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#and then make him pale as a sheet of paper no freckles in sight ?

camels-pen · 3 years

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The Big Dipper

DannyMay Day 4 - Stars

Summary: A warm summer night in Gravity Falls, Oregon, leads to an interesting discovery.

Ao3 link

The sound of loud whirring blades filled the air, drowning out the buzzing cicadas and the scurrying squirrels. Dipper’s hat blew off and his carefully arranged bangs flew around haphazardly, a few strands getting caught in his eyes.

The tops of evergreens bent lower to the ground, shaking and trembling as the sterile white machine passed above them, almost as if they would be broken or knocked down should they catch its interest. Dipper rubbed his eyes, finally dislodging the stubborn strands, and pushed back the short brown mess with a huff.

The boy in the chair next to him leaned down to the cooler, unperturbed by the wind shear, and reached his arm through the lid, rummaging around for far longer than necessary. Once the helicopter moved on, he pulled out a wet can of Pitt Cola and relaxed back into the cheap white and grey mesh of the lawn chair. There was a brief moment where he stared unabashed at Dipper’s forehead before averting his eyes to the two bickering old men on the ground. With his hat out of sight, Dipper dejectedly leaned back with a sigh, letting his hair flop back down and stick every which way it pleased.

The can was held out to him, covered in a paper thin sheet of ice all along the sides, but he pushed it away and his sister wasted no time standing on her chair to lean over his head and accept it in his stead, elbows digging into his crown and messing up his hair further.

Most of her weight was on him now and he felt the plastic legs beneath him shifting dangerously. A shock of fear gripped him and he flailed his arms, trying to shove his twin off, but only managing to bang his hand against cold aluminum.

The chair would’ve tipped over, likely sending both of them tumbling on the hard tiles, if it weren’t for the steady pale hands holding onto the other side. A thud and soft hissing indicated the location of the lost prize, but Mabel didn’t bother with sighs; she leaped off the back of her seat to pull out another.

Excited gushing filled the air as she flipped open the plastic lid and reached in to dig around the bottom of the container. She detailed all the work and effort she put into the rockets to make the sparkling showers that followed safe to eat. Danny looked impressed, but Dipper knew better; sticking a bunch of expired Smile Dip packs to the side of any kind of explosive was a recipe for disaster for more than one reason. Something he was all too happy to let the teen learn on his own.

He grinned a little, imagining the consequences of keeping silent and glanced at the black haired employee. Eyes trained on the sky with only a brief flicker to the ground when Stan caught himself in a loud curse after having Soos accidentally drop a heavy box on his foot, Danny looked like his whole world was laid out before him, spurring Dipper to follow suit.

A few of the first stars began to show up in the clear night sky like the glittering eyes of small children eager to play outside while awaiting permission from their elders. The little dots of condensed happiness peeked out of their hiding places, one after another coming into full view to beam down on the tiny folks below as the sun finally sunk below the horizon. Doors, windows, and backyard gates swung open as six new faces ran about drawing a trail from their brightest friend to paint a familiar picture in the sky. Their shining laughter illuminated the air between the moon’s old eyes that crinkled with mirth and the infinite blanket of space only visible after the sun was laid to bed.

The glow of a smaller set of joyful stars lit up much closer to the earth’s surface, catching his attention.

An array of green freckles dotted a pale nose and cheeks, multiple lines connecting them like those in a child’s puzzle game filled in so many times they nearly tear the page. The marks on his face had appeared spontaneously, yet they looked like they had always been there, shining in their neon beauty for years. They were absolutely breath-taking and judging by the soft gasp behind him, Mabel thought so too.

And even as his moment of silent reverence was broken, the smile never left Danny’s face. Twinkling blue eyes went cross eyed staring at his nose and he chuckled.

“Same hat?” Danny pointed to his freckles.

Dipper smiled, pushing aside his bangs slightly to point at his forehead. “Same hat.” The other boy nodded, satisfied.

Danny got up off his chair and briefly stretched his arms and legs while Mabel slapped Dipper on the arm, barely containing her squeals of joy.

She started forcefully shaking him when Danny moved to the ledge and carefully dropped off the side of the roof, the sound of his feet hitting the ground completely absent. Her hands used him as leverage to quickly push off the chair and scramble to the ledge, sticking her head below to futilely attempt to catch a wisp of the teen.

Not a minute later, he silently appeared above the twins, impossibly squatting on the sloped roof with only the tips of his shoes holding him on the slippery mismatched tiles, a blue and white hat in his outstretched arm.

There was an unspoken question in his eyes and an expectation hidden behind a calm mask, the slight twitch in his smirk becoming more pronounced the longer he waited. Dipper ran a hand through his bangs, stuck to his head with sweat from the day’s activities, and moved to stand in front of him.

Though he hesitated, Dipper held out a hand and accepted the offer.

#dannymay2021 #dannymay #nemo the writing ho #dp gf crossover #danny phantom #gravity falls #danny fenton #dipper pines #mabel pines #hit enter coward #a good story with similes metaphors and only two lines of dialogue in my dannymay? its more likely than you think #there aren't even any italics this time oh my gosh #usually i go hard on italics so im pretty proud of myself rn

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sinsbymanka · 3 years

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Hello! I uh. Got so many Fenders prompts guys. Like. A lot.

