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starsighh · 24 hours

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LOVE TO LOVE YOU ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, established relationship, pro hero deku, fluff + smut, reunions, dry humping, vaginal oral + fingering (reader receiving), quirk use during sex (restraint; black whip), no power dynamic

wc: 2.2K

You surface slowly, coaxed into waking by the gentle invocation of your name. Uneven knuckles brush your cheek. The air retains some coolness, smelling faintly like late night petrichor, and beneath that a familiar musk that has your eyes fluttering open.

Crouched beside the couch is a silhouette haloed by the argent moonlight spreading across the otherwise dark living room. You must’ve accidentally fallen asleep. Inhaling deeply, you stretch your legs out across the cushions as your vision begins to focus.

“Hi,” Izuku whispers, wearing a tremulous smile. You blink, slowly drinking in the sight of him after a month apart. Mossy hair curls around his ears, a little longer and wilder than you remember. The shadows under his eyes are deeper. There’s a new line of scar tissue across his eyebrow, minor enough that it was left to heal naturally.

Where you take him into your hands your fingers find short stubble, a few days old. “You’re back,” you hear yourself match his volume, and the quiet forms an intimate bubble around the two of you. Izuku’s crows feet deepen as his smile grows, head tilted with a soundless laugh, and that helplessly fond expression falls over you like silk.

“I’m back,” he nods, covering your wrist with his hand and squeezing lightly as if to prove he was there.

He doesn’t look away from you, busy detailing the subtleties in your face like a man etching a moment into a memory. You realise there, under his loving scrutiny, that you haven’t changed your clothes; sprawled out in Izuku’s big worn hoodie and little underneath.

Izuku doesn’t mention it. There is not much more he can say that he hasn’t already said with his eyes. He sniffs and the bridge of his nose wrinkles. “Do you—can you hold me for a while?”

Your answer comes wordlessly and with open arms. Breath is knocked from your lungs at the weight that dives into your chest. Strong arms snake around your waist. Izuku tucks his face against your shoulder and shakes a little as you slide your fingers through his hair.

“I missed you,” you tell him.

He nods frantically into your hoodie, “Me too”.

The tension bleeds from his shoulders. Slumped deeper into your embrace you can see his suitcase and duffel bag left hastily by the dining table. You hum, gaze dragging toward his lower half hung over the edge of the couch, bent at an uncomfortable angle. “Come up here baby,” you rub at his shoulders and shift your hips to make room. Izuku lifts his head, dazed as he takes in the space between your legs. “Lay on top of me”.

Colour returns to his cheeks. A sleepy pink. He looks simultaneously flustered and pleased at the request. The cushions around you yield under his knees as he pulls himself up to settle between your thighs. Your fingers slip into his hair, back arched for the arms that snake around your waist. In resting his head on your chest Izuku presses every ounce that is him into every ounce that is you.

“There you go,” you breathe. Cradling the back of his skull your nails trace lightly over his scalp, delighting in the shiver that zips down his spine. He hums and you sink deeper into the couch. “You smell like rain. Were you okay getting home from the airport?”

A quiet arousal stirs in your lower belly as Izuku nuzzles your throat; however there is no desire to satiate it, not yet. You are content just to have him like this. Petal soft, you feel his lips move as he wryly replies, “Yoarashi-kun dried me off in the lobby”.

You curl a strand of hair around your forefinger and smirk, imagining him dumbstruck in a controlled gust of wind, “Is that why your hair can’t decide which direction it wants to go?”

Izuku laughs. The sound is low and breathless. It thaws you from the inside out. Gripped by affection your thighs squeeze at his waist and you hold him closer. His mirth tapers into even breathing and you fall into comfortable silence. Blanketed by his body you feel the gauzy lure into sleepiness. You fight the urge, wanting to savour his return, and knowing that if you surrender to it neither of you will make it to bed; consequently waking to a crick in your neck.

