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use-your-telescope · 11 months

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When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 5: I'm Looking for a Sign

Summary: Theo begins the onboarding process for becoming an Avenger, and finds some time to sneak away.

Author's Notes: Sorry this is so late in the day! It has been a hectic weekend. This chapter (and the next) really focus on Theo, so there isn't much Loki... but he will be back soon!

If you enjoy, please reblog!! I'm a lil' blog (less than 100 followers, haha) and reblogs really help me out <3 Also, feel free to send me a message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list.

Next chapter should be coming November 12th!

Content Warnings: Canon-typical fighting (there's a training session).

Word Count: 5,525

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

Song: Good to Be Alive - PVRIS

Learning how to swim but the lands are dry Feeling like a shark, If I stop I'll die Things are lit and the blood's on fire Underneath the buzz of the telephone wire All my friends are doing fine While I’m looking for a sign Is this body even mine? Feels good to be alive but I hate my life

Onboarding with the Avengers was akin to drinking from a firehose.

Every waking moment was full - between orientation at the SHIELD Hospital, procedural trainings, mission briefings, and combat simulations, Theo hardly had a moment to breathe, much less think.

Either way, Theo had no interest in showing that the rapid pace was throwing her off her game. Instead, she bit her tongue and kept her wits about her, vigilant for even the slightest indication that something was amiss. Theo wouldn’t speak unless spoken to, and if spoken to she gave the impression of polite compliance - now that she was in the thick of things, stirring the pot would only make it harder to get this over with.

However, there was one element which she protested… Despite her insistence otherwise, part of Theo’s onboarding required being equipped with new armor.

She hadn’t needed armor before, so it seemed silly. If anything, she needed clothes that let her move freely and without detection. However, Fury insisted that Theo needed additional protection in the event that her magic wasn’t enough. The result was Theo, standing in Tony Stark’s lab, regretting every decision that led her to that moment as the overly smug engineer combed over her appearance with a shit eating grin.

“So, Rapunzel-” Tony leaned back against a table in his lab, crossing his arms. “I hear you need some armor.”

“That depends on who you ask.” Theo’s eyes scanned the room as she crossed her arms, leaning her weight on one foot. “Fury sure thinks so. I’m not convinced.”

It seemed like a standard engineering lab. A mixture of concrete, steel, and glass surrounded them, while harsh lights glared down from above. Scattered around the lab were more computers and machines than anyone knew what to do with, and various employees mulling about as they worked on assorted tasks. One person sautered metal, while another ran tests on what Theo could only assume was the newest rendition of Tony’s infamous suit. Clattering keys, clanking metal, and multiple beeps echoed throughout the sterile space. A metallic smell, tinged with chemicals and burning filled the air.

“Well, that’s where I come in.” Tony winked, picking up some kind of glass tablet and waving it at her. “If you ask nicely, I might even let you customize it.”

Theo rolled her eyes. “Asking you nicely sounds like too much work.”

“Don’t listen to him.” A woman appeared from around the corner, walking up to the pair with a swagger and a blinding smile that contrasted her umber skin. Her braided hair was twisted up into space buns, which combined with her brightly colored outfit made it painfully obvious just who Theo was speaking to. “I’ll make you better armor, and I’ll let you add whatever features you want without having to ask.”

Shuri Udaku, the princess of Wakanda.

For the first time that Theo could remember, she was, officially, starstruck.

“We haven’t officially met…” Theo offered a wry smile and nod to the princess, doing her best to keep her cool.

“I’m Shuri, princess of Wakanda and head of the Wakandan Design Group.” She stuck a hand out to shake, smiling brightly with just a hint of something amusing in her eyes. “Colonizing gave him a big ego, but what he would make is nothing compared to what I can make you.”

Theo couldn’t stifle the laugh that bubbled out of her from the dig at Tony.

“Oh, I like you. I’m Theo.” She took Shuri’s hand, offering a firm shake while praying her hands weren’t too sweaty.

Tony pouted, giving Shuri a dirty look; Shuri smirked at him.

“So what does this armor making process entail?” Theo glanced between the pair, waiting for further instruction.

“First, we’ll have you spar with one of our guys; get a sense for your style. From there, we’ll draw up a base set. You’ll give it a trial run, push the boundaries so we can see what works and what needs adjusting.” Tony explained, watching Theo as she continued observing her surroundings. “Then, we’ll make a final version.”

“Okay…” Given Shuri’s comments on building better armor, Theo suspected Shuri wasn’t her partner. Then again, it didn’t look like anyone there was ready to practice fighting - certainly none of the lab staff, who all but ignored Theo’s presence. Maybe she would be fighting Tony or one of his robots?

“Okay what?” Tony tapped on the tablet a few times.

“Am I sparring now?” Theo raised her eyebrows at him expectantly as she shrugged, glancing around the room. “I don’t see anyone who looks like they’re ready to fight, much less a space to fight in. Unless you want me to break your equipment, which is probably pretty expensive… Then again, you’re the Avengers’ Sugar Daddy. It’s probably pocket change for you to replace these.”

Shuri snorted at Theo’s comment.

“You’re not fighting here.” Tony rolled his eyes, pressing away from the table and gesturing for Theo to follow. “We have a training lab. Your partner will meet you there.”

That explained why she was told to come to the lab in clothes she could exercise in. Theo trailed behind, almost having to jog in order to keep up with Tony. “Who am I sparring against?”

Tony stopped in front of a door, pressing some sort of code into a keypad on the wall. The door hissed as it slid open, revealing none other than Captain America himself.

Oh shit.

Steve smiled, waving to the trio as they entered. Theo, on the other hand, froze in place, her stomach dropping into her feet. Couldn’t they have picked someone with magic, at least?

“He’ll go easy on you to start.” Tony winked, turning to lead them into another room.

Theo’s face must have betrayed her reaction - this was not going to go well, but not for the reason Tony Stark thought.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Theo gulped, eyes darting between the others.

“We’ll start simple.” Steve reassured her, following along with the group.

Fury must have held back on explaining Theo’s abilities if he was so calm about their impending duel.

The room that Tony brought them to was empty, save for a collection of cameras around the room and a table filled with sheets of stickers, each no larger than a pea. Mats covered the floor, presumably so that anyone who went down fighting was less likely to be hurt.

Cute, but a few mats weren’t going to be much help when it came to fighting a mage.

“So, how this works: the cameras will track your motion.” After gesturing to cameras around the room, Tony held up a sheet of stickers. ”These will be stuck to you so we can get a sense of your movements. You fight, then we use the data to design your gear.”

The thought of sensors stuck all over her body made her cringe. Of the many roles she expected to fill, lab rat was not one of them.

Fury fucking owed her for this.

“Oh joy...” Theo sighed, resigning herself to her fate. “Fine, let’s do this.”

Shuri brushed past Tony, grabbing the sensors. “I will handle this - I have just the touch.” She smirked at Theo. As she began to place the sensors, she leaned into Theo and whispered, “Kick his ass - I can fix broken white boys.”

Yes, Shuri was her kind of person.

Theo snickered, but held still so Shuri could continue placing sensors. Shuri made quick work of the task, her touch gentle but firm as she secured each device to Theo’s skin.

Once all the sensors were in place, they were ready to begin.

“In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve never ‘just sparred’ before.” Theo spoke up, circling around Steve.

She absolutely had sparred before - hundreds of times. But this way, if she accidentally went too far, she had an excuse. Besides, Steve didn’t have magic, and only fought with a shield.

Really, this was not a fair fight.

“I’m durable, don’t worry.” Steve offered a charming smile. “I can do this all day.”

Theo shook her head, gesturing with one hand to conjure her weapon. Runes slid down her arm, twisting around each other in the air until a blade of shadow appeared in her hand. “I’ve dulled my weapon so it’s not going to slice you open, at least.”

“Awfully kind,” Steve winked, lowering himself into a ready stance. “Ladies first.”

Well, here goes nothing.

Theo took a deep breath, stepping forward and offering the first swing.

Steve leapt back, darting forward to attempt a blow of his own.

Theo nimbly jumped to the side, swinging her blade down and landing clean on Steve’s back.

As Steve was knocked to the ground he spun around, attempting to kick out Theo’s feet from beneath her.

Theo leapt over his kick, pressing forward to a somersault in time to pop up and block a punch, taking another swing with her blade.

The two fell into a rhythm of trading blows. Steve certainly had his merits as a fighter - if they were in hand-to-hand combat, he easily could have kicked her ass. But this wasn’t hand to hand combat - Theo had her weapon to give her some distance, and if nothing else she was damn good at dodging anything and everything that attempted to hurt or kill her.

If this was all that was involved, she could do this all day… Well, as long as her lungs held up okay.

“Are you going to use any of your magic?” Steve grunted, dodging a blow from Theo as he kicked at her.

“I try to only use it against other magic users.” Theo replied, bringing her blade down to block the kick.

As if he took Theo’s response as a challenge, Steve picked up the pace. Still, Theo had yet to break a sweat. What she lacked in brute strength, she more than made up for in endurance and agility.

The sensation of being watched by someone new led Theo to do a scan of her surroundings as she blocked a punch from Steve.

Her instinct was spot on - not just one person, but three new people. Maybe it was a bit of ego, or a flair for the dramatic, but if there was a larger audience… Well, Theo could show off a little bit and it wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“It seems we have an audience…” Theo commented, tumbling backwards before teleporting behind Steve and hitting him from behind.

“I thought you didn’t use magic against non-magic users.” Steve coughed, then spun around to find her smirking at him.

Steve threw a punch, only to have it go right through her - it was an illusion. He frantically scanned the room again to find Theo leaning up against the wall, arms crossed as she dangled her sword from her right hand.

“Well, we have an audience.” She repeated with a wry shrug, pointing to the new arrivals with her blade. “Can’t let the new girl disappoint.”

Standing in the entrance, Wanda, Bucky, and Loki watched the two spar. Wanda appeared to be amused by the interaction; Bucky was laughing at Steve, and Loki…

Well, Theo wasn’t sure if he was amused, unimpressed, or bored.

“Alright, so this should get interesting now, right?” Steve turned to face Theo again, straightening up and squaring his shoulders.

“Perhaps.” Theo kept a straight face as she pushed off the wall, preparing for Steve’s next move.

“Theo, remember what I said – I can fix broken white boys!” Shuri jeered.

A smirk flickered across Theo’s lips.

Bucky doubled over, howling with laughter as Steve let out a huff.

As long as she stuck to the celestial magic, she’d be fine.

Steve rushed towards her.

Adrenaline rushed through Theo’s veins. It had been a while since she’d really had a chance to show what she could do; the prospect of flexing her skills felt almost liberating.

No, she needed to keep it under wraps.

Singing under her breath, a wisp of white shot through her sword. Once Theo stopped, the melody continued to reverberate from the blade, haunting yet almost impossible to hear.

Steve launched forward to throw a blow, but Theo was too quick - she spun and took him down from behind with the hilt of the sword.

“Is your sword singing?”

“Magicians don’t reveal their secrets,” Theo winked. She jumped back, curling her fingers to gesture for Steve to come get her.

Steve rushed forward, only to find himself shocked with cosmic energy. What the-?” He froze mid-motion, dropping to the ground. “

Shit.

“I didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?” Theo dryly inquired, cocking her head to the side.

That was too strong.

“Well, it wasn’t pleasant…” Steve shook his head, staggering briefly before he returned to his feet. “It’s fine - I can do this all day.”

Yeah, that was stronger than it should have been. But why?

“Sorry, I’ll try to temper it a bit,” Theo apologized, while praying it wasn’t obvious that she used more than she intended.

“Don’t go easy on me.” Regaining his composure, Steve resumed charging at her and throwing blows. Theo took a more defensive approach, focusing solely on dodging blows instead of doing damage while she tried to figure out what made her spell so potent.

“Not to be weird, but what phase is the moon in right now?” Theo tried to make the question as casual as possible, hoping it would come off as small talk and nothing more.

“Don’t tell me you do that horoscope shit.” Tony groaned from the sideline.

“There’s nothing wrong with horoscopes, grandpa.” Theo feigned offense, but she was grateful for Tony’s ignorance as to why she might ask the question. “Besides, Astrology is more real than the stock market.”

Shuri snorted.

“It’s a new moon tonight,” Wanda answered. Theo glanced over to catch the Scarlet Witch staring at her phone, lips pursed as she studied whatever was on the screen.

Well, that explained the magic surge.

“Good to know.” Theo kept a casual tone to her voice, rhythmically moving as she dodged and parried Steve’s attacks.

They sparred for another few minutes; Theo continued to stay away from offensive spells, but occasionally threw in an illusion or teleported so they wouldn’t suspect anything. Even if she wasn’t giving them the best data to build her gear with, she wasn’t going to pull out all the stops until it was actually necessary.

Besides, she didn’t really need the armor in the first place.

“Alright Rapunzel, I think we’ve got enough data to start.” Tony announced, tapping the screen of his tablet with a flourish..

Steve dropped his offensive stance, straightening up while he caught his breath.

“Good match.” The friendly smile Steve flashed indicated that he didn’t seem too upset about being shocked.

“Likewise.” Theo returned the nod as her shadow blade vanished.

All in all, it wasn’t the most intense workout she’d ever had, but she did get a bit sweaty and was a little out of breath. Maybe Steve was stronger than she gave him credit for. After all, he was a super soldier.

Then again, she assumed that fighting a super soldier would require enough exertion to make her asthma flare up; given she was still breathing alright, perhaps he also went easy on her.

Whatever - she wasn’t going to dwell on the subject.

Shuri returned to help remove the sensors.

“You held back on him.” She raised an eyebrow at Theo, sending the sorceress a pointed glance before stepping behind Theo to remove the sensors on her back.

Unsure of how else to respond, Theo simply shrugged. “I don’t need to add to my body count.”

Shuri sighed, skepticism written on her features as she leaned around Theo to set the sensors on the table. Perhaps the princess had a better sense of Theo’s powers than she let on. “I told you, I can fix broken white boys.”

Yeah, but she couldn’t fix a pile of dust.

“I don’t think killing Captain America would be a good way to start my tenure as an Avenger…” Theo raised a challenging brow.

Shuri laughed; apparently she thought it was a joke. Theo offered a thin smile.

“One of these days I will get you down here and test you without limits so I can design you the ultimate armor.” Shuri chided, though she still smiled at the newcomer.

Theo offered a curt nod. “Maybe.”

Shuri’s expression told Theo that she took the answer as a challenge.

At the sensation of a bead of sweat trickling down her temple, Theo grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and yanked it up to dry her skin. As she dropped the fabric, she caught Loki studying her. A sense of curiosity peeked through his piercing gaze, cool green eyes glinting beneath the lights.

Theo wondered what ran through his mind. Was he trying to figure out if she was actually a threat? Or was he more focused on where she came from?

Once the sensors were off, Theo started towards the door. She had no interest in socializing, plus she wanted nothing more than to shower and wash the sticky, gritty sweat off her skin.

“Hey Theo, we’re about to head to dinner - do you want to come?”

Enthusiasm colored Wanda’s voice; when Theo turned to face the witch she found Wanda smiling hesitantly, hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m going to pass,” Theo feigned an interest in the invite, even as she turned it down. “I’m still getting settled in and all.”

A pang of guilt shot up in Theo at the sight of Wanda’s falling face. She could empathize with the pain of rejection; there were countless times when Theo was a little girl when she asked Rae to play with her, but Rae would decline because she was busy with lessons and far too old to play games. Back then, Theo was too small to understand why, but she could still feel how her chest would twist from being turned down.

This, however, was different. Between the appearances at her show, the game, and the invites to hang out, it was obvious that Wanda had ulterior motives. After all, Theo was there when Fury told the Avengers that their mission was to get Theo to stay - and what better way to rope her in than to try and be her friend?

Rather than dwell on the matter, she offered a small wave and hurried out of the lab.

This could not be over fast enough.

Lost big dreams that I really don't need Everything I love is gonna find a way to leave Got good friends that I never can see Always on the run while my plans are free I been staying up all night Shaking needles out my spine But the doctor says I'm fine Feels good to be alive but I hate my life

Living on-site was a non-negotiable of the deal (much to Theo’s dismay), but she had to admit it was convenient - she never had to worry about shit going down on the subway when her workplace was an elevator ride away.

Regardless of where she actually lived, there was one thing she needed to do before anything else: set up a portal to her Mémère’s house. The ritual of creating one long-term portal was tedious, but once set up the long-term portal’s convenience far outweighed the nuisance. Theo visited the family’s matriarch often enough that having a travel method faster than public transit was a necessity, especially with the distance between them. After all, it wasn’t like she had the time to fly back and forth between northern Michigan and New York every weekend.

Creating the portal wasn’t hard; the big challenge was figuring out where to put it. She didn’t want it in her bedroom, since Mémère and Max occasionally used the portals she set up to come visit and the last thing she needed was for them to walk in on her in any number of compromising positions. However, she didn’t want to set it in a location where people would question why she had a misty oval in her wall. After an unnecessary amount of debate, she opted to place it along one of the walls in her main room and take advantage of some well-placed curtains to hide the addition.

With the portal in place, it was time for a field trip.

The crisp air of northern Michigan was a far cry from New York’s heavy, thick skies. It was easier to breathe - not just because there was a lot less pollution, which was notable for someone like Theo, whose lungs were sensitive to smog - but because the nearly silent, still world around her made it easier for the tension to melt from her shoulders and to relax with each inhale and exhale. Michigan was the opposite of New York City, a constantly bustling metropolis where it was all too easy to get lost in the shuffle.

Theo stepped through the portal to find herself in her grandmother’s equipment shed. That was intentional - no one would think to look there for a portal. Weaving between the farm equipment, she pushed the worn wooden door open and stepped outside.

Around her, the evergreens that towered above swayed in the breeze, wind whispering through the branches. In front of her stood the farmhouse, with white weathered siding, wide windows, and a wraparound porch that Theo had spent countless nights sitting on. To her left, a worn path led from the porch down to a small beach with a dock, while the waves of Lake Superior lapped up on the shore. She didn’t have to look behind her to know an old, worn out barn stood in its same place, though it had been years since any animals were kept inside.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted two vehicles parked along the dirt drive - a red pickup truck and a green subaru outback.

Max must have been visiting.

Theo crossed the distance and ascended onto the porch, approached the front door, gripped the worn brass door knob and turned the handle, pushing her way inside.

“Hello?” Poking her head inside, Theo glanced around the living room to find it empty. She stepped inside, closed the door, and toed off her shoes. The sound of clattering dishes echoed from the kitchen, while two voices floated above in animated conversation.

“Ah, my bichette!” A raspy voice called out, followed by the shuffling of feet. Just before Theo reached the hallway, a petite elderly woman appeared.

Mémère had seen more than her fair share of life in her many years on Earth, and it showed. Her tan, papery skin held deep wrinkles and age spots dotted themselves across her cheeks and forehead. In the almost fifteen years since Theo had left for college, the matriarch of the Durand family had aged considerably - every time Theo saw her, she swore that Mémère shrunk another inch. Mémère moved considerably slower than in the past, undoubtedly her advanced age catching up to her. Still, she had a bright spark in her amber eyes and a sharp wit that could not be deterred.

“Hi Mémère,” Theo greeted, embracing her grandmother. Though it had only been a week or so since they’d last been together, it seemed like the elderly woman’s bones were even more prominent, jutting into Theo’s flesh as they hugged. “I saw Max’s car outside - is he here too?”

“Of course I am.” Max appeared over Mémère’s shoulder, arching an eyebrow at his older cousin. “One of us has to keep things in order while you’re off playing superhero.”

“Oh come on, it’s not like–”

“Now now, I do not need you two squabbling to take up my Saturday,” Mémère said, pointedly glaring at the cousins before gesturing for everyone to enter the kitchen. “You both are doing wonderful things, and I’m happy to have you both home. I’ll put some coffee on and we can all catch up. Leenie, have you had lunch? I don’t have many options at the moment, but I can make sandwiches.”

“You’re not going to ask if I’ve had lunch?” Max scoffed, to which Mémère rolled her eyes.

“My caneton, you’ve been here all morning. I know you haven’t had lunch.”

“Sandwich sounds lovely.” Theo answered, trying not to laugh at Max’s feigned offense.

As they stepped into the kitchen, everything was familiar - the same butcher block countertops, the same painted cabinets. Holiday cards were stuck to the fridge with magnets, and a picture of Theo at her college graduation still hung on the door. Things were so much simpler then.

“So, tell us all about your first days as an Avenger - are you settling in? Have you made any friends?” Mémère gave her a knowing wink, making her way to grab sandwich meat and cheese from the fridge. Theo retrieved plates out of the cabinet, setting them on the counter.

Theo couldn’t stop herself from laughing at Mémère’s questions. “I’m not really there to make friends, Mémère.”

“No, but you have to live and work with them.” Even if she moved a bit slower than she did ten years ago, Mémère was still sharp enough to pick up on Theo’s unspoken hesitations. “You’d be smart to befriend them, or you may be miserable for the foreseeable future.”

Sure, Mémère was probably right, but Theo was not about to admit that aloud.

“How are you handling things out here?” Theo changed the subject. “The shed looks like it’s seen better days.”

“Oh, things are fine - Max comes by almost daily to help with things around the farm; he also helps with running errands and such.” Mémère waved a hand dismissively, while Max gave Theo a shit eating grin. “Father Tim - you remember him - he’s also around a lot to help with things.”

Surprisingly, Max did not interject with some snarky comment.

Theo nodded. “And you’ve been okay, health-wise?”

Mémère smiled, though Theo picked up a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I’m fine, bichette. Still kicking. Still here to tease you endlessly.”

Theo laughed softly, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine you doing anything else...”

A silence fell in the room as the final condiments were set out on the countertop.

“This is less fancy than the restaurants you probably go to in New York, but hopefully it still tastes good.” Mémère joked, gesturing to the spread of sandwich toppings. “I’ll let you build your own, so it’s just how you want.”

Theo laughed. “Just because I agreed to join the Avengers doesn’t mean I now scoff at a sandwich.”

While Theo and Max put their sandwiches together, Mémère made sure they each had a cup of coffee poured and at the table. Once the trio assembled their meals, they each took their regular chairs at the kitchen table.

“What have you done so far?”

“Nothing exciting, really.” Theo palmed the ceramic mug in front of her, eyes following the curls of steam as they floated upward. “A lot of onboarding crap. I was supposed to spar with Captain America and that was, uh, interesting. Next week I’m supposed to start doing interviews and shit, but I don’t really get why I’d waste my time with those when I have actual work to do.”

“Told you, playing superhero.” Max interjected, to which Theo scowled.

“I don’t think it’s a waste.” Mémère mused. “Now the world can learn of your gifts. You’ve spent far too long trying to conceal them.”

Mémère always thought the best of Theo, and that went for her magic as well. Despite disagreeing, Theo gave up on trying to convince her otherwise a long time ago.

“Are they gifts?” Theo pondered, studying the barn through the window panes. “There are a lot of people who think they’re curses.”

“They are what you choose to make them.” Mémère reminded her granddaughter. “You’ve chosen to make them gifts, to use them to help people.”

Theo nodded, though she didn’t entirely agree with Mémère’s assessment. She knew Max probably didn’t agree either. The council certainly didn’t.

“How’s work, Max?” Theo tried to change the subject.

“It’s fine.” Max paused to take a bite of his sandwich. “No complaints.”

“And Ellie, Katie? How are they?”

“Good. Katie’s daycare is now preparing her to start preschool.”

Theo nearly dropped her coffee cup at the news.

“Seriously? She’s a toddler.”

“She’s three, and she’s way ahead of her developmental milestones. The staff think it’s a good idea. Ellie agrees. She’s a pediatrician, so it’s her job to know that kind of stuff.” Max shrugged as if he was completely unaffected by the prospect of his child starting preschool.

“This is what happens when two doctors have a baby, I guess.” Theo muttered to herself.

Theo may have been the one in the Avengers, but Max was always the responsible and cautious one. It was pretty common for the council members to lament that Theo was the next in line - they claimed it was because she was a loose cannon and unpredictable; that wasn’t the real reason, but none of them would admit the truth to Theo or Mémère’s faces. Still, they weren’t wrong when they pointed out that Max was steadfast and rational. He naturally embodied the characteristics of a wise leader.

Maybe that’s why he was so pissy about her accepting the Avengers gig - until that point, Theo was the one living in Max’s shadow.

Mémère must have sensed the tension between cousins, because she took over the conversation from there. Even if things between Theo and Max were always tense, conversation with Mémère came easily. Beyond trying to catch up on what had happened in Michigan since Theo’s last visit, Mémère had plenty of her own questions about Theo’s transition to being an Avenger.

Even if they weren’t Theo’s favorite questions, she owed Mémère real answers.

Once they finished their sandwiches, Theo stood and collected the dirty plates, bringing them to the sink so she could wash them.

“How long are you visiting for?” Mémère asked, still sitting at the table.

“Just the afternoon - figured I’d use my first moment of free time since starting to see how things were here, plus grab some stuff to bring back with me.” Theo said, letting out a sigh. “I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving, so I imagine I don’t have long before they start looking for me. They’re kind of obsessive like that.”

“Well, you know where your room is - It’s always ready, whenever you need it. Feel free to head up whenever.”

Given Theo could hardly sneak away for an afternoon, she found it hard to imagine she’d need the bed anytime soon.

Setting the last plate on the drying rack, Theo made her way upstairs. Over all the years she had been here, the whole house had barely changed - same furniture, same photos, same faded wallpaper covering the walls. Her feet carried her down the hall, almost on autopilot as she made her way to her old bedroom. Standing in front of the entrance, Theo took a deep breath, turned the knob and opened the door.

Inside, the room was still a breath of fresh air - pale yellow walls, big windows with sheer curtains. A queen size bed with a patchwork quilt sat in one corner; one of Theo’s old guitars from when she was here before remained in another corner. Her old Van Gogh poster was still on the wall above her dresser.

Despite remaining exactly as she left it, there was no dust to be found - Mémère must have cleaned the room while she was gone.

She always kept the room ready in case Theo needed to come home.

Theo’s heart twisted at the thought. It was almost enough for her to say “fuck it” and stay – at least for one night. After all, it had been a long time since she actually visited for more than a day or two, and the Avengers needed her, not the other way around; she could make them wait.

However, her cell phone quickly reminded her that wasn’t an option.

“Anyone seen Rapunzel?” The Avengers group chat lit up.

Theo rolled her eyes, but replied anyway. “Visiting a friend. Be back later.”

Whether she wanted to or not, Theo knew - the show must go on.

So tied up and tired of this self-inflicted fight In spite of, I light up, to leave my demons I tell myself I'm fine while I'm looking for a sign Is this body even mine? Feels good to be alive but I hate my life

#loki #loki fanfiction #marvel loki #loki fluff #loki angst #loki smut #loki x oc #loki x ofc #wemtbb #when everything's made to be broken

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chxrmedones · 4 months

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Mun: Hello. I’m Kay. I’m 25+ Years old and I live in the UK.

I’m a huge Dork, and really friendly, I don’t bite. So feel free to message me if interested in rping.

Rules: So Like most Rpers, I do have a few Rules, Please be aware of them, and I shall love you forever.

Anon Hate- Now, I love Anons as much as the next person, and will happily answer these Anons, HOWEVER I will not tolerate Hate, either directed at me, My Muses, or my Partners. There is no need for it.

Selectivity- I am a SEMI selective blog. But that being said, some days I have muse for some threads and not for others. Also, I work Full time so this isn’t where I am most the time.

Faces- There are some FCs I hesitate to RP with, only because I may not like the actions this celebrity has done, or because they are very aggressive in nature in reality. I also much prefer to RP with actual faces then comic ones, or regular people you have just taken a picture from the internet of.

Queuing.- I DO queue MOST of my replies. This is more for management for myself.

Starters- I do post open and closed starters. Please feel free to reply to an open starter, but closed ones are for the person tagged. IF that closed starter is not replied within 3 months, I do then repost as an open.

Triggers- Now PLEASE respect this. Due to a past, I shall NEVER Rp Rape, Non Con or sexual assault, Please do not mention these in RPS either. Please also tag suicide. I do also have a few Trigging words that I ask you to not use in threads. These are Slut, and Whore. I hate writing these, I hate saying them, again due to a past. Thank you.

Godmodding- please do not godmod. Please also do not assume my characters actions. Most my muses are tough and can take of their own, do not molly sue or Damsel in distress them.

NSFW- I am of age, a majority of my muses are too. There may be smut, and I will try to tag it. HOWEVER if our muses relationship does reach that point, and you are not comfortable, feel free to poke me and fade to black. I will do likewise if not in the mood to write it.

Threads- Threads are tagged with the Partners URL, the Character I use and if its queued. There may be other tags added. I am happy to Rp with OCs and Canons. Thread Length is not an issue, but I do ask that you give me something to work with. I tend to use icons, but please do not feel you have to copy how I reply. Format is not an issue, pictures are not an issue.

