#don’t mind me i’m reliving trauma for the next several days

[bardicbeetle]

water takes the path of least resistance

water doesn’t care how long it takes

the beating of the river and the rain are patient pains

constant and assuring the collapse of all they reach

seconds, minutes, hours, days—

months, years, lifetimes.

water is happy to wait

there are weaker paths in the meantime

it will take you for itself another day.

[crushed-like-an-ant]

how to calm down an angry billionaire

Step 1. Deflect.

Peter was good at deflection. Always had been. It was a skill he'd picked up after people constantly tried to ask him about his feelings after his parents died, then again when Ben died. Any questions he didn't want to answer quickly turned into an animated conversation about whatever his mind thought of first (there had been that awkward time he'd asked a fellow orphan how their parents were), an apology and fast excuse to get the hell out of there (mostly worked except when he was panicking and the best he could come up with was a cheese making competition, that had caused a lot of questions Peter would rather never deal with again), or just flat out running away (sometimes he ran into poles or walls which was always a bit embarrassing given he was literally Spider-man). Sometimes Peter had to use all three options. So Peter knew when Tony finally decided to have the dreaded conversation about the whole not-my-first-time-holding-up-a-building thing, he would be able to deflect it. Or so he thought. Turns out, Peter had drastically underestimated the sheer stubbornness of Tony Stark.

It was a lab day, around three weeks after the incident where Peter and Tony had been stuck under a building and Peter stupidly let slip that he’d held up a building before. Peter had thought Tony had forgotten about his words. He was comfortable, tentatively confident and optimistic that it wouldn't be brought up again. He had no idea how wrong he was.

"Hey kid?" Tony said, cutting the comfortable silence between them as they worked, tone slightly hesitant. Peter should've picked up on it. He should've realised. But he'd grown complacent. So Peter ignored the dread pooling in his stomach and lifted his head from the mess of wires in front of him to look at Tony.

"Mr Stark?" he replied with a smile that Tony didn't return. Nor did he try to tell Peter to call him Tony. And that was how Peter knew something was wrong. Nerves skittered down his spine, clod fingers of dread snaking around his neck as nervous energy filled him and he began to tap on the desk. Anything to distract himself from the sorrow and worry shining in his mentor's brown eyes.

"Look kid, uh, I," Tony fumbled for words. Shit. This was bad. If Tony Stark was struggling to say something, you knew it was serious. Peter just stared at him in silence,unsure of what to say, anxiety coursing through his veins at the grimace that clouded Tony's features. What could possibly have gotten him into this mood? Had Peter done something wrong? Was he gonna, oh god, was he gonna take the suit? "Pete, I need to know what you meant when we were under the building," Tony finally managed to say, Peter relaxing. Oh. That was all?

"I just meant that I'd lifted a lot of heavy things," Peter half-lied, looking Tony straight in the eyes and lying to his face, mindful to make sure his tells were carefully under control. Training with Daredevil - despite Tony's misgivings about Double D - had been one of the best decisions Peter had ever made. He felt a twinge of guilt as he lied to Tony but it's not like he could tell the truth. And he wasn't really lying. Just withholding the entire truth. He shrugged nonchalantly, "Anyways, you reckon you can help me with this? I'm stuck. My mind kinda decided to go and die on me." Peter chuckled quietly. Tony wasn't laughing.

"I want to believe you, kid," Tony told him, "I really do. But I can't. You had a panic attack under there. What aren't you telling me Peter? Whatever it is, I'm here for you. You can tell me anything. And I don't want to pressure you into telling me anything until you're ready but I-I just-I need to know what happened. I need to know what you meant." Peter's resolve almost broke as Tony's voice broke. No. He couldn't tell Tony. Not only would Tony think he was weak, but Peter knew that Mr Stark would blame himself because he took the suit. Peter couldn't let him do that. Option one had failed him, so it was onto option 2. Make a quick exit without raising any suspicions. Yeah, he didn't think that was gonna work. Worth a shot though.

"Hey, Mr Stark," Peter said after checking his watch and pretending to look shocked at the time, "I'm really sorry but I have to go. I promised Ned we'd work on our Bio project tonight and I'm already seven minutes late." Mr Stark raised an eyebrow and pulled up a picture of Ned on his holiday in California.

"Nice try kid," Tony replied drily. Peter sighed, shoulders slumping. Time for option three then.

"I-I don't really know how to tell you, uh," Peter deliberately stuttered, guilt eating him up inside as he put on an act for Tony. For option three to work, Peter had to catch Tony off guard otherwise he'd react too quickly and lock the tower down. His act work, Tony's features softening and body relaxing.

"It's okay, bambino, take your time." And if that didn't make him feel like a horrible person, nothing would. Peter stood and padded over to some machinery near the exit, pretending to be trying to busy himself as he worked himself up to answering Tony when he was actually getting closer to the door.

"I, uh," Peter stumbled. Tony was now far away enough that Peter could easily run without being grabbed and stopped. The door was right there. Peter took his opportunity. He ran. Out the door, down the hallway, flying to the elevator. Pressing the button frantically, Peter groaned when nothing happened. Great. Tony had stopped the elevators. Sighing, Peter pulled the mask from his pocket and pulled it over his head, sprinting at the window. Peter burst through the window in a shower of glass, activating his web shooters as he fell, quickly shooting a web and catching himself. And he was swinging, swinging, swinging. Allowing himself to smile at his escape, Peter was unprepared when he was grabbed from behind by two cold metal hands. Thanks for nothing spidey sense. Tony flew a sulking Peter back through the broken window and into one of the meeting rooms, setting him down firmly in a seat. Peter crossed his arms, pouting as he pulled off his mask, Tony's Iron Man suit unfolding around him and the man stepping out, an unimpressed look painted across his features.

"You done deflecting yet?" Tony asked, a single eyebrow raised. Damn. Peter wished he could do that. Alas, no amount of practising in front of a mirror had ever given him the talent to lift one eyebrow and not look like a demented monkey. Time for a different strategy. Deflection had failed him. But Peter would not go down easy.

~~~

Step 2. Deny.

The unfortunate thing about this step was that Peter would always over-deny. He would deny everything or nothing. There was no in between. For example, he was once denying eating the last bit of chocolate and ended up accidentally telling May his name wasn't Peter and that he was an alien from outer space with a severe lettuce allergy. Don't ask. Peter really didn't want to relive that trauma. So although Peter always tried his best with denial, it never really worked out in his favour. Honestly, it was through sheer dumb luck that he managed to keep Spider-Man a secret from his friends and family for so long. It was probably some good karma that had been waiting for the perfect moment to help him out. It was a little late but hey, better late than never right?

"No," Peter blurted in a panic. Shock splashed across Tony's face as he folded his arms.

"Kid, you know you can tell me anything, right?" Tony told him gently.

"No," Peter exclaimed again, hurt painting the billionaire's face. "I mean, yes." Shitshitshitshitshit. Peter was an idiot. He had to deny everything - but not everything, Peter, remember the lettuce incident - so Mr Stark wouldn't find out. But Peter had always been shit at denial.

"Look, I know this is probably hard for you to talk about," Tony continued on, oblivious to Peter's internal panic, "but I won't judge you. I love you, bambino. You know that right? And I'll support you no matter what but I can't help you if you don't let me."

"No," Peter said. It was the only word he knew. Any more and he would have another lettuce incident or he'd end up rambling the truth. He couldn't do that. So his current vocabulary was limited to 'no', 'no', 'no' with a side of 'no'. Which wasn't suspicious at all. Totally.

"What the hell, kid?" Tony asked, mostly confused, slight irritation colouring his tone. Peter was hyper-aware of the thundering beat his heart was drumming to, the way Tony's slightly picked up when he said 'no', the sweat covering his body like a second skin. Tony's sigh sounded like a bomb to his sensitive ears, the sharp intake of breath before he spoke like a blaring alarm. "What did you mean when you said it wasn't your first time?"

"I didn't," Peter responded, brain not quite computing, "nothing happened." Tony's gaze narrowed. Shit. Was Tony going to take the suit if he didn't tell him? But Peter just couldn't tell him. He couldn't.

"Fucking hell Peter, just tell me dammit!" Tony exclaimed, running a hand through his messy brown hair in frustration. Peter knew - with the certainty that he knew his own name or the colour of his eyes - that denial had failed him. Time for Peter's next strategy.

~~~

Step 3. Stretch the truth.

When Peter's other strategies failed him, he turned to stretching the truth. It was simple really, just take the truth and dial it down from boiling hot to freezing cold and give it to the person on a silver platter with a charmingly innocent - and only slightly nervous - smile. Half-truths were easy to fool people with. Someone had said that the best lies were the ones based on truth. Peter couldn't remember who exactly had said that. He had never been very good with that sort of stuff, unlike MJ. So although stretching the truth was Peter's third option, he'd always been surprisingly good at it. People seemed to believe he was too innocent to be able to lie. Which was absurd because he'd spent ten years living with his Aunt and her terrible cooking and she still didn't know he hated her walnut date loaf.

"Okay," Peter conceded quietly and the rage slowly left Tony as he deflated like a balloon, looking smaller without all the fury. Peter sat down in front of Tony. "It was back in the fight with The Vulture and he threw a wall at me. I caught it and threw it back at him but he dodged it with his super awesome flying skills." Tony looked him straight in the eyes for a few seconds, Peter holding his gaze before Tony leaned forward.

"Cut the bullshit," Tony whispered, dangerously quiet, tightly compressed anger stemming from worry swimming in his brown eyes. "A wall wouldn't stay together if it was thrown, caught and thrown back. Even then, you wouldn't say it wasn't your first time while holding a building up unless you'd held up a fucking building already. And you wouldn't have a panic attack from holding up a building about something thrown at you. So stop lying to me, Peter Benjamin Parker." Damn. The full name. Peter released a heavy exhale, knowing he was beaten. He had to tell Mr Stark the truth.

"It actually was in the fight with the Vulture," Peter began, "so I wasn't lying about that. And I did have to catch a few walls." Tony raised his eyebrows at Peter's weak attempts at defending himself. "I went to his warehouse and he sent his flying suit at me. It wasn't particularly good at attacking 'cause it hadn't even touched me. I said that and Toomes told me it wasn't trying to." Tony inhaled sharply, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking, Peter trying not to listen to how Tony's hands still hit each other gently. Enhanced hearing sucked sometimes. "He had directed the suit to take out all the supports in the building." Tony gasped, expression contorted into one of such extreme guilt and sorrow that Peter wanted to shelter Tony from the world for the rest of his days because goddammit he's seen too much and been through enough and couldn't the world just give him a fucking break for once? No one deserved one more than Mr Stark did.

"I took the suit," Tony whispered, voice thick with emotion, "I took the suit. It was your only protection, damn it, and I took the fucking suit!" Tony was yelling now, self-hatred and rage dancing in his wild brown eyes.

"It wasn't your fault, Mr Stark," Peter tried to tell him.

"How?" Tony scoffed, laughing bitterly, "How was this not my fault. I took the suit and you got hurt because of my mistake."

"It's okay, Mr Stark, you didn't know," Peter said.

"But I should've," Tony replied, "I should've known." Peter's features hardened, spine turning to steel. He wouldn't let Mr Stark blame himself for this. The blame was on Toomes and only on Toomes.

"Did you pilot the Vulture suit?" Peter asked firmly.

"What?"

"Did. You. Pilot. The. Vulture. Suit." Peter repeated, staring defiantly at Tony.

"No, of course not," Tony replied, slight confusion clinging to his features.

"And did you cause the building to fall?" he continued.

"No."

"Then it's not your fault," Peter told him simply.

"Kid, I shouldn't have taken the suit," Tony began, dropping his head into his hands. He opened his mouth to continue but Peter cut him off before he could say anything equally self-deprecating.

"Maybe," Peter allowed, "but then I wouldn't found out I was strong enough to get back up again. 'If you're nothing without the suit then you shouldn't have it'. You told me that. I thought the suit made Spider-man and I lost sight of what Spider-man really meant. God, I started out in a fricking onesie. That's what Spider-man represents. Not a hero with a multi-million dollar suit, but someone with nothing but their will to save others. Without you taking the suit, I never would've remembered everything Spider-man stood for.; With great power comes great responsibility. You gave me that tough love moment and I needed it. Now it's my turn to dish out some tough love for you." Peter took a deep breath. "You, Tony Stark, are being a fucking idiot. The blame of what happened in the past lies with Adrian Toomes, and Adrian Toomes alone. So stop this self-deprecating bullshit and use your fucking brain for once in your life. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault." Tony looked up at him, the self-hatred drained from his features, a slight smile adorning his lips which Peter returned.

"You're right, kid," Tony said, "when did you get this wise?"

"I've always been this wise, Mr Stark, I just wanted you to feel better about your lack of common sense," Peter joked, Tony chuckling.

"It wasn't my fault," Tony repeated. Peter tilted his head, confused at the strange undertone in Tony's voice only to see a fire lit in his caramel eyes. "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch."

And it was then that he knew he fucked up.

~~~

Step 4. Try some breathing exercises.

Peter had always been shit at breathing exercise. He just didn't have the patience for them. While he was breathing, someone could be getting raped in an alley, a shop could be getting robbed, or a kid could be getting beat up. So - despite the constant reminders to just try the damn breathing exercises for the love of god - Peter had never done anything of the sort. How could he? With his enhanced senses, it was impossible to relax. Would you be able to sit there and breathe while screams rang in your ears and sobbing pounded in your mind? Naturally, this meant that Peter wasn't the most experienced when it came to said breathing exercises. Maybe he should've practised. Life always had a funny way of throwing Peter in the deep end headfirst and tied to a ten ton weight and expecting him to swim. However, he had once read in a self-help book that breathing exercises were good for calming people down, so he decided to hit fuck it for the sixth time in the last 48 hours and try it out. I mean, it was that or release an angry billionaire in a metal suit decked out with the most advanced weapons in the world (except for maybe what HYDRA had because honestly Peter knew better than to underestimate them and he mildly respected their cockroach-like survival skills) who was hell-bent on revenge and gave zero fucks into the world. The second option was beginning to sound quite tempting, Peter would be honest.

"Mr Stark, you need to calm down," Peter told the man gently, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony tilted his head up to look at Peter - rage splashed across his face, tension lining his body - before he shrugged off Peter's hand and jerked into a standing position. And the room was suffocating, suffocating, suffocating, because damn had Tony always been that scary. A cloud of darkness surrounded Tony, filling the lab up and winding itself slowly around Peter's neck, stealing the breath from his lungs. Tony stormed through the lab, footsteps like thunder, anger crackling like lightning. Desperately, Peter followed the billionaire. "Mr Stark, Mr Stark, please calm down," Peter pleaded with him.

"No," Tony spoke, voice cold and flat, tone totally devoid of emotion, so totally opposite to the fury painting his entire body like a second skin. "No I will not calm down, Peter. He dropped a fucking building on you. He deserves to die."

"But you don't deserve to live with the guilt of killing him," Peter begged, tugging at Tony's sleeve in a desperate attempt to stop the man from his warpath. Peter knew he could easily overpower Tony. But he was hoping it wouldn't come to that. "Trust me, I know how it feels to want revenge, I really do, but you have to let it go. Please, Mr Stark."

"Dammit Peter, he hurt you!" Tony shouted, whirling around to face Peter, features twisted and manically furious. "He hurt you a-and I wasn't there and you had to deal with being crushed by a fucking building and then you got up and kept fighting because of that sick son of a bitch so I swear to fucking god I will murder him." Tony's eyes held a frenzied wildness in them, chest heaving up and down, Peter could hear his heart racing.

"Mr Stark, try some breathing," Peter said out of desperation, completely and utterly out of ideas. "Just breath. In and out, in and out." Tony's momentary surprise shocked him out of his anger, confusion flickering across his face momentarily before the anger was back, stronger than ever. Tony pivoted on his heel and walked away from Peter, heading towards where he kept his suits and leaving a heavy sense of dread pooling in Peter's stomach and twisting his insides in knots. So breathing hadn't worked. Thanks for nothing self-help books.

~~~

Step 5. Hack the most advanced AI in the world.

When in doubt, do something potentially illegal. A mugger had once told Peter that after Peter caught her trying to rob a young man. That lady had been fucking badass. It was honestly a shame she's gone to prison but a criminal is a criminal. Turns out the lady had been responsible for a string of high-end bank and jewellery robberies. Peter wondered how she was doing. Probably not well, considering how shit the American jail system is. Peter always tried to find alternative ways to stop criminals, only really sending in the pedophiles, rapists, murderers and the more professional robbers. Sometimes people had no choice in the shitty hand life had dealt them and goddamn if Peter didn't get that. People were just pushed and pushed until they were left with nothing but desperation. Maybe if the government or any of the fucking American systems were better or did their jobs properly then people wouldn't have to steal just to keep themselves and their families from starvation. Maybe Toomes wouldn't have started his alien tech business and then none of this would have even happened. Peter wouldn't be in this situation right now. And Peter was now out of options. He had an angry billionaire on his hands and absolutely no idea what to do. So, he took the lady's advice and decided to do something potentially illegal. He hacked the most advance AI in the world. (What, like it's hard?)

"Hey FRI?" Peter called with a wince.

"Yes, Peter," the AI replied.

"I'm really sorry," Peter told her before bringing up FRIDAY's code. (A/N - I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT COMPUTERS SO THIS IS GONNA BE SOME VAGUE, QUESTIONABLE AF HACKING) Fingers flying across the keys of the laptop, Peter bit his lip in concentration, brows furrowed. He had to hurry and shut down Mr Stark's suits before he reached them and left to murder Toomes. Adrenaline coursed through his body, brain whirring to life like the computer before him as he deleted lines of code, rewriting and altering the code that created FRIDAY as he tore down the firewalls Mr Stark had built. Peter vaguely registered that this was probably illegal and that Mr Stark would most definitely be mad about this later but he quickly waved the thoughts away. He didn't have time for them, he didn't have time, he didn't have time. Barely registering what he was doing, Peter submerged himself into the world of numbers, immersing himself completely in the ocean of lines of code, fingers instinctively knowing what t do as though he'd been born to hack. Again, probably not a great thing that this was so easy. But computers had always made sense to Peter. After what felt like hours but was really only a few minutes, Peter was into FRIDAY's system. And with a few taps, Peter shut down the suits. Quickly exiting the browser, Peter dropped his head into his hands. He'd done it. With a long exhale, Peter relaxed, leaning back into his chair and running his shaking hands through his hair. An enraged roar broke the peaceful quiet surrounding Peter and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he ignored it, Mr Stark's anger would go away. He couldn't deal with this shit. Peter was too young to die.

"Peter Benjamin Parker I swear to fucking god-"

"You probably shouldn't fuck god, Mr Stark," Peter couldn't resist remarking with a shit-eating grin. "People might get a bit mad. And who knows, you may even end up pregnant which I can't imagine will be very fun."

"What the fuck?" Tony whispered into the silence that followed Peter's statement. "I don't even want to know what goes on in your brain." Peter hummed in agreement. To be honest, he had no idea what was going on up there half the time. He was just along for the ride. And hey, if it distracted Mr Stark from his anger then it was a win win situation right? (How Peter won in this scenario he didn't know but he didn't question it).

"It's the trauma," Peter replied flippantly, as casual as one would be if they were discussing the weather.