I combined three of them because I really wanted to try this ship and I really liked writing it a lot. I hope I did them justice! Thank you to @dalish-rogue, @morganlefaye79, and @wardenari for the prompts! This is for @dadrunkwriting!

Title: Not What Was Intended Ship: Anders/Fenris Rating: T Word Count: 1561 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crimes & Criminals, Bathing/Washing, Sharing a Bed, Bickering, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Fenris doesn't mean to go to the clinic. But when he sees the windows smashed in, he has to check it out. He is not doing it for himself, he is doing it for Hawke. It's a good lie. Almost believable.

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Fenris does not mean to stroll past the clinic.

It is nothing more than a momentary lapse in judgement. He is too used to walking these darkened streets so the chain link fences, the broken street lamps, they all weave a background tapestry he hardly notices. His feet drag him onwards down the path he usually walks with Hawke, despite the fact that Hawke is not with him.

Fenris could have gone home. Instead he turns the corner to find the clinic’s windows smashed, broken glass littering the cracked sidewalk. Fluorescent lights flicker inside, although whether the bulbs themselves are finally reaching the end of their life or Anders has not paid the bill again, Fenris can’t say.

He hesitates a moment, his contraband ammunition heavy against his chest where he tucked it inside his coat. If he is caught with it, the papers Varric somehow obtained will be useless. He’ll be back in Tevinter before he can blink, and for all Fenris knows Anders is about to be dragged out by the Templars kicking and screaming, blonde hair falling wildly about his face, eyes crackling…

That image forces him into movement. He ducks quietly through the ajar door, suspicious eyes darting into every corner. He tells himself he is there for Hawke, for Varric, for all those who for some reason believe the meddlesome doctor and his idealistic opinions are worth the wrath of the rich and powerful.

Fenris almost convinces himself. It is a good lie. One Varric himself would approve of.

But the truth shrivels it the moment Fenris slips past the abandoned reception desk and into the triage area. Because standing in the middle of the room is Anders, surrounded by debris and refuse.

Something loosens in Fenris’ chest immediately. He crosses the wreckage of the clinic easily, voice dropping to a low growl. “What have you done?”

Anders finally lifts his gaze from the trash littering the floor. Fenris expects a flash of irritation, a scowl to match his own, but it does not come. Instead Anders rubs his stubbled jaw and shakes his head.

“Just what I needed. A lecture. Andraste’s pillowy tits. Could this day get any worse?”

There’s a bitter thread of hurt in his voice that makes Fenris uneasy. He does not pull his gaze from Anders, jerking his chin to the destruction surrounding them. “You were raided?”

“I wish,” Anders snorts. “I expect the Templars to fuck me over cause of what I’m doing. Who I’m helping.”

“Varric pays the Coterie. And the Carta. This was not them.”

“I’ve told him to stop but you know how he is.” Anders puffs out his chest in mockery. “Me? Annoyingly taking care of your problems? I’d never do something so blighted risky and-”

Anders bends down, stumbling to stop in his impression as he picks up a long, ruined piece of unravelled gauze. He sighs hopelessly as he looks at it before he shakes his head and lets it drop in defeat.

“You’re right, you know.” Anders looks up, a bitter grin twisting his lips into something monstrous and out of place on his warm features. Something that brings the dread from when he saw the broken windows back tenfold. “I’m down here risking all our asses and for what?”

“Justice and the greater good, or so I’ve been told,” Fenris replies dryly.

“So a bunch of kids whose bullet wounds I stitched up last week, no Templars involved, could come back and steal thousands of dollars worth of medical supplies and ruin even more. All while I was out doing home visits for a solid thirty hours.”

Anders closes his eyes, agony breaking over his features, making him look three times his age. “Maker. I’ll never recover from this.”

The statement rings too loudly in the heavy silence. It stretches on and Fenris waits for the other man to crack a flippant joke, but it doesn’t come. It is up to Fenris to fill it as best he can.

“This is unnecessarily dramatic,” he sniffs. “Hawke will gladly resupply you.”

“I’m not living on Hawke’s charity,” Anders snaps.

“Then you’ll live on Varric’s. How long have you been awake?”

Anders finally shows some sign of his own temper, straightening up. “Sorry, should I call you daddy or-”

“Fasta vass, you are impossible.” Fenris surges forward and grabs Anders by the cuff of his coat. The other man is so dizzy from exhaustion it takes almost none of his strength to drag him from the triage area deep into the clinic.

Fenris himself has been stitched up in this location enough times to know it like the tattoos in his skin. He shoves Anders toward the showers with a growl. “You smell of disease and stale sweat. I will secure the clinic.”

“You say the nicest-”

Fenris slams the door shut behind the other man and turns grimly to the clinic to survey the damage. He doesn’t bother with the ruined supplies or the evidence of the ransacking. Instead, he begins the slow, methodical business of checking the exits. Securing the bolts. The windows are, of course, a problem. He drags clean sheets from the cupboards and pins them in place to keep out the wind and cold, but Anders needs new windows.