ASKS- When sending an ask, unless obvious who its for, as in we have only the one pairing, and its obviously to them. PLEASE specify. Or I will randomly choose.

Shipping:- I love shipping, and I do have some Canon ships that I would love you forever if you threw them at me :D I prefer to base things on Chemistry when OCs are involved, because we have to know character chemistry. However, I am willing to discuss, so please come talk, do not assume ships will just happen.

DNI's- A New rule that I feel I need to add due to the current toxicity in some Fandoms. I DO NOT care about your DNI. If you do not wish to rp with me, because of someone else I rp with. Your loss. I DO NOT partake in Callout posts or Drama. If you post such things, then shame on you. Why are you bringing unnecessary hate and drama into a world where there is enough already, when Tumblr is a place we come to forget the shit of the day and the world and relax and reach into our creativity. Why bad mouth people. Just because you may not like them, do not force others to as well. Its unnecessary attention seeking. ALSO… I do not believe them, because A. You only hear one side of the story. B. Things can be taken out of Context. C. You do not know where the emphasis is in the phrase, as do not hear a voice behind simple words. (For Example “Lets eat Grandma” Depending on how you say it, Grandma could be joining you for dinner, or could be running for her life.) and D. People can easily manipulate things to make it look like others are in the wrong, when that might not be the truth. Please NO NOT involve me in any of it.

ALSO…. just because I refuse to be part of it, this does not make me Racist, Transphobic, Homophobic… etc… I DO NOT condone ANY OF THAT! And to accuse someone of that, without HARD evidence just makes you as Arse! (yes, I am British, thats how we spell it.)

Just be nice ok? Because the World is hateful enough. I don’t want to participate in your hate. Let me choose for myself who I do or Do not Rp with.

And so with that. Happy Rping. May the threads be ever in your favour

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introvertedwolf · 4 years

Photo

These two super cool skelebros belong to @theriverpersonshadow who owns the AU as a whole, Mindfell/Tanglefell which has a fanfic that's hardly started right here (that you should totally read and leave encouragement so River has the motivation to keep working on it-) They're named Lock/Lockjaw (the Papyrus) and Chain (the Sans). Don't know if I've ever properly drawn them before, and certainly not together...

I wonder how obvious the message is...what do you guys think this means? And yes, Lock's jaw is indeed wired shut.

#Somehow not a reblog #Lock #Chain #Mindfell #Tanglefell #gore #tw gore #Undertale AU #Depending on how obvious the message is I might tag that too-#This also helped me get out of an art block so I'm very happy about this

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gucciwins · 3 years

Text

not going anywhere

it's time for a talk...

Word count: 6571

A/N: hi friends! boston is one of my top places to visit, i have distant family there so maybe one day. this part i struggled to write. think it was because i was drowning in uni work. thankfully, things have calmed down. i am so glad you love harry and bel. writing them is fun and if there is something you want to see for them please do let me know. your feedback means everything to me every ask, message and tag is read and cherished 💛

please remember to reblog! let me know what you thought!

warnings: slight angst, smut (make-up sex)

love on tour series // previous part

Boston, Massachusetts

Spending time away from Harry was what you needed, even if you missed him. It’s been a while since either of you got more than twenty-four hours away from each other, and now it was necessary even if neither of you wanted it.

You don’t want to say you had become dependent on each other, but you’ve spent an entire month together. You reminded yourself that you enjoyed your alone time. You also enjoyed spending time with Harry. If the choice was being by yourself or with Harry, he would always be the obvious choice.

Being with Naomi allowed you to clear your head and relax. You didn’t talk about him even though you knew she was eager to learn more than what you had given her, which wasn’t much. She was a good friend but recognized she was a gossip and craved the whole story. There were no secrets between either of you, making your friendship strong.

You remembered growing up and how Naomi would have to pick you apart piece by piece to get any kind of stories about you or your family growing up. It was when she went a whole twenty-four hours not speaking with you did you realize how much her presence in your life meant to you.

You showed up at her door the following day telling her story after story and how you were afraid she didn’t actually like you. She confessed she was sick and slept the entire day. It was a breakthrough in your friendship, and you never looked back.

Having her here helped you more than you thought as you cried, reuniting at the airport. She ushered you out and ordered room service as Naomi told you stories about her classes and how close she was too moving away to a small town and starting a strawberry farm.

Now it’s Monday, and you just finished getting ready. You were dressed in pink flares, a black silk button-up, and your black platforms. Naomi settled on a sweater of yours with embroidered hearts everywhere and skinny jeans because she swore her ass looked magical in them. After discussing what happened with Harry, she was upset but understood it wasn’t her place to make you leave Harry. Naomi clearly wanted to say more; she stopped after seeing how you spoke about him. You knew you talked about him with so much care, and dare you to say it, love.

Driving to the venue, there were two things in mind: how the conversation would go and how you stopped Harry from saying he loved you. You’re still not sure why you did it? Or well, you did. You didn’t want that to be tainted; those three words mean everything to you, and you feared that you might lose him.

After you parked in the back where the tour buses were parked in nice rows. You took a deep breath looking over at Naomi, who shot you an encouraging smile.

“Can I fight him?” Naomi jokes, bringing two fists up pretending to punch the air.

“No.”

“Why,” she groans.

“I like him.”

“But he was mean.”

“Second chances, Omi.”

“Fine…can I be mean?”

She doesn’t give up, “no.”

“Ugh…no fun.”

“He’s already going to be sad.”

“You’re too kind, babes.”

“We talked it out.”

“Now, you’ll talk some more.”

You sigh, “yeah.”

“Why are we coming so early? Isn’t he on at nine?”

“He’s got a busy schedule.” You show your pass to the security, waiting as he clears you to go in. Takes a glance at Naomi before wrist banding her.

“Like he wouldn’t drop everything for you.”

“I don’t want that. This is many people’s livelihood.”

Naomi sighs, knowing you’re right, as you both try to figure out which way to walk to find the stage where you know the band is rehearsing.

“What would I do?”

“When?”

“While you’re chatting. Do I sit there and look pretty?”

You laugh, knocking your hips together. “No, I’ll introduce you to everyone. They’ll take care of you. Hopefully, you won’t startle Jeff too much with this energy.”

“Now that sounds like fun.”

After finding a worker to guide you to the stage, you stand behind the black curtain hearing 'sunflower' over the arena speakers and know you have to go past it for him to see you. You want to see Harry, but this is also the most nervous you've ever been to see him since St. Paul.

Naomi has had enough and pulls you behind her. Jeff is standing to the side when he looks over, noticing Naomi and you walking in. Jeff hurries over, bringing you in for a hug.

"Bel."

"Hi, Jeff." You squeeze him tight.

"You okay?"

"I'm alright."

"Good," he pulls back, taking a good look at you. "Missed ya."

"Only a day or so."

"Too long."

"How is he?" You nod to the stage where Harry has not transitioned to singing 'cherry,' his back turned on you.

"Sad and mad at himself." Jeff sees you frown. "Promise he's been kind to everyone but himself."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't you dare, Bel. It's on him."

You sigh, knowing he's right. "He's distracted." You cringe when you hear him strum another lousy note.

"Go on out, save the band."

You take a step towards the stage, but you turn around, "I'm a bit nervous."

"I promise you'll be okay," Naomi says, standing next to Jeff.

"Keep Naomi company for me."

Jeff smiles, throwing an arm over her shoulder, "got it."

You walk out from the little area you were hiding in with Jeff. Harry's eyes are shut as he pours his soul into 'cherry.' He stands close to the steps, not their usual side of the catwalk. Elin catches sight of you first; you send her a wave. After that, it's Niji who's sitting at his keys, flashing you a wide smile. Then Mitch, who nods in acknowledgment and is closest to Harry, nudges him to open his eyes.

He sings the following note rolling his eyes at Mitch before moving away, finding yours in seconds. Harry stops singing, and the band catches on to stop playing. You send him a wave laughing as he hurries down the steps to get close to you. He stops right in front of you, a small space left between you that before either one of you would have been quick to close.

"Hi." He mutters in surprise to see you.

"Hi Harry, it sounded good."

Harry doesn't acknowledge your comment, "Bel, you're here."

"Promised I would be."

"Thought it would be until tonight."

"Well," you rock back and forth on your heels, "are you free?"

"For you? Always."

You bite back a smile, knowing he's close enough to see how flustered he has you. "Up for a date?"

He accepts quickly, "where?"

"Hotel room? Deserve some privacy."

"Yes." He pauses, "but Jeff?"

"Promise I got it covered." Harry looks shocked but also a bit relieved, knowing he can leave right now with you. "I'll make sure you're back in time."

"Doesn't matter," he says seriously.

You smile and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek, needing to touch him even if only for a moment, "you know it does."

"You're an angel, Bel."

"So I've been told."

You walk him out to the car, where you drive him to your hotel that is less than ten minutes away. The entire car ride, he is turned in his seat, his eyes on you. You can't lie; it's pretty lovely receiving this much attention from him.

Arriving at your room, you take a deep breath because no matter how good you may feel, everything could still change.

Your hotel room was a mess, and it wasn't your fault. Naomi quickly ransacked the small bag you had and dumped open her carry-on on needing the perfect outfit. You were quick to apologize to let him know it wasn't you.

"I know, Bel. We've been sharing for a while. I know how neat you are."

You sigh in relief, "good, then don't mind this mess."

He sits down on the couch, moving a throw blanket to the side that you recognized as Naomi's, something she never travels without, and made a mental note to pack it in her bag so she wouldn't be searching everywhere for it.

The silence is loud.

It reminded you of times you had arguments with your parents and didn't know how to apologize for your large outbursts even though they were, in fact, minor.

"Are you okay? How has it been?" Harry asks, wanting to check in on how you're managing the actual situation outside this bubble of tour you've both been in.

You shrug, "it's been a lot. Viola says to lay low. No more interviews, thankfully. Just moving forward now."

"I'm sorry, Bel."

"I know."

Everything is a mess, and as much as you wanted his support that day, you didn't have it, but you do know, and you appreciate that more than anything.

"No, I was a jerk, insecure, and did not listen."

"You were," you agree.

"Are we going to be able to move forward?"

You let out a deep breath, "that depends."

He nods, gesturing for you to go on.

"Do you think I'm here to make headlines or because I care about you?"

"Oh, Bel," he reaches for your hand, and you let him. "I never meant to question your feelings."

"But you did."

"I did, I know."

"What hurt the most was that you thought I wouldn't have talked to you when I had told you how important communication was to me."

He sighs, "I got scared."

"Of what?"

"My feelings, how real they were, and how amazing you are." You're shocked his feelings sent him reeling back so much. "I always had an idea of you, and then I got to meet you and spend time with you, and I shoved all that away because you're even better." His eyes stare right into your soul; he lets out a deep sigh and keeps going, "you're all I ever wanted, and it was too good to be mine."

It's helpful to know how he was feeling, but it doesn't lessen how you felt. "It wasn't a good feeling to think you questioned me and my feelings."

"I know. I know, and I'll apologize forever if I have to."

You sigh, flashing him a half-smile, "that's not necessary. I just need to know that you trust me, and you trust this relationship."

"I do. I promise I do."

"Okay, Harry."

"Okay?"

"Okay, we are moving forward. I'm here for the good times but also the bad."

"Oh my darling, that's all I want. I want to be with you through it all."

"Kiss me, please?"

Harry nods, never one to deny you, especially not now. He moves his hands up to cup your face holding you close; you nudge your nose with him to urge him on. He closes the gap, and it's everything you've been missing. A safe feeling takes over you that allows you to get lost in the kiss, letting Harry guide you through as he defamiliarizes himself with you. He hums against your lips as you pull away, needing a bit of air.

"Baby," he whispers, eyes fluttering open, "I missed you."

"Missed you, H. Not going anywhere."

"Good."

You stay close, staring at each other every few minutes; one of you leans in to steal a kiss. This is the most silence that he and you have ever had.

"A month of tour, someone was bound to get sick of me," you joke, hoping to break the tension.

"Bel."

"H."

"Not funny."

You sigh, letting your shoulders drop, "I know, it feels a bit strange."

He nods, "do you want space?"

"No," that is not what you need right now. "Let's just chat."

And you do; you spend the next few hours talking. Harry tells you about the show and how every person asked him where you were. He told you about the person he helped come out and how it felt like an honor, they felt comfortable to do that with him. You told him about the snacks Naomi brought you from home and how she raided your bags for clothes to wear. You told him the story of a nineteen-year-old you who went through something terrible, and he held you tight.

The time seemed to fly by, and before you knew it, it was time to head back to the venue as Harry got ready for his show.

The drive back is smooth, thankfully taking a back road to avoid the traffic out front. Harry's knee has not stopped jumping the entire ride back, and well, now you're worried. Harry had just got you both inside when he stopped, "how mad is Naomi?" You can see how nervous he is to see her again.

"She's fine," you assure him.

"So pretty mad."

You laugh, shaking your head. "A bit. She's just protective."

"I get it, Bel. I would be too."

"Sarai is a sweetheart, maybe should have asked them. Protective but knows I can handle my own."

"That you can."

You go drop your things in his changing room.

"Bel?"

"Yes, mi estrella."

You see the blush take over his face and know he loves this name of endearment. "I appreciate you. I'm glad you're here."

"Thank you. I'm glad to be here."

"Good, baby."

"Change then; I've got to check in with Naomi."

You're about to walk out when he yells your name once more, "I adore you."

You head back, placing a chaste kiss to his lips, "as I do you, H."

Namoi is having dinner with the band when you find her cracking joke after joke. She spots you as soon as you walk in.

"Babe, you good?" She yells, causing almost everyone to look at you.

You laugh, "Perfect."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm done eating."

"Thank you for keeping her company." You address the band.

"Not a problem. She's hilarious." Elin tells you.

"Don't let her hear you. Her ego will double."

"Hush up," Naomi slaps your shoulder.

"Come on, got something to do." Naomi perks up at your words, knowing where you're taking her. Takes a moment to wave goodbye to the band.

You take a tour of the arena, taking the long route to Harry's dressing room. She's surprised you know the layout so well. As she's about to ask you where you're taking her, the text finally arrives.

Harry

Ready, baby. xxx

Bel

on our way xx

"Come on, follow me."

Naomi does so without question.

You walk in and gasp because Harry looks gorgeous. Ayae had just finished his hair, walking out offering you a quick hug. Harry is dressed in a champagne-colored shirt with a lace overlay of sequins. He paired it with high blue waisted trousers and matching suspenders.

"H, look so pretty."

He smiles at you, "thank you, angel." Harry shifts to the side to see Naomi, "Hi, Naomi. How was everyone?"

"Good, your team is very welcoming."

"Thank you. Pride ourselves in our team."

"I'm sure."

"Take a seat, please."

Naomi spots a lone chair next to the couch and sits there while you take a seat next to Harry. He reaches for your hand that is already turned up and waiting for his. You smile at him, leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek, settling back against the couch.

"How have you been? It's been a while." Harry asks Naomi.

"A month since you kidnapped, Bel."

You laugh, "someone pushed me onto the bus if I recall."

She rolls her eyes, "whatever, same thing."

"It's been good. My thesis is kicking my ass, but otherwise, I am wonderful. The greatest holiday is upon us."

"Oh, are you dressing up?"

"Mhm…"

"Can I ask as what?

"Sam Manson and Paulina Sanchez."

Harry thinks about it for a moment before finally looking at Naomi with a confused look on his face, "who is that?"

"From Danny Phantom, only the best show ever."

"Ugh," she looks over at you, frowning, "educate him."

"Promise I will start."

"We'll send photos," Naomi promises. "How was Connecticut? Was it fun?"

You roll your eyes and feel Harry grip your hand tighter.

"Was not the best," he replies honestly.

"I saw that video with the fan raising her flag; as a fellow bisexual, I salute you for that."

"I'm just glad I can help them, that I've created a safe space where they can be free and open."

"That's wonderful. Y/N's home was that for me."

"Was not." You scoff.

"Was too. Why'd you think I'd spend all my time there."

"Because you loved hanging out with me."

"Yeah, but my house was lonely with parents always working siblings at school or working."

"How was Bel's house?" Harry asks, now curious.

Naomi sits back, staring at you intently, a smile drawn on her face. "It was magical. Hear me out, we'd get home from school music playing something smelling amazing in the kitchen and hugs as soon as we walked through the door."

"That does sound nice," Harry squeezes your hand three times, smiling at Naomi.

"It was. Her grandparents were the kindest people. Growing up, most of us didn't have much, but they gave everything like they had it in abundance."

"That's why this one's so giving."

Naomi nods, "it is. She got all the best traits, as well as stubbornness."

"Go back to complimenting me." You tease.

"Yes, so when they passed, it was a loss for everyone, not to lessen Y/N's pain, but they were pillars in our little community."

"It's why I try to go back every year in their honor."

Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple, "I bet they like having you around."

"Oh, they do. She was everyone's favorite."

"Still am," you gloat.

"True. It's that charming smile."

"I have to agree." Harry nods, "everyone here adored her instantly."

"It's the Belmonte charm."

"Anyways, promise to never go back to Connecticut." Naomi addresses the both of you, all trace of laughter gone.

"Why is that?"

"Nothing good ever happens in Connecticut." She tells you seriously.

You start laughing, not believing her comment.

"Stop it. I'm serious."

Harry is trying his best to hold back a laugh, "why do you say that?"

"Okay, I was there for Thanksgiving with this girl a few years ago, and she broke up with me. Made me sleep in this barn in the back of her house."

Harry's eyes widened, "oh uh."

"You can say it was shitty."

He looks at you for confirmation, and you urge him with a nod. "That was shitty."

"Thank you. Also, all horror movies are based there. Like haunting in Connecticut."

"Well, I'll try not to go back on the next tour or have Bel not visit."

"Smart move, man."

The conversation dies down, and you all sit in comfortable silence. It only lasts a few moments before Naomi is speaking again. "Can I speak with you?"

"I'll give you privacy." He leans in for a brief kiss before standing up.

Naomi speaks up before he can leave, "no, I mean you, Harry."

He looks surprised, "oh."

You nod, alright time for you to go. "I'll make myself scarce."

Harry watched you walk out, shooting him a thumbs up. He looks away, turning his attention to his hands sliding each ring on and off. Not wanting to meet Naomi's frowning gaze.

"Harry."

He winces at the tone of voice.

"You hurt her."

"I know." He sighs, disappointed in himself because this will be hard for him to let go of, but he will be able to move on with Bel in time.

"But she loves you."

Harry's eyes widen in shock; he lifts his head to look at Naomi.

"What? Have you not—shit."

"She stopped me from saying it before she went for you at the airport."

"Ah, sounds like her. She thinks love blinds her."

"From?"

"I'm not too sure, of a future, of seeing others' true color, of being hurt." She shrugs, "She's the kindest and sweetest but gives herself away so easily."

"I love her," he confesses for the first time.

"Then tell her in words and actions. You've got her for roughly another month, then the challenges of distance begin."

"I won't let her go."

"Good. She needs someone fighting for her."

Harry debates the question resting on the tip of his tongue before just letting it go, "will—will she fight for me?"

"She's fighting right now," Naomi confesses. "I told her she should leave tour and come back with me, but she told me she can't leave you not when she cares so much. Not when she knows she's found something special."

"I'm scared to mess up again."

"Truth is you will, Harry."

"Not helping."

"All couples fight, but they get through it by talking."

"Does it work for you?"

"It does. Sarai is quiet and sweet, while I'm loud and annoying. We make sure to always let the other know they are appreciated and loved at the end of each day."

"I'm excited to meet them."

"Feelings mutual."

"Back to Bel."

Naomi stops him, "that's such a nice nickname. I'm sad I didn't think of it."

Harry agrees, "she adores it."

"You made her feel at home, so keep reminding her she's loved and appreciated."

"I will. Thank you for giving me a chance."

"It wasn't mine to give. She doesn't give up easily. Think you learned that."

"I did." He sighs, letting his smile drop, "how was she? Had to deal with the media and me."

"I'm not going to lie, she cried a lot. Then the following morning saw the articles, and they weren't pretty until Emerson sent all the good ones flooding out the bad."

"I hate tabloids."

"Same."

"Do you think we'll make it?"

"Honestly?"

He nods.

"I do. God, I've never seen her so in tune with someone. You reached for her hand, and she had her palm up ready. I know that seems silly, but she's not big on affection, yet she always had a touch on you."

"Might be me, always seeking her touch."

"Trust me, she does it just as much."

"I love her, and I promise I'll tell her."

"Well, I've monopolized enough of your time. Sure, you got a routine to go through."

They stand up, Naomi takes him in for a side hug. Harry walks her to the door, knowing someone has to be waiting outside to remind him how long he has before he has to be on stage. It's an intern, shy smile on his face, "half-hour, Mr. Styles."

"Thank you, Ian."

"Later, Styles."

"Can you send Bel if she's free?"

"Course."

Harry shuts the door and lets out a deep breath. He feels good; he feels confident in knowing he can move forward. He has to take this as a lesson and be better.

The show is wonderful. It's probably one of his best yet. There was not a single moment he wasn't smiling or glancing your way. Naomi picked up on it as well, nudging you often. It felt good; it gave you butterflies every time he looked over at you. You swore there was something else in his gaze but couldn't identify from so far away.

Naomi told you how no one seems to notice you. You shrugged, knowing the fans probably saw you as one of the members blending in well with the crew. New York appeared to be the city where everyone expected you to be, and they wouldn't be wrong because you'd be side-stage as always for the last two nights of MSG.

Harry had been saying how much he loved Boston all night. He threw around the word so easily while you feared it. You said it to your family, but it's been a long time since you told a partner that. It wasn't that you didn't love Harry, because you did. It just didn't feel the right time to confess, and you knew it was selfish to stop him when you did, but you weren't strong enough or ready to hear it then.

But now, after he told an arena in Boston how much he loved them, you were wondering if he'd try to say it again.

The concert was a joy with Naomi; she always brought out a different side of you, allowing yourself to be a bit more free and wild, although Jeff and Tom would argue it's nothing new with them around. As soon as he's off the stage, Naomi is jumping around urging you to go back and see him, but you stay firm in staying until the band plays their final notes.

You're buzzing with nerves as you walk backstage. Everyone is everywhere, running up and down, beginning to clean up for the night, ready to head to Atlanta for back-to-back shows. Naomi promises to see you in a bit, running up to Pauli, who was holding multiple flowers and flags and knew she would be them for one.

You knock twice on the door knowing Harry would recognize it was you. Entering you, lock the door behind you and turn to face Harry smiling at you. You instantly calm, feeling his dazzling eyes on you, his smile soft as he immediately brings you in for a hug.

"Hi, my love."

"Harry, you were spectacular."

"Thank you."

"You really love Boston," you giggle, thinking back, trying to count how many times he said "I love Boston" to the crowd.

He chuckles, "I do. So much." Harry pulls away from your hug, his hands sliding down your arms until he intertwines them with yours. "Always kind and supportive. Beautiful too."

You smile at him, knowing he's no longer talking about the city. "Friendly and warm. Trusting and oh so loving."

Your heart feels full of love, feels complete and content, and you know this is the love you deserve.

A love you want to keep bottled up forever and never lose.

Harry brings your hands up to rest on his chest, "I love you, Bel."

Your heart melts, and your eyes well up with tears, "Harry," you mutter.

"Don't have to say it. Don't need you to say it. I'll say it forever, and I'll know you feel the same."

You nod, feeling grateful that he's not pressuring you. You do love him; of course, you do. You're just not ready to say it after everything, you're not able now, but you know you will be."

Instead, you decide to show him, you slot your lips together, pouring out every single bit of love you have for him in the kiss. Harry lets you lead for once, allowing you to set the pace as you explore each other's mouths. This isn't just a kiss; it's a confession.

A wordless I love you.

A wordless I support you.

This is everything you've ever wanted, and now you'll do everything you can to protect it.

"I love you," he whispers against your lips. "Come back with me."

"I will. Miss you laying on me."

"Don't lay on you," he scoffs, faking offense.

"You do."

"Well, it is 'cause you're so cuddly."

You laugh, "okay, mi amor."

The hotel is exactly as you remember, except with a few more pieces of clothing lying around. You notice your pink sweater next to his pillow, a paused movie of yours on the telly he obviously forgot to turn off.

You turn to him with a frown on your face, "Harry."

"No, Bel, it's alright. We needed space to both to get our heads on straight. We made it, and we'll be better. I'll be better because I love you, and I don't want to lose you."

You close the distance between you, bringing him in for a hug; you look up at him, hoping he knows how grateful you are to be back in his arms. He rests his forehead against yours, "missed you." He whispers in the quiet of your room.

"And I missed you, amor."

"Can I show you how much?" He glances at your lips before meeting your eyes again.

"Yes."

Harry guides you to the bed, having you sit down as he sinks down in front of you. He raises your left foot slipping off your boot, then sets it back down, gently reaching for your right foot to do the same. He leans forward, pressing a single kiss to your knee, before looking up at you.

He's never been this slow; the gaze in his eyes is intense. You want him to come up and ravage you, but you let him set the pace. Tonight is about the both of you, and you'll let him do that as he wishes, knowing this is as much about him as it is for you.

Harry stands up after discarding your socks with your shoes, shaking his head at the kiwi design on them. You think he's going to come up to kiss you, but he doesn't. Instead moves a few steps back and slips his old Vans off. He showered back at the arena, not wanting to rush out, seeing as everyone was having a good time. You sit back, leaning on your elbows, knowing precisely what Harry was about to do for you.

There's a light blush on his face feeling your eyes on him. He looks up, smiling at you as he slips off his sweater. His grey sweats follow, your eyes widen, shocked to see him bare. You close your eyes, taking a moment to catch your breath; you blink your eyes open slowly and see him approaching you.

"Surprise," he jokes.

"The nicest surprise," you agree.

You can't wait any longer, especially seeing as he is the only one lying bare in front of you. You unbutton your shirt and let it slip off your shoulders. Harry's focused on your exposed black lace bra and knows he's waiting patiently for you. The pants come off next, leaving you in pink panties with tiny hearts on them. A favorite pair of yours, and ones Harry has not seen on you.

"Baby," he breathes out, "you're gorgeous."

"Come here, H."

He's on you in the next second, leaning over you, a grin on his face as he takes you all in. Harry met your mouth in a soft kiss. He was showing you how gentle he could be, appreciating each moment he had with you. You're craving move; you want him everywhere. You want him to retrace your body and you his.

He moved, pressing down your neck to your breasts, where he focused his attention, sucking and licking enough to bruise. His eyes met yours to see if you'd stop him, but the moan you released only urged him on. You arch your back, reaching a hand behind you to unclip your bra needing it off, and his lips directly on your skin. Harry smirks, meeting your eyes as he flings it to land somewhere in the room, making it hard for you to find. That's a tomorrow problem; right now, your attention is on Harry.

His hands moved down to your waist, holding you down. His mouth was on your breast placing kiss after kiss, your moans and gasps filling the room. His tongue flicked at your nipples, and fuck you were squirming from the attention, his firm was grip to keep you still. After a few more moments of kissing and bruises that would be known to you tomorrow, he moved down. A kiss to every part of her body as he reached her panties. He traced a finger over one of the hearts, smirking as he heard your breath hitch.

"Can I, baby?" His hands are on either side of you, waiting for you to give him permission to slip them off.

"Yes, please, yes."

His touch is soft and welcoming as he drags them down, making sure they don't get tangled in your ankles as he lets them drop on the side of the bed. You reached for him as soon as they were gone, needing his lips on yours. You crashed your mouth against him, a clash of teeth and tongues. You shoved one hand in his hair, winding your fingers around the soft brown curls at the nape of his neck. You held him close, sucking in air through your nose as your tongues dueled.

God, you could do this for hours. Just allowing him to kiss you until the lack of oxygen made you pass out.

Harry pulls away as you both gasp, taking a moment to breathe, both your chests moving in sync. You grin as he sits up, moving off of you and closer to the head of the bed as he lays down.

"Baby, come here." His voice is raspy and filled with desire for you. "Want you to ride my mouth."

Fuck.

Harry smiles happily at you, waiting for you to move, but all you can do is stare at him. After a few moments, his face drops, "we don't have to. If you're not comfortable with that yet, I understand."

You shake your head, reaching for his stretched-out hand placing a kiss on his knuckles. "No, you caught me by surprise."

"So you want to?"

"I do, promise I do."

You straddle his stomach, a bit timid to move closer; Harry helps, placing his hands on your hips and moving you up his body as he slid down.

"Ride my mouth, baby," he said before his mouth closed over your center. You cried out as he sucked hard, reaching out to hold on to the headboard. His hands are on your hips, moving you over him, working you with his mouth.

