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Bakugou's breath came in sharp, ragged pants, his thighs burning from the relentless rhythm as he rode the alpha beneath him. The dim light of the hotel room cast flickering shadows across sweat-slicked skin, the air thick with the musky scent of arousal and the faint, acrid tang of latex. His body, honed from years of hero work, moved with a predatory grace—hips grinding down, chasing that elusive peak that hovered just out of reach. The omega in him clawed at the edges of his control, demanding release, demanding the one thing that could truly satisfy him: the knot.
The alpha—some forgettable face from a hero mixer, broad-shouldered and cocky with his beta-like confidence—gripped Bakugou's waist, fingers digging in like he owned the territory. "Fuck, yeah," the guy growled, voice rough and laced with triumph. "Gonna... knot you, omega. Gonna fill you up."
Bakugou's pulse thundered in his ears, a wild drumbeat urging him onward. He could feel it starting—the telltale swell at the base of the alpha's cock, pressing against the thin barrier of the condom inside him. Expectation coiled tight in his gut, hot and insistent, as the knotting began, the alpha's hips bucking up in erratic thrusts. A low moan escaped Bakugou's lips, unbidden, his body arching as the first hot spurts of release flooded the latex. The pressure built, then plateaued, the knot swelling to what should have been its full, unyielding glory.
However, it didn't. It just... stopped. No crushing fullness, no delicious stretch that locked them together and sent shockwaves through his core. No overwhelming surge to tip him over the edge. Bakugou's rhythm faltered, his cock twitching against his stomach, still hard but no longer teetering on the brink. He glanced down, vision hazy with frustration, and saw the alpha's eyes half-lidded in bliss, a dopey grin splitting his face. The idiot hadn't even noticed—too lost in his own pathetic climax to realize the omega riding him was left hanging, unsatisfied and seething.
"Fuck," Bakugou muttered under his breath, the word a bitter hiss as he felt himself starting to soften, the heat in his veins cooling to an irritating simmer. Another night wasted on a useless alpha, chasing a high that never came. He shoved off the guy with a rough push, the deflating knot slipping free with a wet, undignified sound. The alpha blinked up at him, confused, but Bakugou was already rolling away, grabbing his clothes from the floor. No point in sticking around for the awkward afterglow.
*
The bar was a dive on the edge of the hero district, all sticky tabletops and neon signs buzzing like angry hornets. Laughter erupted from the corner booth where Bakugou's squad had claimed territory, bottles clinking amid the haze of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. Mina was mid-cackle, her pink skin flushed from the drinks, while Kaminari slapped the table, nearly toppling Sero's glass. Kirishima, ever the steady one, nursed a whiskey with a grin that split his shark-like teeth, and Jirou leaned back against the worn vinyl, her earphone jacks twirling idly as she smirked.
"So, let me get this straight," Mina wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. "You ride this guy like a pro—because, hello, you are one—and he pops off without even getting you there? Bakugou, that's gotta be a record for fastest fizzle."
Bakugou slouched in the booth, one arm draped over the backrest, his jacket slung over the seat beside him. He took a long pull from his beer, the cold fizz cutting through the lingering ache between his legs. "Tch. Pathetic excuse for an alpha. Knot like a goddamn deflated balloon. Felt like I was humping a pillow."
Sero snorted, elbowing Kaminari. "Dude, how many dates is this now? You're striking out harder than All Might in his prime."
"Shut it, tape-face," Bakugou growled, but there was no real heat in it—just the familiar banter that kept the squad tight. They were his people, the ones who'd stuck through UA and the pro circuit, no judgments on his omega status or the heats that sometimes sidelined him from patrols. Mina waved a hand, her nails painted a garish acid green.
"I don't even know any more alphas to introduce you to, Bakugou. I've scraped the bottom of the barrel. Hero commission's got a whole database, but half of 'em are betas, and the rest couldn't knot their way out of a paper bag."
Bakugou drained the last of his beer, slamming the empty bottle down with a thud that made the table rattle. "If he don’t have a knot that makes an omega enjoy it—really enjoy it—he shouldn't be called an alpha. Might as well be a beta."
Jirou's voice cut through the noise, low and murmured like a bass line thrumming under the bar's jukebox. "Maybe the problem isn't the alphas."
The booth went quiet for a beat, then exploded. Kaminari choked on his drink, sputtering laughter, while Sero doubled over, and Mina howled, clutching her sides. Bakugou's eyes narrowed, pinning Jirou with a glare that could melt steel. She didn't flinch, just raised an eyebrow, her jacks coiling tighter.
"Repeat that, earphones," he said, voice a dangerous rumble, leaning forward like he was sizing up an opponent in the field.
The laughter swelled again, Mina slapping Kirishima's arm. "Oh man, she's got you there, Blasty!"
Kirishima cleared his throat, ever the peacemaker, his red hair catching the neon glow like embers. "Hey, c'mon, guys. No need to gang up. Bakugou's just... particular. Surely there's an ideal alpha out there for him. Someone who can keep up with a pro like you."
Bakugou grunted, signaling the bartender for another round, but Kirishima's words twisted something deep in his chest. He knew the truth, buried under layers of denial and hero bravado: his omega biology was wired different, hungrier. It craved a bigger knot, more pressure—something to match the explosive intensity he poured into every fight, every mission. Regular alphas just... fizzled out, like cheap fireworks against his internal blaze.
Kaminari, still wiping tears from his eyes, leaned in with a wicked grin. "Yeah, well, your ideal alpha's gonna need a monster between his legs to handle that, right? Like, legendary status down there."
Bakugou paused mid-sip, the word "monster" hitting like a punch. The bar's clamor faded to a dull roar in his ears, and suddenly, unbidden, a forgotten memory surged up from the depths—raw and vivid, pulling him back to a time when life was simpler, crueler, and full of untapped potentials. He downed the rest of his beer in one go, the bitter foam lingering on his tongue as the flashback swallowed him whole.
*
It was a sweltering afternoon at Aldera Junior High, the kind where the air hung heavy with humidity and the faint buzz of cicadas outside the classroom windows. Bakugou had just returned from his first real heat—holed up at home for a week, snarling at his parents through the door while his body betrayed him with feverish waves of need. He'd missed the drama, the gossip that rippled through the halls like quirk residue after a fight. But the second he slumped into his desk, sweat still beading on his forehead from the train ride, his classmates swarmed him like vultures scenting fresh blood.
"Dude, you missed the wildest shit," Fingers whispered, leaning over from the next row. His eyes were wide, gleaming with the kind of glee that came from spilling someone else's secrets. "Deku. Freaking Deku presented. As an alpha. Yesterday."
Bakugou's head snapped up, his quirk sparking faintly at his palms before he clamped it down. Deku? The quirkless loser who'd been trailing him like a shadow since they were kids? The one everyone pegged as a beta at best, too soft and muttering to ever climb the ladder? "No way. That nerd? Late bloomer bullshit. Everyone said he'd stay beta forever."
The class erupted in murmurs, heads turning as the story spread. A girl in the back row, Ponytail, chimed in. "It's true! We were all in gym, and boom—he just... collapsed during laps. Sweating like crazy, growling at everyone to back off. Teacher freaked and called for the nurse."
Fingers nodded eagerly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush as if the walls had ears. "I was there, man. Teacher grabbed me—beta, remember?—to help haul him to the infirmary. Stayed the whole time 'cause they needed an extra set of hands. And get this: the most absurd thing happened."
Bakugou leaned in despite himself, a scowl twisting his features. Absurd? With Deku, it was always something pathetic. "Spit it out, idiot."
Fingers glanced around, then barreled on. "Nurse takes one look at him, all flushed and panting, and says he's gotta do his first knotting to calm the rut. Standard procedure for a new alpha presentation—get it out of his system so he doesn't go feral on campus. So she tells him to, uh, handle it. Hands him this masturbator from the med kit—the industrial kind, reinforced for quirks and stuff. Figures it'll simulate the pressure."
The class was hanging on every word now, snickers bubbling up. Bakugou's stomach twisted, a mix of disgust and morbid curiosity. Deku, rutting like some animal? It didn't compute.
