The ache hasn't left him.
It’s a low, constant throb between his legs as he settles the sleeping baby into the crib, a phantom fullness that his cunt is always begging for. Izuku smooths Natsuki’s blanket, his fingers trembling. Three days. Three days of normalcy, of bottles and burps and naptimes, while underneath his skin he’s been screaming. The memory of the rattle is a brand. The memory of being empty after is a wound.
The nursery door opens without a knock.
Katsuki fills the frame, already shrugging out of his suit jacket. His crimson eyes find Izuku instantly, and the command is there before the door even clicks shut. “Present.”
Izuku’s breath hitches. His body moves before his mind can form a protest he doesn’t have. He turns from the crib, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs, and walks to the white rocking chair in the corner. The air is cool. It kisses his bare thighs as he sits, the wood creaking softly under his weight. He looks at Katsuki, at the man methodically unbuttoning his dress shirt with those broad, callused hands, and he knows what’s required. What he wants. He leans back, spreads his knees wide, and hikes up the short, slutty skirt of his uniform.
No panties. Just the slick, exposed truth of him, already glistening. The cool air hits his wet folds and he shudders, a fresh bead of arousal welling up to trace a path down his perineum. He is perfectly, shamelessly open. An offering on the plush cream rug.
Katsuki stops. His shirt hangs open, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the golden trail that leads south. His gaze is a physical weight, searing a path from Izuku’s flushed face down to his cunt. A low, rough sound tears from his throat. “Fuck.”
He palms himself through his trousers, and the outline there is obscene, a thick, heavy length straining against fine wool. He strokes himself slowly, his eyes locked on Izuku’s glistening pussy. “Look at that. Dripping already. You been thinking about this all day, baby boy?”
“Yes,” Izuku whispers. The admission is a relief. His inner monologue is a frantic chant. *Look. See how empty I am. See how I need it. See how I need your fat cock.* His own scent, musky and sweet, fills the space between them. He can feel the wetness soaking into the lace of his skirt where it’s bunched at his hips.
“Say it.” Katsuki’s voice is a gravelly command. He undoes his belt, the rasp of leather loud in the quiet room. The zip follows, a slow, deliberate descent. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”
“Your cock,” Izuku breathes, his green eyes wide and dark. He doesn’t look away from Katsuki’s hands. “I’ve been thinking about your cock, Daddy. How big it is. How it felt in my ass. How I… I need it somewhere else.”
Katsuki pushes his trousers and briefs down his hips, and his erection springs free, thick and uncut and beautifully angry, the head flushed a deep red. He fists himself, a slow, tight stroke that makes the veins stand out. He takes a step closer, until he’s standing over Izuku in the rocking chair, his massive cock level with Izuku’s face. The primal, salty smell of him is overwhelming.
“This what you need?” Katsuki murmurs, his other hand coming to cradle Izuku’s jaw, his thumb pressing against Izuku’s lower lip. “This what that pretty little cunt is crying for?”
Izuku nods, desperately, his lips parting against the pad of Katsuki’s thumb. He can taste the faint salt of skin. “Yes. Please. It’s all I can think about. I’m so empty, Daddy.”
Katsuki’s thumb pushes into his mouth, and Izuku sucks on it instinctively, his tongue swirling around the digit. He watches, mesmerized, as Katsuki guides the broad, leaking head of his cock toward Izuku’s spread thighs. It’s not a thrust. It’s a claiming. The hot, silken skin of Katsuki’s crown presses against Izuku’s soaked slit, a teasing, unbearable pressure right at his entrance. Izuku moans around the thumb in his mouth, his whole body straining upward, begging for that first inch of stretch.
Katsuki holds himself there, not pushing, just letting the weight and heat of him rest against Izuku’s desperate, clenching hole. His red eyes burn down into Izuku’s. “My fuck doll,” he growls, the word final and absolute.
Katsuki drives his hips forward in one brutal, claiming thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt inside Izuku's soaked, clenching heat.
Izuku’s cry is sharp and ragged, torn from his throat before he can stifle it. His free hand flies up, palm slapping over his own mouth, fingers digging into his freckled cheek. The stretch is perfect, blinding, a searing fullness that obliterates every hollow ache of the last three days. His inner monologue whites out into a static scream of *yesyesyesfinally*.