This is a pleasure you have never felt before. It's filthy and everything you need. You trembled, gripping the headboard, holding on tight, trying to hold yourself up. You could feel Harry's moans against you, and you felt yourself getting close. Fuck, you didn't care if you came soon, this was intense, and Harry was giving you everything he had. A white-hot surge of pleasure rocked you as you threw your head back, eyes closed, surrendering your body rocking down on his face, craving more. You screamed as the climax rushed through you, explosive in its intensity. Harry kept going, shocking waves of pleasure until you were spent.

Harry's hold was firm on your hips as he slid out from under you. He tugged you down, letting you sit on him as he slid on a condom, never needing the reminder.

"So good, my angel," he murmured, pressing kiss after kiss to your neck.

You rested your head on his shoulder as you calmed down from your high. Your heart could burst with all the love you feel for him; he takes such good care of you, feeling his hand run up and down your back, not pressuring you for more, letting you take your time.

"Ready, amor. Need you." You whispered, raising your head and pressing a kiss to his lips, his lips wet still with your taste, and you don't hold back the moan that rips out of you.

You raised yourself up, he had one hand on your hip and the other guiding himself to your entrance. You sunk down slowly, taking him in.

"Baby," he groaned.

"I know, feel so good."

Once you had taken him all the way, he gave you a moment to adjust. Never one to rush.

"Okay, okay." You mutter, bringing him in for a long kiss, needing all parts of him on you.

His hands on your waist are comforting as you raise up, allowing yourself to enjoy every moment. Harry soon takes control, thrusting up into you; each thrust is deep, has you moaning out his name. You enjoy the closeness, your arms around him and pressed chest to chest. As much as you enjoy riding him, you need more, and you let him know.

Harry swiftly and carefully flips you over without slipping over.

"Hi, angel."

"Hi, amor."

He rocks in, leaning down, pressing kiss after kiss, leaving no spot untouched. You're consumed in the pleasure as he rocks in and out at a gentle pace, not rushing, as he made sweet love to you.

Harry whispers how sorry he is against your skin. He's taking care of you; each moment is soft and precious. As he holds you close and reminds you how much he loves and cares for you.

"I'm sorry."

Kiss.

"My angel."

Kiss.

"My love."

Kiss

"I'm not worthy, but I promise I'll try."

Thrust.

"You're beautiful."

Kiss.

"You're my dream."

Kiss.

There are tears in your eyes as he looks at you, his eyes shining with love for you. You nod, raising your hand to cup his cheek. He sighs, closing his eyes allowing himself to sink in your hold.

"Harry," you moan.

"I've got you, angel."

His thrusts have picked up, he snaked his hand down to your clit. He sees you tense, head thrown back, a loud moan released, and he knows you're close.

"I love you." He breathes out, leaning in to kiss you as you both reach your climax together.

Harry stills for a few seconds to let you both come down, then pulls out, laying his head on your chest.

"I love you," he whispers again.

Now isn't the time for you to say it. You appreciate each time he says those words and want him to know that.

You kiss him, putting all your emotions, hoping he receives every single one. Harry responds eagerly, taking it in stride, allowing you to control the kiss. Neither of you wants to pull away, but know you need to clean up. Harry pulls away, smiling at the pout set on your lips. He presses a final chaste kiss before getting up. He discards the condom and comes back with a damp cloth to clean you up; he's gentle as he spreads your legs open. His touch is delicate, knowing how sensitive you must be; as he finishes, he walks to his suitcase and tosses you a shift of his.

You slip it on as he comes to lay in bed with you, tucking the blanket around you both. You hold him by his waist, turning him around, knowing he wouldn't ask to be the little spoon, but it's what he needs, and you do too. You missed holding him, the pressure of your chest against his back.

His hold on your hand is strong, and you know he's trying his best to push the last few days away and take in the moment.

You're okay, and you'd be moving forward together.

"I'll love you today, tomorrow, forever."

You feel your heart race at his confession. "That seems like a long time."

"Not long enough."

"I adore you, Harry."

"I know, angel."

You feel a kiss on your hand before he settles it on his stomach, his hold softening as his breathing begins to even out. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to take in the quiet of the room, the heaviness around you long gone.

You'll be alright.

thank you for reading <3 i adore you

taglist: @alienorknight @harry-is-my-sunflower @myfavfanficsever @4hazza @springholland @michelleficrecs @harryismyfwend @evanjh @onlyamylee @golden-hoax @itsmycorneroftheinternet

part fourteen atlanta

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ayamturd · 3 years

Text

bisexual│mcyt hc

warnings: small mentions of hate, fluff

prompt: (requested 1 & 2) “Hello uh I saw one of your posts about the dream smp reacting to you coming out so I was wondering if you haven't already done it can you do dream smp reacting to you coming out as bisexual?”

“Hello yamturd so I was wondering if maybe you could do tubbo, Tommy and Ranboo reacting to reader coming out as bisexual or lesbian if you haven't already done it :)”

pairings: irl platonic! dream, ranboo, tommy and tubbo ; c!technoblade

a/n: if i offend or misinterpret anything in this hc, please feel free to message and correct me otherwise. i will always try to correct or delete this post if asked so <33

sending my love to all those who identify as bisexual <33

wc: (1.5k) - m.list

dream -

considering his prideful personality sometimes, you probably wanted to play with his ego and drop subtle hints

not anything too obvious, but enough to make him kick himself when he realizes

though it was admittedly difficult since he plays into the dnf ship so much that he thinks you’re also joking more than half the time

imagine you two were in a voice call one evening and randomly discussing the recent fanon and what would be funny to turn into canon (to mess with the fandom)

you’ve been recently shipped with two other content creators, both of opposing female and male gender, separately and together

“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind hitting that.” “Which one?” “Both.”

He’d laugh, but you didn’t.

“Wait, you’re serious? You actually identify as…?” “Bisexual. Yeah, I’m pretty sure anyway.” “Y/n, that’s amazing.”

takes pride in the fact that you trust him, but would feign being upset that you messed with him for as long as you did

be jokingly offended if he found out someone knew before him

“Wait…” “Yes?” “You told Bad??” “Yeah, he was one of the first.” “W— Why??”

It was your turn to laugh while he gawked in disbelief.

“It’s Bad! Of course I told him.” “… Fair enough.”

hate is a given, and he’ll always be there to support and defend you

he’ll always ask your permission before taking any action, however, because he respects you too much and knows you can fight your own battles

dream is someone will show relentless support, whether that be through words or moral support, he’ll always be there for you

c!technoblade -

i honestly feel like you never officially came out to techno

as you began to recognize yourself as bisexual, you slowly expressed yourself around him more openly to the point where he unconsciously knew

it’d probably would have hit him in the most random moment after months of assuming he knew

imagine you’re in the midst of battle when techno paused entirely with wide eyes

“Y/n!” “What!?” “Are you gay??”

you would tease him when discussing your love life in one-sided conversations with him; him basically choosing to ignore you when you talk to him

“Honestly, Techno, how could you not want to hit that?” “Please, just stop.”

(i’ve written this before but will stand by this that) he truly doesn’t care for your sexuality

you’re a friend, someone he trusts and relies on, he doesn’t need to consider who you’re attracted to since he sees you for your skills and friendship

the only, and only time he is mindful of your sexuality depends on others unnecessary comments about it

the smp is a known judgement free land, but there will always be someone with ignorant opinions that he is always quick to shut down (or kill)

nothing much can be said besides the fact that you’ll always be y/n to him: a loyal friend and someone he would fight the world for

ranboo -

oh sweet ranboo, dear ranboo

considering how openly supportive and kind he naturally is, you didn’t question the idea of telling him

i’d like to imagine that unlike most where you planned or waited to tell, the moment you knew, he would know soon after

imagine you called him before he began his lore stream to hype him up

you both were talking about more mundane things to calm his nerves as people joined when you brought it up

“Oh actually, before you start, I wanted to tell you something.” “Sure, what is it?” “Well, I— I’m Bisexual.” “…You’re tELLING ME THIS WHEN I’M ABOUT TO START MY STREAM??” “Y/n! I’m so happy for you, that’s amazing!”

he’s incredibly patient concerning how you wanted others to know or when you were ready to be completely out

similar to c!techno with the same beliefs you’re still y/n, and nothing has changed besides you coming out as yourself

he’s your go to when days are rough, because he knows how to help you understand you’re still loved as the same y/n and nothing less

“Hey, hey, listen to me. I love you, y/n. We all do, and you’ll never be alone when things get rough, alright?” (love /p)

knows how to silently deal with hate in his chat unless it becomes evident enough to address it (doesn’t want to bring attention to meaningless words until it becomes serious)

ranboo’s your rock and makes show that he’ll never believe anything other than that you deserve love

tommyinnit -

as someone who took pride in defending the LGBTQ+ community, you had no hesitation when coming out to tommy

if any, your reluctance would come from accepting yourself to the point to be open with other people

it’s not as if he didn’t accept you, he could never imagine doing so in the slightest, but he probably wouldn’t know what to say initially

imagine you both were in the midst of playing bedwars together in a recording for a video

he had been busy gathering emeralds while you remained at the base, and the comforting silence gave you the confidence to blindly address it

“Hey Tommy?” “What, y/n? I’m in the middle of something right now.” “Oh, um, I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual.” “…” “…Tommy?” “…” “T— Tommy?”

it’d be dead quiet for a few seconds before you heard the noise of him rustling in realization

“Wait wait wait, you’re serious? You’re bisexual?” “Haha yeah, yeah, I am.” “WHA—!”

he was happy for you, to say the least

tommy loves to joke, and one he loved to make would be your attraction to both genders

you like women? pog!

you like men? a shame, honestly

if you were publicly out, his favorite bit would be to include you in his obnoxious swooning

imagine he was streaming while talking about his love for women

“Boys, honestly, the ladies just can’t resist me.”

The ding of discord notified you entering the call, the sound of your laughter immediately coming through.

“I agree, Tommy, I definitely agree.” “Y/n! You are attracted to women, and I am also attracted to women. You can agree women are amazing, yes?” “I can, Tommy. Women are indeed amazing.” “Good lad!” “Tommy, you do realize I’m not only attracted to w—” “Shush, we don’t speak of that.”

he showed his support by normalizing your sexuality, his acceptance quick and easily integrated into your lives

(this is getting long but—) tommy was well aware he lacked some knowledge when being in the LGBTQ+ community, but openly voiced his ignorance as a sign of awareness itself

he was always quick to correct either himself or others, he refused to accept slander of any type in his streams

would probably try to keep it light heartedly, but scold nonetheless

tommy was your figurative cheerleader, always there to include and uplift you, whether that be through the smallest gestures or loudest cheers

tubbo -

poor tubbo

since he wasn’t the most careful with secrets, you probably withheld telling him till you were ready for most to know

this isn’t to deter anything of not trusting him, he’s still supportive and loving tubbo that wouldn’t dare do anything purposeful against you

if anything, you might have forgotten that he didn’t know when you were casually taking about it within a group

imagine you and Ranboo were trying to get him to sleep one early morning but gave up

you started talking about personal stuff and the topic of your love life came up, specifically the attraction to someone of the same gender

“I don’t know, Ranboo, I mean, I think I like them but at the same time I’m not sure.” “That’s fai—” “Wait, y/n. You’re gay??” “Bisexual, actually.” “WaAA—”

his very sleep deprived state was extremely happy and emotional for you

he’s like the little duckling with a knife, like he loves you completely but will try to hurt anyone that offends you

like tommy, he has no personal knowledge when being in the LGBTQ+ community but will solely learn for your sake

whether you’re younger or not, tubbo never fails to remind you that he looks up to you

he gives his all and won’t hesitate to provide in any way he can if needed

“You matter,” he’ll always say, “you’re important and no one else’s opinion matter.”

is proud to be your friend and expresses his platonic love in full, for you’re you and are so brave to be yourself despite all

choosing not to tag my usual taglist just cause its a headcanon with a specific request <33 (huge ty to @basilly and @inniterhq though for the advice/motivation to finish this)

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nazukisser · 3 years

Text

➥ synopsis; mutual pining with tori {req} ➥ pairing(s); himemiya tori x gn!reader ➥ tags/genres; fluff hcs ➥ word count; 206 ➥ qian’s notes; congrats how do you feel about being the first person whose request gets a banner on this blog

✦➤ Yuzuru definitely knows about this. There are few things that Tori doesn't tell Yuzuru, and this wasn't an exception. In fact, this was one of the things that he would be likely to tell him. After all, Yuzuru must know something... right? Something about love, what a useless butler if he doesn't know how to give advice! (/j /lh)

✦➤ Tori has most definitely cried over this before. He's absolutely torn whether to tell you or not... everyone says to go for it, because it's so obvious that you like him back, but somehow, he's too nervous to do it. He is endlessly grateful that Yuzuru is there to help him through this, but he also wishes that you would be there to comfort him...

✦➤ Tori tries to act more dignified around you, but you can tell he's simply adorable under it. He's not too good at acting, but that's alright; he can't really lie to you. You can tell how his heart races while he's around you, just a little more frantic and less bossy than normal.

✦➤ Sometimes I think that you might have to be first to confess, but it all depends on whether he can be convinced to confess first.

˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ꒰ ⌨ ✰ qian ⁱˢ ᵗʸᵖⁱⁿᵍ··· ꒱ | ೃ࿔₊•

messages recieved!

qian: if you liked this post, please reblog it! it’d mean so much to me.

qian: if you’d like to be tagged every time i post content, join the taglist by sending an ask. thanks!

taglist: @yumetokashite @yuzurulovebot

#enstars #enstars x reader #himemiya tori #tori x reader #enstars x you #enstars x y/n #tori x you #tori x y/n #enstars imagines #tori imagines

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

a touch that never hurts

Summary: a rewrite of the Tobias Hankel aftermath, in which Spencer gets plenty of cuddles and physical affection from his father figure

Tags: aftermath of torture, hurt/comfort, platonic cuddling, whump, protective hotch, dad hotch, fluff, angst TW: brief mention of the non-con drug use that occurs in the Hankel arc, as well as the physical torture Spencer underwent

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid; Platonic

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Happy bonus fic Thursday :) I wrote this because I noticed how gentle and kind Hotch always is to the victims he rescues, and I was in the mood for some good, mushy Dad Hotch fluff. Title from Charles Dickens' Hard Times: "Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts."

When Spencer Reid falls into Aaron Hotchner’s arms — his feet whipped and bleeding, his veins throbbing with dilaudid, his body bruised and aching — he decides that he never wants to let go.

He’s spent countless hours at the mercy of three different personalities, only one of them even close to resembling something kind, and all he could think while he was tied up in that chair was how much he ached to be held and comforted by the man he trusts most in this world.

So when Hotch saves him — and he does; he sent that message directly to him and it was heard loud and clear — he can’t help that he breaks down, that he cries into his shoulder in front of the entire rescue party, that he falls apart in the most painful way possible, until he’s not sure he can ever be put back together again. But when Hotch speaks soothingly into his ear, caressing his hair with the gentle touch of a father, he thinks that maybe he can be. Maybe he’ll somehow make it out of this in one piece.

He’s driven promptly to the hospital, of course. He’d anticipated an ambulance, but apparently it’s harder than you’d think to get an ambulance to a crime scene at 3am with absolutely no notice in deep, rural Georgia.

Derek drives, eyeing him anxiously in the rearview mirror, and Spencer sits glued to Hotch, refusing to be separated from him for even a second. He considers vaguely that he should probably be embarrassed of that fact, but he can’t find the energy. Not when Hotch is sitting just as closely; seemingly matching his need to be comforted with his own need to protect.

“It’s gonna be okay, Spencer,” Hotch murmurs, a little too quiet for Derek to hear over the noise of the car engine. “I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything. He’s not entirely sure he believes him. Instead, he just burrows closer into Hotch and hides his face from the soft illumination of passing car lights and the sporadic street lights of rural Georgian roads.

He accepts the wheelchair Derek runs in to grab from the hospital because his feet are suddenly screaming in agony. When he’d had to stumble through the graveyard behind Tobias Hankel’s cabin, the adrenaline had prevented him from feeling the true extent of his injuries, but now, with the adrenaline seeping out of him like a river through a broken dam, he can feel every single fractured bone, bruised patch of skin, abused and broken tendon.

Panic immediately arises when he sits down in the chair, though. All of a sudden, he doesn’t have that connection he’s had to Hotch since he was rescued, and he’s almost instantly on the verge of hyperventilation until Hotch crouches down in front of him.

“Hey, Spence,” he says gently, patient and soothing in a way the team doesn’t often get to see. “I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. How about I hold your hand?”

Spencer nods, and Hotch smiles at him encouragingly before giving the nod for Derek to push the chair towards the Emergency entrance. Hotch’s hand clutches tightly at Spencer’s, and he squeezes his eyes closed against the panic, against the memories, against the fear of what’s to come, and focuses all his energy on the firm, unwavering connection he has to Hotch.

It makes the minutes that it takes them to cross the parking lot bearable, and he’s grateful for that much.

As soon as Hotch explains the situation to the ER doctor that greets them at the door, Spencer is rushed into an examination room.

“I’ll wait outside, Spence,” Derek promises. “I’ll be right here.”

Hotch doesn’t let go of his hand.

They examine his feet first, using a portable x-ray machine to find three broken bones overall. Spencer cries when he hears that. Knowing they’re broken doesn’t change how much they hurt or how scary the situation feels, but it is a tangible acknowledgement of the torture he’s just been put through, and he thinks that that’s probably enough to make most people cry.

“It’s alright, Spencer,” Hotch soothes him, laying his palm on his forehead and smoothing it over his hair gently, slowly. “I’m right here. The doctors are going to help you out.”

“The good news is that most of the fractures are fairly minor,” the doctor explains. “You’ll need a cast for your right foot since the damage to the metatarsal bones is much more significant, but most of the damage overall appears to be torn tendons and bruised muscles, which means plenty of rest and a simple brace or boot on the left foot should do the trick.”

She smiles encouragingly at him, but he barely reacts. He’s so tired. It feels like he’s not even in the room; the only tether to reality being the soothing hand in his hair and the occasional whispers of support.

They treat his feet before sending him off to a CT scanner to check that the rest of his injuries are minor enough to heal on their own, and rule out internal bleeding. Spencer cries the whole twenty two minutes, because this time Hotch can’t hold his hand. He’s stuck watching through the observation window, trying not to cry himself as he listens to Spencer’s sobs over the intercom.

Thankfully, he manages to stay still enough to ensure clear enough images of his body to confirm that rest and pain medication should take care of the rest of his injuries.

A specialist comes round to talk to him about withdrawal. He’s been moved to a room on the assessment ward, which is at least a little more comfortable than the bay in the Emergency Room, but it still feels foreign and frightening, and he’s had quite enough of that in the last few days, thank you very much. At least Derek’s been allowed to join them now. He feels safer with both of them as close to him as humanly possible.

“The good news,” the doctor starts — and God, Spencer wishes they would stop associating any of this with the word ‘good’ — “is that you haven’t taken enough doses to become truly dependent on the drug, which should make your withdrawal easier. I’m prescribing buprenorphine, clonidine, acetaminophen, and ondansetron, which when combined, should make your symptoms significantly more bearable. We do advise that you stay with somebody—”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Hotch interrupts firmly, both of his hands clasped warmly around Spencer’s as he eyes the doctor with an unwavering gaze.

“Well, that’s perfect, then,” the doctor says cheerily. It feels grossly misplaced. “You’ll need to prepare for the coming symptoms and ensure that he has no way to get his hands on more dilaudid.”

Spencer resents the doctor for saying that. He has no desire to inject more of that poison into his veins: it might have been a pleasant distraction when he was being whipped and beaten and forced to choose someone to die, but now that he’s back with his family, now that he’s safe, the last thing he wants is to keep reminding himself of that god-awful man in that god-awful cabin.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He just closes his eyes to try and smother the turbulent emotions threatening to show on his face.

“That won’t be a problem,” Hotch confirms.

They wait for an hour in relative silence, Spencer enjoying the solace of a safe, quiet room with the people he considers protectors both holding his hands and soothing him when panic threatens to overwhelm him, before the discharge doctor comes round. She checks him over one last time, before helping him into a wheelchair, handing him his medication, and wheeling him towards the entrance.

Derek goes ahead once they reach the airstrip where everybody’s been waiting to go home and herds them onto the jet first to give Spencer some privacy going up the stairs.

“Are you okay for me to carry you?” Hotch asks as he climbs out of the car first, speaking gently as he has done since he rescued him.

Spencer nods. Of course he is. It means he’s even closer to Hotch.

Hotch carries him the short distance between the parked jeep and the jet before ascending the stairs as carefully as possible, making sure Spencer’s feet don’t so much as brush the railing. He sets him down on the sofa, but Spencer clings to his hand, looking at him desperately as he tries to get him to understand what he needs. Thankfully, he’s obvious enough that Hotch simply smiles and sits down on the sofa with him.

They get settled in a horizontal position, Spencer resting his head on Hotch’s chest as he revels in the feeling of safety that having both of his arms wrapped around him provides. A gentle hand finds its way to Spencer’s hair again, and he closes his eyes against the relaxing feeling, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

He vaguely hears some quiet laughter in the background, and he’s been with the team long enough to predict the raised eyebrows and teasing expressions on their faces.

“You’ve gone soft,” Derek accuses warmly, making sure to keep his voice down, and the others chuckle in agreement.

“Wait until Penelope hears about this,” JJ teases quietly.

Hotch laughs, and Spencer feels the pleasant vibrations against his cheek. It makes him feel even warmer inside than he did before. “You wouldn’t dare.” Spencer imagines the smile on his face and burrows closer to him.

“It’s a good thing, Hotch,” Emily chimes in, her voice bright and easy. Spencer really likes her. “It’s nice to see this side of you.”

“Well, you’d better savour the moment because it won’t happen again.”

He must feel Spencer’s panicked tensing, the way his muscles go rigid and his breath hitches, because he rushes to add, “unless Spencer needs it of course.” His hands resume their gentle caresses of his back.

“I’d do anything if Spencer needed it,” he murmurs, and the team might hear, but the words aren’t for them.

Spencer hears them loud and clear, and somehow — when he thought only hours ago that he might never be put back together — he falls asleep feeling calm and safe, with a small, hopeful little smile on his face.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @cmily @notevanbuckley (add yourself to my taglist here!)

#my writing #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #cm #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #dad hotch #criminal minds gen fic #aaron hotchner & spencer reid

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rainbowsky · 3 years

Note

I feel like it would be better if everyone could just concentrate more on the projects GGDD are bringing out ( SDC and OOL for example) and less on political issues that's out of our hands. More of that positive engagement is what we need

If you prefer to look away from politics that is your right, but that's not something you have the right to ask of others. Especially considering that I tag every political post that I make, so there's no excuse for people seeing things they don't want to see (if you want to avoid political posts from my blog you can filter the "your political disengagement is a weapon against you" tag).

You have created a false dichotomy here anyway, because people are focusing on both. People are enjoying and loving GG and DD and their projects, while reflecting on politics surrounding them.

I believe personally that in order to have a truly balanced and healthy perspective on GGDD one must do both. However, not everybody is up for that emotionally or psychologically, and that's totally fine too.

I'm going to go over some points that I made about this topic a while back. This is a slightly revised version of what I've said in the past. I hope after reading this, Anon, you can understand why I don't find the approach you've proposed acceptable.

“BXG should stay away from politics”

While I understand some people get involved in fandom strictly for the enjoyment and escape, I don’t think it’s appropriate for those people to try to dictate how others approach things. As a politically-minded person, the idea of ‘staying away from politics’ - especially the idea of pressuring others to stay away from politics - goes against some of my most deeply held values.

There are also some fairly glaring problems with the idea that BXG should stay out of political discussions.

1] Making it socially unacceptable to care about politics is a means of ensuring people remain uninvested in what happens in the world.

‘Politics’ is a word that is often used to emotionally distance people from things that directly impact them. Labeling social issues as ‘politics’ and then making 'politics’ a dirty word is a psychologically manipulative practice that frames important, life-changing issues as tedious, negative and inappropriate pursuits. People might as well be saying, “Don’t trouble yourself with how the world is run, with how people treat each other, with what you’re allowed to do, say or think, with who is in charge of things or what decisions and actions they impose upon others.”

How convenient for the powers-that-be. How convenient for the status quo. A population that has a distaste for 'politics’ has a distaste for concerning themselves with their own interests. A population that has a distaste for politics will not only avoid thinking about how things are run, they will dissuade - often vociferously - other people from thinking or talking about those things as well.

When you make it socially unacceptable to think about issues that matter, you ensure that the people will never really question what’s happening, or demand change. You will ensure that people do not inform themselves or reflect on and develop their own ideas and values. You will ensure that people who try to stand up for themselves in a broader way will have little support, and will face bullying and stigmatization for their efforts.

2] Disinterest in politics reflects a level of privilege a lot of people don’t have.

When an issue of injustice comes up and someone’s response is, “I don’t want to talk about politics,” or “Let’s try to stay away from politics” in a very real way the message they are communicating to others is, “Whatever is happening to those people, I don’t care. My conversational discomfort in this moment is more important than the injustices those people are dealing with.”

The fact is, our actions and choices are inherently political. They reflect and often reinforce the sociopolitical structures we live within. The purchasing decisions we make, the media we consume, the ideas and policies we legitimize via our behavior - all of these things are political whether we know it or not.

The big difference between thinking of ourselves as political and thinking of ourselves as not political is that apolitical people are able to move through sociopolitical structures completely unconsciously, while others don’t have that luxury. Poor people, racialized people, immigrants, targeted minorities - none of these people have the luxury of ‘not caring about politics’. Their lives often depend on being deeply invested in what happens in the public and private sphere.

If you’re able to ‘not be interested’ in politics then you are a fortunate person indeed.

To people faced with injustice and inequality, politics can often be a question of their very right to exist, let alone thrive, in this world.

3] Editing politics out of discussions about GG and DD is a lot like erasing their queerness. It adapts them into a narrative that, while it may feel good for some fans, isn’t real.

It may make some fans more comfortable to edit out the parts of this fandom that are confusing or unsettling, but fans who prefer their perspective to be balanced and based on reality will just have to accept that this fandom will sometimes force us to reflect on things that aren’t so pleasant.

GG and DD are living under an authoritarian regime. They are frequently called upon to perform and present propagandistic ideas and projects. All of this just goes with the territory. If we refuse to explore and understand the political elements surrounding GG and DD we will be missing important context about them and and their lives.

The politics are relevant to the fandom. They are relevant to what we discuss, how and why. They are an inextricable element of GG and DD’s lives, and that necessarily makes them an inextricable element of any meaningful discussion of them and what they do.

4] If you share their propaganda posts and projects, you ARE being political.

I really feel the need to point out this obvious fact, because there appear to be some people who really don’t get it. GG and DD’s propaganda posts and projects are inherently political.

It is hypocritical and unreasonable to spread that propaganda and then tell people not to discuss it.

Having said all of that, there are simple ways to co-exist even if we disagree.

There are a lot of reasons why people participate in fandoms, and not everyone is in a mental or emotional place where they want to be exposed to political discussions, which can be stressful. Fandom can be a form of escapism, and a way to enjoy something light and fluffy without having too look too closely at the cracks in the facade.

That is a perfectly legitimate position to take on things, and people who don’t want to take part should be free to filter those things out of their feeds. Tagging political or stressful posts is a must.

However, what isn’t legitimate is telling other people that they shouldn’t be thinking about it or discussing it, or claiming that it doesn’t belong in the fandom. Respect needs to work both ways, and space needs to be given for people to pursue fandom in the ways that work best for them.

BXG are a broad category of people with a broad range of interests, motivations and needs. It is possible for all of this diversity to harmoniously coexist, but that means respecting each other and working together. Tagging posts that we know some fans would rather not see is one excellent way of doing this. And that includes tagging posts that contain propaganda messages or projects, which can be offensive or triggering for people who have grown up under authoritarian regimes.

***

I also want to add a personal note here.

There are a lot of troubling things happening right now. A lot of people are feeling unsettled about it. One of the main ways in which people process and come to terms with difficult experiences is through talking about it and exchanging ideas with other people who care. It would be a huge disservice to a lot of fans who are struggling with what's happening to say, "You're not allowed to think or talk about this. Let's focus on other things."

One of the primary purposes of my blog from day one has always been to try to be supportive, particularly of marginalized people or people who are dealing with adversity. I want my blog to always be a place where people can feel safe to talk about the things that are on their mind.

#your political disengagement is a weapon against you #brotherhood and stuff #bxg perpectives #fandom reflections #ask

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andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

conspire | 5 | feelings

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

You finished Shouto’s support item on a Friday.

As soon as you’d wrapped the last wire in place, you’d stopped, staring down at your work table for a long moment. You considered whether any of this was a good idea, if you shouldn’t just wait it out until after graduation, if you should just stay quiet forever and never betray any of your thoughts to Shouto. The idea of going forward with your plan was overwhelming--after today you wouldn’t get to kiss him anymore, you might not even get to spend any time with him anymore.

You would miss this. But it had to happen.

You’d taken a steadying breath and fired off a message to Shouto: Meet me in the support studio? I have something to tell you.

