 

Still watching you, recording your small movements and committing your soft skin to his memory as he studies you. 

"Got a quirk?" He grunts out after a moment, after he collects whatever information he was looking for, "I wanna guess first. Manipulation?" 

He smirks at his own joke and you roll your eyes, trying to ignore how his thumb swipes at the underside of your forearm idly. How the motion twists your stomach violently with dizzying emotions. 

Rolling your eyes before you scoff an answer, "No. Besides you expect me to manipulate through what? Ink?" 

"Ya never know. Went to school with some asshole whose quirk was comic book sound effects." He leans back never letting go but now his hand is around your wrist. His fingers twitch when he looks at yours, fights the urge to roughly lace them with his own. 

"Well I don't. Manipulate I mean." You adjust in your seat, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny, "And I won't disclose whether I have a quirk or not." 

"Haaah? Worried I'll like it?" When you don't answer he adds, "Is it compatible with mine?" 

Slowly blinking at him trying not to read into what you think he means. He groans at your silence, the higher dosage of his morning meds finally catching up making him a little lethargic. Taking his edge off when all he wants to do is rise over the crashing wave of the pending high he can barely keep at bay and whisk you out of the depths of hell the two of you currently sit in. 

"So then what? You just used regular words to manipulate them?" He fights back a yawn. 

"Who?" Your ribs still ache from his actions earlier, it doesn't warn you like it should. 

"Don't play fuckin stupid, Sweetheart." He's lurching into your space again, hand moving back over your bruise. It makes your stomach clench when it shouldn't, especially not as the chains rattle against the metal table top, serving as a heavy reminder of the setting of this conversation. 

Still his breath comes in quick puffs as it fogs up the glass again, "Shitty hair. Deku." 

Your brows furrow for a moment, another groan from him. 

"For fucks sake." Light squeeze of your arm as he spits their names, "Fuckin nerdy ass Izuku. Eijirou."

"I can't talk about them." Looking away from his darkened eyes that flash with a fury of emotion.

"Who's stoppin ya? Them?" He tilts his head towards the guards, "I told ya-" 

"B-001174, you have five minutes left for visitation." A voice crackled over an old speaker in the visitation cell, "Please remove your hands from the guest or we will apply force." 

The small light on his collar flashes red and he just smirks, looking up, well above your head. Staring directly at the warden like he knows exactly where he stood behind the two way mirror. 

"Yea? You'll apply force? Go ahead. Nothin but a little shock t' me but t' her? She'll die warden." There is no mirth in his smirk, lips twitching as his eyes are shrouded in dark warning, "And we wouldn't want that would we?" 

The way he speaks sends a chill down your spine, the haze of whatever sedative they had him on is now gone and you're left sitting across from those vibrant radioactive eyes. Burning through the mirror to sear the warden's skin in a threat, a promise. 

A buzz rings out as the seventh guard comes in, he scrunches his nose and it makes his oddly shaped mustache twitch. 

"Miss." He grunts holding out his hand for you to take too close in your personal space for your liking. Slapping it out of your face before following your right arm down to where Katsuki held fast. Peeling off his thick digits with your finely manicured claws. 

He hisses at the loss of contact, glaring at the guard when his hands hover close and the older man is smart enough not to antagonize a literal monster. Katsuki stands suddenly, a scream comes from the bolts securing metal to metal as he rips the table out of the ground, unable to break the chains for now. 

Everyone but Bakugou in the room freezes, guns cocked and aimed at the bulking villain who rose to his full height, sticking his prison issued white shoe onto the seat he just sat on to push down roughly. Thick thigh muscles straining against the fabric of the bright orange pants. A smile to his face when the chains finally snap and he can move his hands more freely before ripping off the plexiglass spit guard letting it clink on to the ground. His large hands run through his hair as if to fix it. 

"I'm entitled to a proper fuckin good bye." He hisses at everyone in the room, they keep their guns aimed at him but make no move to pull any trigger. 

Katsuki stalks closer, a wall of muscle, broad chest and shoulders, slim waist that leads down to powerful legs and you try not to let your breath catch in your throat. 

Try not to let the big bad wolf win by letting him know just how scared you were. Over how impressive it was that he snapped reinforced titanium chains so easily. 

He's well within your arms reach now, so close heat radiates from his chest. 

"I'll see ya soon, Sweetheart." He bids you a final goodbye, waving his fingers that pop with burning caramel explosions. You're not sure why it sets you off, maybe it was the way he wore that stupid smirk on his face, maybe it was the way he demonstrated his power or his dominance in an attempt to intimidate you one last time. 

Maybe it's the way he was arrogant enough to think you'd waste six hours round trip on his ass ever again. 

Either way it makes your temper flair, burrows deep into your subdermis to scarpe at your bones one final time before you unknowingly seal your own fate. Not knowing how his body would react to your parting words. 

"There won't be a next time. I came here for one thing and that was to say fuck you." Delivered with just as much clotting venom as it was before, middle finger held high.

His smirk turns deadly, blowing out a snort as he leans closer as if to share a secret. You can smell the cheap commissary soap that clings to his skin that's starting to lose out to the rapidly building nimbus of smoking caramel that clouds the air as his lips press to your ear.  

"Don't have t'. I'll come to you." He pulls back and winks as you're guided out of the room, glare fixed on him as he stands unbothered. 

He's lying, prisoners lie all the time especially if they think they can get the upper hand. He couldn't come to you. He couldn't escape prison for starters and lastly there was no way in hell he'd ever find out where you lived.  The prison made sure of that by always including a fresh envelope with their own return address in the top left corner, you should know. You only triple checked each time you sealed away the letter, even a fourth time at the post box staring down at the address on the envelope making sure both were correct.

So fuck Bakugou Katsuki for being a dirty liar, fucking hypocrite.

Shoving yourself into an oversized shirt after your body shower you finally get to plop down into bed. Relishing the feel of fresh sheets and blankets as you sigh deeply. It had been a long, long day and no amount of self care could get his toxic blood red eyes out of your head.

Switching on the TV to pull up some show to numb your mind with familiarity when the channel cuts out. Breaking news flashing across the screen makes your body go rigid. 

A prison break from Tartarus has occurred in the late evening hours, several high profile villains are believed to have escaped such as Shigaraki Tomura, Todoroki Touya, aka Dabi, Kirishima Eijirou aka Blood Riot,  Midoriya Izuku aka Deku and Bakugou Katsuki better known as Ground Zero. Please do not approach suspected escapees, please report any suspicious person or activities immediately. Most importantly keep all doors and windows locked at all times. I repeat do not engage with the inmates. 

A knock comes from your left, making you jump out of your skin as you fist the sheets. A cold sweat breaking out over your skin in goose flesh as your hearing rings in your ears. Unable to bring yourself to look at the sliding glass door to your balcony just yet as if you could ignore it and the cause of the sound would simply go away.

Another rapt of knuckles pulls your attention once more before you finally dare to peek to see glowing red eyes peering in. The devil himself at your door and you knew better than to let him in. 

Knew better that a locked door couldn't keep him out. 

Bromine burning in the night like ever fanned flames, orange jumpsuit obnoxiously out of place against the night sky, stained in deep burgundy red and ash grays, the same colors streaking his face before he knocks again. But this time it's in warning, hard enough to rattle the door that you both know he could rip off the track with ease.

"How- how did you?" Teeth chattering that you grit closed still refusing to give in to his tactics until he presses a small envelope against the glass. Your personal envelope with your real home address listed for return. 

Panic bubbles up your throat in a scream that dies at the back of your teeth as you sit frozen a minute longer while he gives a predatory grin, large hands pressing against the glass before his palms glow bright orange. Brighter than his jumpsuit before the glass shatters and your scream finally escapes your lungs. 

In an instant he's towering over you, palms pressing into biting shards as he cages you against the plush comforter dipping his head low so he can nose at your throat, hot palm at your ribs. Leave a searing bite pulling a strangled yelp from your soft lips that makes him laugh before his mouth is at your ear for the second time today. Finally speaking dangerously low.

"Told ya I'd see ya soon, Sweetheart."

you read off the board, “is dynamight… a hero?”

you giggle and bakugou leans forward to read it again. “what dumb BLEEP-ing question is that? no, i’m a villain.”

you nod, “yeah he’s the number one villain.”

bakugou licks across his teeth, “you’d love it if i was.”

“we’re not doing this again!”

“is dynamight… number one?”

to that you pull out your phone, “has this months chart come out?”

he’s always between one or two, fighting with deku for the spot and if todoroki’s had a good month, he might drop to three. that’s only happened twice within his many years.

bakugou grins at you, “what do you think it is without lookin’?”

you purse your lips in thought, “one? you did save that cat from the tree.”

bakugou grunts, “you’re not gonna let go of that are you?”

“why was it so adorable then?” you make a noise of exclamation, “aha i was right, number one!”

you show your phone to the camera, glowing dynamight as number one for the official hero ranking.

bakugou shrugs like it’s normal which to him, it is.

“is dynamight… married to yn?” you flicker your eyes up to the ruby ones beside you, “i dunno dynamight am i?”

“we are in a long term committed official serious exclusive lovin’ relationship,” he lists, more emphasis on every word.

you raise your eyebrows, “you didn’t even answer the question?”

he grumbles under his breath before swinging his hands in the air, “no we’re not married but that’s not my fault. you said you don’t wanna be married yet!”

you laugh, “that’s true. so yeah he’s just my boyfriend. one foot out of line from him and he’s gone.”

“just?” he juts a thumb towards your body, “she’s gonna be the one beggin’ me to marry her.”

“you’d never let me propose to you.”

bakugou huffs, “damn right.”

“is dynamight… on steroids?”

bakugou gasps, leaning forward to read the board correctly. “no fuckin’ way, that one’s there ‘cause of you! you actually had people googlin’ that BLEEP.”

you scratch your arm sheepishly, “i might have joked, emphasis on joked, that katsuki’s so big because he takes ‘roids in that vogue interview…. which obviously isn’t true.”

big crossed muscled arms look back at you. “obviously?” he mimics.

“obviously!”

bakugou shakes his head, biting his cheek to stop his smile from spreading at your face. he takes on a more serious posture, large hands at his knees to speak to the camera.

“in summary, i basically live off protein and meat. a cookie randomly when she makes them.” he cocks his head to you and you smile at the camera, “then mostly focus on my arms to hold my gauntlets and then lots of cardio for stamina, then weights for strength. but mostly my workouts are in quirk training practice too which is specific to me, so it depends on you.”

“was that even helpful?” you say with a frown and bakugou pushes your chair away with his foot, causing a loud screech across the ground. you’re now 90 degrees away from the camera, so you twist around to glare at your boyfriend.

“hey!”

the first one is easy but it’s what you want to hear. you already know the answer, you’re sure the whole world does since this isn’t something he keeps a secret.

“do you love me?”

bakugou grins at you. you’re holding a clip board, eyes bright at excitement towards him and he soaks it all up.

“no. not at all,” he says. he sort of regrets it right after because he sees a hint of disappointment behind your eyes. it’s not like he tells you daily and you’ve been together for a year now.

john, the lie detector guy shakes his head behind you. “he’s lying. a lot. his heart rate is high.”

bakugou flexes his fingers, looking down at them, “just checkin’ this shit works.”

you kick his foot, “don’t lie about that!”

bakugou drops his head onto his shoulder, slow smirk, “you know i love you though?”

a rare bakugou katsuki for the viewers. even the crew is leaning in to know more.

you’re all overwhelmed by his attention, whispering a tiny, “shut up.” then, “@dynamiteforever212, dynamite spelt the right way, asks who do you prefer? deku or yn.”

bakugou scoffs, “obviously you. you’re both annoyin’ though, especially together.”

you fake a gasp, hand to your mouth, “you’re jealous of our beautiful friendship.”

“yeah, no. i think i have more benefits with you than he does.”

you chuckle, “you’re so annoying. next question, @virtualizated asks would you be okay waxing my ass hair?”

bakugou breathes out heavy through his nose, not expecting that question. “no. you should keep it.”

you cover your grin with your mouth, “you’re so silly.”

john speaks, “erm, answer is inconclusive.”

you turn back to katsuki, “you’re lying?”

bakugou shakes his head, “yes i would wax your ass. yes you should keep it.”

“you’re nasty.”

“just for you,” he grins and you roll your eyes.

“he’s telling the truth.”

“do you genuinely think you love me more than i love you?”

bakugou scoffs. this is a conversation you have a lot in your relationship. a cute ‘love you’ ‘love you more’ exchange gone wrong. he knows what the truth is and you’re wrong.

“yeah i do. i do. you don’t get it.”

“he’s telling the truth.”

“see it’s true, i do.”

you frown, “no that just means your head’s so big you think you’re right.” you look at the cameras, pointing at bakugou with your thumb, “i love him more.”

he stares down the camera lens, “she’s wrong. i do.”

“we aren’t doing this again.”

“you brought it up baby.”

“just checking you’re still delusional.”

“sure i am.”

you flick through your cards, “@moominsuki asks, do you think i’m more attractive than you?”

bakugou rolls his eyes. these questions feel obvious, don’t the viewers have eyes?

“of fuckin’ course you are. you seen her? you seen yourself?” he points at you, “i pray to whoever’s up there daily that you keep me around another day.”

your smile fights it’s way onto your cheeks and you feel your body getting warm from his attention.

“he’s telling the truth.”

“you say that like you aren’t completely gorgeous.”

“but babe, we’re not the same. i know i’m not ugly but you’re actually different.”

you bite down on your lip before letting go. he tells you this at home but having an audience to this conversation makes you shy. “good different?”

he nods and there’s no room for you to disagree, “miles away from me. good different.”

you both stare each other for a few seconds, him looking longingly, a tilt of his cheek while you can’t stop fidgeting. you look away abruptly, “okay, n-next question!”

“have you been jealous of anyone recently?”

this time bakugou isn’t as quick to answer so already you know the answer.

he groans, throwing his head back but not being able to move from being strapped in the chair. “how are you askin’ me questions you already know the answer to?”

“because when i asked you before, you denied it.”

bakugou tongues the inside of his cheek. looking at you then away. he’s sexy when he’s stubborn. tense jaw, intriguing frown. even his muscles bulge when he crosses his arm across his chest.

“yes i have been.”

you smirk, “when?”

“oi, let’s wait for john to answer.”

you roll your eyes, “john?”

“he’s telling the truth.”

bakugou grunts, “fucker.”

you laugh, “okay when?”

