⇢ ˗ˏˋ mercy ࿐ྂ

"i don't–"

"did you miscount?" his head pops around the door. he scans the empty packet in your hands and gives you a sympathetic look.

"i guess... maybe i looked at the wrong date on the calendar... fuck, that's so annoying!" you make a face and flick the empty pack into the trash.

he swallows. when you peer up at him, you find that he's avoiding your eyes, hands clasped in front of him like he's trying to keep them from fidgeting. "i mean..."

"what?"

"it's not the worst thing," he murmurs. he does glance up at you now, narrowing his eyes slightly like he's trying to stop himself from smiling. "i-i mean, it could be worse, right?"

"izuku."

"i'm not... i'm just saying! your appointment could be in a couple weeks, or next month, right?" he takes a step into the bathroom and unclasps his hands, wiggling his fingers unconsciously like he wants to reach for you. instead he drops his arms.

"izuku." your tone is chiding, but it doesn't carry much weight. you raise an eyebrow at him and press your lips into a thin line to stop the smirk that's itching to form.

he takes another step forward. he really needs to wipe that look off his face; it makes him look like a kid in a grocery store about to beg his mom for a treat he knows he shouldn't have. makes him look greedy.

"yes my love?" he's starting to crowd your space a little bit, big wide eyes shining with something like hunger. one of his hands twitches, and he finally gives in and slides it on your hip, squeezing just a little.

your shorts are thin. why are your shorts so thin, are they always this thin? his touch tickles and you shiver.

you can't look at him, can't make eye contact because you know exactly what will happen (it involves a lot less clothes... which is what always happens when he looks at you like this) and you can't risk it – so you say just that.

he huffs a little breath through his nose, almost in amusement, and rubs a circle into the junction between hip and waist with his thumb. it's a nice soothing pressure.

"alright, baby."

there's no commentary – suspiciously no commentary. he plants a kiss on the top of your head, gives your hip another squeeze; when you finally sneak a glance up at him he gives you a sweetheart smile, the one that softens his whole face. he couldn't fake that smile if he tried; it's not withholding, just earnest. "whatever you want, okay?"

you nod and give him a kiss, rubbing at his chest. he smells good, post-work out and pre-shower, all sweaty and musky, and his lips are so soft, you find yourself hanging on to the soft and pliant fabric of his t-shirt. he's so warm too. his other hand finds your waist and he pulls you forward, deepening the kiss with a little sigh into your mouth, and you can't help but lean into him. when your nails scratch against his skin through his shirt (just a little!), he inhales sharp and through his nose, chest rising beneath your fingers. then he groans into your mouth, sliding his hand slightly higher up your torso until it rests right against your abdomen.

god, you feel hot. is it hot in here? it's like heat is radiating off of izuku in waves, warming your cheeks and making your heart beat faster. kissing him feels so good, makes you feel all gooey and needy and–

shit. nope!

nope nope nope.

releasing his shirt, you flatten your palm and push, breaking the kiss. "you're playing dirty," you mutter with a scowl. he just smiles and kisses you again, no funny business this time.

"you're the one who kissed me first, baby."

"ugh!" you slap his chest and step around him to get to the hallway. "i have to get dressed or i'm gonna be late for work!"

what you miss are his eyes glueing themselves to your hips the second you pass by. he cranes his neck to watch you walk away, leaning against the doorframe to track your form until it slips into the bedroom and out of sight.

shit.

it could be said that izuku is a man with incredible self control. he's been through hell and back, and he stayed true and genuine the entire time; he only had a year to prepare himself for one for all, and he did it; he follows his self-made schedule more rigorously than anyone you've ever seen; one time he explained to you how he organizes his hero notes, and it was so thorough and so detailed, you knew you could never commit to such a system, but izuku does; he's disciplined like that.

it could also be said that izuku is a man with very, very little self control. especially when it comes to you.

he finds himself on edge for the rest of the day.

your little messages don't help. they aren't even anything crazy, which makes it worse.

around lunchtime, you text:

thinkin abt u baby!

he sets his chopsticks down and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing them like it will somehow release the tension he's felt churning in his gut ever since he saw that empty pill packet in your hands.

he doesn't think he's gonna make it until your appointment. the only thing he's thought about all day is how pretty you always look when he's got a hand pressed to your abdomen, hips flush with yours as the the tip of his cock stays nestled right up to your cervix and keeps you plugged nice and full; how pretty you sound when you beg for it: please, izuku, i–ngh–i need it...

damn it! he has to cut off this line of thinking before he spirals. adjusting his pants to account for the semi he's sporting (seriously?), he flips his phone over and picks up his chopsticks.

then he sighs. he sets them down again, picks up the phone, and sends a response:

i've been missing you all day

his thumbs hover over the keyboard before he types:

seriously, all day

then he really turns the phone around, switching it to silent for good measure. unfortunately, this measure is useless, since it doesn't stop him from checking it every five minutes. he's never taken so long to eat a meal in his life, but he keeps getting distracted: setting his chopsticks down and sighing, staring morosely at the food in his bento.

he'd feel better if he knew what you were doing, how you were feeling, what your day has been like. he misses you.

you miss him too. you can't remember the last time a day at work felt so long. all morning, time has dragged on and on, but the clock never seems to change all that much. it doesn't help that you're glancing at it every few minutes, and it certainly doesn't help that you decid to wait until lunch to text izuku. hasn't it been 10 for like an hour already? surely more time than that has passed, right?