He had texted back almost immediately, his message betraying his confusion but agreeing to meet nonetheless.

You didn’t have to wait long for him to arrive. He turned up outside the workroom in minutes, looking almost exactly as he had that day when he’d come to ask you for the favor, nervous and adorable. He was still dressed in the white shirt and dark slacks of the school uniform, and you tried to ignore the way it emphasized the broadness of his shoulders, his impossibly narrow waist. Getting distracted wouldn’t help you right now.

“Shouto,” you smiled as he entered, trying to push down your nerves. “I finished your support item.”

A strange look of relief crossed his features and he came padding over to your worktop, glancing down curiously. You pushed what looked like almost exact dupes of his wrist guards forward.

“I already submitted the prototype of these for a grade, but I wanted you to have them before grades came back,” you said, then flipped the guards inside out to expose a thin metallic underside interspersed with criss crossing wires. “I made modifications to them. I told you that your quirk works the same way as an air conditioner, right?”

Shouto smirked. “How could I forget that conversation?”

You blushed. You’d maybe been a little excited. And you supposed it wasn’t every day that a man was informed that he was just a walking, talking heat pump.

“Okay, well it got me thinking that you could prevent frostbite and heat stroke after prolonged usage of your quirk, if you had the right equipment,” you said. “Like, air conditioners don’t freeze or heat over even if you leave them on for months at a time.”

Shouto looked interested, pressing a long finger to the underside of one of the guards, tracing over a wire. “How does it work?”

You smiled. “I basically built variations on evaporator and condenser coils into your wrist braces. The short version is that they take the thermal energy you pass them and transfer it outside your body so that you won’t feel the effects as much. So if you heat this one,” you pointed to the one on the left, “it will extract that energy and help keep you cool. The reverse is true for the other guard.”

Shouto picked them up, looking impressed. “So I can use my quirk for longer without feeling its effects?”

You nodded. “You exert too much thermal energy for them to be as effective as if they were built into an actual air conditioner, since no air conditioner that I know of deals with heat over twenty five hundred degrees fahrenheit. But I’d estimate that they give you maybe just under an hour of extra time using your power.”

A soft smile cut into Shouto’s mouth, his eyes glinting down at you. “These are amazing.”

You fought down another blush, your stomach churning. He looked so pleased, it seemed wrong to ruin the moment. But now was the time. Now that you’d passed these on to him, you needed to come clean.

“You’ll have to tell me how they do next time you practice at quirk training,” you said, trying for an even tone.

An eyebrow raised and he considered you curiously. “You don’t want to be there to see for yourself?”

You bit your lip. Okay, you could do this. “That, uh, depends on how comfortable you are. I...have something else I wanted to tell you as well.”

His gaze sharpened and he carefully lowered the wrist braces. “Tell me what?” His tone was higher than normal, the concern easily detectable. “Is something wrong?”

You took a deep breath and tipped your face up to him, focusing on that grey and blue gaze. Now, you had to do it now.

“I have feelings for you,” you said firmly.

For a shocked moment, the air around you went quiet. Shouto stood frozen, his face unreadable. “What?”

Your stomach sank as you regarded him. He looked blank, almost politely blank the way he had been when Himari confessed to him all those months ago. It had been funny to you, then, but now on the receiving end of such an indecipherable look, your world shifted on its axis. Your heartbeat picked up.

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying not to let the misery you felt inject itself into your tone. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

A hand suddenly seized your wrist, and you jumped at how cold his fingers felt against your skin. Were you burning up in shame or was Shouto’s quirk going haywire?

“What are you talking about?” he asked. His eyes flicked over you wildly, like he was searching your face for some explanation.

You stared at your shoes, unable to look into his face anymore. “I know you wanted this to wrap up after graduation but I think we should end it sooner. I can’t pretend to date you when I actually like you so much. I want to be friends, after this, but I understand if it makes you uncomfortable that I feel this way.”

His hand went icy where he gripped you. “...Pretend to date me?”

A creeping feeling went up the back of your neck, and you forced your eyes up to his face. His expression startled you, a hard look that you had never seen before, something between anger and….was that confusion?

Why would he look at you like that? Unless…

A sick feeling settled over you. “Is that not….what this was?”

Shouto looked pained. “You think I’ve been pretending to like you, this whole time?”

A churning wave of bewilderment rushed over you with the violent force of a flash flood. Shouto….hadn’t been pretending? He hadn’t asked you out as a ruse? Had he come to the studio that day actually intending to ask you what he’d asked?

All his behavior, the flirting and the kissing, the dates he’d never needed to take you on, all of it suddenly snapped into place. And yet nothing felt like it was lining up. It couldn’t be that he had actually meant to date you for real. It couldn’t.

He stared down at you. “You think we’ve been pretending to date for months?”

You peeked up at him, heart beating in your throat. “You mean we haven’t?”

The temperature around you dropped. You stepped back from him a little, but Shouto’s hand tightened around your wrist, stopping you.

“What gave you that idea, exactly?” he said carefully, enunciating each word like it hurt him to choke them out.

“I thought...with Himari. You were trying to stop the confessions…” you said. “You were going to ask me something but then when she showed up...I thought…”

Something dark flashed through Shouto’s gaze. “What do you think I was going to ask you, then, before Himari showed up?”

“For a support item?” you guessed.

Shouto’s eyes closed. He looked like he’d just stubbed his toe and was trying not to swear. “I was going to ask you the same question.”

Your heartbeat picked up. Was he saying…?

“You mean, you meant to ask me out? You’ve actually liked me, this whole time?”

His eyes opened and he stared down at you in shock. “Do you think I just kiss anyone I don’t like?”

You froze. No, no you didn’t think he just kissed anyone. You’d wondered why he’d even started this whole scheme in the first place when he was so blunt and upfront about the things he liked, the things he would and would not do…

Sudden shame curled in your chest and you felt like the world’s biggest idiot.

Shouto had liked you the whole time, and he had been supremely obvious about it. And you’d ignored what had been in front of you like an olympic-level dumbfuck, taking home the gold medal in sheer stupidity.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you said miserably. “I just thought you wouldn’t--you couldn’t--it just doesn’t make sense.”

You tried to tug your arm back but he held tight.

“You thought we weren't--? But you never stopped me, any of those times I kissed you. Why didn’t you stop me?” he asked. “Why would you just let me--?”

“Because I’m in love with you!” you cried, throwing up your other hand. “I wanted you to kiss me, the whole time! Even if you didn’t want me, I wanted you. But then I felt like I was tricking you and it didn’t feel right! None of this makes sense but I wanted you so badly and now I’ve fucked everything up and I’m so stupid--”

With a sudden jerk, Shouto pulled you to him. Your mouth snapped shut as his arms went around you, and a hand at the back of your head pressed your face into his shoulder.

“I want you to listen,” he said quietly, firmly. You felt yourself release a shaky breath against his shoulder. “I don’t know how you got it in your head that I didn’t want you, but listen to me. I have liked you since the project we did together. I meant to ask you out, on Valentine’s Day. I’d had it in my head since the project wrapped up, that I wanted to know you more. So I came to ask you on a date. A real one.”

Your heart thumped in your chest. “A real one,” you echoed. “You really meant to ask me out?”

You felt him nod. “I really did.”

“And you really liked me, this whole time?”

Another nod. “I really like you, still.”

“Are you angry with me?” you asked carefully.

Another nod, and Shouto pulled away from you. “I’m furious,” he admitted, but his fingers slid down your arm to twine with yours, the way they had the day he’d asked you out. “Not just with you, but with myself. For not figuring it out, that you felt this way. No wonder you never initiated things. I was beginning to think you weren’t...interested.”

You blushed. “I literally couldn’t be more interested.”

To your surprise, Shouto’s expression slowly shifted from frustrated to something smug. “Is that so?”

Your toes curled. “Yes. I thought it was obvious that my brain shuts off every time you touch me.”

Shouto looked interested. “Does it now?”

You looked up at him. “Stop talking like that.”

He smirked and suddenly, he was a step closer. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“What?” you asked.

“I think your brain might need shutting off right now. It sounds like you’ve been overthinking something simple for months.”

Something hot flashed through you, and it had nothing to do with his quirk.

Shouto pressed closer, smiling as if he’d guessed the effect he had on you. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he was faster, silencing anything you might have said with a kiss. Predictably, your brain all but abandoned ship, and you were left with nothing but the base desire to get closer to him. Your arms went around his neck, pulling him nearer, and you felt him grin against your mouth.

“I think it’s time I prove to you once and for all how I actually feel about you,” Shouto said. He moved forward, walking you backwards until you felt your back bump into your work table. Hands went to your waist, hoisting you up onto the table, and the wrist braces you’d made him went clattering to the floor.

“Hey, I worked hard on those!” you managed, leaning forward as if to grab them but Shouto crowded into your space, taking your mouth again.

“I have full confidence in your abilities to repair them,” he said once he let you up for air. “You’re the smartest girl I know.”

The compliment warmed you, distracting you enough that it took a minute for you to register something brushing over your shirt. You realized dimly that Shouto was almost finished unbuttoning your uniform, and you blushed. You could feel the temperature difference in his hands and you shivered as his right one brushed over your bare skin.

“Going to finish what you started at quirk training?” you asked shakily. Long fingers brushed your shirt off at your shoulders.

“And more,” Shouto promised, following his fingers with his mouth, mapping a hot path over your collarbones and down, down.

You shuddered when his hands found their way beneath your bra as they had that night at quirk training, clever fingers pinching and rolling a nipple. Shouto silenced your startled moans with his mouth as he worked you over in his usual meticulous manner, learning very quickly what you liked and doing it over and over until it drove you crazy.

“Lock the door,” you finally gasped out when you couldn't stand it anymore, when you thought you might go crazy if you couldn't have more of him. “Lock the door or I will never live it down if someone walks in on what happens next.”

Shouto froze over you and there was an earsplitting crackling sound, almost like a whole wall of glass had shattered. You jumped, peering over his shoulder to find a huge wall of ice blocking the door--and covering most of the floor and the adjoining wall.

Shouto gave an embarrassed cough. “I...lost control for a second. That should work though.”

You laughed. “Seems like I’m not the only one who loses it a little bit.”

He smiled, and those talented fingers found their way beneath your skirt. You pulled him back into you for a kiss, sighing when he found what he was looking for. Then he spent a few minutes riling you up again, until all you could do was detach your mouth from his and complain.

“This is literally the best thing I have ever felt in my life, but I have spent months holding back because I thought you didn’t like me,” you said, finally getting a hand on his belt. “I need you to speed it up here because if you’re not inside me in the next minute, I’m going to die of frustration.”

Shouto's eyes widened and he jerked his hand back from you just in time for it to catch fire. You stared at him in shock, a laugh bubbling up in your mouth again. He looked embarrassed.

“Oh my god, we’ll talk about this later,” you announced, busying yourself with his belt again and helping him divest himself of his pants. “I can’t wait to tell everyone how literally hot for me my boyfriend is.”

He huffed a laugh, and that seemed to calm him enough to help put the flame out. Then he was moving back over you, finally, finally pressing into you where you’d wanted him for months. You let out an embarrassing noise and clung to him, unable to do anything but gasp and writhe underneath him as he set a steady pace.

“I can’t believe you didn’t think I was absolutely crazy for you,” he said, bearing you down to the table and emphasizing his point with a particularly hard thrust. “You were all that I could think of, after that project.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, incapable of doing anything but grasping him tighter and working your hips desperately against him.

He seemed to get the point, though, smirking and driving into you harder, until you couldn’t remember any words other than yes and Shouto and please. Then those clever fingers found your clit again and you couldn’t remember anything at all, coming apart into pieces around him.

Shouto followed you quickly, jerking into you with a series of short thrusts before collapsing over you, his weight pressing you into your work table. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, so unbearably sweet in contrast to what you’d just done, and you smiled.

“I’m gonna have to sanitize the fuck out of this table. My prayers are with the next student who gets assigned this thing.”

Shouto chuckled, a hand brushing through your hair. You could feel his heartbeat pounding steadily in his chest where it was pressed against yours, and the temperature in both sides of his body, so notably different and so easy to detect when he was pressed as close as he was.

“Maybe later,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow in question.

“After I’ve proved to you how I feel about you,” he clarified.

This left you with more questions. “You just did. I’m completely clear on that now.”

But Shouto just smiled that wry smile, a familiar glint entering his eye. “Oh, you think that’s all I feel about you?”

Something like a thrill went up your spine at the way he was looking at you. “....Is it not?”

Shouto moved off of you, kissing a path back down your chest. A hand gripped your leg, pulling it over one shoulder as he kissed his way even further.

“I have several months to make up for,” he said, and that was the last warning you had before he pounced. “I’m not done with you yet.”

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #fanfic #todoroki x reader #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto #smut

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hermitcraftheadcanons · 4 years

Text

Scattered AU Conclusion

To tie up the Scattered AU, I have written a short conclusion. I can't even express how much I've enjoyed working with all of you on this, and once again I have to say I've been absolutely blown away by the number of contributions there were. I am so happy that this idea was loved, and I hope all of you continue to take joy from it even after the official end of the event. Once again, thank you.

I tried to cover as many Hermits as I could here, but my energy ran out partway through. Feel free to add on an ending for anyone I've missed. Also, it's worth mentioning that this conclusion is not the only possible ending and does not overwrite any other endings submitted for the AU. This universe is a multi-branched thing, and the timeline of the story is flexible depending on what makes you happy. With that being said, I hope you enjoy this small effort to keep up with all your boundless creativity. 💙

After a long discussion, the Hermits decide to stay in the season 8 world instead of starting a new one. They will take this broken wreck of a place and turn it into something beautiful, just like they have every season. They will heal alongside the world they created, fixing what glitches remain as they support each other and make their best effort at recovery.

Impulse settles in the desert, with Tango and Zedaph close by him. The hot air stings his transformed body, but he is more than done with water for now. Maybe one day he will return to it - but not this season. For now, he keeps the air in his base humid, learns to build with sandstone, and invites his friends over often. Sometimes they talk about the things they all went through, but mostly, they just talk about all the normal things friends talk about. How their day went, what might be causing Tango's latest farm to malfunction, how Zed is going to pull off his next wild plan... they're just glad to have each other back. They're just happy to not have to be alone and afraid anymore.

Cleo is rezombified with the help of Joe, Stress, and False, as soon as they can manage it. Nobody really understands why she wants that, but no-one really needs to - it's her choice. It's what she needs to feel whole again. Seeming vital and normal to the outside world is not nearly as important to her as being herself is, and the others are glad to see her back to her former undead glory. Returned to her familiar form, she laughs and jokes in a way much more alive than she ever seemed when her heart was actually beating.

Jevin keeps every single axolotl he found on his and X's journey through the caves. His mind returned slowly back to normal after Xisuma fixed the plugins, and focusing on the adorable creatures helped him to control the lingering aggressive tendencies as he recovered. Now, when another Hermit seems to be having a hard time, he'll let them borrow an axolotl to take care of until they feel better. It helps to ground them and give them a sense of control, and reminds them all how lucky they are to be alive in this strange, updated world.

Scar struggled. For a long time after the events of the early season, he struggled. He claimed he could control this new level of Vex power, but more and more, he felt as though he was being subjected to it rather than using it. He could feel himself slipping more and more every day, and it scared him, so much that he couldn't even say anything...but the others noticed. Cub's own connection to the Vex told him that this wasn't a sustainable way for Scar to live. Together with Mumbo, he formed a plan. Using Mumbo's new Evoker power, they summoned the Vex that was controlling Scar and broke its hold. Scar is more vulnerable to deals with the Vex now, and it will be a long time before he can visit the End again without feeling weak, but he's more than happy to feel like himself again. Eventually, TFC talks him through his fear of the End - talking himself through his own fear in the process. He offers to go with Scar the first time he decides to return. Both of them find the obstacle more manageable with a friend.

Ren, Grian, and Doc find themselves drawn to each other even after things go back to "normal", not wanting to be alone again. In fact, many of the groups that formed in the more than a year since the world started remain intact. Whether for comfort or protection, or just sharing resources, the Hermits continue to rely on each other. That trio specifically has something new in common - with Grian's new foxlike features, they are all mob hybrids now. They share experiences and support each other, and they can often be found gathering around a fire to tell stories. None of them particularly fancies the cold anymore.

After all that they went through, nobody feels very strongly about banning Evil Xisuma again. His crimes are so far in the past by now, and it feels wrong to condemn him to a future of darkness and isolation when he's already gone through so much of that this season. He doesn't live on the server permanently, preferring to wander off and cause mischief elsewhere, but when he does visit Hermitcraft he stays with Hypno. They bond over a desire to stay on the outskirts and a persistent fear of flowers. They live in a base in the ocean, not a blossom in sight.

XB and Iskall live in the jungle, close enough to see each other but far enough so they don't feel pressured to talk. Both of them feel slightly guilty for getting separated in the desert, but neither of them want to be the first to apologize. Their conversation happens in stops and starts, not in one big rush - but they get there. Eventually, they get there.

Etho drifts. For what seems like an age after the glitches are fixed, he drifts. He talks to the Beetlejhost, sends messages through him sometimes, even manages to manifest in a way others can see occasionally - but that takes a lot of energy. Mostly, he just drifts. He hovers especially around Xisuma, who works for hours on fixing his code. The world can't be considered fixed until everyone is here. Nothing can be fully right until all of his Hermits are safe. It's the hardest admin challenge he's taken on yet, but it's worth it. When he gets to finally hug Etho again, it's worth it. When he brings him to the shopping district and presents him to the other Hermits with tired eyes and a grateful heart, here and real and alive again, it's worth it. It is more than worth it.

Nothing will ever be the same again. That much is obvious. Though the world was fixed and the season went on, the physical changes and emotional wounds are too lasting to be erased, no matter how much time goes by and how much the Hermits support each other. No matter what, the things they went through are unforgettable. Nothing will ever be the same again - but it doesn't need to be.

What is broken will heal back differently, what was changed will be adapted to. New things will be created, new habits will be formed, and for each new fear and trauma there will be a new kindness to match. It won't erase what happened, won't make the pain of the past any less real - but it will help. Healing is not a return to one's original state. Healing is progress. And, together, the Hermits are making progress.

-----------------------------------------------

And, there it is! The inbox will stay closed for another day after this (because I do occasionally need a break), and then it will be open again for regular Hermitcraft headcanons. If you have made any art or writing for the Scattered AU that hasn't been posted yet, please feel free to send that in too! Chances are if you just tagged this blog without sending me a link, it probably got lost in the flood of notifications.

#hcraft #hermitcraftheadcanons #hermitcraft #hermitblr #scattered au #mod shade

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cherrybyunss · 3 years

Text

Ship: Haechan x Reader Word Count: 666 (lmao) Tags: Smut, Explicit, Oral (F receiving), Dirty Talking, Clubbing, Intoxication

An excerpt from When It Gets Risky: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31129871/chapters/76918949

Excerpts Masterlist

_________

You had the time of for life dancing with Hina. You knew Hina was a great dancer, but you had no idea she would’ve looked this hot dancing in a club.

You’d caught the guys looking fondly at her a couple times. And you were sure the high in your blood enhanced the effect of the serotonin from looking at their endeared smiles.

You realized the boys looked fairly hot dancing too. And you figured they knew that’s what you thought too, with the mix of weed and alcohol in your system probably letting you make it fairly obvious.

You tried to play it cool when Donghyuck came up behind you and placed his hands on your waist. Though, the contact ignited a fire on your skin. And you wanted more.

You leaned back, letting his clothed chest touch your laced up back, and your head on his shoulder, as you swayed with music. He dipped his head down so you could feel his breath fanning your ear. You felt chills all over your body in this new arrangement.

As it got a little too much to take, you turned around and put your hands around his neck, letting him rearrange his on your waist.

“What might you be doing?” You said, smiling at him.

He leaned in to whisper in your ear. “You’re too fucking hot.”

It sounded close enough to a groan to send dangerous vibrations down to your core. You wanted his lips on your neck and all over your body. And he seemed to have got the message, for he obliged right away.

Your mind went haywire the moment his lips touched your neck and trailed up to your jaw, drawing a soft little moan, that you were sure only he could hear, from your lips.

“Fuck, don’t sound like that, I’ll lose it.” He said, lips still on your neck, helping neither of your cases.

“Hyuck,” you breathed out, “This feels so fucking good.” Your eyes closed. “I missed your touch so much.”

He rested his head on your shoulder and breathed out. You turned your face a little towards him, missing the feeling of his breath against your skin instantly, failing to notice how that meant yours against his.

And before you knew it, he had your wrist in a grip, leading you upto the restrooms, into one of the booths and closing the door shut behind the two of you.

“Hyuck, I know Hina has Jaemin and Jeno out there but I can’t leave her alone for too long.” You said as he peppered your neck with kisses.

“Yes baby girl, just let me make you cum and we’ll be out of here.” He moved his hand up your thigh and upto the waistband of your underwear.

“What about you?”

“I’ll find someone to fuck.” He said, sliding it down in one swift motion. He placed a soft kiss on your cheek. “I need to fuck and the first time I fuck you can’t be when you’re drunk.” He said and slid down on his knees, and got rid of the cloth altogether with a little assistance from you.

He threw one leg of yours over his shoulder and dragged his thumb up your folds.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet. Is it the alcohol?” He said spreading the wetness from your vagina onto your parted folds, making you squirm.

He quickly threw the other leg over his shoulder and grabbed your thighs to keep you in place and pressed his tongue against your core, making you jolt. His tongue lapped at the folds with pace you’d never experienced before.

“Fuck!” You half screamed, you body more sensitive than ever, his grip on you strong. You were sure you’d cum in no time if he kept this up. “Hyuck, fuck! I love this!!”

He ate you out like his life depended on it.

“Ah, fuck! I’m coming!” You said before you did, Donghyuck helping you ride your high out perfectly.

_________

Read the entire fic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31129871/chapters/76918949

Excerpts Masterlist

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gallickingun · 4 years

Text

stardust in our bones {constellations on our skin} || i.m.

SUMMARY: Izuku Midoriya is a mausoleum of pain, his masterpieces hung in the form of scars and freckled skin. Sometimes he is overwhelmed by the very public display of his failures, unable to be dismissed even from far away. But you are always there to remind him that even if he is a little damaged, he will always be beautiful in your eyes. And maybe he can come to learn that his scars are but reminders that even if you break, you are not broken.

This is essentially a few different scenes/scenarios all rolled into one fic about Izuku’s freckles and scars. I hope you love it!

PAIRING: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: mentions of blood, language, smut, dom/sub scenes, scars, mild violence mention, breeding kink, daddy kink, etc. WORD COUNT: 28.4k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is in the replies of this post! message me to be added/removed!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the labor of love that i have produced for my other half @freckledoriya ♡ i hope that this meets your expectations, as it is probably one of the only midoriya fics i will ever write lol. katsuki baby i am so sorry also big shoutout to @k-atsukidayo for making this beautiful header image for me and always reminding me that i’m not as garbage as i think i am ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

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Some call him disfigured or discolored.

They focus much too heavily on the outer turmoil taking its toll on his skin instead of the implications of what is happening within his body – the struggle in seeing himself this way and coming to terms with all that he has lost, marked on his body forever in the form of scars.

Marred flesh, crooked knuckles, gnarled bones.

He relives his trauma every time he looks in a mirror, another cut turned to pinkened scar, another use of his quirk marking his body permanently with a plethora of the color red. He wonders for a moment if he will ever feel whole again, or if he will always see himself as this patchwork thing that the universe toys with by ripping apart just to sew it back together again.

Izuku Midoriya is a mausoleum of pain.

And yet, despite all his physical fallacies, you still find him beautiful.

You watched on in horror as his body took on the tolls of being a hero throughout his time at Yuuei. You were but a young, quirkless teenager, begging for a hero who reminded you of what hope used to taste like. Now, after All Might’s demise, your tongue turns sour and anything that might have resembled hope burns to ash in your mouth.

Then Izuku Midoriya became a Pro Hero at the very agency you’ve been working at and you felt that familiar warmth of hope starting to take root in your chest, driving out that darkness that settled once the world lost All Might.

Deku is kind, much kinder than the average man. Or hero, for that matter.

He stops by your desk at least once a week, with either coffee or something sweet, in addition to his paperwork. He’ll chat with you, leaning over your counter with those sparkling emerald eyes, and you start to realize you can get lost in him. He is a gentle reprieve from your otherwise mundane day.

And in the beginning, you saw sun-kissed skin littered with a dark sprinkling of freckles, like little constellations burned into him by the sun. His cheeks are like the expanse of the night sky and you wonder to yourself when he leans in close if you might could find some stars you recognize.

As you grow closer, minutes turned into hours turned into lunch outings, you realize that you truly misjudged how deep his scars run.

They are not just on the surface, but rather cutting deep into his soul until he is marked at the very essence, clouded eyes ever present when he recounts a tale that brought forth yet another scar. You want to reach out and brush his cheeks, but you must restrain yourself because he is a Pro Hero and you are but an office manager, quirkless and insignificant to him.

You busy yourself with memorizing the patterns on his face and neck. You allow your mind to wander from time to time, trailing your gaze down to his exposed collarbones or torso, depending on how rough a mission might leave his suit. When it’s torn at the thighs, you can’t help but to see the smattering of pale freckles against his otherwise tanned skin.

Izuku is kind, you remind yourself as he approaches you with paperwork tucked into his side. There is no other explanation for his long, drawn out talks at your desk, or the flowers currently adorning your countertop.

“Hey, sorry,” he unfurls the bundled package of papers and lays them flat on your desk, “this week has been insane, lots’a villains on the loose. Which I guess just means more paperwork for everyone, huh?”

You chuckle at him, thumbing through the first few sheets to make sure he’s got it all in order. There really is no doubt in your mind that it’s all laid out exactly how it should, that’s just how Deku is, but you want him stationary at your desk for a little while longer, so you check it anyway.

“And more bruises for you heroes,” you smile, tilting your head upward so you can catch the glint in his eyes. “How are you today?”

Midoriya begins to rattle off a long string of muttered words while you check the paperwork. You don’t mind that you can’t necessarily understand everything he’s saying, just to hear the sound of his voice is enough to satiate you for the rest of the day. You smile and nod when you think you should, the smell of the flowers on your desk more intoxicating now that he’s here.

“-I, well, you see, I guess that since I saved their shop, they said I could have unlimited meals, and I, uh, I was wondering if you’d like to go?”

You bite your lip, reigning yourself in because of course he just wants to go out for lunch. There’s nothing more to it. You have been to lunch with him several times, extended breaks thanks to both his hero status and your extra hours you work here and there.

“Sure,” you answer, “we can go over the new manual, I have a few-”

“No.”

You cock your head, brow furrowing, “B-But -I”

Deku shakes his head, green curls bobbing against his forehead, his undercut even more obvious now, “N-No, I mean, I want to go, but like, I want you to go with me.”

“I would be-”

“Without the paperwork.”

“Oh.”

The two of you share a look for longer than necessary and now the flowers’ perfume grows stronger, almost sickeningly sweet as your stomach flips. You rack your brain for the words to say, but each syllable dies on your tongue, sparking against a taste bud. You want to pinch yourself to ground your mind into this version of reality where Deku wants to go on a date with you is the current situation, but you can’t move, frozen in place by his expectant stare.

It must take you too long to respond because Izuku launches into another muttering rant, apologizing profusely as he blushes from head to toe. Your lips tug into a smile at the sight of his freckles against his reddened skin, and that little break from your psychotic prison allows you to reach forward and grasp him by the hand.

Deku’s jaw snaps shut, eyes widened as he looks down at you, gaze piercing through you as if he had slung a spear through your soul. He’s got a hold on you, he has since the day you first met, but now you know that he’s had you hook, line, and sinker and there was no way you could ever come up for air.

Not that you’d want to.

“I’d love to,” you tell him, voice soft.

His smile matches your own and he squeezes your fingers, the scars on his hands rigid against his otherwise smooth skin, “It’s a date.”

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As time passed, the bruised ribs and shattered bones multiple. The Pro Hero, Deku, is well-known for his gnarled hand, knuckles swollen, and scars carved into his body like veins in a slab of marble. He finds you after each mission, wrapped in gauze and taped back together, and you are the one left to mend the untouchable pieces of him once the surgeons have done all that they can for the surface wounds.

“You should be more careful,” you warn him, hands reaching for his face to palm over his cheeks in worry.

Midoriya laughs, but it is cut short by a wince as he grabs for his rib cage. You lurch forward to steady his frame, but it is of no use, his palm already outstretched to keep you at bay. The frown on your face only deepens at his motions, your brow furrowing together to wrinkle the skin of your forehead.

“I’m fine,” he reassures you once he can stand up right to his full height again, “thank you, for coming and picking me up.”