Fingers' grin turned wicked. "Deku sinks into it, right? Eyes all glazed, muttering to himself like he does. And then—bam—the knot starts forming. But holy shit, Bakugou, when she opened the privacy curtain to check? This huge... thing just springs out. Like, massive. Knot already swelling bigger than anything we'd seen in health class vids. Nurse's eyes went wide as saucers."
Laughter rippled through the group, someone mimicking a cartoonish bulge with their hands. Bakugou's face burned, but he couldn't look away. "You're full of shit."
"Swear on my quirk! He thrusts into the thing, and when the knot locks—crack! The damn masturbator just breaks. Splits right down the side like it was made of paper. Deku yelps—'Ahh!' like that—and the nurse has to hit him with a tranquilizer dart to calm him down. Even she looked shocked, muttering about how she'd never seen one that size on a first presentation."
The class howled, Ponytails doubling over. "Monster cock! Deku's packing a monster down there!"
Fingers kept going, relentless. "I mean, I've watched porn—everyone has—and this? Way bigger. Nurse was whispering to the teacher later that it'll probably still grow, now that his alpha side's kicking in. Kid's gonna need custom gear or something."
Bakugou sat there, stunned, the words sinking in like shrapnel. Deku—an alpha? With a knot that shattered equipment? It reframed everything: the mutters, the way he'd always dismissed the nerd as weak. A monster between his legs, huh? The thought lodged in his mind, sharp and unwelcome, as the bell rang and the gossip mill churned on.
But Deku never came back to school. Days turned to weeks, and when Bakugou finally tracked him down—storming to that rundown apartment complex on a whim, fueled by irritation and unspoken questions—he found it empty. The super shrugged, said Midoriya and his mom had packed up overnight, no forwarding address. Gone, like smoke from an explosion. Bakugou had punched a wall on the way home, the memory of that "monster" echoing in his head, a ghost he buried under layers of rivalry and hero ambition.
*
Sunlight stabbed through the blinds of Bakugou's high-rise apartment, a pounding headache greeting him like an unwelcome sidekick. He groaned, rolling over in the tangle of sheets that still smelled faintly of last night's failure and bar smoke. His mouth tasted like ash and regret, the hangover a dull throb behind his eyes. Fragments of the evening pieced themselves together: the squad's ribbing, Jirou's jab, Kaminari's stupid joke. And then... Deku.
"A monster between his legs, huh?" Bakugou muttered to the empty room, voice gravelly from sleep. The words hung in the air, pulling at that old memory like a live wire. He sat up, scrubbing a hand through his spiky hair, the omega instincts in him stirring uneasily. Pro hero life didn't leave room for chasing ghosts, but damn if the thought didn't linger, hot and insistent, as he swung his legs over the bed's edge. What the hell had happened to that quirkless alpha after all these years?
*
The week dragged on like a villain's prolonged taunt, each day a grind of patrols and paperwork that did little to quiet the storm brewing in Bakugou's head. Mornings started with the sharp bite of coffee, but by afternoon, his mind wandered—unbidden flashes of that Aldera gossip, the shattered masturbator, the "monster" that had vanished into thin air. Deku. Izuku Midoriya. The name slithered through his thoughts during strategy meetings at the agency, echoing like a quirk's aftershock while he analyzed villain patterns or barked orders at sidekicks. Why now? Why after all these years of burying the nerd under layers of rivalry and hero glory? But the omega in him purred at the edges, a low hum of curiosity laced with something hotter, needier. By Thursday, the itch became unbearable, a spark threatening to ignite.
Bakugou cornered Kaminari after a joint training session, the electric idiot still buzzing from overexertion, his hair a frizzy mess under the gym lights. "Oi, sparky. Your boyfriend—Shinsou. The underground creep. He got ways to dig up dirt on people, right?"
Kaminari blinked, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. "Uh, yeah? Hitoshi's got connections in the shadows—info brokers, black market files. Why? You need something on a villain?"
Bakugou crossed his arms, jaw set like he was prepping for a fight. "Just get me everything on Midoriya Izuku. Quirkless alpha, presented late. Used to be from Musutafu. Now."
Kaminari's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't push—Bakugou's glare could curdle milk. "Got it, boss. I'll ask him tonight. But, uh, what's this for? Case file or something?"
Bakugou's mind raced for a lie, smooth and unyielding. "Yeah. Commission's got a lead on a potential threat. Old ties, loose ends. Need to know if he's clean." It wasn't entirely false—everything circled back to heroes and security in his world—but the real hunger gnawed deeper, a secret his omega guarded like a hidden explosive.
By Friday evening, his phone buzzed with an encrypted file from an unknown number—Shinsou's handiwork, no doubt. Bakugou locked himself in his apartment, the city skyline glittering mockingly through the floor-to-ceiling windows as he poured a whiskey and sank into his leather chair. The dossier unfolded on his tablet like a forbidden map: birth records, school transcripts (that abrupt disappearance from Aldera noted with a vague "family relocation"), even scraps from Inko Midoriya's old job at a quirk counseling center. Shinsou had pulled strings Bakugou couldn't touch without raising flags—underground networks that skirted commission oversight, piecing together a life lived in the shadows.
He scrolled methodically, crimson eyes narrowing at the details. Midoriya Izuku, age 24, quirkless but alpha-presented at 14. No criminal record, no hero license—smart, the file noted, with a string of freelance analysis gigs before landing steady work. Bakugou's thumb paused on the employment section: "Quirk Analyst, Hero Public Safety Commission." A recent photo loaded, crisp and professional—Midoriya in a button-down shirt, freckles dusting his cheeks, green eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses, that messy hair tamed but still wild at the edges. Taller now, broader shoulders filling out the frame, a quiet confidence in his posture that screamed alpha without the bravado.
Bakugou's breath hitched, the omega inside him stirring like embers fanned to flame. There you are, nerd. The photo lingered on the screen, igniting a rush of heat low in his belly—memories of childhood taunts twisting into something primal, possessive. He shook it off, forcing his eyes downward, but the file kept unfolding, layer by layer.
Then came the section that made his pulse spike: a scanned intake form from the National Alpha-Omega Pairing Agency, a government body tucked away in the bureaucracy, designed for "therapeutic encounters" during ruts and heats. Unclaimed dynamics matched anonymously to prevent societal fallout—omegas in need paired with alphas on standby, all clinical and controlled. Midoriya's profile was flagged prominently: "Participant ID: MI-047. Status: Active. Anomaly designated." Anomaly. Bakugou's fingers tightened on the tablet as he delved in.
The details were clinical, detached—height, weight, blood type—but then the measurements hit, raw and unfiltered. Flaccid length: 18 cm. Erect: 28 cm. Knot diameter at full swell: 12 cm, with notes on "exceptional girth and pressure capacity; exceeds standard 95th percentile by 40%." Accompanied by diagrams, sterile line art that outlined the swell, the lock, the sheer size. There were addendums: "Initial presentation incident reported—equipment failure during simulation. Recommend custom restraints for pairings. Multiple withdrawals from matches; omegas report 'overwhelm' post-initial contact. Pending review for program exclusion."
Bakugou stared, the whiskey forgotten on the side table. Lies. Has to be bullshit measurements, exaggerated for some quirkless ego boost. But the omega in him didn't buy it—oh no, it reveled, a slick warmth pooling between his thighs as possibilities bloomed like nitroglycerin blooms. That knot, that pressure—it could fill him, stretch him to the brink, match the explosive demands of his body that no pro alpha had ever met. He imagined it: the swell locking in, unyielding, flooding him with the release he'd chased for years. His cock twitched in his sweats, half-hard already, and he growled low in his throat, slamming the tablet shut. No more wondering. Time to act.
The plan crystallized in his mind, sharp as a detonation: pull strings at the commission—his hero status opened doors—request a heat pairing under anonymity protocols. Specify criteria that matched Midoriya's profile to a tee: quirkless alpha, late presenter, government analyst. They'd think it coincidence; he'd make sure it wasn't. By Sunday, he'd have his answers—and maybe more.