Clinging to consciousness you fill the spaces with the mundanity that was your month apart. Filing reports, meeting his mother for dinner, a determined Uraraka dragging Bakugo to karaoke kicking and screaming, taking the wrong train home. You don’t tell him about the cavernous ache in your chest when he’s gone. You don’t talk about how empty your bed feels without him in it. And you do not ask about the mission.

You can feel his long exhale on your neck. Lips parted to kiss your jaw before bracing on his elbows, looming over you with a besotted look that you can never truly grasp being on the end of. Izuku brings your foreheads together and you wet your lips.

“I missed you,” he says, voice deepened with a thick sort of intent.

“So you’ve said,” a lazy smile unfurls, your hand at the nape of his neck bringing him in closer. His nose nudges your cheek and lips brush, lingering there for a few drawn out seconds, sharing in desire.

You tilt ever so slightly to close the distance and kiss him. His mouth is wind bitten, anxiety bitten, it’s gentle and innocent and you feel as his smile grows. Izuku answers with fervour, nipping at your lower lip, kissing each corner, humming a satisfied sound when you welcome him in. Kissing Izuku is like black and white—two extremes, never done halfway. There’s the chaste, romantic kiss on his way to work, a kiss he sorely refuses to go without, and there’s this; it’s voracious, needy and shamelessly wet.

The muscles in his arms clench as his grip on you tightens and you struggle to keep pace. Knees bend. Your legs spread to accommodate more of him. The couch groans beneath his movements. He draws you into his lap, shelved on thick thighs. You roll up against the swell in his sweatpants and he turns away from the kiss with a whimper.

In his distraction you trail kisses from the corner of his mouth to the soft hinge of his jaw. You play with the hair at his nape, barely any pressure behind the teasing touch. Licking a stripe along the column of his throat—angling away to bare himself to you, pulse quickening under your tongue—you reach the sensitive spot by his ear and gently blow.

“Baby—” Izuku shudders over you as his voice catches. Laid like this he is all you can see. It jolts his hips forward, seeking relief. You respond in kind, grinding against his cock with smooth, deliberate undulations. His eyes flutter, half crescent moons squeezed shut in pleasure. The bridge of his nose wrinkles as his mouth falls open, hands frantic in their greed and pawing at the soft parts of your body.

Izuku lets out a groan and pushes his face hard into the crook of your neck. The stubble scratches your skin. “What is it?” you ask, your mirth bleeding into the low murmur. His reply is muffled. “I can’t hear you, love”.

You wait as he turns his head to make his words clearer. “Wanna eat you out,” he says, fingers inching toward the hem of your hoodie. “Couldn’t stop thinking about it”.

“Yeah?” your brow furrows a tad and you tuck your chin in an effort to see his expression. You’re hesitant despite the tension that gathers in your abdomen. “Are you sure? You must be tired from your flight,” your thumb finds his mouth jutted into a pout. “Let me do something for you instead—”

A sharp inhale is all the warning you get before Izuku is up, grabbing your hips and dragging your body over the edge of the couch as he settles back on the floor. Caught in the momentum, the hoodie bunches up around your stomach, revealing how little you have underneath.

Izuku visibly gulps, mouth agape like a beast tasting the air. “This is for me,” he rasps, that hungry gaze sliding from your cunt to your face. He almost looks innocent, rubbing his cheek against your bare inner thigh. The stubble tickles. Your knees reflexively come together only to be met by resistance.

“What is…ah”.

Battle worn hands slide over your hips to your waist. You arch into it. His thumb strokes back and forth over your navel. “Sorry,” he grins sheepishly. “Is this okay? I—I still want to be able to touch you”.

Black tendrils are coiled around your thighs. They’re strong yet distinctly incorporeal, a faint warmth where they make contact almost like they were breathing. The grip is just enough to keep your legs splayed open. Laid out so plainly, you feel a flutter pass through you, clenching around nothing, arousal meeting tepid air.

