Just Finished Reading The Second Book Of The Ravenhood Trilogy, Exodus By Kate Stewards. My Heart Is

Just finished reading the second book of the ravenhood trilogy, exodus by Kate stewards. My heart is ripped apart I have never cried so hard I’m still crying a day later. I thought this was gonna be a nice spicy book and next thing I know I can’t even eat because I feel nauseous. Now I’ve never been heart broken before but im pretty sure this is what it feels like. I was gonna start another book like I always do but I just feel like I can’t? Like i can’t move on from their story IM IN PAINNNN oh god send help guys lol im a wreck

⇢ pairing: izuku midoriya x fem!reader

⇢ rating: e, 18+

⇢ word count: 14,075 [ao3]

⇢ tags: a/b/o, strippers and strip clubs, knotting, biting, blood, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, soft alpha deku, soulmates lite, aged up characters

⇢ notes : written for @rat-zuki​‘s The Deku Agenda Escapes No One collab - check out the other amazing writers and artists HERE!

⇢ summary: Dancing at the finest omega strip club in town has its advantages - the pay is amazing and you drink for free and you’ve yet to find any other experience that matches the thrill of it. It’s not an especially fulfilling career but it more than pays the bills and you find you can’t complain. 

But then, an unexpected perk comes to you in the form of an alpha unlike any you’ve ever met, with forest green eyes and broad shoulders and a shy smile and a scent that calls to you like a siren song.

Keep reading

Okay but imagine this for a sec. ph!bakugou and ph!yn doing the wired autocomplete interview 👀👀

WIRED AUTO COMPLETE INTERVIEW

cw: you n him

sorry i’m imagine a lil press tour thing so again i like imagining yn in her tube top and long pretty maxi skirt and bakugou’s wearing the same brand but in all black with his massive ass prada boots.

same intro but you make bakugou do it this time.

“i hate this shit.”

“just say the line!”

when the director shouts go, bakugou slouches further in his chair.

“hi. it’s katsuki and yn. we’re doing the wired autocomplete interview…. that good enough?”

and you sigh a laugh, “well i was supposed to say my name but—,”

next scene you’re holding bakugou’s google question board and your chairs are noticeably closer together.

“do you ever google yourself?” you ask.

“nah. anything i need to know gets sent to me by you anyway.”

“hey! it’s not my fault people post pictures of you in action or articlesabout you saving a cat from a tree.”

bakugou rolls his eyes.

“out of everythin’ i’ve done in my life.”

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!”

“lets see if any of your answers are gonna be helpful, hah?”

⇢ pairing: izuku midoriya x fem!reader

⇢ rating: e, 18+

⇢ word count: 8,399 [ao3]

⇢ warnings: mild, consensual somnophilia

⇢ tags: oral sex (m and f receiving), vaginal sex, mild injury/gore, established relationship, aged up characters, L-bombs, mild cum kink, seriously so soft

⇢ notes: written for the better than fiction collab - find other wonderful works from that collab HERE!

⇢ summary:

In Izuku's line of work, mornings like this - slow, lazy, comfortable hours spent together in bed after a close call the night before - are beyond a luxury. How could you not indulge?

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 follow him soon after. Slipping easily into a land of dreams and whisper soft touches of skin and souls, drifting on the spring breeze and warmed by the sun. Held close by the smell of his skin and the curl of his arm around you, grounded to everything good that you have, as you let yourself bask in the comfort of it all.

I KNOW but bakugou doing interviews like youtube brand ones and he’s sitting slouched in the chair with an all black outfit????? eating my knuckles. doing the gq video of going through his everyday bag. chunky ass prada boots, black cargos and a random black but well fitted henley top. he’s harsh and he’s blunt and he laughs loud. has to censor his language but if he forgets he just adds a shrug. clearly doesn’t want to be there but when he gets into it he leans on his knees. decides how to introduce himself differently every time. sometimes dynamight or katsuki or bakugou or bakugou katsuki or katsuki bakugou. depends how he feels. quirks an eyebrow at intimate questions and scratches his chin when he’s thinking hard. rings on his fingers and the only tattoo showing is the one on the back of his hand.

listens to the public share their opinions about him through questions and comments, something he usually avoids when he’s back home. rolling his eyes at people saying how attractive they find him, grunting when people compare him to the oddest things. shy smile when he gets comments from strangers being proud of him.

shows off random talents and facts. like how he knows seven languages and he can juggle. how he really enjoys cooking and is a plant dad.

wipes his face to hide his grin at the mention of you since your relationship is public and if he’s been away from home for a while, he finds out the company reached out to you to send him in a video question and suddenly he wakes up completely. grabbing for the ipad. it doesn’t matter he saw you on facetime last night. he recognises the outfit you’re wearing in the video from last week and he wonders how you were able to keep this little secret. the question you ask is sweet, cute, typical. has him grinning at the device. watching it twice before handing back the ipad to the interviewer.

“hey katsuki!!! i’ve got a question for you, don’t worry i’m not gonna say anything embarrassing.” you giggle in the video, “just wanted to ask, are you missing me? because i’m missing you!” and you give a little wave, “love you! come home safe!”

he hears your voice replay in his head even once it’s over. visibly shaking his head so he can hear the interviewer.

“so what’s your answer?”

“course ‘m missin’ her,” his voice gets quieter without meaning to, crossing his arms across his chest, “missin’ her more than she’ll ever know.”

the fact bakugou not only apologized verbally but also very clearly apologized because he sat and continuously recognized his actions, his weaknesses, AND dekus strength on top of that. and after all of that, he made the choice to tell deku everything he sincerely felt in front of their whole class, stood in the rain with his HEAD BOWED as a sign of respect—addressing him as IZUKU, not deku OR midoriya, but izuku to demonstrate their proximity to each other. i simply wont ever listen to anyone talking shit about him ever