Katsuki’s smirk is a dark, victorious thing. He leans over Izuku, his own breath coming in a hot gust against the shell of Izuku’s ear. “Better not wake my son, baby boy,” he growls, the warning a rough caress. “You make another sound like that, and I stop.”
The threat is a lie and they both know it. Katsuki’s control is already fraying, the corded muscles in his abdomen taut as he begins to move. He doesn’t start slow. He fucks him. Hard, deep, punishing pulls that drag his thick cock almost all the way out before slamming back in, the wet, rhythmic slap of their bodies connecting filling the quiet nursery.
Izuku moans, the sound muffled by his own palm. Every thrust punches the air from his lungs. His head falls back against the rocking chair, the wood creaking in a frantic counter-rhythm to Katsuki’s hips. *This. This is it. This is what I needed.* His cunt clenches greedily around the invading length, sucking him back in deeper each time, the slick sounds obscene. He’s so wet it drips down onto the chair cushion beneath him.
“That’s it,” Katsuki grunts, his hands gripping the arms of the rocking chair on either side of Izuku, caging him. Sweat beads on his temple. “Take it. Fuck, you’re so fucking tight. Been dreaming about this cunt.” His rhythm is relentless, a piston-driven need. “Mine.”
Izuku’s eyes are wide, tears of overwhelming sensation gathering at the corners. He nods frantically against his own hand, his other arm wrapped around Katsuki’s neck for anchor. He is split open, owned, perfectly used. The pleasure builds like a storm surge, coiling low in his belly, threatening to shatter the fragile quiet he’s clinging to.
“Gonna come,” Izuku whimpers, the words barely audible behind his fingers. His thighs tremble, his toes curling. “Daddy, I’m gonna—”
“You come when I say,” Katsuki snarls, but his own voice is strained, his thrusts growing more erratic, his balls slapping against Izuku’s ass. The rocking chair thumps against the wall with their force. “Not yet. You hold it.”
It’s agony. It’s ecstasy. Izuku sobs, biting the heel of his hand, his body arching as Katsuki angles a thrust that brushes a spot deep inside that makes stars burst behind his eyelids. He’s a live wire, every nerve ending screaming, the orgasm hovering just out of reach, held there by Katsuki’s will alone.
Katsuki’s composure cracks. A ragged groan escapes him, his forehead dropping to Izuku’s shoulder. His pace becomes frantic, desperate, the wet slaps echoing off the nursery walls. “Fuck. Now. Come for me, slut. Now.”
The permission is a detonation. Izuku’s body seizes, a silent, screaming convulsion as his cunt milks Katsuki’s cock in rhythmic, fluttering pulses. He squirts, a hot rush that soaks Katsuki’s thighs and the cushion beneath them, his vision whiting out completely.
Katsuki follows him over with a choked curse, his hips stuttering as he buries himself to the root and pumps his release deep into Izuku’s clutching heat, pulse after hot pulse, claiming the emptiness that had haunted them both.
Katsuki doesn’t soften. He stays buried inside Izuku to the root, his cock a persistent, thick presence in the clenching, oversensitive heat of him, and Izuku can feel the damned thing twitch, still hard, still hungry.
“You think we’re done?” Katsuki rasps, the words hot against the sweat-damp skin of Izuku’s neck. His hips give a shallow, testing roll, and Izuku whimpers, the sensation a lightning bolt of too-much, not-enough. “I didn’t say we were done.”
He pulls Izuku’s bitten hand away from his mouth, his grip bruising-tight around the slender wrist. He pins it to the arm of the rocking chair. “Stop that. I want to hear you.” His other hand fists in Izuku’s green curls, yanking his head back. “Moan for me, baby boy. Let me hear how much you love my cock ruining this sweet little cunt.”
He starts to move again, and it’s not the frantic pace of their climax—it’s something darker, more deliberate. A deep, grinding thrust that makes the chair screech against the floor. Izuku’s moan is a broken, airy thing, torn from him without permission. *He’s still so hard. He’s going to break me.* The thought is pure, shimmering euphoria.
“That’s it,” Katsuki growls, his voice guttural, losing its polished edge. He fucks into him with a ruthless, pounding rhythm, each drive hitting a spot that makes Izuku’s vision spark. “Sound like the slut you are. My little babysitter whore. You been aching for this, haven’t you? Aching for a married man to pump you full in his son’s nursery.”