“i’m sure you’re not even allowed this many questions,” he mutters but he still gives in anyway, “when we had that dumb hero event and that guy started flirtin’ with you.”

you roll your lips in your mouth, loving the entertainment, “why were you jealous when you know i love you?”

bakugou blushes, red flushing his neck and the apples of his cheeks. “i am not admitting this in front of the cameras.” he jolts his head to them and you watch all the crew studying you both, eager for an answer.

you cross your arms, “fine.”

“dynamight, could you? just for editing sake?” a staff member chips in and you do too, “come on dynamight!”

he huffs, closing his eyes before opening them, “he looked similar to your ex boyfriend, who i look nothing alike.”

you pout, rubbing your hand across his thigh, “and you know i love you, that’s an irrational thought and—,”

“you’ll always choose me. yeah i know. you all happy now?”

“I think you’re the one that likes making me hard, sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes at his crass humour as his lips curled into a smug grin, “So spread your legs.”

Bakugou’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he watched the way your cute skirt rose further up your thighs as you obeyed, revealing your plain cotton panties to his debauched gaze.

“Good girl.” He growled. You were always so obedient, so easy. The way you were ready and willing to do anything for him at the blink of an eye.

But you needed this too, especially after the day you’d had. You deserved it, and Bakugou was more than willing to give it to you.

“Been thinkin’ about this all damn day,” He groaned, “I shoulda called you into my office earlier.”

“I really need to use the bathroom first, Katsuki.” You mumbled.

A request which fell upon deaf ears as Bakugou settled himself between your plush thighs, broad arms shouldering them further apart as he nuzzled your clothed crotch. Breathing in the scent of you as you involuntarily bucked your hips into his touch, your core throbbing with desire and need.

“So pretty,” He hums, ignoring your request as he places a chaste kiss on your sensitive clit through the fabric, grinning when your body jolts in response, “You been waiting for me all day?”

“Shit,” You whined, hands blindly reaching out for his messy mop of hair as he began to lap at your folds through the thin material. Watching it darken from a mixture of your slick and his spit as your pelvis began to tighten. Trying to chase the pleasure he was giving you and ignore the dull throb that pulsed inside you, desperate for relief, “Katsuki, I really have to pee first.”

You could coax him to the bathrooms, let him pound you over the sinks as he’d done so many times before after you’d given yourself the relief you were craving. Being sat autonomously at your desk for so many hours as you tried to repair the mess that Dynamight had created, you’d lost track of time and basic human needs. His warm hands smoothing along your inner thighs reminded you of just how desperately you needed to go.

If Bakugou heard your pleas, he chose to ignore them. Palming himself through his slacks as he lapped at your sensitive clit through your panties.

You were certain you wouldn’t be able to hang on for much longer, trying to close your thighs around his head in a feeble attempt to hold yourself back for a little longer— to stop yourself from humiliating yourself in front of your boss.

Bakugou’s fingers curled beneath the fabric as he pulled them down your thighs, leaving them settled around one of your ankles as he spread you apart with his thumbs.

“Kats,” You groaned, your cunt clenched from the throb in your pelvis, “Please.”

“Ain’t no one stopping you, sweetheart.” He rasped, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against your puffy clit.

The contact with your bare cunt had your hips jerking, throwing your head back against the headrest as you felt your pelvis throb. All conscious thoughts swirling from your mind as you finally allowed yourself to relax and succumb to the desire. The euphoria almost mind-numbing as a warm stream began to trickle from between your thighs.

“Oh fuck, baby. That’s it—” Bakugou groaned as he watched through half-lidded eyes. His cock throbbing beneath his slacks as he watched you relieve yourself in front of him, “So pretty.”

Bakugou smoothed his thumb along your slit, following the warm stream as your hole clenched around nothing from the contact. Embarrassment had your heart pounding in your chest as your eyes clenched shut, your hands gripping onto the arms of your chair as you tried to close your thighs.

“Don’t,” Bakugou snarled, slapping your cunt as the wet sound echoed around the empty Office. You gasped at the contact as your eyes snapped open, “Look at me.”

The painful throb was now replaced with white hot bliss that coursed through your veins as your eyes rolled back, your lips parted in a desperate whine as he pulled back to watch you with his intense crimson gaze.

“Oh fuck,” You bit down on your lower lip hard as you emptied your bladder, finally beginning to feel your body relax as the intense throb from your clit took over. Desperate for any kind of contact as you rolled your hips into Bakugou’s touch.

When Gojo first introduces himself to you, you’re the definition of unimpressed. He’s all pretty white smiles and even whiter hair, shining blue eyes with a knack of typically getting anyone he wanted. It’s why he took such a liking to you and your indifference to him, his status, his charms. 

So, you’re still not sure how you ended up dating him after almost a year of pursuing you. You’re stubborn, you can admit, but also weak for the idiot that is Gojo Satoru. He’s still as annoying as he was when you first met him, but there’s something about him now, that has captivated you. Maybe it was his persistence, or his wits, or the never ending love that spilled from between his ribcage whenever he was near you. 

Either way, you find yourself tied to his hip most days. Even though your majors in college are different, you’re still together more than people expected. Despite living together, being around the other is a necessity, a need, akin to each breath you exhale that he inhales into his own greedy mouth. You have your first class and he meets you for a quick break before his second; you have the whole afternoon off on Wednesday’s and you wait for him at the campus cafe you first met at; you want to stay home to study and he drags you off to a night with his friends. 

You don’t think that he can live without you. Not necessarily in the sense of being a man child and being unable to provide for himself, no. Gojo Satoru could do whatever he wanted, and did, long before you two had met. But, you think its a certain codependency that starts cracking at the perfect mirror that is your relationship. 

“Don’t you wanna be a stay at home wife after you graduate?” Satoru whispers in your ear, his mouth pecking your flesh as he hugs you tight to his chest. You’re on your couch, thighs split open to accommodate the thickness of him, his legs and his cock carving its way inside of you. The way your breath hitches doesn’t go unnoticed by the blue eyed man, but he can’t pinpoint if its from his words or the way he slowly pushes his hips upward until his tip nudges that sweet spot inside you 

“What are you talking about, ‘Toru?” You ask shakily, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck, burying your face in his skin. But Gojo doesn’t let you escape, instead pries you away from his body until you’re forced to lean back on his knees. He likes this view the most, when you’re vulnerable, when he gauges you with things he knows will require complete honesty, that its harder to hide from him like this. 

“You heard me,” Satoru grins, nodding his head toward you. He holds your waist in too big hands, drinking you with all too knowing eyes, grin too wide to be anything else but devious. “Didn’t you tell me you wanted to be a stay at home wife before?”

“I never s-said that,” you whisper back, eyes fluttering shut when he starts using your body to fuck his cock. He fills you up in a familiar way, a way that you know you’ll always come home to, even when you get that sinking feeling that you should run. Gojo pouts at you, leaning his head back on the couch until all you see is his stare down the bridge of his nose, his Adams apple bobbing when he swallows down a moan. 

“Didn’t you?” Satoru questions, grin widening when he thrusts a little harder than you expect, feeling you clamp down tighter around him. You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut before they flutter open to glare at him, rolling your hips to get some friction on your neglected clit. 

“Stop it, ‘Toru, you always do this.” You groan under your breath, leaning your own head back to rest between your shoulders. 

The few hiccups you had in your relationship with Satoru always centered around his…cockiness, knowing he could get anything he wanted. While it was both a factor that helped you into this relationship with him, it also chips away at your love for him everyday. It’s nothing wrong with being ambitious, of knowing what you want. But its something completely different when that want goes against what your partner is saying isn’t okay with them. 

He’s done this before, with little trivial things. Don’t you love this kind of ramen? Even though he knew you had an aversion to spicier foods. Don’t you want to change your major to this instead? Even though you were sure and loved the major you had before. Don’t you want to change for me? Erase your identity for me? Become one symbiotic being fused into me? Don’t you want to live in my skin, as I want to with yours? Don’t you love me? 

“I do not,” Gojo huffs, leaning forward to grip your head on both sides, leveling your glare with his own relaxed one. “You just have so much going on in that pretty little head of yours, that you forget things sometimes.”

“I think I would remember saying I wanted to waste away all the years I worked my ass off for college, just to stay at home and be up under you everyday.” You snip back, losing your concentration for your impending orgasm, growing more and more frustrated as he keeps yapping his stupid mouth. Gojo must sense this though, as his hands slither down to your hips, holding you still as he fucks up into you hard enough that you cry out and topple over into his chest. 

“That doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea to me,” Satoru grunts out, holding you close as he keeps snapping his hips into you. It’s like something within him has changed in just a split second; like you speaking the words aloud have rung true in his mind. It should scare you, that he’s not paying attention to the sarcasm in your voice, nor your disdain for the idea itself. But, he doesn’t stop snapping his hips until you cry out and shake in his lap, cunt clenching down around him sporadically as you mewl into his skin. 

“I like the idea of coming home to you,” he grunts in between breaths, still using your hole even though you whine to him about sensitivity. “With a big rock on your finger, all domestic, waiting and dependent on me.” 

He whispers the last part, squeezing you to him even tighter before you feel him shoot ropes of cum inside of you. Its warm—and always familiar—making you sigh as you slump into him even more. You let him finish before hearing him let out a final low grunt, pulling you into him until your head is tucked under his chin. You sit there in silence, feeling him still throbbing inside of you, and you think he must still be having those stay at home wife fantasies. You want to put an end to them immediately, so you speak up in the quietness of the room,

“Don’t get stuck in your head thinking your fantasy will become reality, Satoru.” You remind him, pinching his side where your arms rest. You can hear his smile in his voice when he speaks, wrapping long arms tight around you, so tight you fear you may never escape. 

“It always does.” He singsongs, pecking the crown of your head before resting his cheek on top of it. You frown, going to pull away, but he holds you so tight, that your breath momentarily escapes you. 

“Well, not this time.” You mumble, feeling the tiredness of a long week start to overtake you. Gojo doesn’t say anything for a long time until he’s sure you’re sleep, whispering into the air, 

“We’ll see about that.” 

…

You’re surprised that Gojo is surprised when you break up with him. You thought he would’ve been able to see it coming, especially since you had started pulling away in your last few weeks together. Instead of spending damn near every moment together, suddenly you were always busy with something else; you couldn’t go to the cafe, couldn’t sneak into empty hallways between classes, couldn’t come to the parties his friends would throw. 

He thought he could pull you into him more during these moments, discuss things he knew you loved, dropped subjects he knew would push you away. But it was too late for any of that—you were checked out of this relationship before your mouth could even form the words. 

“You don’t mean that.” Gojo mutters under his breath, the fringe of his hair blocking his vision as his head hangs low between his shoulders. He sits on that same couch where he tried to convince you that his dream of you dropping everything to become a stay at home wife was your idea. The thought makes your stomach churn—he’s always done this to you. Always planted ideas in your head that you knew weren’t true, but if Satoru said it, then there must be some sort of truthfulness in it, right? 

“I do.” You say firmly, back straight where you stand in front of his hunched over form on the couch. Your body is poised to run in case he does something unhinged, and you’re sure he won’t, but you refuse to take any chances. He gets quiet for a long while, before croaking out a quiet,

“Why? What did I do?” You could scoff. What did he do? What didn’t he fucking do to you to drive you to this point? 

What was the driving force to disconnecting from him? You wonder if it was the codependency that he forced upon you, like he couldn’t live without you? If it was the constant messages of your whereabouts that shredded you thin, when you weren’t around him, when you tried to be independent? Was it the clinginess? The feeling of his skin glued to yours all the time, the feeling of being trapped in his shadow? Was it the overbearing love, the struggle to breathe on your own? Was it all of it? But instead of expressing any of this, all you can spit out is a meekly excuse,

“I just don’t think we’re meant to be together.” You whisper, suddenly ashamed at your cowardice. You had a whole speech prepared on how you would break up with him, how you’d point out his flaws, his incapacity to love you as a person and not as a possession. But you swallow it all down, afraid too much will come back up, that you’ll ruin the front of your clothes with your verbal bile that he won’t be able to clean like he used to anymore. 

“That’s it, huh?” Satoru asks you quietly, craning his neck slightly so that a glowing blue eye can peek through his fringe. It unnerves you more than it should, and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand with every passing second. He knows there’s more to it, more that you refuse to say, but honestly, you’re not sure if its worth it anymore. You just want to leave. 

“That’s it.” You nod, finality barely lacing your tone, as you still stand on shaky grounds. You clear your throat and look around the apartment, wringing your hands together as Gojo continues to watch you. 

“I’ll, uh, get my clothes and stuff tomorrow. You can keep everything else.” You tell him, avoiding his gaze as your eyes dart over to the front door. You wonder, if he chases you, will you be able to make it out alive? 

“Where are you going to live?” He asks you, finally lifting his upper body so that he sits up on the couch, his hands folded neatly in his lap. You don’t think he’s taken his eyes off of you yet. 

“Me and a friend found an apartment not too far from campus.” You don’t want to disclose too much information, afraid he would find you and pretend that you guys never broke up. Pretend that everything is okay, and be glued right back to your flank as if nothing had ever happened. Or maybe you just think the worst of him, you conclude, when Gojo smiles at you. It’s not as unsettling as you would think, more on the side of acceptance, but it baffles you all the same. 

He unfurls himself from the couch, standing too tall, too broad, too intimidating, despite the fact that he curls in a little to keep you from being scared. He opens his arms to you, and you try not to stare at the bulging muscles beneath his black tee, muscles that are all too familiar and call your name to come running back home. 

“Well, okay then.” Gojo finally speaks after what feels like hours. “I wish you the best.” His voice sounds all too genuine, all too sweet and convincing. 

He’s taking this…well? Gojo, who wouldn’t let you breathe in your own breaths without his mouth being pressed right against yours? Whose heart slowed to the rhythm of your own to always be in sync? Who would hold you close every night, almost as if in fear that you would escape in the night and leave him stranded? He’s…alright with you breaking up with him?

Like you’re under a spell, your feet move heavily until they fit perfectly between his own spread ones, arms coming up to his sides until he embraces you tightly. He’s warm, always is, and smells so familiar that you feel your own heart ache knowing that his scent will become a haunting memory instead of the comfort of home. He wraps you up in him until his arms squeeze your shoulders and your face is buried into his chest. 

You don’t realize that you’re crying until he kisses the top of your head, shushing you to stop your hiccuping sobs as you cling to his shirt. Why are you crying? This was your decision after all. But why does him accepting your breakup hurt more? Why didn’t he fight for you? He would always fight for you. 