And perhaps an alarm system. Or a dog instead of the fifty stray cats that linger in the alley.

When he’s done what he can, he makes his way back to the bathroom. The water is running and Fenris thinks only to pop his head in and announce that he will return with boards for the windows.

He’s stopped short, once more, by the sight of Anders. No longer standing, but curled into the corner of the shower. Knobbly knees are pulled to his chest, sandy hair plastered to his skin. His shoulders shake with silent sobs.

Fenris should leave.

Yet again, he doesn’t.

He closes the bathroom door behind him and slips his coat from his shoulders. By the time Anders looks up, blinking water from his eyes, Fenris is laying it and his illegal purchases on the counter.

“What are you-”

“You are clearly incapable of taking care of yourself.” Fenis lifts the hem of his cotton shirt over his head, not daring to meet Anders eyes. He knows the other man is tracing the elaborate designs, a brutal reminder of his life before, and he doesn’t wish to see it. “If you drown in your own shower, I will have to explain it to Hawke.”

Anders’ silence is more maddening than his constant babble. Fenris braces himself to turn, only to find that instead of staring at him, Anders is gloomily examining the grout in the shower.

“I know you think I’m pathetic.”

Fenris climbs carefully into the shower and grabs one tiny bottle of expired shampoo donated from a cheap motel and a limp sponge. “I have never said that is the case.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do not have to justify things I have never said.”

Fenris squirts the sickly sweet shampoo on the sponge and rubs it between his fingers. Anders’ eyes latch onto the movement quietly. Fenris thinks his words over before he turns to Anders.

“I am envious of your desire to help others. I believe that is a part of me that is gone.”

It had been ruined, as so many things had. Before he can think too much about his past or about the pale freckled skin slicked with water, he brings the sponge to Anders’ chest and swipes it over his collarbone.

The motion is soothing. Dull. Repetitive. Soap beads on his skin and falls to the drain. Anders is silent, the only noise the lukewarm water streaming from above and the sound of their quiet breaths.

“They should not have abused your kindness,” Fenris finally says, flicking his eyes up to meet Anders’.

A moment of silence, fragile as the soap bubbles. Fenris takes hold of Anders’ thin, lithe arms and hauls him to his feet. He tries not to think of the way the other man sways on his feet, the brush of their chest together. He carefully does not look at the golden hair decorating his chest or the taut muscles beneath his skin.

Fenris tries not to hear the soft whisper against his ear as he drags the sponge down Anders’ stomach.

“They shouldn’t have abused yours.”

Everything passes in a blur. He does not remember how he finishes washing Anders, only the brief tantalizing flashes of skin and warmth that are seared into his memory. But the other man is almost limp with exhaustion as Fenris drags him to a cot.

Anders trips into it, taking Fenris with him. He curses under his breath and Anders chuckles, warm and real and so much better than the heartbroken man he found.

“You can’t stay here,” Anders murmurs sleepily, lips twitching in amusement.

“I have no wish to,” Fenris hisses between his teeth.

The cot is soft, just barely big enough for both of them, and his arm is trapped beneath a man who is rapidly letting exhaustion overtake him. Fenris means only to rest there until he can free himself without waking him.

He does not mean to fall asleep beside him, arm over his waist, face pressed into his shoulder.

Yet he does.

#manka writes #dadrunkwriting #anders showers bring mage flowers #fenris #anders #fenders #anders/fenris #fenris/anders #dragon age #dragon age 2 #alternate universe #modern

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gallickingun · 4 years

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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.

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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

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #izuku smut #deku smut #deku x reader #midoriya smut #midoriya izuku x reader #bnha x reader #izuku x you #midoriya x you #bnha x you #mha x reader #mha x you #morgan writes bnha #my writing

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driversmutbucket · 3 years

Text

Suspension

Headmaster!Kylo AU x reader

(The vibe - except no facial hair and longer actual hair).

Warnings: power dynamics, switch!reader, switch!kylo, verbal abuse, orgasm denial. Only very mild NSFW

Hello chaps. A wee multi chapter fic I have been writing 100% in my head (why am I like this?!) for a few weeks. About time I put it to paper tumblr. I have no idea where this is going, as usual. 👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼

Many described your new workplace as a real-life Hogwarts. The 17th century boarding school was grand, roaming ivy accented the tall arches of the exterior walls. You loved the sliding vertical windows, which were made from, what seemed like, hundreds of small square panes of glass bordered by thick metal glazing bars. The school sat on a large former-estate, no other buildings or civilization in sight.

Parents paid out the nose for their little darlings to attend. It was an interesting mix of emotionally neglected and rebellious rich kids, ultra-smart and relatively normal scholarship kids and stuck up spoilt-brats.

If the school was a Hogwarts, then the headmaster was a Snape.

He was notorious. Or so you heard.

You had heard murmurings of junior school students bursting into tears at the mere sight of him.

You could hardly be blamed for stopping dead in your tracks- or rather- teachings, when the classroom door creaked open and all your students went dead silent, some as white as a sheet.

You knew this was Headmaster Ren from the reaction alone. But when the tall, pale and bizarrely handsome man stepped into the classroom, you could have been knocked over by a feather.

You were expecting an ugly, miserable old git with a thorn in his side.