*
The government facility was a sterile monolith on the outskirts of the city, all white walls and humming fluorescents, disguised as a wellness center to any prying eyes. Bakugou's heat had crept in early that week, a low simmer from the stress and those damn memories, but he'd timed it perfectly—registered through back channels, his identity masked behind a participant code. Now, he paced the prep room, a spacious suite with dimmed lights and a king-sized bed draped in fresh linens that smelled faintly of neutralizers to keep scents from overwhelming. He'd showered meticulously, the hot water sluicing away the day's grime, leaving his skin flushed and sensitive. A soft robe clung to his frame, the fabric whispering against his hardening nipples, his body already primed, slick gathering at the thought of what—or who—was coming.
They'd confirmed it a dozen times, the agency handlers' voices crackling over the intercom with barely veiled concern. "Are you certain of this match, Omega-092? Alpha MI-047 has a history—previous partners have requested terminations mid-session. Overwhelm is common; we've nearly delisted him." Bakugou had snarled back each time, voice rough with impatience: "Yeah, I'm sure. Send him in." Let them worry; his omega delighted in the edge, the thrill of an untouched alpha—untouched by claims, at least, but with a reputation that screamed raw power. No mates, no bonds, just potential bottled up like a live grenade. Mine to detonate, the instinct purred, coiling tight in his core.
The door from the alpha corridor hissed open behind him, a soft pneumatic sigh that sent Bakugou's nerves alight. He didn't turn immediately, letting the scent hit first—rich, earthy, like fresh rain on forest soil laced with something deeper, more commanding. Alpha. His alpha, from the shadows of memory and files. It wrapped around him, awakening ghosts: playground chases, muttered analyses, that wide-eyed stare from their youth. His body responded before his brain, slick easing down his thighs, a low whine building in his throat that he swallowed back.
"Um... hi," came the voice, soft and hesitant, laced with that familiar stammer. "I'm... here for the session. They said to—"
Bakugou whirled then, robe parting slightly to reveal the taut lines of his chest, his eyes blazing with feigned shock. Midoriya stood in the doorway, still in his agency slacks and shirt, tie loosened like he'd come straight from a desk. Those green eyes widened, freckles stark against paling skin, his scent spiking with surprise—musk sharpening to something almost feral before he reined it in.
"Kacchan?!" Midoriya yelped, stumbling back a step, hand flying to his mouth as if to cage the word. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing them in, and he froze, gaze darting over Bakugou's form like he was seeing a villain manifest. "What—how are you—? This has to be a mistake!"
Bakugou's lips curled into a sneer, all indignation and surprise, though his omega thrummed with dark satisfaction beneath the act. He clutched the robe tighter, stepping forward with a growl that rumbled from his chest. "Deku? The fuck is this? You? They paired you with me? What kind of sick joke is the commission playing?" His heart hammered, the lie tasting sweet on his tongue, as Midoriya's scent flooded the room, pulling him deeper into the heat's embrace.
Midoriya’s initial shock ebbed into something more guarded, his green eyes flickering with uncertainty as he straightened his posture, that alpha scent of his steadying like na anchor in the room’s thickening air. “I... I mean, Bakugou,” he corrected himself quickly, the old nickname evaporating from his tongue like mist under the sun. The shift hit Bakugou like a slap—Kacchan had always been Deku’s, a tether from their shared past, raw and intimate. Without it, the omega inside him bristled, a low growl rumbling unspoken in his chest, irritation coiling like smoke from a fuse. Who the hell was this polished version of the nerd, stripping away what was his?
“If you want, I can... I can ask them to cancel,” Midoriya offered, his voice soft but steady, glancing toward the intercom panel on the wall as if escape was just a button press away. He rubbed the back of his neck, freckles standing out against the flush creeping up his ears. “I don’t want to make this weird for you. They said this happens sometimes—mismatches.”
Desperation clawed at Bakugou’s gut, hot and unyielding, his heat already simmering like a pot left too long on the stove. Cancel? Let this slip away after all the scheming, the buried memories, the ache that had built over a week of restless nights? No fucking way. He forced a scowl, masking the panic with feigned reluctance, and stepped closer, fingers loosening the tie of his robe just enough to let the fabric part—an inch, two—of smooth, flushed skin across his chest. His omega’s scent bloomed with it, caramelized spice and gunpowder edge, deliberate and intoxicating, flooding the room like a quirk detonation. “Tch, like it’d be that easy, nerd. Heat’s already started—feel it? Commission ain’t gonna scramble another alpha in time. You’d leave me high and dry like some asshole?”
He watched Midoriya sway, ever so slightly, those sharp eyes glazing over for a heartbeat, pupils dilating as the aroma wrapped around him like invisible chains. The alpha’s breath hitched, a subtle tremor in his broad frame, and Bakugou’s inner omega preened, smug satisfaction curling through the heat like victory flames. Yeah, that’s right—smell me, want me. It was power, pure and primal, the kind that made lesser alphas crumble.
Midoriya swallowed hard, cheeks blooming crimson as he tore his gaze from the exposed skin, forcing a nod. “O-okay... maybe we can make this work. If you’re sure.” His voice was rougher now, edged with the rut’s pull, but he held back, deference in his stance.
Bakugou huffed, playing the part—reluctant, irritated—as he closed the distance, the robe whispering against his thighs. Up close, Midoriya had changed; the scrawny kid from Aldera was gone, replaced by this solid wall of a man—shoulders packed with muscle under the crisp shirt, arms corded from whatever desk-bound training he did to stay sharp. But Bakugou, pro hero through and through, towered just a fraction taller, his own frame etched with explosive power from years of frontline battles. The contrast sent a fresh gush of slick down his inner thighs, warm and insistent, his heat ramping up like nitro igniting. His omega sensed it—the alpha’s strength, the potential—and declared now, the need sharpening to a blade’s edge, demanding to be sheathed.
Midoriya shifted, clearing his throat. “I... I came straight from work when they called. Got the alert on my phone mid-report. I should probably shower first, get the office smell off—”
“Like hell,” Bakugou snapped, voice a gravelly command that cut through the air, his body already thrumming with urgency. “Heat’s hitting harder now, Deku. No time for your nerdy hygiene bullshit. Smell me? That’s all you need.” The words were a challenge, his scent spiking again, pulling Midoriya in like gravity.
They locked eyes then, the room shrinking to just the heat between them—Midoriya’s face a canvas of blush and restraint, green depths swirling with want he was fighting to contain. Bakugou’s stare was molten, unyielding, and after a beat that stretched like taffy, he jerked his chin. “Well? You’re the alpha here. Take the damn initiative. That’s how this works, right? Don’t make me spell it out.”
Midoriya fumbled for a second, hands twitching at his sides like he was analyzing a puzzle mid-explosion, but obedience won out—instinct overriding hesitation. He shrugged off his suit jacket first, folding it neatly over the back of a chair, the motion revealing the way his shirt stretched taut across his chest. Then, with deliberate slowness, he rolled up his sleeves, exposing forearms veined and strong, a faint scar tracing one wrist from some forgotten scrape. “Okay... first, you need to relax,” he murmured, voice dropping to that thoughtful timbre Bakugou remembered from their youth, now laced with alpha command. He sank to his knees in front of Bakugou, fluid and unhurried, like this was strategy, not seduction.
Bakugou’s breath caught, a jolt of surprise arcing through him—on his knees already?—as Midoriya’s hands hovered near the robe’s sash, warm palms inches from his skin. Those green eyes flicked up, seeking permission amid the haze. “Can I...?”
“Go ahead,” Bakugou rasped, chin lifting in defiance, though his pulse thundered. “But if you do anything weird, nerd, I’ll explode your ass from the inside out.” The threat was half-hearted, his omega already arching toward the touch, craving it like oxygen.
Midoriya’s fingers were steady as he untied the knot, parting the robe with a gentleness that belied the alpha’s size. The fabric pooled open, sliding from Bakugou’s shoulders to reveal him in full—perfection carved from battle and biology. His skin was flawless, a canvas of pale gold flushed with heat’s rose, muscles rippling under the surface like coiled springs: broad chest dusted with sparse hair, abs etched sharp from endless training, hips narrowing to powerful thighs. And lower, his cock stood proud—thick, veined, curving upward well beyond the average omega’s measure, a heavy length that had turned off more than one alpha during oral play, their egos bruised by the sight. But Midoriya’s gaze lingered, appreciative, hungry, no trace of recoil. His eyes traced every inch, from the flushed head beading with precome to the way it throbbed against Bakugou’s abdomen, heavy balls drawn tight beneath. A soft exhale escaped him, almost reverent, as if he were committing the sight to memory, his own arousal evident in the tightening of his pants.