“Yes!” Izuku cries out, the word too loud, too raw. He doesn’t care. The degradation is a flame licking up his spine. He’s so wet it’s a mess, their mixed releases making filthy, squelching sounds with every thrust. “Daddy, yes, I’ve been aching—I need it, I need your cock, please—”
Katsuki’s hand leaves his hair to slap down on Izuku’s bare thigh, the sting sharp and bright. “You take it so good. Look at you. Dripping all over my fucking chair. You gonna make a bigger mess than my infant son?” He leans in, his teeth grazing Izuku’s earlobe. “Maybe I should put you in diapers. Keep you ready for me all the time.”
Izuku sobs, a desperate, laughing sound. The idea is humiliating. It makes his cunt clench like a vise around Katsuki’s length, drawing a ragged groan from the man above him. *Yes. God, yes. Anything.* His thoughts are molten, incoherent. He’s just a vessel, a used, willing hole, and the freedom in that is terrifying and perfect.
“You love that?” Katsuki pants, his thrusts becoming brutal, jarring. The rocking chair slams into the wall with a solid *thump-thump-thump* that is absolutely going to wake the dead, let alone a sleeping baby. He doesn’t seem to care. His control has burned away, leaving only this raw, possessive hunger. “You love being my dirty little secret? My fucktoy I paid for?”
“I love it, I love it, Daddy, I love your cock,” Izuku chants, the words a litany. His own voice sounds foreign, wrecked and wanton. He grinds back against Katsuki, meeting each violent drive, his body a map of bruises-in-the-making and he wants them all. “Don’t stop, please, never stop, breed me, breed my fucking cunt—”
Katsuki roars, a sound of pure, unfettered possession, and his pace turns animalistic. He’s not fucking anymore; he’s claiming, conquering, his balls slapping wetly against Izuku’s ass, the entire room filled with the symphony of their sin. The crib doesn’t stir. The world has narrowed to this heat, this sweat, this pounding connection.
They don’t stop. Katsuki’s cock, still hard and slick with their mixed release, doesn’t slip out. He grinds deeper, a raw, possessive circle of his hips that has Izuku crying out again, the sound ragged and too loud for the nursery. The oversensitivity is a sharp, bright pain that bleeds instantly into a deeper, more desperate ache. *More. Again. Forever.* Izuku’s thoughts are animal-simple.
“You hear that, Natsuki?” Katsuki rasps, his voice wrecked and low, aimed at the crib. He doesn’t look away from Izuku’s face. His thrusts resume, slower now, a deep, grinding punishment that steals the air from Izuku’s lungs. “You hearing how much your babysitter loves Daddy’s cock?”
Izuku sobs, his head lolling back against the chair. He’s a mess of sweat and come, his thighs trembling. “He’s—he’s asleep,” he gasps, as if saying it will make it true, will protect the last shred of their sin from consequence.
“Good boy,” Katsuki groans, the praise a dark caress. He leans in, his mouth hot and wet against Izuku’s ear. “Stays asleep while I wreck this sweet cunt. Maybe he knows. Maybe he knows his Daddy’s making him a little brother right now.”
The words are a live wire shoved down Izuku’s spine. His whole body seizes, his cunt clenching in a violent, involuntary spasm around the thick intrusion. A brother. A baby. *His* baby. The fantasy is so illicit, so profoundly wrong, it makes his vision swim. “Daddy—”
“You want that?” Katsuki snarls, his pace picking up, becoming punishing. The rocking chair slams into the wall with renewed force. *Thump. Thump. Thump.* “You want me to pump you so full of cum it takes? Want to get knocked up on my wife’s good linens, you little slut?”
“Yes!” Izuku wails, the confession torn from a place beyond shame. It feels like truth. It feels like destiny. His hands scramble at Katsuki’s sweat-slick back, nails digging in. “Breed me, Daddy, please, fill me up, make me a mommy—”
Katsuki’s roar is guttural, almost silent, all vibrating chest and bared teeth. He fucks into him with a brutal, jackhammer rhythm, his balls slapping a wet tattoo against Izuku’s ass. “Gonna put another baby in this nursery,” he grunts, each word a thrust. “My baby. In your teenage cunt. You’ll be so fucking pretty, swollen with my kid.”