“Okay, I have a lecture in about twenty minutes.” Gojo tells you, a signal to pull away, and you do, but it hurts more than it really should. You wipe your face with your sleeve, avoiding his eyes as he holds you back by the shoulders, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. 

“I’ll always love you, you know that?” He tells you, eyes searching your face. You swallow down a hiccup, scrubbing at your eyes petulantly as you nod a few times. 

“I hope you have a successful life.” You can almost hear him tacking on a quiet without me, but he only smiles at you again before pecking your forehead one last time. After that, he squeezes your shoulders before he lets you go, turning on his heel as he starts gathering a few things. He’s at the door in what feels like seconds, his broad back facing you, feeling you staring at him. He turns his neck until his eye catches your own, winking at you once before opening the door and walking out. 

It’s the last time you see Gojo for a while, and it makes you feel emptier than you care to admit. 

…

As time goes on, you start to get better. Things get a little easier to deal with, you start gaining more independence while living with your friend, start going out more, getting better grades. You never thought that you were necessarily a terrible match with Satoru, but you think in certain aspects that he held you back more than you ever recognized in those moments. 

But, overall, everything is going fine. Well, mainly everything, save for your love life. 

You wanted to take a break from dating after being in your relationship with Gojo for over a year, but its been eight months since you split, and you don’t see yourself getting with anyone else in the meantime. You’re in your last year of college, so you’re hoping for some kind of hookup before you graduate, but it feels like something else is off. Like the people around you avoid you when you’re near if they aren’t already yours friends, like they’re hesitant to be near you without setting clear boundaries that they’re not interested in you at all. 

You chalk it up to your past with Gojo, as most people knew you were together. Maybe they’re scared of pissing him off and getting with his ex. You’ve heard rumors from people that he thinks you’ll get back together soon, but you’re not sure if these words actually came from him, or if people just like to gossip. Either way, you try to let it roll off of your back, and put yourself out there to people who don’t go to your school. 

Which still ends up being a dud. You think you just might be cursed, or something. You can’t even get laid with a random hookup! You’re sure its Gojo doing something to make everyone lay off of you, but you also haven’t spoken to him since the breakup, so you’re not sure if confronting him about it is a great idea. 

Except, the choice is taken from you when you find yourself in the cafe that you first met him in, and he’s there too. You hadn’t noticed him, if he was already there when you came, or if he slithered in after you, but he’s there. Sitting diagonal from your booth, facing you, hands under his chin as he yaps away to his friend, Suguru. You remember the guy well, although you were never too close with him, and he seems intrigued with whatever Gojo is blabbering on about, which is typically unusual. 

Your eyes quickly flit back over to your laptop screen where you text who you’re sure will be another unsaved contact from a dating app, pretending to not see the white haired man. But luck hasn’t been on your side in a while, as you can see him perk up from the corner of your eye as his whole body turns to you, his conversation abruptly cutting off. He calls your name once and you pretend not to hear him, but then he’s standing and making his way over to you, and you fear you can’t avoid him any longer. 

“Long time no see.” Gojo greets you, standing over your table with too big a grin. You act surprised at the sight of him, gasping a little before raising your eyebrows, fingers slowing in their typing until they stop. 

“Hey, its been a while, hasn’t it?” You ask, even though you know, and you’re sure he knows too, that you’ve been avoiding him as much as humanly possible. But Gojo only smiles wider at you, cocking his head to the side as he takes you in shamelessly, and you do the same. 

He looks…bigger, than he did before, his shoulders broader, his physique just a little wider than you remember. He looks more relaxed than you think he would be, after you unceremoniously breaking up with him, and then actively avoiding him for almost an entire year after that. He looks…good. 

“May I?” Gojo asks, referring to the seat in the booth across from you. You stutter for a second, wondering if you should allow him back in, even if its in the tiniest amount. You did last time, in this same cafe, and ended up with him glued to your very being. You don’t know if you’re strong enough to unstick him another time. But you swallow and force a smile, nodding once to the empty space in front of you. 

“Sure,” you mumble, trying to quickly shut out the dating app on your laptop, exiting out of the messages without looking too obvious. But its like Gojo always knows when something is up, and he rests his chin in his hand as the other taps at the table, too loud in the quiet cafe. 

“Meet anyone new yet?” He asks, making your eyes shoot up to his own guiltily. But he smiles that easygoing smile at you, making you suck in a deep breath as you finally calm enough to close out the app. 

“No luck in that department yet. Not sure if its an unfortunate thing, though.” You hum, eyes flittering up to his own that are covered by his infamous circled glasses. He never really wore them when he was around you, and you feel weird by the sudden melancholy that overtakes you at the thought. You’ve grown without me, Satoru, you don’t treat me the same anymore. I thought you always would. 

“Me neither, but I don’t think its unfortunate.” He tells you, tilting his head a little to the side as he huffs out a humorless laugh. You want to ask him what he means by that, but you’re afraid of the answer. Thankfully, he speaks before you find out what his statement really meant. 

“How were you grades last semester? Did you end up passing that dick professor’s class?” Gojo asks softly, all of his attention on you, makes you feel a little overwhelmed, and all too familiar. But if its a negative thing, you can’t really figure it out. You didn’t like the constant attention, the clinginess and dependency, but there was something about someone so devoted to you. Someone who looked at you like you molded lighting bolts in hand and struck down soft soil to create the earth. Someone who looked at you like you held the secrets of their life behind your teeth, like some prophet one could only wish to get close to. 

“I passed. Barely.” You mumble, smiling a little when Gojo celebrates with a clap and a small cheer, making Suguru turn around slightly to catch the commotion. He calms when he sees you sink in on yourself in embarrassment, smiling at you all the while with a look too familiar. That goes on for what feels like hours, like the entire world has sunken away, drowned out into a blurry nothingness as your background. 

Here, its just you and Satoru. Here, there are no issues or problems in your relationship. Here, you love him and he loves you and that is enough. Here, your love for him conquers all doubt and fear. Here, your love is perfect. 

The spell is broken suddenly when Gojo leans back in the booth, stretching a little. You feel the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding come flooding back to you, making you slump over a little in your seat. A ding from your computer signals suddenly, making your eyes dart over to the notification. Its from the dating app, the guy you were just texting suddenly telling you that he can’t make it to your date tonight, but that he’d love to see you after midnight at his place. 

You deflate, and Gojo is far too perceptive. He clears his throat once, making your eyes snap back over to him in surprise, and then quickly guilt. But why do you feel so guilty? You’re single, you broke up with him. But its something about the way his mouth twitches at the corner, that makes shame sink deep into the pit of your belly. 

“I’ll see you around,” Gojo says lowly, tipping his head at you and standing before you can get a word out. Your mouth opens and closes a few times, before managing to spit something out, 

“And I’ll—I’ll see you!” You cringe the moment the words leave your mouth. But Gojo only gives you a half smile, reaching out to rub gently at the crown of your head, an act he would always do whenever you did something he was quite fond of. You guess things never really change. 

…

Your roommate had convinced you to go to a party with her, one to celebrate the end of your fall semester. You were reluctant at first, but after the umpteenth rejection, you decide your ego needs some kind of boost. Since it was a little colder, you dressed warm, but still adorned something that you hope would draw more eyes to your form. 

When you get there, the party is in full swing. There’s a loud bass playing somewhere in the house, people littering the dance floor, cups of mysterious juice being passed around to everyone who enters. As you make your way inside, you quickly lose sight of your friend, and it doesn’t bother you as it usually would. 

Tonight, you’re on the hunt for someone new—someone not Gojo. But, you think you might’ve personally pissed off a deity or something, because of fucking course, he’s there at the party. Sitting on a couch between his friends with his too long limbs and dark glasses despite it damn near being pitch black in the house, save for some colorful lighting strobing across the walls. 

You catch his face, a stream of a soft baby blue gracing his features, at the same time his head turns in your direction. Even though you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s looking at you. You can always tell when he is. And he smiles a little smile, tipping his head and his cup to you, and awkwardly, you do the same back before stiffly turning on your heels to head for the kitchen. 

It’s just as stuffy in there as the rest of the house, but there is a little more breathing room. You take a second to catch your breath, mumbling a quick apology to whatever deity you pissed off, before grabbing a cup. 

“Hey, can you pour me some too?” A voice rings out from beside you, making you perk up in surprise. You look over and find a pretty handsome guy beside you, smiling and offering a red solo cup in your direction. He smiles when you look at him, and you smile back with a nod. 

“Of course. Tell me when,” you say over the loud music, filling up his cup and laughing when a little spills over because the guy is too busy looking at you. He chuckles under his breath, grabbing a few napkins to wipe up the mess as he stands there watching you pour your own drink. 

“I don’t usually fumble this bad, you know.” The guy tells you, pretty smile beaming as you look at him from over your cup, mirth shining in your eyes. You cock an eyebrow at him, resting your hip against the counter. 

“Oh, really?” You tease, to which he nods quickly. “So I just make you nervous then, huh?” You grin, to which he grins back cheekily, shrugging a little as he forgoes an answer to take a swig of his drink. Conversation with the guy goes smoothly for a few minutes, before he suddenly turns stone still, looking over your shoulders. You cock an eyebrow, repeating your previous question, before turning to see what’s captured his attention. You don’t see anybody, and when you go to ask him what’s wrong, you discover that he’s already disappeared into the crowd. 

The rest of the night goes eerily like this, like there’s some bad omen just lingering above your head, like there’s some warning sign strapped to your chest telling people to stay far away. Every conversation that you start with someone ends up the same; a look over your shoulder, before turning pale, and scurrying away with some excuse about having to be somewhere else. 

By the end of the night, you have to bite back tears in the bathroom as you stare yourself down in the mirror. Is it your clothes? Your breath? Your makeup? What the fuck is driving everyone away from you like some walking disease?

The answer to your question pops up in front of you the moment you swing the bathroom door open. Gojo stands in the doorway, entirely too tall, entirely too broad, entirely too handsome. Maybe its the few drinks you’ve downed in the past couple minutes, but the alcohol in your belly is pulling you home. 

“I saw you come up here, and you looked upset, so I just wanted to check on you.” Gojo tells you under the muted bass of the music downstairs. He looks so sincere, his glasses pushed down to the perkiness of his nose, looking at you with a gaze so intense, you feel your legs tremble. 

“I know we broke up a while ago, but I still care for your well being, you know that right?” He professes, reaching a hand out to wipe away a stray tear you hadn’t caught. You try not to lean into his palm when his hand lingers, and he’s gone too fast for your liking. 

You stare up at him all the while, silent, taking him in. It’s been so long since you’ve got to look at him, really look at him, and take every part of him in. When you look at him, you don’t see the dependency or the whining or the frustration when you became too independent. 

No, you see the Satoru that loved you, that put you to bed on nights when you put your physical health after your studies. The Satoru that celebrated your accomplishments every opportunity that he had, who encouraged you to do more, try harder, be your best self. You see the Satoru that always offered companionship, even on days when things were too hard for him to handle himself. You see the company that always stayed beside you, the familiarity of him, his smell, his pretty blue eyes, his chest that welcomed your tears and your snot and every cry you’ve ever had. 

Without a word, you fall into his chest, arms still limp at your sides. You catch him off guard a little, feeling him stumble back once before he braces himself, bringing his arms to wrap around your whole body. He squeezes you tight to him, rubbing the back of your head as you hiccup little cries into his shirt, clutching the fabric of his sweatpants tight in your trembling hands. 

He stands there and lets you get all of your emotions out until you finally slow, still rubbing a comforting hand over your head and down your flank. When your hiccups have longer and longer intervals, is when he finally pulls you back by your shoulders. The position is all too familiar, makes you have flashbacks to that day where you changed the course of both of your lives. Gojo squeezes your shoulders when he sees your bottom lip tremble, and he can’t help but pout back amusedly at your watery eyes. 

“You wanna get out of here, and go back home?” He asks you, leaning down a little so that his face is so close to yours. You can see the different specks of blue in his irises, watch how his nose crinkles a little when you hiccup again and nod slowly, how his mouth curves into a smirk when you wipe at your face with the backs of your hands. 

“Okay, let’s go then.” He says softly, unable to resist leaning forward to peck at your forehead. Your eyes close at the contact, feeling yourself melt back into the person you were a year ago, melded into Gojo, and always finding yourself going back home with him. 

…

Everything feels all too familiar, at the moment. You ride in Gojo’s sleek black car late in the night, the windows rolled down and music that you both hate playing too loudly on the speakers. The only thing different, is that you’re still teary, and he’s quiet. 

“I’m really sorry, you know?” You mutter, still wiping away the tears as they flow freely, now you think because of the alcohol. You wish you would’ve been able to have this conversation a little more sober, but its too late now. You just babble on and on while Gojo listens, one hand on the wheel and the other resting in his lap. 

“I just felt so overwhelmed in our relationship, like I wasn’t myself anymore. And I can’t blame you, like, I have to take some accountability for not doing more to maintain my identity in order to appease you. But I just—I just lost who I was and I just needed a break, but I don’t want space from you anymore.” You rattle on, too afraid to look over at him, scared his jaw would be ticking and his mouth would be set in a firm line. The car is silent for a few seconds before Gojo speaks up,

“So that’s it?” His voice crackles in the car above the music that quiets for a few beats. “We were just on a year long break, and didn’t actually break up?” Your stomach sinks at his words, hands wringing together as you try to piece an explanation together quickly. 

“Well, um—”

“So glad I didn’t cheat then.” Gojo cuts you off, making your head whip over to him in surprise. He’s grinning now, big and wide, reaching a hand over to squeeze at your thigh as he tilts his head in your direction to wink at you. You feel yourself slowly deflate, nerves crumbling with every passing second, every sentence Gojo prattles on with about how much he missed you. 

When you finally gain your composure, you realize that you’ve stopped at a red light, and Gojo is looking at you again. You blink bleary eyes at him—so sweet, so innocent—you watch him practically melt in the drivers seat. His skin is tinged with the red of the traffic lights, makes his eyes look even paler, his mouth even pinker. You sigh softly into the air when his big hand snakes up to cup your cheek, finally allowing yourself to relax into his touch. 

“You’ve always been such a pretty crier.” Gojo whispers to you, and you want to kiss him so, so bad, but you don’t. You let him take control since you hurt him so bad with the breakup, let him control the moment, but you secretly wish that he kisses you until your lungs stop. Instead, he runs his thumb across your bottom lip before pulling away, and you belatedly realize that its because the light has turned green. 