A tentative touch came first—fingertips tracing the underside, feather-light, following the prominent vein from base to tip with a curiosity that made Bakugou’s skin prickle like static before a blast. The contact was electric, sending shivers racing up his spine, his cock jerking eagerly into the warmth of Midoriya’s palm. “Nngh—fuck,” Bakugou bit out, body tensing, thighs quivering as he fought the urge to thrust forward. But before he could snap or demand more, Midoriya leaned in closer, his breath ghosting hot over the sensitive skin, a teasing puff that drew a hiss from Bakugou’s lips. Then, his tongue flicked out—flat and warm, lapping at the head in a slow, deliberate stroke that dragged from slit to crown, gathering the salty bead of precome with a hum of approval. The sensation hit like a sparkler igniting, wet heat enveloping the tip, and Bakugou’s head tipped back with a startled gasp: “Ah—shit, Deku!”
Midoriya didn’t rush; he savored it, his tongue swirling lazy circles around the flushed head, tracing the ridge with precision, dipping into the slit to coax out more of that slick essence. Each lap was measured, like he was mapping every nerve ending, learning what made Bakugou twitch and groan. “Mmm,” Midoriya murmured against him, the vibration rumbling through the length like a distant thunder, his free hand steadying Bakugou’s hip to keep him grounded. Then the suction began—gentle at first, lips sealing around the tip with a soft pop, drawing him in inch by inch with a wet, slurping pull that echoed obscenely in the quiet room. Bakugou’s hands fisted at his sides, nails digging into palms, before they rose to tangle in those messy curls, gripping tight as Midoriya took him deeper, throat relaxing with practiced ease.
How the fuck does he—? Bakugou’s mind reeled, admiration warring with the building haze of pleasure. It was nothing like the others—the alphas who’d gone down on him out of obligation, their mouths sloppy and mechanical, barely grazing the sides before pulling away with grimaces, as if his above-average size was an unwelcome chore that bruised their pride. They’d fumble, teeth scraping awkwardly, or half-ass it with shallow bobs, eyes averted like they were enduring a patrol shift. But Midoriya? He devoured, mouth a velvet vice that hollowed his cheeks with thirsty pulls, tongue pressing flat against the underside to massage every throbbing vein. He went deep, nose brushing Bakugou’s abdomen on the downstroke, a low, greedy moan vibrating around the girth—“Hnnngh”—as if this was the pinnacle of indulgence, the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. Saliva dripped messily from the corners of his mouth, coating Bakugou’s length in glistening shine, the obscene schlick-schlick of his suction filling the air like a filthy symphony.
Bakugou’s hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the rhythm, his breaths coming in ragged pants: “F-fuck, yeah—suck it like that, nerd—ahh!” Midoriya’s eyes watered slightly from the depth, but he didn’t falter, one hand wrapping around the base to stroke what his mouth couldn’t reach, twisting with slick precision while the other slid around to Bakugou’s ass—firm, probing, fingers dipping into the gathering slick that wept freely now, warm and viscous like molten honey. He gathered it generously, the touch sending fresh sparks up Bakugou’s spine, before easing one thick digit past the tight ring, slow and insistent. “Nngha—!” Bakugou arched, the intrusion a delicious burn that paired perfectly with the relentless suction, Midoriya’s finger curling inside to brush that hidden bundle of nerves.
The dual assault overwhelmed Bakugou’s heat-sensitized body—cock throbbing in that hot, sucking heaven, ass clenching around the invading finger that twisted and probed, slick easing the way for a second, then a third, scissoring with deliberate care. Midoriya’s pace built gradually, mouth bobbing faster now, lips stretched wide around the girth, tongue flicking teasingly at the frenulum on every upstroke. He hummed again, deeper this time—“Mmmph”—the sound sending vibrations straight to Bakugou’s core, his balls tightening as pleasure coiled like a spring. Bakugou gripped Midoriya’s hair tighter, pulling him closer, moans spilling unfiltered: “Deku—shit, your mouth—ngha, deeper, fuck—!” The alpha obliged, swallowing around him with a wet gluck, throat constricting in rhythmic pulses that milked precome straight from the source.
Emboldened by the responses, Midoriya’s fingers worked in tandem—thrusting shallowly into Bakugou’s ass, slick squelching softly with each plunge, while his mouth never let up, alternating between deep throating and teasing licks that had Bakugou’s thighs trembling. The room smelled of them now—musk and spice mingling, heat’s fever turning sweat to dew on their skin. Bakugou’s control frayed, every nerve alight, and when he glanced down through the haze, the sight nearly undid him completely: Midoriya’s lips stretched taut around his full length, nose buried in the coarse hair at his base, throat bulging slightly with the effort. Those green eyes locked on his, intense and unblinking, freckles stark against sweat-damp skin, a glint of pure alpha possession in the stare—watery but fierce, like he was claiming victory with every swallow. The eye contact burned, intimate and overwhelming, stripping Bakugou bare.
It was too much—the depth, the suction, the fingers curling just right inside him, hitting that spot over and over with unerring accuracy. Pleasure crested like a detonation, white-hot and inevitable. “Deku—gonna—ahh, fuck, I’m—!” Bakugou shattered, release exploding in thick, pulsing ropes down Midoriya’s throat, his ass clamping down hard on those three thick fingers now buried deep, muscles fluttering in ecstatic waves that dragged a muffled groan from the alpha—“Mmmph!”—vibrating around his spent cock. Bakugou held him there by the hair, hips stuttering through the aftershocks, a guttural “Nngh—yes!” tearing from his chest as the last spurts filled Midoriya’s mouth.
Midoriya pulled back slowly, lips glistening with saliva and traces of come, a thin strand connecting them for a heartbeat before it snapped with a wet plink. He swallowed—everything—with a soft, satisfied hum, tongue darting out to lick his lips clean, not a drop wasted, his eyes never leaving Bakugou’s. The act sent another surge through Bakugou, fresh slick dripping down his thighs in rivulets, heat roaring back fiercer than before, body demanding the next phase with insistent throbs. Swallowed it all? Like it’s his favorite fucking meal? His omega crowed, arousal spiking to inferno levels, veins humming with renewed need.
Midoriya rose fluidly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, voice husky but composed. “Now that you’re relaxed... we can really start.”
Bakugou's gaze dropped involuntarily, drawn like a magnet to the obscene bulge straining against Midoriya's slacks—a thick, insistent outline that tented the fabric like it was fighting for freedom, the zipper visibly taut under the pressure, threads straining as if one wrong move might split it open. It pulsed subtly with each heartbeat, a promise of the "anomaly" from the dossier come to life, the sheer mass of it making the material ride up awkwardly over the ridge of the head, a dark wet spot blooming at the tip where precum had already seeped through, soaking the cotton in a telltale patch. Just the sight of it reignited the fire in Bakugou's core, his body responding with treacherous eagerness—slick welled up fresh and hot, a gush that trickled down his inner thighs in slow, shameful rivulets, coating his skin like warm oil and pattering softly onto the floor below. His cock, still half-hard and glistening from Midoriya's earlier attentions, twitched in sympathy, hardening fully as it leaked a bead of precome, the omega inside him whining with desperate need: mine, take it, fill me now, make it hurt so good. The air thickened with his scent, caramel spice laced with raw hunger, pulling at Midoriya like an invisible leash.