"The-" Tony broke off into angry, confused gibberish that Peter didn't even try to decipher. Crisis averted. Now to deal with the aftermath.

~~~

Step 6. Watch a movie.

Peter Parker wasn't good with emotions. Being a socially awkward sixteen-year-old genius had that effect on a person. Not to mention the fact that he had a crime-fighting, sarcastic alter ego. Yeah, he wasn't great with feelings. Especially not his own. And now he was attempting to help Mr Stark clam down after the whole Toomes-dropping-a-building-on-him-reveal thing. And the only way an emotionally stunted teenage genius superhero knew how to help an emotionally stunted adult genius superhero was something most people would not class as a healthy coping mechanism. Distraction. Preferably with a movie.

"Hey Mr Stark, wanna watch Empire Strikes Back?" Peter asked. Tony fell into a confused silence which Peter took as an agreement. "Yes? Perfect, let's go." Grabbing Tony's arm, Peter tugged him out of the lab and into the elevator, confusion splashed across Tony's features as they entered the movie room. Peter dropped onto the expensive yet incredibly comfortable couch in the centre of the room, pulling Tony down beside him. "Hey FRI? Can you please play The Empire Strikes Back."

"Certainly, Peter," FRIDAY replied, a hint of warmth in her robotic voice. The Star Wars theme filled the room, Peter lips kicking up into a smile at the familiar sound. And as the movie played, Peter reciting every single line with the characters, he felt the rage and tension slowly drain out of his mentor as he relaxed.

"Hey, kid," Tony whispered, interrupting Luke and Darth Vader's showdown. "I sorry for getting angry. I just... I just didn't know what to do. Instead of asking if you were okay I blamed myself and wanted to frigging murder a guy who's already suffering in prison."

"It's okay, Mr Stark," Peter responded with a smile, sincerity gracing his tone. "I get it. After Ben died, I found his murderer. I almost killed the guy," Peter chuckled without humour, Tony watching him with sad eyes, the movie forgotten. "Point is, I know how it feels to want revenge. Don't apologise for being human."

"You really are the best of us all, kid," Tony remarked, a smile adoring his face, features relaxed as he looked at Peter.

"I learned from the best," Peter replied with a shrug.

"Thanks, kid," Tony said, throat tight with emotion.

"I meant May," Peter joked lightly, the heavy emotion clouding the room vanishing as Tony laughed.

"Are you okay, kid?" Tony asked, seriousness settling over them again.

"Honestly?" Peter responded, "no. But that's alright. Because I will be." Peter held Tony's gaze, warmth blossoming in his chest at his mentor's caring eyes, as Darth Vader's voice filled the room.

"No, I am your father," Darth Vader spoke. Peter turned back to the movie, watching as Luke jumped and fell.

"You're gonna be okay, kid," Tony whispered, "we're both gonna be okay."

Because Peter would be okay. So Tony was okay too.

And if Pepper walked in three hours later to find them curled up against each other, fast asleep she never said anything. (She got FRIDAY to take a photo and saved it to Irondad and Spiderson - an unsurprisingly large file. She should probably get Peter to do a DNA test. They did look rather similar)

[daniclaytcn]

there ain’t nothing common about us

a/n: some much needed comfort after all the hurt the fandom has put itself through this past week :)

aO3

title courtesy of @malikjavaddzayn, thank goodness she isn't as indecisive as i am!

tagging some people who may be interested: @evaneddie @diazalex @buttercupbuck @diazseddie @firefighter-diaz (please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed from my tag list!)

When Eddie wakes, it is violently and with a tortured gasp as he abruptly sits up in bed, the sheets tangled around him. He covers his face with his left hand for a moment, breathing heavily, fighting back the sobs that threaten to spring free, his body shaking like a leaf.

It isn’t the first time he’s woken up like since he was discharged from the hospital with a sling around his right shoulder and an acute sense of fear and paranoia that followed him even into the safety of his own home. It has been almost a month, but the nightmares wake Eddie almost every night, varying in degrees of severity. The first two weeks were the worst, reaching the peak when he screamed in his sleep loud enough to wake Christopher, leaving the boy shaken and terrified.

Eddie put Chris into therapy the next day, and started working on waking himself up before the nightmares could get out of hand. The last thing he wants to do his traumatize his son even more than he already is, Chris has been through far too much at such a young age.

The dreams seem to blend together most of the time, memories of Afghanistan and the shooting, making the lines between the two blurry and unrecognizable. Sometimes, he’ll see the bodies of his fellow soldiers scattered around him on a sunny street in LA. And other times, he’s in the inky-black darkness of the desert, reaching out for Buck, who seems impossibly far away, covered with sand and blood.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Eddie reaches for his phone, wincing as the movement jostles his right shoulder. It’s 2 AM. Wonderful.

He tiptoes down the hallway to Chris’ room, cracking the door open just enough to see the shape of his son under the covers, sleeping peacefully. The sight makes something settle in his chest, the something that has been left askew after every single nightmare. He is here. He is safe. Christopher is safe. He didn’t leave him (again). They’ll be alright, eventually.

How pathetic is it that even after a month, he still needs to remind himself of it almost daily?

Eddie returns to his room and sits back down on his bed, leaning against the headboard as he feels a wave of bone-deep exhaustion wash over him. Between the PT and Chris’ therapy and occasional nightmares and his own nightmares, Eddie needs all the rest he can get. But he never can go back to sleep after waking up from an episode and. Well.

Maybe he should start going back to therapy, too. Eddie knows he’ll have to, eventually, to be cleared for duty. But before that, he still needs to get himself together. For Chris’ sake, if nothing else. He just—he can’t stand the thought of talking to some stranger about what happened, though. The only person he has been able to talk to so far is Buck.

Buck. He’s been a rock throughout this whole process, the entirety of the 118 has, really. Buck, though? He’s just been around, somehow more entwined in their lives than before, cooking meals, helping out Eddie with chores around the house, watching Chris when Eddie needs his rest. And coming from anyone else, it would make Eddie bristle, would make him protest that he doesn’t need all this extra help, to be treated like an invalid, but it never feels like that with Buck. Never has. He’s just…there, sometimes spending more time in Eddie’s house than his own apartment, putting up with Eddie’s occasional bursts of temper on harder days. He doesn’t allow Eddie to push him away, and Eddie thinks there’s nothing more he is grateful for, really.

Eddie is dialing Buck’s number before he can stop himself. While the two of them have talked about the incident, briefly, Eddie has never told him about the nightmares. He knows Buck blames himself, still, because he has a guilt complex possibly larger than Eddie’s own and Eddie…Eddie doesn’t want to be a burden. He should be able to deal with this himself. He did deal with it alone, after returning from Afghanistan. Why is this time so different?

Buck answers on the third ring. “Hey,” He doesn’t sound surprised or panicked at receiving a late-night call from Eddie. He doesn’t even sound like he’s been startled out of sleep, but Eddie feels the need to apologize anyway.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” He says, guilt feeling like lead in his stomach.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t asleep,” Buck says and before Eddie can wonder why, he’s asking, “Is everything alright?”

Eddie opens his mouth to answer and nothing comes out. He feels frustrated tears prick at his eyes and he exhales deeply, trying to hold them in.

“Eddie?” Buck sounds more concerned now, and Eddie can hear a rustling noise, like he’s sitting up.

“Sorry, yeah,” Eddie manages to get out, wondering if his voice sounds as wrecked to Buck as it does to him. “I, um—” Might as well just rip the bandage off and get it over with. “Nightmares.” He says, finally.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says, his voice taking on a softer, consoling lilt. He doesn’t sound surprised. Eddie doesn’t know why he expected him to be.

“It’s just—” Eddie breathes out harshly, gripping the phone harder. “I just can’t fucking sleep. It’s almost every night, I just keep reliving that day over and over and it never stops and I should be over it by now, right? And I should be able to hold it together, for Chris, he deserves so much better, but—God. It’s too much.”

“Have you considered going back to see Frank?” Buck asks, carefully. Eddie sighs.

“I did. I mean, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? I need to get better, and Chris—”

“But this isn’t about Chris, Eddie,” Buck interrupts, almost sharply. “You should want to get better for yourself, too. I mean, you were shot. In broad daylight, with zero warning—” he cuts himself off for a moment and Eddie can hear him exhale roughly over the line. “No one expects you to just bounce back. Trauma doesn’t exactly have a time limit, you know. You need to do what’s best for you.”

And Eddie can suddenly remember Carla’s words in that moment—Make sure you’re following your heart instead of Christopher’s—and wants to laugh hysterically at the irony of it. He knew then that Carla had a point—it’s why he broke up with Ana—and he knows that Buck has a point, too. But it isn’t as easy as it sounds.

“I’m not sure I know how.” He confesses.

“I know,” Buck says, softly, and sighs. “You always put Chris first, Eddie, that’s who you are, and that’s why I—”

Eddie holds his breath for a second. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting.

“Anyway,” Buck says, after too long a pause and Eddie deflates slightly. “You’re important too, Eddie. I wish you could see that. I wish you could—you could see yourself the way I see you.”

And how do you see me? Eddie wants to ask, but doesn’t dare. Things have changed since the shooting—there’s no way they couldn’t—and he feels like he and Buck have been hovering on the edge of a precipice, something electric and alien sparking between them. There isn’t a word for it, and neither of them have done anything about it. They’re really not in any state to do so. But lord, is Eddie tempted, sometimes.

“Why were you awake, anyway?” Eddie asks, wanting to break the thick tension that has suddenly formed. Buck sighs, like he was afraid he would ask.

“Nightmares,” He says, clearly trying to sound casual, but a waver in his voice gives him away.

Eddie’s chest clenches. “I’m sorry.”

Buck lets out a wet-sounding chuckles and Eddie hates the idea of it, him having nightmares all alone in that apartment. “Only you would apologize for getting shot, Eddie.”

“Come over,” Eddie says, before he can stop himself. “I know it��s late, but—I don’t think either of us should be alone right now.”

There’s a lengthy pause and Eddie almost wants to take it back but Buck, mercifully, speaks. “Are you sure you want me there?”

“Yes.” Is what Eddie says. I always want you here, is what he doesn’t dare to say.

Buck pauses again. Then—

“I’m on my way.”

Eddie turns off his phone and waits in the darkness for Buck to arrive. The moment he hears the key turn in the lock, he exhales a relieved breath and manages to smile when Buck appears in the doorway of the bedroom, hovering hesitantly, as though he expects that now he’s here, Eddie will change his mind and kick him out.

Eddie tries to sound exasperated, but it comes out sounding fond. “Buck, I really hope you didn’t come all the way here in the middle of the night just to crash on the couch.”

That makes him laugh and eases some of the tension from his shoulders. Kicking off his shoes, Buck moves over to the other side of the bed and lays down over the covers on his side, facing Eddie.

It should be uncomfortable, this level of intense intimacy that hasn’t been present in their relationship before. But right now, Eddie feels the most comfortable and relaxed he has in a while and he can only hope that Buck feels the same way, too. He reaches out, a little tentatively, to take Buck’s hand in his.

The other man stiffens slightly and he looks at Eddie with something like wonder in his eyes.

“Don’t make this weird, Buck,” Eddie murmurs, hoping to break some of the tension. It works, and Buck lets out a startled chuckle.

“God, you’re such an asshole.” But he complies, slotting his fingers through Eddie’s and squeezing tight. Eddie can remember him doing it in the firetruck on the way to the hospital and he swallows. He’s glad he has a better memory to replace that with.

Eddie closes his eyes, feeling a hazy, soft, sort of comfort settle into his bones, with Buck’s touch and just him, there, so close by. He can’t help but wonder why it took them so long, to give each other the comfort they each need.

“Buck?” He murmurs, without opening his eyes. Buck hums in reply. It feels strangely domestic and makes Eddie’s heart beat a little faster.

“I think I will go to see Frank,” He says. “But for myself, this time.”

Eddie can’t see Buck’s face when he replies, but can hear it, the tender, proud smile in his voice. “I’m so glad, Eddie.” He says, his voice cracking a little bit.

If Buck says anything after that, Eddie can’t hear it, as sleep pulls him under into the most restful night he’s had yet. And when he wakes in the morning, Buck curled around him, his face peaceful and serene in the golden sunlight, Eddie can revel in the fact that the feeling was mutual.

[fanfic-cave]

Migraine

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Hunter x GN!Reader

Warnings: War Flashbacks/implied PTSD, angst & guilt, people be crushing on eachother, is this fluff? perhaps...

Summary: You start with a normal day with TBB, when a migraine comes on and you relive your worst traumas. How do you cope, especially when it happens on the havoc marauder?

I came up with this idea when I was having a migraine the other day, and I kinda infused it with an OC I had thought up. I decided to leave it GN for the readers, but technically its a part of their story, if that makes sense. (I actually think the story is kinda cool so I might write up chapters we'll see...)

Leave feedback if you'd like! :)

Today started as a normal day for you. You made a trip to go visit the most interesting group around, The Bad Batch. They seemed to appreciate your company, and you enjoyed theirs. Often they expected you to come over and socialize for a good chunk of the day. You remember what a stark contrast this was from when you first met, each of them suspicious of you (well, except for Omega), and you skeptical of them. Once you asked for their help making a trip to Dantooine, you protected each other in battle, and the walls started coming down. Now you had each other's backs, you’d all proven it countless times.

Except you’re still lying to them. The unwelcome thought intruded your mind. You still haven’t told them why you’re really avoiding the empire.

*Y/N, did you hear what I said?* Tech spoke in Ryl. Once he heard you knew several languages from all over the galaxy, he enjoyed taking the opportunity to speak a different language with you.

You shook your head. “Sorry Tech, lost in thought, what did you say?” You had replied in common instead. He looked slightly disappointed at your doing so. “I asked you if you’d seen the improvements I made to your vibroblades yet.” You looked down and saw he had definitely made some adjustments. “Oh, no I haven’t. I need to try practicing with them.”

“You’d have better luck with a blaster.” Crosshairs voice came from down the hall. He shouldered past you, bumping into you intentionally. You laughed at his comment, massaging your forehead as an attempt to combat an oncoming headache. “Hah, do I need to remind you what happened when you let your snarky attitude get the better of you while I had my blades?” You managed to see him shake his head in response, the lights in the room suddenly started to bother you.

His voice became faint, you heard “Lucky … only close … shoot you.” His voice was coming in and out, and a harsh pounding pain began at the top of your skull. You gripped your head and tried laughing at Cross’s comment, you’re sure it was probably his usual attitude. You thought you heard Hunters voice coming down the hall, but you couldn’t make out words. You saw through squinted eyes Tech was analyzing your behavior, and his lips began to move.

Finally you had to squeeze your eyes shut, and voice as loudly as you could “Gotta go.” The lights seemed too bright, and your headache revealed itself as a full-blown migraine. The bright lights seemed to cut into you, making the pounding in your head stronger. You felt like a big fist was punching you from inside, trying to break your skull open. You stumbled down the halls and managed to find the bathroom, rushing in and shutting the door.

The pounding subsided slightly, now that light was absent. You groaned and settled yourself on the floor. Unwelcome thoughts began to flash through your head. Separatist forces engaging you and the battalion. BANG. Tanks firing. BANG. Dead clone troopers lying on the ground, their voice screaming. BANG. Your own body lying on the ground unable to move. BANG. Tears streamed down your face, both from the pain and the horrible memories.

A soft knock at the door pulled you back into the moment, and you realized you had been banging your head on the wall. “Y/N?” You heard Hunters voice on the other side.

“I’m fine.” You said weakly. “Headache. Give me a minute.” You heard voices on the other side of the door, and footsteps shuffling. The head pounding in your skull still continued, but the flashes were gone.

“Close your eyes.” Hunter spoke quietly now. You covered your eyes, not having the energy to argue with him right now.

You heard the door open and he walked it, quickly closing the door. “What’s going on?” He knelt onto the floor next to you. You could make out his figure, and see a concerned look etched into his face now that your eyes adjusted to the dark. “Migraine. I’d like to be…” Alone. You tried to say it, but you couldn’t. You’d never had someone around when the pain was this bad, and part of you wanted him to stay with you the whole time. You gripped your head with both hands as a swell of pain surged through again.

Hunter gave you a moment to finish your sentence, once he realized you wouldn’t he sighed. “Let me at least put you somewhere more comfortable.” He spoke in a whisper, trying not to agitate you too much. He waited for a response. “Can you move?” You tried standing, pain swelled, and you settled back down. You knew it would only get worse when the door opened and the light would come through. You tried shaking your head. “I’m gonna carry you, okay?” He waited for an objection. “The light…” you breathed out. “Don’t worry, I'll handle it.” You heard him shuffle around, cloth moving, and then he gently wrapped a towel around your head. Your eyes were now effectively covered.

You felt one arm wrap around your back, his hand gripping your side, the other arm began securing you under your legs. In one fluid movement, Hunter lifted you up and your body was leaning against his. You pressed your towel-covered face into the crook of his shoulder, preparing to block out the light. You felt him take a sharp breath in as you pressed your face tightly against him. The door swung open, and you were relieved that you could see no brightness. The pain continued its pounding, but it began to dull. You felt comfortable and secure in his arms, and you realized nobody has ever taken care of you quite like this. You were suddenly grateful you had the towel on (which you realized had quite an unpleasant smell too), because it hid the blush that filled your cheeks.

Hunter's body swayed a little and you heard his feet move. Do I even weigh anything to him? You wondered, since he carried you so easily. Another door opened, and then shut. He took a few more steps, then you felt him adjusting your weight, beginning to set you down. He settled you onto a comfortable cot, a soft blanket underneath you. He gently rested your head down on the pillow, and removed your towel. The room was dark, darker than in the bathroom. You looked around and realized you were in Hunter's room. It was small, but it had enough room to fit you on the cot and him standing at the foot of the bed.

You both looked at each other for a moment, the pain lessening a little. “That towel smells.” You whispered. Hunter shrugged. You wrinkled your nose at him and then went to massage your forehead. You turned onto your left side so you could face him better, and fully relaxed into the bed. Although there was a slight stink, the bed smelled like him too. You pulled the blanket up a little to hide your face, and to take in the scent more. It served as a good distraction.

“Stay as long as you need to,” he said quietly. You heard him begin to shuffle out of the room. “Wait-” you reached out, not close enough to grab him, but the gesture caused him to freeze. You felt a slight surge of embarrassment, but ignored it. “Stay a bit. Please. I think it helps.” You saw his chest move up, like he was holding his breath. You wished you could see his face, to try and pick apart what he might be thinking right now. You continued massaging your head, moving to your temples now. You closed your eyes and tried relaxing, not wanting to pressure him by staring. You didn’t hear his movement, but the bed shifted, and you felt fingers move in between yours, and they began taking over the circular motions. You looked up and saw Hunter sat on the bed, a few inches in front of your body. You hoped he couldn’t see the color in your face change as he gently took over massaging your temple.

Although you were a little flustered by him doing this, you felt your heart flutter and your body relax to his touch. The pain was a soft thud now, and you could more easily ignore it. Your eyes had wandered away for a minute, but you searched for him again. You saw that he was watching you closely, and you thought he looked concerned, although his face seemed to betray no expression. The massaging turned into a head rub that went in circular motions all around and through your hair. It felt amazing and you sighed, resting your head more onto the pillow.

You watched Hunter for another minute. He never made eye contact with you, but you knew he was watching you, just as you were watching him. After a few more moments passed, you reached up to grab Hunters hand to stop his motions. He looked into your eyes questioningly. “Thank you, Hunter.” You smiled softly, and began to sit up on the bed. He hesitated, and then his hand retreated back. “Sure, we take care of each other here.”

What does this mean? You thought, as you both looked into each other's eyes. You had wondered at one point if there was something more to Hunter, or something more between the two of you. You both seemed to get along well, and you couldn’t deny there were moments you had. Tending to wounds, protecting each other in a fight, you wondered… Could there be something more here?

It doesn’t matter. I don’t deserve it. I don’t even deserve their trust.

You looked away from him and began to stand. “I should be getting back.”

“Already?” He seemed surprised. “Everyone will be back soon.” You remained silent. “I know Omega would like to see you.” You felt a sting in your chest as he mentioned her. Omega was your first friend in the group. Her innocent kindness towards you had been the beginnings of your relationship with everyone. You had a soft spot for her, just like everyone else seemed to. You managed to look back at him and smile softly “You’ll have to tell her hi for me.” You allowed yourself another moment to look at him. He broke eye contact fairly quickly and said “Alright then, fine.” You sighed and recognized that he was disappointed in your decision.

Could this be more?

The sting in your chest seemed to tug at you with this thought. “I’ll see you around Hunter.” You turned away and started to leave.

Maybe.

[ethrenisnotthehero]

@hogwartsmystory is a predator (final)

If you haven’t read the other parts of this callout, I encourage you to start here. As in both previous posts, the normal tags are not included in order to allow this to reach as many people as possible. Potential triggers are listed below, and the main content is hidden to keep sensitive individuals from being unintentionally exposed.

TW: Pedophilia, Abuse, Gaslighting, Sexual Assault, Self Harm, Suicide, NSFW Topics, Faked Illness, Faked Mental Illness, Faked Death, Victim Blaming

Originally, I intended to craft this final part to you, the reader, as an emotional appeal. To be wholly honest, there’s only so much evidence that can be utilized without either forcing Jill to relive unnecessary trauma or exposing deeply intimate or personal parts of her life. Until now, everything I’ve told you and everything I’ve shown you is what was enough to convince me when Jill first reached out to me. If you, the reader, don’t believe the factual information that’s been presented so far, then I don’t think that you will. If you, the reader, believe Jill and her story, then no further evidence is going to magically make her story more true.

However, I don’t have to. Instead, I can let the friends-- the family--that Ren created on his website speak for themselves, and show you with their own testimony just the kind of person he was. Jill wasn’t the only person that Ren hurt. Jill wasn’t even the only person Ren preyed on as a sexual predator. Many people on staff, and many people outside of it, knew Ren and grew to have what they thought was a close relationship with him. People regarded him as someone to look up to, to find comfort in, to aspire after, to lean on; people thought of him as a friend and a hero in his community.

On April 12, 2021, at 9:57 AM Greenwhich Mean Time, the current administrators of Advanced Scribes issued a statement addressing Ren’s actions and his faked death. An additional announcement was made the following day. While the announcements themselves and the replies (including moderator statements) are publicly available, I have saved a print-to-PDF versions on Google for you to browse at your leisure. 

I intentionally waited until the initial panic and outrage died out a little to let the most important statements come to light. Included in the PDF are sentiments that I personally thought were the most important sentiments; edits have been made and pages have been deleted, so you can see the current state of the conversations by visiting them directly. You can find the first discussion at https://advanced-scribes.com/viewtopic.php?f=13&t=42100#p1454263 and the second discussion at https://advanced-scribes.com/viewtopic.php?f=13&t=42107#p1454361.

Before you continue reading, please look over the statements and replies. The words of former staff former friends say more than I can ever hope to about Ren and the kind of reality that he stood for. Additionally, Jill herself has added to the conversation (username Rakuen), so you can read a bit from her perspective by looking into these announcements. After you’ve taken a look, continue below and I will sum up my final thoughts on this predator and his legacy.

Advanced Scribes • Our Statement (PDF)

Advanced Scribes • Change (PDF)

The Act of Grooming, Part 3: Entrapment

One of the reasons that predators get away with their crimes for so long is because they trap their victims. When they gain access to and successfully lure in their prey, they then engage in entrapment behavior to separate victims from other people and build reliance. The reason why kids are so prone to predation is because of how vulnerable they are. Young people just want to belong. They just want to have community, security, and affection. When they can’t get those things in their lives, they seek it out and take it where they can get it even when the situation is obviously bad. Kids can’t be held accountable for being smart because they’re kids. Jill was vulnerable. She wanted belonging and support. She fell into Ren’s lures, and he trapped her. He used his affection as a tool to solicit sexual favors and pictures from her, but never shared his face with her. She was always chasing his love, and all the while he was simultaneously preying on other individuals in the community. For God’s sake, this man had a selfie thread where underage girls would send pictures of themselves publicly on the site for him to look at, and he even intentionally disabled the website’s COPPA features.

Before Jill, there was Buttercup. Buttercup was also an admin, and she was also 13 when she met Ren. While Ren was a minor during he and Buttercup’s relationship, his behavior with her was just as predatory and Buttercup attempted to warn Jill via PM before she ended her relationship with him.

The picture he sent Buttercup wasn’t even him.

The entire time that Ren was convincing Jill that Buttercup was evil, and jealous, and a spiteful, hateful person, he was manipulating her the same way he was manipulating Jill. Ren is a predator who knows what he’s doing; he always has. He draws in his victims and makes everyone hate them so that he’s the only person they have. He makes them so desperate for his approval that they let him screw them over time and time again, and for what? Just to see his face. Think about what you read. He didn’t just do this to Jill and Buttercup. He did this to every person he cheated with or got close enough to get a grip on. Even if he didn’t sexually exploit someone, he emotionally did. An entire community of people suffered through this over and over and over again. Read the statements again. If you only read the live version, read the PDF. 