Gojo's hand drops into your lap again though, rubbing gently at your thigh as you keep staring at him. He’s talking about how little the apartment has changed since you’ve been gone, about you moving back in, about having some movers ready before the weekend is up. And you’re listening, you are, but its so hard to fully tune into what he’s saying when he looks so pretty and his big hand keeps stroking at your sensitive thighs. While looking at him, you try and inch his hand closer between your legs, so many memories flooding back of you being in this same position before. 

Except, this time, Gojo does not appease you. No, instead he turns to you with a frown, eyes bouncing back and forth from you and the road, as he stills his hand when you try and tug at it. 

“What were you saying earlier? About needing a break before, about wanting to wait?” He asks you softly, cooing at your little pout that instantly takes over your face. 

“Just wait until we get home, baby. I’ve been without you for so long now, I wanna cherish the moment.” He says fondly, tugging at your bottom lip when you pout. You nod, but don’t say anything, dejected at your rejection from him, telling yourself you should’ve known that things wouldn’t have gone back to the exact same. Only, Gojo sees your little pout, and he’s missed you so damn much, that he can’t help but spoil you. Just a little. 

“Unzip your jeans for me, love.” Gojo calls out to you, nodding his chin in the direction of your legs. You try not to perk up too much, but you listen without a moments hesitation, quickly unbuttoning your jeans, zipping the zipper down in the now quiet car. 

You don’t take them off or shimmy them down your hips too far, just a little, just enough for Gojo to squeeze his hand between them and your panties. From there, he pets gently at your cunt, lithe fingers stroking between your lips, pushing as far as he can into your hole that pulsates around the fabric. He pulls and gently tugs at your pubes, grinning when you hiss, and taps his finger against your hole once more. He feels your increasing wetness starting to spread, and it makes him chuckle, moving deft fingers up to start petting at your clit. 

You sigh softly, dropping your legs open as much as you can with the restrictive material, holding onto Gojo’s arm like a life jacket. And he lets you, coos down to you about how sensitive he forgot you were, how swollen your little clit is already, how you’re seeping through your panties, how dirty you’ve always been for him. When you feel close to coming, from being untouched in so long, from missing his fingers so much, he suddenly stops. 

You whine, digging your nails into his arm as you blink at him confusedly. But Gojo is already pulling into the apartment complex, grinning all the while. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, tapping your clit once, twice, with the pad of his finger to watch your hips stutter. “I’ll get you what you want in no time.”

…

Falling into bed with Satoru is as familiar as breathing, as walking, as loving him. Feels as familiar as waking up beside him and being welcomed by your favorite coffee drink and being kissed despite your morning breath. Feels as familiar as your skin melting into his own, as sharing a set of lungs and kidneys, as your hearts beating the same pattern that is all too familiar with you both. 

When he sinks his cock into your aching heat, you feel like all is right in the world again. What were you thinking before, when leaving him? How could you do that to him, to the both of you? Why would you ever leave when Satoru always felt this good?

You moan into his mouth when he lays on top of you, flat on your back with one leg over his shoulder, as he traps your other leg between his thighs. His pubes brush against your clit when he leans into you, his fringe brushing away the sweat starting to gather on your forehead, huffing a laugh against your lips. 

“Did you miss this? Miss me? I haven’t heard you say it enough tonight.” Gojo teases you, rolling his hips into your sweet cunt with every word. Your eyebrows screw up at the pleasure, and he can’t help but blink bleary eyes open to admire how pretty you look under him. You nod quickly, nose bumping against his as you wrap your arms tight around his shoulders. 

“Missed you so much. ‘M so sorry for leaving,” you babble on, grinding your hips into his, feeling him throb deep inside of you at your words. He groans, tongue slipping out to trace the seam of your lips, dipping it inside when you so graciously welcome him in. 

“You miss me, or was it just my cock?” Satoru asks against you, laughing a little when you quickly shake your head, holding him tight to you. 

“Missed you, missed you so fuckin’ much, ‘Toru.” The sound of his nickname falling from your lips makes him groan into your cheek, pulling his hips back to fuck into you a little harder. He holds the back of your head until your foreheads press together, eyes staring at your fluttering ones from the pleasure, drinking in every piece of you that he can get. 

“You still love me, don’t you? Didn’t forget about how much, right?” Satoru asks, hips starting to slam into yours, pace quickening. Your moans are stuttered with every breath, and you’re sure you’d be sliding up the bed if he didn’t keep such a tight grip on you. You throw your head back with a little yelp when he suddenly presses a wet thumb to your clit, rubbing it in quick little circles. 

“Huh? Did you forget all your love for me?” Gojo sounds disappointed in you, and that’s the last thing you wanted. Your hands find his nape and his scalp, pulling as soft as you can as you blink a few times through the tears of pleasure. 

“No, never, I could never forget, ‘Toru. Love you so much, so, so much,” you chant your love for him, holding on for dear life to his skin when he starts fucking you with renewed passion. Your words make his cock throb from deep inside of you, make him wanna bring you to the edge just like how he used to. 

And he does, but only this time, he doesn’t let you jump from the edge, no. Instead, Gojo pulls out, shushes your cries with a kiss to your greedy mouth as he moves your leg from his shoulder. He positions you until your lower body is twisted to the side, legs tight together, pretty plump lips peeking from between. He slots his dick back inside of you, comfortable and familiar, sinking in deep and growling at your squeak at how thick he feels in this position. 

“Fuck, feels like you’re splitting me open, ‘Toru!” You whine, reaching out for him when he sits up on his knees. He leans into you, lets you cup his cheek, sucks your thumb into his mouth when it falls open. Gojo looks rabid now, his glasses slipping off of his face as his hips slam into you. Usually, he wouldn’t be so desperate, but you’ve deprived him of this sweet pussy far too long for him to be rational about any of this. 

“You like that? Yeah?” Satoru asks you, one hand holding your hip, the other reaching out to squeeze one of your tits in his hand. You push your chest out to him, nodding and hiccuping as you moan with every thrust inside of your aching cunt. 

“Yeah,” you whine back, eyes glossy as your hands fall back, one holding onto your pillow beneath you that smells just like his shampoo. The other grips the back of his hand that holds your tit, eyes screwing shut when he sneaks down to start thumbing at your clit again. 

“You’re so desperate for me, isn’t that right?” Satoru coos down at you, glasses falling from his face, bouncing off of your hip. He pants from above you, his usual carefully styled hair going awry and all over his head, licking his lips as he stares down at you. You nod quickly, holding on for dear life as you start feeling your orgasm starting to creep on you again. 

“Must’ve been miserable everyday without me, without my cock.” Satoru groans down, leaning back on his knee as he keeps fucking you to admire the sight. He throws his head back when you squeeze your thighs even tighter, cunt clamping down around him, gritting his teeth all the while. 

“Knew you’d come crawling back to me, it was only a matter of time. You looked so pretty doing it,” He growls, watching your telltale signs that your orgasm is near. But, Gojo is a petty bastard, and still insists that he makes you wait. For all its worth, its the least you could do for breaking his heart over needing stupid space. 

He waits until he’s sure you’re on the brink of your orgasm before pulling out once more. You groan and whine this time, but he only manhandles your body until you’re on your stomach, thighs pressed together once more. He cages your legs between his own, pulling at your cheeks until they spread for him, and he takes a second to admire the pretty sight before him. Gojo can’t help but lean down and press a quick kiss to your dripping hole, feeling you clench down quickly and squeak. 

He laughs at you and smacks a hand down on your ass before sitting up again, holding his base so that he can tease his cock at your hole. You whine for him to stop teasing you, to put it in already, make you cum like he has so many times before. 

And he does just that; pressing his leaky tip in inch by slow inch until you’re full of him. You let out a filthy moan until his base and balls are snuggled into your ass, whole body going limp below him. You let him use you as you please, head feeling fuzzy the entire time as he leans his body weight on top of you, fully crushing you. 

“Our love is so strong, isn’t it?” Gojo hums into your ear, committing to slow strokes this time, because he likes how you quiver underneath him when he grinds his tip against your sweet spot. “Feels like nothing could ever break it, like nothing could ever come between us.” 

He kisses your shoulders as he speak, intertwining his fingers into yours, holding your hands where they rest on the pillows beneath you. Its an intimate gesture, makes you swallow the cry that wants to rip out of your throat, burying your face into fluffy fabric that smells of him to moan loudly. 

“You wanna make it even stronger, don’t you?” Gojo whispers under his breath, feeling his cock brush your sweet spot over and over until it drives you crazy. All you can do is nod, squeezing his hand as he nibbles at your ear. 

“Let’s have a baby, together.” His words should alarm you, and so should the lack of a condom that you’re just now realizing. So should how sinister his voice has become, and how his cock swells and kicks inside of you at just mentioning it. 

But, it doesn’t. You don’t think you’ve ever loved him more, supported an idea as much as you did in that vert moment. 

“How’s that sound? Really solidify our love for each other, right?” Satoru pushes and pushes and pushes until you’re teetering on the edge once more. You know, that if you answer correctly, he’ll let you finally jump over. So you do. 

“Put a baby in me, Satoru,” you demand of him, words muffled by your face in the pillows. Gojo groans loud at that, eyes squeezing shut as he thrusts into you so hard that it sends you up the bed, the friction on your clit finally making you reach your orgasm. You cry out loudly, head flying back as Gojo shushes you, mouthing at your throat all the while your legs kick up and your toes curl. 

“And after this, you can make your dreams of being a stay at home mom finally come true.” You drown his words out as you cum, shaking beneath him as you gush all over his cock, long awaited after being denied three times tonight. You think its worth it, even though the back of your mind convinces you that you’ve just made a deal with the devil himself. 

But its hard to be upset when Gojo cums inside of you, filling you up to the brim as he groans into your cheek. His hips keep bucking and stuttering inside of you, fucking his cum back in when you feel it start to slowly slip out. He doesn’t let even a drop slip from around his cock, keeps fucking you and fucking you until you cry about being sensitive. Only then, does he pull out, but he props your tired hips up. 

“Can’t let any of it go to waste, right?” You can hear the grin in his voice, but you’re too tired to tell him you started birth control a few months ago. He rubs your hips and your ass, fingering his cum back in every time your hips shake from exhaustion. Only when you collapse on the bed, knocked out cold, does he let up. 

Gojo sits back on his knees to admire you, the fingertip shaped bruises on your hips, your spent cunt, your drooling mouth, your shut eyes, and wonders. Wonders how you’ll feel years down the line when—and if—he finally tells you how he got you back. While he made you think it was because he allowed you space and time, you couldn’t be further from the truth.

After your breakup, Gojo was always there. Always lingered around the corner, always looked out for you because no one else in this world would. Even if that meant scaring off potential dates, and getting rid of the more persistent ones. Even if it meant having to watch from afar as you tried to move on from him. Even if it meant switching out your birth control for placebos that you were none the wiser of. 

He just loved you so fucking much, and his love for you was stronger than anything in the universe, and he would do—and did— anything to get it back. Even if you would never know of the sins he committed to have you again. 

You rise with the sun like you always do. The weekend doesn’t mean much to your body that’s acclimated to your steadfast morning routine, and your bare feet hit the hardwood floor before your eyes are even fully open. Taking a moment of stillness there, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you glance blearily out the window tucked behind the bed at where the sky is just beginning to lighten with reds and golds.

You draw in a deep breath, meditative, and hear an answering snore from the lump in the rumbled bedding behind you.

Your lips twitch, your heart flipping warmly, and then you push yourself to your feet. Moving across the floor quietly, kicking his hero uniform off to the side from where he stripped out of it last night before stumbling headfirst into bed and slipping down the dark hall and towards the kitchen.

You listen to the sound of his breathing as you go. A rhythmic, deep rasp that sit beneath the sound of your feet on the floor and that you feel as an echo in the beat of your heart as you step into the kitchen and into the beginning of your day.

Coffee comes first, then tidying up the kitchen from dinner the night before. Humming to yourself as you work, mentally running through the tasks you have to do for the day, before you get started on breakfast.

You’ve been with him long enough to know what he’ll want on a morning like this one. After a late night patrol shift that went awry, an apologetic text lighting up your phone from him at 3 AM asking you to come get him at the hospital because the agency wouldn’t let him back on the streets after nearly splitting his head open between a villain’s iron-coated fist and the pavement.

He’ll be fine after a day or two of rest, you know. But nothing helps a concussion hangover better than a greasy, hot breakfast, so you empty half the fridge onto the counter and get to work.

You go an American route with it, both in ingredients and quantity. Frying eggs until they fill an entire dinner plate and crisping up half a block of bacon in the pan after. Sipping at your coffee and watching the apartment begin to lighten with the glow of the morning sun as the minutes pass and the crackle of rendering fat fills the air.

You throw some link sausages in, too, and pop in some toast. Feeling a bit hungry yourself and knowing he’ll eat for three if you make it for him.

It’s nearing a more reasonable waking hour by the time you are satisfied with the spread, and you think for a minute before deciding to plate up on a ridiculous oblong serving platter instead of individual plates. It takes a minute of dishing up, everything steaming warm still, then you grab two forks and head back to where you left him.

The bedroom is bathed in gold when you slip carefully through the door, your hands full with the serving platter, and you go to stand at the side of the bed. Tilting your head a little, chewing on the smile that’s settled on your mouth, as you watch the lump under the blankets and wait.

After a minute, something lifts. A head, covered in a mess of mossy curls and appearing from beneath a crisp, white comforter, and your heart does that warm little flip again when Izuku blinks against the morning sun and groans lightly like he does every time he’s drawn from sleep to the world of the waking.

You watch his mind return to him. Slowly, a little stupidly, because he sleeps like the dead on a regular night, let alone one where he’s sleeping off a quirk-healed skull fracture.

He stares blankly out of his blanket burrito for a solid minute before he blinks and turns his head towards where you’re standing at the edge of the bed.

“Baby?” he asks, bewildered sounding somehow, and you swallow down a laugh.

“Yes, Izuku,” you reply, cheeks starting to pinch a little from your smile.

His voice is a raspy mumble when he speaks again. “Why’s it smell like bacon?”

You do laugh this time, softly. “Because I made some.”

Of all things, that’s what has him blinking his eyes into focus. It takes him a minute to find you, even with you standing right there, and you get a brief moment of heart-aching warmth in his expression when he sees you before his eyes drop to the platter in your hands and a sound rips out of him that borders on sexual.