he's been taking up space in your mind ever since this morning. that heat you felt emanating from him never left, lingering in the pads of your fingers where they touched his chest and traveling through your bloodstream, veins and arteries carrying it to everywhere else; he may as well have transferred it to you. now he swims in your consciousness, floating through your thoughts as though you're dreaming. it's impossible to focus.

impossible to focus on work, that is. it seems since you saw that empty birth control packet in your hands, there's been only one thing on your mind.

izuku always fucks you properly. you're never left needy or wanting. he takes good care of you, and right now, it's all you can think about. you want him to bully that fat cock inside without any barriers between you, wanna feel him with no limits... just you and him, raw. you and him, as close as you can possibly be... he always makes you feel so good, always keeps you so full and–

ooooookay!

that's enough of that. there's still another hour until lunch time, and if you're getting this distracted already you're never gonna make it.

when it comes to each other, you and izuku are both experts in the art of communicating through what goes unsaid. throughout the day, you send little texts back and forth, and there's nothing overtly sexual in any most of them, but by the time you're catching your train home your panties are drenched and it’s all his fault.

he knew exactly what he was doing when he sent you that post-workout selfie in the late afternoon... the one he conveniently "forgot" to send this morning… yeah, right. more like he saved it to use against you later. it was only fair when you retaliated with a picture hastily taken in the bathroom of your work, shirt tugged down enough that your bra peaked generously over your top's neckline... if he's gonna fight dirty, then so are you!

when you get home, right away, he's hovering; taking your coat, offering you a drink (of your choice!). after you change he's guiding you to the couch and pressing you gently on to it. he slips a pair of socks on to your feet and rubs your shins, pausing before glancing up at you. "you were on my mind all day today."

what a deliberately nonchalant tone he's adopted! it seems he's deciding to play it cool, something he's never been very good at. you run a hand through his hair and then rest it on the side of his face – he immediately leans in to your touch, eyes fluttering closed when your nails scratch at his scalp.

he's so easy.

"yeah?"

"yeah! i, uh, i was thinking about what we talked about this morning..."

your lips twitch into a smile. he's so easy you can't resist messing with him a little. "which thing?"

"oh, the... um, the birth control thing... and i was thinking..."

"oh! that reminds me–" you spring up from your seated position and he starts, falling back until he lands ass first on the floor. he stays there, defeated, as you scurry to your bag and pull out a small box.

he eyes it carefully. "what have you got there?"

"condoms," you explain, pressing the cardboard between your fingers and sliding a foil from the package. it crinkles between your fingers, shiny surface catching the lamplight. "y'know... in case... well, i mean, i figure we'll need them."

now how to respond? does he press the issue now or later? he can tell, with the way your lips tremble – you're bluffing. have to be.

how cute! did you go all the way to the store to buy – what is that, a 3-pack? – it is! a box of three condoms that he's unsure would fit anyway, all to pretend like later you aren't going cum on his very much unwrapped cock. as if three condoms would be enough to last the four days between now and your appointment anyway. they must have been the cheapest option. he loves it when you commit to a bit.

sure, the two of you used condoms plenty of times back when you first started sleeping together. it's just that the first time you had sex without a condom... game changing, and you've never looked back.

"that's very... thoughtful. wow, thank you baby! nice work, thinking ahead like that."

you purse your lips. "...yeah, you're welcome."

you had gone to the store, a 7/11 that was about five minutes away. it had been an afterthought on your walk home from work. you really thought he would protest more when he saw them, or even laugh–maybe you're misreading things? is he being annoying on purpose or just being sweet and now you're the crazy one playing mental games?

except you know how izuku feels about raw sex (with you, specifically). and you know that on the inside he has to be nearing his limit. you saw the look on his face this morning, you know what he's thinking about. it's like he just expects you to roll over, to give up and ask him for it. where's the effort? you'd love to see him beg a little.

you saunter back into the living room and haphazardly toss the condom on to the table, then turn towards the kitchen.

"i'm gonna get started on dinner. if you don't have work to finish you can get rice going."

izuku nods and mutters something that's supposed to sound like acknowledgment, but sounds more like a grunt instead.

as you walk away, he stares at your ass from his spot on the floor. he can't help himself. all that purported self control, erased the second you enter his field of vision.

he loves you, more than life itself; loves your mind and your sense of humor, loves the way you talk to yourself when you think no one's looking and the sound of your voice. when you direct that pretty voice in his direction it makes him feel like a truly lucky man, not everyone is so blessed! with all the things you could say and all the people you could say them to, you choose to spend your time talking to him – and gosh, does he love you for it.

but... honestly? he didn't hear a thing you just said. were you even talking just now? he's pretty sure he saw your lips moving...

it's like he's in a trance; all he can hear is blood rushing in his ears and the sound of his heart trying to claw it's way out of his chest and lay down at your feet. step on it, who cares? he'd die for you. do whatever you want. the way you look right now, he's pretty convinced you're some kind of deity, and he just wants the chance to worship at your altar.

"wait–" he gets up and stumbles after you, fingers itching to touch. in the kitchen, he finds you washing your hands at the sink, back turned. he wastes no time, sidling up behind you and grabbing your hips, leaning in to press his nose to the back of your neck and taking a deep breath.