The pads of your hands find his face again, thumbs pressed into his cheeks, fingerprints grazing over the speckled skin. It’s as if you’re counting them to make sure that none of them have been wiped away from the last time you saw him; like you could keep track of them like inventory if you tried hard enough. The furrow in your brow tells him that he hasn’t done a good enough job at reassuring you, so he steps closer, a knee between your thighs, “I promise I’m okay. They patched me up! All better now.”

All better now.

The words seem shallow, like they can’t possibly touch all of the broken pieces between the two of you. Every time he bares his soul on the battlefield, he comes away changed, a different person than you last saw. He won’t show the world, but at least he will show you.

“Yeah?” Your voice is cutting, patience wearing thin, jaw quivering under the sheer force of the bite of your teeth, “And what about the next time, when they can’t fix you?”

Deku does not have an answer for you then, the question weighing between the two of you like the world caught between your shoulders. At least the answer he can think up is not one that he wants you to hear, let alone one you might take in stride.

Instead of trying to babble on about the efficiencies of agency surgeons and statistics and whatnot, he takes you by the wrists, circling his fingers around your pounding pulse. A gentle laugh bubbles in his chest and it makes you forget about the pain he has to be in for but a mere moment as he looks you in the eyes.

“I’m a hero,” Izuku answers, voice grating against his throat as his eyes bore into you like he’s telling you some enormous secret you must keep to yourself, “and the hero always wins. No matter what.”

As much as your bleeding, apologetic heart wants to believe him, to lap up every word that he’s spewing to you like syrup, your mind can’t quite agree. You’ve spent too many late nights lying awake, wondering when you’ll get the call that he has fallen prey to a villain’s decaying touch, or when he will have been captured and tortured to the brink of insanity, a shell of the man he used to be all that’s left when they find him. Every horror story has played out on the back of your eyelids when you fall asleep, and yet you know there will never be anything you can do to put him back in the little box you first found him in, to protect him and keep him safe.

You push all of those thoughts away, knowing that they will only dampen your spirit for now, and you’d much rather focus on his darling freckled face while you take your afternoon walk. He insists, despite his injuries, that he won’t miss an afternoon walk with you. And it appears that he’s healing even as more time passes, the lingering effects of Recovery Girl’s quirk in combination with quirk-laced drugs mending his body after he’s left the operating room.

Taking in the sight before you – this beautiful, Adonis-like man, with golden cheeks and an innocent sheen in his glittering green irises – you’re overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him, so you charge forward and do just that. Your hands find his neck, searching for the hairline lightning strike scars that litter his body from past injuries and fights.

Unbeknownst to him, you keep your eyes open so you can watch as his translucent lids flutter, orbs moving beneath the skin as he’s unsure of what part of you in his imagination to settle on. This way you’re able to see as the apples of his cheeks slowly start to burn deeper shades of red to match his ears and neck.

As you pull away, falling back onto your heels, you drink him in as the light glimmers down on his skin, making him look almost golden in the afternoon sunshine. There is a string connected to your heart that tugs whenever you see the man standing before you, and now is no exception.

“C’mon,” you slot your knuckles between his, tenderly brushing your thumb over the large expanse of scar tissue on the back of his palm, “let’s go.”

Izuku pulls you closer and it’s like another piece of him has fallen into place, your body slotting just right against his side, like you were made for each other. One to match the other, a balance to end all imbalances.

A complete set.

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The knock on your door makes you jump, shuddering beneath your fleece blanket.

You rub your eyes and stand to your feet, leaving the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It’s late, so you imagine it’s most likely just a package delivery.

You’re beyond surprised to see a bleeding Izuku Midoriya slumped forward, using his forearm to hold himself steady in your doorway. You gasp, your blanket dropping away from your shoulders to pool at your feet, launching yourself forward to catch him before he can topple to the ground.

“Izuku,” you gasp, tucking yourself beneath him so he can use you for support.

He laughs, but it turns into a wheezing string of coughs. You help him hobble through the threshold towards the kitchen, sitting him down close to the sink so you can clean him up. Tilting his head back, you look into his eyes and pray that they dilate. When his pupils shrink, you let loose a breath held captive in your lungs.

It’s hard not to think about the reality that this will add another scar to his tally. His whole body seems like a counter, really, with strikes and slashes marring his skin, turning it pink and keeping track of every battle.

Midoriya reaches up to cradle your face in his palm, fingertips brushing over the smooth skin of your cheeks, directly contrasted with his own rough complexion, “I needed to see you.”

“No,” you shake your head and squat down in front of him, tears stinging the backs of your eyes as you try to take in every part of him that’s bleeding, “you need to see a doctor!”

Before you can protest him any further, Izuku leans forward to crush your mouth beneath his own. He whimpers in pain as he kisses you, but it doesn’t stop him. In fact, it almost stirs him forward, spurring him to cup your face with his hands as tears track down to cut through the crimson lines on his cheeks.

Izuku Midoriya is nothing short of an enigma. Here he is, bruised and bleeding, but he wrought his way to find you despite all of the pain. You wish you could burden some of it on his behalf, taking up the mantle of his own personal Atlas, meant to shoulder the weight of his existence so he can catch a quick breath.

His forehead touches yours as he pulls away, a sobbing gasp parting his mouth, “I’ll be fine. I just need you.”

You brush his hair away from his eyes, forcing him to look at you with the tender turn of your wrist. His right eye is bruised and swelling itself shut, blood caked from his brow to his jaw, pouring steadily from the wound he’s got split open on his head.

The only thought running through your mind, creating a path of worn ground against your cerebrum, is that this will be but another one to add to the collection; another piece of art to hang in his mausoleum. Judging by the amount of blood caked in his hair and brow, and the depth of the wound, it will surely leave a tattered scar of flesh behind.

An errant thought crosses your mind then – will he have such painful memories of this specific wound? Or will he recall this one to be the scar that brought him back to you?

You can’t help it when your lower lip trembles. You can never be surprised at the story of this scar’s origin – it will be engrained in your mind forever. Despite your adoration for the hero, you share in his pain, your own body wincing as a new trickle of crimson stains his temple. You tense your jaw, the muscles in your neck quivering under the strain of your ministrations. Even if he remembers this night fondly, you know that every time you glance at the healed section of his body, you’ll remember his tears, his debilitating pain.

“I’m calling Toshinori,” you grit your teeth, steeling your will, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“I let him know I was coming.” Izuku inhales in short bursts; it’s all his chest can handle before splintering pain streaks through his lungs like lightning. He winces as he shifts, one hand drifting to your hip. He dips his thumb beneath the fabric of your top, a shirt he recognizes as his own based on the size of it as it fully engulfs your figure. His logo is on the center, bright green text in stark contrast to the dark grey fabric.

A wave of pride swells within him, starting at the base of his back and building upward like effervescent champagne bubbles floating to the surface. He opens his mouth to set them free in the form of smothering kisses, his lips traveling to every available expanse of your skin he can find.

Deku is a force of nature, a whirlwind you cannot reckon with, so instead you succumb to him.

You allow him to swallow you whole for the first time, diving deeper into the eye of his storm until he is swirling around you and suffocating you. But you do not care. If this is how you have to go, with his tongue holding you hostage, hands like anchors on your hips, dragging you deeper until all you know is the darkness, then you are fine with that.

You’d gladly drown as long as he was the one holding you down.

But Izuku Midoriya is not the dark. He is anything but.

So, instead of burning your breath with his own oxygen, he fills you to the brim with light. He is a sunbeam incarnate, pushing through every crack in your bones to cement them with his kindness. His fingers, while biting into your hips, send a singing sensation up into your skin until you can’t help but smile into his kiss. They are rough with tattered flesh, scars of the past and present plaguing his body like a parasite, eating away at his skin until no longer has anything left to give.

Deku doesn’t wince when you sink down on top of him, settling your body against his thighs. Instead he wraps his arms around you to give you some kind of solace, palms searching your shoulders for the perfect place to rest. His fingers are warm beneath your shirt as his fingers seek out the curve of your spine.

The pure thickness of his body is not lost on you, not now. Your hands travel over his shoulders, his muscles rippling beneath the pads of your fingers. You shiver when he holds you closer, your chest flush with his, the tactile pleasure from his rough skin making your toes curl.

His shoulders are riddled with tiny, slicing scars, a light pink color in contrast to his standard tanned skin. You look for scar after scar, appreciating the damaged parts of him just as much as the smooth ones. You moan when both of his hands squeeze your waist, the pure size of him a gentle reminder as his palms engulf your ribs, his knuckles counting the bones as he runs his hands up and down.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs as he disconnects his mouth from yours, tears settled in his irises, making them glassy, “the villain I-I fought, th-they had a canceling quirk, and they almost got me.”

You know that got me is the safer, calmer equivalent of killed me. His kindness oozes like honey into every facet of him, filling the cracks like veins of marble. Your heart squeezes within your chest at the reality that he could have been lost to you, and suddenly the wounds on his body matter a little less.

No, now it is all about having him here, dense and hot beneath your body. Your fingertips tremble at the thought of him being a ghost of the past, something you once had a hold of, but now is nothing but a memory. You feel hot tears drip over your lashes, clumping up at the base of your eyelids as they flow freely. You sniffle, your hands finding the back of his head to cradle tenderly.

Izuku’s voice is soft, his cheeks gleaming red as he admits his next words, “You were all I could think about.”

Your voice breaks with a sob and you hold him tight around the neck, surging forward to kiss him soundly on the mouth. Izuku wraps his arms around your whole body, holding you snugly as he tilts his head for a better angle. You relish in the warmth he provides, his solid presence giving you comfort as you try to drink him in, pushing aside all the thoughts of potentially never having him like this again.

It’s not even about the way your stomach turns as his tongue licks at the seam of your lips, or how hot your body grows as he engulfs you like a flame. No, it is something beautiful and pristine, something that curls around your spine and bolsters it, holding you upright with confidence. Izuku has given you something you haven’t had in so long that you almost can’t put a name to it.

Peace.

There is an undeniable calm that washes over you whenever he is around, whether it be by distance or severe closeness. He suffocates you in his light no matter how far away he is; purely by knowing that he is alive, your heart quiets in your chest. You feel safer as you walk down the streets, the very notion that he will always be there, watching from wherever he may be, builds your bones stronger so you can walk with confidence.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” you gasp, coming up for air. You don’t go far, your nose nudging over his cheek as you pant quickly, your chest heaving. “I-I can’t do this without you.”

“Hey,” Deku’s voice is calm, his palms reaching up the back of your shoulders to cover you entirely in his heat. All you want is to coat yourself in him from top to bottom, let him claim you however he needs to, so you never have to let this go. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You open your eyes as he nudges his nose over the bow of your lips, kissing your chin tenderly. Your pupils dilate as you take in the smattering of dark freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks, painting his skin erratically so that you know he must be a work of art, a gift from the gods down to mankind. He is too perfect to be anything else.

Your forehead drops as you let out a shaky breath, steadying yourself with your grip on his shoulders. “I-I know, I just…”

Izuku repositions his hands so they’re beneath your top, the warm pads of his fingertips leaving a blazing trail of fire behind as he maps out the curves of your body. You watch as his ripped costume falls in tattered shreds on his shoulders, giving way to the pretty expanse of skin usually hidden beneath it.

The sight of his flayed skin, coated in scars and painted with beauty marks, makes your spine rattle within your frame. Your fingers drift to the bared parts of his body on instinct, a primal need settling in the pit of your stomach, and you trace over the white, lightning-like scars. Your thumb brushes over his collarbone, as if you could sweep away his freckles to leave behind unmarked skin.

Your mind wanders, thoughts branching out to wonder if there even is a patch of his skin that is pure, unmarred by any form of markings.

Izuku must follow your train of thought, because he peels his hands away from your body to tug his costume at the waist, unbuckling his belt and letting it fall to the floor before he pulls his shirt over his head, or what remains of it. The tattered fabric is in a bloody, dirty heap on the floor, but you barely have the wherewithal to notice when he is bared in front of you.

A gasp parts your mouth when you take in his nude torso. He is a plethora of contours and shadows, sinew holding his muscles together in a taut fashion. Your hands are hovering in front of his chest, darkened nipples piqued under the cool air blowing from the vent above. You have to force yourself to swallow, pent-up tension making your throat bob.

“See?” Izuku’s voice is hoarse, as if he’s holding himself back from tears, “I’m right here.”

Your eyes try to find a part of him that isn’t doused in speckles, the darkened patches of skin making him look even tanner. He has them sprinkled all over his body, clumps of them gathering together like tiny nebulas. Your gaze slowly drags down from his collarbones to his abdomen, the freckled dots like destinations on a treasure map, leading you to one central location.

When you make eye contact with the trail of dark hair that starts at his navel, thin and then growing thicker, you feel your stomach turn over. You lick your drying lips, a heat beginning to build up in your core. You would clench your thighs together, but the way you’re straddling him currently makes that impossible. Instead, you roll your hips forward so you can scoot further up his lap.

It’s like you don’t believe what you see in front of you – that he’s truly here, open and bare in front of you, vulnerable in every sense of the word. The wound on his head has stopped bleeding, but that doesn’t mean that he’s okay.

“Touch me.”

You tilt your head, confused by his forward command. Your cheeks burn bright with a blush and he chuckles at the sight of you so flustered. Midoriya takes you by the hands, guiding your touch to his chest first.

The tips of your fingers blaze when they find a ragged scar that stretches across the entirety of his pectoral, “I have so many of these ugly things.”

“How many?” you find yourself asking, the filter hard to find when he has you about ready to come undone like this. You feel yourself go lightheaded, hazy at the feel of his rough skin, his heart beating irregularly beneath your touch.

His voice is heavy when he answers, “I lost count.”

Your eyes snap upward to find the usual playful green color of his irises has faded to a pale jade shade, “Izu, hey-”

Deku swallows an emotional lump in his throat, eyelids fluttering at the pain of it before he inhales a full breath. His chest brushes up against yours and you have to withhold the whine that desperately wants to slip from your lips.

“I don’t understand why people are so fascinated with them,” his tone is teetering on the wrong side of angry, lips curled in a downward snarl. He glances south at the rest of his body, pale scars in stark contrast to the rest of his tanned body. “They’re just reminders of my failure.”

You are forceful when you pull his jaw upward, yanking him to face you before you kiss him harshly. Your intense kiss makes him gasp, his hips rolling up into you despite the pain he’s in. Your palms are bruising on his cheeks, but you don’t care because at least he’s kissing you. Deku’s fingertips finally make their way to your hips where he seeks purchase against your ribcage. His digits are tantalizing as he roams the expanse of your midsection.

“You’re my hero,” your voice is breathless and broken when you release him for oxygen. “Don’t you ever call yourself a failure again.”

Izuku’s throat bobs as he basks in your ferocity – eyes ablaze and fingertips harsh as you hold him in place. He finds himself nodding without really knowing what you’ve said, but he supposes that’s just the effect you have on him. You have taken root in his soul, the galaxy in your eyes blacking out everything else in his mind, allowing him not even a moment to let self-doubt creep in and steal away his faith.

After all, in his eyes, you are his whole world, shattered stars and all.

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“You picked dinner, so I get to pick the movie,” you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, your palms splayed against his chest as you press kisses into his shoulder blades.

You’re obsessed with his back, like some little secret you don’t get to see very often. Tonight the two of you were doing yoga before you ate dinner, so he’s currently clad in only a pair of compression pants that reach his mid-calf, leaving his entire upper body for you to appreciate with your gaze and explorative touches.

You nose over the curve of his spine, kisses open-mouthed as he washes the dishes in the sink. You hear his breath hitch and you wonder if now is a good time to start experimenting with how far you can go. Your eyes roam to the base of his spine, the two small dimples at the start of the swell of his ass making your mouth salivate. You relinquish one hand from his chest to dip your thumb into the cavity his muscles have created, brushing against a cluster of freckles.

It has been some time since you’ve seen him with his shirt off, and many times since then, but you’ve never been able to discover what’s below his belt. Your mind wanders as you suppress the itch in the base of your fingerprints, like the very code of you is designed to strip him down to nothing. You want to know how far his freckles truly go.

In your mind, you believe that he is sprinkled with stardust, paler patches of freckles sporadically placed along his body. He is a canvas, fresh and ready for the constellations to burn into his flesh. You want to swirl your hands over the galaxies imprinted upon him by the gods themselves; as if he were made of marble, ready to carve and curate however they may please.

You take a leap of faith when you dip your fingertips beneath the tight waistband of his joggers. The aborted stutter of his hips combined with the sharp intake of breath from his throat tells you all you need to know.

From here you can see clusters of freckles on the globes of his ass, concentrated mostly near the top, where sunlight can penetrate when he’s not in his hero suit. You have to catch yourself before you drip drool onto his curved backside.

The hand on his chest roams until you find his pebbled nipple, the crevices of your palm washing over the flesh until you hear a muted moan shake his throat. You lean forward, forehead tucked between the cartilage of his shoulder blades so you can feel the heat radiating from him even closer now.

“Can I-”

“Please.”

You’ve never heard him beg before, at least not like this.

It has been some time since your first date, since the first kiss, since the first confession. Your hands start to sweat at the thought of touching his salacious side, pricking with anticipation as you slowly make your way around his hip towards the bulge in his pants. Your tongue stills within your throat as you brush your thumb against the thick tufts of dark green hair at the base of his stomach beneath his navel.

His body is like a roadmap leading you to one desolate place, his skin singing with heat as you grow closer. You can almost make out a whine that he’s clamped his teeth down on to suppress, but that does nothing to deter you from finding a dozen other ways to elicit an infinite number of those same prurient sounds from his lungs.

When the outside of your palm brushes against the throbbing thickness held tight within his spandex, you feel your whole-body tense. Izuku gulps audibly and you have to hold in something that is a mix of a gasp and a giggle.

You reach your free hand down from his chest to pull at the band of his pants, freeing his cock from the confines of the fabric. You can hear the bob of it against his stomach and you let out a heated breath that spills down over his spine. He shivers and you think that maybe you have him just as captivated as he usually has you.

The thought is thrilling. It bolsters your confidence and allows you the audacity to lean forward and slowly trail your fingers along the base of his cock, tickling him in the most tentative way possible. He grits his teeth and you can feel his buttocks clench in front of you as he tries his hardest not to buck forward and ruin your moment.

You kiss the smattering of freckles near the top of his right shoulder, lavishing the area with your tongue as you trail your thumb up the base of his cock until you reach the tip. You can feel the bead of pre-come beneath the print of your finger and you collect it with the ridges of your digit before dragging it downward to coat him before you begin to pump your hand.

He is thick in your hand, unforgivingly hard as his cock pulses within your grasp. You can tell that it’s taking all of his restraint not to throw his head back and release obscene sounds from his throat, like his desire is caged within his chest, begging to be let out with each erratic heartbeat.

Your tongue licks over his shoulders and you know that he must be imagining what your mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock based on the mewling whimpers that leave his tongue. You can hear him panting, but you want to see him, desperate and whining, so you tug on his waistline with your free palm.

It takes him a moment, his eyes glistening with bliss and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, but you manage to get him turned so he’s facing you. Your eyes drag slowly down the entire expanse of his torso, catching on his pert nipples, bright and pink as they shrink beneath the stinging touch of your fingertips. You catch onto the constellations of freckles drifting along his torso – if you look hard enough, you swear that they move. Your eyes cross when you look too closely, so instead you allow your attention to drop lower.

Izuku’s mouth is wide open as your eyes fall to the vee of his hips, the paler freckles placed there making you smile. You lower yourself to your knees, semi-uncomfortable thanks to the tile of the kitchen, but you don’t care. Right now, your focus is singled in on one thing and one thing alone.

You lick your lips and the closeness of your tongue to his cock makes Izuku blush in expectancy. There is a little line of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth if you blink your eyes free of lust. You pump him another time in your hand, collecting the new wash of pre from his tip to lubricate his cock. As you do so, your eyes drift to the base of him where his green pubic hair collects in a dark tuft. You can’t decide which part of him to focus on because it’s all too much.

Somehow, he has a scar that runs from the innermost part of his thigh upward, just beneath his balls. You wince at the thought of what had to have caused that, and how much it hurt. You allow one hand to drift over the scar as your eyes come into contact with the patch of freckles hidden beneath the trail of dark, coarse hair that is usually hidden by his clothing.

As you pump your hand down to the base of him, you use your thumb to brush some of the hair away, curious as to how dark the freckles are there. Izuku is completely maddened by your touch, fallen under the enchantment of your hands. He doesn’t even mind that you’ve taken a break from dragging your soft hand around his dick, his mind already blitzed from the short burst of ministrations you have already administered.

You hum as you kiss along the taut skin of his lower abdomen, dragging your lips and tongue towards the thick trail of hair that leads you to his cock. It’s almost like the freckled areas taste different, although you’ve probably made all of that up in your mind. And yet, you don’t mind that it’s more of a fantasy instead of a reality, relishing in the sweetness, nonetheless.

“Fuck,” you hear from above you, one of his hands hung in midair, unsure of whether to grab you or the counter. The other palm grips into his hair and the scalp, tugging to keep himself grounded so he does not float away at the gentle caress of your tongue against his skin.

The bow of your lips purses as you kiss upward to the head of his cock, bright red and teeming with pre-come. The silvery, pearlescent bud of arousal makes your mouth water and you find that you can’t help yourself as you encircle your lips around the tip of him.

Izuku is immediately broken from whatever resilience he was able to gather, his hips bucking forward as he slams both hands into the counter. Little broken bits of marble fall into your hair but you don’t care, instead indulging yourself in watching his reaction to your movements. Midoriya’s pupils are blown wide, completely taken over his usually wide irises. The green bleeds black, lust like a cloud misting in his line of sight.

As his upper body tenses, you’re able to see every contour of muscle, every cord of sinew, and you can’t help it when drool dribbles down your chin onto the tile floor. You moan against the head of his cock, taking another inch of him in as you slide forward to get more comfortable. The sound of his nails creaking against the countertop makes your cunt flutter from within the cotton of your panties, clenching around nothing as you imagine the thickness of him in your mouth against your glutinous walls, squeezing him for all the come he can produce.

You trail one hand around the curling scars on his thigh, thumbprint finding the ridges of the expansive scar, the raised skin making your heart ache for a moment before you refocus on his dick. Your eyes almost cross as you try to focus on the freckles now hidden once more by the thick green hair at the bottom of his belly.

As you retreat backward, your line of sight continues down the length of his cock to realize that he has a littering of freckles of varying shapes, sizes, and colors, scattered all along the entire shaft of his dick, and even a few on the tip. You can’t help it when you smile, licking at them as if they could be removed if you lapped at the skin harshly enough.

It is the small things such as this that make your time with Izuku Midoriya so enjoyable. You are learning something about him every day, something even more interesting and exciting than the last.

Before you can slip your lips further down his length, his hand reaches up to clean the debris from your hair, a broken apology parting his lips momentarily. You look up at him, the tenderness in his touch making your heart go soft.

“H-Holy,” his hips buck forward when you blink up at him, the base of his throat bobbing as he curses, “shit.”

As you pull away from his cock, Izuku’s chest shudders as he tries to regulate his breathing. He shifts his feet on the tile beneath you trying to keep himself from pushing up onto the balls of his toes so he can keep some semblance of control as you pleasure him.

Izuku turns away from you and you whine, your tongue licking the underside of his cockhead before you ask, “Why won’t you look at me?”

He can barely force the words out of his throat as he gazes down at you briefly, the sounds coming forth berated and bedraggled, as if he’d dragged barbed wire across the syllables, “I can’t, damn it. I-I’m gonna-”

You take advantage of the line of sight he has on you, opening your mouth wide and taking him in one fell sucking motion.

Midoriya chokes on his own drool, a little silvery string of it falling in midair until it creates a droplet on the crown of your head. He can’t even find the focus to apologize, his knuckles white as he grips the countertop to keep himself sane.

The word he squeaks out next makes you smile, your teeth grazing his dick: “-come.”

You take it as a challenge, gripping his thighs with your nails, digging crescent moons into his pretty tan skin, adding the shapes to his star-like freckled skin, creating a whole galaxy with a simple bruising touch. Izuku can’t help it as his hips stutter forward, the tip of his cock bucking into the back of your mouth to make you gag.

He’s not sure how you do it, with his cock jammed all the way into the back of your throat, but somehow you have the wherewithal to cup his balls in one hand as the other uses his leg like an anchor to stay hovering on your toes. You never cease to amaze him, even now as you’re on your knees and worshipping his cock like your life might depend on it.

“Touch me,” you whimper as you come up for air, “if you won’t look at me, touch me, please.”

Izuku licks his lips and barely has it in him to pull his hand from the counter, but somehow, he manages it. His hand threads through your locks, fingertips buzzing with a mixture of adrenaline and desire. The lust has his whole being singing with anticipation as you bring him to the precipice of arousal. He knows that he won’t last much longer, especially not with you drooling around his cock and bobbing your head in perfect rhythm. And now that he can feel you beneath his fingers, he’s not sure if he’ll even be able to speak coherently when this is all over with.

His hands are exploratory in your hair, dipping in and out of your tresses like waves, finding your scalp to scratch lightly, eliciting a husky moan from your throat. The vibrations of your sounds make his cock pulse, twitching against your tongue as you suck him deeper. Izuku isn’t sure how there is anymore of your throat for him to fuck, but when you hollow out your cheeks, he slides further in, and the pleasure starts to coil around the base of his spine as he’s worked towards his high.

“Baby, I-I’m close,” Izuku manages to blurt when he’s coherent enough, your tongue sweeping down the vein on the underside of his dick. He gasps for breath, his head hanging forward, so his dark curls sweep over his lashes to hide his pretty orbs from you. He grunts, as he ruts up into you, “Real close, hell.”

You take it as a challenge, stiffening your posture so you can force your head up and down, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto your pants, but you don’t care. The way his hands grip into your scalp and the quivering of his thighs as he holds off his own release are but a war cry for you, begging your body to go further, to force that release from within his body.

“Come for me, Izu,” you whimper against his cock, the words muffled by the thick skin of him. You try your best to pout, looking innocent with eyes blown wide, “Please, I wanna taste you. So bad.”

His jaw falls slack, and you know that he’s close, his tip is practically rock hard against your teeth. You hollow out your cheeks and moan as you slowly suck him as hard as you can manage with your jaw starting to ache from the stretch of him. Your pussy clamps around nothing, begging for his girth within your walls.

A few heaving breaths stretch his chest, the muscles of his pectorals rippling in strain as he tries to hold himself back, to respectfully come undone instead of sputtering out like a teenager. You nod with his cock still in your mouth, your tongue padding over the sensitive underside. A wuthering whimper breaks within his throat and you feel his thighs clench one final time before he’s coming apart between your cheeks.

You try to breathe through your nose, his cock buried all the way in your mouth so his come hits in spurts against the back of your throat. You use your hands dug into the plush flesh of his ass to steady yourself, his body uncaring to the pain as long as he’s bucking up into your mouth. His hand in your hair goes tight before falling slack, gentle fingertips wafting through your tresses aimlessly.

You tilt your head back as he begins to soften within your lips, trying to keep his come from dribbling out the corners of your mouth. You catch most of it, the slightly sweet taste of it helping it to go down smoother. You suck him one more time, trying to pull the rest of the arousal from his slit, and a high-pitched whine breaks through the calm of the air like shattering glass.

“S-Sorry,” he moans as his eyes screw shut, one of his palms latching onto the countertop again.

A content laugh turns your lips upward and you kiss the head of his cock before he helps you rise back to your feet. Before you’re upright again, he bolsters forward to kiss you square on the lips. His tongue delves between your teeth, mapping out the curves of your gums as he tastes his spend in each crevice of your mouth.

The moan that reverberates from his chest makes your toes curl, your hands curling to fists against his chest as he presses further into you, trying to be flush with your entire body. You can barely breath as he suffocates you lovingly, bringing stars into your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your hands spread out over the plane of his chest, the tips of your fingers searching for his scars, the placement of them burnt into your mind like a map.

Deku pulls away with a panting string of apologies mixed with appreciation, his irises overtaking his pupils now that he’s come down from his high. His hands search your face and then your arms, taking in every inch of you as he kisses all over your face.

You giggle, wrapping your fingers around his neck to play with the sharp hair at the nape of his neck, the undercut style making his locks dense and coarse up to his ears where the straight line runs.

“What movie do you want to watch?” you ask breathlessly, scrunching your nose as he kisses the tip of it.

Izuku is winded when he nudges his nose against yours, a laugh on the tip of his tongue, “I don’t fucking care.”

You roll your lips together, pushing yourself up on your toes to kiss his mouth chastely, “We might have to do that more often if I’m going to get whatever I want each time.”

The thought of you going down on him makes his heart stutter within the cage of his ribs, stars spread out and blinding against the backs of his lids. He can already imagine the sight of you on your knees, your lips around him as you moan and writhe while he holds your hair tight within his fist…

“Earth to Izuku?” you pat his cheek playfully. “You with us?”