“Baby,” he breathes. Blinking faster now as sleep lifts from him, his eyes wide as he takes in the spread held up between your hands.

“You sound kinda slutty,” you murmur, chuckling softly.

He groans again, his voice gone a little distant. “Slutty for bacon,” he agrees, and you make a note to check his pupils in the light once he’s on his feet because he must have really hit his head hard last night.

He seems content to stay there, half propped up in the bed and still swaddled tightly in blankets, so you lift your chin at him.

“Come on, scoot over,” you tell him, and the soft little gasp he makes is childlike and ridiculous and makes your chest ache.

He scooches over to make room for you, fast enough that he regrets it, it seems. His eyes squinting shut as his head undoubtedly throbs, and it has you setting the platter down beside him on the bed with a murmured warning to not spill anything.

You go to the bathroom and swipe the pill bottle left on the vanity last night, his name typed on the label in neat hospital print, then stop by the kitchen for a bottle of water. Making it back to the bedroom in under a minute, probably, but you’re greeted with the sight of him sleepily chewing on a piece of bacon and looking like he has half a mind to collapse back down into the bed.

“Here,” you tell him. Handing him the water bottle and popping the lid of the pill bottle. Scanning the label quick before tapping three oversized pills into your palm.

He takes the bottle and holds out his palm to yours, and the look on his face when you drop the pills into the cup of his hand has you stilling. He says nothing and the moment passes in a breath, but you feel it all the same. His gratitude is a warmth you feel in your bones, soothing the ragged edges in you still raw from forcing yourself to drive the speed limit on your way to the hospital the night prior.

He winces when he knocks the pills back but murmurs a thick word of thanks to you before he downs half the water bottle, then the rest of it. Letting out a heavy, airy sigh when he lets the empty bottle fall somewhere beside his thigh into the blankets.

You sit down beside him, your knee bumping gently into his, and he sighs again. Softer this time, blinking over at you beneath sleep-heavy eyelids.

He smiles. Looking down at the platter of food, then back up to you.

“What about crumbies?”

You snort. A little too loud in the quiet of the morning but unable to stop it, and you duck your chin on a laugh. You’ve lived together too long, for him to know you this well.

“I’ll change the sheets. Come on. Boys who get their bells rung get to have a treat or two.”

It takes him a while still for his brain to come online and you eat in a comfortable silence. Mopping up egg yolk with the corners of toast as the sun continues to rise and fill the apartment with the warmth of a coming spring.

The sound of quiet chewing fills the air, punctuated by occasional sighing breaths as he slowly lets go of the stress of the night before. A knot of tension easing from him with every heavy exhale as he slowly, slowly wakes.

It’s strange to see him like this, even after all this time. Seeing Pro Hero Deku, with all of his strength and power and might, hunched over a plate of breakfast food and chewing slowly. Bare chested and covered in constellations of scars and freckles, his fingers crooked and bent as he lifts a buttered bite of toast to his mouth.

The scar over the bridge of his nose is the latest addition. Still shiny and pink, not yet healed completely where it spans from the center of one cheek, across his nose, then in a jagged line down the other. It moves as he eats, the scar lifting and falling as he exhales softly through his nose, and you suck bacon grease from your fingers to resist the urge to reach out and touch it with the pad of your thumb.

That had been…frightening. You’ve seen him in just about every physical state at this point but the sight of his blood hasn’t gotten any easier, and the sight of his face splashed across the local news of every television station with half his face sliced open still lurks in the recesses of your mind. Unable to shake the image of the blood that had poured down his face, darkening his bared teeth as his body crackled with Blackwhip and lightning and he threw himself onwards and upwards and back, back, back into the fighting.

It makes the concussion he’s sporting now almost seem quaint, and you have a moment to wonder how your life has brought you here. To this exact moment, knees gently knocking against those of the greatest hero Japan has ever seen, reaching over to brush toast crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

He finishes his food with another sigh. A contented one, this time, scratching his fingers over his belly and the sprinkling of hair there. He gives you that look again, his head tilting towards you. The warm one that makes your heart hurt, his eyes fully awake now, finally.

“How’d I get so lucky?” he asks, and you roll your eyes at him. Playfully, mostly, before you lean into his space and press a kiss to his lips. Pulling yourself to your feet and grabbing the empty platter to bring it to the kitchen, eyeing the smudged stains in the bed linens from the sweat and grime he couldn’t bring himself to wash off the night before.

“You can thank me by taking a shower,” you tell him, looking back over your shoulder when you reach the door to see the soft flash of his teeth when he smiles back at you. “Crumbs are the least of my concerns with all the soot you dragged in last night.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, voice light on a tease but still somehow achingly sincere, and you force yourself to go to the kitchen then just as you see him pull himself to his feet and stretch his arms up over his head. You hear his joints pop and the sound of a groan, and chuckle to yourself as you busy yourself with getting the dishes into the sink.

The shower turns on a few minutes later and you keep yourself busy tidying the kitchen. Needing something to do with your hands and finding plenty, putting unused ingredients back into the fridge and a part of you vowing to make him cook you dinner tonight even though you know the two of you will just order takeout instead.

You return to the bedroom once the kitchen is largely put back together. Stripping the sheets and bundling them up and tossing them into the hamper, digging around in the closet for a fresh set. Cracking the window on the far wall for good measure before you set about making the bed and taking a moment to draw in a breath of the cool spring air that filters through the room. Crisp and clean, making you want to do nothing more than burrow down under a heavy blanket and doze the rest of the morning away.

By the time the shower cuts off, you’ve managed to remake the bed in clean linens, and you go to meet him in the bathroom. The part of you that worries is quieter now than it was last night, but it’s nagging at you all the same in the farthest corner of your mind.

You don’t bother to knock, slipping into the steamy room just as he’s stepping out of the shower. He makes a soft sound in greeting and begins to towel off, a distracting expanse of muscle and scars where he stands on the bathmat and scrubs water from his skin as you dig in the medicine cabinet and find the pen light you’re looking for buried behind a half-unraveled roll of gauze.

He seems to know your aim, because when you turn around and beckon him, he steps into your space dutifully. As naked as the day he was born, his hair dark and dripping as he lowers his face towards yours so you can check him over.

The wound from last night is hard to even find, the skin stitched back together with a healing quirk so well that you have to find the ridge of the skin with your thumb along his hairline, and he groans softly when you press down a touch. Still hurting, then, and you soothe over the skin with a light, apologetic pet right after.

You check his eyes next, lifting each lid one at a time and testing them with rapid flicks of the pen light. Watching his pupils retract with every bright pass of light, reacting as they should, and the worry in the edges of your mind eases on a quiet exhale.

“Your brains remain unscrambled,” you tell him. Reaching up to touch at his cheek and feeling his mouth twitch in a smile beneath your palm.

He makes a humored sound like he somehow doubts that very much, but remains still where he’s standing to let you do what he knows will come next.

“How’s the rest of you?” you murmur, more to yourself. Drawing back from him a little to look him over in the steamy space of the bathroom. Your eye drifting over his body from old injury to old injury, the memories of them embedded in your mind as deep as they are in his skin.

Your hand comes up to trace the long patch of roughened skin that carves down his right bicep, following the edges of it as if you don’t know it by heart. Your finger drift across his collar bones, a break there from a month ago now fully healed, but you run your thumb over it anyway, letting your other hand span over the soft ridges of his abdominal muscles as you tip up on your toes to inspect the road rash that healed a week back on the underside of his jaw.

By the time you’ve completed your inspection, having turned him in place like a mannequin twice over, his cock has thickened up between his legs a bit, and it makes the corner of your mouth lift.

He hmms softly, brows lifting at your expression. “What is it?” He looks like he’d fall asleep on his feet if you kept running your hands over him like you were.

You take his cock in hand without much thought. Give it a gentle squeeze in your palm, and feel as it throbs in response. Growing heavier just like that, and he huffs out a soft sound.

“Really?” you ask him. Smiling now, helplessly fond. “Just from that?”

He shrugs, his chin tucking a little. Smiling back at you as his cock fills in the grip of your hand, equal parts bashful and teasing back. “You were touching me,” he says, as if that’s all the answer you need.

It is, you find, as you feel that warmth bloom in your chest and a distant pang of something down lower in your gut. You wet your mouth idly, getting lost in his eyes on yours as your palm spreads slowly over the hard muscle of his chest, and when he ducks down to you, you lift on your toes to meet him.

The kiss is tender. A slow brush of lips, a soft exchange of breath. You give another gentle squeeze around his cock and he puffs against your mouth, his lips parting, and you slip your hand around the back of his neck and taste into his mouth with a slip of your tongue.

Your body presses to his as the steam sits heavy in the air. Fully clothed against his bare skin, and you shiver when he nudges his nose against your cheek and murmurs, love you into the skin there.

You find his lips again with yours, a spark of something flickering in you at the words, and you whisper them back to him before you press one last chaste kiss to his lips and you slide slowly down to your knees on the bathroom tile.

“Oh,” he says, more of a rush of breath than anything, and then you guide his cock into the wet, warm space of your mouth.

There’s no taste to him this soon out of the shower, nothing more than the faint aura of skin against your tongue, and you mourn the loss of it as you let your eyes fall closed and take him in. Holding him steady at the base as his hand comes up to touch at your hair, his breathing tightening over your head as you take his cock deep into your mouth.

The spark you felt crackles and flares into something brighter, something hotter, as your mouth flushes with saliva when the head of his cock nudges the back of your throat. Feeling desire in you like a physical thing, a creeping and prickling heat that has you surrendering yourself over to the familiar feeling of him like this. Of his cock thickening still between your lips, hot and velvet soft where your palm is gripping him steady. Swallowing down the first gob of prespend that leaks from the head down with a pleased shiver.

You realize that he’s leaned back against the vanity, the counter digging into his hips as his free hand grips there tight to stay upright, and it makes your eyes flick up to his face. Meeting his eyes and finding them dark in the steamy room. Blinking slowly down at you as his thumb strokes across your cheek. Pressing in a touch to feel the head of his cock just beneath, beginning to flush below the freckles that dust over his nose and around his scar.

His breathing is tight already, his chest rising and falling as you draw him deep into your mouth again, closing your eyes as the fat press of his cock fills your mouth, pushes all the air from you as you suck in a breath through your nose, and you look up to him again, through your lashes, when the head of his cock slowly slips past the opening of your throat.

His body lurches. A curse falling from his lips as his knee beside your head jerks out like you’d tested his reflexes, and he scrabbles for a minute to keep himself from collapsing on top of you as his legs clearly wobble and warp beneath his weight.

You sputter a laugh around his cock. Unable to help yourself, because you did that on purpose, and when you let his cock slip from between your lips with a wet pop, he’s laughing too. A little breathless as he grips tight at the bathroom counter, tugging lightly at your hair where his fingers had gripped instinctively when he’d almost fallen.

“That was mean,” he accuses, no heat in it as his laughter fades to a groan when you start to swallow him down once more. “No, no, baby, the bed. Please, the bed.”

You have half a mind to say no, to just pin him to the vanity and pull him apart, but your knees are starting to ache a bit on the tile of the bathroom, so you figure it’s not the worst idea.

You press a loving kiss on the head of his cock, a smacking little smooch, then let him pull you to your feet.

“Fine,” you murmur, drawing into him when he tilts your face to his for another kiss. Deep and wet, this one. A slide of tongue against tongue, until you’re a little breathless yourself and clinging to the broad expanse of him to keep your feet beneath you.

He takes your hand as you go to the bedroom. His fingers crooked and thick as they tangle loosely with yours, and you can’t help but give his hand a gentle squeeze as you cross the threshold of the room and step into the golden beams of morning light that cut across the cozy space.

He lets out a happy sound, a warm exhale as he returns the pulse of your hand around his and then lets himself down onto the bed. Shifting to situate himself on the fresh bedding, turning to face you as he does so he doesn’t miss you pulling off your sleep clothes and tossing them in the general direction of the clothes hamper.

He holds his arms out to you when you pause at the side of the bed. Shivering in the cool air but going to him and humming softly at the warm glide of your skin against his as he draws you down overtop of him.

The two of you fit together, like this. As you shift to rest more comfortably across him, your chest pressing to his as he guides your face to his for another kiss. You let your hands come up to rest on his chest, stroking over that skin to feel the bumps and ridges you know as well as your own.

You feel his hand slip down your back and shiver against him. Sucking lightly on his tongue as his knuckles drag down the notches of your spine. Counting them as the soft scrape of his calloused fingertips travels down the curve of your body.

You stay like that for a while. Laid across him as the breeze from the cracked window makes your skin prickle with goosebumps and where your skin slides against his crackles with a warm intensity you feel in your bones. Trading kisses back and forth, nudging your noses together. In no hurry at all, knowing what awaits you and wishing to savor every step of that journey.

It’s when his hand on your lower back starts to drift lower that you stir. Feeling his fingers slip lower, deeper, down between your legs. Searching for where he knows you’ve gone wet for him from just the taste of his cock on your tongue and the press of his teeth to the shell of your ear, but you squiggle and squirm your way free from his hold the second you realize his aim.

You cut him a look, chastizing, teasing, and he returns it in kind. His eyes sparking, tongue pressed between his teeth. Caught, trying to move this along to something more pleasurable for you - as if you haven’t told him again and again how hot it makes you to feel him come down your throat. As if you haven’t shown him.

“Lay back,” you tell him. A mock-seriousness there in your tone, an order without any bite, and he complies then easily enough. Reaching behind him to prop some pillows up behind his neck and shoulders so he can see you better while you return to your previous mission. He loves this part, as much as he may try to spare you from it against your will.

You work your way down his body. Dragging your fingernails down his chest lightly as you go, nipping lightly at a nipple just to hear his breath catch and his spine tighten. Taking your time with him, because it’s the weekend and you can and because you saw his brains nearly splattered over pavement last night, too.

All the reason you need to go slow and savor this moment. To savor him.

You settle down between his legs, plenty of room on your oversized mattress to make yourself comfortable down there between the spread of his thick thighs.

You sigh when you do, your eye returning to the fat weight of his cock where it’s curved up against his belly. Content, beyond measure, to be right where you are.

You trail your fingertips along the bottom ridge of it. Watching, rapt, as it twitches in response, the head shiny with prespend that’s drooling a little puddle in the divot of his hip. You take it in hand again, the weight of it familiar and known, and give it a gentle squeeze.