Izuku is crying, tears cutting clean tracks through the sweat on his cheeks. The image is obscene. It’s all he’s ever wanted without knowing the shape of the want. He comes again, suddenly, a sharp, clenching orgasm that isn’t about pleasure but surrender, his body accepting the fantasy as a promise. He squirts, a pathetic, hot trickle that just adds to the ruin beneath them.
Katsuki doesn’t stop. He’s relentless, a machine of sweat and muscle and hunger. He shifts his angle, pulling Izuku halfway out of the chair, fucking up into him with deep, reaching drives that feel like they’re splitting him in two. “Ask him,” Katsuki pants, nodding toward the crib. “Ask Natsuki if he wants a brother.”
Izuku’s eyes fly open, wide with horrified arousal. He looks over Katsuki’s heaving shoulder at the sleeping infant, peaceful in the soft nightlight. The contrast is devastating. “N-Natsuki,” Izuku whimpers, the name a sacrilege on his fucked-out lips. “Do you… do you want Daddy to give you a brother?”
Katsuki slams home, a particularly vicious thrust that makes Izuku see stars. “Louder.”
“Do you want a brother?” Izuku cries, his voice breaking. The room absorbs the sound. The baby sleeps on. “Daddy’s gonna make me a mommy, he’s gonna breed me right here for you—”
That does it. Katsuki’s control shatters completely. He crushes Izuku against the soaked cushion, his mouth on Izuku’s throat, biting, sucking, claiming as his hips lose all rhythm in a final, frantic sprint. “Take it,” he grunts, the words muffled against skin. “Take my fucking seed, you perfect whore, take it all—”
He comes with a shudder that wracks his entire frame, pumping another hot, impossible flood into Izuku’s thoroughly used, dripping hole. Izuku feels it, the scalding pulse deep inside, and his own body convulses around it in a weak, answering echo, milking him dry.
Katsuki’s hands, slick with sweat, slide under Izuku’s trembling thighs. He doesn’t withdraw; he lifts, hauling them both out of the ruined chair in a single, brutal motion. Izuku cries out, the movement jostling the thick, hard length buried inside him, but the sound is cut short as his back meets the plush, cream-colored rug of the nursery floor. The air is cool against his sweat-soaked skin.
“Floor’s better,” Katsuki grunts, his voice a raw scrape. He folds Izuku in half, pushing his knees back toward his shoulders, his weight pinning Izuku’s slender frame completely. The new angle is obscene, exposing him utterly, and Katsuki sinks in deeper, a low, animal groan rattling from his chest. “God. Yeah. This is it.”
He begins to move, and it’s different. Deeper. Harder. Each piston-drive thrust rams the swollen head of his cock against a tight, forbidden ring of muscle deep inside Izuku’s core. The impact is a bright, shocking pain that blossoms instantly into a pleasure so profound it steals thought. Izuku’s head thrashes back, his mouth open in a silent scream.
“There’s my boy’s womb,” Katsuki pants, his crimson eyes blazing down at Izuku’s wrecked face. His rhythm is punishing, each slam a claim. “Gonna fuck it open. Make a home for my seed right in your teenage cunt. You on anything? Birth control?”
Izuku can only sob, his vision blurring. The pounding is relentless, a physical mantra driving the fantasy into his bones. “N-no, I—I’m not, I never—”
“Good.” The word is a growl of pure possession. Katsuki leans down, his breath hot and foul with truth against Izuku’s lips. “You’re gonna stay off it. Every time we’re alone, you’re gonna beg for this. You’re gonna beg for my married cock to breed you. Say it.”
“I’ll beg,” Izuku wails, the confession torn from him as another brutal thrust rattles his teeth. “I’ll beg, Daddy, please, breed me, I want it—”
“You’ll be so fucking sexy,” Katsuki snarls, his pace becoming erratic, animalistic. His balls slap a wet, heavy rhythm against Izuku’s ass. “Tiny tits all swollen, leaking milk for me. Belly round and heavy with my kid. You’ll waddle around this house, full of me, and I’ll fuck you every day of it. All nine months. Gonna take you like this when you’re huge. You want that?”
The image floods Izuku’s mind, vivid and devastating. His own body, transformed, claimed, used. It’s the most depraved thing he’s ever imagined. It’s all he wants. “Yes! God, yes, I want it, I want to be pregnant with your baby, please—”
His cunt clenches in a violent, rippling spasm, squirting a hot rush of clear fluid that soaks the rug beneath them. Katsuki’s previous release, still inside him, leaks out around the relentless invasion, making a filthy, slippery mess. The sound is obscenely loud in the quiet room.