"baby." now he's turning you around slowly, laughing when you glare at him.

"i'm a little busy, don't know if you noticed–"

he reaches behind you and turns off the sink, using his hips to press you against the counter.

that same smoldering heat erupts at the point your hips make contact and your mouth actually falls open at the sensation. every touch with izuku always seems to be laced with electricity, and now it's arcing between your bodies, building and expanding – when they say sparks flying, this is what they're talking about.

between his two large hands, he holds your cheeks with great care. his thumb brushes over your lips, catching on the bottom one and dragging it down until it bounces back into place.

whenever he captures one hundred percent of your attention, he isn't playing fair. he has this incredible ability to turn a mundane moment into an unforgettable one, and he wields it in moments just like this. maybe it's the attention he gives you and it's undivided nature, maybe it's the way he touches you like he never wants you to forget the way it feels, but one moment you're washing your hands and the next you're tunnel visioned and starry eyed, forgetting where you are or what you're doing as he stares at you like you invented the sun. yeah, it makes your heart melt and your brain short circuit, how could it not?

works like a charm, every single time.

"m'sorry, baby," he murmurs. "i didn't get to kiss you hello."

"no"–you gulp–"you didn't."

he doesn't make either of you wait for it anymore. his lips press against yours, firm and soft and familiar. when they part open you follow suit, an open invitation which he's happy to take. he groans, so satisfied at the way you taste he has to vocalize it. how could he not, when he's been craving about that flavor all day?

now you're tugging on his hair and panting into his mouth and grinding against his thigh that he doesn't even remember slipping between your legs, he just did it without thinking because it felt like the right thing to do and here you are rubbing all over it and he'll be damned because you're somehow wearing those tiny little shorts again. so thin. why do they even make shorts that thin? when did you have time to change and how come he didn't notice? are you trying to kill him?

he pulls away and one hand tugs at your waistband impatiently. "come on," he complains. "these don't even count as clothes. you're fighting so much dirtier than i am!"

"they're pajamas," you emphasize, like that exonerates you. "and you're the one who sent a gym picture when you weren't even at the gym–"

"–because you sent me that text about ovulating–"

"–that's–not–that's unrelated!"

"nuh-uh!"

he abruptly tosses you over his shoulder, ignoring your squeal, and marches back into the living room, dropping you somewhat unceremoniously on the couch before climbing over you. his thigh finds it's way back between your legs.

"izuku!" you gasp. every time he manhandles you like that, it leaves you a little breathless. it's a jarring reminder that he can do whatever he wants with you.

"you... your–this–this little back and forth has been so cute," he says. this psychological foreplay has been fun but if he doesn't get a visual on your pussy in the next five minutes he's worried he might explode. "and, gosh, you're so cute, cutest in the world, but honey"–the look he gives you is exasperated, like he knows he signed up for this but he's still regretting it a little bit–"i'm sorry, i can't do it anymore."

both of his hands rest on your hips, fingers curled around the elastic of your shorts. "these can come off or stay on, it doesn't matter to me."

does this mean you win? you technically held out the longest, not that you'd really call it holding out... self control when it comes to izuku is not an area you excel in. something you both have in common.

it doesn't matter. you've both won, now it's time for your reward.

"take them off," you say, voice cracking at the end. it's not something you have to ask for twice.

he yanks the shorts down your legs, shaking his head the whole time. then it's time for your underwear, and he's gentler, but equally as impatient.

need is finally starting to catch up to you, and you feel almost drunk with izuku looming over you like this. he feels too far away. you want him to stretch you out on his cock so badly it feels like you're going to pass out, but he slides two fingers between your folds instead.

"gosh, you're so... already this wet? thinkin' about it all day, huh?" he slips one finger inside and you moan.

"don't... you don't... just, i wanna feel you right now," you urge.

he slips in another finger, curling and pumping them in the way he knows you like. his movements are intentional, calculated and efficient. they're not dragged out, he can't handle that right now. fingering you to make sure you're aroused enough to take him is really a formality in this moment – it's obvious with the way you're dripping down his hand and on to his wrist that you're ready to go.

"what do you wanna feel?" he presses, using his other hand to pull his shirt over his head and fumble with his belt. you don't waste any time, pulling the rest of your own clothes off.

he pulls his fingers out of you and jerks them down his length a few times, spreading the ample pre-cum that leaks from his tip to lubricate himself before lining himself up.

"i wanna feel"–you shudder when his tip presses past your entrance–"f-fuck–wanna feel your cock filling me up. just-just your cock, nothing"–he bottoms out and you yelp–"nothing else."

he shifts his weight until he's right on top of you, holding himself up with his knees. he lowers his lips to your ear.

"but what about protection?" he purrs.

you don't need it with izuku. there's nothing to protect you against. anything he has to give you is something you'll accept.

you gasp. "i don't... want it!"

"i don't know, sounds pretty risky..." he taunts, torturing you with a slow roll of his hips. it doesn't matter if he was the one to give in first, izuku always makes you beg for it eventually.

clenching around him, you whine "come on...!", locking your legs around his hips. one of your hands finds his shoulders and clings to them.

fine. enough of this. if he gave in so can you.

"izuku," you say thickly. "i want you to cum inside. please, i'm-i'm asking you to."

"but what if something happens?"