“Love this cock,” you murmur. More to yourself than anything, but you hear him moan softly in response anyway, a soft baby cracking his voice as you press gentle kisses along the length of it. Tracing your nose along it as you go, tasting the skin with the flat of your tongue until you reach the head and can’t hold yourself back any longer.

You shudder lightly when his cock slips past your lips once more. Desire spiking hot in you, a bolt up your spine at the taste and the weight of him against your tongue. Drooling already, almost from the moment you take him in your mouth again. Feeling your eyelids grow heavy as you shift yourself over his lap and bit, and allow yourself the pleasure of this reverent act.

You never liked sucking cock before Izuku. Always found it a bit demeaning, always did it with men who would grab you a little to hard and push a little too deep, but with him…with Izuku, it’s…different.

It’s soothing, in a way you haven’t ever really been able to describe to him, and you lean into that strange, meditative space now as you let your tongue trace around the ridge of the head and feel your mouth flush with a spurt of bitter prespend.

You let your eyes drift closed as you work. Working him steady in your hand, a sure, tight grip slicked well with the lubrication of your saliva, as you suckle gently at the tip. Getting into a deep, settled rhythm that feels as natural to you as waves on an ocean shore. Breathing through your nose, centered and calmed, as you trace your tongue again and again over the underside of the head. Where the skin is ridged and where the press of your tongue makes his entire body tremble and your name catch thick in his throat.

You sneak a glance up when you hear his breathing shift to something a little more shallow, and your belly swooshes low at the sight of him looking down at you. Eyes dark and heavy lidded, mouth dropped open as he pants softly, quietly, and pushes his fingers into your hair.

“Lookit you,” he murmurs. Touching his thumb to your lips, his pupils vast and dark like ink as another spurt of prespend coats your mouth. “You’re gonna make me come, baby.”

A heated thread pulls tight around your stomach. You shift a little over his lap to press your thighs together, because you can feel that you’ve started to ache and leak there, from doing this. You want him to. You want him to so badly.

You return to him with a purpose now. Closing your eyes again and beginning to work his cock with more intention. Working your hand and your mouth in tandem, a firm, wet, hot schlick schlick schlick as his cock fucks into your mouth again and again, and when your mind drifts, thinks of how it will feel when he’s inside your cunt that way, you can’t stop the moan that trills around his cock on your tongue.

You know it won’t take long now, and it doesn’t. You catalog it all - the way his breath speeds, the gentle, unconscious tightening of his fingers in your hair. The soft, nudging little thrusts of his hips, just barely coming off the bed to meet you, plunging his cock deeper and deeper into your mouth. Chasing after his pleasure, his eyes dark and molten as he watches you and pants ragged breaths that break in the sound of your name.

He groans, then. Goes still, his muscles locking, and you get a breathless oh - in warning before his cock jerks in your grip and begins to coat the inside of your mouth with spend.

You moan. Loud and muffled around his cock, your entire body tensing from the nearly painful slice of arousal that cuts through you at the taste of him as he fills you. Paints over your palate and tongue and teeth with fat, heavy gobs of cum that make your toes curl against the bedding beneath you.

His hand releases from your hair after a long minute and that’s what pulls your eyes open and draws them to his. He’s staring down at you, his chest rising and falling as he rides out the last of his pleasure, looking like he’s just seen something most profound.

You suck gently around the head once more, just to see him sputter a breathless laugh and jerk in over-sensitized response, before you pull yourself finally off. Placing his softening cock against his hip almost reverently, petting it one last time before resting your hands on the broad span of his thighs.

He licks his lips, staring down at you between his legs. His mouth still quirked in a soft smile as his laughter fades and his breath rasps between his lips.

“Show me,” he says. Voice low and a little raw.

You stick out your tongue, show him the creamy remains of his seed there, and his entire body shudders on a moan.

“God,” he groans. “Get up here, come on. Please, baby - ”

His hands settle around your elbows and start to pull you upwards, and you go with him, even as a picture of his blood sprayed across the ground flashes through your mind, unbidden.

“Your head’s hurt,” you say, even as you let him pull you up his body. You shouldn’t, you think, but the soft scoff from him is all it takes to persuade you.

“Not that badly,” he murmurs as he draws you up. Shifting himself down and back onto the bed after you pluck the pillows from behind him and toss them to the floor, his cheeks flushed beneath his freckles, the scar across the bridge of his nose a shiny pink. “C’mere.”

You let him arrange you where he wants you, accustomed enough to this that your body just knows what to do as your knees press into the bed on either side of his face and his hands close around your hips.

“Stop if you start to feel - ” you murmur, your voice fading out at the first hot puff of his breath against your cunt. The admonition slipping into a soft moan when he says, I will, I will, and then tugs you down over his face.

It takes a moment of his hands on your hips, moving you a little, and then his mouth slots cleanly over your sex, and your chin thumps down against your sternum. Your eyes dropping closed as your lips part on a soft pant, your thighs spreading further to settle down deeper instinctively at the first velvety stroke of his tongue against your folds.

“Oh,” you breathe. Holding onto the headboard to take some of your weight off of him as his mouth parts over the slicked, hot mess of your sex and tastes you there. “Izuku, f-fuck. Baby.”

His hands curl around your thighs to keep you anchored as he moans against your cunt and begins to eat you out.

The roles reversed now, you can’t take your eyes off of him down between your legs. He always closes his eyes, doing this, and he does so now. Lashes dark on his flushed cheeks as runs his tongue through the dripping folds in a gentle caress. Tasting you, drinking you in and moaning softly as the mess of your slick shines up his cheeks and jaw.

He knows you like you know him. Knows your body and your tells and you have half a mind to whisper gratitude to him when it becomes clear that his aim is not to draw this out any longer than necessary. You want to come, the taste of his spend still slicking your throat and making you leak and slick against his mouth.

You know, from the way his mouth moves against you, that he’ll get you there.

There’s a tap on your thigh, a gentle touch of his fingertips, and it reminds you to breathe. Sucking in a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding and letting your hips begin to nudge gently against him. A soft swivel against the wet, hot glide of his tongue against your clit, seeking him out and putting him where you need him to be.

You hear something muffle from his mouth, lost in the press of your sex against his mouth, but you know from the sound of it that it was praise, and the realization makes a shiver trickle down your spine as your hips begin to move against him with purpose.

His mouth against you is a revelation. Hot and wet and soft and firm in turn, tracing through the delicate folds of your cunt, then dragging up slowly over the sensitive ridge of your clit, then going back down.

Again and again, steady and deliberate in rhythm, never wavering, to allow the first puddles and pools of pleasure to begin to form in your belly. Nurturing them, stoking them like a kindling flame, until you feel those honeyed, syrupy tingles that tell you he’s got you. That he’s cared for you and carried you and led you to exactly the place you must be for you to let yourself go and surrender yourself to the terrifying rip and pull of your vulnerable release.

What is so known to him and you now, what delicate pathways to trace with tongue and lips and the gentle pressure of teeth, was discovered together only after long hours spent doing just this. Of Izuku asking you to lay back and let him, settling himself between your legs and learning you there between your thighs. In no rush at all as he learned this part of you the way he’d learned every other - slowly and gently, with a heart so achingly full for you that it nearly hurt you to look directly at it.

The first time he’d made you come, you’d nearly cried.

Now, years and countless pleasures later, the impulse is strangely similar.

“‘zuku,” you breathe. Your voice thickening in your throat as you Reach down and push his curls back from his forehead. “Y-yeah. That’s - like that, baby.”

He hums, tickling warmly around your clit, and you can’t help the clamp of your thighs around his ears in reflexive response. You feel another tap of his fingertips against your thigh and read him as if he’d spoken aloud.

Ride me.

You shiver again, sweat breaking out over your chest as you breathe deeply, remembering to, and you murmur to him as you grip tighter at the headboard and begin to let your hips swivel. Body trained, after all of these years, to know what it needs, what it wants. What will light the spark to the slow burning embers deep inside you to something much more.

It doesn’t take long. The sight of his cheeks gleaming with your slick between your thighs, the dark flush beneath his freckles. The tight grip of his hands on your thighs, pulling you down harder, harder against his mouth. The rhythmic, deep slicks of his tongue on your cunt, just over your clit now, sending sparks through your nerves with each wet, hot pass over that little aching bundle of nerves. Each wave of arousal in you lapping against your cunt like waves on a shore, growing heavier with each passing moment, and you feel when your pleasure starts to tug at the center of you like the pull of the tide.

“Oh,” you breathe. Gripping the headboard so hard your knuckles turn white. “Please, baby, please - Izuku - ”

The build is slow and steady. A spiral of heat that coils up through your belly and you hold your breath, can’t help it, as you begin to gasp in sharp, hot little breaths as it pulls tight inside of you, so tight you can barely see, and then crests. A honeyed tumble over the delirious peak, and the moan that rips from your lungs is loud and shaking as you collapse into the roiling waves of your release.

You lose a bit of time, there. Gripping to the headboard for dear life, your eyes squeezed shut as you pant and rut your hips against his face. Against his mouth and his tongue and his lips, pulling the deepest parts of your pleasure out against him and feeling the heat of it down into your toes.

When you come back to yourself, he’s shifted you back a touch to rest sit on his chest, and you look down to see him staring up at you with the same look he’d worn before. Something like wonder, his cheeks and chin utterly soaked in your slick as he watches you tingle and ripple with pleasure that he gave you.

You realize you’re gasping, winded and floating, and his name falls from your lips like a prayer, barely able to hear your own voice over the thunder of your own heart.

His brows lift on his face, some light returning to his expression, and you realize your thighs are still clamped around his ears.

You sputter a breathless laugh and shimmy yourself gently back. The heated skin of your thighs unsealing from around his ears with an audible schlep, and he lets his head tip back against the bed on a soft laugh, his throat working as he draws in a deep breath.

It takes you a minute or two to gather yourself enough to move from where he sat you on his chest but you manage to inchworm yourself down to lay beside him.

You’re both hot, a little sticky with sweat, but the cool pull of the breeze feels like heaven now and allows you to rest your cheek against his chest, your hand resting over the beat of his heart, as you let out a long, low exhale.

He’s nearly hard again, his cock fat between his thighs, but he pays it no mind as he turns his face towards yours and presses a kiss to your temple. His arm curling around your waist and his hand coming to rest over the soft skin of your belly as he breathes in deep in a way that you know means he’s close to drifting off to sleep again.

A very brief flicker of impulse goes through you, a sudden awareness that this is both of your day’s off and you’ve got quite a lot of stuff you wanted to get done, but then he murmurs your name in a soft, dazed little voice, and the impulse extinguishes as quickly as it arose.

You turn your face against his chest instead, pressing your nose into the valley between his pectorals in an affectionate little shove, before letting yourself breathe out and settle down deep against him. Content to let yourself drift the day away, if that’s what he wants to do.

Errands can wait. This, though. This is something to be held close.

The sun casts warm beams of light through the space of the bedroom and you let yourself sink down into the gauzy, peaceful haze of the moment.

You wake sometime later.

Coming around slowly, blinking your eyes open to the afternoon sun lighting your room, and it takes you a minute to realize that what’s awoken you is the press of Izuku’s body against yours. Spooning you from behind, long lines of muscle and warm skin and heavy bone, and you let out a quiet sigh when you feel the tip of his nose press gently behind your ear. Tilting your head for him, giving him more room, as his mouth travels down your throat, leaving soft little love nips there as he goes.

“‘zuku,” you sigh. Your hand reaching back behind you to tangle in his curls, your back arching against his chest a little when his teeth close gently around the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

It causes your hips to roll back into his, a soft bump, and that’s all it takes for his cock to slip into the space between your thighs. Hard and wet, leaking and aching, and the hot slide of it against your cunt has a moan slipping from your lips before you even felt it gather there.

He’s breathing a little heavy, you realize. Panting lightly against the side of your throat, his fingers stilled where they’d been gently touching at your sex, getting you all slick, and at the first nudge of the head of his cock to your entrance, you feel yourself nearly keening. Arching back against him harder this time, shoving your hips against his.

Moaning his name, breathless, and when he murmurs yeah? against your throat, it’s all you can do to nod and say, yeah, yes, please - before he guides his cock to you and roots himself deep with one solid thrust.

The sound it rips from you is animal. Loud and ragged as you breathe through the white hot rip of pleasure that sounds through you from the solid fill of his cock inside of you.

It makes your head spin. The suddenness, the suredness, as he sucks on the skin of your throat and grips your hips tight. Drawing back and rolling in, fucking himself deeper than before until he feels like his cock is all the way up into your sternum.

“Baby,” he breathes, whining softly, as he begins to let himself go. Nudging his nose beneath your jaw and holding you close as he fucks into you from behind.

You never realize until he’s inside of you like this, fucking you like this, how complete it makes you. How aching and empty you are every moment that he’s not there, not in you, not filling you up tight, and it makes the feeling that floods you something like relief, heady and dizzying, as his cock roots deep in you with every hard rut of his hips. It’s something like gratitude, like reverence and stunned wonder, to feel him hold all the jagged pieces of you together like this beneath his weight and piece you back together with every slam of his hips against yours.

The intensity of it, the weight of him behind you and the tight of his grip on your hips pushes you onto your belly and you moan as you let yourself slip down fully. Feeling the full weight of him settle against your back, his cock still moving in you in fast, deep plunges, and it unlocks something primal in your brain to have him pinning you down against the bed.

You groan his name and shove back against him. Urging him on as you bury your face into the bedding. Your fingers gripping tight in the sheets as he nips at the nape of your neck and lifts your hips up off the bed to meet his in a hard, slapping thrusts.

It turns your brain to jelly, having him take you like this. Behind you, on your knees with your face buried between your curled arms, slamming his cock into you so hard that it knocks the breath from you with every thrust. A ragged, broken moan forced from your lungs as he nearly pushes you up the bed with the strength of him moving in you.

He’s hard on you, like this, in a way that makes your vision nearly white out. The grip of his hands on your waist is bruising, the nip of his teeth along your shoulder sharp and bright. The fat, tight plunge of his cock in you dizzying. Electrifying, as your lips part against the bedding beneath your cheek and you very nearly begin to drool. Out of your mind, hazy and a bit delirious, as he finds his home in you again and again and again.

You feel safe there. Pinned beneath him. Wanted and craved and protected and safe, and it has your throat tightening on something deeper than pleasure when you hear his voice break on a groan of your name, the words pressed into the side of your throat. Your warning that he’s getting close, and you nod wordlessly to him. Choking back a thickening of emotion there and doing your best to meet him where your bodies connect, thrusting back onto his cock as best you can when it feels like the force of his possession is turning your bones to mud.