“Please pretend I’m not here Miss y/l/n.” His voice was deep, smooth and foreign, American? Why had no one mentioned this. You felt betrayed by the lack of information your colleagues had provided, blindsided.

The students followed him with their eyes as far as they could without physically moving as he retreated to the back of the room and sat on a stool. Crossing one leg over the other. Your eyes lingered for a moment on the third button of his dress shirt that seemed to be working just a bit too hard.

You cleared your throat, “right, well, as I was saying, this term our first module….”

You could feel his eyes on you as you leant against your desk and spoke about the outline for the term.

You eventually managed to relax, dishing out the necessary supplies for the first exercise as you explained what you expected the students to produce by the end of the class.

After watching for a time, you notice one of the shyer girls, Molly, hadn’t begun.

You pulled up a stool next to her at the table.

“Why haven’t you started Molly?” You asked gently.

You noticed Headmaster Ren was now walking around the tables slowly, looking at what the students were doing.

“I’m scared.” Molly whispered, her bottom lip quivering.

“Of the Headmaster?” You asked, quietly.

She nodded.

Bloody hell, you thought, glancing at your unreasonably handsome headmaster as he walked around the tables, hands behind his back and stony expression hardening his already strong features.

“How about I stay and help you until he buzzes off?” You smiled at the young girl.

Molly looked up at you, slight shock flitting across her freckled face. You winked, and picked up the protractor.

The only plus of having Ren hovering around would have been that the students were on their best behavior. But they weren’t even speaking, “why are you all so quiet? Feel free to compare your drawings and see what your neighbor has done, they might have some valuable tips!”

The students looked at you startled. You sighed, “well if you don’t I will just start picking students to come and show the rest of the class their progress at the front here.”

That worked a treat, a low hum of chatter and rustling of paper broke out, breaking the godawful, pin-drop silence.

You watched Ren, a flicker of amusement passing briefly over his features.

The bell rang, and the students bolted when you dismissed them.

Headmaster Ren loitered, you could feel his eyes appraising you.

“A pleasure to finally meet you headmaster.” You offered, finally making eye contact as he walked up to your desk.

“Your teaching style is interesting.” He said coldly.

“Oh, ok?”

“You don’t prefer silence in your classroom Miss y/l/n?” He tapped his lips with his pointer finger, as if in deep thought.

“No, I don’t think art class is the place for silence.” You crossed your arms with a small frown.

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline, “I see, perhaps my idea to inject some young blood into this institution was a flawed one.”

Your frown deepened, and you met his eyes, was he baiting you?

“Headmaster, I hardly think that is fair!” You said calmly but sternly.

You swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Can’t say I’ve ever had a teacher, let alone, a new hire, challenge me.” He continued.

“This is absolutely absurd.” You tried your hardest not to scoff. Your patience wavering.

“What is absurd, Miss y/l/n?” He locked eyes with you, you swore he was challenging you.

“You.” You snapped, “this ridiculous conversation is over.”

Before you could chicken out, you strode out the classroom door.

—

The summoning to Headmaster Ren’s office was hardly a surprise.

What was surprising was that it took a week.

In that week you had seen why he struck the fear of god into everyone.

Except for you.

Quite frankly he struck you as an arrogant, controlling, stuck up, wanker. Albeit a sexy one.

His explosive temper reminded you of a spoilt teenager. You had lost count of the number of times you had had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

But tonight you had been unable to stop yourself. You had rolled your eyes. You had to admit, you went into the meeting on the defensive.

You met his rising temper with a calm, stern teacher voice, even though you wanted to scream at him.

“Headmaster, if you are going to continue this conversation behaving like a petulant child I will simply leave.” You sighed, standing in front of his desk with your arms crossed.

He was whiteknuckling the arms of his office chair. His hands were so big….

That’s when your gaze drifted to his crotch.

There was no mistaking it. He was hard.

You slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. Had you misread lust for hate?

“Are you fucking hard?!” You hissed, breaking your calm and collected facade.

He moaned. It was deep and guttural. Your nipples hardened and your cunt betrayed you as it began to throb.

Planting both hands on the desk, you let your gaze linger on his straining black dress trousers. There was no doubt he was packing. You very slowly let your eyes wander up his large torso. His three piece suit seemed like overkill for a Headmaster, but he pulled it off. His cheeks were flushed, the first time you had ever seen color grace his pale skin. His plush lips parted slightly as he panted, blown pupils watching your every move.

“You are disgusting.” You spat. “Arrogant, conceded, fucking wanker.”

His eyes rolled back in his head. You couldn’t believe this was happening. But you were high on the power you held over him. His reaction egged you on.

“Are you going to cum in your pants like a teenager Ren?” You scoffed, feigning disgust.

He didn’t reply, but his hand drifted toward his zipper.

“Don’t you dare.” You snapped. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.” He gritted out.

“Yes….?” you prompted.

“Yes, Miss y/l/n.”

“Good boy.” You cooed, breaking into a smile.

You turned on your heel and walked out of his office and down the hall his raging yells echoing behind you.