"let it," you beg, legs squeezing tighter. you can't take much more of this, need him to move like your life depends on it. "cum inside, and whatever happens, happens, i don't ca–no, i want it, alright? c'mon, please."

he grins, wickedly. let's out a little breath and starts to thrust into you. "want me to make you mine, forever?"

he strikes a deep, slow pace, like he wants you to really feel it. like he wants each rut of his hips to steal the breath from your lungs.

so far, it's working.

"oh-oh... my god... i feel you so deep." each time he presses into you, it sends a numbing sensation rolling down your entire body, washing over you in a muted wave. there's something intoxicating about the combination of the momentary ache you feel each time his tip kisses your cervix and the mind numbing pleasure it precipitates. it's like an unspoken reminder that there's nothing between the two of you right now.

his hand slides against your lower abdomen and presses. the gesture makes you gasp, has your eyes fluttering at the added pressure and how it makes you feel that much more full. his green eyes are completely wild; he looks unhinged. every signal he sends radiates his claim.

he presses a little harder, then pulls all the way out for a moment. the feeling of emptiness lingers for long enough that it settles in your chest like anxiety.

"izuku!"

you want to scream at him for teasing you right now, your aching need starting to override your rationality. you whine, and he coos, "you want it?"

"yes!"

still, it just makes it all the sweeter when he slowly sinks back inside. his hand is so big and warm where it rests right against your womb – it heightens your arousal to the point that his sliding in just an inch has your back arching completely, your hips involuntarily trying to shimmy down further on his length. he sinks to the base and holds it for just a second, stretching you all the way and relishing in the extended moan that's tugged from your throat.

his thumb rubs a leisurely path over your skin. "you feel me... here?" and he presses again.

"yes, feel you in my stomach," you pant. he's rutting in to you with a steady, breaking pace, like a man on a mission.

"gonna put a baby here," he whispers, like a secret meant for your ears only. "gonna claim my pretty girl"–you clench around him and he gasps–"s-shit, you like that? like it when i talk about breeding you so everybody knows who you belong to?"

every single word that passes his lips sends you further into what feels like hysteria.

"wan' you to fill me up, please... you know i'm all yours izuku, you know."

you're not even really thinking straight at this point. your cunt feels like molten lava, burning you up from the inside out, and izuku keeps turning up the heat. he relishes in the way you clamp down on his dick, pussy walls constricting so intensely he actually grits his teeth.

you want it so bad. wanting might not be strong enough of a word... you crave it. you yearn for it. you need it.

"look at you." he's certainly looking at you now, with an intensity behind his gaze that hasn't diminished. it only seems to get stronger when he grinds into you nice and slow.

the heaviness of it all makes you keen. you keep mumbling "baby, please" and "you know" over and over, too fucked out to muster up full sentences. izuku acts as your own weighted blanket, draped over you and numbing out all of your senses. he kisses you with an open mouth and swallows the sound of your whimpering. he thinks it's a nice flavor on you.

"gosh, you sound so pretty when you beg," he breathes against your lips. "go on baby, beg some more. what do you want?"

are you going to pass out? no, maybe not... it's just that the edges of your vision have started to blur. the blinding pleasure is almost starting to err on the side of pain, nerves set so alight that your brain can't keep up. still, his dick is so deep that you can't possibly think of anything else with much conviction.

he hits each thrust with precision and purpose, molding your pussy to take him and him alone. if his weight wasn't on you so heavily, you'd be pushed up with every rut of his hips.

"you–i need–your cum, oh my god"–this might be it for you, each word cut off by the sound of skin clapping against skin–"fill me up all the way"–imploringly–"f-fuck, baby, make sure it sticks."

you have the thought that you might really be ruined for anyone else, not that it matters. it doesn't feel possible that anyone else could ever make you feel this good... more than just good, izuku makes you feel like the only person that's ever existed, like the most desirable and beautiful thing he's ever seen. each time he grinds his hips against yours, he's reminding you:

i choose you. i want you. i own you. you're mine you're mine you're mine.

"it will," he grunts, "it has to, the way you're sucking me in." lowering his face to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, he sucks a mark into the delicate skin. you have this feeling of being completely anchored, held down and fucked full of love. "wh–hah–whatever it takes."

it's full skin to skin. sweat pools between your bodies and it just adds to the intensity of it all. you feel him deep inside, you feel him on top of you, you feel him everywhere.

this feeling is why they call it making love. in this moment, that's exactly what you're doing: each of pouring all of your trust and devotion and commitment into the other, giving into that primal instinct that seeks out this sacred shared intimacy.

tears prick at your lash line and your next gasp is a little strangled on the way out.

"izuku."

something in your tone has him lifting his head so he can look in your eyes. some of his curls are sticking to his sweaty forehead, and the rest tickle the side of your face as he peers down at you.

the tears don't make him stop, but he does lace one of his hands with yours, squeezing lightly to reassure you. it's just what you need.

"honey, are you still with me?"

honey. baby. sweet girl. his tenderness is always so appreciated, but now it has you reeling with emotion. everything feels so intimate and you feel so vulnerable and fragile and taken and claimed that it sends a few tears spilling over and onto your cheeks. your eyes can’t focus on anything, so you close them.

that's izuku for you: fucking you dirty on his cock, all the while holding your hand and calling you honey.