His voice is stuttered as he answers you, a blissful glassiness still coating his irises, “Y-Yeah, I’m right here. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

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“C’mon, Princess, you can take it, I know you can,” he murmurs into midair, voice stern but breathy, sending a shiver down your spine.

You lick at the head of his cock, engorged and bright red, beads of pre-come bubbling out of his slit, awaiting you to catch them with your tongue. You lap over the taut, pinkened skin, eyes fluttering closed at the taste of him – a fine combination of salty and sweet. You can’t help the draw of your attention to the tanned splotches covering him like stardust, mapping out what would seem to be a different set of constellations every time you look too long.

Izuku’s hand is woven into your hair carefully, so he does not pinch your scalp, but he can still hold onto the makeshift ponytail he’s created with his fingers bunched around your tresses. You whimper, eyes torn from his freckled skin, as he guides your mouth closer to his cock, the head of him brushing against your closed lips.

His voice is thick with restraint, his throat bobbing at the sight of your pretty, jeweled irises looking between him and his cock, wondering how you’re going to take the thick of him between your plush little lips. Your eyes are almost crossed as you try to count his freckles, as if you could pay that close of attention when he’s got you on your knees.

“Gonna be a good girl for me, Angel?” Deku is patronizingly kind as he brushes his knuckles over the curve of your jaw. Your eyes zero in on the scarred stripes along his palm and forearm, your fingertips reaching up to slowly drag across the pale lines that tell a story you’ve heard a dozen times. Izuku makes an audible noise of consideration at your marveling, “You were just beggin’ me for my cock, and now you won’t even open your mouth for me?”

He sounds like he’s pouting, lower lip jutted out just enough for it to look convincing. You swallow your inhibitions, throat bobbing when he brushes his cock along the hollows of your cheeks, the head of him smearing what remains of his pre onto your skin. He chuckles as you gasp, your jaw hung open just enough for him to rut up into your mouth.

You gag around him, lurching forward as tears coat your lashes. You whimper, looking up to him like he might save you from what’s to come. But no, you asked for this. You begged him to let you taste his cock, to have him spill his fullest load onto your tongue and force you to swallow.

“Such a pretty girl,” his words turn to a moan as you take him to the base, forcing yourself to breathe evenly so you won’t gag around him again. His hand in your hair tightens and you take a deep breath, the short, stubbled pubic hairs surrounding his cock doing little to hide the freckles on his smooth skin.

You’re not sure why you love them so much – the freckles.

They are such a distraction that you don’t notice Izuku yanking you by the ponytail until you come off his cock with a loud pop. You whine, keening forward to try and lick at his tip, “I-Izu-please.”

“Uh uh,” he cinches his hand around your hair even tighter, tugging your skin backward until it burns. A smirk lilts his lips, “What’s my name, baby girl?”

Your eyes go wide, pupils swallowing your irises whole. Deku almost misses the color, if it not for the fucked out look that takes their place, telling him exactly what he’s done to you. He bites down on his lower lip, half-hooded lids considering you, “You’re already a mess for me, aren’t you baby? I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Your cock,” you whine, squinting your eyes so you don’t have to feel his authoritative penetrating your very being. Your thighs tense, pussy clamping down around nothing but thin air, wet with arousal and begging to be full of him. Before Izuku can tell you to correct yourself with a simple syllable, you repeat yourself, “Your cock, Daddy.”

A satisfied expression smooths his features, the red of his cheeks doing little to hide the smattering of freckles to match those littered across his cock and thighs. You brush your nose against his navel, kissing the gentle swell of muscle beneath it. Izuku licks his lips, hips rolling forward so his cock brushes over the length of your throat.

“That’s’a good girl.” Deku purses his lips as you kiss down his shaft, your tongue lapping over every inch of him. Your eyes are level with his pubic bone, searching for the tanned droplets of sunshine incarnate on his skin, hidden beneath dark tufts of jade hair curled around the base of his cock.

Before you take him between your lips, you lick a stripe from the underside of his shaft up to his navel. You can’t help yourself as the dark smattering of freckles call out to you, a reminder that even though he is tainted by the war of the world, you still have these small victories to come back to. You worship his taut skin with your lips and tongue, the muscle parting your mouth to lick at his body.

Izuku’s fingers weave into the hair at the base of your head, eyes watching you closely as you pay special attention to the various patches of densely packed freckles. You nose over his hipbone, breathing slowly, the wash of warmth prickling his skin and forcing him up on his toes as he reacts to it.

There is a large part of him that wants you to stop. Not because he’s selfish enough to force you to pay attention to the throbbing heat between his legs, but rather because your praise is something that makes him feel even more unworthy. He is self-conscious of his body, both the discolored spots that he’s never able to be rid of in tandem with the ragged rips in his flesh that you seem to love so much. He has never understood your fascination with his body, but you are relentless with your affections.

It comes in many forms. At times it is the way you run your fingertips over his shoulders when you’re laying together, and other times it is your mouth finding his knuckles when you think he’s asleep. You are unashamed to lavish his body with unending passion, and even the smallest of deformities that he believes are his secret, you manage to find.

You loll your tongue out to let the collected spit pool over his length, sucking at the head when you get to it. Deku rubs his thumb against your neck, fingertips searching your hair for purchase. He’s taken aback when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him deep into the heat of your mouth. His eyes go wide, but he’s thankful you can’t see with the way his head is thrown back.

“Fuck, baby,” his hand twitches against your scalp, “fuck, this mouth.”

He starts rolling his hips forward, pumping himself in and out of your mouth like he might your pussy. You feel drool seeping out of the corners of your lips but you don’t dare break away, because that would bring forth a punishment, and your cunt is already sopping wet with the anticipation of his cock buried deep within you. Deku grunts, his chest vibrating with the sound, and he holds you still with the hand against your head.

You reach up to find his free palm, lacing your fingers together at the knuckle, using him as some sort of an anchor to reality as the subservient headspace begins to take over. It washes through you like a balm, a warm sensation that feels like home. Your eyelids fall over your irises, hiding your expression from him, but he can tell the way you feel by your ministrations against his hand and on his cock. You are desperate for him, one hand clutching his thigh until your nails dig in and leave tiny crescent moon prints behind.

You like to think of his freckles as stars, your marks making him more like the night sky with each grip. You moan as you hold yourself at the base of him, tongue lapping around his length from within your mouth. Your thumb finds a familiar scar on the back of his hand, knuckles marred from battle and bravery.

It’s times like these that you want to cry for him, for what his body has endured. It’s the reason you want to worship every inch of him, to give him what he deserves because god knows the world will never give him back what he’s due. So here you sit, perched in front of him like a little dove, eyes blown to hell and your metaphorical wings spread wide as you take him for all he’s worth.

Izuku can’t take it any longer – the tenderness of your touch mixed with the obedient look in your eyes. It’s all too much, making his head spin at your sincerity.

“C’mere,” he whispers, tugging you by the throat, gently but firmly.

And you follow him, like you would follow him anywhere.

You step forward dumbly, blindly going wherever he tells you. He guides you to the bed, turning you over so your face is pressed into the coolness of the sheets, your bright red cheeks thankful for the change in temperature. You angle your ass upward perfect, round globes ripe for his hands to lay into.

“Such a sloppy little pussy, baby,” he murmurs against the skin of your lower back as he kisses down your spine. His middle finger runs up and down the length of your slit, collecting the silvery strands against his digit, “All this just for me?”

“All for you, Daddy, all for you, promise,” you’re whimpering out, cunt desperately clenched as you try to trap his finger in your heat. “Please, I want you so bad, need your cock, Daddy.”

Izuku pushes his finger into your core, curling it up towards that special spot that it seems only he can find. His finger is thick, knuckle curved in just the right way that it drags along your walls salaciously, eliciting a loud, careening moan from your mouth. You muffle your sounds into the mattress, but Midoriya is having none of that.

He yanks you by the throat, fingers digging deep into your skin until you’re sure that you’ll have bruises, “Nah uh, little one. I want to hear you scream for me.”

Midoriya pumps his finger into you mercilessly, your arousal coating him down to the palm, making your thighs slick. You whimper, your lewd sounds echoing off the walls. You can feel the tip of his cock against your ass, throbbing with heat, and there’s nothing you can do to stop yourself from imagining it in place of his fingers.

“I know you can be louder, slut,” Deku pinches your neck tighter in his grip, “I want the neighbors to know my name when we’re through.”

You try to protest but it’s cut short when his finger rams into you, two knuckles deep, a sharp cry splitting your throat wide open. The sound morphs into a whimper, tears stinging in the corners of your eyes.

Deku leans forward to kiss between your shoulder blades, his voice hoarse with want when he speaks, “That’s my girl. Do it again.”

He relinquishes your throat to start slapping your ass, his eyes unable to fall away from your pretty skin marked red from his ministrations. You grit your teeth together so you can better withstand the pain, giving yourself something else to focus on besides his unrelenting spankings.

“Daddy, harder,” you whine, your ass stinging but not so much that you can’t follow through on your plea.

A dark chuckle reverberates throughout the room, Midoriya’s smirk from earlier returning. If you could see his eyes, you’d notice the way his pupils have completely overtaken his emerald orbs, giving way to the parts of him that want to make you hurt only so he can be the one to soothe you all better.

He indulges you, palm stretched wider so he can land harder smacks to your cheeks. Now he’s got two fingers in you, filling your cunt with his knuckles, the scars against them giving you friction that makes you see stars. He pumps you in time with his spankings, slow but merciless. Deku is careful not to go too far, no matter how difficult that might be with the lust that clouds his vision, painting his sight bright red.

“Good girl,” he rewards you by stopping, grabbing your plush ass in his fingertips, digging blunt nails into your skin so it stings even harsher.

You rut your hips back against his hand at the sudden jolt of pain, tears dripping from your eyelids to the mattress, staining the sheets a darker shade. You whimper, your mind unable to focus on any one stimulation – your ass, your cunt, or your throat.

“You think you’re ready for my cock?” he asks, although you know it to be rhetorical.

You’re nodding your head anyway, desperately begging inaudibly for him to stuff you full, your cunt suffocating around his cock as he pounds into you. Deku slowly drags his hand from your pussy, words dripping just like your core, “What was that, Princess? I couldn’t hear you.”

Now you’re foaming at the mouth to force syllables from between your teeth, blubbering around tears. You sniffle, frustrated with your own headspace and timid with the thought of punishment for not answering quick enough, “Y-Yes, Daddy. I-I’m ready.”

“Hey,” he runs his hand, searing from the spankings, up the length of your spine, fingertips mapping out each vertebra, “you still with me, baby?”

You turn to look over your shoulder when he brushes his thumb over the little blooming bruises on your neck, evidence of his fingers claiming you for his own, “Yeah, I-I’m right here.”

A smile tugs on his lips, his fingers finally pulled from your sopping heat to coat his cock in your slick. You whimper at the loss of contact, cunt fluttering around nothing as you beg for him to fill you up again, any way he chooses.

And he obliges you, bottoming out within the first stroke.

You can’t help it when a fresh set of saltine droplets track down your cheeks, your head thrown back in pleasure as he holds himself steady, his pelvis flush with your ass. It still burns, the stinging of skin-on-skin doing little to quell the ache from his spankings. You lick your lips to try and soothe yourself in some way, your throat already crackling from use.

Licking your lips, you gently move back against him, encouraging him, “Daddy, I want you to fuck me. Please, won’t you fuck me?”

Deku sounds like he’s trying to hold back some sort of salacious sound, a strangled noise caught in his throat like barbed wire. You look back at him, chin pressed against your collarbone. It’s the sight of you that does him in, that wants to claim you for every ounce of what you’ve got to give. He wants to mark your body until there is no color remaining but bright purple and blue and red, bruises and scrapes alike adorning your pretty body, letting the whole world know exactly who you belong to.

The thought of sinking his teeth into every available spot of skin that he can find makes his fingers curl tighter around the supple skin of your thighs until you’re crying out for him. You writhe beneath him as opens his eyes, baring even your soul with his stare. His body squirms as he withstands the desire to launch himself at you, feral and promising with his teeth finding your pristine body and marring it for his own selfish cause.

At least then your bodies would match in their markings.

You’d be his own little galaxy; he muses as his hands massage into your thighs to keep himself busy, so he doesn’t follow through on the yearnings rolling around in his mind. He can see you stood next to him, your body littered in affections – hickeys that are blown out all around your body, little nebulas and planets with their swirling colors of purple and blue; long lines of bright pink scratch marks that streak forward like shooting stars curling around your muscles; pierced tooth marks that scatter across your body like stars.

Even though he’s the Number One Pro Hero, Izuku has never felt so whole until he’s balls deep in your pussy, the tip of him tucked up against your cervix so much so that you swear you feel him in your spine. He takes one palm to gently brush over your stomach, the bulge of his cock making his pride swell almost as much as your belly. You are his whole world, whether or not you are just as bruised and battered as he is. He will bear the burden of the scars if it means he can have you like this forever.

“Take me so well, Princess,” he murmurs into the skin of your shoulders, leaning forward so his chest is pressed flush with your back.

He is hot, but not unbearably so. Almost in a way that reminds you he is still there, an anchor for your soul to latch onto in the darkness of the room, holding you firmly to tether you to this version of reality. You grasp the sheets in your hands, desperate to feel him but unable to from this position, so you settle for the thread count instead.

“Please, Daddy, I want to feel you,” you beg him again, whimpers bubbling up into your chest like champagne bubbles. The effervescent feeling is almost too much, too overwhelming, as it rushes to your head quickly. You have to close your eyes, so you do not get dizzy. You see stars as your lids come down over your pupils and the sight of them reminds you of Izuku’s body. So much so that you want to look up at him again, begging him with your words, “Want to touch you.”

Deku obliges you, slowly pumping his tremoring cock in and out of your heat, coating himself in your slick before twisting your body around so you can peer up at him through half-lidded eyes, “Look at this slutty, sloppy pussy. Such a pathetic little mess for me, aren’t’cha?”

“Yes, Daddy, all for you.” You nod, blinking repeatedly to try and keep your eyesight clear so you can make out his beautiful travesty of a body. Despite the absolute adoration held in your pretty orbs, Deku notices that it is not his face you seek out when you first are turned to look at him, instead your eyes drift to the bared parts of his body that he hates most.

It would seem that each time you find him this way, with your hands mapping out his torso underneath your touch, you find a new part of him, a new marking that you don’t remember being there before. Your breath shudders from your lungs and it feels like thunder erupts in your chest when you breathe, “Please, Daddy.”

You are pouting as you start to run your touch up his arms, starting at his wrists where his palms are pinning your hips into the bed. You swirl your thumbnail around the familiar scars of his hands, those old marks from his time at Yuuei, pushing himself to be the best young hero-in-training there ever was. You recall watching the Sports Festival in his first year, the fight with Todoroki Shouto like a burnt ember settled in the back of your mind. You see the fire and the ice, the shuddering arena shaking with the imminent power of the teenager prodigies.

A hum buzzes in your throat as your fingerprints map out the way to his elbows, finding lengthy scars that make you shudder. Your tongue lolls out against your lips as you wish you could patch his body up with your kiss. You know that he does not marvel at the sight of himself in the same way that you might; you put him up on this pedestal, scars and all, and yet he only sees them as a weakness.

The rough patch of tarnished skin on his right bicep has begun to lose its rigidity as time passes. It was one of his first scars and has been worn down with time. Your hand still finds it, though, even as your eyes are screwed shut and he is angled away from you. It’s like you have a map of his body burned into the back of your eyelids, memorized from all of the times that you’ve fallen apart beneath him or comforted him with your touch.

He is patronizing when he speaks next, eyes blown to hell at the sight of you so far gone for him when he hasn’t even brought you to your first orgasm. He can feel you spasming around him, cunt flexing to try and coax him closer to the edge. He is nowhere near the precipice, holding himself off for your sake, wanton to see you come undone around his cock.

Your pupils try their hardest to focus, begging to be drawn to his bedraggled skin, the stark contrast between tan skin and pale scars heightened even further in your blissed-out state. Your palm flattens against the marking on his bicep, the flayed spot even more expansive than your hand in its entirety. You gasp as he ruts up into you painfully quick, your fingers digging into the rugged flesh, nails biting against the ridges.

When he stills within you, it gives you a moment to slacken your hold and trace the corners of the scar, pretending that he is a patchwork quilt, an antique that you’ll never be able to get enough of. You take a breath and use your free hand to find his chest, a lightning-bolt shaped scar that runs from his collarbone down until it fizzles out into a small scratch near where his taut pectorals meet.

Midoriya trails his thumb downward to your clit, brushing the rough pad of his finger against your sensitive bud. You mewl into the mattress, face turning sideways into the pillow as you no longer are able to hold yourself upright. You beg him to fuck you harder, faster, with something more that you know he has not given you yet.

“What do you want, baby girl? Tell Daddy exactly what you want me to do to this pathetic, slutty little pussy.”

You gasp out words, but he cannot make sense of them as they’re lost in the fabric of the sheets. He slams into you once before dragging his cock outward, slowly skimming the tip between your folds, “Louder. Or else I’m spanking you again.”

He thinks for a moment, tilting his head to consider you as he looks down his nose at you, “And I’m flipping you back over.”

“N-No, please, wanna-” You are begging for breath, your inflamed lungs burning with the lack of oxygen, and you can’t make syllables coherent enough for him to understand. You whimper, squeezing your eyes closed as the brunt of his hand comes down hard over your ass repeatedly until you’re screaming.

Izuku is holding you by the ass, both hands dug deep into the plush skin, “Did I fucking stutter?”

You are able to behold one last gaze of his ethereal body, skin marked like the night sky, before he has you with your face dug into the pillow, his cock and hips jackhammering into you from behind. He does not give you but a moment to breath, the fabric of the pillow stuffing your throat as you try to inhale through your mouth. You cough and it causes your cunt to squeeze around his dick. Deku stutters forward, a choking sound echoing in the back of his throat.

“Holy hell,” he mutters, leaning forward to drape himself across your back, reaching around with his hands to pinch at your nipples. “So fuckin’ tight, little one. Such a good girl for me, yeah?”

You whimper out something that sounds like a response, so he takes the lead and starts rutting into you again, the obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing off of the walls. You can’t help the drool that spills from your tongue, wetting the sheets and sticking to your chin. You’re practically in tears as he abuses your pussy with his cock, it only growing as you feel the buildup of his power starting to swell from within him.

The air turns electric, but not nearly hot enough for you to know that he’s turned his quirk on. You force a glance over your shoulder, mewling out something that sounds like a pleading cry for him to turn you back so you can gaze up at him again.

“But I like taking you like this, Princess,” Izuku runs his thumbs over your ass, using the cusp of his power to strike small lightning bolts of seafoam color against the skin of your backside. You jolt at the pain, bucking your hips back into him and he moans, “There you go, baby.”

You whine, curling your toes against his hips from your position. He chuckles at the sign of desperation, sweat glistening down your back from exertion. His hips slam forward again, and you’re sure he’s bruised your cervix this time with how deep he has buried himself into you. There are ridges of scar tissue around his hip bones that you can feel even as he fucks into you from behind, the raised skin making your ass burn from where he has slapped you with the strength of his quirk.

“Daddy, I wanna,” you are panting like a puppy into the sheets, your pussy dripping onto the mattress beneath you. You huff out a breath and squeal when he splits your pussy open again with a particularly rough thrust forward, “Daddy!”

Deku pinches your backside with both hands, the biting touch of pain making your eyes water until tears are coating your lashes and staining the pillowcase, “What, huh? What more do you want, Princess?”

You know that Izuku is a sucker for your needs. If you whine hard enough, he’ll give you anything you want. So, with that in mind, you pout to give your demeanor an even more innocent aspect, “I-I wanna kiss you, p-please.”

As expected, he stills his hips from where he is bruising your ass with his scars and bones alike. You wonder for a moment if the imprint of his marred skin will leave an impression on you if you could carry around a little piece of him always.

However, this time when he yanks himself from you, a squelching sound echoes throughout the room in tandem with your mewling whine at the loss of heat, and he does not reenter you immediately. You are about to stutter out something akin to a protest, but you feel his fingertips dip into your sides and instead you let loose a yelp.

Deku takes you by the hips, easily yanking you upward and flipping you around so your back is flush with the mattress, the sweat on your spine making the sheets stick to you. Your eyes are wide, hands gripping into his marred biceps like claws sinking into his skin.

“What?” he is smirking as he nudges his nose against yours, the heat of his cock pressed into your folds but not penetrating just yet. “I like this angle better.”

He nips at your skin before pulling himself back, his hand groping your breast with purpose. He is tweaking your nipple under his touch while his other hand runs his cock against your slick heat, teasing you mercilessly. He watches the lips of your pussy tense when he gets close, wavering at the anticipation of his cock dredging into you with force.

“Plus,” Deku tilts his head, palm reaching up from your chest to grab your face between his fingers, “you never answered me.”

His thumb finds your clit again, dick teasing you by resting between your thighs, throbbing and dripping with a mixture of your arousal and his pre. His fingers are intense as they squeeze your cheeks together, lips ballooned out pertly. Deku chuckles at the sight of you, red in the face and begging him for more with the subtlety of your eyes.

Something twinges within him as he can’t keep your focus on his eyes, but rather on his body. He should feel pride swell in his chest at your adoration of his finely tuned body from years of hard work, but he knows that you are focused on the scars of his body and it gives him a sour taste in his mouth.

The thoughts in his mind flee from your pert chest and smooth stomach and instead he wonders what it is about his skin that you find so enticing. You run your fingertips over each ridged scar, finding the different colors of worn skin beneath the pads of your hands, showing them immense affection with just a gentle touch. His whole body shudders at the feel of you appreciating him with massaging motions and tracing, but he wants to ask you the questions he’s been begging silently for months, years even.

You are trying to form words, but the only thing coming from your mouth is spittle, drool seeping through the cracks of your lips until it coats your chin, cool beneath the air conditioning. Slowly your eyes roll forward so you can look into his darkened pupils, the middle of his irises resembling the darkest beauty marks that he has littered throughout his body. You smile at the sight of his intense irises seeking you out.

Midoriya laughs as the heel of his hand sops it up, smearing it back against your lips before cleaning his palm on the bed sheets. He leans forward, his cock sheathed fully within you as he grows closer to your face. Your palm reaches out to cup his jaw, the tips of your fingers finding the familiar pale lines of his skin to trace like it were a nervous tick.

“C’mon, now,” he kisses your nose, an innocent gesture in stark contrast to the intense motions he’s administering to your clit. “Tell Daddy.”

Your mouth splits wide open with the three words, a confession you know that he’s heard you utter before, but it does not come any less lascivious from your lips the more you beg, “One for All.”

He does not respond immediately, pupils dilated as he glances down at you. Your body squirms beneath his lack of movement, begging for some sort of friction on any part of you. The skin of your ass tingles as he presses you down firmer into the mattress, and you want to cry out but all you can blubber is those three words, again and again, as you plead for him to use his quirk on you.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you swear to him, nodding your head enthusiastically, “I want it so bad, Daddy, please, I want you to-”

Your begging is cut short by a sizzling in the air, the familiar popping of his quirk activating making your skin pebble with goosebumps. Your mouth runs dry at the sight of his skin lighting up with those familiar red lines, power coursing through his veins and making his hair stand on end.

Reaching up, you run your fingers through it, nails scraping at his scalp so you can feel the heat of his energy sparking against your fingertips. You arch your back upward to try and catch some of the wayward sparks, the salacious stinging of your skin only furthering the copious amount of slick between your thighs.

Deku tilts his head up to look you in the eyes, pupils shrunken down so his sea green irises can shine bright, glowing in the darkness of your bedroom. The entire room is aglow with his power, the very strength and resilience that has allowed him to build up so much intensity a conduit for your pleasure. His cock pulses against your thighs and you find yourself clenching around him, your body begging for him to stay close, too frightened at what might happen if he were to pull away.

“This what you wanted?”

His voice is deeper now, a rumbling timbre in his chest that makes your toes curl. You are panting at the expectancy of it all, sweat trickling down your temples and spine from the sudden change in temperature. The heat rises the longer he uses his quirk, so much so that you wonder if you could burn from it. The thought excites you, lights up your eyes until you cannot hold it in anymore.

You lean forward to kiss him on the mouth, slotting your lips between his. Pops of electricity stem from his entire body, sparking in midair before fizzling out with a gentle wash of ash. Deku licks at the seam of your lips, pressing his tongue between your teeth to map out every bump of your gums.

“Please,” you whimper against his tongue, “fuck me, hero.”

You have no more than spoken the words when his cock slips into your heat, coated with your arousal as quickly as he can rut forward. He grits his teeth to keep his composure, body trying to crumble between the use of his quirk and the feel of your tight cunt. You can’t help but notice the way he stretches you out even more so now than before, and you know that it’s in part to the fact that his girth has widened even further after he’s summoned his dormant power.

Deku reaches forward to press his glowing palm to your chest, rolling the bud of your breast between his fingertips as he starts to fuck into you. Your body is racked with effort, practically a ragdoll beneath him, all weak joints and jellied bones. And yet he is as powerful as ever between his mouth and his hands and his dick, every part of him built for your utmost undoing.

Lines of electricity fly from his body, bright green lightning strikes making the air pop all around you. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth when the first one stings your skin, lighting up the room in a flash of intense voltage. Izuku pauses, his hips stilling, “Baby?”

“Again,” you are panting, eyes half-closed as you revel in the pleasure from the shockwave. “Please.”

Deku has to focus on the electric side-effect of his quirk, closing his eyes so he can control the power radiating from his body. He starts to roll his hips into you slowly, once he feels settled with the coursing energy brought on by One for All.

You peel your lids back so you can watch as energy rushes through his frame, lighting up his body in such a way that reminds you of the pure power that he keeps hidden from the world most of the day. The light coursing just beneath his skin only serves to further draw out the beauty of his marred skin. His freckles are stars painted against the bright red and green patterns of electricity surging around his body like lightning bolts. You reach up to brush your thumbs against the apples of his cheeks, sucking in a breath at the sheer heat he’s radiating.

The reality that you have the very universe under your touch does not go unnoticed by you. You marvel at the constellations splayed out before you on his skin, giving you a small drop of the milky way right here in your home. It is overwhelming, the thought of it all dizzying as the heat thuds against the back of your eyes. And despite the boulder that sits on your shoulders at the burden of having to hold up his universe, you feel a jolt of exhilaration with the responsibility settling in your belly. You will be the one who he can crumble into when he’s tired of shining out for everyone else.

After all, a star can only be born after a nebula collapses.

Deku’s arms are strong around you as he holds you in place, cock sliding deep into your heated core, collecting your slick and his pre for easier lubrication, the thick vein on the underside of his shaft making you shiver as it drags against your walls. His biceps flex with the use of his quirk and the effort of holding you in midair to keep you snapped up into him and your hands are drawn to his bulging muscles all over again.

There is no doubt that he could keep you safe from any harm – one flick of his fingers, and a villain is rendered to a helpless annoyance.

The notion makes you shiver, reaching your hands up towards his shoulders, caressing his arms to feel the protruding cords of muscle rippling under the stress of his quirk. Your fingerprints find scars, puckered pink and marring his pretty tan skin. Other people might think that these markings make him weak, proving that he is fallible, mortal. But you think that every line on his body is a visible reminder that he has given so much to those who might not ever give it back. He has been beaten, bruised, and broken, and yet here he still stands, tall and proud in the face of danger.

Izuku knows that look in your eyes – wonder, awe, respect.

It swells his pride even further, his chest taut as he puffs himself up at the sight of you with adoration like stars in your irises. His thrusts are more intense now, guiding you closer to the cusp of pleasure, begging your body with the pulse of his cock to come undone.

“I-Izu, please.” You’re pushing your face into the pillow now, the burning hot pool building up steam in your belly becoming too much. He doesn’t even care that you’ve slipped up, not when he’s got you wrapped around him like a coil, working you from the inside out to drag the licentious sounds from your throat.

“Please what, Princess?” His hand sparks electricity around your chest, your nipple now pert with the fizzle of electricity as it creeps beneath your skin and into your veins. “Look at me, c’mon.”

He smacks the side of your breast, watching as the round flesh ripples under his ministrations. He breathes heavy, his chest inflating rapidly as his hips drill mercilessly into you. You clamp around him, quietly pleading with him to stay buried to the hilt so you.

When you don’t respond by turning your head, Midoriya grabs you by the cheeks, dominantly forcing your vision back to him. He’s almost regretful when you whimper, a shining trail of drool spilling from your mouth to pool into the pillowcase. The damp spot draws his attention and his cock twitches within your pussy, brushing up into your cervix and making you cry out, throat so hoarse that your voice cracks.

Izuku blinks hard, pulling his eyes away from the dark circle on the pillow to focus on your face, slipping his thumb into your mouth to press down on the center of your tongue. He smirks, his free hand holding you by the ass now, digging blunt nails into your flesh to create a conduit for his electricity to flow straight to your backside.

You whimper around his digit, the sound muffled by his finger, “G-Gonna come, Daddy.”