I also want you to bear in mind that everyone on staff was equally a victim as they were an enabler. It doesn’t erase their responsibility, but their roles in this story or more nuanced than “moderator bad, burn the witch!” Some of Ren’s supporters were as young or younger than Jill when they met him. The two people most notorious for standing at his side right now were both “rewarded” with a relationship with him in the fallout of his faked death.  

At some point, this man looked at his behavior and not only decided that he didn’t need to take responsibility, but that his victims daring to try and claim some kind of ownership over their own story was a personal affront to him. 

Ren is a monster of his own creation. He chose to be that monster again, and again, and again.

What makes his enablers equally to blame is when they became adults and made a conscious choice to ignore what was happening, which brings us to the next topic.

Finally... How Old Was Jill?

Despite everything I’ve said and shared so far, I still get this question in my inbox.

How old was Jill? Did she lie about her age? Is she free of guilt because she was a kid? Did he know how old she was? Was she legal in her country?

I gave you all everything I had. There were some things I just couldn’t confirm because there was no proof either way. However, all of that changed when the announcements were released. I now know exactly how old Jill was when they began dating, exactly how old she was when people knew about their relationship, and even that Ren was public with all of this information. I also know that staff knew everything, and chose to do nothing.

As you can see in the screenshots above of Buttercup’s message, it was sent on Jun 17, 2015. At that time, Jill was 14 years old. By Buttercup’s estimation, they had been dating for around a few months, which is how I was able to discern the previous exact age of 14 years old at the time they began dating.

However, Ren himself refutes that fact in a Valentine’s post for Jill. As pointed out in the “Our Statement” thread, the post that user amnesia. references includes very sexual and disgustingly graphic descriptions of Ren’s activity with her. It also says this:

As per the timestamp of this particular post (as seen below), Jill was 16 at the time. Ren, a man claiming to be twenty-five years old at the time, was proud to admit that he had been with Jill since she was 13.

You can view the full PDF of this post to see what else he said here, but please be warned that his descriptions are NSFW and absolutely disgusting. 

Warm Fuzzies Post (PDF)

No adult should talk about a kid like that. In the statements, several staff members admit that they knew that the two were dating when she was 16, and that it grossed them out. But none of them did anything. To amnesia.’s credit, they claim they tried to pursue legal action but found no viable routes. 

From the discussions and statements, we can discern five things:

1. Jill was 13 when she started dating Ren. 2. She did not lie about her age. 3. Ren did not lie about her age. 4. Ren knew how old she was. 5. Staff knew how old she was.

Jill’s feelings and her opinions on staff and their behavior are separate from my own. She does not share my beliefs here, and I need to make it very clear that what I’m saying next is entirely my own opinion.

To everyone who was staff at that time: shame on you. It’s one thing to be a victim yourself and to not understand how or when to stand up for what’s right, especially when you’re young; it’s another to become an adult and to have let something like this permeate your legacy and your community for all this time. From what I understand, none of you are completely innocent in this. Ren wasn’t secret, he was loud and proud and he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. Everyone who was an adult then and is an adult now shares some responsibility for that. Those of you who mean your apologies, thank you, but those of you who are using this event as a stepping stone to make that website into your own personal playground know who you are. Stop. There’s an entire generation of kids between AS and CS who have lost years of their childhoods to this shit and the only right thing at this point would be to turn the site over to the police so that Ren can answer for his crimes the right way.

To everyone else: protect the people around you. People like Ren don’t think about how other people think or feel. They don’t care who gets hurt or who they trample under their feet. Look around at your community, and ask yourself if those who interact with you know that you are safe. Inevitably, someone is going to get hurt. Are you the kind of person that they can come to when it happens, or are you the kind of person who will turn your head away? 

Be the person that everyone knows they can come to, because, eventually, someone’s going to need you.

[gallickingun]

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.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

“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.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

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: 

@tui-lah @viviankennedy @bnha-homeroom @frogsmarch @anxietys-a-bitch @succulent-momma @albuquerquemalu @ali-on-reverie @iamthe-leaf @kamehamethot @hoe-biscus @ux-l3ee @lovelustdollsworld @bigbootyconnections @alexandria-selina @eianthedumbass @sanguinekeigo @desia2 @loveydoveythot @shoutosplaything @thatloserweeb @kittysocks20 @jayetheanimefreek101 @toastedpopsicles @riotfuckery @spidrskarma @panbaigel @unsafetypin @peltho @mes-bisous @ee-blue @mildlyman @moondust-and-starlight @ihaileysenpai @hijackedreese @vampiregirl70 @gwizzpanda @powderedjellidoughnut @salemthewitch​ @unknown-girlie​ @mea-100​ @crystal-is-in-the-digiworld​ @phantomjeans​ @lozmarton​ @bananayogurtbitch​ @wwhndsome​ @violeteyedkeith​ @pumapurman​ @stfucanunot​

[eyeofthedrgn]

A Heavy Battle Symphony Chapter 8

Catch up here >> AHBS Masterlist

TW: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), drinking (comes up late in the story) just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - lots of lovely gay smut

Word count: 1739

Notes: This chapter is slightly graphic on the physical abuse. It's only like two lines, but I wanted to make it known.

Chapter 8 - Sorry for Now

After a while you may forget

But just in case the memories cross your mind

You couldn't know this when I left

Under the fire of your angry eyes

I never wanted to say goodbye

Four months, thirteen days, and ten hours, not that he was counting, since he left. Since the dark haired boy had walked away, leaving Rowan standing on the sidewalk. Since his mind spiraled out of control, and it felt like part of him died.

Rowan had been seeing a therapist for the last three months. It had helped, somewhat. At least he could function as a relatively normal human being again, when he was around people anyway. Most of the time. He almost didn't graduate. Thankfully, his mom, his friend group, and his therapist had helped him get through it.

But all in all, Rowan felt empty. Somehow his heart was broken. He hadn't realized someone could get so attached to someone so fast even though they never really talked or hung out. Maybe it was because they shared such vulnerabilities with each other that day in the park or there really was such a thing as a soulmate and his just left him. Either way, he was broken inside. Yet, he still went to parties with his friends, hung out, but he wasn't always present. Everyone noticed the vacant stares, but they usually left it alone. They all knew the general gist of what happened that day, but they could never understand the emotional gravity well that that day had caused. No one knew that Rowan had fallen for the other boy.

Except the ever observant Elide. She noticed everything. The way Rowan spoke about Lorcan, the way his eyes lit up when he saw the other boy walking down the hall, and the small looks they both shared on cast signing day.

But nobody had seen Lorcan after he had walked away. He never came back to school. No one knew what to think. Most assumed they moved again and they left it at that. Rowan assumed the worst after seeing Lorcan's bruises and him basically saying this was a usual occurrence.

Rowan was brought back to the present when a beach ball hit him in the head. He was sitting on the edge of Aelin's pool, sulking, feet dangling in the water. Aelin was throwing one of her parties, it was nearly the end of summer and soon most of them would head off to college. The noises from his friends finally filtering back into his head, it was suddenly too loud, too bright, and too hot. He ran a hand down his face.

Fenrys had been the beach ball throwing culprit, Rowan just glared at him.

"Come on, Ro. Try and have some fun?" Fen had swam over to Rowan and crossed his arms over the edge of the pool. The roguish blond just wanted him to be happy.

“I’m sorry.” He said that a lot now. Fenrys just raised an eyebrow at the boy… man.

He was eighteen now and he wasn't that scrawny, nerdy looking boy anymore. Rowan supposed that was one good thing that came out of Lorcan leaving, he got addicted to working out. There was a punching bag set up in the garage with some weights. He was fit now, muscles defined, but not bulky.

Elide walked up and mussed up his hair. "Come help me get some drinks." She didn't leave any room for argument.

In the kitchen, Elide just leaned forward on the island and looked at Rowan.

"I thought we were getting drinks."

"Yeah, we will. But-"

"But what?" He really didn't mean to say that with such an attitude, but he was hot and emotionally exhausted. Honestly, he just wanted to go home.

Elide was on her phone, waiting for him to chill. Taking a deep breath he said, "I'm sorry. What did you want to talk about?" Rowan was trying, he really was. She just slid her phone over the counter towards him. He furrowed his brows as he looked at the article on the screen.

Consultants for Erawan Enterprises arrested on counts of fraud, child abuse, human trafficking, and other illicit activities

"What's this?" He had no idea what this was about. Why would he care about Erawan Enterprises?

He picked up the phone and kept reading since Elide clearly wasn’t going to answer. It was short and there was a photo of a devastatingly beautiful woman with dark as night hair, that reminded him of Lorcan, and alabaster skin in handcuffs being pushed into a cop car and a very angry man shoved against the hood of the same car.

Maeve Valgerian and James Perrington were arrested Wednesday night. After some anonymous tips to the Morath Police.

"Who are these people?" Rowan didn't understand.

"Pretty sure she's Lorcan's aunt."

Oh.

Rowan had searched for Lorcan online after he disappeared, but there was literally nothing. Absolutely zero results. It was like he was a ghost.

They were consultants for Erawan Enterprises and moved all over the world for the very powerful man. Erawan Enterprises is under investigation for fraud, money laundering, and human trafficking.

After Valgerian and Perrington were arrested, MPD searched their residence and found incriminating evidence against them.

There was also a teenager held captive in the basement. They were taken to the nearest hospital with severely critical injuries. The name and gender of this individual will not be released for their safety.

The article was published nearly two months ago.

Human trafficking…

Held captive...

Severely critical injuries...

"Please, don't break my phone." He was squeezing the device and didn't realize it. Quickly handing it back to her, his hand went straight to his hair.

“Are you sure this is his aunt?”

“Well, not 100%, but they have physical similarities and their hair…” she trailed off. “And Lorcan had mentioned his aunt’s boyfriend living with them one day in class.”

"Fuck!" He felt like he wanted to rip his hair out.

"Ro." Elide's voice was quiet.

"FUCK!"

After a couple deep breaths, he ran his hands down his face, and then turned to face his friend. "Is he dead?" His voice cracked.

"I don't know. All of the other articles I could find are just about them and Erawan Enterprises. No mentions of Lorcan. Anywhere. It's like he doesn't exist."

Elide pulled him into a hug and he broke.

---

Lorcan had been through shit show after shit show since he left the Whitethorn house. As soon as he returned to the apartment, it was packed up into a moving van and they were gone.

They were in Fenharrow for a couple months. Maeve didn't enroll him in school. He was locked in the basement of the small house they rented, it felt like he had gone crazy. He hadn't seen the sun until they moved again. His skin turned a sickly gray. By the time they moved again, he could feel every one of his ribs, and his hips stuck out, his fingers overlapping when wrapped around his wrist.

Next move was to Morath. Lorcan didn't know if he would survive. He didn’t have a good feeling about this place. The basement became his home yet again. It was filthy. There were thick iron hooks in opposite walls and chains hanging from them. This was where he was going to die. He closed his eyes as Perrington latched the shackles around his wrists.

---

One day, Lorcan heard sirens intermittently. He kept passing out. He wasn't even sure he was hearing sirens or if it was just a ringing in his ears. They were always ringing nowadays. A punch to his face made his vision flicker. Blood and saliva leaked from his mouth as his head rolled down to his chest.

The ringing in his ears got louder. There definitely weren't sirens. No one was going to save him. He was going to die here. He knew it. It was what he deserved. The bastard born half-breed that no one cared about, left to die in his own filth in a disgusting basement. The world slowly faded to black.

---

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

He was in Hel. He had to be.

Beep.

The incessant beeping was there to drive him insane. And the smell of bleach was there to make him sick.

Beep.

---

Lorcan startled awake. How could he be awake? He was supposed to be dead. Right?

The nightmare he was having felt so real. Probably because he had lived it before. He assumed that was just what Hel was supposed to be, reliving the worst parts of your life.

But instead, he was in a bed, a hospital bed. Why did they save him? Lorcan wasn't worth saving. Yet, here he was covered in wires, tubes, a needle stuck in his hand, a device on his finger. It was dark outside and the lights were dim in the room.

Deciding he wasn’t actually dead, he took stock of his body, he was certain he had some broken ribs, but nothing else seemed to be broken which was surprising. He was definitely sore and stiff. And exhausted. So exhausted.

---

After… Lorcan didn't know how long he was discharged. He had put on some weight, though not a lot. The staff made sure he ate. They were all nice and cared for him. But now, he stood outside the main entrance of the hospital in some scrubs they gave him. Now, he had nothing. Nobody. He may as well have been lost at sea.

Why had they saved him? He still couldn’t figure that out.

Somehow, he managed to find the small house that he had been stuck in for who knows how long. There was police tape over the door. The door was open.

He pushed through the tape. The house was a mess. It seemed the cops had ransacked the place. But he finally found his things, they were strewn about the floor. Thank Hellas, his journal was still there. After changing, he packed up his books and journal, some clothes, and a few other other necessities.

He needed money or something he could sell. Maeve's jewelry would help. He could pawn it.

Lorcan asked the pawnshop owner for directions to the bus station, and then he set out to see if there was still one person who cared about him. Hopefully this wasn’t a bad idea.

____

Thanks for reading. Things will get better, I promise! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

Edit- oops! I forgot to actually put in tags... My bad. Sorry!

@thenerdandfandoms @starlightorstarfire

[houseofsimps]

hi! i would like to submit another request for jotaro please. once again i don’t care for whom the mod writer shall be! i would like it to be involved with the whole april 24th situation and how if the s/o would have to go out if jotaro can be there for them during that day. if you do not do this sorta work, that’s fine too.

TW// r@p3, Panic attacks, April 24th situation CW// Gn!reader AN: this was kinda hard to write as a survivor of rape and sexual assault however it was kinda helping cope with the trauma?

Y/n’s pov: I wake up feeling the warmth from the sunlight through the window; I roll over not wanting to leave only to see my boyfriend asleep next to me. I suddenly remember we have a killer to catch I easily slip out of bed not wanting to wake him and putting on my f/c tanktop, black fishnets, a pair of shorts, and my running shoes; walking into the bedroom I see Jotaro gone ‘he must’ve gone to get dressed’ I think to myself walking into the kitchen to make pancakes.

Jotaro’s pov: I woke up to find Y/n gone, they must’ve woken up before me. I hear the TV playing faintly in the background till I suddenly hear “According to the uprising app TikTok several men have decided to declare today as National Rape Day where they will be sexually assaulting people and their excuse shall be it is a national holiday police will be on high alert and you should be too.” ‘fuck y/n is at risk’ third-person pov: Jotaro finishes getting dressed only to walk into the Living room seeing Y/n shaking on the floor curled up in a ball with uneasy and rapid breathing he slowly approaches them “Hey is it okay can I sit next to you?” he asks they’ve had panic attacks before and he always asks if he can come near them before he does they give him an unsteady thumbs up and he sits at their side in the overwhelming emotion Star Platinum manifests at their other side holding them softly trying to protect them from the thing he can’t. Jotaro wraps an arm around Y/n as they lean into his side “I-I don't think I can go out today I’m so sorry I just am so scared” they mumble out then lowly where they thought Jotaro couldn’t hear they whisper “I can’t go through that again”  Jotaro’s pov: ‘Again? what do they mean again? it's happened before?’ My mind rushes with questions I barely notice Star Platinum holding them trying to tell them it’ll be okay. “I’ll call the others and tell them we aren't going today me and you are both staying home where I know you are safe and I can be with you to keep your mind off it okay? I am not gonna let you relive whatever you have gone through”  they look at me “Are you-” I cut them off mid sentence “Yes y/n I’m sure I also want the others to stay home just in case I love you and I am not risking this to happen to any of us” I hear them mumble a small okay before I call Josuke “Hey have you seen this shit happening today” Josuke hesitates “Y-yeah I did is everything okay?” “Yeah we are fine but we are staying at the hotel I’m not risking any of us getting hurt today you and the others stay home to alright?” “Gotcha” I hang up the phone before hugging y/n holding them close to me “Come on let's go back to sleep and rest you need it”

[ahgaseda]

enough | six

even if everyone else leaves me, you’re enough for me, you’re my only one, stand by me forever, only you, just you...

summary : to survive as a single woman in the big city, you resort to letting rich men pay for your company, but never anticipated that your first client would be the boy you once loved, Jinyoung.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, references to prostitution, mentions of gang activity, graphic sexual content, potentially triggering elements involving mental health, panic attacks, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

It wasn’t until you stepped inside your condo that your heart began to calm. Arguing with Jinyoung still excited you like hell, made something reckless rush through your veins. The two of you were just as hot-headed and stubborn as ever.

Sometimes, you were desperate to get a reaction out of him. No matter how big or small. Especially when he was guarded, which was almost always. It was then you realized that regardless of how many years had passed, you and Jinyoung were still the same two kids wildly and hopelessly in love with each other.

It didn’t matter what was said and done, there would always be the push and pull. You would always find your way back to each other. Your fates were intertwined, destined to tangle despite the distance between you. In a way, you and Jinyoung were doomed to be stuck with each other forever.

With a shake of your head, you chuckled quietly to yourself. Less than an hour had passed and you already missed him. It was pathetic and deeply wounded your pride.

Striding toward the bedroom, you stopped in your tracks when Jackson proceeded to make himself comfortable on the living room sofa.

Brows stitching, you asked confusedly, “Um, what are you doing?”

Jackson glanced at you and flashed that grin of his, replying coolly, “Oh, Jinyoung asked me to spend the night.”

You rolled your eyes and retorted, “Why? To make sure I don’t fuck anyone?”

“Of course not,” Jackson scoffed. “Don’t be a brat.”

You snorted. Under the circumstances, only Jackson could get away with calling you that. Then, a dark thought crossed your mind and you asked, “Am I in some kind of danger?”

“Absolutely not,” Jackson said, like a seasoned politician. It technically wasn’t a lie, he reasoned. You were perfectly safe with him in the next room.

“Okay,” you sighed, knowing neither Jackson or Jinyoung would ever readily admit anything of that nature to you.

In the penthouse, Jinyoung sat pensively by the fireplace, a glass of hard liquor in his hand. He rattled the ice cubes before taking another swig.

Relentless and systematic, he had been undermining Jiwon. Turning his allies against him. Alerting his enemies to his moves. Jinyoung knew how to deal with potential threats, but that did nothing for the fact you were now in the line of fire.

Jiwon’s tactics had reminded Jinyoung why he stayed away for as long as he did, why he made sure to never link the two of you together. Until you forced his hand. It was a dangerous business, his line of work. And there was a reason why men in his position never kept lovers more than one night.

Jinyoung rubbed his forehead where a throb and ache were festering; a side-effect of thinking too damn long and hard.

He couldn’t protect you every minute of every day. You had a life to lead, a dream you had been working toward for as long as he had known and loved you. It wasn’t fair for him to control your every move, to make you live in a constant state of fear that at any moment someone could try to take you away just to punish him.

“I have to get out,” Jinyoung whispered to himself, running a hand down his face. For a long time, Jinyoung had been drunk on the power his status gave him. For once in his life, he had control in the hellfires that surrounded him.

But he wasn’t fireproof.

He could let it all go for you, couldn’t he? He wouldn’t think twice when it came to starting over for your sake. At this point, Jinyoung was ready to give up everything just for the chance to wake up next to you each and every morning.

The wheels were turning in his head. He mapped all the ties in his mind - the ones he would have to sever. Nothing could keep him tethered to this life. He would have to start from nothing.

When the phone rang and jolted him from his reverie, Jinyoung glared at the thing in annoyance, softening only when he saw your name and photo on the screen.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked gruffly.

You frowned and wished you could stare daggers into his face. “Well, hello to you, too,” you smarted back.

Jinyoung felt his lip twitch with amusement at your tone and said, “I can’t talk long.”

You were agitated by his dismissal of you, which could only mean he was in deep thought and not to be disturbed, but you would be damned if you let Park Jinyoung tell you what to do.

Getting comfortable in bed, you pulled the blanket up to your chest and huffed, “Fine. I’ll keep this short. Do you think we will ever be able to move past any of this?”

Jinyoung chortled. “I’m an insufferable grudge holder.”

It went without saying you knew that better than anyone. “And I run from my problems.”

Jinyoung’s wrath flickered and he snapped, “I was a problem?”

You flinched, playful smile vanishing from your face as emotion bubbled in your chest, and quickly stammered, “That’s not what I meant…”

“I know,” he interjected, heaving a sigh. Jinyong realized one of these days he would have to let that go, but for now, it continued to burn a massive, gaping hole inside of him.

You felt small, like a child begging for forgiveness after running away from home with her head hung low. “You weren’t what I was running from,” you countered softly.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” said Jinyoung. But I wish you would.

“Jinyoung, you saw me,” you replied, as if reading his mind. “Everyday I had to look you in the eyes and see how fucking terrified you were when you looked at me.”

Jinyoung remembered that, though he tried desperately not to. There were countless nights he tried to drown the image of you out of his mind, withering away before his very eyes. “We were in it together,” he whispered, hurt.

He wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t right either. Yes, Jinyoung was always by your side, but he didn’t know the battles raging inside of you. He would never know the agony you felt. “I was the only one in that car,” you spoke firmly.

Jinyoung moved the phone from his mouth, stifling his rage. He would never forget the day he almost lost you forever, but even though you were back safe in his arms, he saw the light had faded from your eyes. The girl he knew and loved had left him.

At his silence, you were finally given the chance to say your peace. “I became defined by my trauma. I was dying inside little by little every day. I was losing who I was. The girl you fell in love with was fading away until I was just this shell of a person I used to be.”

Jinyoung swallowed the lump in his throat. “You had to get out.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see. “I did.”

“I respect you for saving yourself, but I resented you for not saving me, too,” Jinyoung confessed, his voice nearly breaking.

Tears welled in his eyes. The hurt was festering inside him again. He relived the day you left him over and over until it was branded permanently across his memory. He waited for the pain to dull, to fade, but time never healed that wound.

“I wanted to,” you murmured, a tear escaping down your cheek. “When I came here I had a plan. I would work my ass off by night and go to school by day. I wanted to make a life for us and I wanted to be the girl I always dreamed of being.”

Jinyoung straightened his shoulders and buried his emotions as he always did. He couldn’t dwell on them. The more he did, the more the hole in his chest deepened. It threatened to rip him at the seams. “So, we went different ways toward the same goal.”

Your first instinct was to argue, but you mulled. “I guess we did.”

“You weren’t the only one who changed,” Jinyoung spoke in a low tone, rising from his chair to top off his glass. “If you were defined by your trauma, then I was defined by my anger. I let it put me on paths I would have never gone otherwise.”

You often thought of Jinyoung after you left. Did he tear the house to pieces? Did he scream and cry until his lungs gave out? You imagined he burned every picture that ever existed of you and him together.

“Jinyoung, I wanted to take you with me,” you started, biting your lip.

He swallowed down the liquor, gritting his teeth at the familiar burn down his throat, and continued, “I know, but I joined the gangs. That’s not your fault.”

“You did it because of me,” you insisted. “Because of what happened to me.”

Jinyoung paused. The image of you in the hospital - bloodied and bruised - had broken the last of the goodness in him. Jinyoung had danced with the darkness, flirted with the danger, but you leaving him on that driveway was the breaking point; the moment the dance ended and he let the darkness consume him.

“I had always known I would die for you if I had to,” Jinyoung finally said. “When I realized I was willing to kill for you, it changed me.”

“I regret it,” you whispered, face tensing with more tears. “I regret leaving you.”

“Don’t,” Jinyoung replied levelly, though he wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms. “We are who we are because of the choices we made. Like it or not, we are all defined by the bad shit that happened in our lives.”

You sighed loudly, rubbing at your tears with a fist. “You’re right.”

He laughed in surprise and joked, “Someone get that on tape.”

You chuckled, relieved to feel the humor cutting through the tension. After a short pause, you told him, “Goodnight, Jinyoung. I love you.”

“Sleep well, baby,” he said, taking another gulp. “I love you, too.”

You hung up the phone and curled back into bed. The weight of his words kept you awake, haunted by the depths of their meaning and their consequences.

When I realized I was willing to kill for you, it changed me...

You swallowed, imagining Jinyoung’s hands dripping with blood as they came to settle around your throat. But you didn’t cry out in fear, you moaned in pleasure.

Shaking the imagery from your mind, you eventually drifted to restless sleep.

