You pushed him back with a sudden movement, your hands shaking with adrenaline. You stood up, letting your dress slide off your shoulders, revealing your naked body, still marked by pregnancy (your full breasts, your dark, firm nipples, your soft belly, and that dark line that started from your navel and ran down to your shaved pubic area). You were beautiful, and he made you his with just his eyes.
Mirio wasted no time. He quickly unzipped his jeans as his cock sprung out, already rock hard. You looked up at him with hungry eyes, your lips parted, and you threw yourself on top of him, pushing him onto the couch. He fell backward, his body sinking into the couch cushions, and you were on top of him in an instant, your knees planted on either side of his hips.
"Someone tonight…is excited, huh? How much do you want me, sensei?"
He asked, but you didn't answer. Your hand grabbed his cock, guiding it to your tight, wet pussy.
You lowered yourself toward Mirio, your pussy opening to welcome him, swallowing every inch in one go. You both moaned in unison, and he squeezed your ass cheeks, tilting his head back.
"Fuck, you're so big…" you said, panting.
Then, you began to move at a pace that was already wild, already out of control. Your breasts bounced with every thrust, beads of sweat sliding down as Mirio grabbed your hips, then your buttocks, not knowing where to keep his hands. He forced you to take every inch of him, deeper and deeper each time.
"You're mine," Mirio growled, thrusting his hips upward, meeting you on the way down with a violent thrust. "Tell me you want me, now"
You laughed, almost hysterically, as you continued to ride him with a seemingly endless fury.
"I'm all yours, damn it…" you panted, the words coming out in a choppy, slurred moaning. "I'm yours, yes. Don't stop… don't ever stop wanting me, please…"
Mirio would never have done that. His hands slid to your breasts, cupping them and kissing them. He bit them so hard that you screamed, your mouth against his shoulder. Your eyes widened as the pain mingled with pleasure, making it all the more intense.
"You like it, huh?" Mirio smirked, twisting your nipples between his fingers, feeling his cock tighten even more against your tight pussy. "You like it when I hurt you."
You nodded, your eyes shining, your mouth open in desperate silence. Your nails scraped Mirio's chest, leaving red marks, as you continued to move against him, your rhythm becoming more convulsive, more desperate. Mirio felt your orgasm approaching; he could feel your pussy tightening around him, your muscles contracting in preparation for the impending explosion.
"Cum, Tara, please, on my fucking dick…" Mirio begged, "Cum on top of me, now, please."
With a strangled cry, your body arched, your back arching backward as your orgasm hit you with the force of a hurricane. Mirio felt your pussy contract around his cock, your inner walls throbbing, squeezing him, and then... again. Another spurt, this time even more powerful than the first, a hot gush that flooded you both, wetting Mirio's thighs, the couch, dripping down between your bonded skin. You trembled, your body wracked with uncontrollable spasms, as Mirio continued to thrust his enormous cock into you, lengthening your orgasm, making you came again and again, until you collapsed on top of him, your body exhausted.
But Mirio wasn't satisfied yet.
With a swift movement, he pushed you off the couch, making you lie on your back with your legs spread. He positioned himself between your thighs, kneeling, his cock still rock hard, and then sank inside you with a thrust so violent that the couch creaked and shifted beneath you. You screamed, but Mirio covered your mouth with one hand, and with the other he grabbed your breast, squeezing it with almost cruel force.
"Shut up," he hissed, starting to pound you with deep, steady thrusts, his cock pounding in and out of you at a wild pace. "Don't wake the baby."
You nodded under his hand, your eyes wide and your body moving in unison with his thrusts, each thrust making you moan against his hand. Mirio could feel his orgasm approaching, his cock throbbing, ready to explode. And when he came, it was with such force that it took his breath away, a wave of pure pleasure washing over him, his sperm shooting inside you in hot, thick jets, filling you to the cervix, making you his in a way no words could ever describe.
Mirio remained on top of you, his body shaking with the final spasms of his orgasm, and you were beneath him, your legs still spread and your pussy dripping with your combined pleasure. Then, slowly, Mirio withdrew, his cock slipping out and you slumped beside him, still breathing rapidly.
You turned to him, resting your head on his chest. You looked up at him when a smile appeared on your face.