“Are you now?” he asks proudly, tilting his head to consider you. “Did I say you could come?”

You’re shaking your head as he grabs your ass harder, bringing tears to your eyes at the immense pressure combined with the raw feeling from his spankings earlier. As if to challenge you, Deku starts jutting forward, driving your hips deeper into the mattress until you feel like you might fall through.

The use of his quirk makes him so much stronger, his corded body trying to restrain from using its full power on you, despite calling all of it forward. He grits his teeth down so hard that you think you hear his jaw creaking, but you hardly have time to notice before you’re having to ward off your own pleasure. Using every ounce of One for All, Izuku bruises your cervix with the engorged head of his cock, the quirk enlarging every part of him.

You beg him with blurred words and hazy vision, whining and keening, until he’s leaning down close to your face, his hand now moved from your mouth to your throat, wet fingers wrapped around your neck.

“Good girl,” he murmurs with his nose against your cheek, lips dancing along your jawline to place feather light kisses, much in contrast to the otherwise bludgeoning intensity of the rest of his ministrations. “Such a pretty little thing.”

Your eyes find his face as he leans back to look down at you, the freckles dusted over his cheeks stark beneath his bright red streaks symbolizing the use of his quirk. You reach upward to tuck your palm against his cheek, cupping the skin burning hot with the coursing energy of his power. Your thumb brushes over the roundest part of his face and his eyes shudder closed at the feeling.

He kisses your wrist, bottoming out into your cunt with a harsh thrust forward. Deku turns his gaze to you, electric irises finding your soul through way of your pupils, “You gonna come when I tell you?”

“Yes, yes,” you’re practically foaming at the mouth, little spit bubbles at the corners of your lips at the thought of coming around his cock, your arousal mixed with his seed as he fills your core with his come. “Please, Daddy, I wanna come for you.”

Izuku nods, kissing your wrist again before falling back on his thick legs to grab you by the thighs, lifting you up off the mattress. It is just a display of his strength, his biceps bulging with effort, but it does what he intends for it to do when he feels your dripping arousal slipping from your slit down to drip onto the mattress.

“Fuck, look at your sloppy little pussy, Princess,” Deku moans at the sight of your silvery slick pouring out of you. He runs his thumb against the curve of your backside to catch what he can, running it over your clit before sucking his digit between his teeth.

Using his damp fingertip, Izuku begins to work at your clit, his other hand still pinning your thighs up in midair. He licks his lips at the sight of you on the cusp of pleasure, your body begging to come undone with the way your pussy clamps around his cock.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes you with a kind voice, electric pops crackling in the air like fireworks. “Come for me.”

You quit holding back, letting your body rush with a mix of adrenaline and pleasure. Every part of you is on fire, from his touch mixed with the searing heat of his body and the green lightning that strikes your body to leave tiny pink pucker marks. The sight of you marked up by his teeth and tongue and quirk bring him to his own heightened arousal, unable to hold back when he feels you gush with come from within the confine of your walls.

The glowing iridescent light making the room fluorescent fades into the dark with every spurt of his come into your cunt until he is no longer using One for All.

“Good girl,” he kisses your cheek, “now let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

You’re not sure what flips the switch within you – whether it’s the tight look of his uniform showing off the peaked buds of his nipples and the engorged head of his cock, or if it’s the blush on his freckled cheeks, making him look so much younger than the twenty plus years old he is now.

Whatever it is, it makes your mouth water and your fingertips buzz.

“Bedroom. Now.”

“B-But, the pad tha-”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

Izuku’s thighs spasm at the authoritative tone of your voice and suddenly he feels about two inches tall despite towering over you no matter the situation. He tucks his head downward as he walks past you, down the hall towards the bedroom the two of you now share. Usually he is the one speaking those words as he stands over the top of you, his hand stinging red from spanking your ass as he orders you around, but the way they sound from your tone of voice makes his entire body quake.

The soft click of the door as it slips shut makes goosebumps rise on his skin, the stubbled hair on the back of his neck standing as upright as possible. There is a grunt from your mouth and a shuffling of your feet on the carpet as you kick off your shoes.

“B-Baby, I-”

Somehow you have shoved your foot into the crook of his knee, toppling him over onto the bed so he’s face first into the mattress, his ass perked upward as he tries to balance himself so he does not fall over. The globes of his backside are stretched tight within the spandex of his uniform, and you know the beautiful expanses of freckled skin that lay beneath the material.

Izuku looks over his shoulder, attempting to protest or ask you what is wrong, but you don’t want to hear it, so you lean forward and press your palm against his cheek, “You don’t speak unless spoken to, do you understand?”

He’s whimpering under your harsh touch, but the way his pupils dilate tells you that he’s enjoying it at least enough to test it out. You shove yourself backward, centered between his ass cheeks as your knees dig into the edge of the mattress. The tips of your fingernails run over the plush flesh of his backside, digging in to make him gasp and writhe beneath you.

Your heart hammers in your chest at seeing the up and coming Pro Hero wriggling like a frightened animal under your ministrations, and you’ve barely laid a hand on him yet. You run your knuckle up his spine, “Take your top off.”

The way he balances his head on the mattress and grapples with his shirt in an attempt to take it off is almost comical, so you crack a smile, thankful that he can’t see you. You lick your lips and drag your hand back down his back to rest at the base of his spine as he scrambles to take the shirt off, but he’s too flustered and it ends up bunched up around his neck and shoulders.

Finally, he gets so frustrated that he rips the fabric in half, shreds of thread falling against his skin and the sheets. You feel heat flood to your core, your spine white hot within your body, the tingles of heat spreading from the center of you outward until your fingertips and toes are blazing with fire.

You hum in appreciation at the sight of his rippling shoulders and trap muscles, his body shifting to dip back into the mattress, balancing all of his weight on his forearms as he leans forward. Your touch drifts from his shoulders to his obliques, the bumps of muscle corded beneath your digits. You watch as his body ripples with a shiver, every one of his muscles tensing as your fingers pad over his freckles, finding patches of darker skin to administer affection to.

It must be the pure anticipation that has his frame tense and quivering, the smallest of muscles twitching as you work your hands around his body. You settle your palms at his hips, flattening your hand against the expanse of skin at the center of his torso, “Baby, relax.”

You lean forward and kiss the dense smattering of freckles between his shoulder blades, “Now be a good little hero and take off your pants.”

The way you say it sends another wave of pleasure straight to his cock, the already throbbing organ about ready to bust from arousal and you haven’t even disrobed him yet.

Your feet pad against the carpet as you find your way to the edge of the bed, stripping out of your outerwear until you’re left in only a dark lace set, the filigree bringing out the beauty of your skin. Izuku goes dumb at the sight, turning his head just enough to get an eyeful of your chest area. His eyes about bug out of his head, wide and blown with lust as his tongue lolls over his lips, dripping a silvery string of drool onto the bed sheets.

“C’mon, Deku,” you force the word to come out in a patronizing tone, “strip for me.”

He swallows, his throat bobbing, but somehow manages to push through the aroused haze clouding his judgment to wriggle himself out of his tight-fitting hero suit. The bright green fabric is left in a pool on the floor, tattered clothes just the start of your destruction.

The head of his cock is bright red and there is a part of you that falters, wanting to beg him to take control and absolutely demolish your pussy with his harsh, controlling movements and his filthy mouth. It lasts but a moment, and yet he can still see it. There is a shift in his eyes, the way he considers you, and he leans forward to say something, but you’re grabbing him by the face, cheeks between your fingers, before he can speak.

“Roll over.”

Izuku does as told with little hesitation, flopping his shoulders around so his ass is once again in the air, primes and ready for your palm to lavish with spankings. Your breath shudders from your lungs and you lock your thighs in place by tensing them, centering yourself between his knees. The balls of his heels come into contact with your hips as he sways slightly, his mind dizzy from the promise of pleasure.

“How many?” you ask, your voice low and sultry, surprising even you with the depth of it.

A choking noise can be heard, but it’s muffled by the pillow. You chuckle, patting his ass prospectively, feeling the flesh ripple beneath your complacent prodding. Dipping forward, your chest falls flush with his back as you press feathery kisses over his midsection, finding the freckles like little gold pieces, adding each one to your treasure chest as you kiss it.

Izuku manages to spit out a number, something reasonable, and so you add a few more on top of it in your mind, smirking even though he cannot see you. You run the pads of your fingers down from the tops of his shoulders to the globes of his ass, the perky, round muscles making your stomach flip. You can’t wait to see the way his bruised ass mixed with the dark brown freckles of his skin – how beautiful the colors will be, how it might actually look more like a galaxy with shades of purple and blue as an accent to the brunette freckles dotting his skin like the night sky currently.

You reach your hands back and start to lay into him, counting the spankings in your head without keeping track of them aloud. You stop after you’re satisfied with his whimpering cries, his face buried deeper into the pillow with each endearing smack.

An errant thought crosses your mind and you can’t help but to dwell on it. If Izuku is already blubbering, how much farther can you take this before he’s crying into the pillow? The idea that you can bring one of the strongest men in the world to tears sets off a string of dynamite in your heart, the fuse triggering something akin to pride in your chest. You feel your whole body swell at the thought and you know that you must make it a reality tonight.

“How many was that?” you ask patronizingly, digging your nails into his ass to hear him squeak.

Your hands are already raw, burning at the feel of slapping his muscled backside repeatedly. Still, you knead your hands into him to elicit a pained whine. He writhes under you, his hands curling around the sheets until they’re beginning to rip under his tight grip.

“I-I dunno,” he blurts, a curt sob breaking his words. “I’m sorry!”

You chuckle and it comes out much darker than you originally intended. You release his ass, the thick of it jiggling as you let go. The pads of your fingers are gentle as you wash your touch over him, appreciating the way the redness of his freshly spanked cheeks brings out the deep color of his freckles, the splotches even more prevalent now that his body has been momentarily abused.

“Oh, you’re gonna be sorry, baby,” you kiss each of his ass cheeks, flicking your tongue out to tease the heated skin, “you better start counting.”

Just as you punctuate your sentence with a sigh, your hands begin to strike him repeatedly. You struggle to keep count, desperately wanting to listen to his moans and whimpers as he gasps, mewling with both pain and pleasure as you lay into his backside. Midoriya is already misty-eyed, the feel of your domineering touch just enough to bring him to a subservient headspace, his spirit wallowing in the pain that your hands are doling out.

You barely have time to stop before he’s blurting out the number that matches the one you’ve counted. You smirk, leaning forward so your nipples scrape against his skin, “Good job, baby.”

The heels of your palms are what is stinging the most, so you can only imagine how his ass feels. You have a momentary relapse in thought, wondering if maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, if maybe you’re going to push him to an edge he can’t come back from.

Although, when too much silence has passed and he is turning to gaze up at you over his shoulder, every inhibition you have flies directly out of the room through the crack in the door. His eyes are blitzed, lust making his pupils swallow the color of his irises, forehead crinkled in desperation as he attempts to form words to beg you back to him.

You rub at the pert skin, brushing your thumbs over the smattering of freckles on the roundest parts of his ass. Deku is whimpering beneath you, calf muscles fully flexed as he rocks back and forth in anticipation of your next slap.

“Such a good little hero,” you murmur, massaging your hands into his glute muscles. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Izuku whines, toes curling up beside your hips. He huffs but you can’t see his face to notice how fucked-out his eyes have become. You dig your fingernails into the flesh of his ass, and he preens, eyes bulging out of their sockets at the sudden stinging sensation.

You answer him with a resounding smack on his backside, making sure that your fingertips are curved just right, along with your palm, to make it sound much worse than it truly is, praying that you can manipulate his mind into believing that you’ve marked him for longer than a few moments.

The way the freckles on his skin trail from the top of his body to the bottom is nothing short of enticing. It brings about a certain innocence to him, something hidden that only you are allowed to know of. Your eyes can’t stop trying to put together a map of his body, begging to know just where the freckles begin and end. He is littered with them, his body darkening from time spent in the sun.

“P-Please,” his whole body is convulsing in pleasure. You can see his cock throbbing between his thighs and the mattress, his balls weighty with the impending excitement of his release. The bedsheet have a damp spot near the tip of his cock, most likely from his pre dripping at the sudden shakes of his body from your spankings, “I-I want more, Princess. Please!”

You smirk, hand hot from repeated spankings, “What’s your number?”

Deku pants, digging his nose into the mattress as if that might save him from having to answer. His hands are clamped around the sheets, nails threatening to rip into the thread count mercilessly, “I-I dunno, I don’t know!”

Your hand comes down over his ass repeatedly, unrelenting in your ministrations as you mark his backside bright red. You know that there will be little busted blood vessels to mix along with his freckled skin, purple lightning strikes that serve as a reminder to the way you broke down his resolve and conquered his body.

“P-Princess,” he whines, voice cracking in the midst of his sentence as he tries to beg for repentance, “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

You curve your fingernails into his skin, uncaring to the way his body fully tenses, dips and curves of muscle and sinew on full display as he lays completely bare against the mattress. You want to strew yourself across him to feel the ripples of his muscles as he tenses under your touch, to know the reactions of his body as they are happening firsthand. A chill tremors down your spine at the thought of him, all dense and thick beneath you, and how you have complete and utter control over him. You hold his pleasure in your hands, he’s entrusted himself to you in this very vulnerable situation, and the reality of it almost brings tears to your eyes.

Instead you focus your energy into snarling around your teeth, sneering his name like slander, “C’mon, Deku, be a good little bitch and tell me what you think you can handle.”

He is verbally silent, the only thing you can make out from his face smushed into the sheets is mewling whimpers to match the way his body quivers. You teasingly stroke your thumbnail over the blushed skin of his backside, bouncing your touch from freckle-to-freckle as you scrape your nails into him.

Another couple of seconds pass by before you snatch your hand from his ass so you can slap him again when he spurts out an answer, “Th-Thirty!”

“Fifty it is,” you chuff, digging your fingertips into his buttocks in a massaging motion, preparing him for the next round of spankings. He pants, rutting his hips forward into the mattress for some sort of friction against his throbbing erection, balls weighty with his release as they slap between his legs.

You tap his hip, letting him know that you want him to readjust himself. Izuku bends at the waist, seething as the bruised skin of his bottom stretches with the motion. You resituate yourself between his knees, ass directly in front of your face. A gentle kiss is pressed to either of his cheeks, eyelashes daintily brushing over his throbbing flesh, and he jolts his hips back into you until your teeth graze his skin.

“Eager little thing,” you tut your tongue, grabbing him harshly by the hips.

You selfishly want to mark him up, to remind the world that he belongs to you no matter how much of himself he gives away every other moment of his life. When the sun goes down, when the bright sky bleeds into the night, he comes home to you and the both of you fall asleep under the stars, wrapped in one another’s arms.

Izuku’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, sweat dripping down his spine as you press up into him, “Such a slut for me, huh, honey?”

The next time he backs into you, you pinch his ass between your fingers on one side and on the other cheek you bite down hard into his skin. Midoriya bucks forward at the sudden jolt of pain, only worsening the scratches left behind by your canines. He grinds his face into the mattress, pressing the mix of his tears and sweat into the sheets, begging for a cool release from the heat of his body as he searches for it in the mattress. You swear that he sobs into the pillow, begging you for something, but you can’t quite make out all of the syllables.

You line up behind him, your lower abdomen flush with his round, freckled bottom, “You ready, baby?”

“Princess, please,” his voice is hoarse now, all jagged around the edges as he begs you for more, “I-I want you to be rough with me, please? I wan’ you to mark me up.”

On command, your fingernails dig into the flesh at the curves of his shoulders, raking down the length of his back in one elongated swoop. He cries out, throwing his head back so his green curls brush the piques of his shoulders, and he grinds his hips back into you. You can’t help the low growl that claws at your throat as you trail your index finger down over the ghostly sight that your nails have left behind. He seethes through his teeth at the burning sensation lighting his back on fire, but he still does not complain.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you handled, okay?” Your hands find purchase on the curves of his obliques, fingernails burrowing into the taut skin of his abdomen, crescent moon patterns left in the wake of you. “I’m gonna make sure all the other heroes know who you belong to.”

Your name bubbles from his lips, a prayer he’s pushing to the heavens, blessing the stars with his babbling. In the midst of one of his mutterings, you begin your next round of pert spanks to his ass. You give him little reprieve, counting in your head as you go along.

He’s a blubbering mess, all mismatched syllables and grunts and moans tearing his throat apart until he’s crying for you to mark him as yours, to claim him in a way that leaves no question as to who he belongs to. The echoes of please, please, please bounce off every wall, a cacophony of sound making the hair on your neck stand erect.

When you finish, your hands are stinging profusely, but you make sure to soothe your palms over his bottom, the flesh bright red and angry. His freckles look even darker now that his skin has been accented with the beginnings of purple bruises and crimson handprints left behind. You coo, leaning forward to kiss the center of his back, pressing your body into him so you’re flush with every inch of him that you can find, “What do you say, pretty boy?”

When Midoriya turns to look at you over his shoulder, his eyes blissed-out so his pupils swallow his viridescent irises whole, he gargles the words, “thank you,” in a cracked whisper. You nod, trailing a row over kisses down the dip of his spine, nudging your nose over his muscled body, silently telling him to relax.

“You want more?” you ask him quietly, your hands digging into any surface of him that you can find to try and release some of the tension built up from the time spent together. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Please, Princess, please,” he’s blubbering out the words, thick and heavy with the emotion pent-up in his throat, “I just wan’ be good for you, whatever you want.”

You tilt your head, brows furrowing in playful contemplation, “Whatever I want, huh?”

He’s nodding ferociously, his chin knocking into his chest with his enthusiastic actions. You know part of it is to make up for the lack of words that he can’t force through his teeth, so you merely chuckle and give him one final spank to his backside, “Roll over then.”

The speed with which he fumbles into rolling over onto his back is comical. You watch as a flurry of limbs wind together only to come apart again when he’s on his back. Izuku is wincing, the glassiness in his eyes reminiscent of tears and he’s trying his hardest to come across like he’s not in pain, although you see the way that he favors putting more of his weight on his shoulders instead of his ass so he’s bent at an odd angle.

“Whatever you want,” he is gasping the words out, puffs of exaggerated but necessary breath forcing his cheeks to inflate. “I’m yours.”

The words make your whole body puff up, heat starting in your core and creating steam that rises from your esophagus to your brain. It becomes muddled and you’re hazy now, drunk off of the power that he has given you with those five words. You reach forward and slide your thumb against his piqued nipple, licking your lips as you think of what you’re going to do to him not that you have him to use however you please.

“All mine?” you ask, your voice grating against the front of your throat harshly. You hum, “What do you want me to do to you then, baby?”

He’s breathing heavily through his nose now, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath, “I w-want you to use me, please, Princess, want you to use my pathetic cock to make yourself feel good.”

You reach forward and guide his scarred hand towards your cunt, “Touch me.”

Izuku is eager to please, so he’s fumbling forward until his thumb finds your clit, ministrations errant and disastrous. It’s adorable, really, the enthusiasm with which he seeks you out only doing further service to your ego. You feel your head grow dizzier as your core turns with tumultuous heat. You know that you do not want to drag this out too far as you already can feel the twitch of an impending crest of pleasure building from within you.

His thick finger slides up into your heated core and it takes all of your self-restraint to keep your moans between your teeth, holding the sounds captive like they might tell all of your secrets if you let them loose. You bite your lip, sucking the skin into the bite of your teeth, tilting your head back so you can close your eyes and enjoy the pleasure as it comes.

“Maybe if you touch me just right, I’ll let you feel my pussy on your cock, huh?” You have to face him, have to see his reaction, “How does that sound?”

Midoriya is bobbing his head, agreeing to whatever words you’re speaking, he can’t quite make out any one syllable with the way his brain is drowning with the sight of you straddling him. He’s not sure what it is about you, but he absolutely adores the idea of you holding your own against him, wrapping your body around him and denying him of whatever control he normally possesses.

And maybe that is what gets you wet too, because you know that he could fling you off of him with a simple flick of his wrist, and yet here he is, letting you demolish every last shred of his self-respect.

You can’t help it, with the way he’s already beginning to drool and the sight of his eyes drinking in your semi-naked body, you have to feel the soft heat of his mouth around your fingers. It is too quick, the way you jolt forward and press the pads of your digits against his soft mouth. He moans, realizing just what you’re trying to do because he’s done it countless times himself, and opens his mouth wide.

Your fingers slip inside the seeping heat of his tongue and cheeks, the muscle lapping at your digits until they’re soaked and knuckle deep. You lean down so you are but inches from his face, the squelching sounds that your pussy and his mouth make together doing little to still the erection pressed against your ass from behind and the absolute waterfall between your thighs.

Every muscle in your body is screaming at you to sink down on top of his twitching cock and let him have his way with you, to rock yourself along his length until you’re both finding that beautiful high together. But you know that if you wait, if you drag this out and force him to bend to your will, then it will bring you both to your knees.

“So pretty with my fingers in your mouth, Izu,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth.

He attempts feebly to kiss you, turning his head, but your fingers catch on the corners of his lips and stretch the pink skin until it is pale. Your eyes flicker toward the bow of his mouth where a thin, white scar resides. You remember seeing this one when you first kissed him, and the memory of it makes you nostalgic, the years you’ve spent together built up much like his scars.

You lick a warm stripe up the column of his neck, feeling the muscles and veins throb underneath your ministrations. The heat of your breath combined with the slick of your spit makes Deku’s hips jut upward, his balls slapping loudly against your ass as he ruts into you painfully.

“Did I say you could move?” You are leant back now, your fingers still in his mouth but otherwise you are parted from him. Deku’s face pales, eyes widening in fear as he shakes his head, apologies tumbling in tandem with his spit from his lips, drool seeping down his chin until it is shiny.

The heel of your palm comes underneath his chin, so you have your hand wrapped around the lower part of his mouth, controlling his head with the simple turn of your wrist. You tilt his head upward so he can no longer see you, and pick up your hips to reposition yourself so you are hovering above him, just enough so you can start to tease the head of his cock against your slick slit.

He’s whimpering, “Please, Princess. I wanna touch you so bad, please, I wanna make you feel good.”

You let him beg for you, pumping your hand up and down his cock while you brush the angry red head over the gathering silver slick at your entrance. You chuckle as his hips shuffle in the slightest, his discomfort obvious as he is practically vibrating with the desire to take over.

“What is it, baby? Eager?” You sink yourself down far enough to take the head of his cock within your walls, clamping down hard enough to make him whine. “I can’t wait to fuck myself on this pathetic little cock, Izu. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll have to call in sick tomorrow.”

Another round of blathering drivel is boasted into the air, his words muffled by your fingers, but he still forces them out, nonetheless. His tongue continues to curl around your knuckles and lavish the pads of your digits, sucking on them in between heaving breaths. You let a small moan shake your throat, rolling your hips forward to take another bit of his dick but not all of it, not yet. The enjoyment you’re getting from his stuttering whimpers and moans only heightening your senses and arousal.

“Princess, please, I-I think I’m gonna-” An aborted rut of his hips dies when you rake your nails down the entirety of his chest. Your fingers catch on the rigid edges of some of his scars, but otherwise you turn lines of his tanned flesh red from your scratching.

Izuku whimpers, his body arching upward as he tries to take it all in stride. In doing so, he sheathes his cock completely within you, the base of his shaft now flush with your lips. You cry out at the sudden stretch, throwing your head back in pleasure as a wave of white-hot arousal makes your thighs glossy with a new wash of slick.

When you come to, you lean forward to place a palm on either side of his head, holding yourself up so you are loitering over him like a shadow, praying that you are as every bit as menacing as you’re attempting to be. You grit your teeth and roll your hips several times, unbending to even his hands on your body, relentlessly fucking his cock until he’s screaming for you to stop.

“C’mon, little hero, I thought you’d be better than this,” you take his earlobe between your teeth and tug, “I thought you’d have more will power. You’ll never be number one if you can’t even last this long beneath me.”

Izuku shakes his head, “I-I can, I can do it, I-I promise. Please, just let-”

“I don’t think you understand,” your voice is low, menacing as you nudge your nose against the bridge of his face, nuzzling the freckled skin. The intimate act is far more tender than your tone, and it gives Izuku chills that you can display such dual sides of yourself simultaneously. “I’m not letting you do anything.”

His eyes go wide as he realizes that there is nothing that he can do to change your mind, at least not in this setting. Deku’s hands still on your hips, his thumbs rubbing circular motions into your skin in a way that seems to be grounding him as much as it is stimulating you. You press a chaste kiss to his mouth before beginning to snap your hips upward and then back down onto his cock, clamping your walls around him when you feel the head of him press into that spongy spot hidden all the way in the back of your core.

You kiss all over his neck, finding clumps of freckles and stranded singular ones, lavishing the same amount of affection over each of them. Your mouth finds scars, both tiny, hairline fractures in the marble of his skin, as well as large, patchy ones that mar large splotches of his skin.

Even in these moments when you are the one doling out commands, you still find ways to appreciate his body. Your touch roams along the dips and contours of his torso, the rough ridges of your fingerprints searching for the matching ragged lines on his skin. You sigh into his throat and he slips a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, begging for you to come undone around his cock, praying that you’ll let him please you.

One of your hands wraps around his throat until you hear him choke, and then you speed up the pace of your hips until he’s begging through wheezes for you to relent. You lean back and he hikes up his legs so you can rest against his thighs, your body on full display in front of him. His eyes do not know where to land and neither do yours as you map out the various textures and colors of his skin – from the pale lightning strikes of his scars to the darker scattered splotches of freckles.

Izuku Midoriya is a vessel for the travesties of the world.

But you will spend the rest of your life trying to make up for its mistakes.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

One day it slips.

You don’t think much of it, because in the heat of the moment, with him buried at the hilt and you crying for release, the words don’t stick out very starkly against the other filth spewing from either of your mouths.

“Gonna stuff that pretty pussy full of my come, baby,” he bites your earlobe as he ruts into you mercilessly, “You’re gonna be so round and full of me.”

At the time, you thought he meant that you would be full of his cock and come, but after he starts to show particular attention to your stomach during sex, you wonder if there’s something else going on.

When he has you beneath him the next time, you drag his palm to your belly and look him in the eyes, “I want you.”

His freckles burn beneath his blush, much starker against his tanned skin thanks to the flush of warmth. Izuku tilts his head, the dark curls framing his forehead bobbing with the motion, “You have me, baby.”

You shake your head and whine at the lack of contact once he’s stilled. You bite your lip and push the heel of his palm into the gentle swell of your belly beneath your navel. He swallows, gulping so hard that his throat bobs. You lick your lips and take a short breath as he shifts above you, his knees digging into the mattress on either side of your body.

“I want you to come in me,” you murmur, tugging him downward with the gentle grip of your hand on his neck. You kiss him square on the mouth and his fingers reach to find your folds, middle and index finger parting you so they can slip inside to curl against your heat. You whine, the sound amplified as his tongue searches your teeth, “P-Please, Izu.”

Midoriya’s fingers thrust forward in you so intensely that he can feel his fingertips bulging your belly with the palm that’s pressed against your navel. His eyes widen at the sensation and it only spurs him into kissing you more fervently, teeth and tongue clashing as he tries to overwhelm every sense you possess.

You protest as he pulls his fingers from you, your eyes screwed shut as you whine. He tuts his tongue against his teeth, nudging his nose along the curve of your jaw as he places biting kisses along the bone, “Hush. Do you really think I won’t give you what you need?”

The authoritative tone in his voice brings you to silence, eyelids fluttering open so you can look him in the eyes as he leans back to balance himself on his thick thighs. Your touch is pulled from him as he goes further away, your fingers aching in midair for something to ground yourself with. Otherwise you just feel like you’re going to float away, your mind hazy with the effervescent bubbles of euphoria that travel up from your throat.

Before you have another moment to keen at the loss of his heat, he’s piercing your pussy with the head of his cock, butterflying your lips wide open so he can rut up into you with ease. The combination of his bubbling pre-come and your already slick arousal dripping from your cunt make the slam of his hips easier to take, easier to beg for.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” Izuku coos in your ear, dropping his head to your shoulder to suck on the skin of your collarbone.

The jut of his cockhead into your core makes it difficult to think, let alone form fully coherent sentences. Izuku seems to relish in this, though, because he does not slow the drag of his cock or the flow of his words. He continues to goad you into begging for his release, for what you truly want, and it’s maddening. Your eyes cross beneath your lids at the overstimulation of it all until you’re blurting out the first thing on your mind.

“I wan’ you to breed me, Daddy!”

Izuku falters for a moment at the brashness of your words, but you barely have time to feel bashful before he’s rolling his hips again, growling near your ear with a ferocity you’ve never felt from him before.

“That’s my good girl,” he mutters while trailing his lips down to your breast. He lavishes your nipple with the rough pad of his tongue, lapping over the skin carefully so you’re begging him for more. “How am I supposed to breed you, honey? Tell me.”