The next morning, you woke to your phone ringing. Heart thudding at the prospect of talking to Jinyoung again, all things considered, you roused yourself and grabbed your phone from the nightstand. Excitement quickly dissipated when you saw the caller.

“Hey, Hoseok,” you answered sleepily. “How are you?”

“I’m sorry to wake you,” he replied, apologetic. “I was calling to ask you that.”

You rose from the bed, stepping toward the window to see what weather to expect for the day ahead. “I’m okay. What can I do for you?”

Hoseok shuffled on the other line and he couldn’t find his voice for a moment, but finally said, “This is really inappropriate of me, but would you like to meet for lunch?”

“Sure,” you responded, brow furrowing. “Why would that be inappropriate?”

“Since we don’t work together anymore.”

You rolled your eyes at his concern and replied, “I still consider you a friend, Hoseok.”

Hoseok was relieved to hear that, but it only worsened his guilt. “I want to apologize and make things right with you. Is that okay?”

The awkwardness from the night before was still clearly present, but it did nothing to undermine the past four years of having Hoseok as a faithful friend and protector. You tried to put him at ease as best you could. “You don’t need to do either. We’re fine. But I’m not opposed to grabbing a bite to eat with you, for old times’ sake.”

“Alright,” Hoseok said, and you could practically hear his smile. “See you at the usual.”

“See you there.”

You hung up and looked at your phone for a moment. Jinyoung had accused Hoseok of having some kind of feelings toward you. Hoseok didn’t deny it, but he didn’t really say anything either. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Hoseok had done nothing but be good to you since the day you met him.

Stepping out of the bedroom whilst fastening your earring, Jackson glanced up and asked, “Well, where are you going all dolled up?”

The pleated skirt stopped just above your knees and the sheer white blouse was loose-fitting over your black tank top. It was supposed to be a beautiful day and you dressed accordingly.

“I’m going to lunch with Hoseok,” you told him nonchalantly.

Jackson’s countenance changed on a dime. It was the first time he used a heavy tone with you. “Is that wise?”

Preempting an argument, you countered patiently, “Jacks, listen. He was there for me when I had nothing and no one. Besides, he’s a bodyguard. He won’t let anything happen to me.”

Jackson’s gaze was stern, you almost faltered, but with a sigh, he relented, “I will be right outside the entire time. Non-negotiable.”

“Fine,” you said with a short nod, thanking him for his understanding.

Meanwhile, Yugyeom was thrilled to have something to do. He opened the back door to the Range Rover for you, whistling at your dressed up self. You waved him away with a grin and hopped inside.

Given it was still quite early in the day, the small restaurant was almost empty. You stepped inside, spotting Hoseok at one of the tables. He stood and greeted you warmly, waiting for you to sit before he returned to his seat.

“I hope I didn’t get you into any trouble with the boss,” you spoke quietly.

“Not at all,” Hoseok replied, waving away your worry. “Business as usual today. Some of the girls have been asking about you.”

Your heart clenched a little at that. You were grateful for the friends you made at the agency, but by the nature of the business, no one bonded too closely. “I miss them already.”

Hoseok shifted in his seat and began, “I, uh, asked you here for a reason.”

You assumed to clear the air, but something about his visible discomfort put you on edge. “Let’s hear it,” you said as the waiter set a glass of water before you.

Hoseok paused until the server was out of earshot to say, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

His eyes were heavy as they bore into yours and he spoke under his breath, “For what I’m about to do.”

Your brows stitched.

Hoseok withdrew a folder from behind him and placed it on the table before you. “You know nothing about Jinyoung.”

Your heart sank, but a wave of rage surmounted your disappointment. After a pause, you murmured softly, “I’m the only one that knows him.”

“You know the old him,” Hoseok told you with a shake of his head and proceeded to pull a photo from the file.

At the tiniest glimpse of blood, you slammed your hands down over his, eyes fixated to his face. You didn’t know you were capable of the level of anger surging through your body and your voice came out a low growl, “Hoseok, I’m warning you.”

Hoseok hesitated. You were seething before him, gripping his hands and keeping them on the counter, blocking the image from view. Slipping from your grasp and placing a hand over yours tenderly, he warned, “I don’t want you to get into bed with a man like that.”

You bristled and snapped, “Hoseok, I’m not naive. I know everyone likes to think I’m the little girl that’s just a plaything for a powerful man. Every girl in the agency gets into bed with bad men, worse men. The only difference is your feelings for me.”

Hoseok blinked.

Fear crept up your spine. Emotion gripped your throat tight. Lips trembling, you thought, Please don’t show me the monster I created.

Hoseok lowered his head, sighing loudly. Without another word, he pulled the photo from beneath your hands and tucked it back inside the folder.

Seeing him back down, you asked, “You know who told Seokjin about me and Jinyoung?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“An interested party,” came a voice behind you.

As you turned, the man sitting blithely at the table behind yours had moved to your side. He spoke your name in greeting, a sinister smile plastered to his face, and said, “I’m Jiwon, a former employee of Jinyoung’s.”

“Disgruntled, it would seem,” you deadpanned.

“Why don’t you hand me that phone?” he sneered, glancing down at your lap and holding out his hand.

Your phone had been in your right hand, concealed beneath the table, and you were attempting to text without looking, hoping to get a message off to Yugyeom or Jackson or even Jinyoung, for all you cared.

Shifting your gaze to Hoseok, you noticed the shame on his face before he hung his head.

“No, I think I’ll hang onto it,” you replied, hiding your phone behind your back.

Jiwon exhaled loudly for dramatic effect as he sidled into the seat next to you, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. The bite of metal was suddenly cold against your waist, even through the fabric of your shirt.

You looked down at the blade and swallowed the lump in your throat. It all made sense now. Jackson staying over. Being hesitant to let you go to lunch. You were in danger. And now Jackson was right outside, but had no idea you were at a stranger’s mercy.

Bringing your gaze back to his face, you asked, “Are you going to stab me in the middle of a restaurant, Jiwon?”

Jiwon leaned in and whispered in your ear, “Believe me when I say I’ve done much, much worse.”

You believed him. Trapped between him and the wall, there was nowhere for you to run, no way to escape. With a frown, you handed him the phone without further resistance.

“What do you want?”

Jiwon slipped your phone into his back pocket and sang, “I want to open your pretty little eyes. Help you see the light where Jinyoung is concerned.”

You tried to stay calm, appearing unaffected. Instead, you feigned annoyance. “If you have a problem, take it up with him. I’m just his toy.”

“Nah, sweetheart,” he crooned, stroking a finger over your cheek. “You’re his baby.”

Everything about this man repulsed you and you tried to lean away, but the switchblade followed, staying pressed to your side. “Then, you know you should leave me alone,” you warned.

Jiwon took your threat in stride and said, “He started off small after you left him. Guns, drugs, women. Easy to imagine Jinyoung as a pimp, isn’t it?”

Your eyes burned.

“With patience and dedication, he ascended the ranks. Made a name for himself. He’s ruthless and rightly feared in the underground.”

You knew you were on the verge of tears, but above everything else, you couldn’t risk crying in front of this man. “Stop,” you choked out.

“Don’t you wanna know where all the money comes from? How he’s able to spoil his baby girl like he does,” Jiwon taunted, spinning a lock of your hair around his finger as he toyed with you. “Rich and powerful people have problems that can’t be seen or they will lose everything. Jinyoung is the one they call to fix those problems.”

“You’re lying.” You were adamant, but anyone could tell you believed him. You knew he was telling the truth.

“Am I?” Jiwon questioned, motioning to the table. “Look at the file. I got it for you. That’s a government official file. Everything they have on him.”

You looked at the manila folder before you and the next words out of your mouth surprised even you, “I don’t care. Whatever’s he done… I still love him.”

Jiwon cocked a brow. “Anything?”

“I can’t stop loving him,” you muttered in defeat. “I tried.”

Jiwon sighed yet again. “Oh, baby girl. If I can’t turn you against him, then I have no choice but to take you away from him.”

“Jiwon,” Hoseok warned. That clearly wasn’t part of the deal when he gave his cooperation.

“You’re done,” Jiwon shot back with a pointed finger.

Your eyes widened as Jiwon tugged harshly on your arm and you exclaimed, “Hoseok, you would rather I be dead than with Jinyoung?”

Jiwon pressed the blade to your side, glancing around. “Get up and walk. Don’t make a scene.”

A phone rang in the background. The owner of the restaurant answered and not a moment later, he began yelling to close down the shop.

“Shit, he’s on to me,” Jiwon cursed, leaping to his feet and hoisting you up violently. “Let’s go, baby bird.”

You struggled - it was your body’s natural instinct - and yelled, “If you’re just gonna kill me anyway, I won’t make it easier for you.”

Jiwon weighed his options. He needed you; you were the only card left to play, but you had no intention of going quietly. The situation was devolving. The restaurant cleared out. And Hoseok was starting to move toward you.

“Jiwon,” shouted a familiar voice.

You caught a glimpse of Jackson barreling inside before Jiwon released you, turning tail and running as his life depended on it. You staggered with adrenaline into Hoseok’s arms, pushing him away angrily.

“Hoseok, get out of here,” you snapped, trembling with nerves. “For the years you took care of me, I can give you this one chance. I may not be able to save you when he gets here.”

Hoseok gave you a parting glance filled with regret before reaching for the folder on the table.

“No, that’s mine. Remember?” you spoke under your breath.

Hoseok looked between you and the file, then he left without a goodbye or an apology.

Though you expected neither.

You grabbed the folder and hurriedly stuffed it into your purse, plopping down onto your seat and grabbing your untouched glass of water with a shaky hand.

The door opened and by the slow, drawn-out footsteps, you knew exactly who was coming.

Jinyoung slipped into the seat across from you, trying desperately to conceal the turmoil on his face.

“Are you…,” he began unsurely.

“Don’t,” you interrupted, refusing to look at him. Your blood was boiling.

Jinyoung exhaled loudly through his nose and respected your wishes. For a moment or two, you sat there in silence until you finished your glass of water.

“Are you happy?” you finally forced the words out. “Is this what you wanted?”

He frowned.

Gazing down at your trembling hands, you murmured, “You know, that day they kidnapped me, I swore I would never go through that again. If anyone ever tried to take me, I would fight like hell. I would rather die than be taken to whatever horror they had waiting for me.”

“Baby…,” Jinyoung started, wanting to silence you. This was dangerous territory for him. He couldn’t bear to hear anymore.

You set your jaw. “We both know what was gonna happen to me, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung rubbed his hands over his face. He couldn’t stomach it; he never could. Even at the hospital, he refused to listen when the police tried to tell him about the men who had taken you and what their intentions were. The town had been descending deeper and deeper into depravity.

And even though salvation had come, you still lost a part of yourself. Your peace. Your joy. From that moment on, you stopped seeing people. You only saw danger.

Jackson rounded the corner, approaching swiftly. “Jinyoung, we got him. What do you want to do?”

Jinyoung looked at you for a moment. You still refused to meet his eyes. In fact, your attention remained fixated on your shaking hands. And he was overcome with hatred.

“I’ll be right back.”

You stood sharply in dissension and called after him, “Jinyoung.”

Your lover rounded on you, speaking darkly and slowly, “Sit.”

Everything in you resisted for the sake of your stubbornness and pride, but your body obeyed him without a second thought. The Jinyoung standing before you was an entirely different animal.

Your eyes lingered on his back as he stepped out of your sight.

Jinyoung ambled into the alleyway, devoid of expression as he approached the dead end. Jiwon was there on his knees, Jaebeom standing over him with a fist in his hair.

“Jiwon, I knew you were crazy, but I never thought you to be stupid,” Jinyoung chastised, taking your phone from Jaebeom’s outstretched hand.

Jiwon spat blood from his mouth. Jackson had not hesitated to inflict punishment on him when caught, resulting in the busted lip and broken nose. “I’m flattered,” he grumbled, obstinate.

Jinyoung slipped his hands in his pockets and drifted closer, appearing almost indifferent. The bloodied sight was pleasing to his eyes, fanning the fires of his rage.

“I admit, you had me for a moment, but all you did was wake the bear.”

“I already screwed you, Jinyoung-ie,” Jiwon taunted, flashing a grin of crimson-stained teeth. “I gave them every shred of condemnable shit I have on you.”

Jaebeom clocked a glance at Jinyoung. He knew what that meant. Jackson clenched his jaw, enraged.

Jinyoung didn’t flinch, didn’t bat an eye. “Then, I’m doing you a favor. There is no life on these streets for a snitch.”

Jiwon laughed. “No point in killing me. You’re going to lose her. I won.”

“I win,” Jinyoung replied. “I’m the one keeping my life.”

The blood drained from Jiwon’s face. The rebellion left him and he exclaimed, “Really, Jinyoung? You’re gonna kill me in broad daylight over this shit?"

Jinyoung glared and retorted, “I would gladly kill you in the middle of Time fucking Square.”

Jiwon whimpered. It finally sank in what a mistake he had made.

Jinyoung crouched down, his eyes scalding. He never made decisions out of vengeance, only strategy, only necessity. Which was what Jiwon had been banking on. But there was a first for everything. Staring his enemy in the face, he whispered, “You put your hands on my girl.”

Jiwon swallowed.

Jinyoung lifted back to full height and gave a single nod to Jaebeom. “Do it.”

Jaebeom pulled the gun from his belt and cocked back the chamber.

“Yugyeom, I swear,” you said sharply, yanking your hand from his grasp. Poor Yugyeom had been trying to usher you into the waiting car and failing spectacularly.

Jinyoung emerged from the alleyway and onto the sidewalk. You overlapped your arms, ignoring Yugyeom’s pleas. Jinyoung took one look at you and knew that you had far surpassed furious.

“What the hell is going on?” you asked loudly. “Why haven’t you called the police?”

Jinyoung dragged his feet to you, outstretching his arm with your phone in hand.

You took your phone, staring down at the screen and seeing your own reflection. It hit you. Jiwon was dead. Threatening you had cost him his life.

“Baby…,” Jinyoung began, ready to face your wrath.

You took a step back at his approach and cried, “What did you get me into?”

Jinyoung lowered his head.

You hissed, gritting your teeth, “This is exactly the life I didn’t want for us!”

“I know.”

That infuriated you. He never sounded so indifferent, so unaffected by something that shredded the fabric of who you were, but you knew he was only hiding. Jinyoung devoted all of his energy to appearing strong on the surface.

“I can’t do this,” you whimpered. “I can’t live in that kind of fear every day. You of all people know that.”

“Come here,” Jinyoung crooned, sliding his hand to the nape of your neck and tucking you into his arms, your face buried against his chest where you belonged.

“No,” you snapped, pushing him back and storming away, wiping your tears roughly with the back of your hand. You had no idea where you were going, just that you needed to get away from him.

Jinyoung knew that, too, and he trudged behind you, always a few steps in your wake. “Where are you going?” he asked, annoyed.

You continued down the sidewalk, aimless and in denial, and shouted, “I’m not doing this. I’m not going through this again.”

“Through what?”

You said nothing.

Jinyoung felt his heart sink somewhere into his stomach. He quickened his pace, grabbing your arm and spinning you round to face him. “Stop and talk to me,” he yelled, afraid.

“You’re going to make me do this all over again,” you spat, shoving his hands away.

Jinyoung was at his breaking point and though he never dared raise his voice at you, this time he screamed, “What the hell am I making you do? Spit it out!”

“Leave you!”

Jinyoung paused, stunned into silence.

You staggered, covering your face with both hands as the tears began to flow. “It killed me last time. It really killed me. I won’t survive a second time.”

Jinyoung frowned and his voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “Then, don’t.”

You shrugged, running out of energy. “What choice do I have?”

“You have me,” Jinyoung snapped, clasping your arms like he was about to shake some sense into you. “We have each other. That’s enough!”

You lowered your gaze to the road beneath your shoes. “I’m sorry.”

Jinyoung refused to listen, refused to believe for a second you would do this. “No.”

“Let go of me,” you whimpered, trying to pry yourself from his grasp.

Jinyoung was too strong and he held you with every fiber of his being. “I’m not letting you leave again,” he hissed bitterly. “I was young and stupid last time, but not anymore.”

What a fool you must have looked; standing on the sidewalk yelling at your lover like something out of a second rate drama. “Jinyoung…”

Jinyoung’s voice was filled with conviction, it seeped into the air around you to the point you could feel his fire inside yourself. “You said it killed you before. Well, it killed me, too! When are you going to realize we can’t live without each other?”

It was a poignant question. You knew the answer the moment you left him four years ago. Without Jinyoung, a piece of you was missing.

Jinyoung softened, only a little. His hands slipped from your arms, moving to cradle your face as he stared into your eyes with longing and devotion. “I don’t care if this way of life gets us killed in the end. At least, we will have been together. You would rather be away from me and safe than with me and in danger? That doesn’t make any sense. Your place in this life is with me!”

“I know,” you sighed.

“Then, stop all this bullshit about running away,” he growled. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared shitless, too. But I know what I’m doing now. I take care of you and you take care of me. That’s it. That’s the bottom line. Nothing else matters.”

You had no argument and even if you did, you wouldn’t use it. All you knew was that you wanted to be with him. You never wanted to be parted from him again for an instant. He was where you belonged and you finally came to accept it.

But you couldn’t justify his way of life and you snarled under your breath, “You know why I hate the gangs. Why I hate everything about what you do.”

Jinyoung nodded and spoke diplomatically, “I know every reason why. I hate them for all the same reasons. But I learned a long time ago, if you can’t beat them, own them.”

You sighed and peered up at him with bloodshot eyes. The file in your purse felt suddenly heavier. “How many people have you killed?”

Jinyoung blinked, surprised by your question. But he answered without hesitation, “None.”

You tilted your head. “You have other people do it for you, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, and not very well. In fact, Jinyoung didn’t even try to change his tone. He knew you would see right through him this time.

“Don’t lie to me,” you pressed; unsure what answer you wanted out of him and knowing damn well nothing he gave you would suffice.

Jinyoung leaned in, slipping his fingers into your hair, and whispered, “I have never taken someone’s life with my own hands.”

That was enough for now. You just wanted to be in his arms. “Take me back to your place,” you ordered stubbornly. “I’m not sleeping alone tonight.”

Jinyoung studied your face and ultimately nodded. His heart was racing. He recognized your fight or flight response - you were ready to bolt. The memory of him chasing that truck down the drive flooded into his mind. You never looked back as he screamed your name, begging you not to leave him.

The car was eerily quiet as Yugyeom drove. You and Jinyoung sat together in the backseat, but there may as well have been a wall erected between your bodies. Jinyoung turned to you only once, seeing your eyes fixated on the window as buildings blurred by.

Jinyoung knew in that moment he had lost. He would wake in the morning and find you gone.

You felt a storm raging inside you; a constant conflict and collision of emotions. The hardest thing you had ever done in your life was leave Jinyoung and for what? He still became what you feared, if not worse. You looked back in regret, wishing you had stayed with him.

Jinyoung called your name.

You turned reluctantly toward him, but he was looking pensively at his hands.

“It was never your job to save me,” Jinyoung said gently.

“Of course it was,” you replied, a little too sharp.

Jinyoung shook his head. “You made the right choice, baby. Now it’s my turn.”

You rolled your eyes and angled back to the window before tears could stream down your face.

If the car was quiet and tense, the penthouse was much worse. Jinyoung had your study materials brought from your house and then ordered food, not that you had much appetite. Then, he locked himself in his bedroom and didn’t come out again.

You studied as best you could, occasionally stealing glances of his door. Yugyeom did his best to alleviate some of the stress, but his humor could only go so far. You spent the afternoon on the verge of tears as you poured over textbooks. In the evening, you indulged yourself with reruns on the television.

By the time night fell, the bedroom door opened and Jinyoung stepped out, looking quite disheveled. He had clearly slept most of the day away.

“Go home,” he told Yugyeom.

Yugyeom leapt from your side without argument. He had a penchant for rebellion and teasing, but even he knew neither of you were in a lighthearted mood at the moment.

You said your goodbyes and watched Jinyoung for an explanation.

Jinyoung cocked his head toward the bedroom and said, “Let’s go to bed.”

You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at him. You wanted to be angry, perpetually reminded of the day’s events and the folder in your purse that could very well hold the fate of your relationship inside. Standing up sharply, you stomped into his bedroom and Jinyoung closed the door behind you.

Jinyoung rifled for a white tee while you unbuttoned your blouse. Your eyes were on his back as you tossed the shirt away, tugging your tank over your head and unclasping your bra impatiently. Jinyoung faced you, failing to hide the way his attention fell to your naked breasts.

You pulled your skirt down until it dropped in a pile around your feet and there you stood in only your panties. Jinyoung bit his lip, pupils widening at the sight before him. You grumbled under your breath and held out your hand.

Jinyoung tossed the tee to you, which you pulled on quickly, and watched you clamber into his bed. You settled on the mattress and made yourself comfortable beneath his messy array of blankets. On your side, you closed your eyes and buried your face against the pillow.

It smelled deeply of him.

“Should I crash on the couch?” Jinyoung asked bluntly a moment later. He was trying to gauge just how angry you were at him.

Your fuse was short and you barked, “Get in here, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung didn’t hesitate to crawl into bed behind you, tucking to your back and curling an arm around your waist. It didn’t matter how furious you felt, being in his arms provided a feeling of safety and security you could never find anywhere else. When you were with Jinyoung, you were untouchable, invulnerable.

“I will never love anyone but you,” Jinyoung whispered into your skin, his breath hot on your neck. “I need you to know that.”

“I know,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed.

Jinyoung flexed his grip, holding you tightly. He wanted to lose himself inside you, until only the good parts of him remained. If there were any left. Jinyoung knew he was far beyond redemption.

Not long after midnight, the emptiness of the bed woke you. Adrenaline snapped you to attention, threatening to keep you awake for as long as it took to find Jinyoung and bring him back to bed.

“Jinyoung?” you called out, striding to the bedroom door and expecting to see him sulking on the couch.

But then you heard a noise in the bathroom and stopped, approaching the ensuite and opening the door.

There, you found Jinyoung on the tiled floor, sitting across from the toilet as he proceeded to cry his eyes out. You took one look at him and collapsed, falling to your knees and reaching for him.

“What happened?” you exclaimed, flinching when he batted your hands away.

“Nothing,” Jinyoung snapped, covering his red face as the tears streamed down his cheeks.

He looked on the outside the way you felt on the inside - like a total, hopeless wreck.

“What is it, Jinyoung?” you asked frantically, attempting to take his cheeks between your palms. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jinyoung shouted, his voice reverberating off the tiled walls. “I dreamt the love of my life threatened to leave me again and I had no one to blame but myself!”

You fell back as if you had been slapped across the face. Blinking through your own tears, you studied Jinyoung and how devastated he looked. The facade he paraded himself behind had shattered into pieces and you were determined to sift through the ruins.

“I won’t leave you, Jinyoung,” you whispered tenderly, cradling his face though he looked away. “You were right earlier. We can’t survive without each other. We never could.”

Jinyoung tilted his head back, resting against the wall, and merely shook from side to side as if his entire body was saying no. He blinked slowly, finally meeting your eyes, and hissed, “I don’t believe you.”

Bristling, you snapped, “Well, kiss my ass then.”

Jinyoung’s eyes widened momentarily in surprise before the slightest smile took over his lips.

Rising to your feet, you stepped over him and into the shower, turning on the water before returning to him. “Get up.”

He peered up at you and said nothing.

“I said get up,” you huffed, reaching down and grabbing him by the shirt with both hands.

Jinyoung allowed you to pull him up and drag him into the shower, but he growled your name in surprise when the cold water hit his skin. You held him tightly to you beneath the running water, both of you quickly drenched while clothed, and assumed he would try to escape.

You had no idea what you were doing. Naturally you had assumed the water would be hot, given how damned expensive his penthouse was. Perhaps you just wanted a diversion, something to alleviate the heavy emotions threatening to suffocate you both.

Jinyoung fixed his gaze to your face, looking positively annoyed, and both of you fell into laughter at the same time at how ridiculous this was. You were relieved to see him smiling, heart fluttering when he leaned his forehead against yours and let his hands rest on your waist.

Overcome with your feelings for him, you fell forward, colliding into his chest and smashing your lips on his.

Time came to a screeching halt. Jinyoung cupped your face and smiled against your mouth, pleased by the urgency of your kisses.

He indulged your tongue slipping past his teeth for a moment and then he was on you, tangling his fingers in your hair while capturing you in a kiss full of hunger. His body pushed against yours, backing you into the wall roughly. You cried out at the contact, but he silenced you with his tongue.

“Fuck, why am I still so in love with you?” Jinyoung groaned.

“I love you,” was all you could say, tears stinging your eyes.

Jinyoung leveraged you against the tiled wall, slipping his hips between your legs. His next kiss was gentle, his eyes open to see the heat on your face.

Water mingled from the shower into your mouths, but all you could taste was him. Every slow, calculated tease of his tongue had you reeling. Your heart was beating at a steady but accelerated thrum, anticipating what would follow these passionate kisses.

“Jinyoung,” you finally whimpered, running out of patience.

“Shh,” he quieted you softly, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Just you and me, baby. Always.”

You hummed when his lips drifted to your neck, sucking at the base of your shoulder. You gasped in a breath, slipping your arms beneath his to sink your fingers into his shoulders. He was going to unravel you, you could feel it.

“Don’t stop,” you told him breathlessly, letting your head fall back against the tile and hooking a leg over his hip.