"hey, sweet girl. will you give me a signal?" izuku's voice pulls you back to yourself, back to him. you can’t see it but he looks at you in earnest now, taking even more careful notice of your reactions and expressions.

you realize you need to say something or else he might stop and that's the last thing in the world you want right now. with tremendous effort, you open your eyes again and force yourself to make eye contact.

“yes,” you gasp. “i’m here.”

izuku beams. he kisses your nose, then kisses the tears on your cheeks. “there she is.”

sometimes, like right now, izuku loves you so much it frightens you a little. it's a strange feeling when you've spent years building walls to protect yourself and someone meticulously disassembles them. he didn't break them down, he showed you why you didn't need them anymore. now, here he stands, worn but satisfied in front of your tender and defenseless heart.

with every kiss, he promises to take good care of it. every touch says: i can protect you better than those walls ever could. i see who you are, i know what you need.

to be loved is to be seen, and he makes you believe it. there's no one else who could have you like this. you both know it, both feel the gravity of it. what a privilege, to be needed like this. what a privilege to give yourself.

"i love you," he whispers. it's uttered like a secret, but one you already know.

more tears run over. “i love you so much,” you blubber, gasping when he grips your hand tight in his and moves them up until they rest beside your head. he whispers how much he loves you over and over, calling you his good girl, all while his cock threatens to tear you in two. “f-fuck, izuku, it’s too much, i can’t.”

“you can,” he murmurs, “you can do it, you’re already doing so well for me.” the fingers that rest on your abdomen squeeze softly. he gets a shiny gleam in his eyes. you know that look, one that threatens an impending flood of emotion.

"right here"–his pace is starting to turn erratic, thrusts lacking any semblance of consistency, meaning he's close–"gonna put a baby right here. our baby–" he's choked by his own guttural groan when your cunt clamps down on him. both of your chests heave, breaths syncing until they're all shared. "tell me you want it," he begs you. the whiny tone in his voice is like a drug, taking you higher and higher and higher.

"i need it," you cry. "i need it. need your cum, need you to fill me up all the way–i–please–"

you could snap at anytime, your body vibrating like a string pulled tight, but you're waiting, holding on so that you can finish together. you want to look right in his eyes as he gives you his seed, wanna see his face the moment he fulfills both of your wishes and unbreakably tie the strings holding you together. the way you're begging for.

"i've got you," he gasps, "take it all, baby, f-fuck"–his eyes go wide–"take everything, you can, you can."

his eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and he looks like he might be panicking but it's not panic, just a feeling of pleasure so intense he doesn't even know how to process it. he thrusts hard once, then twice, and you feel the way his cock throbs as he unloads deep inside you, as deep as he can possibly go.

being fucked full of izuku's cum is already one of the best feelings you can possibly imagine, and it doesn't come close to this, with the threat of your actions looming over your heads and sending a thrill through your gut. your orgasm slams into you like a bus as every muscle seizes at once and then slowly start to relax as waves of pleasure roil your blood, your pussy squeezing around him, milking him and sucking in every drop of cum he gives. it's so warm, flooding inside you and making you feel like you're floating.

you tremble and moan, unable to do much else because izuku's body is still flush with yours, his hand still pressing yours back into the cushions behind you. there's no space between your bodies and he's still barely close enough... but the way your eyes are locked on his fulfills the desire for connection that courses through you. it's too much, so much that you want to look away but you can't. your body won't let you, and you can see the same reality reflected in his glistening irises as a few tears slip from the corner of his eyes.

two hearts beating in one rhythm, two lungs sharing the same breaths, two eyes reflecting the same tears.

it's the longest time has ever stretched. in this moment lies infinity, as you swim through the cocktail of dopamine and oxytocin your brain is pumping through your system. you're trembling, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rattling through the marrow of your bones.

izuku doesn't dare pull out, just drops his head to your neck and sucks in air in gasping breaths that feel hot against your skin; soon, you feel the gentle press of his lips there instead. you bring your free hand to the back of his neck, using his hair as an anchor to grab on to, rubbing featherlight circles into the base of his skull.

several minutes pass, just like this, in the quiet and sticky air that fills the intimate bubble you're floating in.

finally, finally, once your heartbeats have returned to a more normal rhythm and you've regained feeling in your extremities, he so gently lifts his head and kisses you nice and slow. his cock has gone soft but he still doesn't pull out, relishing in the closeness too much to break the moment. you smile into the kiss, and he laughs a little, pulls back and rests his forehead against yours.

"that was..."

"what the hell," you murmur, "insane." softly, your thumb traces his cheekbone.

when he rubs your noses together you giggle. "you should run out of birth control more often," he jokes, and you laugh, then you bite your lip and flit your eyes down.

"not to be a mood killer, but–"

"i already made an appointment," he interrupts gently, giving you a warm smile, "for a morning after pill. that's what you were going to say, right?"

you narrow your eyes in slight suspicion. "yes...?" his smile turns a little guilty but he doesn't look very apologetic. "when did you have time for that?"

"i did it on my way home..." he confesses, and you gasp, then roll your eyes. of course he did. it's equally thoughtful and presumptuous, although izuku prides himself on making highly informed guesses based on his predictions which, admittedly, are right most of the time.

you decide that it's just thoughtful. still, you say, "i knew it! you're such an instigator!"

izuku just laughs. "i can't say that i'm sorry for it."

you can't help but laugh with him. "yeah. me neither." tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, you raise your chin to hint at your desire for a kiss, and just like always, he indulges you. over-indulges you, biting at your bottom lip and slipping his tongue into your mouth. your body reacts before your mind has time to catch up and you curl into him. the sensitive walls of your pussy flutter and you feel his cock twitch.