Midoriya, catching the shift in Bakugou's stare—those crimson eyes dark with lust—hesitated only a moment before his hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling slightly in the haze of rut's pull, knuckles whitening as he worked the first one free. He shrugged it off with a soft rustle of fabric sliding over heated skin, revealing a chest sculpted from quiet discipline and relentless training—broad pecs dusted with faint freckles that trailed down like stars across the pale expanse, abs rippling in sharp, defined ridges that flexed with every shallow breath, a deep V-line carving toward his waistband like an arrow pointing to sin. Scars faint and silvery from old mishaps etched across his ribs and collarbone like badges of a life lived analyzing dangers from afar, each one a story of resilience that made Bakugou's mouth water. The alpha's nipples were already pebbled hard in the room's cool air, dark pink against the flush creeping over his torso, and as he tossed the shirt aside, Bakugou's eyes roamed greedily, admiring the way those muscles shifted and bunched, the subtle strength that spoke of weights lifted in hidden gyms rather than battlefield blasts—power earned in silence, now bared for him alone. Midoriya kicked off his shoes next, the leather thumping softly against the wall, then peeled away his socks with deliberate pulls, toes flexing against the cool floor as if grounding himself against the tidal wave of arousal, his breath coming in shallow, ragged huffs that betrayed the alpha's growing impatience, chest rising and falling like bellows stoking a forge.
He paused at his belt, hands hovering with a flicker of doubt, the metal buckle glinting under the dim lights as he glanced at Bakugou—searching for rejection, perhaps, or permission, green eyes shadowed with the ghosts of past dismissals. Slowly, almost reverently, he unfastened it, the leather whispering as it slid free from the loops with a slow shhh, then popped the button with a sharp snap that echoed like a starting gun. He eased the zipper down tooth by tooth, the metallic rasp dragging out the tension, until the slacks gaped open, revealing the full extent of that straining bulge up close. The pants pooled at his ankles in a crumpled heap, kicked aside with a clumsy shuffle that had his cock bobbing heavily within its confines, leaving him in nothing but tight black briefs that strained heroically against their burden. The fabric was stretched thin to translucency, the outline of Midoriya's cock a monstrous silhouette—long and unyielding, thick as a wrist, curving heavily to one side with the head pressing insistently against the cotton like a beast caged too long, the seam riding up along the underside where veins pressed visibly through. Precum had already darkened a wide, irregular wet spot at the tip, the scent of his arousal blooming muskier now—earthy and commanding, like fresh rain on fertile soil mixed with alpha spice—wrapping around Bakugou like vines claiming territory, making his knees weaken and more slick pulse out in response.
Midoriya's thumbs hooked into the waistband, hesitating one last beat, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson that spread to his chest and ears, as he averted his eyes—bracing for the backlash, the words that had echoed from every omega before: too big, freak, get out, you'll tear me apart. With a deep, shuddering breath that made his abs contract, he tugged the briefs down inch by inch, the elastic snapping free over the swollen head with a soft twang, as his cock sprang out like a coiled spring unleashed, heavy and erect, slapping against his abdomen with a meaty thwack that reverberated through the room before bobbing freely in the open air, swaying with its own weight. It was free at last—massive, unyielding, the shaft a girthy pillar veined like twisted ropes under taut skin, flushed a deep, angry red from base to tip, the head swollen broad and mushroom-shaped, glistening with a thick, pearly bead of precum that trailed down in a lazy rivulet along the underside, dripping onto the floor with a faint plip. The length curved slightly upward in a perfect arc for deep penetration, throbbing visibly with each pulse of his heartbeat, and below, his balls hung heavy and full, drawn tight against the base with fuzzy skin stretched smooth, churning with promise. And at the root, the knot loomed—already partially swollen from arousal, a bulbous ridge the size of a small fist, veined and textured, ridged like a promise of what it could become when fully engorged, locking an omega in unrelenting ecstasy for hours.
Bakugou stared, transfixed, the dossier's cold numbers dissolving into irrelevance like smoke in a gale—this... this is real, raw power. It dwarfed anything he'd imagined or endured—longer than his forearm, thicker than three of his own fingers pressed together, veins pulsing with alpha vitality that made his mouth water and his hole clench emptily around nothing, aching to be filled. He traced it mentally, hungrily: the way it curved slightly upward, ideal for grinding against that sweet spot inside; the obscene girth that would split him open, stretch him to his limits and beyond; those heavy balls that could flood him with endless, hot seed; and the knot, oh fuck, that knot—already intimidating, a swollen bulb begging to balloon further, pressing nerves into oblivion once seated. His omega vibrated with raw excitement, a thrumming buzz that lit every nerve from scalp to toes, possibilities exploding in his mind like a quirk gone critical: filled to bursting, bred deep, owned and marked by this untouched monster, walls molded to its shape forever. Slick dripped audibly now, pattering onto the floor in soft plip-plip-plip drops that formed a small puddle between his feet, his thighs slick and shining like polished marble, body begging without words, cock fully hard and leaking in sympathy.
"Oi, Deku," Bakugou rasped, voice thick with heat, snapping Midoriya's gaze back—those green eyes wide with dread, bracing for the litany of complaints, the rejection that would label him an aberration, banish him from the program once more, his massive length wilting under the weight of shame.
But Bakugou's words shattered the expectation like glass under boot. "Get your ass on the bed. Now." His tone was command wrapped in velvet hunger, crimson eyes locked on that throbbing cock like a predator sighting prey.
Midoriya blinked, confusion rippling across his face—freckles stark against the surprise—as he processed the lack of venom, the command laced with undeniable want. No too big, no impossible, just... acceptance? Invitation? "K-Bakugou? You... you're not—? I mean, it's—"
"Shut it," Bakugou cut in, smirking faintly as he stalked forward, robe discarded like shed skin, his own body on full display—muscles taut, skin flushed, slick trailing down his legs like liquid desire. "In sex, I top. Deal with it, nerd. Move your ass before I change my mind."
Izuku—Izuku, in this moment of vulnerability—complied with a graceless scramble, tumbling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, the mattress dipping deeply under his weight with a protesting creak. His cock jutted upward like a flagpole in a storm, throbbing visibly, veins standing out in stark relief as it leaked steadily onto his abs, a steady stream of precum pooling in the divots of his muscles, making them glisten. Bakugou followed with predatory grace, crawling over him on hands and knees, the bed shifting as he straddled those strong thighs, knees bracketing hips, the proximity intoxicating and electric. Midoriya's face burned hotter, a deep scarlet that spread to his chest and neck, his scent surging in waves—rain-soaked earth and alpha spice, inebriating like aged whiskey poured neat, flooding Bakugou's senses until his head spun and his vision narrowed to just this man beneath him. He leaned in close, deliberately, nose brushing the crook of Midoriya's neck, inhaling deep and slow: the pulse there thundering like war drums, the musk of sweat and arousal mingling with something uniquely Deku—fresh, vital, addictive. Mine, perfect, take me apart, his omega purred, nuzzling closer, teeth grazing the skin just enough to raise goosebumps.
"You ever knotted an omega before?" Bakugou murmured against the skin, voice a low rumble that vibrated through Midoriya's chest, his own cock dragging a wet, teasing trail along the alpha's hip, leaving a sticky smear.
Midoriya shook his head, voice small but honest, eyes downcast to where their bodies nearly touched, his knot twitching at the proximity. "N-no... it's impossible. I'm... too big. They always back out before we even get close—say it'll tear them, that I'm some kind of freak. Never... never made it that far."
Bakugou's omega purred at that, a dark delight coiling in his gut like smoke—virgin knot, untouched, all mine to break in, to claim as first. The possessiveness thrilled him, slick pulsing out in response, dripping onto Midoriya's thigh. "Good," he breathed, hot against the shell of an ear, hand wrapping around the base of that massive shaft, fingers barely meeting around the girth, feeling it pulse hot and alive in his grip, the veins like ropes under his palm, the heat searing. He stroked once, slow and firm—schlick—coating his hand in the leaking precum, then positioned the blunt, flared head at his entrance, slick-coated and fluttering eagerly, rim kissing the tip with a wet nudge. A wicked smile curled his lips as he met Midoriya's wide, disbelieving eyes. "You're gonna give your first knot to an omega tonight, Deku. Gonna lock it in deep and make me scream. 'Cause I'm Katsuki Bakugou, and nothing's fuckin' impossible for me."