“Yes. Yeah. It’s more than okay,” you swallow thickly. Reachinf to thread your fingers through his hair, you pause midway as a thought crosses your mind. “Oh, wait,” he watches you lean across to grab one of the decorative pillows and drop it next to him. “Put that under your knees, baby”.

It’s a silly thing, but Izuku’s legs are his weapons. He incurs some new type of bruising, laceration and fracture every day. You didn’t want his knees aching on the hard floors.

Izuku’s smile gentles in a way you’re wholly familiar with. Unfettered love, and the impending threat of tears. He does as you ask and returns his attention to your hips, appreciatively kneading the flesh. “You’re so good to me,” he mumbles in his descent, and you get the sense that it was for his own ears.

Your stomach jumps where his nose pressed to your navel. Izuku nuzzles his face there, reverential. He begins peppering kisses below your belly button, each wetter than the last. You feel all of it—the lift in his cheeks as he smiles, the inhale when he reaches your sex, the tender kiss he gives to the hood of your clit.

He meets your eyes from his position. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your throat, your chest. Hot static prickles throughout your body. You hold his gaze and watch as his tongue lolls out, a string of spit stretching from the tip until it breaks. A small whisper of his name leaves your lips and it’s enough to spur him forward.

Wet and languid, his tongue strokes through your folds, coming to lay flat again and again. Nothing about it is precise. It’s messy and selfish, pure indulgence—purely for him, just as he said. Your legs struggle against the restraints as you chase the feeling. A puff of amusement comes from his nose, fanning over your skin.

“Fuck, baby. That feels good. Don’t…” your fingers curl into his hair, tight at the root. He moans unabashedly and the soft vibration makes you squirm. “There—don’t stop”.

You’re to do nothing but succumb to the hazy crescendo of your impending orgasm; to be pulled apart like dough in his covetous, warm hands; to feel the way he circles around your clit, finding your most sensitive angle, laving it with attention.

Spit soaks into the couch cushion beneath your hips. You can hear how wet you are. The sound rings in your ears and has heat crawling up your neck. Izuku’s breathing grows ever heavier. Tensing his tongue, flickering back and forth over your swollen clit, he sinks a finger inside you to the knuckle, fucking it in and out of you with a lazy come hither motion.

Another finger. Losing yourself to it a little, your fingers pull at his hair to hold his face against your cunt. Izuku whines, mumbling frantic incantations and praises. Your thighs clench, immovable in the grip of black whip. Pleasure throbs through your body like the beat of your heart, “Oh… Please”.

You fold into yourself, core drawn taut as your mouth drops open in a silent cry. Izuku’s pace doesn’t waver. He fucks you just right on his mouth, moaning with you as the tension snaps and you cum around his fingers, face slack with contentment in the clutch of your thighs.

A final tremor quakes through you. You drop back against the cushions, boneless and sated. Izuku steadily releases black whip and rises to meet your legs as they fall limp into the crooks of his arms. He forges a path of sticky kisses to your chest while you catch your breath, peppering them along your collarbones and throat, finally coming to rest against your mouth. You reciprocate lazily, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Thank you,” he sighs, pressing a final kiss to your cheek.

“That’s my line,” you laugh, taking him by the jaw and swiping your thumb through the spit around his chin. “Made me feel so good. You’ll have to give me a minute before we go to bed”.

Izuku makes a small noise of complaint at the prospect of moving but he gets up anyway. Something playful passes over his expression. You take his proffered hand and squeak when he tugs you upright on weak knees. “I have an idea,” he tells you.

Held flush to his front you wrap your arms around his shoulders and he stands you on his feet. He waddles in place with you, tasting out his gait. Brimming newfound zeal he announces, “Okay. Let’s go!”

Suspended in a buttery hazy, you laugh, hanging on for the ride.