Jinyoung marred your beautiful neck, sucking and biting. Without a word, he slipped his hands beneath your thighs and hoisted you up, carrying you into the bedroom. You panted softly against his ear, heart racing with desire and expectation. You thought at any moment your chest would explode.

Jinyoung set you down on the bed beneath him, hovering over you and returning his kisses to your neck. Every smack of his lips was wet on your damp skin, droplets of water still streaming down your bodies from the impromptu shower. Jinyoung pried your hands from around him and stood upright, dragging your hips forward to the edge of the bed.

You exhaled nervously, slipping a hand into your hair. Your face was hot. Your pulse raced. With his simplest touches you were ready to shatter into a million pieces in his hands.

Jinyoung grasped the hem of your shirt and pushed it upward until you sat up and made it easier for the garment to slip over your head. He pressed another kiss to your lips, trying to calm your racing heart.

You watched with bated breath as he slipped his fingers in the band of your panties and brought them slowly down your legs. You couldn’t help but squirm beneath his heated gaze.

Jinyoung roamed his palms down your soft thighs, kissing and tonguing his way down the inside of your thigh before giving a swift bite. You squeaked slightly at the sharp pinch of his teeth, but your core clenched with delight, betraying you entirely.

He traveled up your body again, cupping your face and kissing you hard. You held him desperately and moaned into his mouth, grabbing his shirt and yanking it off of him. Jinyoung parted from your lips with a chuckle and stood again, gazing down at you naked and bare for him.

You watched him begin pushing down his pants, meeting your eyes and whispering, “I’ll go slow, baby.”

All you could do was nod and swallow the lump in your throat. You dared not say anything. Part of you was convinced that at any moment he would leave you wanting as he had done so many times before. Your mouth watered when he discarded his pants and his hard cock came into view.

Jinyoung finally kneeled on the bed, grasping the insides of your knees and lifting your legs how he saw fit, spreading you apart. You lay there like you forgot how to function. You were entirely at the mercy of the overwhelming need for him inside you.

You gripped handfuls of the sheets in your fists, losing your mind with restraint. Jinyoung guided himself to your entrance, pushing the head inside and watching you tense beneath him.

Jinyoung smirked at your sensitivity and grasped his cock, slipping his shaft between your folds and coating himself with your wetness. He watched your reaction as he teased your bundle of nerves with the tip of his length.

“Jinyoung, inside,” you keened, your body taut with desire. If he only knew how badly you throbbed and ached for him.

Jinyoung propped over you, chest-to-chest, and kissed your nerves - and impatience - away. He teased his tongue in your mouth and palmed over your breast, rubbing his cock between your slit.

Then, you felt his hips shift and he penetrated you slowly, filling you at an agonizing pace. You had no choice but to feel every inch of him bottoming out. You pressed your eyes closed and moaned for all to hear, legs bending beside his hips.

Jinyoung let out a groan, sheathing himself inside your warm cunt. His lips parted with a shaky breath.

He was so big. You couldn’t fathom how he fit so perfectly, so tight without ripping you open. That first thrust was always the best, making your body shudder with pleasure as you stretched to accept him.

Jinyoung was not faring any better than you. His lips were back on yours, but he breathed heavily. You were a vice on his cock, kneading and pulsing around him with need.

You gave him a nod that you were ready and Jinyoung lifted, propping himself on his fists and drawing back his pelvis to thrust into you. You bit your lip and let your hands lay at opposite sides of your head. You stared up at him in reverence, whimpering after another hard smack of his hips.

Jinyoung glanced down, growling at the sight of your pussy stuffed full of his thick cock. He fucked you at a steady pace, pushing himself in and dragging back out.

It felt so good, even better than you knew it would. Your soft whimpers and moans filled the room, music to Jinyoung’s ears.

He only touched where your bodies connected and the sight was erotic. You bent your knees and angled your hips to accept him deeper, sighing loudly in ecstasy. Jinyoung watched your breasts bounce each time his cock drove inside your tight pussy.

You wanted to smile. Jinyoung was making love to you.

He had a penchant for being rough, dominant, but there were times he could be gentle. Jinyoung loved taking pleasure from your body and fucking you to orgasm, but for now he took his time, wanting to savor the feeling of finally being one with you again.

“Deeper,” you coaxed, voice raspy. “Harder.”

Jinyoung finally tore his gaze away from his cock disappearing inside your cunt to look at the hooded lust on your face. He brought a hand to your throat and gripped snugly, not enough to put pressure, but certainly enough to snare your attention.

“Take what I give you,” he growled, stealing a kiss none too gently.

You held his wrist, walls tightening at his total dominance over your body, and nodded your obedience.

Jinyoung was about to lose his mind. He could hear the wet suck of your pussy each time he pushed his cock inside. He knew he couldn’t last much longer. The harder he went, the faster he would finish.

The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. Given the weeks of tension and the years of distance, you knew this would be fast. You knew he would make short work of you.

Tears slipped from your eyes. From pleasure. From emotion. You cried for the years wasted without him and for how complete you finally felt now that he was buried inside you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Jinyoung crooned, reaching up to wipe a tear with his thumb.

You clenched your fists in the sheets beside your head. “I missed you,” was all you could choke out.

“I know, baby,” he said, running his fingers over your nipple before giving your bouncing breast a hard squeeze. “You feel so good. So warm and so tight.”

You moaned. He never slowed his pace, never fell out of rhythm for even a moment. Every inch of his thick cock kept pumping deeper and deeper inside you. You didn’t want it to end. He truly owned you mind, body and soul.

Jinyoung lilted his head. “You gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

“Mm,” you hummed. By his tone, it was not a request.

Jinyoung braced a hand on your hip, pinning you to endure his quickening pace. You shuddered beneath him, throwing your head back as the mattress began to creak from his roughness. He pounded into you, hitting that sweet spot and driving you insane.

“Jinyou…,” was all you could manage.

Jinyoung leveraged both hands on your thighs, throttling into you harder and harder, fucking you good until stars burst behind your eyes. He glanced down to see where your bodies met, where his cock disappeared inside your swollen pussy.

“Come for me,” he said darkly.

You cried out for mercy, body jolting from the intensity of his thrusts. Another hard smack of his hips and you were over the edge, back arching on the bed as your mouth opened in a silent scream.

Jinyoung pinned your arms, wary of your fingernails, and watched your satisfaction with a smirk. Your cunt clamped down on him with a vengeance, making his movements stutter.

The moment you regained some of your senses, you pushed his chest, wrestling him off of you and shoving him to his back. Jinyoung watched you in confusion before grinning with pride, grunting when you straddled him and took his painfully hard cock back inside you.

You watched his mouth gape open, the smallest of moans lingering in his throat. You anchored your hands on his firm chest and bounced your hips up and down.

“F-fuck,” Jinyoung stammered, surprised at how eagerly you rode him, how tightly your innermost walls gripped every inch of his length.

You flipped your hair behind your shoulders and ground yourself down on his cock, wanting him to climax harder than he ever had before. The lines of Jinyoung’s face were tense and furrowed. He was holding back with every shred of strength he had. His chest heaved for breath and his body bobbed on the mattress with how rough you fucked him.

Suddenly, Jinyoung sat up with you in his lap, grasping your waist. “Stay still,” Jinyoung choked against your neck.

“But…,” you started confusedly.

“I don’t want to come yet.”

You giggled and sighed, “I won’t hold it against you.”

Jinyoung released a nervous chuckle and the sound made you shiver. By the weakness in his voice, you knew he really was on the brink of blowing his load.

Grinning, you kept riding him, grappling with his hands as he tried to get ahold of you. You arched your hips, pumping your velvet walls on his cock.

“Say you love it,” you whispered darkly, yanking at his hair until his attention was on your face.

He didn’t hesitate to pant against your lips, “I fucking love it.”

“Come deep, baby,” you spoke even softer.

The familiar swell and throb of him almost made you climax again. With a twitch of his cock, Jinyoung lost himself to pleasure and began to fill you.

“Fuck,” Jinyoung cried out, moaning with every burst of cum that painted your insides.

You held him tighter, shivering at the rapid hot and cold of his breaths on your neck. He overlapped his arms around you, squeezing with all of his might while gritting his teeth.

Jinyoung gave a final groan, utterly spent, laying you on your back and pressing you into the mattress with the weight of his body.

You roamed your hands across his sweaty skin; anywhere and everywhere you could touch. He was scalding against the pads of your fingers, like a raging fire burned inside of him.

Jinyoung stayed sheathed inside and pinned you between his muscly arms, gracing tired, wet kisses to your lips. “Are you okay?” he asked tenderly.

You offered him a nod, staring into the glistening black of his eyes. He looked so fucked out, you wanted to grin with a mix of arrogance and satisfaction.

“Say something,” he rasped, searching your face for an answer.

You raked your nails down his back, stopping only when your hands landed on his ass. “Catch your breath,” you warned playfully.

Jinyoung’s eyes flickered with surprise and arousal. Then, he smirked.

You took his lip between your teeth and tugged, and your voice was husky when you purred, “The night’s just getting started...”

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a/n : this story was previously Lacuna on my old blog, minheoney. I’m really excited to finally finish it! This fic was my baby for so long and I’m ridiculously happy to give it a new home :)

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[bauslut]

ii. what makes a man?

pairing: aaron hotchner x rowan rivers

word count: 3.840k

warnings: canon typical violence -- blood, gore, mentions of murder, discussion of murder, discussion of weapons, cursing, trauma, dealing with trauma, death of children

prev. | next

“here you are,” jj bore a kind smile as she slid a manila folder towards the brunette, “here’s your official welcome to the bau. i’m sorry it wasn’t on more.. positive terms.”

“oh,.it’s quite all right,” rowan’s eyes widened, “this is what we’re here--”

“she’s sitting in my spot,” rossi chuckled, “but i don’t mind.”

“are you sure?” rowan stammered, a rosy blush painting her cheeks, “i-i can get up and move--”

“don’t sweat it,” rossi nodded curtly, “there are plenty of open seats.”

“hey baby girl,” a wide, jovial, grin painted morgan’s lips as a woman entered the room, her blonde locks intricately woven into an up-do, “don’t you look delicious today?”

“as always,” the woman scrunched her nose, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, “how are you this morning baby-cakes?”

“hey there!” a chirp startled rowan, sounding from her left, “i’m emily, but around here, i’m referred to as prentiss.”

she was met with kind eyes, a warm mocha hue. they were bright, glimmering as they followed every minute movement as rowan studied her features. the woman was gorgeous without a doubt, with full lips and an oblong face. her hair was luscious, parted down the middle, styled into bouncy curls.

“hi,” rowan breathed, sticking out a hand, “i’m rowan riv--”

“i am afraid we do not have time for introductions,” a stern voice echoed through the space, “we are fbi agents, not kindergartners. we can have icebreakers or whatever it is you’re doing on the jet.”

rowan choked back a sharp retort as hotch strode towards a whiteboard, his spine straightened, chest puffed out slightly. sliding into her seat, her hands settled on the armrests, a puff of air exhaling from her lips. she was sandwiched between two seasoned agents, as morgan was munching on a bag of cookies on her left, prentiss sifting through papers to her right.

maybe if she just shut her mouth, she would blend in and he wouldn’t pay any sort of attention to her. which, wasn’t such a bad idea in the moment. the less he focused on her and berated her, the better.

“cookie?” morgan rattled the bag.

“not right now. thank you though,” rowan whispered, lips curving into a small smile.

“i’m about to begin discussing the case,” hotch shot rowan a glare, words barbed with venom, “so listen up.”

he pinned several images on the board, bile rising in rowan’s throat as her focus transitioned to the pictures. prentiss sucked in a shaky breath, while morgan muttered a strand of incoherent sentences.

the images progressively became more grotesque as they spanned across the board. mangled, beaten, and bloodied corpses were presented, the bile approaching the back of her mouth as she realized the age range.

the bodies were children, their jugulars slashed, lacerations and bruises littering their tiny frames.

“there has been a surge of murders in the rural farm town of homer, illinois. in the past week, there have been a total of five. all of the victims were children, with no specific physical attributes,” hotch cleared his throat, “however, all of them bear one aspect in common.”

“they’re all boys,” reid murmured, “from the images it appears as if they’re about ages eleven or twelve.”

“then they are pre-pubescent boys,” rowan’s voice was clear, pairs of eyes falling on her as she spoke, “i’ve seen something like this before, when i was working in columbus. we had a ring of traffickers who preferred this age range.”

“and?” morgan arched a brow, “why pre-pubescent boys?”

“hotch,” rowan nearly trembled as the supervisor’s cold gaze shifted on her, “i-if i may ask, were there any signs of assault or rape?”

“the severity of sexual assault varied on each victim.”

“you said that they have no physical attributes in common but looking at these photos,” reid shook his head slightly, “the brunettes are the only ones who have lacerations covering their entire bodies. the blondes, the only sign of violence demonstrated is the murder itself, the incision along the jugular.”

“could it be that our unsub has something against brunettes?” morgan inquired.

“potentially,” rowan blinked, scanning over the text, “it also says here in the autospies that the only boys who were sexually assaulted were the brunettes. i may be going on a whim here, but i think our unsub is lashing out on the brunettes for a reason. it could be power, dominance, you name it. perhaps the hair color is a stressor, or was the initial stressor. he might be reliving a traumatic event from his childhood.”

rossi whistled, “look at you, rivers. already building a profile and we’ve only met for five minutes.”

“sadly i’ve seen a lot of this before,” rowan let out a sigh, rustling through papers, “it also says here that the bodies were all found at homer lake forest preserve. i have a strong premonition that our unsub is male.”

“and what makes you say that?” hotch countered.

“by the way the bodies were handled,” rowan shrugged, “they were beaten, mutilated, and dragged through the woods. the amount of physical strength to do that is just an inherent trait males have."

“how were the bodies discovered?” jj bit her lip, a trace of fear glimmering in her icy blue depths.

“they were found by a new fisherman every morning around dawn, in the same location. they were located about half a mile from the entrance of the preserve,” hotch tossed the file onto the table, “our unsub is bold.”

“he wanted the bodies to be found,” rossi added, “he’s arrogant.”

“or he’s sloppy,” rowan remarked, “he’s devolving. he could be killing just on that need burning within him, with no remorse or any sort of emotion within him at all--”

“we need to get to homer as soon as possible,” hotch interrupted, glancing at his phone, “it’s ten o’clock in the morning. it’s only a matter of time before another body is found.”

“where’s the closest airport?” jj folded her arms across her chest.

“willard airport in champaign-urbana,” reid piped up, “other than that, the other closest one is in bloomington-normal.”

“and how do you know that?” morgan’s eyes widened.

“champaign-urbana is the home of the university of illinois,” reid swallowed thickly, “i’ve been there a few times. it’s an exceptional school for engineering, truly one of the greatest in the country--”

“all right, all right,” morgan stuck out a hand, “you answered my question.”

“wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced, plucking the file off the shiny wood.

rowan followed the others in suit, filing out of the space. trailing reid, she was the second last to leave the room, hotch right behind her, deep, smooth, voice filling her ears.

“i need to speak with you agent rivers.”

“yes?” she swiveled on her heel, facing the supervisor, folding her arms across her chest.

“i hope you’re aware that i do not tolerate any sort of childlike behavior. we’re not teenagers reuniting on the first day of class. i did not appreciate the interruptions in my conference room. you can socialize on your own time.”

“you’ve never once interrupted anything in your entire life? wow, you really must be mr. perfect. i mean look at you, all put together. i doubt you’ve even done anything wrong in your life you’re so per--”

“you realize you’re speaking to your boss with this tone, right?”

“i don’t fucking care,” tears brimmed rowan’s eyes, “this is my first day and it’s even worse than i could have ever imagined.”

“excuse me?”

“you’ve really made sure i’ve had a warm welcome to the bau, mr. perfect,” rowan scoffed, rolling her eyes, “it’s been an amazing first day, i’ll tell you that.”

for just a moment, hotch’s tough exterior cracked, a flicker of sympathy flashing in his gaze, “i’m sorry.”

“‘i’m sorry’?”

hotch paused, inhaling a deep breath, “i was going to write you up. however, i may have been a little too harsh on you. after all, this is your first day. strauss put in a good word for you, and i want to see your skill set out in the field. come on, we’re going to be left behind.”

******

“gotta love the midwest,” morgan placed his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling.

“you love it?” reid’s lips curled in disgust, “it smells like manure.”

“it smells like home,” rowan giggled, shouldering her way through the men, “c’mon, let’s go.”

“well she’s eager,” rossi chuckled, turning to hotch, “where are we setting up?”

“there’s the local p.d. in homer,” hotch slung his bag over his shoulder, “the station is only about four miles from the forest preserve.”

“i was doing some reading on the village of homer,” reid stated, “there’s only about one thousand people who live there. it’s such a tiny place, and as hotch mentioned, it’s only four miles from the preserve, surely the unsub lives there.”

“or he lives close to the lake,” rowan pointed out, “there are so many homes out there surrounding the lake in the countryside. with these rural communities, your neighbors could be a mile down the road, or miles away. it gives him the perfect opportunity to make frequent trips to the lake without being noticed.”

“you make a good point rivers,” hotch remarked, “we’ll have to keep that in mind when we investigate the lake and the surrounding woods.”

“this murder isn’t going to solve itself,” rossi cleared his throat, nodding his head towards the cluster of suvs, “we need to get to the police department and we’re losing time.”

stepping into the vehicle, rowan slid into the back seats, figuring that hotch would take the wheel, while rossi would sit shotgun. yet, curiosity buzzed in her mind as rossi took the wheel, while reid settled into the passenger seat.

“you’ve got to be shitting me,” she muttered as hotch thrust open the door, “rossi, are you usually the one who drives?”

“typically, no,” in the rearview mirror, rowan snorted when she noticed the shit-eating grin plastered on the agent’s face, “but i figured that you and hotch would love to get to know one another on the way there.”

“can i pick the station?” reid bounced in the seat, hands flying to the knobs and levers.

“pick something good, find an oldies station or something. maybe they’ll play back in black,” within seconds, the suburban was in motion, rossi revving the engine, “i plan on racing morgan, jj, and prentiss to the station. whoever loses has to buy dinner.”

“this is ridiculous,” hotch rolled his eyes, the vibration of his phone piquing rowan’s curiosity.

“by the way,” reid turned in his seat, facing hotch, “who’s been calling you so frequently today?”

“haley,” rowan tilted her head as the name spat from hotch’s mouth, “it’s not important.”

haley. from the sound of it, she was hotch’s significant other, girlfriend, fiancee, even a spouse, maybe. rowan’s eyes drifted downwards to his lap, where his hands rested on his knees. in the light, a golden band gleamed on his left ring finger.

so, hotch was married. he had a wife.

but there was something in his tone that was unsettling. were they fighting? having the typical lover’s quarrel? maybe that’s why hotch was so distant and cruel, he was constantly dealing with his marriage.

“so tell us a little about you, rowan,” rossi was far ahead of the other suburban, shades resting on the bridge of his nose, “i never got an icebreaker.”

rowan scoffed, fidgeting in the leather seat, “there’s not anything too riveting, i can spare you guys the details.”

in the corner of her eye, rowan felt his eyes pierce through her, digging deeps within the confines of her psyche. he was profiling her, desperate to get some sort of read. perhaps he was well aware of how uncomfortable she was by rossi’s query. the way her palms were slick against her pants, sweat prints clinging to the fabric. the way her cheeks were tainted pink, her jaw tightened, throat dry.

“didn’t you go to ohio state for undergrad?” reid licked his thumb, scouring through some novel or book.

“yeah,” she nodded, “i’m from a tiny town in ohio, called tiffin. i went to ohio state for an undergrad in psychology, along with a few minors in criminal justice, linguistics, spanish, so on. i stayed there for grad school since i loved the city, and the university. from there, the bureau picked me up from the academy, and i was thrown into the infamous case.”

“the child sex-trafficking bust,” hotch murmured, “i remember glancing over that in your file.”

“how long did that case go on?” rossi turned the radio dial, lowering the volume.

“longer than it should’ve been,” rowan brought a hand to her temple, a dull pain seeping into her skull, “hey, does anyone have ibuprofen?”

hotch’s eyes softened, concern painting his features, “i think i have some in my briefcase. hang on.”

rowan brought a bottle of water to her lips, sipping as hotch placed a couple of pills in her open palm. as he set them in her hand, skin grazed skin, her heart skipping a beat.

for someone as rough and callused as hotch, his hands were so utterly soft.

“thank you,” she whispered, “i appreciate it.”

“of course,” he murmured, “do you usually get frequent headaches?”

“yeah,” rowan admitted, a new wave of blush spreading, “i’m just prone to them i guess.”

“the humidity is also high today,” reid remarked, “and from the way the wind just picked up, along with the darkness of the clouds, i think it’s going to storm. your headache could be from the low pressure.”

“fantastic,” rowan threw her head back, squeezing her eyes shut, “you know reid, that’s kinda a myth.”

“actually research has been inconclusive.”

“how many did you take?” hotch nudged rowan, inflections of concern within his inquisition.

“six.”

“jesus christ,” rossi’s lips pursed, “are you trying to kill your liver?”

“we’ll see about that,” a giggle bubbled up in rowan’s throat.

as the suburban sailed down the interstate, her lashes fluttered, sleep threatening to pull her into its clutches. she blinked, rubbing soothing circles onto her temple, lips falling to a frown as a dull pain seeped into her forehead.

biting her lip, she fought back tears, inhaling a shaky breath. this was no place to show any weakness.

not with him around.

*****

“good afternoon, chief sellers. i’m supervisory special agent hotchner with the fbi,” hotch stated, his voice ringing with authority as he shook an officer’s hand, “and these are my colleagues.”

“thank god you’re here,” the officer’s voice was hoarse, wavering as he spoke, “it’s been a living nightmare these past few days.”

“i can only imagine,” jj murmured under her breath, “there’s someone out there killing little boys.”

“he looks so shaken up,” prentiss exhaled, folding her arms across her chest.

“we had most of the state p.d. flock out here once the second body was discovered,” chief sellers cleared his throat, his focus directed on hotch, “we’re all doing the best we can, but of course, as other duties call, we tend to be short-handed at times.”

“we’re going to do everything in our power to help,” rossi’s words were warm, brimmed with sincerity, “we’ll catch this guy, i promise.”

“and we’ll help you all in every way we can,” chief sellers nodded curtly, “anything you folks need, let us know.”

“should we start by heading out to the crime scene?” hotch inquired, “it might also be best to split some of us up.”

“of course,” chief sellers strode over to a pair of state officers, “these men will escort you to the scene. what else do you need?”

hotch’s eyes flickered over to his team, “i want morgan, reid, and rossi to go investigate the scene. prentiss and jj, would you speak with some of the locals? we need to gather as much information as possible in order to rule out anyone or gain essential details about our unsub.”

“what about me?” rowan coughed.

“you’re staying with me here at the station,” he commanded, “and you’re going to answer every phone call we get from garcia.”

“good luck newbie,” rowan rolled her eyes as morgan teased her, his breath hot against her ear.

“you might want to listen to morgan,” rossi shot her a wink, “you’re going to need it.”

“thanks,” the reply was a deadpan, the agent’s shoulders slumping as hotch approached her, “putting me on a short leash, are we?”

“you’re the one who understands the profile of our unsub the best,” he retorted, “and before you fire back with another verbal assault, think before you speak. this is your big girl job now. act like it.”

“don’t you think it’s interesting that the unsub stopped killing?” hotch murmured a few words of gratitude to an officer who handed him a coffee, cocking his head as he took a sip.

“do you think that there’s a reason behind that?”

“possibly,” rowan shrugged, denying the same styrofoam cup, “hey, where’s the closest gas station?”

“about half a mile away,” the officer replied coolly, “would you like a ride? a few of the guys and i are going to pick up pizzas for lunch.”

“i’m okay,” she paused, running a hand through her hair, “thank you, though.’

“you don’t like hot coffee?”

“i prefer iced,” the agent muttered, surveying the empty desks, “i assume they cleared some space for us?”

“indeed,” hotch huffed, “if your phone rings, assume it’s garcia.”

“i feel like i’m at columbus p.d. all over again,” the brunette slid into the seat, rolling a few inches as she plucked the file out of her briefcase.

“well this is nowhere near that,” hotch rolled his eyes, leaning against the wooden surface.

“well it sure feels like it,” his throat tightened as her eyes drifted upwards, locking with his, “it sure fucking feels like it. now, if you don’t mind, i’m going to look over the file.”

“would you like some company, agent rivers?”

“i’m sure you have ‘unit chief’ matters to tend to,” the words were barbed, hot and venomous as she spat them out, “hovering around your new recruit like she’s some child is quite ridiculous don’t you think?”

“i should have you turn in your badge right now.”

“you seem like you’re all bark and no bite. you scolded me only only hours ago about the conference room, threatening to write me up. that tough exterior of yours is only an act. or at least, i think it is. you’re not going to write me up until you have a valid reason to. also, like you claimed earlier, ‘strauss put in a good word for me.’ i know you won’t terminate me. plus, you just went through all of that paperwork to get me here. do you really want to go through all of that again?”

“you piss me off.”

“good,” she puckered her lips, “maybe you should chat about that with strauss hmm? she’d probably just tell you to suck it up and that i’m here to stay.”

hotch’s jaw clenched, prepared to retaliate, yet the vibration in his pocket distracted him momentarily, the shrill ringtone piercing through the air, “yes?”

biting her tongue, rowan glanced back at the file, bringing her hand to her cheek. part of her was wailing, screaming and kicking, fighting the urge to study those horrid images. but the other part was driven, adrenaline coursing through her veins, pumping into her body.

even the slightest detail that she hadn’t noticed initially would be immensely helpful to building the profile, piecing together who this deranged individual was. flipping through the photos, rowan’s eyes narrowed.