"tomorrow, huh..." you whisper. "we have such a limited window..."

he's growing harder by the second; the feeling makes you shiver.

"yeah," he agrees, "gonna make it count."

Tender Miquella falls along his brother, gripped hands clinging onto a foregone dream, as he thumps against the ground - tangent and physical unlike the departed promised consort. Far-reaching blonde locks tangles itself around his frail body, mottles of dust coated his pearly white robes, with the bottom of his dress being stained by a mix of dirt and blood pooling around. He refused to look at you, but even then, you could see the darkness painted on the underside of his eyes.

He was still as beautiful as you saw him, back when you were both kids. Even when your body had outgrown his, and the once delusions of infatuation about your dear friend appropriately dissapears given the situation - only that now with his curse gone, he was far more taller, pretty features smoothening itself to a beautiful yet sharpened appearance, and the slopes of his chest evolves into a man's body rather than the soft one he harbored.

It hurts your heart to know that your dear friend had to sacrificed parts of his body just to experience a life many took for granted.

"I deeply apologize," You began. "But this must be stopped."

For a moment, you thought that he will never gaze upon you again, your existence a giant blotch in the Age of Compassion he plans to enact, until his golden eyes meets yours - possessed with the kind of grace that you once dream to steal for yourself in envy. You imagine an amalgamation of fear, doubt, and anger in his heart, flittering through the visage of his sight, before you remember the golden crosses erected across the Land of Shadow. He had thrown it away, everything that symbolized his kindness, and you weren't sure if the man before you is still the childhood friend you adored.

"I've seen it all, even if you don't want to reveal it to me - the crosses, your followers, thrown parts of yourself." You try to hide your grimace as the memory of St. Trina sleeping in-between two large cliffs, where the nectar of her blood blossomed purple flowers beneath her body, pleading to save Miquella from his fate - even when the young demi-god had doomed her to her death. "As your dear friend, I don't want you to be trapped in the same cage Queen Marika suffered to."

Miquella shifts at the mention of his mother, tangled limbs fixing itself into a proper seating position - one that does not make his already tired body ache. His arms quake in retaliation, still too exhausted from all that has happened, taking a toll on his already feeble, vitiated body. A god all the same, transformed from its cocoon, in a never-ending pursuit to be finished. Such was his curse.

It was a few minutes of silence before his voice, honeyed and nurturing, comes out. "I've never dared to think that you will be my executioner. You were dead. I remember it as clearly as I did, more so than the inevitable shattering."

"I became tarnished," You replied. "But my grace was given to me, woke up in a random tomb in a chapel of some sorts, and as ironic as it is, that very grace that has been renounced from me had led me to this moment."

Your hold on the sword handle tightens. The golden light from the gigantic arches, flowering the vast area with enriched brightness, cascades perfectly over Miquella's form like a well-fitting crown. "I looked for you within the Haligtree. I was saddened to see the state of it, especially when I remembered how proud you were for building a safe place for those unwanted by most. Then I saw your cocoon, your shriveled arm, and I lost all hope to find you."

"I'd presume you found this place because of my followers, yes?"

You nod. "A coloful bunch of fellows. I was overjoyed at first to hear that you are still alive, but the more I discover your purpose here, the more I doubt if you are the same Miquella I knew."

His smooth features didn't change, and you almost wanted to renounce your own words in fear of hurting him, but as he dusted himself from the grimes coating his clothes, it seems that he had grown used to those same words being thrown at him - likely, the late St. Trina, who would persuade him of discontinuing his goal of being a god.

"Help me, won't you?" He requests, throwing a slight smile that had managed to worm on his face, despite everything that he's been through. "I fear we'd better find a shelter first or else darkness will capture the skies soon. It will be safer to move while it is still bright."

"Oh, yes - of course."

You quickly acquiesced, reflexively crouching downwards to meet Miquella's height, steady hands slithering around his waist, lifting him up slowly in order to avoid straining his body more than it already had. Like how you two always did during times of peace, Miquella hugs his arms around your upper shoulders, as he ventures his mouth closer to your ears. He begins to whisper a soft chant, golden light shining from the both of you, and your hold began to loosen before steadying once more - a soldier tasked by its king. With your help, the young god finally stands up with both of his dainty legs, hands tightly woven together as Miquella caresses the scopes of your skin with his thumb.

"Be my consort," Miquella whispers amongst you two, even when the young god and you were the only people within the desolate place. A hushed vow, like children playing marriage, in the comfort of the palace's secret garden. "As once was promised, before your untimely death. Let us reclaim what my mother's so-called grace has defied us."

You slowly nod. Your left knee lowers, placing itself atop the ground, as you lower your head to kiss Miquella's outstretched hand. You pledged yourself, body and soul, with only the arch of divinity as your audience.

"Let us go, my beloved consort. We must make haste to the Erdtree and build this world anew."

A puzzle fitting itself rightly in its place, you felt Miquella resting his dreadfully tired body against your back as you settle yourself on top of Torrent. The young god wisps his hands towards the loyal steed's head, petting it in reverence as he spoke. "It is nice to see you again, old friend. I trust that she is treating you well."