—

Let me know if you want to be tag-listed

#headmaster! Kylo Ren #Kylo Ren x reader #boarding school AU #let see where this trash train takes us

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grimmseye · 3 years

Text

Left Reel Clockwise

(Read on Ao3)

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker & Jonathan Sims, Sasha James & Jonathan Sims

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Warnings/Tags: Episode 200 spoilers, Time-travel, Fix-it, Apocalypse-typical PTSD

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

The first moments of existence after death were spent in a muddled haze. Awareness came languid to his mind, filling in the knowledge of a cool and smooth surface beneath his cheek, the weight of his arms, the tickle of a long lock of hair teasing his nose.

He couldn’t say exactly how memory flooded back, but later would register it rather like a sudden fall, as though rain fell in a single, uniform sheet rather than droplets from the sky. In a heartbeat he went from half-asleep to surging to his feet as he remembered. He crashed into a sturdy weight that tossed itself away from him then toppled to the ground, barely processing the noise over the scream of static and blood in his ears.

“Martin?” He called out, with a sudden flare of hope. Then Jon’s breath gusted from his chest. There was no Martin, no shock of white hair atop a bespectacled face. He reached out on instinct to the Eye, demanding its knowledge — and got only a faint buzz in response.

Tamping down panic, Jon forced himself to take in the room. There was a desk. A toppled-over hair. A window, letting slits of muddled afternoon light in through the blinds.

It was his old office. The knowledge floated through his mind, though he couldn’t process it. Tape recorders were stacked on the desk, those that had been used marked with post-it notes. A thin stack of papers was beside another.

He staggered to it, the need to understand overriding anything else. Atop it was a paper he’d seen far too many times: the form they gave to every client before they gave their statement. Name, date, subject, all filled out by hand in black ink. This one was written by Jason North.

He repeated the name, and the oddest part was that he didn’t instantaneously know who that was. A second later he remembered: the man had been a victim of the Desolation. Had lost all but his child to the Lightless Flame. He had first recorded that statement even before Jane Prentiss’ attack.

A wave of dizziness made him stumble, and he steadied himself on the desk. He stared at his hands, and found them strangely smooth. No twisted, long-healed burn. No pockmark scars of infestation. There was the silvery line from a neighbor’s dog, which had caught his middle finger in its eagerness to take a treat. Another, on the side of the thumb. A kitchen knife had slipped.

2016. The last time he had looked like this was 2016.

“Martin!” The shout rose unbidden from his chest, sudden panic seizing him. He reached to the Eye again, realizing with a twist of his stomach that the connection was there, but distant. It was a lingering thread, gossamer thin, that passed from his grip heedless of his call.

At once Jon was just a pinprick in a wider, crueler universe, the suffocating sense of helplessness washing over him. It left Jon bracing his weight against the desk, unable to even walk through the door to see what lay beyond it. Was this an alternate dimension, exactly the same except save for minute twists in the detail? Or just a feverish dream, the last screaming throes of his dying mind?

He started to paw at his own chest. His innards felt strange, like something had been stuffed beneath his skin that hadn’t been there before. He shoved one hand beneath his shirt, and there he felt it: a scar. Thick, and short, one he didn’t recognize. It was about the right length to match the base of a knife, the one he himself had used to cut the first Pupil out of this life. The one Martin in turn had slid into his heart.

The door opened.

Jon froze.

Tim peeked around the door, wearing the lightest of frowns. It deepened in clear concern as he took stock of the room, and then Jon himself. “Whoa there, Boss,” he said, stepping inside and moving towards Jon. “Did you trip?”

He was halfway to Jon before he regained use of his legs. He skittered away from Tim until his shoulder hit a wall, making him buckle and nearly collapse. Tim gave a call of concern, but halted in his tracks when Jon braced an defensively arm in front of himself. He had no weapon, but his heart was pounding, muscles coiled tight. He looked like a cornered animal, hunched against the wall with teeth half-bared and fingers curled like claws.

“Do not —” Jon choked out, unable to tear his eyes away from Tim, looking for the one detail that would prove this was fake. Black skin, darker hair that sat close-cropped atop his head. The clothes were right, passable to the dress-code with as much flair as he was allowed. Looking at him, Jon wanted to believe it, he wanted for all the world to let this be true. But he couldn’t.

“Do not come near me,” he spat.

He hated the look on that thing’s face, twisting Tim’s expression into something alarmed, worried both for himself and for Jon. Yes, that was it. He was in a nightmare. The Eye hadn’t liked him trying to sever its hold on the world, and had trapped him in his own personal hellscape.

But the thought didn’t fit right in his brain. The Eye simply wasn’t that intelligent. The one sense it lacked was foresight. He knew, with cold clarity, that his paranoia was wrong.

And then he knew that this was Tim.

He gasped, breath strangled. It felt like his skull was constricting down on his brain. Pressure thrummed behind his eyes, a migraine threatening at the edges. “Tim,” he wheezed. It came out as half a sob. “Oh, god. Oh god, Tim.” Jon covered his mouth, trying to still his breathing.

“Hey, hey.” It was softer than Jon had heard Tim’s voice in years. Not since Sasha —

“Sasha!” Energy flooded his limbs, and he straightened up, wild-eyed. “Is she here?”