"We should…" he began, but you shook your head, a finger resting on his lips to silence him.
"No! Not yet…"
And, in that silence, you fell asleep, with his scent under your skin and his breath in your ear.
***
The next morning, you found yourself in the gym with Toshinori, Aizawa, and the U.A. class. That day, the students were supposed to be working out with the weight machines, while you teachers would be acting as personal trainers. You were wearing your usual tracksuit: loose, comfortable, and capable of making you look even younger than your age.
The U.A. gym was as crowded and noisy as ever. Some students were shouting to hype themselves up, others hammered away at the punching bags, while a few just let off steam in silence. The buzz of voices, bursts of laughter, and the clanging of weights all blended together, creating the lively chaos typical of an intense training session.
You'd been entrusted with Tsuyu, Yaoyorozu, Uraraka, Jiro, Ashido, and Toru. A small, diverse group, but close-knit in its own way. They were all training on a long mat, lined up like a makeshift team; some were sweating in silence, others were complaining, still others were cheering each other on.
Tsuyu performed the squats with the natural ease of someone who truly knows no fatigue, her rhythm as regular as a metronome. Yaoyorozu was perfect as usual: back straight, gaze focused, impeccable movements... even if a hint of tension beaded her forehead. Uraraka, on the other hand, desperately tried not to give in to her trembling legs, biting her lower lip every time she lowered herself.
Ashido laughed. She always laughed. Even during exercise, as if the effort were just another game. Jiro moved with a decidedly more composed expression: headphones in her ears, music blaring, her steady beats helping her keep time.
And then there was Toru. Invisible. But you could see her shoes moving, the mat bending under her steps, and her labored breathing chopping through the air.
You kept pace. Stopwatch in one hand, your voice guiding without hesitation:
"One... two... three... breath, girls... four... five..." Then, with a quick nod and a half-smile, you announced:
"Okay, girls, keep going for eight more reps. I'll be right back."
You took a few steps away, giving them space to continue on their own. As you moved, your presence remained there, like an invisible guideline: their backs remained straight, their movements controlled, their breathing more or less synchronized.
You sat down on a bench near the padded walls, letting your back rest for a moment. You still had the stopwatch in your hand, which you quickly stopped before placing it back next to your knee. Your glasses slipped slightly down your nose, but you didn't bother straightening them; you were too focused on studying the papers in front of you.
It was the girls' homework. Tactical analysis, collaborative strategies, managing their individual Quirks in a group context. You were trying to figure out which of them had improved the most, who had made a leap in mental growth before physical growth. Each line revealed much more than just the content: it revealed character, fear, ambition.
Yaoyorozu reasoned in schematic structures, as precise as diagrams. Tsuyu was essential, direct, sincere. Ashido put instinct first. Uraraka wrote with a warmth that was palpable, even when she was trying to remain rational. Jiro had surprising clarity in her tactical analyses. Toru… well, Toru always tried not to be underestimated. And her way of doing so was right there: between the lines that demanded to be seen.
You were about to jot down a note when… something changed. It wasn't a heavy footstep or a voice. It was the air.
A slight shift, like someone interrupting an invisible flow. A presence approaching with a silence that was anything but casual. Only a handful of people knew how to enter a room like that without being noticed. And among them, your ex Katsuki Bakugo was certainly the most surprising.
Not that he was silent by nature...he was the opposite of all that. (Ardent, explosive, temperamental…) But sometimes, when he wanted to, he could be… like a knife in water. Invisible, yet capable of altering every reflection. You didn't see it coming. You didn't hear it coming.
You sensed it.
Katsuki was there, a few meters away, towel draped over his shoulder, breathing still heavy from the previous workout. His gaze was focused. Not angry. Not frustrated. Just… focused, as if he were studying something he didn't want to name. And you, without knowing why, found yourself gripping the pen a little tighter.
"The 3B boys made a mess in the hallway. I cleaned it up, so I was late."
You recognized that voice well. It was the same one he often used to launch into verbal altercations, explosive shouts... and yet, in that moment, there was no anger. Not at you, at least.
He stood still behind you.
You nodded, without taking your eyes off the test you were correcting. Your fingers continued to skim the lines, the pen marking a note in the margin, as if your mind were split in two: one working and the other listening.
"You did well," you replied casually.