With that defiant declaration, he sank down—slow, deliberate, the head breaching him with a lewd schlick that stretched his rim around impossible girth, velvet walls parting like silk torn asunder. Both groaned in unison, a harmony of raw, unfiltered sensation: "Ahh—fuck, so big!" from Bakugou, deep and guttural, his voice cracking on the edge of a moan as the stretch burned sweet, and "Ohh—ngh, tight—oh god!" from Midoriya, strained and awed, hips bucking up instinctively before he caught himself. It was unlike anything either had felt—Bakugou's walls yielding to the invasion, clamping down like a vice of molten heat as he descended inch by torturous inch, feeling every ridge, every throbbing vein scraping his insides like textured fire, dragging sparks along nerves that sang with overload. The stretch bordered on pain, absurd and overwhelming, his body protesting with a sharp twinge before welcoming it fully, slick gushing in hot waves to ease the way, coating the shaft in glistening sheen as he bottomed out halfway—maybe seven inches in, the girth alone filling him to bursting, breath hitching in sharp, ragged gasps: "Sh-shit, Deku—it's splitting me—mmph, more, give me more!"
He paused there, thighs trembling from the effort, ass clenching experimentally around the embedded length, feeling it throb in response like a living thing, the head nudging deep inside, pressing against his prostate with every subtle shift. Glancing down through the haze of pleasure, Bakugou watched Midoriya unravel—head thrown back against the pillows, lips parted on silent, open-mouthed moans that exposed the line of his throat, hands fisting the sheets until knuckles blanched white, freckled chest heaving like he'd run a marathon through villain territory, abs contracting in waves as his cock disappeared into Bakugou's body, swallowed by heat and slick. Sweat beaded on his brow, trickling down temples, and his eyes—when they fluttered open—were glassy with ecstasy, pupils blown wide. Look at him, falling apart for me, all because of this. The sight fueled Bakugou's fire; he decided he needed more prep, more give to take it all, so he rolled his hips in a slow, deliberate grind— moving with teasing circles, the motion dragging that massive length against his walls in slow, grinding drags, brushing his prostate with each swivel and twist, the veins catching on sensitive flesh like hooks of pleasure. "Nngh—feel that? Your cock's wrecking me already," Bakugou growled, voice husky, as Midoriya keened beneath him, a broken "Ah—Ka- Katsuki, please—too good!" spilling out, hips jerking up in shallow thrusts, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated ecstasy, eyes rolling back as precome bubbled at the base where they joined.
Emboldened by the alpha's unraveling, Bakugou lifted—schlorp—the suction obscene and wet as he rose, rim clinging to the shaft like it refused to let go, strings of slick connecting them before snapping, then slammed down again with a forceful slap of ass on thighs, setting a rhythm that had the bed frame groaning in protest, headboard thumping softly against the wall. Up and down, relentless and building, his own cock bouncing heavy and hard against Midoriya's abs with each descent—thwack-thwack—smearing precome in sticky, glistening trails across freckled skin, the friction sending jolts up his spine. He couldn't remember ever being this aroused, this utterly lost in the sensation—heat coiling tighter with every plunge, veins singing as that monster filled him deeper, fuller than any alpha before, the stretch evolving from burn to bliss, his walls fluttering around the girth like they were made for it. His omega reveled in the control, yes, ride him, claim the knot, make him beg, slick squelching loudly with each descent—squish-squish—the room echoing their filthy symphony: wet slaps of skin on skin, Bakugou's moans spilling free and unfiltered—"Nngh—fuck, yeah, take it deep—ahh, your veins, shit!"—and Midoriya's whimpers turning to guttural groans, driving them both to the brink of madness, the air thick with the mingled scents of sweat, slick, and musk.
Midoriya's hands, tentative at first as if afraid to break the spell, began to roam with growing boldness—palms sliding up Bakugou's thighs in slow, reverent strokes, tracing the flexing muscles with instinctive worship, thumbs pressing into the dips where hip met ass, kneading the firm globes as Bakugou rode him harder. The touch grounded them amid the frenzy, electric and possessive, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint red marks, pulling Bakugou down onto each thrust with subtle guidance. And then it came, slipping free like a dam breaking: a low, desperate "Kacchan..." moaned from Midoriya's lips, the nickname raw and intimate, laced with need.
Bakugou's omega delighted, a triumphant purr vibrating through his chest like thunder rolling low, heat spiking at the possessiveness in that single word, making his cock leak harder. He leaned down, breath hot and ragged against Midoriya's ear, voice teasing and rough amid the pants: "Back to Kacchan now, huh? Finally remembering who owns you? Say it—who's making you feel this good, Deku? Who's got this big cock throbbing like it's gonna explode? Who's your omega, huh?"
Midoriya, lost in the haze of pleasure, arched up with a whine that bordered on a sob, green eyes half-lidded and unfocused as he gasped, voice breaking: "Y-you, Kacchan—ahh, fuck, you are—Kacchan's riding me—ngha, so tight, so hot—Kacchan's hole, milking me—please, don't stop!" The words tumbled out in a rush, each one punctuated by a thrust, his hands tightening on Bakugou's hips, guiding the rhythm faster.
The admission fueled Bakugou like gasoline on flames, rhythm accelerating—faster, harder, sinking deeper with each bounce, the stretch burning sweeter as he chased more, rim loosening around the girth but still clamping like a fist on the upstrokes. But he felt so full, walls straining around the invading thickness, every vein dragging fire inside him, doubt flickering unbidden: Can I even take the base? Feels like it's gonna rip me in half. His pace faltered then, thighs quivering from the exertion, slick-drenched but overwhelmed, breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts as fatigue nipped at the edges of ecstasy.
That was all it took—Midoriya's rut snapped like a frayed wire, alpha instinct surging like a quirk awakening in full fury. Strong hands clamped onto Bakugou's hips with bruising force, fingers digging into flesh like iron vices, nails biting crescent moons into skin, and with a fluid, powerful twist powered by those corded arms and honed strength, he flipped them over in one seamless motion. Bakugou yelped in surprise—"The fuck—?! Deku, you—!"—the world inverting in a blur of sheets and limbs as he landed on his back with a thud, legs splayed wide, knees hooked over Midoriya's elbows now, the new angle exposing him completely. Midoriya loomed over him, that massive cock still buried deep—eight, nine inches now, the knot kissing his rim with teasing pressure—twitching inside with renewed vigor, stretching him from within.
Bakugou stared up, breath stolen and ragged, as Midoriya's face twisted in unrestrained lust—eyes dark and feral, pupils swallowing the green, murmuring "Kacchan... mine... need you..." like a mantra chanted in fever, freckles lost in the flush of possession, sweat dripping from his forehead to land hot on Bakugou’s collarbone. No more hesitation, no more deference; Midoriya braced his forearms on either side of Bakugou’s head, caging him in with the solid weight of his body, muscles bunching like coiled cables under sweat-slick skin. His hips snapped forward with brutal, unrestrained force—slap-slap-slap—the sound of flesh colliding echoing off the walls like gunfire in a confined space, each thrust driving that massive cock deeper into Bakugou’s yielding heat, the girth splitting him wider with every plunge. The angle was merciless now, gravity and leverage allowing Midoriya to bottom out further, the curved shaft grinding relentlessly against Bakugou’s prostate like a battering ram tuned to pleasure, sending shockwaves of ecstasy ripping through his core. “Ahh! Deku—harder, fuck me raw—ngha!” Bakugou’s voice cracked into a howl, body jolting upward with each impact, headboard thumping rhythmically against the wall as his fingers clawed at Midoriya’s back, nails raking red trails down the flexing lats, urging him on. His omega thrilled at the dominance, the alpha finally unleashing, claiming with every piston-like drive—slick pouring freer in response, a torrent that lubricated the onslaught, easing the glide even as the stretch burned like liquid fire, coating Midoriya’s balls and thighs until they slapped wetly against Bakugou’s ass with obscene schlick-schlick squelches. The room reeked of them—musk and caramel spice mingling with the sharp tang of sweat, scents entwining like lovers in a storm, Bakugou’s hole fluttering around the invading length, walls rippling in desperate clutches that milked precome from the tip in hot spurts.