Tim blinked at him. “Y-yeah, but, look —”

Jon brushed passed him, throwing the door open. The sight of the archive was almost nostalgic, and he drank it in as greedily as Beholding. “Where is she?” He asked.

“Um —” Tim came to hover at his shoulder. “At her… desk? Boss, are you feeling alright?”

Jon didn’t answer. Muscle memory carried him there, hurried strides to the place where the Not-Sasha once sat, all long hair and round glasses and thin smiles.

The woman sitting there instead was a stranger. She was small, dark-skinned and curly-haired. Her curls had been pulled back out of her face in a ponytail that sat nearly atop her head, and bobbed whenever she moved.

Jon couldn’t stop the uncertainty in his voice when he called for her. Her name felt foreign on his tongue, but she paused and looked up with a smile. It dropped when she met his gaze, and flickered to Tim behind him.

She rose. “Jon,” she started. His breath caught. Her voice was light and soft-toned, and he felt his shoulders begin to slump as she said, “what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen… well…” A wry smile curled on her lips.

He memorized her face. Every detail, the smattering of freckles, her brown eyes so dark they were nearly black, the pinprick at her lip where she had once had it pierced. He struggled to blink back tears.

“Sasha, I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The words poured out before he could stop them. She didn’t understand, it was written on her face. And he knew he wasn’t anywhere he hadn’t been before. Maybe he’d really jumped back in time. Maybe this was something parallel, and he’d simply fallen into the stream. But whatever this was, these were his people. This was his Tim, and his Sasha, and they were still in danger.

But they were alive.

“You deserved better than what you got,” Jon told her, emphatic. “And I can’t change what happened, but — maybe I can fix it. Maybe I can…” He spiraled. Possibility was stretching out before him. If this wasn’t a nightmare, if it was a second chance…

“Jon, is this about the position?” Sasha asked, surprised. “I mean… sure, I was a bit, well, bitter over it at first, but… I mean it’s hardly your fault if Elias is like that.”

And just like that, his soaring hopes came back down.

He’d forgotten about Elias. What churned in his belly now was some mixture of nausea and crippling hatred. Stabbing him to death the one time hadn’t been enough to satisfy him. Hearing him beg for his miserable life hadn’t been enough. If he was here again, if he was breathing again… and if he knew what Jon knew…

“I’m… calling out sick for the day,” Jon announced. “Do whatever you want, just... “ he trailed off, shook his head, and stumbled out. Neither of them stopped him.

His feet carried him up the stairs. The sight of people, just normal people walking through the corridors of the archive had tears stinging in his eyes. There were cordial smiles and shadows under eyes, simple office displeasure the worst in the faces he saw. It was peaceful. It was wonderful.

He pushed the doors open, taking a dozen paces out into the courtyard that sat behind the institute before he slowed to a halt. Jon tipped his face up, eyes closed, and let the sun pour on his skin. It was warm, and perfect, and vital. The tears were trickling down his cheeks as he stood there, swaying back and forth on unsteady feet.

It was only the sound of footsteps that shook him from his reverie. He wiped his eyes, ducked his head, and hurried along his way.

Until he heard Martin call, “Jon?”

He spun around. Relief and adoration burst in his chest in equal measure as he looked to Martin, feeling like at long last the missing piece of him had slid into place and he could breathe again. When he saw him, though, that piece crumbled away.

His hair was black. Not that pure white bleached into him by the Lonely’s touch, but a soft, healthy black, neatly trimmed. Beneath it were freckles on a pale and sun-dappled face, square glasses framing his gaze. He couldn’t see a single scar.

And he was giving Jon a look that made his heart ache. Wary. Uncertain. Afraid.

He didn’t remember. This was his Martin, but there was no recollection in his face.

“Everything alright?” Martin asked, with such trepidation it would seem mocking if Jon didn’t know it was well deserved.

Voice strangled, Jon could only turn around and flee.

#jonathan sims #tim stoker #sasha james #jonmartin #tma #tma fic #martin blackwood #my writing #jon sims

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db-chan · 3 years

Text

Hey guys! This is a short fic about Winston Pratt and Callum Tredwell from Marissa Meyerr’s Renegade’s trilogy. This is inspired by the cannon divergence created by @healing-winston-pratt and @honey-hippie-harper. If you like this, please go check out their stuff because it’s really awesome!

Living in Wonder

A year and a half had passed since the second fall the Ace Anarchy, this time for good. Things were back to normal, and changing for the better. Normal, however, was an understatement in this world. After the supernova, everyone all over the world had been granted uncanny and extraordinary abilities. However, not all abilities were created equal, and that was especially true for Winston Pratt.

Winston groaned softly as the alarm from his phone woke him. He sat up, ginger hair mussed and eyes groggy. Shutting off the alarm with a yawn, he got up and made his way to the bathroom. He had work at the therapy center today, as he did every Wednesday, and had to be there early to set up all of the art supplies for the children. Once in the bathroom, he flicked the light on and winced at his reflection. Pale face, red circles on his cheeks, and black lines drawn from the corners of his mouth down to his chin, as though he was a marionette.