The steed did not respond, but it nudges its head against Miquella's soft, yet ragged hands. He lets out a gentle chuckle. "I understand."

The Shadowlands was nothing but breath-taking, but from the burnt villages and tall expanse of grey grass, it was evidently different from the place you're familiar with; most especially, with the absence of the expansive golden tree seen all the way from Limgrave. It was not home, you both knew it, and there was nothing but want to be finally rid of this place - Miquella being all too happy to return since achieving godhood, as you wholeheartedly follow, lest you ignore the restrained tremor in your hands currently holding your sword.

Miquella's own hand slithers through yours, soothing the tremor with the caress of his thumb, before leaning his head against your back. you could feel his heart beating, rejuvenated and anew, prepared to fortify his dreams - unalloyed no more.

The thought of it made your move faster, slightly nudging Torrent with your foot, as the steed began to ran swiftly like the wind.

By the time you had reached The Lands Between, night has already claimed the skies, and the two of you was forced to rest within a nearby church of Marika to avoid foolishly fighting any nearby monsters when you couldn't even see where you are. The site of grace provides the both of you with warmth, as its golden hue cascades over the dim light of the moon, with the church still fortunately having some roof for you to take shelter in once a mild drizzle of rain begins. Like old times, you placed a blanket over Miquella as he peacefully rests on a make-shift bed composed of another light blanket and some clothing as a pillow. Torrent places its head on top of Miquella's lap, whom the god soothes with his hands as he busily flits his eyes to you who was deep in thought, eyes locked in an intense battle with the site of grace before you.

"Come here and rest. We have plenty of land to travel across tomorrow." Miquella calls out.

But the young knight did not budge, feet planted on top of the course ground like a flower blooming into a new life, as your finger fiddles at a twig about to be thrown at the kindling fire. The darkness looms like a mother's cradle, swatted away by the chaos incarnate within their center, though even with its powers, the ferocious uncertainty of the Lands Between caused you to still have your sword sheathed beside your waist. Torrent shifts, rising its head from Miquella's lap and turning away from the Empyrean, as it chooses to face the crucified statue of Marika instead - an imagery not too far away from what is true.

Miquella calls your name. Soft, reverent, rough in the right places.

"Hmm."

"You seem to be in deep thought. Tell me."

"It's nothing."

"Then come," He pats the blanket of randomly thrown clothing beside him. A perfect space for another person. "Rest. If it's truly nothing like what you say."

Under the dim sky, Miquella's radiance of golden light blurs to almost like a hazy memory, where his face is hidden within those dreams - always out of reach, but present enough to tear into unhealed wounds. This version of Miquella was the same within that dream, only that he is here. Tangible and ever-present; like an ever-loving, omnipresent outer god. You hesitate to rise and seat beside him, some force compelling you to feel shame for seeing such a magnificent creature, but when his gaze sharpened, your knees rose to a standing height before succumbing as you laid beside the young god.

You move your hips sideways, planting a hefty space between the two of you, as you place your sword right beside your body before laying down to face the night sky.

"Come closer, dear."

"Why?"

"It is what we used to do as children."

"But you're not a child anymore," You shift your gaze towards Miquella, whose kind eyes shifts into something sinister, before gentling down into a softer hue as soon as you turn around. "It is improper for an unmarried woman and man to lay together."

Miquella lets out a tender chuckle, placing his head on top of his palm, as he huddles closer. Following suit, you wiggle away until your arm meets the edge of the makeshift, uncomfortable bed. "Is it not a joyful occasion? For me to break free from my curse that had tortured me since I was born?"

"That is not what I meant to say," You huff in retaliation. Having enough, you face the opposite direction from his direct gaze, turning your back against him as you cross your arm in defense of the brutal coldness of the wind. "We must rest."

"Oh," You could hear the smile from his voice as he - ignoring your wishes - slithers his hands around your tangled arms, pressing it against your stomach as the warmth of his chest fringes the coldness of your skin. Miquella rests his cheek on top of your head, feeling the softness of his lips on your ears, while he tightens his hold around your torso. "My dear consort, how long I've dreamed of this."

There wasn't much you could do; every wiggle of your limbs causes Miquella to tighten his hold, as he rests and shifts his body around more comfortably around your smaller, yet mightier figure. Who knew that even with his lack of warrior abilities, he could easily will his childhood friend into being contained within his arms - given that the aforementioned friend was incredibly tired from trekking the journey all the way to the Lands Between. Eventually relenting, your ministrations of movement quietens down, much to the contented sigh of Miquella.

"Tomorrow…" His hand slides up from your stomach, caressing sideways into your upper arm, before slithering downwards to the slopes of your wrist, and then finally kissing your hands with his own. It plays with your fingers, digging in-between its spaces, before clutching it fully - hands intertwined like a prophecy coming true to life. "We end the Age of Shattering, once and for all, thus along with it is the union of our marriage. My mother's judging stare harm us no more."

"You say that but," Your eyes tried to jump towards the large statue of Marika just behind the figure of your bodies, but before you could do that, Miquella stops you with the force of his fingers. "Her statue is merely right behind us."

"It is just a statue."

"Doesn't feel appropriate."