Deft hands explored then, Midoriya’s palms roaming Bakugou’s body like uncharted territory begging to be mapped—fingers splaying wide across the broad expanse of his chest, tracing the sharp ridges of abs that clenched under the assault, thumbs circling the dusky nipples until they pebbled into tight, aching buds, pinching and rolling them with just enough pressure to draw out sharp gasps: “Nngh—yeah, touch me there—fuck, Deku!” Midoriya’s voice was wrecked, a gravelly timbre laced with awe, praising in breathless bursts between thrusts that never faltered, hips rolling in deep, grinding circles to stir Bakugou’s insides like a spoon in molten honey: “So strong... beautiful, Kacchan—fuck, you’re perfect, feel you squeezing me—ahh, so hot inside...” The words washed over Bakugou like praise from a god, each syllable stoking the fire higher, his cock trapped between their abs—hard as steel, leaking profusely, the friction of sweat-slick skin dragging along the sensitive underside with every slam, building pressure in his gut like a bomb ticking down. Emboldened by the worship, Bakugou yanked Midoriya down into a searing kiss—lips crashing together in a messy, desperate duel, tongues tangling with feral hunger, teeth nipping at swollen bottoms as they devoured each other, swallowing moans and the shared taste of salt and need. Midoriya’s stubble scraped Bakugou’s jaw like sandpaper on silk, the kiss deepening as a hand threaded into ash-blond spikes, pulling just hard enough to arch Bakugou’s neck, exposing the throbbing pulse for Midoriya to suckle—hot, open-mouthed marks blooming purple along the column, claiming territory with bites that stung sweet.
They broke apart gasping, strings of saliva connecting their lips for a heated second before snapping, Midoriya’s rhythm fracturing into a frenzy of shorter, harder thrusts—thwap-thwap-thwap—the bed shaking violently now, springs creaking in protest as he chased release, eyes locked on Bakugou’s with wild intensity, freckles stark against the crimson flush. “Kacchan—close, I’m so—gonna come, fuck—need to fill you!” he panted, voice breaking on a groan, the knot at his base swelling fuller with each snap of hips, battering Bakugou’s rim like a insistent fist demanding entry, the pressure building to a fever pitch. Bakugou felt it too, the coil in his belly wound impossibly tight, every nerve alight from the dual assault of cock and words, his own release hovering like a detonation primed. But he hadn’t fully realized the shift in position’s gift—the new angle let Midoriya bury deeper than before, inch after thick inch vanishing inside until the knot kissed his rim with every thrust, a swollen, veined bulb grinding against the stretched muscle, teasing the breach with hot, slick nudges that had Bakugou’s toes curling and his vision spotting white.
“Give it to me,” Bakugou demanded through gritted teeth, legs locking around Midoriya’s waist like vices, heels digging into the small of his back to pull him impossibly closer, urging the alpha on with a growl that vibrated through his chest. “Knot me, alpha—lock it in, breed your omega—ahh, do it, Deku, fucking claim me!” The words were a spark to tinder, everything Midoriya’s rut needed to ignite fully—he roared, a primal “Kacchan—yes, mine—take it all!” tearing from his throat like a battle cry, and shoved forward with all his strength, hips slamming home as the knot breached with a lewd, stretching pop that echoed wetly, rim yielding around the invading bulb in a burn that blurred the line between agony and rapture. It locked in place with a final, grinding push—schlorp—the girth sealing them together, Bakugou’s walls clamping down in reflexive spasms as the sensation hit like a quirk overload: powerful, overwhelming, a fullness that consumed every thought, every sense. Midoriya’s cock pulsed wildly inside, flooding him with hot, thick spurts of come that painted his insides white in endless ropes, the heat spreading like wildfire through his veins, triggering Bakugou’s own climax with brutal efficiency. “Ahhh—fuck, Deku—cumming—nghaaa!” He shattered, release exploding from his cock in arcs that splattered across Midoriya’s chest and abs, white streaks marking freckled skin like war paint, his ass clenching rhythmically around the knot and shaft, milking every drop with fluttering contractions that dragged guttural moans from them both—“Mmmph—Kacchan, so tight—!”
But it didn’t stop there; the knot swelled impossibly larger in the aftermath, inflating like a balloon under relentless pressure, pressing outward against Bakugou’s walls with a slow, inexorable expansion that stretched him further, molding his body to its shape. It ground against hidden nerves he didn’t know existed—clusters of sensitivity deep inside that sparked like live wires, sending jolts of pleasure-pain radiating outward, the pressure building to a white-hot crescendo that had his breath seizing in his chest. “Sh-shit—it’s growing—Deku, too much—ahh, fuck, right there!” Bakugou’s voice dissolved into a keen, body arching off the bed in a bow, muscles seizing as the knot ballooned to fist-size and beyond, ridges catching and tugging his rim with every subtle throb, filling voids he never knew were empty. Slick and come mixed in a messy flood, leaking out around the seal in warm trickles, but the pressure kept mounting, his prostate crushed under the bulb’s weight, forcing wave after wave of ecstasy through him until his brain short-circuited into blank, blissful static—thoughts fragmenting like shrapnel, reduced to sensation alone. He came again, dry and shuddering this time—“Nnghaaa—yes, knot me deeper—!”—body convulsing in uncontrollable spasms, omega instincts screaming in euphoric surrender as the knot ground deeper still, hitting spots that erupted fireworks behind his eyelids, orgasm ripping through him harder than any blast he’d ever unleashed, leaving him trembling and spent, vision tunneling to black-edged stars.
Midoriya, equally wrecked and overloaded, kept coming in endless, forceful pulses—ropes upon ropes pumping into Bakugou’s depths, his first knot a torrent he couldn’t control or contain, the sensation of finally claiming na omega, of being wanted despite his size, shattering his composure into raw vulnerability. “Kacchan... so good—finally knotted you—mine, all mine—ahh, can’t stop...” he babbled, voice hoarse and breaking, body trembling atop Bakugou as he buried his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the omega’s scent like a lifeline, teeth grazing the skin without breaking it, marking with hot breaths and murmured praises that devolved into wordless groans. His hips stuttered in shallow, instinctive rocks, the knot tugging deliciously with each motion, prolonging their shared high as come continued to flood, warm and abundant, distending Bakugou’s belly slightly with the sheer volume, a subtle swell that pressed outward like a secret shared.
They lay there, tied together in the intimate vise of the knot, bodies slick with sweat and fluids, breaths mingling in ragged harmony as the peak ebbed into languid aftershocks—pulses syncing in the quiet hum of the room, Midoriya’s weight a comforting anchor pinning Bakugou to the mattress. The world outside faded to irrelevance, scents entwined like vows unspoken in the dim light, the knot throbbing softly as it held them in captivity, promising hours more of this locked bliss. Bakugou’s fingers traced lazy patterns on Midoriya’s back, a rare tenderness bleeding through the haze, while Midoriya nuzzled closer, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder, their heartbeats drumming a shared rhythm in the afterglow's warm embrace.
The knot held them locked in that exquisite vise for what felt like na eternity but stretched into mere minutes—Bakugou’s body still humming with aftershocks, walls fluttering around the swollen bulb that pulsed gently inside him, each throb sending lazy ripples of pleasure through his limbs like echoes of a distant explosion. Midoriya’s weight pressed him into the mattress, a grounding heat that chased away the chill of the room, their sweat-slick skins sticking and sliding in the dim glow of the single lamp. Come leaked slowly around the seal, warm and viscous, trickling down Bakugou’s crack to pool on the sheets, but neither moved much, content in the haze for those brief, intense moments; Midoriya’s breaths puffed hot against Bakugou’s neck, his lips brushing idle kisses there, murmuring fragmented words of awe—“Kacchan... can’t believe... so perfect”—while Bakugou’s fingers carded through sweat-damp curls, a silent anchor in the storm’s wake. His omega purred low, sated for the moment, the alpha’s scent wrapping around him like a claim etched in bone, but already the embers stirred, rut’s fire banked but not extinguished, the knot deflating just enough after five, maybe ten minutes of throbbing pressure to allow Midoriya to pull free with a wet schlorp, leaving Bakugou feeling achingly empty, slick and seed gushing out in a messy flood that soaked his thighs.