“Look at you,” Katsuki grunts, his own control fraying, his thrusts becoming desperate, seeking. “My perfect little breeder. Squirting like a slut just thinking about my kid in your belly. Gonna keep you. Knock you up over and over. This cunt’s mine.”
Izuku is beyond words. He is a vessel of sensation, of aching need, of a fantasy so deep it feels like destiny. He meets each pounding drive with a weak grind of his hips, his body accepting the invasion, begging for it on a cellular level. *Make it true. Please, make it true.* The thought is a prayer.
Katsuki’s rhythm stutters. He buries himself to the root, pressing so deep Izuku feels impaled, filled beyond capacity. A guttural, shuddering roar tears from Katsuki’s throat as he comes, another scalding flood pumping into that clenching, welcoming heat, a claim meant to take root. Izuku convulses beneath him, his own climax a sharp, bright seizure of surrender, milking every last drop from the man.
Katsuki pulls out with a wet, obscene sound, his cock still fully hard and glistening. He watches, rapt, as a thick, pearlescent stream of his own release gushes from Izuku’s gaping cunt, splattering onto the ruined rug beneath them. “Fuck,” he breathes, a smirk twisting his swollen lips. “Look at that. You’re so fucking full of me.”
Izuku whimpers, his body convulsing at the sudden emptiness, the cold air a shock against his oversensitive, dripping flesh. He feels hollowed out and yet still crammed full, the phantom stretch of Katsuki’s cock a persistent ache. His own spend, clear and slick, mixes with the white flood, making a lewd puddle on the cream-colored wool.
“Clothes. Off. All of them,” Katsuki growls, already yanking his own trousers and briefs the rest of the way down his powerful legs. He kicks them aside, standing naked and magnificent in the nightlight’s glow, his heavy cock standing at attention, flushed and eager. His eyes burn into Izuku. “Now.”
Izuku scrambles, fingers clumsy and shaking, to pull the slutty, damp top over his head. He shoves the tiny skirt down his thighs, kicking it away until he’s just as bare, just as exposed, his skin pebbled with goosebumps and sweat. He feels utterly dismantled.
Katsuki doesn’t give him time to think. He hooks his hands under Izuku’s knees, hauling him up from the floor with a grunt of effort. Izuku’s cry is cut short as he’s maneuvered, folded, his back pressed against Katsuki’s sweat-slick chest, his legs hooked over Katsuki’s arms. The full nelson. He’s suspended, completely open, utterly helpless, his head lolling back against Katsuki’s shoulder.
“This is what you want, right?” Katsuki’s voice is a hot, dark rumble in his ear. He doesn’t wait for an answer. He lowers him, positioning Izuku’s exposed, dripping entrance over the thick head of his cock. Izuku can feel it, a blunt, insistent pressure against his sore, swollen folds. “A little baby growing in the womb I’m about to fuck raw?”
He sinks in, a slow, inexorable invasion that has Izuku’s mouth dropping open in a soundless scream. It’s deeper like this, terrifyingly intimate, each inch a claiming of territory that feels both sacred and profane. “Yes!” Izuku sobs, the word tearing free. “Yes, Daddy, please, more, I want it, I want your cum, I want your baby—”
Katsuki pistons upward, driving into him with a force that steals the breath from Izuku’s lungs. He fucks him like this, standing powerful and immovable, using Izuku’s body as his own personal sheath, each thrust jostling Izuku’s suspended form. The crib is right there, a dark shape in the periphery. “Gonna fuck a child into you right over my son’s crib,” Katsuki grunts, his rhythm brutal and perfect. “You like that, you sick little slut? You like being bred where you put my baby down?”
Izuku is babbling, a stream of consciousness filth and devotion. “I love it, I love your married cock, I love being your secret, breed me, knock me up, make me a mommy, I’ll be so good, I’ll be so good—” His thoughts have dissolved into a white-hot static of need, every nerve ending firing for this man, this cock, this devastating fantasy.
“Good boy,” Katsuki rasps, the praise a violent caress. His hand snakes down from where it grips Izuku’s thigh, his thumb finding Izuku’s swollen, throbbing clit. He flicks it, hard and fast, a ruthless, precise torture. “Such an honest little whore. Come for me. Squirt all over the goddamn nursery. Mark it.”