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starsighh · 1 day

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TURNING PAGE ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU

tags: GN reader, quirk accident (dubcon <- just to be safe), pining, friends to lovers, a tiny bit of angst, so much fluff, requited feelings, confessions of love

wc: 1.3K

Deku got hit with a quirk mid battle. You have long since learnt that assuming the worst before receiving more information isn’t helpful. Injuries and accidents are an inevitability in your line of work— if you started panicking every time a friend got hurt you’d send yourself to an early grave.

Love drunk, they called it. A quirk that inebriated it’s victims with overwhelming feelings of affection and lowered their inhibitions to a resounding zero. It was harmless, if not a little embarrassing, and it explained why the nurse you spoke to had steam coming out of her ears.

Getting Izuku back to his apartment was the hardest part. You couldn’t make it two minutes without him stopping to express his admiration. Always some innocuous thing; how the beech tree foliage dappled the sunlight, or a flock of birds danced in synchrony, or an elderly woman with a small dog travelled in her walker.

When he caught sight of Bakugo’s victorious snarl plastered across a billboard you had to fight tooth and nail to take his devices away, lest he start wailing down the phone about how proud he is.

That particular moment spiralled into an incoherent rant about what the word ‘best friend’ means to him and why it felt redundant— lacking, in a sense. “It’s not enough,” he slurred, a myriad of tears bubbling at his waterline that he valiantly tries to blink away. “I just care about them so much”.

You had almost lost your footing as he slung an arm around your shoulder, nose squished up against your temple and oblivious to the heat prickling over your cheeks. You count your blessings. At least it hadn’t been a sex quirk. Izuku loves hard and he feels with his whole body. You’re not sure you could handle him at lust. To get a taste of that would be irreversible; no doubt hurtful. This is difficult enough.

When you make it to his apartment Izuku seems to realise that if he releases the tension keeping him upright you’ll have to hold him at the waist and take his weight. Your abdomen clenches— his lips brush over the shell of your ear, muttering quiet praises, and a shiver rolls through you. You wished he would shut up and you wished he wouldn’t; your eyes, your laugh, your intelligence, your hands, the way your hips move, how you dance when you think nobody is looking, the smile you save for him, your courage and wit— you’ve heard enough.

It hurts.

You manage to get him to his bedroom. He's drunk, fumbling like he’d forgotten how to put one foot in front of the other. You press your lips thin and try not to laugh as he struggles with the apparent loss of dexterity.

Izuku laughs as you drop him unceremoniously onto his bed and the sound is incredible. Soft, drunken, wholehearted fits of giggles. Pink splotches bloom up his neck and cheeks, his body pliant in honeyed repose. Mossy curls stark against the cotton sheets. Izuku holds out his arms and makes childish grabby motions with his fingers.

“C’mere,” he murmurs with a tone too intimate for your heart. A voice meant for lovers. Thoughts zip through your mind a mile a minute. What on earth do you do with your hands when everything you’ve ever wanted is right in front of you? You’re shaken by the gravity of it.

Your conscience whispers that this isn’t real. The quirk will wear off in a few hours. Izuku will stutter through a red faced apology and return to a normal you’ll never be wholly satisfied with.

The silence draws longer than intended. Your tongue sits heavy behind your teeth. You don’t know what to do with yourself, but Izuku is merciless. He pushes up onto his hands with a dissatisfied hum and scoots to the edge of the bed. A fragile breath is caught in your chest when you feel his palm smooth up your calf, cupping the back of your knee, his thumb stroking back and forth.

Izuku presses the flat of his throat against your midsection, his chin between your ribs. He looks up, detailing the subtleties in your face, eyes squinted and hazy; you aren’t sure what to do with the wonder in them, how unashamed he's being. You’ve seen it somewhere before. Stupid man. It’s a look saved for art museums or a full moon or the love of your life. Not— not you.

“You’re so unfair,” you tell him.

Thick in his mouth, he asks, “Did I do something wrong?”

Innate as breathing, your hands find his cheeks, seeking to reassure him before you realise what you’re doing, and he pins you in place with the most benevolent little noise.