He wasn’t immune to the supernova. No one was. Despite the fact that he had been neutralized by Agent N, his powers still came flooding back to him without his knowledge when he was recovering in the hospital. He had gotten so used to his own face, his real face, with its soft pink undertone and freckles dotted across his nose, that he almost screamed when he saw his face in the mirror the first time he saw the faux makeup again.

The young man shook his head, clearing his thoughts before getting into the shower to get clean for the day. The fact that his burdenous power had returned was upsetting, yes, but that's why he had make up.

Once he was clean and dry, dressed in his clothes for the day, he set to work covering his face. Nova had helped him find a foundation that was the exact color of his real skin, one that was heavy coverage to cover up the lines on his chin and the dots of red on his cheeks. He thought of this almost like painting, a way that he could express himself as who he truly was. Once the foundation was laid, he gently blushed his cheeks and used a bristle brush and some watered down liquid brown eyeliner to create the freckles on his face that he missed ever so much. Setting the makeup with a mix of spray and powder, he looked at himself in the mirror again and smiled.

“There I am…!” He breathed out, the weight on his chest lifting at the reflection. Once again, this daily ritual helped him turn from his worst nightmare into his true self in a matter of minutes.

~~~

The therapy center was a lovely little building near the midwest part of Gatlan City, the size of a small clinic, and was a beacon to Winston, even in his darkest times. When he had been neutralized by Agent N, the staff at the clinic had made him feel whole again and helped him through his unresolved childhood trauma. They even were the ones who offered him the job to do art therapy at the clinic with at risk children, and he couldn’t have been happier.

“Good Morning, Winston!” The receptionist, Calli, greeted him as he walked in. He gave her a bright smile in return.

“Good morning, Miss Calli Cat! You’re looking as lovely as ever! Though, I’m sure your wife tells you that every morning.”

Calli chuckled and slid the sign-in sheet towards him. “You’re such a charmer!”

The ginger-haired man shrugged and signed in. “What can I say? Seeing you in the mornings brightens my day!” He said and slid the signed sheet back towards the woman.

“Oh! Speaking of brightening days, we have a volunteer in to help you with the kids today! I know they can be handfuls sometimes, so I’m hoping having an extra set of hands will help you out!”

“Oh? Why, thank you Miss Calli.” Winston said, though a slight twinge of jealousy made his cheek twitch a bit. The kids that he did art therapy were his life, possibly even his best friends, and someone else was going to come in here and try and take that from him?

Winston shook off the thought and took a deep breath before letting it out slowly again. No, that’s not what was happening. Someone who cared as much for the kids as he did was coming to help them, that’s what was happening. He was grateful for the extra help, especially when it would come time to clean up.

“I’ll see you around lunch time?” Calli offered with a gentle smile. Winston nodded.

“Yes, of course. I’ll see you then.” He said, offering her a quick smile back before walking through the doors into the therapy center.

Once he made it inside, Winston sighed with relief at the familiar surroundings. The clinic was clean and welcoming, but didn’t smell of the strong chemicals normal doctor’s offices usually did. There were plush chairs and books to read while you waited for your appointment, coloring books and fidget toys to calm you down if you’re stressed, and even some actual toys for younger children to play with. The sight made Winston smile as he re-adjusted the messenger bag on his shoulder and made his way to the Create Center.

The Create Center was pretty much exactly as it sounded, a little class room that was full of art supplies of all different art forms for kids to use for their art therapy, or even for kids to use who were waiting for their parents while they were in their own sessions. It was colorful and welcoming, with murals on the walls and pictures the kids made hanging from the clothesline overhead to dry and display.

Once Winston made it to the Create Center, though, he was surprised to see the lights shining through the large windows and a young man, not much older than he was, bustling about and setting up art supplies at each station. The volunteer, he assumed, and shrugged before walking inside.

The young man with brown hair stopped and turned to Winston, a smile instantly alighting his face as he put down the cup of colored pencils and walked over to him.

“Hi there! You must be Winston!” He greeted. “I’m Callum, Callum Tredwell! I’m going to be your assistant today!”

“Callum…” Winston repeated and took his outstretched hand, surprised when the boy shook it with enthusiasm. “Right. It’s nice to meet you..!”

“It’s so good to be here! I’m really excited to meet the kids and get to know them! Oh, and to see what they create! Art Therapy is so interesting, and I’m so glad we have a place in Gatlan that allows kids to have such a healthy way to express themselves!”

“I… I agree…!” He replied, surprised by this young man who was so full of hope and optimism and… wonder.

“I hope you don’t mind that I already started setting up!” Callum said, and pointed at the blue cotton apron he was wearing. “These aprons are so snazzy, I couldn’t resist!”

A snort of a laugh came from Winston’s throat and he covered his mouth in surprise. “N-no, it’s no mind at all..! I’ll, uh, put on mine and help you with the rest before the kids get here.”

“All right, Boss!” Callum agreed, the smile never leaving his face as he went back to organizing and setting up the stations.