“Baby,” he breathes, his fingers gripping tighter still. “I’m - ” and all you can do is nod. Nod desperately and whimper, begging him, begging him to, and then he moans through tight gritted teeth, and begins to come.

You close your eyes to feel everything. Panting, saliva dripping from your mouth onto the sheets beneath your face, your body flushing hot at the feeling of his cock jerking inside of you. As the rest of him stills, goes rigid, and he fills you, deep and tight, with hot ropes of spend. Painting your insides as he groans behind your ear. Making a sound like he’s pained, almost, as your cunt wrings the best of his pleasure from him.

He stays there for some time. Over you, pinning you down as you both pant and gasp and try to catch your breath, and he touches his mouth along the side of your throat in tender kisses that have you needing to see his face.

He slips from you and you feel the loss of it as you roll onto your back. Scooting over so he has room to collapse beside you on his side. Turned toward you, his eyes going to yours quickly, searching there, before easing again when you offer him a wobbly smile.

It takes you a few long moments to gather the air to speak without rasping and you take the time. Shivering when the breeze through the room catches the sweat beading at your temple, lifting your face to meet his eyes.

“You’re spicy today, cowboy.”

He snorts. An ugly, aborted sound and it makes you laugh too. Tipping your face forward and thumping your forehead lightly against his chest.

“Seriously,” you say. Cheeks beginning to ache a bit from smiling. “You’d never know you got your clock cleaned last night.”

He shrugs a little. Chuckling, then bending low to press a kiss to the crown of your head. It takes him a lingering moment to speak again.

“I never really get to wake up with you,” he says. Soft, like a confession, and you suppose that’s true, now that you think about it. Your schedules rarely align the way they did today.

You breathe deeply. Pressing an idle kiss to his chest over the beat of his heart. “Good thing, probably,” you muse. “We’d never get anything done.”

He snorts again on a laugh that comes deep from his chest. Tipping his head back against the bed to let it out as the breeze rustles the curtains, then sighing on the tail end of it.

“Yeah,” he says, looking over at you with a smile that makes your heart ache. “You’re probably right.”

He seems content to stay there, so you are too. Drifting on the pull of the breeze over your skin, your fingertip idly tracing the pattern of a burn scar over his left shoulder. Trying to remember the last time the two of you were able to just do this, and struggling to recall it.

“Do we have stuff we gotta do today?” he asks, after a few minutes of silence. Sounding sleepy again, somehow, so you don’t have to guess the reason he’s asking.

You let your fingertips press lightly into the skin of his chest to better feel his heartbeat. Your list of chores doesn’t even come to mind this time, you’ve sunk too deeply into the moment of this, so you shake your head lightly.

“Nah. That’s what tomorrow is for.” You scoot closer to him again, your skin cooled finally enough to press against him. You look up and meet his eyes. His eyelids are heavy, and your heart pulses. “Close your eyes, Izuku.”

He smiles down at you. Cheeks dimpling a little, before he lets out a long, low breath. Contented, as he lets himself relax down against the bed. Against you.

“If you insist,” he murmurs. Voice trailing a bit as the sounds of the city outside your apartment chatter dimly through the open window.

You let your cheek come to rest against his heart again and let your breathing match to his. Deep and slow, with nowhere in the world to be. “I do,” you murmur back, but you know, from the soft hitch in his exhale, that he’s already nodded off.

You exhale in frustration, finally managing to clean up everything and pull the faded rug back into its place.

After disposing of the remnants of your failed invocation, you take a quick shower and go to bed. Turning off the light of the crooked bedside lamp, you sink your head onto your pillow and close your eyes.

So precious. I want to make you mine.

You sit up in bed, taking several heaving breaths, sleep still fogging your brain as the echoes of that voice continue to linger in your ears. Confusion washes over you as you come to realize that it's night and you are in your room, having just woken from a dream.

So sweet—

That low sultry voice speaks again, close to your ear– and you jolt. You swear you can feel the warmth of a breath on your skin. You spin, panic rising in your stomach. Yet, as you look around you, the full moon outside only casts its dim light on the scarce pieces of furniture that you own. 

There is no one in the room with you and no evidence that there ever has been. Still, you swear you heard a voice. After your beating heart calms down again, you convince yourself that it was just a vivid illusion, caused by your earlier attempts at spiritualism. You lay down, tucking yourself in again for the night, until sleep finally takes over.

It starts like feathers on your skin, traveling up your exposed arms, your inner thighs. It makes you squirm in your sheets when more of them trail up your naked stomach, tracing the fullness of your breasts before grazing your hardening nipples. They feel like fingers, dozens of them, sliding over your body, making you squirm in your bed, an unknown heat starting to settle in your core. 

The fingers are reaching for you, their tips ghosting over the skin of your naked body. These sensations take over your mind when they start running over the points of your body that are most sensitive, concentrating their effort on heightening your growing pleasure. You feel wetness pool in your underwear, dripping down your thighs. 

You can barely process these sensations, your mind lagging, clouded. All these fingers on your skin– you are overwhelmed by how good it feels, each touch more intense than the next. They graze over your nipples again, perking them into sensitive little nubs while you get wetter and wetter. It is so much that the pleasure converges, sparks starting to ignite in your core. 

The fingers continue to touch — so eager on your skin, heightening every little jolt of pleasure. A little shock runs down your spine and you whimper. This feels too real as if it isn't a dream at all. You are so close. If only a few more minutes—

Do you want to cum?

The voice is there again. Too taken up by pleasure, your mind is starting to float somewhere above your body, far away. You writhe and gasp between moans, “Yes.”

The voice chuckles. The fingers intensify their ministrations and you arch. 

What will you do for me to fulfill this wish?

You are succumbing to a fog of heavy desire. Before your pleasure peaks into a white-hot light, you scream, “Everything!”

You wake up, a thin sheen of sweat covering your body, the afterglow of your orgasm still rippling through you, making your soaked pussy throb. Your heart is pounding loudly in your ears

Yet, not solely from the pleasure– it's also from the feeling that something is off.

A dark, silky voice breaks through the darkness– the same voice that spoke to you in your dreams.

"Did you enjoy that?"

Your eyes widen, the mental fog clinging to you slowly dissipating. As they adjust to the darkness, you see him standing at the side of your bed. He is strikingly handsome, sensually carnal. His great black wings unfurl and span the width of your small apartment. Patches of gnarled purple skin adorning his face and body are complemented in color by horns protruding from the top of his head, nestled amidst inky black windstrewn hair.

But his most breathtaking feature isn't the wings or the horns. It is his piercing blue eyes that seem to glow in the darkness. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver up your spine. That and the fact that he is–

–completely and shockingly naked.

Your gaze drops instantly, yet not without having peeked at his massive flaccid cock, hanging heavy and thick between his thighs.

He tilts his head down at you imperiously, his lips upturning in a mockery of a smile. "Like what you see?"

You gasp and blink, trying to ignore the rising blush on your face. He steps closer, smirking down at you, looking every bit sinful. He radiates such sexual confidence that it has you taking shallow breaths, chills of pleasure arise in your body as wetness resumes pooling in your underwear. 

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you try to ignore your body's reaction, mumbling dazedly. "Who are you?"

He tilts his head, drawing attention to the set of horns on his head. You stare as piercing blue eyes take you in. "You summoned me, sweetheart. You should know."

His seductive, low voice surrounds you, floats through you, and seeps into your brain.

"I w-what?" You ask, dumbly. 

He just smirks. It takes you a moment to realize what he is saying. But then it hit you.

The conjuring.

"I didn't think that—" Blinking slowly, you stare at him. "I mean, I wanted to summon a spirit— not a demon."

“You don’t even know what you’ve invoked, do you, little human?” He purrs, his husky voice so pleasing to hear.

“N-no,” you admit.

He moves faster than you anticipate, the mattress dipping under his weight as he suddenly hovers above you. 

"Sweetheart, when a virgin is calling a spirit, you know there's only one creature answering her calls." His face aligns beside yours, his lips brushing the rim of your ear as he whispers, "An incubus."

Your heart races a million miles a minute as you clench your thighs to suppress the throb between them.

"And now that I am here," he straightens up and grins down at you devilishly, "I'll have you take responsibility for stirring up a thirsty one."

The way his voice sounds through you causes your core to pound with pleasure. Goosebumps rise on your skin and even more wetness pools in your panties. A sinful moan rips from your mouth as he chuckles, low and seductive. 

“What is happening to me?” You ask.

“You're in the presence of an incubus. Your body is reacting–" He tilts his head, deep azure irises tracing the features of your face. “Cause it knows it's mine."

“It's– I'm not…" you whisper, clenching your thighs in an attempt to keep the heat at bay.

"Aw, little thing," A low chuckle rumbles through his chest. "There's nothing you can do about it.”

You slowly scramble backward in an attempt to get away from him– until suddenly you can't go any further and your back is pressed against the headboard. 

His smirk never breaks as the demon moves, one large, claw-tipped hand closing in on you. You inhale sharply as it hooks under the seam of your shirt, pulling it down and taut– before you hear the fabric rip. His claws keep slicing your shirt to pieces across your front, making your breasts spill out.

"You will only come for me," he muses, "on my cock, from now on."

Oh god… 

You have no thoughts, the chill of the cool air drifting over your skin making your nipples bud up. You suck in a sharp breath, another surge of heat rippling through your body.

"I fulfilled my part of the bargain, now it's your turn—” his eyes rake down your body like a caress, stopping at the point where your legs converge. "You will be bred, filled with my seed."

Despite the ominous threat, you can't help a moan from bubbling up your throat, your pussy throbbing at his words. 

“I-I don't want that!” You stammer, swallowing thickly.

“Oh doll, your body is telling me otherwise.” he chuckles, deep blue eyes twinkling. “You're aroused just by the thought of it. I can smell your slick, feel the heat of your cunt.”

Oh boy is he right.

He moves close and, looking down at you, leans forward, one hand supporting his weight on the side of your body while the other traps your jaw underneath his clawed fingers, propping it up, forcing you to make eye contact with him. The sharp horns crowning his head loom over you and block out the dim light of the moon, making the demon's eyes gleam. 

"You will beg–" You can see his azure irises swirl, drawing you in, "–beg me to fill you up, over and over again."

At his words, the ache in your core grows even more intense. Your pussy pulses with desire, releasing another surge of slick. You feel it dripping out and down your ass while he chuckles deeply.

"N-No—" You lie– obviously.

An unreadable expression crosses his face, then he gives you a wicked smirk before he dips down, hovering his mouth over yours.

"Oh, you will…" You can feel his hot breath fanning your lips, seeping into your lungs like an aphrodisiac.

You inhale deeply, his scent intoxicating. It has your blood buzzing in your veins and brings a pleasurable fog rolling into your head until it spins. Your pupils start to dilate, the heat inside your core burns unlike anything you have ever felt before and a deep moan erupts from you. Totally delirious, you can't stop the drool from spilling past the corners of your mouth, your core getting wetter by the second. 

You realize that you want this– you want this so badly. His presence, his scent, his voice… all about him just makes you feel pleasure– yet you want to feel more than that. You want to feel everything. It's then you know that he owns you.

“Please…" you moan.

"Please what?" Knowingly, his soft lips brush yours, sending fiery-hot sparks through your body.

"Please pleasure me." You sob, desperately.

He sits back on his heels, smirking, the cock between his thighs now fully erect. You blink as you stare at it. It is huge, the thick crown of it a reddish hint, leaking so much precum, it trickles down its underside, dripping onto the sheets.

“Come here.” He crooks his fingers.

Part of you wants to fight it– the pull you feel toward him. But your body reacts on its own, crawling –no– gravitating toward him without conscious thought. He palms the erection standing proud and stiff between his legs while watching you from above, eyes heavy with lust. His free hand rises to wrap around your throat. 

“Open.” He demands, the other hand holding the base of his thick cock.

Obediently, you open your mouth, sticking out your tongue. The head of his cock, hot and heavy, slips between your lips and sits thick on your wet muscle. 

“Close.” He growls and you do, wrapping your lips around him. 

The incubus' scent is intoxicating down here, the taste of his precum delicious and salty. Without conscious thought, your eyes flutter shut as your tongue swirls around his cockhead, greedily dipping into the slit. 

The demon grits his teeth, baring his canines. His hands go to the sides of your head, long fingers tangling into your hair to shove you down his shaft. A whine rips from your throat and you gag the first time his cock touches the back of your throat.

“Suck it,” he commands, tilting his head.

You raise your hazy eyes, misted by tears, to see the demon staring down at you with hungry eyes while his hips start to move forward and back slowly, restlessly.

He's gentle, yet commanding and you love it. You've never felt so wanted or needed. With your lips coated in a mixture of precum and spit, he starts thrusting forward harder now, his clawed hands holding you in place. Each time you sink even further down on his cock, swallowing every inch that fits into you. 

He goes deeper with each thrust, making sure his size hits the back of your throat every time. And even though you're being painfully stretched, all you feel is pleasure, delicious and intense, and a pooling between your legs. Still, the incubus gazes down at you with a frown, despite your best efforts.

“You can do better,” he coaxes. "Relax."

With that, he bucks his hips forward, holding them there, as you gag and sputter around his length. His grip on your hair tightens, and with a final desperate breath of air, you relax your jaw and his cock slips into your throat with ease.

“Such a good girl,” the demon purrs as your nose grazes the unruly patch of hair at the base of his cock, your throat bulging.

Tears spill down your cheeks as he starts moving again, the wet slap of his constant thrusting filling the otherwise quiet room. 

With his slow yet steady rhythm, you get used to his length sliding into you, learning how to breathe despite his intrusion. 

“You’re taking me so well.” His brilliant turquoise eyes gaze down at you, your throat tightening around him at his praise.

Your lips stretch around the thick girth of his cock while warm spit dribbles from your mouth and covers your chin, building a sticky mess at the base of his cock. Your fingers grasp uselessly at his thigh while he uses you to chase his high. In that moment, he, his scent, and his heat become your very essence.

Looking up at him from beneath wet lashes, you distantly feel his thrusts becoming more erratic, turning into a rough grinding in your mouth, when he orders. “Now, swallow.” 

It takes one, two thrusts before he stills, the obscene bulge in your throat proof of how deep he is buried inside of you. You don't taste it, just feel him spill his hot seed down your throat. His cock continues to twitch, unloading into you, filling your belly until you feel it stretch obscenely.

“Take it like the good girl you are," he purrs, "Take all of my cock.”