Curse the quirk database. There had been next to no information about the quirk beyond its surface effects. You had no way to know whether the quirk conjured feelings of love, twisted them or amplified that which already existed.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” you affirmed, emphasised by the squashing of his cheeks. It forces his full lips into a pout. Izuku watches you, wide eyed and fraught. You exhale shakily and his head moves with the motion. “I promise”.

“But you look so sad,” he replies nasally. His fingers curled into your thigh, the other hand coming up to wrap around your wrist. Your eyes sting and you can’t help but to laugh at his swollen jutted mouth.

He responds well— practically glittering, sitting up straighter as though you had breathed new life into him. “I love it when you laugh,” he professed. “I love—”

“So you’ve said”.

Izuku frowns deeply. The strength behind his grip increases and it forces your knee to bend, bracing on the mattress beside his hip. It knocks you off balance, hands sliding down to his shoulders as you right yourself. “Izuku—?”

“You don’t believe me,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. The world tilts on its axis and suddenly you are laid on your back, trapped by firm muscle. A leg slots between yours, locking in place; thick arms snake around your shoulders and bring you into his embrace.

Izuku holds you in the crook of his body and you fit like a missing half.

The collar of his shirt slips forward. Your eyes skim the shadows leading to his chest— sparse dark hair between his pecs, muscle pushed together to form a soft cleavage. You’re swathed in heat and the smell of his shampoo. Blood rushes loud in your ears as his adam’s apple bobs and he dips to nuzzle your cheeks together.

“Oh”. A mumble breaks the silence whilst you try to regain your bearings. “You think it’s the quirk, right?”

“It is the quirk, Izuku”.

“Silly. That’s silly. I always feel like this when I’m with you,” he vowed tipsily. Your heart aches and you want to cry.

“Then let’s sleep,” you lift your head, ignoring his small complaint, and meet his gaze. “Sleep for a few hours and tell me again”.

Something flits across his expression; brief and quick, leaving as swiftly as it came, mellowing into contentment. Face smooshed into the pillow, Izuku smiles happily, readjusting his hips to align with yours.

You do not sleep. You stay awake listening to his shallow breathing, the snuffling noises he makes, laughing quietly to yourself whenever his muscles jolt. You count every eyelash, every freckle, memorise the pattern of his scars— the faint lines that are only ever visible in summer when his skin has a little more colour. You soak in how his chest moves against yours, how his arms tighten if you try to pull away.

When he begins to stir, you close your eyes and brace for the impact. What comes next is this:

The tentative press of his lips to your forehead. A gentle whisper of your name. You peer up at him and his sheepish smile widens, entirely unchanged from the hours before.

“I really love it when you laugh,” he blurted, flushing from head to toe.

Hope flares in your chest, spirit buoyed. “So you’ve said,” you breathe.

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starsighh · 1 day

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Scars

tags: SFW, GN reader, talk of scars and insecurities, fluff and comfort

Todoroki

Shoto has a complicated relationship with his scar. Some days he’s indifferent to it, he’s accepted that it’s there and a part of him. Other days he hates it, he can’t look at himself or touch it, it still burns like a fresh wound and it makes his eye ache. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and holds a hand over his right side and feels like he’s staring back at his father. Is this what his mother saw when she looked at him that day? He’d think.

He doesn’t think much of his appearance, really. That kind of thing never mattered to him, not until people started making comments about his face. And really he knew most of them were intended to be harmless, they were trying to compliment him. ‘You’re so handsome, even with that scar!’ ‘Even with half your face scarred you’re so pretty! It’s unfair’ ‘the scar adds to your appeal, it makes you look so badass!’

What did that mean, exactly? He wasn’t sure, but it made something awful twist in his stomach. This mark was one that signified his mothers fear and distress. On his face he carries proof of his fathers abuse. What did it matter if it looked good or not? He used to think.