"A lot of things does not feel appropriate to you, my dear." He whispers into your ears, making you shiver with the sensation, until his lips ominously began to lower as he started showering kisses towards the crook of your neck. His hands moves in opposite directions; his right hand rises upwards to claim your breast through your clothing, while the other shifts near your inner thighs - making you stir uncomfortably within his embrace. Though he cannot see it, you might as well be a tomato right now with how red your face is. "It's why we ended up here now. No matter, for the new world we create suits the likes of us just fine. A more compassionate, kinder world, where mother's grace cannot take you away from me again."

"What…" Your breath pitches faster, as if you had hiked a mountain with no air left to inhale with, hands immediately clutching Miquella's until the god hushes you with a soft, urging voice - to accept it and let him take care of you. The way he always did as children, until the reality of his curse destroys the image of you on that garden, pretending to be a bride with a stolen blanket from someone's laundry, and that you will eventually grow up to live your own life. Your own family. A future without him, because his body is incapable to live up to its full potential, even when he had the intelligence to rival even the most knowledgeable scholars in Raya Lucaria. But here he is now, smoothing his hands towards your inner core, until it reached the source of warmth between your thighs. He lightly caresses it - making you yelp in surprise. "…Are you doing?"

He didn't answer, but the way his hand massaging your bosom drifted to your chin, moving it sideways as he engulfs your mouth with a kiss was answer enough. Pink lips dancing around one another - you found yourself unknowingly acclimating to whatever this wicked thing Miquella had set upon your body, teeth nipping each other's bottom and upper lip, containing moans that could potentially wake someone as Miquella continued to play with your lower body. Then, without warning, his hand dives underneath your trousers, as his thumb deeply presses against your clit.

You couldn't stop yourself from opening your mouth, screaming a silent moan, as Miquella's lips found its way in the corner of your neck again. To that specific spot again.

"How torturously wet you are," You could hear the smirk in his voice. Three of his fingers, clumped together like a formidable wall, starts to circle around your slit. Your hand instinctively holds his wrist - to stop him or to urge him further, you didn't know - but he persists anyway as he nips a bite against the skin of your neck, before lavishing it with kisses mixed with the slick of his tongue. "Like you want it desperately."

"We need to sleep," You say through gritted moans. "It is like what you said, we have a long day tomorrow — ah!"

The bastard had slipped a finger inside you, curling itself in a crooked manner, as it slowly starts to pump into you — making sure you'd get used to it. It wasn't your first time engaging in anything sexual, having a fair share of lovers in the past, but Miquella's methods seems to be a bit rougher still, trying to learn how to make you feel good. His movement functions on what he knows, not what he experience.

But oh gods, the way his pumping fingers starts to fasten, slick sounds of your core getting louder, and his kiss meeting your mouth to muffle your moans. You knew as a tarnished that you would never feel heaven, but Miquella had a special way in making you think you're born to inherit grace.

It was always you and him. He loved his mother, his siblings—Malenia, Godwyn, even Radahn, and he loved you. Dearly, like a man possessed.

"You say that as you moan like a whore for me."

"I'm—I'm not a whore. Ah!"

"I know, love. I'm merely jesting."

"M-Miquella," You grabbed the arm playing with your breast again, interlacing your fingertips around his, looking at him like a worshiper looking for mercy. "Please…"

"Yes, dear?" Seeing your desperation, his finger starts to fasten, delving another one inside of you as the ends of his palms slaps against your skin, making such obscene sounds that any passerby will know what's happening and die in shock. You bit your teeth, feeling shame for doing this in a sacred place, but you can feel yourself almost letting go—you've known desperation all your life, crawling from edges of blood-stained cliffs to relentlessly beat any nemesis you could find, but this feeling makes you feel like trekking the entire journey to being an Elden Lord once more just to meet that sweet end. Miquella whispers to your ear. "Close?"

You tighten your grip on his wrist. "Please."

"I know, hush. Let me handle this." The edge of his thumb starts to caress your clit again, making you hide your face in the crook of his neck and moan into it. "It's okay."

"Miquella."

"I know. Let go, love, let go."

"It's—hah…"

"Shhh…"

You climaxed, long and hard, as blunt as an attack from a weapon wielded by a god turned warrior. Liquid sloshes out of you, staining Miquella's fingers who withdrew his hands and raised it in-front of you. Your body was limp, tired from the fight and journey, and whatever that entire ordeal was. Sleep has been awaiting your consciousness, even more so now that your eyes began to flutter close, but Miquella looks at you eagerly and you couldn't dare to defy your god.

"Lick it clean for me?"

You don't know why but you followed without complaint, fitting in his long fingers inside your mouth and circling your tongue around it, tasting your sticky essence — it tasted weird and unknown, but Miquella seems to smile happily at what you've done as he grabs both of your head and kissed you deeply, like he was finding for what you've just tasted in your tongue.

Your lips separating made a slippery, obscene sound, but it was just you two and the night sky above you. Torrent was peacefully sleeping, Marika's statue was a mere stone unable to do anything, and you two had a ring to mold and a kingdom to fix.

"I adore you," He says as he places a kiss on your neck again, closer to your collarbones, where a healed scar rests — white and faded, like the gods and their glory, like humanity abandoned by the outer beings. You remember the pain that emanated from it, from that pierced arrow stabbing you to death, but that is all gone as Miquella places his love on it. "Now, let us rest."