You obediently do, struggling not to gag around him, trying to take short shallow breaths through your nose.

Eventually, his cock slides heavily out of you, leaving a glistening string of saliva and cum connecting you. Sputtering and coughing, you try to catch your breath. The demon looks at you before one hand comes up to cradle your head, the other brushing soothingly over your hair. “You've done so well for me, little human.”

His thumb trails over your chin, wiping the drool off before he dips down, kissing your cheeks, lapping up all the salty tears that wet your face.

"Ah– virgin tears are so delicious," the incubus croons. 

You let out a soft sob, leaning into his touch before he retreats, taking you in with glowing blue eyes and you shiver at the hunger you see in them.

Without warning, his mouth crashes on yours, hungry and demanding. He knows what he's doing– devouring your lips– and you can't help but moan, making his hot wet tongue slip into your mouth. The fire in you keeps burning as you lean into him, his lips dancing against yours. One hand raises to the side of your face, his fingers curl into your hair, angling your face to meld your lips deeper against his. He kisses with so much fervor now that he almost consumes you. You shudder against his kiss, your mind heavily clouded and you moan into his mouth, making him groan. He releases you, pulling back.

“Fuck, you’re too delicious." His eyes glow bright, filled with lust. "Now, it's time to fill you up, my little human." 

His palm lays flat on your chest and he pushes you back until you drop on the mattress. He eyes your heaving breasts hungrily before leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly, then soothing over it with his tongue. 

“Oh God,” You let out a choked breath, half delirious.

"You can just call me Dabi." The demon chuckles against your skin, his scorching tongue swirling around your nub.

He casts you a darkly amused look and continues his ministrations until you are a writhing mess underneath him. Slithering down your body, his large hands grip your thighs and shove them further apart. He nuzzles your inner thighs, closing his eyes to inhale the scent of your arousal.

“Doll, who knew– you're at your peak.” His dark eyes rise to your face and he gives you a sharp smile. “My seed is gonna take perfectly.”

You pant heavily as he hooks a claw through the top of your panties and, pulling down,  slices the fabric open, his eyes drifting to your exposed cunt. Dabi licks his lips and with a pleased purr, he bends his head, sliding his raspy tongue along your folds. It's hot and wet, as he gathers your slick on it, tasting your reaction to him before he fastens his mouth over it to suck at your soaked pussy.

You nearly keen off the bed, mouth falling open in a gasp of shocked pleasure, writhing in his firm grip. Dabi keeps tasting you, licking from the source of your heat all the way up to your clit, sucking your tender bud into his mouth as you squirm on the bed. 

You whimper and squeeze your eyes shut– but all of a sudden, the sensation is gone, replaced by a sharp sting as Dabi spanks your clit. 

“Eyes on me, doll,” the demon growls, baring his teeth.

Your eyes instantly shoot open, not wanting to disappoint– and a satisfied smirk spreads across his face.

"Good girl," he intones huskily, running his hand soothingly over your hips.

His voice is lust-saturated, sending hot arousal pooling in your gut, making your body thrum with need. It is a feeling you've never felt before. His eyes never leave yours as he drags the flat of his tongue up and down your core before nibbling and sucking at your over-sensitive nub. His palms trail up your sides to cup your breasts, squeezing them, like he's anchoring himself. Taking your nipples between his claw-tipped fingers, he rolls them between them, as he starts alternating between sucking and lapping at your swollen clit. 

You are so overstimulated, the pleasure you feel a mix of ecstasy and agony. You sob and beg– yet your pleas go ignored. Dabi continues eating you out, sending desire running down your spine and pooling in your core. You start bucking into his face, needing more of this. Then a white heat flares up in your core and your thoughts are cut off by the force of your orgasm. You can't stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your skull, your mouth hanging open in a silent moan as the blinding pleasure rips through your body like lightning. The incubus pulls back to look down at the mess he made of you, how you lay below him, your body slick with sweat. Pleasure still rolls through your limbs, fogging your brain and vision and you barely register the demon as he hovers above you, 

"I'm gonna fuck you until my cock is the only thing you can think of." His words send shivers up your spine.

You can't suppress it, your body wants just one thing– him. Your legs fall open, sinfully, and he slowly slots his body between your thighs, a claw-tipped hand running affectionately over your hair. He dips down, eagerly latching his lips on the pulsating vein on your neck, and pleasure floods your limbs, making it seep out of you. You feel his warmth pressed against you as he starts to gather your essence on his shaft. He grinds his hard dick against your swollen folds, mixing it with the copious amounts of precum that leak from his tip. 

“This pussy– this body– they are mine,” he growls against your skin. "I'm gonna breed you now, claim you as mine." 

"Dabi, please—" you sob, writhing in heat below him., "I-I can't."

"Yes, you can, my little human," he looks down at you with cerulean-colored eyes, "And you will."

A moan breaks from your lips, becomes a shudder as the pleasure intensifies with him thrusting along your folds now, spreading precum all over you. The endorphins flooding your system heighten your desires, overwhelming your doubts, and the urge to have his massive cock deep inside you becomes unbearable. 

As if he can read your mind, he purrs, lazily, “Want my cock?”

"Yes please–" you whine, needily. 

"How badly?" His voice is seductive, low, and husky.

"I need it!" It feels like you're burning up inside.

You gasp heavily when his hands sneak around your hips, pulling you up to align his throbbing cock at your entrance.

Dabi's smoldering blue eyes snap up to meet yours. "Are you ready to be bred?"

Part of you still screams no, yet your body desires otherwise. Your core is dripping, the sheets below you soaked. Your skin is hot, sweaty, and sensitive– and it feels like molten lava flows through your veins. You need him inside of you. It feels like a deeply seeded instinct to have this man– this demon– fill you up. Through teary eyes, you look at him. Dabi is so incredibly breathtaking– his chiseled features and captivating aura, his piercing blue eyes that are trained on you. 

"Please, fuck me." You sob deliriously. "Fill me up."

"Good girl." The demon chuckles, his posture dominating as he begins pushing his hips forward.

The bulbous head of his dick presses against your passage before it pops in. You cry out, the stretch of his girth immense. Dabi quickly hits resistance but with another quick roll of his hips, it gives. Your cries turn into desperate moans as the demon keeps shoving himself further inside, slowly disappearing inside of you, inch by inch. His massive cock spreads you apart, forcing your walls outward. The stretch feels amazing and you can't stop yourself from succumbing to the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure all in one. The second he bottoms out, you almost pass out.

"Ah– virgin pussy is simply the best," he groans, watching how your eyes roll back, his cock outlined in your tummy as your pussy keeps quivering around him.  

After a few much-needed moments for you to adjust to his size, he pulls out. He looks down watching how his cock comes out, covered in your slick mixed with the color of crimson. Nudging the tip at your entrance, he spears into you with one swift thrust and you cry out again. The sudden sensation of being filled sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He’s so big, so long and thick– the feeling so intense. The demon smirks at your reaction and starts to thrust into you now, drawing sweet cries of pleasure from your mouth as you writhe beneath him. 

“Such a fine cunt.” he inhales a sharp breath from between gritted teeth. “All mine.”

Your pussy is dripping onto his dick, lubricating it as he fucks you– hard, deep strokes that bring you closer and closer. You keep tightening up around him with each move, pleasure and pain wrecking your body and mind. 

Dabi’s face moves close to yours, as he stares at you with lust and hunger, a predatory smirk on his lips that makes your belly churn. Every thrust is so delicious, amazing. You want more. Your incubus keeps whispering dirty nothings about breeding you, punctuating his words with powerful thrusts, all while his essence keeps sloshing around in your belly. 

It's so obscene—

—yet so good.

He’s still sneering down at you when the tension builds up so high that you can’t take it anymore. It bursts, sending waves of pleasure shooting through you. Dabi continues to pound into you, your eyes rolling back, your walls clenching up around his cock again.

The incubus hisses, feeling you tighten around him. He keeps pleasuring your puffy cunt, balls slapping against your butt every time he sinks in, impossibly deep. The grip on your hips tightens, sharp claws digging into your flesh, piercing through skin until small drops of blood appear. But you're too out of it to feel pain– you just feel bliss.

Lifting your ass, his cock starts stroking along a spot inside of you that has your vision turn white. Dabi seems delirious as he stares down at where you both are connected. The wet sounds of him drilling into your pussy fill the room as he keeps impaling you on his cock over and over again. The little brain you have left working properly knows you’re a mess below him— drool running down your cheeks, tears cascading down your temples, dampening the pillow beneath you. And yet here he is, smirking down at you with no sign of exhaustion at all. It's quite the opposite to you– he seems to glow, a blue aura surrounding him that seems to flicker around his body and wings like caressing flames.

His hands slide to your thighs, pushing your legs back against your shoulders. You feel him slide his cock insanely deep, deeper than before– in a way that didn't seem possible. Each stroke into your convulsing hole is more intense, pouring more overwhelming sensations into your body. You’re moaning obscenely, with your insides stuffed impossibly full. 

"I'm going to cum, precious." He warns. "Gonna fill you up. Are you ready?"

"Yes!" You moan needily.

"Yes, what?" He asks again.

"Come inside of me," you gasp for breath, struggling to think clearly, "Fill me up and breed me!"

"Good girl." He growls sensuously, sultry and low. "Gonna fuck my seed into you—"

He thrusts deeply one more time, and you shatter into a million pieces. Your pussy clamps down on his length almost painfully, milking him, and the incubus hisses. His wings extend fully, spanning the width of your small apartment bedroom as he throws his head back in ecstasy. His cock seems to swell before he releases rope after rope of his thick hot cum into your waiting womb. 

"Ah yes," he groans. "Take it all— carry my offspring."

You hear his words but they're drowned by your pleasure, unable to comprehend the consequences of them. You are too far gone, head lolling and drool dripping from your mouth. Dabi stays buried inside you, copious amounts of cum pooling out at the base of his cock. The blue glow emanating from his body intensifies from all of the energy he's drained from you. You feel him, still hard, still ready for more and it sends sparks shooting in your brain.

"That's gotta do it," your incubus leans down to whisper against your ear, "But better to be safe than sorry, right?"

And with that, Dabi grabs you by your hips and flips you over. One hand clutches your neck to press your head into the sheets, the other lifts your ass up. Between one heartbeat and the next, he is looming over you. In your lust-fogged mind, you feel the heat of not just one but two dicks as he rubs them along your seam, coating himself in the ample mixture of your slick and his release. 

"W-what…" you murmur, exhausted, face half buried in your sheets.

"Didn't know incubi could change form, huh?" He intones and you feel the pressure at your holes increase.

"Dabi—" you whine and try to wiggle your ass away from him. "It won't fit—"

He grips your hips, holding you in place, dwarfing you in your attempt to get away from him. Your breathing stutters as you tense up.

"Shh, doll, it's ok," Dabi soothes in his deep voice. It causes your pussy to quiver in anticipation despite the fear lacing your mind.

He dives forward, his canines grazing against the supple skin of your neck before he shifts closer to your ear and whispers, "Relax and give yourself to me."

At his words, you allow yourself to loosen up and he begins to press himself against you in earnest. With a grunt, he breaches your virgin asshole while his lower cock slides into your gaping pussy. You cry out in an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain and your hips flex in his hold. He holds you there, keeps you stretched around the fattest part of his cockhead, while you bite into your bedsheets, tears breaching your lash line. 

Slowly, you get used to the stretch and the pain gradually changes into something else, something more pleasurable. Then, with one swift thrust, he drives himself fully into you, sheathing his two cocks into you at once. It sends tremors throughout your body before another rush of endorphins hits you like a wave. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, and you moan his name as he withdraws and pushes into you again. 

Dabi sets a demanding pace, and all you can do is fist the sheets as he rides you, pumping both dicks into you with vigor. The way he fills you feels obscene, his two cocks hitting you so deep. He's hitting spots that feel more amazing than anything you've felt before. You can feel the pressure building inside you and arch, pushing back into him. His pace quickens, and he fucks you with such force the bed creaks. This would normally concern you– if your brain were properly functioning.  

"Your holes feel so perfect, little one," he groans, as he pulls out and drives into you again, hard, turning your whimpers into broken moans. "The best ones I've ever had–"

Your brain is shut down, little hiccups escaping you as your body moves solely on instinct. On lust. Another gush of slickness gets you even wetter, the messy slick sounds of your holes sucking him in echoing through the room. His hands close in on your neck, pressing you down as he pumps into you, your ass clenching around him as your pussy tightens around his cock. Your cheeks burn, your mouth opens in a silent moan and in the back of your head, you feel a powerful orgasm building.

"I'm gonna cum, doll." Dabi groans.

He lightly circles your swollen clit with the tip of his clawed finger, pushing you beyond a point you've never been before. With his next thrust, you feel your core convulse with a force unbeknown to you. Your mouth opens in a silent cry, no longer able to speak as the pressure throbbing between your legs releases and you feel yourself come undone. Clear liquid gushes from your core and drips onto the sheets below. Dabi lets out a low growl when he reaches his climax, driving himself in to the hilt, pumping his cum into your pussy and asshole. Your belly starts pudging outwards as his burning hot release floods your insides and you topple over the edge yet again, your holes milking his cocks for all their seed. His pace staggers and slows until eventually, he pulls out, glancing down to scrutinize the mess dripping out of your two holes onto the drenched mess of your bed sheets.

"I have to admit," he pants, the corners of his lips quirking up, "You're the best I've ever had."

He finalizes his statement with another solid plow forward. 

For the rest of the night, the incubus plays with your body, making you cum until you lose count of how many times he shattered your world. Your holes are left creamy and white from every load he unleashes into you. Your eyes are stuck permanently in the back of your head from the constant pleasure wrecking your body. Your brain is non-functional, and your body is completely and utterly overwhelmed by the sheer number of times you came. The sun is just beginning to rise when he finally retreats and you slump bonelessly onto the bed, your entire body aching. The sheets beneath you are drenched with your sweat and your combined release. Dabi watches you intently, alternating between stroking your hair and your cheek. His wings come to shelter your body, their warm leathery skin gently caressing your form. 

"You did well for me, little one." Leaning over you, his lips brush your ear as he croons seductively into your ear, "I think, I will take you with me. I sense that my seed has taken and I can’t bear to part with such a perfect little human."

You should be upset over these final words, retaliate against their implications. Yet all you feel is drowsiness and absolute bliss. Being filled with his warm essence, your lips pull up into a soft, satisfied smile and your eyes slip closed, exhaustion finally taking over.