The command, the sensation, the impossible fullness—it detonates him. Izuku screams, his body bowing in Katsuki’s grip as a powerful jet of clear fluid erupts from him, arcing through the air to spatter against the wall with a sound like rain. The orgasm is endless, a seizure of pure, mindless surrender.
“Perfect,” Katsuki snarls, never slowing his punishing pace, fucking him through the violent contractions. “My perfect little fuck doll. My cocksleeve. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made for my dick.” He’s breathing raggedly, his own climax coiling tight. “Say it.”
“I was made for it,” Izuku whimpers, drunk on endorphins and possession, the words nothing but truth. “Only for you, Daddy, only for your cock, yours, yours—”
Katsuki’s hands, slick with sweat and Izuku’s release, slide from his thighs to his hips. In one brutal, fluid motion, he wrenches Izuku around and slams his back against the nearest wall. The impact knocks the air from Izuku’s lungs in a pained gasp. The plaster is cool and unforgiving against his feverish skin. Katsuki drives back into him, the angle new and devastating, each thrust making Izuku’s body jolt against the unyielding surface with a loud, rhythmic thump.
“Gonna overflow you,” Katsuki snarls, his breath hot and ragged against Izuku’s ear. His pace is relentless, a jackhammer rhythm that has the wall shuddering. “Gonna pump this teen cunt so full of my cum it’ll never come out. You’ll walk home dripping me, you feel that?”
Izuku does. He feels the brutal stretch, the deep, punishing grind that seems to reach his spine. The wet, slapping noise of their coupling is obscenely loud in the quiet nursery, a filthy counterpoint to Natsuki’s soft, sleeping breaths. “Yes! Yes, Daddy, please, overflow me, I want it, I want to be so full of you I can’t walk—”
Katsuki crushes his mouth against Izuku’s, swallowing his screams. The kiss is as violent as they fuck, all teeth and claiming tongue, a messy, wet collision that tastes of salt and desperation. Izuku kisses back with equal fervor, his hands scrambling for purchase on Katsuki’s sweat-slick shoulders, his mind dissolving into the pure, animal rhythm of it.
*This is wrong, this is so wrong,* the last shred of his conscience whimpers, but the thought is drowned out by the sound of skin on skin, by the feeling of being utterly used against a nursery wall. The wrongness is the point. The wrongness is the heat.
“Scream for it,” Katsuki grunts against his lips, breaking the kiss to bite down on Izuku’s jaw. “Let the whole house know what a whore you are. Let my wife hear.”
“I’m a whore!” Izuku sobs, the confession ripped from him by another deep, perfect thrust. His head thuds back against the wall. “Your whore! Only yours! Breed your whore, Daddy, please, I’m begging—”
Katsuki’s rhythm falters, his control fraying into something purely instinctual. His thrusts become shorter, harder, a frantic, deep-seated pounding aimed at planting his seed. Izuku can feel the heavy, hot pulse of him, the promise of another flood. His own cunt clenches in a frantic, greedy rhythm, trying to pull it deeper, to keep it.
“Now,” Katsuki commands, his voice a guttural, broken thing. He buries himself to the hilt, his body bowing over Izuku’s, every muscle corded and tight. Izuku feels the first scalding jet, then another, a seemingly endless surge that floods his sore, well-used, so much it immediately begins to leak out around the thickness still buried inside him.
Izuku comes with a silent, open-mouthed scream, his body seizing around the invasion, milking it, accepting it. The orgasm is less a peak and more a final surrender, a total dissolution of self into the feeling of being owned, claimed, and filled on a cellular level. *Mine,* he thinks, the word echoing Katsuki’s possession. *This is mine now.*
Katsuki sags against him, his weight pinning Izuku to the wall, both of them slick and trembling and utterly spent. For a long moment, the only sounds are their ragged breaths and the soft, wet drip of their combined releases hitting the floor between Izuku’s spread legs. The nursery air smells of sex, salt, and baby powder—a nauseating, sacred cocktail.
“Fuck,” Katsuki breathes into the crook of Izuku’s neck, the word laden with awe and exhaustion. He doesn’t pull out. His hands, which had been vise-like on Izuku’s hips, soften, sliding around to hold the small of his back, almost an embrace.
It’s this—this sudden, unexpected tenderness in the wreckage—that cracks something open in Izuku’s chest.