although the team held a short briefing before departing from headquarters, there was one minor aspect about the way the bodies were laying in the shrubbery. the boys were all on their backs, dried blood coating sliced flesh. not a single article of clothing framed their bodies, just the thin layer of briefs or boxers.

her heart lurched as one arm was pressed tightly against their sides, while the other was raised. right hands pointed upwards, three fingers: the index, middle, and ring. yet, the pinky connected with the thumb, almost as if the children were purposely holding up three fingers.

“garcia called with an update,” his voice floated into her ears, “with the bits and pieces fed to her from jj and prentiss, we still have a lot of ground to cover. are you up for a drive?”

“wait,” rowan held up a hand, “hotch, were you ever a member of the boy scouts?”

his brow furrowed, confusion settling across his features, “what?”

“just look,” she huffed, gesturing to the images, “look at the way the unsub left their bodies. it’s a clear message, almost like how he dumped the bodies in clear sight. his arrogance blinded him, goading him to taunt us. but little did he know i would see right through his bluff. i think he stopped the killing spree because he knew we’d be looking for him. it’s like he wants us to find him.”

leaning over, hotch’s chest hovered above her shoulder blade, a hand settling on the desk. the ghost of his badge hung over her cheek, a speck of white in her peripheral vision. a hum rose in his throat, “you’re onto something here. let me call garcia.”

“did i make a break in the case?”

“perhaps, but don’t let that get to your head,” the supervisor brought his phone to his ear, “hey, garcia, i need you to run something for me. how many boy scout troops are in champaign county?”

*****

“you up for some drinks tonight?” prentiss giggled, wrapping her jacket around her shoulders, “it’s all on me, especially since we should be celebrating your first case with the bau!”

“i’m fine,but thank you,” rowan beamed, “i still have a forty minute drive ahead of me. i shouldn’t stay out too late.”

“oh come on,” jj groaned, “we won’t be out for long. just a couple rounds.”

“pleaseeee?” garcia practically pranced over to rowan, jutting her bottom lip out, “we don’t know a single thing about you. hotch had you under his watch all day.”

“okay,” she exhaled, “a few drinks, and then i need to get to my apartment. i’ve barely finished unpacking so i’ll have to rummage for my towels and pajamas when i get back.”

“you have an apartment?” prentiss queried, “do you have a roommate or do you live alone? did you bring a boyfriend with you, by chance?”

rowan blinked, “uh, no. i live alone.”

“good thing you’re a fbi agent huh?” garcia winked, “c’mon, we know the perfect bar.”

“maybe we’ll get you loosened up and you can spill some secrets,” jj chuckled, the sound airy and light.

“sometimes,” rowan felt the corner of her lips tug into a wide grin, “sometimes i truly wonder what i’m getting myself into working with all these other profilers.”

*****

{feel free to ask for a tag or let me know what you think! :))}

tagging: @tempus-ut-luceant @daffodin @kleinbluu @inlovewithaaronhotchner @spencerreidsbitch @art-and-thoughts @criminallminds @ethade3

[vs-redemption]

could i request a scenario where aizawas s/o experiences auditory hallucinations? i have trauma of my parents having a big fight and of my dad hurting my mom and i sometimes hear their voices at night when i’m anxious and it results into me not being able to sleep. i have a hard time deciding if those sounds are real or not. aizawa comforting his s/o is just all that i need. thank you 🥺 it’s fine if you don’t want to write this though

Hello Anon! Thank you for the request! ♥ I’m so sorry you have to deal with a problem like this. I hope what I wrote can bring you some comfort.

Voices (Aizawa x Auditory Hallucination!Reader)

Going home at the end of a long day was supposed to be a pleasant experience. And after the day you’d just had, you were certainly looking forward to the moment you could take a hot shower, change into your pajamas, and just relax for a minute. Unfortunately for you though, it was one of those days where everything that could go wrong did. Even the train ride back to your neighborhood hadn’t gone smoothly. Some sort of mechanical issue had resulted in a half hour delay that had done nothing but agitate your already frazzled nerves. You couldn’t wait to shut out the stress of the day as you finally make it home. You fumble for your key and then unlock the door.

“I’m home!” you call out even though it seemed like you were the first one home. Your boyfriend Aizawa often returned from work at odd hours due to the nature of his job, so you weren’t too surprised. It would have been nice to come home to him already waiting for you though. He was always so good at calming you down.

You reach for the switch on the wall that would turn on the lights as you kick off your shoes, but as luck would have it, the house remains dark. You frown and flick the switch on and off again a few times but the result was the same.

“The powers out…” you mutter to yourself, “of course.”

You use the light on your phone to guide you to the back of the house where the circuit breaker was only to find that everything looked fine. You peek out the window and see that none of your neighbors had lights on either. It wasn’t just your house that had lost electricity. Wanting to conserve the battery on your phone, you begin searching the house for some candles to light. After several minutes you return to your living room empty handed. You collapse onto the sofa and try to decide what to do. You’d already been in a mood, but sitting in the dark was making you even more stressed. You pick up your phone to text Aizawa when your ears pick up the sound of footsteps moving across the floor.

“Hello?”

There was no answer so you cautiously get up to look around for the source of the noise. You don’t find anything out of the ordinary but the thought of someone in your home definitely put you more on edge. Had the sound been real? Or had you imagined it? Either way, the sensation wasn’t a new one. This always seemed to happen whenever you got particularly anxious. Your mind would create phantom sounds to trick your ears. Usually you could distract yourself by putting on the TV or something, but that wasn’t an option with the power being out. It was a bit risky to drain what little charge your phone had, but you knew playing music would be effective in preventing any more noises. You pick your favorite playlist and go into the kitchen to find something to eat that didn’t require electricity to cook.

An hour later your stomach was full but your phone was empty. Silence once again filled the house and you had nothing else to do except try to go to bed. You tried to relax as best you could, but the trials of your day still kept you tense. That’s when you heard the voices. You sit up in bed in order to listen more closely. The voices began to shout at each other and you shook your head at the familiarity of the situation. You’d heard those same voices fighting plenty of times in the past, but there was no way they could be here now.

“Stop it.” You mutter while reminding yourself that you’d already checked the house for intruders. The sounds were probably imaginary despite how real they sounded. You lay back down and try to ignore them. It was difficult because the screaming brought back uncomfortable memories that you hated to relive. You tossed and turned for a while, trying to think of anything else but you just couldn’t fall asleep. You desperately cover your head with a pillow, though it did little to muffle the sounds. You weren’t sure how much time passed as you laid there in misery, but soon a third voice rang out through the house, calling your name.

“Shota?” You sit up again, wanting to cry with relief. You hear him flick the light switch a few times from the front room.

“Yeah, it’s me.” His footsteps shuffle down the hallway toward you. “Is our power out too?”

“Yeah,” you say as he appears in the bedroom doorway. Seeing his tired face was a comfort already.

“A villain took down a few powerlines earlier,” Aizawa explains as he changes out of his hero outfit. “That’s what took so long. I tried to text you a little while ago but I guess your phone must’ve died.”

“Yeah,” you say again. Aizawa caught on to the one word answers and looks over at you in concern.

“You okay?” he asks and you shake your head.

“They’re arguing again,” you tell him and he understands immediately. He finishes changing and crawls into bed next to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. He knew this happened sometimes, especially at night. He was lucky enough to be able to fall asleep in almost any condition, so it had never bothered him if you wanted to run a fan or keep a TV on to help drown out the hallucinated noises. Those luxuries were not available now though.

“How was your day?” Aizawa asks to distract you as he begins gently rubbing circles on your back. You shake your head for the second time and let out a groan. “That good, huh?” he sighs. “I’m sorry.” He starts to ramble about his own day which gave you something else to listen to besides the yelling. When he runs out of things to say, he starts to hum a random tune to try and sooth you. Having your boyfriend so close helped to relax you and soon you heard nothing but the sound of his deep voice resonating through you. You snuggled in closer, feeling grateful for his patience and understanding.

“Thank you,” you tell him as your drowsiness sets in, “and sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he mumbles in response. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” you say before letting out a yawn.

“Try to sleep,” he tells you and you nod your head. Aizawa goes back to humming and continues holding you close until he’s sure you’re fast asleep.

[galadrieljones]

Leah Hallucination Theory: the Three Prongs

The three prongs have really been giving me a lot of trouble. I always thought, the way they’re arranged and orchestrated in the episode, that they must be markers, signs, or visual representations of some sort, not just for us, but for Daryl. There’s something about them that’s never really sat right with me, which is that, right before Dog leads Daryl to Leah for the first time in the woods, Daryl sees a different set of prongs: two, sticking out of a tree.

I always figured they had to be connected, somehow, to the cabin, and to the three prongs, and that Daryl knows exactly what they mean. So I went back to the episode a couple days ago, specifically with the prongs in mind. I made some significant discoveries and connections, I think. I will lay them all out here, along with my theory for what the prongs could mean. Maybe this is crazy, I don’t know anymore!!!! Either way, this is a long post, and it was very fun to make, so hold onto your hats!!

When we first encounter three prongs, it’s in the shot below, in the present tense. Carol and Daryl are in the woods with Dog, and they have the conversation about the dead, and how “it’s going to catch up to [them] eventually.” Daryl says, "Only if we let it. I ain’t gonna let it.” Carol looks like she’s going to protest, but then Dog starts growling, like he’s caught a scent, and he runs off. The music becomes foreboding and tense, with loud, rhythmic drums. Dog leads them to a cabin with three prongs in the door. This is the inciting incident of the episode, the moment that is going to lead us down the rabbit hole to come.

When I saw the original three prongs, from Daryl’s point of view, I was intrigued, but ofc I didn’t know why. I just knew that they were somehow connected to this mysterious red-haired woman, who he envisions immediately after seeing them. Then, later, when we see the three prongs in the door, my brain jumped through a hoop. I assumed they were the same prongs we’d seen before, but they’re not. 

The prongs in the door are similar, but they’re not the same as the first three we see. These are more evenly distributed, and they’re on the wrong side of the shot to be the prongs that Daryl sees first upon entering the clearing. Further, this cabin has a big, covered porch. These prongs are not visible from outside, other than maybe through a screen or window. 

Once I realized these were not the same prongs, I went to check the first time we see the three prongs, through Daryl’s POV, to figure out what’s going on. The cinematography here is very tricky! The visual association is strong. The director wants us to read this episode closely, but they also want to confuse us. They want us to see what Daryl sees. 

If you watch closely, when Carol and Daryl first chase Dog into the clearing with the cabin, you can see the first set of prongs, sticking out of what must be a tree. They’re hidden, on the lefthand side of the shot, in the extreme foreground, out of focus. The prongs must be real, as opposed to imagined, because they are always in the scene, but they don’t come into focus until Daryl sees them, because only he knows what they mean. Note that, after Dog and Carol run through the shot, the camera cuts away to Daryl for several more shots before cutting back to the prongs, which then rack into focus as he looks at them. We know they’re the same prongs in both shots, because the shots are paralleled, composition-wise: a little faded leaf with a touch of red in the foreground, near the prongs, and the tall weed plant in the background. 

Remember when Daryl approaches the house, the house is on his left. We see this through a POV shot. But then, if you follow his eye line, the prongs are on his right. These prongs seem to be pointing to the cabin, like a sign, or an arrow. They are not the same prongs in the door jamb. (Side note: I went back to try and see if there is any established visual of the three prongs in the door during the “flashbacks” with Leah. I couldn’t find anything conclusive.)

So what do the prongs mean, through the hallucination lens?

Let’s return to the first scene after the storm. If you’re recall from my original post about Leah being a hallucination, I theorize that the storm represents Daryl’s psychotic break from reality. A talk with @frangipanilove has revealed to me even further that the map in the scene may not actually be destroyed, but that this is ALSO a hallucination, as Carol interacts with the map years in the future.

After the storm, a year goes by. Daryl is just walking along in the woods. It’s early autumn, as most of the leaves are still green, but they’re starting to change, with little bits of color. Daryl sees two metal prongs, hammered into a tree. 

This is the moment that confused me for a long time. The moment he sees the two prongs, it’s like he recognizes them, like he knows what they mean, and what’s coming next. Reedus plays it as a little scared, a little surprised. They’re like a warning. The music changes and becomes more foreboding and ominous, with loud, rhythmic drums, and then Dog appears and leads him to Leah for the very first time. The rhythmic drums at this point in the episode are reminiscent of the drums in that very similar scene where Dog gets excited and leads Carol and Daryl to the cabin, in the present-tense. I think the music is important in this episode, in building a map toward what is real and what isn’t. But I’m not a music theorist. If anybody is, and has the vocabulary for this, please talk to me!!

Anyway. It’s important to realize, too, that these prongs are similar, like they’re made of the same kind of old metal, but they’re part of a different set of prongs from the other set in the woods, which are different from the first set of prongs Daryl sees, and the three prongs in the door. They are at distinctly inverted angles, pointing toward each other instead of away, and instead of three, there are only two. 

So, there are three sets of prongs:

The (2) prongs in the tree in the woods.

The (3) prongs in the tree pointing to the cabin. 

The (3) prongs in the cabin door.

I think the prongs are visual stimuli, or triggers, for Daryl, which initiate a sequence of events that lead him to Leah. I think that, given how he reacts to them, Daryl may have put those prongs there, as both a geographical marker, but also as a visual association, a way of triggering his mental loop with Leah. Here’s the sequence, as we see it: He sees two prongs in the woods, which trigger the scene with Dog, who leads him to the three prongs in the tree, which point to the cabin with three prongs in the door. The repetition of three would signal the end (rather than a continuation) of the sequence. 

PTSD Associations: It’s probable the sequence was initiated by real events, since Dog is real, and since the sequence seems to plays out in present tense with Carol. Since I believe Daryl had been with Dog, at least part of the time, before he imagined Leah (more on that soon), it’s possible that, the first time Daryl met Leah, it was because this very sequence of events played out: Daryl was just walking along in the woods, and then in true Lassie form, Dog showed up, leading him to the cabin. Like @twdmusicboxmystery​ has pointed out, it’s possible that when Daryl got there, a woman was actually in trouble but died shortly thereafter, or that she was already dead. Daryl’s inability to “save” her, such as Carol suggests at the end of the episode, would have triggered past traumas and losses for which he blames himself, particularly with Beth and Rick. This creates a feedback loop, a common symptom of PTSD, in which a trauma survivor effectively relives their trauma over and over again. What’s more, Daryl’s mind attempts to conquer this dilemma by creating Leah (or recreating her, as it’s possible she was real before she died), a survivor and a pretty woman who strongly and assertively does not want to be saved. 

Since the cabin is real, it’s possible Daryl may have stumbled upon it a couple of times afterward, only to find it empty, and/or be confused about what it was for. This might be the ultimate purpose for the three prongs in the door: to trigger his memory of the exact sequence of events that first led him to his imagined version of Leah, marking the cabin specifically as “Leah’s cabin.” (For more unique insight into reading Daryl’s experience and this episode through the PTSD lens, read @weapon13whitefang​​’s awesome addition to another excellent Leah Hallucination theory by @twdmusicboxmystery​.)

Remember, right after he sees the three prongs in the tree, with Carol, Daryl immediately visualizes Leah, sitting on the porch, with Dog, almost like it is an obvious association. The sequence with the prongs is hard to follow at first when we watch, because we see the sequence out of order, and we never see all sets of prongs in the same sequence, or scene. We do, however, see both sets of prongs in the woods over the course of the episode, during separate scenes with strong parallels to one another in both the action and music, ie: the music changes, something is amiss with Dog, who runs off to the cabin, and then Daryl follows. This disorganization of the sequence is purposeful, I believe, in order to simulate Daryl’s confusion with the audience.

The whole thing reminds me, somewhat, of a psychologically strenuous version of Gareth and the Terminus crew, marking the trees in season 5 so they can “find their way home.” Only there is no home to go back to. Gareth even says so. It also makes me wonder if there is a single prong somewhere, to officially begin the sequence, leading Daryl to the scene with Dog, who then leads him back to Leah’s cabin: 1...2...3...Leah. 

First Prong? Remember in the beginning of the episode, right after the opening credits, Daryl makes a big to-do with Carol about where they are, in case they get split up, so they can find each other? He tells Carol they've gotten “5 miles due southeast of the gate.” He tells her it’s “right near that, uh...” and then she finishes his sentence: “...small fork in the road by the dying white oak?” We don’t actually know what he was going to say, because Carol makes a very assertive supposition, and then he just says, “Right.” Isn’t it possible he was going to say something else? Or that he realized he didn’t want to say what he was initially going to say, for fear she would get concerned? I did search for a prong in the scene where Daryl dumps his bike, but I couldn’t find anything conclusive. Having gotten to know this show pretty well by now, I think that would have been too obvious. I wonder if, perhaps, we’ll see it later, or next season, ie: if Daryl, or even another character will see a single-prong in a tree, nearer to Alexandria. Perhaps it will be in the “dying white oak near the fork in the road.” ? That is a highly specific, loaded, and memorable turn of phrase. I remember it calling attention to itself, even before I knew what I was looking for. 

Does Daryl know what’s real? So as Daryl and Carol go deeper into the woods, after they leave the bike, Daryl tells Carol, in a concerned manner, that it’s important she remember this spot, and that she “stay close.” Reedus’s performance here is super important. Daryl is worried about them getting separated, but it’s unclear why. We know that Carol can take care of herself in the woods, and we know that Daryl knows that, too. I thought perhaps he knows, subconsciously, where he is. He’s at the beginning of the sequence, and he’s not worried about Carol getting lost. He’s worried he might get lost, that he might lose her and end up back somewhere he doesn’t know if he wants to be. She is sure to remind him that she’s “not going anywhere.” 

There are two more things I find super interesting in this scene, looking back. First, they are only FIVE MILES away from the gate. They don’t get that much further. They travel totally on foot, and time passes, but they also stop to fish. They are most likely still within ten miles of home. So even after being gone for literal years, we know that Daryl has been close to home for a lot of that time (we also know this because Carol visits him periodically, ofc). Second, it’s Daryl who suggests they come here, after parking the bike. I know I’m not the first person to point out how strange this is. It’s almost like he is sending himself back there because he needs to know for sure: Is any of this real? Did any of it actually happen? I don’t think he fully knows at this point, in the beginning of the episode.

I think when he comes upon the cabin, he is confused. He is hesitant to go inside and waits a while before entering. You can see it in his face, and his demeanor, that he is surprised, or that he did not fully expect to end up here. That’s weird, right? Because he’s been living in these woods for a long time. Perhaps he doesn’t know what is real, and what isn’t. He couldn’t remember if the cabin was real, so he came back here to make sure. He realizes then that the cabin IS real, just like Dog, just like the map, because all of these things, Carol interacts with. Remember when Carol asks Daryl if Leah lived here, Daryl doesn’t really answer. He just says, “It was a long time ago.” I am not sure if he actually knows at this point. Remember that he doesn’t invite Carol to come, but he doesn’t stop her either. I wonder if, her being there, that emboldens him to investigate what “happened,” to see what she can see, and to use her as an anchor to the truth. We don’t know where Daryl was planning to go prior to Carol hopping on for the ride. It’s only after they ride out five miles from the gate, and they stash the bike, that he suggests the river.

Leah and Dog: I think Daryl may have been coming here, a lot, intermittently over many years, reliving old experiences obliquely through various hallucinated interactions with Leah. It’s close to home, so perhaps every time he got close enough to go back to Alexandria, he would find the prongs and end up back here instead. Eventually, however, he has to make a choice: go forward, to Alexandria, embrace reality, move on with his life, or go backward, to the cabin, to Leah, to the past, etc., where it’s safe, and where he is in control. I think Daryl found Dog as a puppy, and Dog was always real, and Dog was often with him, even before the storm, and I think Dog may have even inspired Leah’s appearance. If you look at Leah, especially when she wears the red fox pelt, she is visually reminiscent of Dog. Her red hair, like Dog’s, is so specific, so different from any of the other women in the show, calling back to the autumn leaves in the trees. In fact, the first time we see Leah, it comes as a vision, or a flashback, right after Daryl sees the three prongs in the tree. Her face is veiled by her red hair, and Dog’s face is hidden as well, almost as if they are a single red entity ensconced in a haze of dreamy green.

I wonder if Daryl met Dog, then it was the storm, then he created Leah, and he found himself in a cycle, or feedback loop, sequenced and triggered by the prongs. He rewrote the loop in his mind, and then eventually clawed his way out by creating a fight with Leah, in which she gives him an ultimatum, forcing him once and for all to make his choice to return to Alexandria and face his family. Of course, the theme of “cycles” is not only implicit but explicit in this episode: Right at the end, Daryl tells Carol that they are having the “same conversation over and over again.”

One more thing: In 9.14 “Scars,” we see a flashback in which Daryl takes a break from his hunt for Rick to help Michonne track Jocelyn, who’s taken Judith. Michonne is very pregnant, easily in her third trimester. This means it’s been eight or 9 months since Rick’s disappearance. This takes place 2-3 months before he first meets Dog (hence: 5 Years Ago), and then in another year, he’ll “meet” Leah. I thought it was interesting how, in “Scars,” Michonne talks to Daryl about all of these good memories she has of Jocelyn, and how Jocelyn was a good friend who helped her through some of the most difficult times in her life. She says she “wanted her to be that again,” and that this clouded her judgment. This is a very emotional scene, in which Daryl and Michonne talk while sitting on what looks like an old swing set. I think it foreshadows what happens with Daryl and Leah, and how he relives many memories with her, both difficult and joyful, that he wants her to be these things, and then she turns out to be nothing but a deception.

Again, this is all a theory. But it’s a REALLY fun one lol. I am now convinced that this episode is much MUCH deeper and more meaningful than I initially thought. It is a puzzle for sure, and I know there is still probably a lot of stuff I’m missing. If you have thoughts or additions, let me know!

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30-Epilogue

Lucy POV. TW: Panic Attack, Mental trauma/coping, PTSD

The university and Lucy’s professors had been really wonderful about everything, even offering to convert her classes to an online option so she could continue. She wasn’t happy about the idea of taking a sabbatical from college, but there was no way she could manage. Not only was it difficult for her to leave the apartment because seeing anyone that remotely resembled Touka sent her into a panic attack, focusing on anything at all was a struggle. Night after night it haunted her dreams and spilled into her waking moments. She’d run scenarios through her mind, all the what if’s, should haves, could haves, often leading to horrifying outcomes. They’d survived, yes, but at what cost?

She didn’t feel the same anymore as if a part of her did die in that apartment or fled to a hidden part of her brain too scared to come back out. The once happy, positive person had become a nervous wreck unable to control her emotions or outbursts. Lucy’s bedroom became her safe zone from everyone, even those closest to her, ashamed and insecure of their judgement. In her heart she knew friends like Levy or Natsu wouldn’t judge... but tell that to her broken mind, because her brain was the one in control at the moment, and insisted they’d look down on her.

All the irrational thoughts. It was her fault for not being careful, her fault she was kidnapped. Lucy knew Touka was growing dangerous, yet walking alone, at night... utterly stupid. She should have been overzealous at protecting herself, but oh no, stupid girl didn’t want to believe anything would actually happen. Until it did. And now she was even more pathetic and weak for not getting a hold of her emotions, for not controlling it instead of it controlling her. The danger had passed. They were alive. Touka was in jail. It should be over, but it wasn’t. Lucy couldn’t move past that night, stuck in an endless loop of fear. So many nights she’d wake up in a panic covered in sweat, the fading images of red... blood... like dripping down a tv screen in a horror movie. It was Natsu’s blood she saw and his screams when the knife had sliced him open.

The first week after the event had been difficult, sitting through an interview with Gajeel, and reliving all the mental wounds. It took several hours to get through it all despite the man doing his best to go easy on her. Each time painful parts came up, Lucy felt the anxieties rise, the mental blurring, the shaking, literally a physical shaking of her body in an effort to dispel the rise of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Interviews are best done without any other potential witnesses in the room to avoid cross contamination, but after Lucy’s first two attempts to talk to investigators failed, Gajeel was forced to allow Natsu in with explicit instructions to sit quietly and say nothing while the woman talked. Of course, Natsu’d been fine with that, he’d do anything to help, even if it was just holding Lucy’s hand. But it only added to her embarrassment. Surely Natsu will eventually tire of having an unstable girlfriend.