Once he began dating you the thought creeped back in with muddied boots and left footprints all over his mind in its wake. He started touching the scar in the mirror every morning, pinching at the skin with distaste in a way he never had before. He'd borrowed concealer from Momo but found it couldn’t be covered. He moisturised more so it wouldn’t be rough beneath your fingers when you cupped his cheeks. He shied away from you whenever you tried to kiss his eyelids. He laid awake ruminating in bed at night about what you must think of it, that you must think it’s ugly, that it’s a shame and he would look even better if it weren’t there. The phantom burning grew worse.

Right now he’s leaning against the kitchen island in his apartment, watching you wash some vegetables in the sink before you start preparing them. The question is there on the tip of his tongue but for the first time ever, he’s frightened to know what someone thinks about his appearance.

You turn to speak to him but find yourself pausing at the vacant look behind your boyfriends eyes, one you had been seeing more and more this past month. Worryingly he had been growing distant from you, too. Placing down the the vegetables and the cutting board, you quickly dry your hands with the kitchen towel before approaching him. Moving around the island to stand beside him, you place a hand on his shoulder gently to gain his attention and he startles, head whipping to look to you in alarm before he relaxes at the sight of you.

“Sorry I scared you, love” you murmur softly, squeezing his shoulder. He shakes his head and quietly reassures you faintly that it’s fine.

“But it doesn’t seem fine,” you state, frustrated. His shoulders tense under your grip. “Shoto, something has been wrong for a while now. I was waiting for you to talk to me first because I didn’t want to cross any lines this early in our relationship. But I miss you”

Guilt seeps through his skin at your sad tone and it’s uncomfortable, as if he’s wearing a rain soaked coat. He knows he should’ve approached you about this but truthfully, he didn’t want to hear your answer. He was scared.

He says nothing and you wait patiently, not minding the silence. You know that eventually he will talk even if it’s just to say he doesn’t want to discuss it. Slowly you start to rub circles into his skin with your thumb and he begins to relax under your touch.

Taking a deep breath, Shoto keeps his eyes forward on the counter as he asks you “do you find my scar ugly?”

You weren’t sure what to expect but it wasn’t that. The question weighs heavily on your chest and aches. Had this been on his mind this entire time? The thought made you want to cry.

“No, baby. I don’t think your scar is ugly at all”.

“Then what do you think of it?” He finally looks up at you from where he’s seated. Atleast some light had returned to his eyes.

You weren’t sure if there was any right way to answer his question, so all you could do is be honest with him. Shakily you reach for his hand, relief filling you when he lets you thread your fingers together.

“Shoto, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve never thought anything of your scar, not once,” you admit and gently trace shapes onto the back of his hand. “It’s a part of you, that’s all. It’s the same as you asking me what I think of the shape of your nose. I don’t think it’s ugly, not at all, and I do think you’re beautiful. No ‘regardless of’ or ‘in spite of’ needed. I don’t look at you and think you’re unsightly, I don’t see your mother or your father, I just see you Sho”.

He lets out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding and it catches in his throat. Wordlessly he leans forward to put his head on your chest and brings your hand up to kiss the back of it.

“I love you, my pretty boy,” you whisper and press a kiss where his hair parts. He laughs against your stomach, nuzzling into your warmth, feeling overwhelmingly light.

“I love you”.

Midoriya

Fresh out of the shower, Izuku waves through the steam and wipes at the bathroom mirror. A reflection of himself stares back, skin a little pink from the hot water, a small towel wrapped around his waist. He has more scars than he can count. A lot of them are from his time at UA, back when he was still grappling with One For All and trying to steadily accumulate control over it. The larger ones are striking and very familiar to him, he remembers well how he got them. Some are attributed to his failures and others aren’t, but Izuku has learnt that a scar will look unpleasant regardless of the reason behind it.

His friends like to make harmless jokes from time to time about how his baby face and his battle hardened body don’t match up. Even the public are sometimes shocked on the rare occasion they they see him out of his hero costume.