Silence. For a moment, neither of you moved.
You continued to correct, but your perception was all there, in that area just behind your shoulder, as if Katsuki's presence had its own gravitational field. It was… attention. His attention to you, and, despite yourself, yours to him too.
Then, with a slow brush of air, you felt him shift weight on one foot. He wasn't leaving.
"I was late...not because I was messing around."
A statement of fact.
You remained silent for a few seconds. When you responded, you did so with the same restraint you'd use to someone who doesn't need comfort or praise, but simply acknowledgment:
"I know."
That simple sentence seemed to carry enormous weight. He didn't answer. But the silence that followed... changed in substance.
Silence.
Katsuki, usually, would have left by then. You knew him well: he was the type to leave a sentence like a spark and then walk away, without looking back, as if holding on a second longer might burn him. You knew full well that this was his way of protecting himself.
But strangely, this time he stayed.
Behind you. Very still. As if he'd planted his feet on the ground rather than do what instinct told him. You looked up at him, through the slanted lenses of your glasses.
And what you saw took your breath away.
The brilliant, proud eyes of the hero Bakugo Katsuki were gone, the ones who had faced battles, who had saved lives, who had learned to smile only after learning to bleed. The usual confident arrogance, his pride, were gone.
Before you, there were thin, deep cracks, filled with something that tasted like admission. Admitting regret, despair, the weariness of always fighting everything and everyone, even himself.
And you felt it. In your chest. In your ribs. Exactly where he had once left you gasping for air for a different reason.
You felt the same feeling as then...but different, matured, settled. The recognition of someone you truly loved.
"Katsuki..."
You continued to look at him. And he didn't look away from you.
"Are you… are you sleeping?" His voice cracked almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. You caught the fact that it wasn't a superficial question. It was genuine concern. Of course, he knew about Ryota. He knew he was a baby. He also knew the nights were long.
"Yes. Mirio is helping me so much." You answered with simple sincerity, without trembling. Because there was nothing to hide.
And that's when it happened.
Something in Katsuki's eyes broke. Maybe there was something he wanted to tell you. Something that had been left hanging for too long.
Your son's father had a truth in his throat that was choking him. You could see it in his eyes, you knew it. You'd always known it.
But those damned words didn't come out.
Katsuki bowed his head slightly, as if gasping for air. His hands went into his pockets, an instinctive, automatic gesture, the only way he knew to keep his fingers from shaking.
He turned, taking a step forward. Then another.
He crossed the gym without saying anything, without turning around. Perhaps he knew that if he'd stayed a second longer in front of you, in front of what you had been, in front of what still moved between you like an invisible thread, he would have collapsed.
You followed him with your gaze to the door.
After practice, when the echo of weights and laughter had faded to an indistinct buzz, you were still trying to find your breath. Not the physical one. The internal one, the one Katsuki had shaken without even touching you.
It was then that you saw him. Your Mirio.
He entered the gymnasium in his hero uniform, still slightly crumpled, a sunny smile plastered on his face, the kind that can light up even the darkest places. He was talking to Toshinori, their conversation about the next mission: maps, patrols, protocols... (the rhythm of a hero's life that never stops).
He hadn't noticed you right away. Perhaps you'd remained a shadow, sitting on a bench near the emergency exit door. But then you stepped out from behind Toshinori's broad back, letting the light hit you full force.
You had a smile on your lips. And your eyes were shining. You weren't crying. And yet... something shone.
Mirio stopped mid-sentence and widened his eyes. He saw you, and his expression changed, opened, melted...as if the world had suddenly become simpler.
"There you are!" he exclaimed, his voice resonating warmly, without hesitation.
In two steps, he reached you, his hands on your arms, then a laugh (his laugh, the one that had saved you more times than you'd care to admit), and he lifted you as if you were light as a feather.
Your legs left the ground, you spun, the air brushing your face.
And you laughed. Really.
"Mirio, stop it!!" you exclaimed, laughing like a child. Mirio gently set you down on the ground, his hands still on your shoulders, his eyes searching you.
"Are you okay?" he asked. A simple question. But you knew he wasn't referring to the gym.
You smiled. "Yes. Everything's fine." You replied.
And he believed you, because he knew perfectly well that you loved him. And that he loved you.