Then there was the therapist Levy helped Lucy to find which she hoped would help her to quickly get over the events and move on. So, when the woman explained that such traumas take patience and time to process, Lucy was devastated. It almost felt like nothing was going her way anymore, falling dominoes with no end in sight. She felt so ashamed for having to see the woman in the first place, and now she’s told it would be a long journey towards recovery. Just great! What’s next?!

“Lu?” Levy knocked before opening the bedroom door. “Are you gonna eat your dinner in here again? It’s ready.”

With the curtains drawn, Lucy’s room was dark and the only light available was a small desk lamp next to the bed set to a low setting. She peeked out from under her blanket. “I-I’ll come out in a minute, thanks Lev.”

As soon as her friend closed the door, Lucy exhaled in relief. She knew Levy was worried about the amount of time she stayed holed up in the room, so to dispel some of those concerns, Lucy would join her roommate for meals. She quickly applied a gauze wrap, threw on her long sleeve hoodie, and left the room. It made her feel safer to be shrouded and covered up, so gone were her skirts and tank tops, and hello to long sleeves and pants. If she could cover her face from the world, it would make her happy. Even her overall hygiene suffered. Lucy would forget to bathe or wash her hair for days on end, and it took Levy or Natsu with gentle prodding to get her to do it. She would wear the same clothes for a week if it wasn’t for Levy who made sure she changed at least every couple of days. Hell, she’d starve if her roommate wasn’t feeding her. This was a frustrating cycle, not having the mental energy to take care of herself, then feeling bad because they had to help her with things, which made her feel even worse.

It tore at Lucy’s heart to watch Natsu going through this process with her. She knew he was going through his own struggles, not just mental, but physically healing from his wounds. And here she was, the basket case of instability. Bless him, he never gave up no matter how distant she grew, but after that night, Lucy really didn’t want to talk about anything out loud, not that night, and certainly not the true extent of her pain from it. Both Levy and Natsu knew only what she couldn’t hide from them. Like the panic attacks, and since she really didn’t want them to see her go through one or what she’d resorted to, to calm herself, so the safest solution was stay quiet and not trigger them in their presence.

To show his dedication, Natsu even went with her to her therapy sessions and waited outside the office. Lucy knew it was costing him money to do this, because she couldn’t ride a train which meant cab rides every single trip. It bothered her a lot, but she did her best to hide it, and besides there was one small measure of security in having him at her side when she needed to venture out into the public.

“So, the nightmares are still a problem?” the therapist questioned Lucy. “Are you sure you don’t want to try a medication? It would help to ease them until we can get things under control.”

Lucy gripped to the hem of her sweater. “I just don’t wanna become addicted to that stuff...”

“That’s understandable. But not all are addictive, and I’ll be here to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.”

“I... I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” the woman smiled. “Remember I’m just here to help you, at your pace. I won’t force you take anything you don’t want to.”

“Thank you.”

“What about the breathing and relaxation techniques? When you feel the anxiety rising, are you trying out the steps?”

“I try... I don’t think I’m very successful at it.”

“Does it work sometimes?”

Lucy pauses for a few seconds in thought before nodding yes.

“See, that is progress!” The woman encouraged excitedly. “Two weeks ago, it didn’t help at all, and now it works sometimes. It’s a big step forward Lucy.”

“Doesn’t feel like it is...” Lucy mumbled.

“I know it’s hard to see it for yourself, and that’s okay. These things take time and practice. Do you remember what I said about these things?”

“Not really.” Which was true. During the first week when the therapist explained the processes, Lucy had stopped listening as soon as the woman said it would take time.

“Let me ask you a question. You like to write stories, right?”

“Yeah.”

“When you first started, were you able to just write perfect stories.”

“Pfft, no.”

“Then how did you get better at it?”

Lucy rolled her eyes, knowing where this was going. “Practice.”

“Yes! The PTSD requires learning new coping skills as well as unlearning irrational ones. To do both takes practice. The more we work at it, the easier it will get, I promise. One day you’ll be able to look back at this experience and feel stronger for it.”

She really wanted to believe the woman, but it was so hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel! Tears well up in Lucy’s eyes, seconds before they start to flow down her cheeks. “Why is this so hard?! I just wanna get back to normal!” She could feel her anxieties rising. “I... I-I don’t wanna talk about it anymore! I just wanna forget it ever happened!”

The woman reached over and took Lucy’s hand, applying a strategic amount of pressure while rubbing her thumb over the webbing in a counter stimulus. She softened in tone. “I wish I could say that would work, but in order to get past it, you need to confront it. Together we’re gonna turn the boogieman into Casper the friendly ghost.”

It was such a weird way of putting things, it caused Lucy’s mind to snap out of the anxiety and snort a sniffling laugh in response. “Casper the friendly ghost?!”

“It was the first thing to pop into my mind,” the therapist laughed too. “The point is, we’re going to work together and slowly bring you to a place where this no longer scares you.”

“O-Okay...”

The rest of the session was tough, and Lucy had come close to a panic attack several times, but as a trained therapist, the woman stepped in at the right times to bring her levels down again using breaks and breathing routines. Sure, with a professional in front of you, it wasn’t as bad, but doing this on her own, the attacks were still winning. At the end of the session, the woman suggested a new technique to try out based on Lucy’s love of writing.

“You’ve heard of art therapy, so just think of this as a different form of creative therapy. Writing a diary is helpful to get out your feelings out in a healthy way. But let’s take it one step forward to use your skills in fiction writing. I want you to try before the next session, writing a story where you interject your emotions, feelings, whatever you want into the characters and story. Kind of like your character becomes you, but now you get to control what happens to them after the trauma they endure.”

“Wait, so you want me to write about a character that goes through what I went through?! Like torture my own character?!”

“Yes, to put it bluntly. Take your pain and unleash it onto the fictional character. It’s a much healthier way of releasing your anger or frustration in something that can’t really be hurt. Do whatever you want to them. But remember you also get to give them the ending you want to. It’s about utilizing a tool you’re already comfortable with and taking back some control. It’ll be normal if you cry, scream, and get upset through the process, but that’s okay, because instead of holding it all in, you’re getting your feelings out.”

Lucy slumped back in her seat. It sounded strange, yet at the same time made a bit of sense to her. Angst type stories were not really her forte, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do it, especially since pain is all she was channeling at the moment. She sighed. “I’ll try.”

“And that’s totally okay. All I ask is that you give it a try.”

[storm-driver]

Chapter 10 for Atone and Repay is at about the 56% mark and I should be able to get more of it done in the next week, maybe get it up soon. Chapter 11 shouldn’t take nearly as long, since I’ve been working on that one alongside Chapter 10. As a thanks for putting up with my excessively long hiatus, here’s a preview for Chapter 10 below the cut! I’ve been working on this chapter since I published Chapter 9 last year, but a majority of this chapter was written in the past few months. Thank you again for sticking with me, and I hope to have “Once More” up on Ao3 sometime in the next few weeks! <3

(Be warned, has direct spoilers for AAR, please consider reading the full story before reading this ^^)

“So much for leaving home...And here I thought I’d get to go on a real journey for once…” Ventus huffed, dragging his tired, armored legs across the stone floor outside his castle home. Night had fallen on the Land of Departure, and it was getting increasingly cold with each passing second.

Ventus’ pulled the helmet off his head, making his blond spikes spring back up as he did so. He stole a glance at the clouded skies, spotting the first specks of snow that fluttered down. The cold wind pressed against his face, soothing the small pain from the scratch that he still had on his cheek.

It’d only been a few hours since the Nobodies attacked them in the mansion, but it felt like it could’ve been months ago. Roxas’ unsuspecting body being hurled across the room, through a doorway and crashing down into the broken table and chandelier. The desolate look on his face, his eyes unblinking and heart beating all too slow. He must’ve had a concussion, even after Aqua administered some healing spells. He had still been slurring his words and glancing around the room as if he had not escaped the memory from the past.

It only gave rise to worry when he insisted on searching the mansion still. Standing up from his spot on the table and tumbling forward as Terra and Riku tried to get him to sit down. And then Roxas fell over seconds after standing up.

Would that they hadn’t encountered those Nobodies, or that Roxas hadn’t fallen at such a precarious moment. He wouldn’t recover within an hour, and Aqua made the decision to go back home. To take a break and simply breathe rather than throwing themselves into the next piece of this puzzle they couldn’t solve. It had been several nights since anyone in the castle got good rest, being awoken by Ventus’ screams at painful nightmares, or the everyday trauma that seemed to haunt them all.

Being back home was reassuring, at least. Ventus knew this place, better than anywhere else he may have lived in the past. He knew the halls, and where he could sleep without someone bothering him. He knew the mountains where they trained, and he knew the forest far and below them. It was a small world, but it was a haven. Even if Nobodies had proven they could reach here. 

The dark corridor he’d walked through was ever shifting and threatening to close if someone had lost his grip on the darkness. It was sketchy to let Roxas bring them home, after being knocked out in such a manner and with a blur of new memories at the front of his mind. 

But Roxas stepped through it just fine. His hood was draped over his head, giving way to only tired, blue eyes and a small frown. The chains rattled on his chest and he leaned forward to keep himself from falling. He still wasn’t fully healed, and he may not have been for some time.

The tip of his boot snagged a crack in the cement, throwing off his already shaken balance. Roxas’ eyes popped open and he started falling forward, the hood over his head slipping onto his back and exposing his frightened face. Fortunate that Ventus had walked through the portal first, his armored frame caught Roxas’ against his chest and kept his friend from face planting against the stone.

Roxas’ body fell limp against Ventus. The latter, who nearly shrieked at the sight, kept his arms around Roxas and held him up. Roxas’ head was resting over Ven’s shoulder, eyes staring at the ground beneath him and Ventus. A bandage still resting over his skin to help a new scar heal. 

“Yeah, no, I was wrong,” Ventus hauled his friend up as he started to slip back down to the concrete. “You’re hurt more than you told Aqua. I’ll tell her when she gets here.” 

Ventus sighed and shifted his arms around. He pulled Roxas’ left arm over his shoulder and kept one hand around his friend’s back, already starting to drag him towards the castle. Roxas didn’t seem entirely conscious, but as Ventus started walking, he tried to pick up his feet and walk with him.

Ventus kept his eyes on the doors of the castle, stepping up the stairs one at a time. Roxas’ head lolled around aimlessly next to him, as if he were still passed out. But if Ventus glanced over, he could see Roxas blinking and taking deep breaths, brows furrowed with a frown planted on his face.

He looked back towards the doors, already nearing the last step. “You feeling okay, besides that?”

“No…” 

That much probably should’ve been obvious. A concussion alone doesn’t feel good. Whatever else was bothering him didn’t help. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I hurt Vanitas…”

Ventus almost stopped in his tracks, hesitating to take the next step up. But he kept going. He let go of Roxas’ arm over his shoulder, letting the Nobody lean his whole weight into Ventus instead. He reached forward and pushed the doors open with one simple nudge. Such was the benefit of living in a magically-imbued castle.

“He’s fine, I’m sure. Don’t worry about him right now,” Ventus tried to reassure. But looking once again at Roxas, he could tell his words had little effect. 

“I can’t stop worryinaboudim...”

Roxas’ words were slurring again, but he wasn’t impossible to understand. Ventus kept dragging his body along the hallway and towards the staircases at the very back of the corridor. The clanks of Ventus’ armor echoed around them. The hall was dark with no practical light source. It was almost hard to see where the tiles ended and the staircase began.

“That’s kind of you to worry about him, really,” Ventus pulled Roxas a little more over his shoulder. “But he’s fine. You saw Aqua treating him, she said that whatever happened had passed.” 

“That’s not what I mean…” Roxas mumbled out. His shoes bumped each step as Ventus climbed the stairs. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The older of the two kept his silence. Perhaps he didn’t quite understand yet.

“I shouldn’t care as much as I do,” his eyes flicked across each step as they climbed. “He’s the one that tried to-”

Roxas’ breath hitched. That still haunted him. What happened on that beach, and what he’d almost done in Radiant Garden. Just trying to say anything about it pressed down on his heart and started rejuvenating a deep-rooted fear in him. Something he thought he’d gotten over when his heart sprung free from Sora’s and he was finally given a body of his own again. When he would no longer be confined to another person’s soul. 

Alas, that was an unfortunate lie. Vanitas had no regrets for his volatile actions against Roxas. He’d hardly issued an apology. 

“You don’t have to tell me, I know what he did,” Ventus kept talking, noting how much Roxas was struggling to speak. “And I’m sorry, I really am. I wish I’d known better then.” 

In a way, it was Ventus’ fault what happened. If he’d stopped Roxas from running off to Radiant Garden in the first place, he never would’ve ended up in the Realm of Darkness. If Ven and Sora had never fought Vanitas in the graveyard, he wouldn’t have been there to grab hold of Roxas’ body. And if he hadn’t been so weak all those years ago, Vanitas would never have…

The doors to the west wing were propped open and closed as Ven tugged his friend up the stairs. Ventus did most of the lifting, Roxas’ boots hardly attempting to step on each stair and scraping over the edges. It wasn’t helped by his armor, which was heavy enough on its own. 

A part of him wanted to tell Roxas to at least try to help make this easier. But another knew too well that he’d be asking too much. His friend had already taken a beating today, both physical and emotionally. Slamming his head into a broken chandelier and having been forced to relive dangerously painful memories was more than enough for one day. He deserved a reprieve, even if brief. 

Roxas’ room was lit from the gentle moon outside his window. Frost edged the glass and gave the room chills that he didn’t think possible, even if covered in his armor. 

Dragging his twin to the bed was easier said than done, with Roxas’ shoes scraping across the floor and his body slowly dozing off. Ventus shook him as he pulled, saying, “Don’t fall asleep yet.”

Roxas gave no verbal reply, but his head nodded, which was indication enough that he heard and understood Ven. 

He gently dumped Roxas onto the bed, letting him find his place before letting go entirely. Roxas leaned against the soft mattress, then practically fell into it. His eyes shut and he groaned.

“I’ll go get Aqua as soon as she gets home. For now, just rest,” Ven folded his arms over each other. Roxas lazily blinked twice, throwing a glance at Ven, before turning his eyes back to whatever else was on his mind.

Just a few days ago, he’d been so resolute in helping Ventus remember everything, even if it meant he’d suffered the consequences. But now he appeared utterly drained. It could’ve just been the awful beating he’d had from the Nobodies and whatever darkness possessed Vanitas. But that hopeful attitude seemed bleak now. 

Aqua had ordered that Vanitas be taken back home through anything but a dark portal. Ready as she was to give that same order to Roxas, she thought it better to keep the two separated. Vanitas’ prey had been Roxas during his previous outburst. If they couldn’t contain it a second time, with the Nobody in such a weak state now, there’d be no protecting him.

After he’d come back from his venture in past memories, Roxas only stayed conscious for a few minutes before he was falling over. Even Naminé’s safe return was not enough to move him back to full recovery. Rather when he saw his dear friend walk through the door of the mansion with Kairi and Xion by her side, he tripped on his own feet trying to run up to her.

Roxas was sent home, even if his method of travel was still risky at best. The only thing that made Aqua agree in the first place was when Ventus swore he wouldn’t let anything happen. 

But something had already happened. Whatever Roxas saw had much more drastic effects than anything before. He’d almost always been willing to share what hazy details he could remember from the dreams and the memories that he glimpsed. But this time, even when Ventus had asked him about it, Roxas didn’t say a thing. 

Ventus kept staring at his friend. He couldn’t keep to himself and finally spoke up:

“So what else happened?”

Roxas hardly moved, much less spoke.

“You’ve never been quiet about this before. Was it really that bad?”

Roxas kept to himself for a moment, but only a moment. As if pondering the words in his head before he dared to speak them.

“It’s nothing to do with the memories.”

Ventus blinked twice. He wasn’t expecting that answer. “Then what is it?”

“Vanitas tried to hurt me,” Roxas mumbled.

“Well...yes, he did.”

“But I’m not worried about myself at all.”

Ven’s eyes narrowed. 

“Why am I only worried about him?” Roxas’ fingers curled into his hand. “After everything that he did?”

“I don’t know…”

Roxas started to move again, trying to sit upright. His palms pressed against the mattress and he leaned backwards. Still shaky and tired, but he managed it all on his own.

“Is it...what I did for him?” He lifted up a palm and clutched at the front of his coat. “Or what he did to me?”

Ventus knew exactly what he meant. Had his and Vanitas’ union, albeit temporary, truly caused this kind of change? It could explain why Roxas seemed to get over it so fast, or even why he put up with Vanitas at all. It may even explain why Vanitas was suddenly so willing to follow him and Ventus around, or help them with anything. 

But the implications of such were harrowing to think of. Roxas was already tempered by his connection to Sora, and now this connection to Ventus. The boy has never truly been just himself. He’s always had bits and pieces of others in there, to influence his choices or pass along certain traits. Maybe even to store memories or keep pieces of a heart safe while it was still recovering. 

He’d hardly ever known what it is to be himself. The one thing he must’ve yearned for more than anything, yet bound from him by the cruel fetters of fate.

If it truly was that connection between him and Vanitas that was turning his decisions or guiding his choices, what would that mean for him and Ventus? The two must’ve shared a similar connection. How would that have-

Ventus shook his head. No, that’s not it. Roxas isn’t bound by other people like he used to be. He may still be Sora’s Nobody, but he has his own heart, his own body. He isn’t anyone besides himself. 

Ventus would’ve preferred to remember what was said of Roxas and Vanitas’ first meeting, on those dark shores. When Vanitas was drifting away and Roxas refused to let him go.

“I doubt it,” Ventus muttered. “You were there at his side before any of that happened.”

Roxas looked to his friend once, then back down at the floor beneath his boots.

“You didn’t care that it was Vanitas who was on that beach. You just wanted to keep him company, maybe even help him in whatever way you could,” Ven offered a smile. “You’re willing to put other people before your own needs. That’s just the kind of person you are.”

As much as he hoped the words would be of comfort to Roxas, Ven wasn’t entirely sure it worked. His twin kept staring at the ground, deep blue eyes staring at nothing but the dead air between them. 

Roxas took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, “Unless there’s-”

Before he could say another word, an armored hand landed on his left shoulder and pulled him away from his thoughts. Roxas looked up to meet Ven’s gaze, who looked a bit more frustrated than before.

“You’re still you, Roxas,” Ventus gave him a shake, pulling his fleeting thoughts out of whatever dark tangent they were going on. “Nothing is going to change that. What you did for Vanitas was your own choice. You could’ve let Terra take care of everything, and then we wouldn’t have Vanitas here at the castle with us.” 

Roxas kept staring, already recalling that day. The darkness had been tugging on his very soul. But as soon as he saw Vanitas’ disheveled body, the darkness pouring out of his shattered heart... Suddenly it didn’t matter that Roxas was about to turn into a Heartless. The only thing he cared about was to give any comfort he could to the dying boy.

“You chose to help Vanitas. And I know, it didn’t have much pay-off...but you saved his life. That was all you, Roxas. Nobody else.”

I did save him… That was a choice that I made. 

Roxas lowered his head, closing his eyes and taking another, much needed breath of air. As he exhaled, the smallest smirk appeared on his face. “Alright,” he mumbled. “True enough.”

Ventus felt relief flutter through his chest. He stepped away from Roxas, letting his friend have a little breathing room. 

Roxas looked again at Ven, but not at his friend’s face. Rather what he was wearing.

“...You have armor?” Roxas mumbled as he looked Ven up and down.

And just as he was regaining hope for Roxas’ wellbeing, Ven felt that hope shatter. Ventus stared at his friend, unsure of how to respond. He glanced down at his attire once, then back at Roxas’ baffled expression. “You KNOW I have armor.”

“I do?”

Ven’s shoulders drooped and his eyes narrowed. “Oh my-” He sighed in such an overly exasperated way. “Alright, I’m healing you myself.” 

[katsukikitten]

Cremari

Life with a healing quirk was hard on the heart.

Not because of the stress or because of the long shifts. Not even the seemingly endless hours of moaning and groaning from severe patients.

It was because you couldn't save everyone.

Most of your patients fully recovered after you've laid hands on them.

Key word, most.

Only one man proved difficult. He was around your age with black hair and piercing eyes who seemed to show up to your underground hospital weekly since his first burn. A time when you two were so young, too young to be exploited for your quirk no matter how exceptional you two were.

But there he sat in the chair fighting back tears as your hands smoothed over ointment on a deep burn, massaging soothing power into his skin.

At first you could heal it completely. It was easy to coerce his skin to meld back together but soon he would use more and more of his power. Damaging himself and taking longer to come and see you between burns despite your nagging.

Here he was again much older and much more burnt than you remember. His wounds fresh as you can tell from the steam coming from the sutures in his arm. Your heart pounds harshly in your chest, rattling your rib cage as you stare at his charred skin.

Some of it you will not be able to convince to return to its healthy glow as it stares up at you with black angry eyes. Jaded from the repeated trauma, bitter enough to resist your power.

Which is something you've never come across before and you have healed a lot of shit since you were six.

Your fingers work on the newest burn on his shoulder, begging the skin to calm down. To stop being angry blisters. You watch him fight to keep his face from contorting as he sighs deeply. Pushing into your touch, not only can you administer chemicals that act as pain medicine through your finger tips you have this naturally soothing vibe about you.

Something he has come back for time and time again.

"I think you should stop using your quirk." You say quietly, fingers aching from trying and mostly failing. Having only brought his skin to a first degree burn. Those damn blue eyes snap open and give you a rare icy glare before settling to boredom.

"I need to use it to get what I want." He sighs grabbing onto one of your hands, working his thumbs in smalls circles to help with the aching. A gesture he takes after every healing session, he has been the only one to ever think of what the toll of healing can do to you.

"But is it worth permanently disfiguring yourself?" It comes out harsher than you intended but you cannot help it as you stare at his mostly naked body littered with your failure. His hands stop working on yours but he does not drop it.

"You sound disgusted." He says flatly but you see the hurt flash in those blue eyes.

"I..I didn't mean for it to...I'm just...I'm worried...Dabi-kun." Even after all this time you do not know his real name. A secret he has kept and a name he has only recently given himself.

A cruel joke in his name. One that mocks you although he sports it for irony.

He kisses your finger tips one by one before pressing his untouched lips to your palm. You swallow thickly. You know what comes next. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the make shift bed motioning for you to stand between them.

You obey, stepping gingerly between his exposed legs. He smiles warmly at you and you cannot find the heart to return it.

Not with what he is doing to himself. Every part of his skin marred in purple is a reminder to you. A reminder that he chooses to do this to himself for whatever seemingly unattainable goal that he has.

And there is no amount of talking, sex or unrequited love that will change his mind.

Still as he grabs onto your face gently pulling you to him to capture your lips you'll still try.

You'll try to convince him as you do his skin with ever open mouthed kiss.

Every swipe of the tongue and thrust that you take.

With every shared earth shattering quake that you're sure to lock eyes with him for.

You just hope you can convince him before he himself becomes too jaded.

He lingers longer than normal this time, pressing agaisnt your body in the much too small cot. He lies on his side facing you as you feign and fight sleep. His fingers pushing back damp hair from fucking for so long. Fingers that slowly trace from your third eye chakra to the bridge of your nose.

Almost instantly putting you to sleep although you fight it hard. You do not like to sleep while he is around.

Because you every time you wake up he's vanished.

And today is no different. You fight back tears as you relive the night before. You regret it.

Not the kissing, the touching and certainly not the fucking. You regret falling asleep.

You regret letting him leave.

Months pass and worry plagues you so deeply it has wrapped its spindly fingers around your bones. Sapping any and all energy from you, keeping you up at night and having your body give up mid healing session on your top paying clients. Something your boss is seething over. The very same boss you sit across now.

He slams his meaty first onto the desk, cracking the lacquered surface with deep fissures. You jump, never getting used to his temper.

"Damn it Y/N." He growls, leaning much to close to you, "Do you even know why you're here ?"

You look down into your lap, knowing exactly where this story is going.

"Your mother had you in my hospital." He pushes his finger into the desk as if pointing out a physical fact, "Do you know what she said when she was discharged?"

You do not answer, wringing your little apron with white knuckles.

"The nurses asked her to wait to take you and she said 'I dont care what happens to *it*.' And then she left!!" He's yelling now, "Out of the kindness of my heart I gave you to my wife and this is how you repay me?!"

Spittle flies into your face and you wipe it away gently. Careful not to move to quickly.

"I'm sorry sir." You bow further and he scoffs, his chair creaking from his weight as he leans back.

"You're God Damn right you're sorry!" He finally looks at you and your downward face before sighing, "Look finish this shift and then take a few days off okay? Stop thinking about whatever the hell you're thinking about so you can heal blokes again. Got it?"