The patronizing tone of his voice tells you that he knows exactly what you want, but he would rather hear the request coming in the form of panting words and wanton moans from your lips. You sniffle, your eyes watering at the bruising pace he’s setting. His hands drift down the tops of your thighs, thumbs brushing against the innermost part where your skin is the most sensitive. Your cunt clamps down around him, fluttering at the ghostly feel of his tantalizing touch.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unable to think of something to say to fill the void. You bite your lip as his mouth works at your chest, tonguing your nipple before biting at the mound of skin to drive a yelp from your lips. “I want you to c-come in me, Daddy! I want you to stuff me full o-of your come, please!”

He pouts around your nipple, leaving the small space he’s just sucked a hickey into in favor of your pert bud, “I already come in you, baby girl, what do you really want me to do?”

You bite your lip and fist the sheets at your sides when you feel frustration and embarrassment wash over you. Izuku nudges his nose along the swell of your chest before leaning up to kiss your chin, hovering like a menacing shadow. His smile does little to quell the bubbling intensity in your belly.

“You can do it, sweetheart,” he’s gentler now, breaking his more dominating side so he can reassure you, “I know you can. Just tell me what you want.”

The shining in his irises makes your knees weak but bolsters your spine to force you into uttering the next words, no matter how uncomfortable they might sit in your belly. You take a breath and look up into his eyes, “I want you to put a baby in me, Izu.”

“Good girl,” he manages to muster out the words with restraining the growl that aches at the back of his throat.

His hips cant forward, fingertips now just under your knees. Your breath comes in shaking pants, your chest shuddering under your confession. Izuku kisses your cheek and then your nose, positioning his hands while he has you distracted. His mouth ascends down upon your own as his fingers dip into the supple skin and muscle of your thighs, bruising the underside with the ghost of his fingerprints as he pushes your knees back until they’re almost touching your chest or the mattress.

You gulp in pain as his cock stretches you out in a whole new way with your body flayed out like this. You look like a butterfly, your wings spread so he can smother you with his movements. Deku licks at the seam of your lips and you gasp, your mouth parting so he can delve his tongue inside. Your whole body shakes at the intensity of his thrusts, your irises swallowed whole by your pupils as they dilate at the feel of your cunt trying and failing to clamp around his cock to keep him still so you can adjust.

“Say it again,” Deku encourages you, his voice breathless as he ruts you into the mattress.

Your shoulders and the curve of your ass are pressed so deep into the cushion that you swear you might fall through to the floor. You curl your toes and try to angle your hips forward to no avail. He has you fully enraptured in the way he wants, his body practically controlling the movements you’re allowed to make with how he’s pressed and holding onto every part of you.

“I-I want you to put a baby in me, Izuku,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

A pert slap lands on the outside of your thigh and you whimper at the thought you’ve done something wrong. Your eyes water and you look up at him, emerald irises glowering down at you with a mix of primal need and control.

His voice is nothing short of a growl when he commands, “Who am I?”

Your eyes go wide, forehead creasing at the realization of your slip up. You can’t form the words fast enough, scrambling within your subservient brain to find the right phrase. You bite your lip as his hips still upon your silence, practically begging him with your body to keep going.

The echo of another smacking of his palm against your leg resounds in the room, sending a shudder down your spine. A new wave of arousal coats his cock from where he’s buried within you. He smirks, “Such a sloppy pussy, baby girl. You’re so filthy, getting off on me smacking you around.”

He leans close into you, removing one hand from your thigh to frame your face, his thumb dug into the soft flesh beneath your chin so he can force you to look into his eyes. “Now, I’ll say it again, who am I?”

You gulp, your lower lip trembling at the sight of him, and your voice cracks when you speak, “D-Daddy, I-I’m sorry.”

Izuku kisses your bottom lip before showing the same affection to the top. His gentle ministrations are rather contrasting to the way your hips sting with the memory of his spankings. You blink slowly, taking him in from this close angle.

He’s so pretty, you know this even though your mind is hazy with subservient want. His freckles and scars stand out so pertly against his skin, showing you a roadmap to someplace you know you’ll get to someday. You reach up to frame his face with one hand, thumb brushing over the speckled spots along the bridge of his nose and cheek, marveling at the sight of his beauty.

Deku turns his face to kiss your wrist, “What’re you thinking?”

“You’re pretty,” you blurt, voice almost childish in the way you say it with such wonder.

The phrase stills his nose against your palm, his breath hot as it rolls down your wrist and forearm. You feel your pulse beat harshly within your veins at the change in temperature, emotion swelling in your throat until your neck bobs as you try to swallow it.

It’s not the stereotypical compliment that he might receive, however that does not change its weight. Izuku takes a short breath before he begins to kiss down the length of your arm, nuzzling your elbow once he’s pressed there. He looks up into your eyes and the absolute adoration that is settled into your irises, bejeweling them until he is wondering if they might actually be gems, gives him the effervescent sensation all over again.

Pretty.

The word plays on loop in his mind, until he has dissected all six letters of it down to their very essence. The combination of your tone and expression as you admit what’s truly on your mind causes his heart to tear into his rib cage with the speed at which it beats. He breathes in short, heaving gasps, the warmth of his breath spilling over your chest, nipples pebbling beneath him.

If you were to try and pin down his appearance, you might say it were bashful. You have seen several sides to Izuku, but the bright red tinge on his cheeks, creeping up his neck until his ears are burnt with the color, makes him seem much younger, much more innocent. It’s hardly innocent, the way that he’s bludgeoning your cunt with his cock, but you take this moment to remove yourself from that fact entirely, instead focusing on the wobble of his chin and the mist in his eyes.

In addition to the shyness, you also see doubt, conflict.

You push your fingers into the hair behind his ear, beckoning him closer so you can appreciate him closer. Your opposite hand presses against his cheek, the scar that runs along his jaw ragged under your touch. Midoriya’s lips part, the tip of his tongue hidden just behind his teeth.

“Pretty,” he echoes the word, unintentionally, you believe, by the way his face screws up once he realizes he’s said it aloud. Midoriya reels back from you, sitting back on his thighs, the tip of his cock twitching from within your core.

Your face goes bright red at the admission, your hand falling away from his face in shame. You gulp, readying yourself for another smack to your leg in admonishment at your confession. You wince, hiding yourself as best you can with him looking down at you in such an intimidating way by turning your face into the pillow, closing your eyes.

The wait feels like forever, as if he’s going to edge you with anticipation until you’ve gone blue in the face from holding your own breath. He surprises you with a gentle laugh parting his lips, screwing his eyes shut.

You take a chance and open your eyes, blinking slowly so you aren’t shocked at the expression on his face if it contrasts the giggle that sets off another round of arousal between your thighs. You lick your lips and bare your soul when you ask, “Y-You’re laughing?”

“You’re so cute, baby,” Izuku kisses your nose, his grip resetting to your thigh.

The bruising hold he has on you reminds you that even though he might come across as twinkling eyes and a mop of curls, he is the strongest hero alive, and he could crush you like a bug if he truly desired.

He tilts his head, “I think you’re pretty too.”

“Y-You’re not mad?”

Izuku furrows his brow and leans back so he can study your face in its entirety, “No, Princess, I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”

“I-I just ruined the mood by calling you pretty,” you have the urge to ask him to put his fingers in your mouth just to get you to be quiet. Anything to staunch the flow of these superfluous words that won’t stop tumbling from your lips.

His thumb brushes along the curve of your jaw until his fingertip is pressuring your lip to stay open so he can study your teeth and gums, “Nah, you didn’t ruin the mood. Answer me this – who do you belong to?”

Instantly your thighs try to clamp together, knees wobbling at the statement and the firmness in his tone when he says it. You swallow, eyes blown wide, your tongue suddenly becoming very heavy in your own mouth. You want to whine, to cant forward and take as much of him as you can but he has you held still with a palm in the center of your chest, pinning you to the mattress as he waits for his answer.

Your hand covers his own, fingers slipping between his palm and knuckles so you can anchor yourself to him, even in this moment. Your middle and index fingers swipe back and forth over the back of his hand, finding the familiar triangular scars and tracing over them with purpose. They ground you, somehow, when your mind starts to flutter off into this subservient space and you can’t feel anything from your knees down.

“Y-You,” you manage to stutter, thighs wobbling with the stress of pinning him between your knees. Your eyelids prick with tears from the embarrassment you felt earlier, and Izuku tuts his tongue against his teeth, “Why’re you crying, pretty girl?”

You shake your head and he kneels forward to kiss you on the lips, chastely, “Or should I give you something to cry about?”

Before you can answer, he simultaneously lands a harsh slap to the inside of your thigh with one hand while pinning your neck to the pillow with the other, applying enough pressure that you wheeze. Izuku smirks down at you, watching as tears well up in your eyes and cause them to look like glassy marbles. He trails his fingertip along the inside of your thigh, your entire body quivering with the anticipation of when he will strike next.

His cock twitches within you and the movement makes your muscles jolt. Your hand smacks against his thigh as you dig your fingertips into the dense sinew. You breathe in heavily, your chest expanding, “Daddy, please.”

Izuku begins to rock back and forth slowly, dragging his cock salaciously along your inner walls, the veins and curves of his cock making your cunt flutter around his girth. You whine at the slow pace, your palms studying his skin as a distraction to keep your dirty mouth satiated. You want to beg him to go faster, to give you more friction, something, but you know better than to ask him for anything in this moment.

“If I’m Daddy,” he muses in your ear, his breath a hot wave of desire as it rolls down your neck to splay out at your shoulder, “then it’s only fair that we give you a name too, right, Princess?”

The suggestion he’s making sends a shiver down your spine and you clamp down on his cock as he slips all the way into you, the base of him flush with your lips. You grapple onto him for fear that he might pull out of you again, but you want him to be fully sheathed in you when he snarls out his next words.

In digging your nails into his skin, you find a new scar on his shoulder that you hadn’t noticed before. It is thin, just slight enough that it slipped from your radar. It is a single ridge of skin running from the back of his shoulder to his collarbone, streaking his skin with a pink color in contrast to his normally tan color. Your middle and index fingers focus on it, mapping out each bump like your life depends on it.

As his body tilts forward, your eyes catch along a patch of intense freckles at the tops of his shoulders, where the sun shines most concentrated. Your exhale, eyelids fluttering as you feel his weight press down into you the closer he comes. The palm of your hand travels to this smattering of freckles, digging into his muscles in a massaging way as you force your touch downward. Izuku’s breath hitches as you circle the pad of your middle finger tenderly over the flesh, eyelids snapping open so he can look down at you in something akin to shock.

He melts into your touch when your ankle digs into the dimples at the base of his back, yet another scar providing friction against your skin. You whimper as his hips buck forward on instinct alone, the pressure of your body pulling him forward.

Midoriya nudges his nose sweetly along the column of your throat, open-mouthed kisses placed against your main vein that leads him to your heart. He breathes slowly over your chest, nipping at the skin closest to your nipple, but far enough away that he won’t hurt you if he bites down too hard.

“Mm,” he hums as he dips his head further, curling his spine so he can kiss the top of your belly, above your navel. His palm pushes into the supple skin, thumb drifting over where your uterus sits beneath your skin, “I can’t wait to fuck you ‘till you’re full of me, Princess. Isn’t that what you want?”

You’re begging him silently with ferocious nods, dipping the pads of your fingers into his shoulder blades to pull him closer once more so he can rut into you with his strong hips. You feel the head of his cock brush against you from the inside, and that along with the added pressure of his palm pushing into you, makes you keen loudly, a whine rippling through your lungs.

At that sound, Izuku loses any and all control he might have had on his body before, one of his hands now holding your thigh up so he can dominate you from above, your ass not even flat against the mattress anymore. It’s a good reprieve from the suffocating heat beneath your back, but the only thing you can truly focus on is the way that his hips drive into you in midair, his knees bolstering him forward to fuck into you relentlessly.

“You’ll be so fuckin’ pretty with my come dripping out of this sloppy pussy,” Izuku’s voice is slurred with pleasure, his eyes closed as he ruts into you from above. You whine, your chin ducked into your chest at this angle, but it doesn’t matter that it’s slightly uncomfortable; the only thing you can pay attention to is the way he fills you up, stretching your pussy with his thick cock.

Pulling almost all the way out only to slam into you again makes your cunt clench when he’s fully sheathed to try and keep him captive. He’s too strong, though, and he pulls away easily, the added tension only providing the both of you with further pleasure. You both whine, Izuku’s head dropping so you can no longer see his eyes, forehead covered completely by dark curls caked with sweat and sticking to his skin.

Deku licks his lips and you watch as he tilts his head to gaze down at you, the primal need to see you full giving his eyes a deeper color, a green so dark it’s almost black. The sight of him so overcome with arousal makes your stomach turn, a fresh wave of heat coating your inner walls and slipping down his cock in the form of silvery slick.

He pants, his jaw hung open, “You want me to fill you up? Come in you over and over until you can’t take it anymore, until your pretty belly is bulging with my come?”

You don’t have the chance to respond when he bottoms out within you, stretching you out even further as his cock spasms with desire. It’s like he’s growing within you even more so now that he’s imagining your tummy swollen from his come. Your jaw hangs open even as you throw your head back, your hands flying to the comforter to snag what you can beneath your fingernails.

Izuku does not waste the sight of your neck, bare and open, practically begging for him to claim as his canvas. With his next stroke he is careening forward to latch his tongue and teeth onto the sensitive skin, your jugular pulsing beneath his mouth. Your hand flies upward to tug at the wild curls near the back of his scalp, your thighs held in place by his hips as he continues into you at a steady pace.

“I can’t wait to put a baby in you, Princess,” Izuku is panting in your ear now, the lewd sounds of his hips bucking into yours the only other sound you can make out. Your shoulders shudder underneath his weight but he is holding you like an anchor, so you know that you are safe in his embrace. You turn your head, so your cheek is pressing into his, leeching the heat from his skin until your own flesh is burning.

“Fuck,” Deku laps at your throat aimlessly, as if he can’t quite get where he wants, but he doesn’t know what else to do, “Gonna fill you up every time I get the chance, breed you until you’re begging for me to stop. Pump that pretty pussy full of my come until you can’t walk straight.”

Your cunt spasms around his cock and he knows that means you’re close to coming. He’s pushed off his own release in favor of coming in tandem with you, so he starts to pump into you faster, drifting a hand down to your clit to try and stimulate you closer to the precipice of pleasure. You’re whining, nails dragging against his biceps unforgivingly, “Daddy, c’mon, I want you to come in me. Please, won’t you come in me? Fuck me full of your come, please!”

The entirety of your mouth is sandpaper dry with your insistent begging. You lick your lips at the feel of his cock spasming within your core, the tip of him brushing against your cervix in a bruising manner. “I-I wanna make you a Daddy for real, please, won’t you put a baby in me?”

A feral growl parts his lips at your request, and your body clenches from head to toe at the sound. You can’t breathe, your entire being is suffocated by the essence of him – body, mind, soul. He is everything and it covers you like a hot blanket, searing into your skin until you’re branded for him.

“You want this load?” he asks breathlessly. “Want me to breed you up good?”

He is barely able to look at you when you whimper out your response. Goosebumps cover the expanse of his body as he thinks about what you’d look like, swollen with the imminent promise of his baby growing in you. Something digs into him at the base of his spine, something that makes him ache with the need to see you waddling around, unable to see your ankles as you rest your palm on the top of your tummy. Izuku squeezes his eyes shut so he can listen to your wanton desperation, sweat making the two of you stick together at every juncture.

Deku grunts one last time before all his resolve floods from his body, “Here you go, Princess, don’t waste it.”

The angle he has your body in, folded up like a pretzel, would usually make it hard for you to waste any of it, but the sheer amount of come being pumped into you makes you nervous. You feel the familiar seeping of his seed from your cunt and you reach down to try and sop it up, but Izuku beats you to it. He uses his thumb to collect the milky fluid, rubbing it over your clit to use as lubricant as his dick continues to pump the rest of his load into your abused hole.

“Good girl,” he whispers absentmindedly as he fucks you through his aftershocks, the pad of his thumb driving you crazy as you squirm beneath him. Izuku can tell by the sheer force with which you’re clamped down on him that you’re chasing your own high, your eyes squinted closed so you can focus on orgasming until you’ve coated his cock with your arousal.

Izuku fights through the bliss that’s clouding his mind to lean down and kiss over your face, “C’mon, Princess, come for me.”

When your eyes split open, the first thing you notice is the scar that cuts from his hairline down over his eyebrow, separating the tail of his brow from the base. You reach up to brush your fingertip over it, your heels dug into the curve of his ass to bring yourself closer to him, if that were at all possible. Your mouth hangs open as your thumb maps out the scar, ragged flesh the very opposite of the remaining smooth plane of his body.

“I love you,” you whisper, silent silver tears leaking from your eyes as the combination of all of your senses being stimulated pushes you over the crest, drowning you in the waves of pleasure he creates by rocking into you.

It has taken years for Izuku to understand that you paying attention to the jagged parts of his body does not mean that you would not love him if he were any less broken.

Your vision passes over each inch of his body, taking inventory of the markings on his body – freckles, blemishes, scars – as if they might have changed since the last time you looked. Your hands roam over his shoulders, finding the pale scars and dipping your fingertips against them to feel the ridges against the rough pad of your digits.

Midoriya melds his mouth against yours, lost in the taste of you as his cock spasms within your tight heat. Your entire bodies are coated in a mixture of tears and sweat and slick, but you don’t care as he lowers himself down on top of you until you’re flush with one another from shoulder to ankle.

His tongue is mapping the curvatures of your teeth when he responds in kind, “I love you, too.”

He slows once he realizes you’ve both been milked of whatever else you might have left to give. Your body is gently placed back down on the bed, hot sweat sticking to the cooled sheets. Izuku kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, lavishing each inch with the utmost affection, it could make you cry.

Your hands work through his hair, curls falling silkily between your knuckles. You lean forward and kiss the spot on his forehead where his brows are furrowed. At the feel of your affections, his expression softens and the creases on his skin soften into nothing but fine lines. Izuku smiles up at you, nuzzling your cheek, “You did so good, baby, you’re always such a good girl for me.”

“Mhm, you make it easy,” you croon into the shell of his ear as he tilts himself forward, still buried in you even as his cock goes soft. You tilt your head, curling a finger around a lock of his hair, “W-Were you serious?”

Izuku catches a glint of the diamond on your left hand, a proud grin bringing out his dimples, “You’ll know in, what, four weeks?”

The whole thing is too exciting, and you know that even though you’re still on contraceptives, it could happen. He doesn’t move to correct himself, instead waiting on your answer.

“F-Four weeks,” you nod, your tongue sitting heavy and dry in between your teeth.

Midoriya catches your hesitation, “We won’t change anything, except how many times a day I bury my cock into that pretty little pussy of yours. We’ll see if I can beat out the statistics on your medication.”

You know he’s talking about the one-in-whatever chance that your birth control doesn’t work, but the way he says it drags shivers up your spine. You curl both hands into his hair and swallow the thick emotion pent up in your throat, “You meant what you said?”

“Four weeks,” he echoes as if it should be an answer. Izuku knows better than to have a permanent conversation with you when your eyes are still glassy like this, your mind still submerged in that headspace he puts you in when the two of you fuck this way, rough and merciless. All he can do now is remember to talk to you about this once you’re both calm and rational.

Your eyes fill with a fresh set of tears and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to the base of your throat, “I’m gonna fill you up with so much come, baby. We might have to get you a plug.”

You tighten every orifice of your body, fingers dug deeper into the muscle of his shoulders. Your thumb catches on the curve of one of his particularly deep scars, slicing into him like veins on a marble slab. In your heightened state, it’s easy to feel like you’re floating in midair and might never come down, but the tactile reminder of his body beneath your fingertips gives you that anchor that you need to keep yourself from drifting too far.

Methodically, you drift the pads of your digits back and forth, a melody playing in your head that you play out against his body. The rigidity of his form, strong and barring as he loiters over you, only adds to the calm that you feel wash over your frame, settling into your bones like stardust. You feel lightheaded, but in a giddy way, the warmth of Midoriya’s body just as soothing as the patterns you’re marking into his body.

Two tears drip over the edges of your eyes and you look up at him, bringing a thumb up to brush his hair out of his eyes, “I-I wanna make you a Daddy. For real.”

You think back to the day you first met – how he stole your heart with one simple look. He has always been it for you, that you now realize. From the first syllable to now, he has reigned you in, held you beneath his thumb in such a captivating way that you don’t ever want to escape.

You want to give back to him what the world never could – a little hero of his own.

It’s a blank slate, a place to start anew. Something that the burdens of Izuku’s past can never bury under layers of scar tissue and regret. The giddiness that makes your heartbeat in a frenzy only gives you more confidence to reach forward and wrap yourself around him like an animal begging for comfort. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, “You deserve this, Izu, you deserve to be happy.”

“Hey,” he calls down to you, upturning your face with the gentle pressure of his thumb underneath your chin, “I am happy, here with you.”

Your face grows hot at his confession, and you wonder if you misconstrued your words. You swallow, rolling your hips upward to reconnect your bodies at the waist, trying to convey that you can give him so much more, that you’re offering up your body to be a martyr. Your eyes water as you link your hands around his neck, thumbing at the crest of his undercut.

“Please,” you whisper, voice broken but beautiful as your single syllable speaks volumes even in the quiet of your shared bedroom.

There is a growl that erupts in his throat and he lunges forward, sucking and licking at your neck. You whimper, falling slack in his touch as you try to keep yourself anchored to him with biting, blunt fingernails. Your jaw hangs open just enough that he can see the pink of your tongue if he leans far enough back.

As Deku reclaims your mouth in his own, the primal thing burning deep in his belly spurring his cock to go for round two, he can’t help but think to himself that he’s going to make you a momma, no matter how hard he has to try, or how long it takes.

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“Why are you so enamored by them?”

You still your hand over his bare chest, your index finger tracing the ridge of one of his biggest scars – a rippling cut straight through his pectoral, the tip of it disappearing in the curve of his muscles as they meet in the middle.

When you don’t answer, Izuku swallows the lump in his throat and sits up a little straighter, leaning his shoulders back against the headboard. He looks down his nose at you, shallow breaths making his chest inflate quickly, “I guess I just don’t understand what could be so fascinating about them. Why do you like to touch them all the time?”

You turn so you are strewn across his abdomen, your chin rested in the seam of his pectorals as you look up at him, “I guess they make me feel things.”

“F-Feel things?” Izuku’s face scrunches up in confusion, the wrinkles of his nose making you smile.

Tenderly, you brush your thumb over the creases of his forehead until he relaxes, and then you start mapping out the scarred lines on his face and taking inventory of his freckled cheeks. You sigh, chewing on your lower lip, “It depends on what’s going on, but when I look at you, I feel any plethora of things – sadness, joy, horniness…”

“My scars make you horny?”

You let out a laugh and drop your forehead down and bury it in his chest to hide the blush on your cheeks. Your palm falls from his face to his collarbone, gripping his shoulder as best you can. Midoriya joins you in laughter, tucking his nose into the crown of your head so he can plant kisses into your hair. He is always so soft and kind with you, especially in these moments after you’ve been conjoined by the hips for hours on end, your heart beating in time with his as you lay pressed flush against one another. There are moments when you are a cage of limbs and you do not know where he ends and you begin, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Seeing you all roughed up just does something to me, I dunno!” You tilt your head back so you can look him in the eye, “I like knowing that you can handle yourself, and each scar has a story and we’ve been together for years and I still don’t think I’ve heard them all.”

It looks like there is something on his mind, with the way his face tenses up as soon as you stop laughing together. You rub your ankle against his calf and force him to look you in the eyes with a gentle nudging of your knuckle against his jawline, “Hey, what’re you thinking?”

Izuku is not normally speechless or lacking in things to say. In fact, more often than not, you have to gently place your hand on his shoulder to remind him that everyone can hear his loud mutterings, or that sometimes there are more appropriate times to speak your mind. This time, his tongue lolls around within his cheeks as he tries to come up with the right thing to say. The pattering of your heart grows faster the longer he is silenced, your pulse thudding like thunder in your ears as you anticipate what could possibly be plaguing his mind at a time like this.

Your thumb brushes against a scar near his ear and he circles his fingers around your wrist, “Would you still love me if I didn’t have them? If my skin was perfect, like Kacchan or Todoroki?”

“First of all, Todoroki has a big ass scar on his face, so jot that down,” you tease, pushing yourself up to kiss him square on the lips. You pull away from him but not entirely, still brushing your nose along the bridge of his cheeks, “And Bakugou has a stupid quirk that gives him great skin, so he’s an awful example.”

Midoriya rolls his eyes and shoves your hand away from his face, sitting up even further so you fall away from him, curling yourself into the sheets. His countenance looks overly contemplative, and it’s beginning to worry you. You sit up in the bed, grabbing his shirt off the nightstand to cover yourself with, tossing it over your head with ease. The fabric pools at your waist but it smells intoxicating, just like him, his warmth from earlier in the night somehow still sticking to the fabric to provide you comfort.

“You know what I mean,” he grits his teeth, unable to look at you as he poses the question, “I-I just…I wonder if you love them more than you love me, sometimes, is all.”

It does not take long for you to redirect his attention back to you, turning his face with a rough yank of your wrist. You look him in the eyes, and he is but a broken little boy in this moment, begging for you to piece him back together.

The thought that he is nothing more than patchwork put back together by the scars on his body makes you feel hollow inside. How can a man who has given up so much feel like so small in a moment of pure reflection? Does he not see all the good he brings to the world, and yet how little it ever dares to give back to him?

“Izuku Midoriya,” your voice is stern, and you watch as he bolsters his spine as if he were talking to a Pro Hero, “I would love you if your whole body was covered in scars or if you had perfect skin. Why would you say something like that?”

Before he can give you some long-winded answer, you throw a leg across his lap so you’re straddling him and he has nowhere to run to, nowhere to divert his attention. Your palms are on his face, cupping his cheeks and making sure to look him dead in the eyes as you give him a dose of the truth. Still, you fear your words may not be enough to satiate his wounded pride, his blistered ego.

“When I look at you, I see how much the universe has stolen from you, how much of your body the world has taken, and how everyone else just takes you for granted.” Your voice grows heavier with each word, the threat of tears sitting in your eyelids, making your face warm. “I see a man who, time and time again, gives everything up to save the world, and all it does in return is take.”

You intake a short breath, trying to calm yourself because this is his moment to ache until his heart feels like it might burst out of his chest. Now it is your job to soothe his burning soul with the salve of your reassurance, mending his inner turmoil with a metaphoric touch that you pray can seep into the cracks of his resolve until he’s full once more.

Brushing his hair away from his face, you lean in closer so you can speak softly, “You once called them ugly. I think that every single scar is a reminder of something that happened in the past. I love to hear your stories of how you got them, each heroic act displayed on your body like a little lightning bolt of truth.”

A sigh parts your lips and you drop your gaze to his chest, finding the familiar ridges of flayed skin easily. You lick your lip and trace your thumb over a few of them, relishing in the quiet moments before you have to speak again.

“I don’t love your scars, I love you.” You press your palms flat to his chest so you can cover the expanse of his pectorals beneath your hands, the heel of your palm against the swell of his chest, “I would ask you for all of your stories even if I never touched a single scar, even if I never saw one. I’d ask you because I want to know you.”

Your hands travel north towards his neck, delicately roaming over the thin skin of his throat before winding into the hair at the back of his head, “I’m so fascinated by them because I want you to know that I don’t think any less of you for them, that I don’t believe you to be weak just because you’re marked by your experiences. If anything, I think it’s beautiful, that you’ve been given this burden like Atlas, to carry around the weight of each on one your shoulders.

“But even though it’s beautiful, that does not mean that it’s right,” your voice turns cold, hard and jagged as you speak through your teeth, “How much more can you be expected to give? Does the universe not see what it’s done to you? What it’s asking of you to continue doing? I just can’t imag-oh.”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his hands traveling up your spine beneath your shirt, palming at the skin of your shoulders. Izuku nips your lower lip and you are melting in his touch like always, “I love you.”

You tilt your head, gasping as he starts down the column of your neck, biting kisses in a warm, wet line as he descends. You echo out the sentiment in return, barely able to make out syllables with the salacious way his lips and tongue are working at your skin. Your hands twist in his hair and he pulls you flush with him so he can nudge the collar of the shirt aside to show your collarbones the same attention as your neck.

“Oh!” you pipe up, your voice hardly more than a squeak, “And I love your freckles too. They’re so cute and I love how they’re literally everywhere, even your dic-”

“Less talking,” Izuku takes you by surprise, tackling you back into the mattress, “more kissing.”

And you happily oblige.

Besides, you have the rest of your life to tell him how much you love his freckles.

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a/n: all right. that’s it. never writing deku fic EVER again. phew. kacchan, please don’t be mad, honey, it was for a friend, i swear!!!!!

also it’s almost 4 am when i’m posting this so if the last section doesn’t make sense i’m sORRY!!!

taglist:

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