They collapsed side by side, chests heaving, but the respite was brief; Midoriya’s eyes darkened again within minutes, rut surging back like a quirk refusing to fade, his massive length hardening anew against Bakugou’s hip, veins throbbing with insistent need. “Kacchan... still want you,” he growled, voice roughened by hours of moans, rolling over to pin Bakugou beneath him once more. This time, it was slower at first—Bakugou on his side, one leg hooked over Midoriya’s hip as the alpha slid back in from behind, the stretch easier now that his body remembered the shape, walls yielding like well-worn leather to the girth. “Nngh—yeah, like that, fill me up again,” Bakugou rasped, pushing back to meet each thrust, the angle letting Midoriya grind deep against his prostate, sparks igniting with every drag of those textured veins. Hands roamed freely now—Bakugou’s gripping Midoriya’s ass to pull him harder, Midoriya’s kneading Bakugou’s pecs, pinching nipples until they ached, their mouths meeting in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that tasted of salt and shared release. It built to frenzy quickly, hips snapping with wet slap-slap rhythms, Bakugou’s cock trapped between them, rubbing against Midoriya’s abs until he spilled with a bitten-off “Fuck—Deku!”, the knot following soon after, swelling to lock them spooned together for another handful of heated minutes, Midoriya’s come flooding hot and endless as they shuddered through the peak, the pressure easing just long enough to disentangle before the rut pulled them back in.
*
The first day blurred into a haze of insatiable hunger, the room’s air thick with the perpetual scent of sex—musk and caramel spice layered over the faint chemical tang of the facility’s air recyclers. Between rounds, when the knots ebbed after their short, intense grips and exhaustion tugged at their limbs, Bakugou found pockets of clarity in the intervals, using them to bridge the chasm of their shared history. They’d collapse in a tangle of limbs, sheets twisted and stained, and Bakugou—voice hoarse from screaming—would turn to Midoriya, tracing the freckles on his shoulder like a map to forgiveness. “Hey, nerd,” he’d start, casual as if they weren’t still leaking fluids onto the mattress, “back when we were kids... I was a shithead. Pushed you around ‘cause I was scared you’d outshine me, or some dumbass reason. Sorry for that crap. Made you doubt yourself.” Midoriya’s eyes would widen, green depths softening in the afterglow, his hand covering Bakugou’s with a tentative squeeze. “Kacchan... it’s okay. I get it now. We were just brats back then.” But Bakugou pressed on, omega instincts demanding more than physical claim—he’d pull Midoriya closer, nuzzling into his neck, inhaling that rain-earth scent that grounded him like nothing else. “Nah, it wasn’t okay. But... this? Us? Feels right. Like I finally found the alpha who can keep up.” Laughter bubbled up then, soft and rare from Bakugou, Midoriya’s joining in a shy chuckle, their fingers lacing as they talked—about old rivalries turned to respect, about the years of distance melting in this locked room, the paths that had diverged without UA’s shared halls to bind them. It wasn’t just sex; it was reconnection, threads of their past weaving into something new, almost lovers in the making, touches lingering beyond necessity, gazes holding promises unspoken.
*
By the second day, the rut had them rutting like animals in heat, boundaries dissolving further. Midoriya took charge more often, rut’s alpha drive peaking, flipping Bakugou onto all fours for a pounding that shook the bedframe loose—thud-thud-thud—his hands gripping hips like handles, cock slamming home with enough force to jolt Bakugou forward, prostate battered into submission as slick sprayed with each withdrawal. “Ahh—Deku, deeper—wreck my ass!” Bakugou demanded, arching back, one hand reaching to stroke his own leaking cock, the other fisting sheets as Midoriya’s balls slapped heavy against him, the knot teasing entry with every thrust until it popped in with a stretch that had them both howling—“Nnghaaa—yes, lock it!”—come erupting in floods that left Bakugou’s belly warm and full, the knot holding firm for those crucial, euphoric minutes of pulsing release before softening enough to slip out with a slick pop, slick and seed dribbling down Bakugou’s thighs in the brief pause. Intervals brought quieter moments: Bakugou straddling Midoriya’s lap during a lull, feeding him water from a bottle with careful sips, their foreheads touching as Midoriya’s voice dropped low, confessional in the dim light—“You know, Kacchan, after we went our separate ways... I followed your career from the sidelines. Every headline, every bust you made as a pro hero. Kept tabs on you, even when it hurt to see how far you’d gone without me.” His cheeks flushed deeper than the rut’s heat, green eyes flicking away shyly, but Bakugou’s grin sharpened, a possessive warmth blooming in his chest at the admission. Midoriya leaned in then, kissing Bakugou slow and deep, tongues exploring like they were mapping each other’s souls. “I never stopped thinking about you, Kacchan. This... it’s more than I dreamed.” They dozed like that, bodies entwined, waking to another round—Bakugou riding Midoriya reverse this time, ass grinding down on that monster length, rolling hips in circles that made the alpha whimper, hands on Bakugou’s back dimpling the skin as he bounced, cock flopping heavy and hard, precome splattering Midoriya’s thighs until release crashed over them in tandem, knot swelling to tie them face-to-face for a short, intense lock of minutes, breaths mingling in exhausted bliss before it released them to catch their breath.
*
The third day dawned with fatigue etching lines under their eyes, but the rut refused to yield fully, dragging them into one final, marathon session that spanned from dawn to dusk. They fucked against the wall first, Bakugou’s legs wrapped around Midoriya’s waist, the alpha’s strength holding him up effortlessly as he thrust upward—schlick-schlick—each plunge hitting so deep Bakugou’s vision whited out, nails digging bloody crescents into Midoriya’s shoulders. “Mine—fuck, you’re mine now—ahh!” Bakugou growled, biting Midoriya’s lip hard enough to draw a copper tang, the pain spurring faster snaps until the knot battered in, locking them standing for those fevered minutes of come pulsing as they slid to the floor in a heap, the swell easing just in time to disentangle and collapse. Pauses grew longer, bodies demanding rest, and Bakugou used them to solidify the shift—cuddling against Midoriya’s chest, listening to his heartbeat steady like a metronome, whispering, “We don’t have to stop this outside these walls. You’re not just some program match; you’re my alpha.” Midoriya’s arms tightened, a soft “Kacchan...” escaping, vulnerability cracking his voice. As evening fell, the last heatwave hit like a crescendo—Bakugou on his back, legs over Midoriya’s shoulders, folded nearly in half as the alpha drove in with languid, powerful strokes, the angle obscene, cock disappearing to the hilt, veins dragging fire along every inch. “Nngh—Deku, gonna come—knot me one last time!” Bakugou moaned, hand fisting Midoriya’s curls, pulling him down for a kiss that muffled their cries. The rhythm built to frenzy—hips pistoning, bed creaking like it might splinter, slick and sweat flying—until Midoriya growled, “Kacchan—yes, take it all!”, the knot breaching with a final pop, swelling huge and unyielding for those final, shattering minutes, flooding Bakugou with wave after wave of seed as they shattered together—“Ahhh—fuck, yes! Deku—cumming so hard—nghaaa!”—bodies convulsing in unified ecstasy, the peak dragging on until the knot deflated, releasing them into a sated sprawl as darkness claimed them.
In the quiet aftermath, breaths still ragged from the last knot’s grip, Bakugou lifted a hand to cup Midoriya’s flushed face, thumb tracing freckles like constellations. “Hey... after this? We keep going. Outside. You and me—real dates, real fights, all of it. Yeah?” His voice was raw, stripped bare, crimson eyes searching green ones with a vulnerability he’d never shown anyone.
Midoriya’s smile broke wide, radiant and unreserved, tears pricking the corners as he nodded, leaning into the touch. “Yeah, Kacchan. I’d love that. More than anything.”
Bakugou’s lips curved into a genuine, fanged grin, imagining the chaos to come—the stunned faces of Kirishima and the others when he strolled into the agency hand-in-hand with Deku, the explosive specialist claiming his perfect alpha match, the one who’d matched him blast for blast in bed and beyond. Let ‘em stare. This is mine now. The thought warmed him deeper than any knot, as they lay entwined, the future unfolding like a spark ready to ignite.