"Yes sir." You say before standing walking back to your working room, grabbing onto a clip board with the next case.

"Ah Y/N. You already have a patient." The charge nurse says, grabbing the clipboard back. You give a puzzled look.

"Who? I don't have an scheduled appointments."

"Oh your usual. Uuuhhh that burnt to fuck dude." Your heart stops in your chest. You turn on your heel before he can finish speaking breaking out into a full sprint to room 405.

Your heart beats faster than your little white sneakers can slap agaisnt the heavily bleached linoleum just before you rip open the door to be met with the rancid smell of burnt flesh.

Oh how you wish you hadn't opened that door.

Dabi lies with fluttering eyelids from the searing pain. Skin beneath his eyes and from his lips down to his collar bone are charred that angry unforgiving purple. Depsite having never had to previously heal those places, whatever he's done there is no going back.

No healing those full lips that speak soft kindness to you. That press soft kisses to your brow bone at least not with out him being in constant pain.

"Y/N." He says softly, letting a smile play on his lips before he audibly winces. Readjusting himself to sit up more properly for you to heal him. You stand stunned in the hallway as you look him over. Heart finally catching up with your feet as it pounds, banging on to your ribs before free falling into your stomach.

Awaking a new and extremely rare emotion in you.

"Get out." You say darkly and he is taken a back. Not quite sure as to what you said considering you spoke so softly.

"What love?" He sits on the side of the jarryrigged bed, hands out reached to you. You're shaking so hard you have to clench your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering.

"I SAID GET OUT! GET OUT GET THE FUCK OUT!!" You find yourself screaming as his eyes widen. Filled to the brim with hurt that threatens to spill over. But he stops it just in time, blinking it away as he stands. He tries to console you, placing his burnt hands into your slender shoulders, rubbing up and down them before he leans in for a kiss.

A kiss that would hurt you more than he could imagine and you cannot help your self as a slap rings out in the quiet hallway.

"I said get the fuck out. Now Dabi." You bite out so harshly that even the passing nurses shrink back. He stares at you stunned a final time before his gaze turns icy cold.

"It was fun while it lasted I guess." He is seemingly apathetic as he looks down at you.

As if you always meant nothing.

And clearly you have, what with the state he has brought himself into. You watch as he walks from the hospital, burning the chairs in the lobby with bright blue flame to spite you.

This was the hardest part you were talking about.

You couldn't save everyone.

@ha-tep per your persuasion/request. Hopefully it lives up to my others. I liked working with his character though I feel I need more exposure/ research to get him right or to write longer fics. ENJOY

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Unforgettable-Chapter Two

Previous chapter on AO3       A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Chapter Two

Jamie ran to the shower and thought about how to say goodbye to the Sassenach. His shower was twice as long because what he said had to be perfect. If she wouldn’t stay maybe he could convince her to come back.

Claire’s mind was screaming at her to get up and get away before things got awkward. Still coming out of the orgasm haze, it was difficult to think clearly. By habit, she evaporated, stumbling to the door as she ordered an UBER.

Sinking into the front seat she felt a little safer, but from what, she wondered? That question was pondered right up to her front door and the answer was grim and devastating. It didn’t fit in the landscape of her life, and it threatened the foundation of her neatly constructed existence. Safer from herself was the answer and it rattled her to her core. It was like she was suddenly split in two. One side was arguing for love and commitment, the other side shouted for independence and freedom. Opposing sides meant she could be wrong about living without her heart and that was starting to feel like a threat.

Claire was in the grips of a panic attack that included the fight or flight reaction. She wanted to run and save her own life…from herself. The phone called her attention away and thankfully it was Geillis.

“Claire! I took the day off to help ye, are ye ready for me?”

“Yes! Please hurry and let yourself in, I’m getting in the shower.”

Geillis had knocked on Claire’s door the evening before, planning to spend the night on her couch but she never came home, and her phone was turned off. Geillis was not surprised Claire would grab every possible minute of fun, even on the eve of her departure. She got busy taping up her boxes to be shipped and filling out labels to Honduras.

“Stop Geillis! I haven’t pulled my clothes that I’m taking in a suitcase!”

Claire pulled the boxes open and filled a suitcase of clothing to wear while she waited for the boxes to arrive. Geillis knelt on the floor so she could start over while Claire pulled her field pants on, tucking in a white t-shirt and lacing up trench boots. This last-minute chaos was her comfort zone and kept her mind off Jamie Fraser. It was helping, she was feeling in control again. She would be fine, she decided, once she was away from Scotland, she would never think of these people again. She prayed to find a gorgeous sexy doctor on staff in Honduras that she could lose herself in.

The doorbell made her gasp and blush crimson as she looked out the peephole. The sight of Laoghaire was a relief, or was it a disappointment? The argument in her head raged again making Claire feel insecure and fearful. What if she was wrong about love? What if she was leaving Jamie behind based on a faulty decision to disconnect and just have fun. The panic attack came roaring back and she had to get to the airport before something tragic happened. She looked at the UBER app on her phone for almost a minute.

“I think we’re ready Claire. I’ll come back for the boxes this afternoon,” assured Gellis.

“Good, let’s go.”

Claire sat alone waiting to board. Calming, deep breaths were doing nothing for her shaking hands, racing heart, and mounting nausea. She pushed back on the tears that burned her eyes. Get me out of here, get me out of here, get me out of here, became her mantra until the plane was high in the air taking her to a new life.

A new book, a sketching pad, her laptop, and maps of Honduras were piled on the seat next to her, ready to occupy her time and keep thoughts of Jamie away. She tipped the steward lavishly, so he never let her drink go dry or the peanuts run out. In between each activity, she found herself staring out the window, reliving the night before when they talked so honestly and loved without limits. By nightfall, she was drunk enough to fall asleep for the rest of the trip.

The reverse thrust of the engines and a hard break pulled her from sleep as the plane was coming to a stop. She was in Honduras and the plane had landed without someone waking her to put her tray table up and return her seat to the upright position. She glanced at her lap, not even a wake-up to put her seat belt on. Grabbing her carry on and purse, she walked to the front of the plane where a group of men were trying to get the door open.

“Excuse me, please. What is happening?”

The man in front of her glared at her suspiciously and didn’t answer. Claire spoke to him again in almost perfect Spanish and he did not bother to turn around. She sighed and found a seat to watch the men try to open the side door and deploy the chute. Apparently, Honduras Airlines would get you to the airport, but you had to find your own way off the plane. She rolled her eyes feeling the heat and humidity flow into the cabin now that the air conditioners were turned off. Thirty minutes later the door opened, and she shot down the chute, drunk once again after helping herself to the drink tray while she waited.

Landing on the hard ground Claire gathered her purse and suitcase but was unsuccessful at standing up. She wondered if she could sleep for just a bit on the puffy sides of the chute. She bent to lay her head down and saw a familiar hand in front of her face.

“No, Claire, sleeping on the tarmac is not allowed. Have no fear my beautiful friend, your bed is near.”

Strong arms pulled her up and grabbed her suitcase as thoughts of Jamie’s biceps, back, thighs and butt, filled her head. She looked at Joe and smiled in gratitude. For the next thirty minutes, the open jeep bounced through the jungle into a pitch-dark night.

“Claire sweetheart, you are too quiet. Are you feeling sick? If so, just lean over and let it rip.”

Claire looked up at his disembodied voice and could not see even an outline of where he was. She crossed her arms around her stomach and closed her eyes.

“There it is baby girl, your home for the next twenty-four months.”

She looked up feeling a rush of relief there were lights ahead. I can do this, she thought, we have light to feel safe in this primitive place. When the jeep finally stopped, a gorgeous man came around the jeep and kissed Joe soundly, moaning as they embraced. The men separated and Joe made the introductions.

“Claire, this is Kevin, Kevin, this is the super nurse I told you about.”

Kevin smiled and stuck out his hand, but Claire was too polluted with alcohol to remember to turn her head. The next movement she felt was Joe hoisting her over his shoulder and she struggled with her nausea as he walked to her room and dropped her on the bed. She was so close to hurling she kept her eyes squeezed shut and waited for the lovers to leave.

Her misery had no equal, waking every hour or so to stumble outside and rid her stomach of its contents, dripping wet with clothing clinging to her. This continued for what felt like several months, if not a year. It was actually a single night of puking into the jungle, severe anxiety when awake, and her broken heart reminding her of the most incredible man she had ever known. As dawn broke over the jungle, the blood-curdling screams of the monkeys brought her out of her dreams, sitting up wide-eyed, looking for an escape. Dropping to the soaking wet mattress, with a throbbing head and churning stomach, she decided she landed in hell and kept her door locked for the rest of the day and night.

Someone pounded on the door and Claire bolted upright trying to control her ramming heart. She was disoriented and the knocking got louder forcing her to find the door by feeling along the wall.

“Nurse Beauchamp! We have casualties. Report to triage, on the double!”

Casualties? What the fuck was he talking about? Why is he so rude, he doesn’t even know me?

A loud kick at her door made Claire jump, pulling the door open. The hallway was crowded with hospital personnel running in both directions. She stood, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, shaking from head to toe. A familiar arm came around her waist pulling her out of her room and rapidly forward.

“We have casualties Claire and need you to do triage for the surgeons. I’m sorry to throw you into the fire baby, this was not expected. If you want to live another day, it’s time to save lives, Claire.”

“What?”

Joe pushed her into a large room full of crying people on liters or the concrete floor. She held her head and assessed the most gruesome and life-threatening injuries she had ever seen. Pure terror filled her heart and she felt her feet moving forward. Sinking down to the floor, she assessed each body and sorted them into three groups. Those that would die within thirty minutes, those that would die in three hours, and those that were already dead. A young Honduran male assisted her in moving the bodies into the three groups.

A warm hand came down on Claire’s shoulder, dripping with blood. A strong voice asked her to identify the groups. Claire looked up at a beautiful face, eyes that held compassion and strength, and she felt safe suddenly, as long as he was near.

The man knelt in front of her. “Did you just get here? Don’t answer, I can see that you did. Let me explain. This is unusual but the casualties are from an attack on a nearby village, for food and supplies. The resistance gets more powerful and bolder. These are innocent people. Farmers and merchants that are being exterminated throughout the country. Do not speak to any of the villagers, ever! The resistance hates the US and UK. Don’t let them know you are English speaking. It will keep you safe. What’s your name?”

“C..Claire Beauchamp.”

“Welcome aboard, Beauchamp. What is your specialty”

“Trauma and neonatal.”

“Perfect…you are with me for every shift. Just look at the surgery schedule. Anywhere you see my name, that is your shift. Am I clear, Beauchamp?”

“Yes, clear sir. What is your name?”

“Cutter Anderson.”

“Looks like two in your first group have expired. Get the kid to move them to the dead pile.”

The man was running toward the surgical wing, he was out of sight in two minutes. Claire felt the deep quaking and jerking of her body and hands. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, so she pointed at the newly dead gesturing toward the pile of bodies and watching the young assistant pull them away. Knowing her time to save the deeply wounded was short, she gestured to the young man to move them into position of greatest need for immediate surgery. Other people came with liters to carry them away, one by one. She saw the extent of pain and misery on the remaining group and ran to administer pain killers, dressings, burn treatment, and stabilizing IV solutions to keep them alive.

Her misery, fear, and heartbreak forgotten, she spent the next thirteen hours at trauma level assisting the villagers. When the last body was placed on the liter, heading for surgery, she collapsed in a corner and stared into the empty, bloody room. She was covered in sweat and blood, barely feeling Joe pick her up and carry her to the communal shower where he pulled her shoes and clothes off, down to her underwear. Cool water covered her, and Joe pushed her head under the water stream. Claire tried to protest but gave up to the ministrations of her best friend who seemed to know just what to do.

“C’mon sweetheart, hold still while the water brings your temperature down. Jesus Christ Claire, you were amazing. I expect the personnel will part like the red sea for you after that shift. What was that baby? Home? You want to go home?”

He kissed her cheek with a smack. “You don’t have a home, so you're stuck with me.”

When Claire cried, he could feel the shaking start from shock. He pushed her hair out of her face and held her close under the cold water. Claire sobbed and called out for Jamie. Joe tucked her into bed and laid down next to her so she could feel him holding her and hear his breathing. During the night, her body stopped shaking, and the drenching sweat returned, Joe slipped from her bed to look for Kevin.

Claire was ripped from a deep sleep nearly jumped out of bed from the loud kicking at her door. “Not again!”

She pulled the door open gasping for breath, holding her arm in front of her eyes from the glaring light in the hallway. A breakfast bar was shoved into her hand as the man barked, she was needed in surgery.

“Dress Beauchamp, I’m waiting to escort you to surgery.” When he saw her eyes glaze over, he brought the volume up, “on the double nurse!”

Claire was shoved into a sterile gown and a cap that instantly soaked into her scalp. She scrubbed for gloves and was pushed into the OR to assist with a premature birth while the doctor worked quickly to save the mother.

“Ready Beauchamp? Two minutes and you’re in a race to save this baby. Good luck.”

Claire felt like she was in a dream. She looked around the surgical room for another doctor to assist with the baby. It was her and Cutter Anderson, no one else. She looked up at the doctor wide-eyed and questioning.

“You are all she’s got, and you’ve likely seen the procedure many times. You know what to do, so do it.”

Claire grabbed a blanket from the stack and held her arms out to receive the tiny body. When the doctor dropped the lifeless baby into her arms, she felt the strength of ten men galvanizing her into action. She cleared the airways and slapped the thigh of the baby hearing the doctor roar, “harder! She won’t do this on her own. C’mon nurse, lay some pain on that baby or lose her!”

Claire heard quiet sounds from the baby and recognized the newborn was in distress. She felt her heart pound and her arms fly taking a stick of blood from the heal, listening for heart rate and wrapping the infant in warm blankets. Her lips were still blue, and Claire called to the doctor for intubation and respiratory assist.

“Get her ready, I’ll give you two minutes of my time for intubation. Get the ventilator and monitors ready in the incubator, get a surfactant replacement ready for the breathing tube, and hurry!” Like an after thought, “treat with eyewash before taping the lids closed.”

“Ready doctor!”

He jerked his head up and saw the equipment arranged, baby’s eyes taped shut and the glowing incubator. He took two steps and had the infant with a breathing tube down her windpipe in one minute. The baby was unwrapped to expose her skin to the UV lamps that would consume the extra bilirubin built up in her blood. The infant showed no movement and Claire was scared to death.

“Assist please, Beauchamp. I need you to grab the clamped blood vessel under the uterus. I can’t hold the organs away and grab it, You ready?”

They tried twice and the patient was losing blood pressure rapidly.

“Come in front of me and hurry.”

Once Claire was in front of the doctor, she felt him breathing into her hair and pressing into her back. His long arms came around her and lifted the organs up. Claire saw the blood vessel and grabbed it, locking the forceps to hold it.

“Awesome, you just saved this teenager's life, good job.”

The doctor’s arms opened allowing Claire to move away. She watched his practiced hands move swiftly, and ten minutes later the abdomen was closed, and a transfusion was pumping life-saving blood into the woman.

“Excellent job, nurse. I could cry with relief that we have someone of your caliber.”

Claire thanked him as he backed into the scrub room pulling his gown and gloves off, looking exhausted. Claire returned to the baby and pulled a new glove on one hand. Sticking her pinky into the mouth she lightly rubbed the roof of her mouth waiting to feel the tongue make a connection and start sucking. No response and her heart fell.

Claire ran out of the OR right into the hot wet air of the hallway reminding her that the surgical rooms were cooled to control bleeding. She was slick with sweat in mere minutes, asking people where doctor Anderson was.

“Who?”

“Cutter! Cutter Anderson.”

Someone pointed to the shower room and Claire bounded in coming face to face with a naked doctor. Her shock was obvious, and the man kindly turned around and asked what she needed.

“Ah…stom…stomach tube in the baby…please. I’m sorry to burst in here like this.”

Claire could feel her blushing face, like fire on her skin. But when he turned around, she allowed herself to study his tall, muscular frame. Nothing close to Jamie’s physique, but impressive nonetheless. She tried to imagine running her hands up his back or feeling his body pressed into her back as he did in surgery earlier.

“I’ll get the tube in. Give me five minutes nurse.”

Claire was locked in her head and was still staring when he turned around. Seeing his eyes lock on hers she jumped and ran away, hearing the good doctor laugh behind her.

The city of Edinburgh was like a gem to a farm boy raised on an ancient estate in the country. He couldn’t get enough of the castles, culture, and preserved lands where great battles were fought, and courageous men died. His first look at the city each day set his mood of wonderment and happiness which lasted throughout the day.

But not now, because Jamie opened his office like a zombie. What did he think? She would change her plans, her personality, drop her fear of intimacy and become a trusting perfect woman after one night in his bed? Every spare minute during the long day Jamie was beating himself up mentally. He tried very hard to hate her, and remember the empty bed, her cold-hearted escape during his shower. The minutes played with his head as he tried to act normal with his patients. The office staff asked him several times if he felt ill. He finally said he had a migraine and the sympathy of his team felt like a warm blanket. Why couldn’t you leave me alone Sassenach? You are heartless.

From one until two o’clock his anxiety grew until he could hardly speak to anyone. He could feel the rumble of her departing plane shaking him on the inside, he finally asked the office manager to cancel all appointments for the rest of the day.

Jamie poured a whisky and sank into his couch, remembering how she pressed into his face confessing she was hopelessly crushing on him.

The irony did not escape him. For over a decade he lived without commitment and emotion so he could perform the job he was given and meet the rigors of medical school. Sadly, it became him, self-reliant, focused, and sometimes ruthless. The attributes that built a successful practice were gone. Compassion, empathy, sincerity, concern, and willingness to serve others, once seen as weakness, were now required. He worked very hard at getting this back. The Sassenach was still learning to live without them. But her involuntary reactions like blushing, pupil dilation, respiration, and dancing with a fish, were collectively revealing her truth.

Jamie poured another whisky and tried to get some work done but he couldn’t concentrate. “I see, I’m not miserable enough for ye.” He stared out the window at the heavens and drained his glass before pouring another. When the walls started closing in on him, he tossed his gear in his truck and left. Two days in the woods would clear his mind and on Monday he would return a new man, he decided. Deep inside he prayed this was true. He found no value in this purgatory so he would think her away.

Jamie felt stronger the closer he came to Lallybroch. When the landmarks of his youth came into view, he smiled at the comfort they provided, exciting him to get as far and high as he dared over the next two days. Pulling his pack onto his back sent a message to his brain; prepare for the pain. A subconscious trigger from the weight of his pack, and years of training opened the flood gates of adrenalin, increased respiration, and engorged the muscles that would stabilize his body as he climbed. He felt alive and in tune with the woods and soaring rock. He was ready, and that made him happy.

When the sun started it's decent, Jamie found his favorite campsite and set up for the night before heading to the stream for his super. He was ravenous and consumed two energy bars to stem the shaking in his hands while he fashioned a rod and tied his hook and string. Back against a rock where he wouldn’t cast a shadow on the water, he pulled his book out to enjoy reading while he still could. Three pages was the longest interval between fish. Dropping two gutted fish back into the water for breakfast, he returned to camp and his dinner.

With a full belly and exhausted muscles, Jamie laid under the stars and decided this must be what drugs feel like… sublime, until she showed up. Like a shadow, she was always with him if he cared to look, and the sole purpose of this trip was cutting her loose. Paying close attention to his feelings, he summoned her to him and imagined her sitting by the fire. The first thing he felt was fear and he sat up abruptly and shook his head. That was impossible! Preposterous because fear was a stranger to him, yet there it was. I don’t live in fear, he thought, of anything, especially a one-hundred-pound girl. He could accept the feeling of loss, concern for her safety, or hurt that she did not want him. There was a multitude of feelings he would accept, but fear was not one of them, yet there it was.

Jamie went back to the beginning of their short twenty-hour history, working forward in his memory he could not find the fear. The night pressed into his brain with soothing sounds and smells. Like a mother’s lullaby, it made him sleep, dreamless until the first rays of morning touched his skin... like a sledgehammer.

Resuming his uphill climb, he struggled from the get-go, needing multiple rest breaks to breathe and let the sting in his thighs pass. Frustration imposed and he finally gave up when he found one of his favorite meadows where he could nap in the sunshine. Why was this so hard today he wondered, refusing to acknowledge the answer screaming in his ear. He finally took ownership of how he felt and surrendered, before walking to the stream to fish for his luncheon with fear. Once he was full, he turned a deadly eye on his guest and ruthlessly pulled the truth out of it. In his mind, he was ferocious toward the fear but when he saw Claire his stomach flipped, and he felt weak. The stark contrast told him something subconscious was fueling his attachment to her. It wasn’t sex, or her fabulous personality, her daring nature, or her vulnerability. This was no easy thing to flesh out and he felt defeated and frustrated, so he packed up and kept walking. Fear was easily keeping up with his pace, gaining in strength as Jamie was losing his own. “Christ almighty,” he growled, and looked for the next meadow to think some more. He laid back in the sun and napped while his subconscious gained the upper hand and presented the problem. Don’t expect her to go away and leave your heart, it said. You are connected to her for life, it is destiny for you both, you have no say in the matter. Jamie struggled to wake up, somehow knowing it was a dream and ready to wage war on the answer. You have lived many lives together and will continue to do so as the ages pass.

“Enough!”

Jamie sat upright, hearing his voice shout out to no one. Suddenly, he felt like a miserable pile of putrid emotion and anger, polluting this pristine landscape. He packed up and started the climb down. There is no supernatural, he thought, no soulmate, no destiny, and I am arguing with my own mind!

The first remedy was a substantial glass of whisky once he got home, and then another. He decided they would find teeth in his brain when he was autopsied in fifty years or so. Teeth of a twin that never developed and he would have been the stupid twin now exerting his foolish ideas while Jamie slept. Jamie felt the warm shower rinse his toothless twin away, laughing at his conclusion. There were thousands of women right here in Edinburgh. He will supplant the unforgettable Claire with little effort and be better for it. He was calm and relieved when he dropped into bed.

Claire was so freaked out by seeing the doctor in the shower that she forced Joe to engage her in conversation near the nursery to avoid interaction with the doctor. The baby’s survival hung on minutes now, she would start the supplement for her sustenance the minute she was tubed.

Joe asked why they were fake talking outside the neonatal room. After explaining what happened, seeing the doctor naked, he gripped his knees and bent over laughing, releasing a spontaneous fart that brought color to his dark cheeks.

“Jesus Claire, it’s co-ed, and I guarantee you will not get through a shower without a dangler walking in.”

“And what would be a dangler?”

Joe extended a finger at his crotch and wiggled it while he tried to contain his laughter. Claire rolled her eyes just as the doctor was exiting the room.

“Good to go, nurse.”

“Oh yes, he is definitely stalking you now Claire.” It was Joe’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Shut up you idiot, it was my embarrassment, remember?”

Claire made a disgusted sound and pushed into neonatal to finally feed the tiny survivor. Waiting an hour after the feeding, she did the critical testing for neurological, heart, lung, kidney, and heel sticks for blood chemistry. Hours later, she read the disappointing results and braced herself for a likely end. Claire ran her fingers over the baby’s skin and held her tiny hand. Her eyes hurt from being open too long and she felt her tongue stick to her cheeks. If she did not do some self-care soon the baby would lose her only advocate.

Doctor Cutter Anderson walked into neonatal at three o’clock in the morning. He knew the baby was too young to survive without a dedicated team of neonatal specialists. It was only a matter of time, so he braced himself before each visit. Claire laid on an extended lazy boy, sound asleep. Cutter could see her phone ticking down for the hourly alarm, his impression of her was growing. He smiled at her and appreciated the private time to really look at her. “What is such a pretty girl doing in this hell-jungle?”

Cutter covered Claire with a thin blanket to avoid excessive mosquito bites and left, turning off the light. When Claire felt the vibration of her phone she struggled to remember where she was as she sank back into her dreams. She was lying on the forest floor as sweat dripped off her from the stifling heat. It was difficult to take a breath of the hot, humid air. Cold drops of water sprinkled down on her shoulders making her gasp with the contrasting temperature. When she opened her eyes, Jamie’s face was right above her, smiling. The tie covered her eyes and she went to the blackness.

The phone vibrated again and woke her from the haunting dream. “Go away Jamie,” she whispered, “get out of my head.” She completed the feeding while dozing and gratefully returned to the lazy boy, hoping Jamie did not invade her dreams. Or did she hope he would? Her exhaustion took over before she knew the answer.