He brings his left hand up to his right shoulder and slowly slides it down to his wrist, feeling all rough bumps under his fingertips. That was the part he was most conscious of - how it felt.

With a dramatic sigh, you finally step out of the shower behind him, startling him out of his train of thought. The steam dances around you when you reach for a towel to wrap around your body, somehow it’s quite graceful. Everything you ever did was beautiful though, at least it was to Izuku. Compared to him you were smooth, soft, warm, gentle, not at all marred with defeat. Beside you he felt both lucky and beastly.

Looking up, you lock eyes with him and grin cheekily. A long hot shower with your boyfriend had been exactly what you needed, your muscles completely relaxed and pliable. Padding over to him lazily with wet feet you wrap your arms around his middle, placing a kiss to his collarbone.

Izuku curls you into him and glances back over at the mirror, feeling himself deflate a little again at the sight of his haggard arm around your waist. You meet his gaze in the reflection, holding a tender but questioning expression.

“What is it, sweetheart?” You ask, moving your hand from his stomach to his bicep to rub it in reassurance. Your face falls when he flinches at your touch and you pull your hand back. He panics.

“Sorry baby,” he chokes, reaching for you. “I was just overthinking, is all”.

You purse your lips. He had been a little strange in the shower, insisting he wash his own body even though he typically lets you. You love pampering him, after all he works incredibly hard, and he loves letting you.

“Did you get injured today?” You take your bottom lip between your teeth in worry. “Are you sore? Is that why you don’t want me to touch you?”

He rapidly shakes his head, twisting in your arms to face you completely and squish you against his front. He buries his face into your hair, tightening his arms around you. “No! No, sweetie. I wouldn’t hide anything like that from you”.

Running a comforting touch up and down his back you let yourself be relieved that he’s not hurt. “Then what are you hiding from me?”

He gulps. Now that you’ve asked him outright he can’t lie to you, he would never, not to mention he’s a terrible liar! But he feels so embarrassed by his insecurities it’s hard to get words out.

He mumbles something into the crook of your neck and you strain to hear him. “What’s that, baby?”

“I hate my scars,” he repeats weakly. “They’re so bumpy and uneven and I’m sure it’s not nice for you to hold such crooked hands. To be held in such rough arms. They’re just reminders that I could have been better”.

He waits for your reply, and grows nervous when the silence stretches out too long. He can’t see your face now that he’s pressed into your shoulder. Eventually you loosen your arms and lean back, he follows your lead but finds himself too ashamed to see your expression.

“‘Zuku,” you speak as if you’re comforting a scared child. His eyes sting and he bravely meets your stare. You appear very determined, stepping back but keeping a grasp of his hands. You bring them to your lips and litter kisses over his fingers, palm and wrist. Your mouth continues up his forearm, feathering soft pecks to each scar you can find. He grows more flustered as you travel to his bicep where one of his larger burn scars sit and spend much longer showering it with appreciation.

He doesn’t know how long you both stand there but by the time you have repeated the action along his chest and his other arm all the steam has cleared completely. Standing upright you cup either side of his jaw and pull him down, slotting your lips together with a pleased hum.

He chases your mouth when you pull away and you can’t help but laugh. He’s still pink but it isn’t from the temperature of the water anymore.

“I love your hands, I love your arms and your chest. I love your back and your legs too, but if I continued we would be here all day,” you breathe. “I have never hated your scars and I never will. They aren’t proof of your failures or proof that you’re lacking. They’re proof that you won, proof that you got out alive, that you fought for good and justice. They’re proof that you’re a hero, so don’t you forget that”.

He tries to speak but it comes out in a croak, his throat inexplicably tight and his eyes welling with tears. He feels so full with love for you he can’t think of any way to show or tell you that is adequate. He’s so grateful to have you at his side.

You seem to understand that he’s overwhelmed because you simply ruffle his hair and step aside, guiding him to the door. “Now lets get dressed, I’m freezing!”

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