Winston’s cheeks burned as he opened the closet and took out his own apron, covered in colorful paint splatters and clay, and replaced it with his bag on the hook. Why was his heart beating so fast all of a sudden? He wasn’t feeling anxious, like he normally felt when this sort of thing happened. No, instead, he felt light, and giddy, almost like when Nova and him used to play as children. He felt so extraordinarily happy in Callum’s presence, it was like there wasn’t a care in the world that could bother him.

The feeling, of course, passed, and soon the Create Center was full of kids, ages ranging between four and twelve years old. There was an art therapy teacher who took the kids that were between thirteen and seventeen, but Winston was glad to be with the younger children. They were so much more lively and happy, he noticed, and much more open.

“Winston!!!” A little voice squealed in delight. A little boy with curly brown hair ran up to him, a huge smile showing off his missing front teeth. “Look what I made!” He said, holding up a drawing for Winston to see.

The drawing was of the little boy, curly brown hair haloing a small stick figure's head, and of Winston, the taller stick figure with orange hair and a big smile on his face.

“Why, that’s lovely Daniel!” Winston said, praising the boy. “I’m so honored you would draw a picture of me! You’ve come a long way, and I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks!” He said and shoved the picture into Winston’s hands. “It’s for you to keep!”

Winston’s heart fluttered and he practically melted at the gesture. “Oh, thank you…! I’ll cherish it forever.”

The young boy giggled and ran off to go draw something else, leaving Winston to fold up the picture and put it into his pocket. He then started to make his rounds, looking over kids’ shoulders and praising them for their work. But he then stopped when he saw Callum, crouched down next to a twelve year old boy who was sitting at the paper craft station, his piece of paper untouched and the boy sitting with his arms folded and a sour expression on his face.

“What’s going on here…?” Winston asked Callum as he approached them.

“Ah, well, Titus here doesn't want to do anything.” He said, worried. “I’ve tried everything, but he won’t budge!”

“Leave me alone…!” Titus harrumphed, glaring down at the piece of paper in front of him.

“See?” Callum said, looking at Winston.

The young man sighed, shaking his head. “If he doesn't want to craft, he doesn't want to craft. We can’t force him to do anything. Perhaps he doesn't feel like it today.”

“Feel…?” Titus asked through gritted teeth. “You wanna know how I feel?” He said, snatching a pair of scissors off the table and standing up, eyes burning with rage. “I. Feel. Angry!!!” He shouted, and made a move to stab Callum with the scissors.

Out of pure surprise, Winston let out a shout and called up his power, golden strings sprouting from his fingertips and wrapping around Titus, stopping his hand inches from Callum’s shoulder.

“Titus!” Winston said, then sighed in relief. “Please, hand over the scissors.” He said. And the boy did, his body under Winston’s control but his mind free from suggestion.

“I’m very sorry that you are angry, Titus.” He said, keeping the boy’s eyes locked to his own. His voice was steady, but firm “But we don’t hurt others here. Hurting others will only hurt yourself.”

Titus huffed softly, but then moved his head in a subtle nod. Winston released his power from the boy and gently put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t we do some painting? You can paint how you feel instead of trying to hurt others. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, I guess…” Titus grumbled and allowed Winston to lead him away from Callum and to the painting station.

Later in the day, as the children left and it was time to close down the Create Shop, Callum approached Winston when they were finally alone.

“You’re the Puppeteer?” He asked, though it sounded more like an accusation.

Winston looked at him and sighed, frowning. “I was the Puppeteer. I’m not anymore. Just because I have my powers back, doesn't mean I want to hurt anyone else.”

“But… they’re letting you be around kids? Without anyone to stop you from controlling them?”

“When I was Neutralized, I went through therapy and learned that the reason why I was hurting and controlling children was because I was hurt and controlled as a child myself.” He explained. “I never thought that I would get my powers back, but when I did… I was mortified. These powers are a burden, and I hate them, but I use them only if a child is endangering themselves or others.”

Callum and Winston stood in silence for a long moment before Callum nodded, slowly.

“I see…” Callum said, and then offered a smile. “I’m sorry, I misjudged you. I can see that you really care about these kids.

“I do.” Winston agreed, looking back into the room. “What I’m doing here, for these kids, is what I would hope someone would have done for me. I would never dream of hurting them.”

“What you’re doing here, Winston… it’s wonderful.”

Winston looked at Callum and smiled sheepishly. “You really think so…?”

“Of course!” Callum said, his grin returning. “Wonder is my speciality.”

Then, a warmth spread through Winston’s chest, and he looked around the small classroom, almost as if he was seeing it in a new light all together. This place, this opportunity he was giving kids, was wonderful! And he got to be there and experience that wonder, watching the kids grow and create and heal from the things that hurt them. He was given a second chance to be able to grow and create himself, after his own childhood was taken from him and he hurt so many people. He was living in a world where everyone had the chance to live and change and grow and find happiness. He looked back at Callum in awe.

“Is… is this what you feel like all the time?” He asked.

Callum smiled and put a hand on Winston’s shoulder. “Yeah. I think, why live in a world that’s so full of darkness, when you could be living in wonder?”

#renegades by marissa meyer #winston pratt #callum treadwell #short fic #fanfiction #wholesome

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slyttherins · 3 years

Text

Unexpected flame (part 3) | Fred Weasley x Sirius Black’s daughter

June 1995

After the grim end of the Triwizard tournament, the return from Hogwarts was gloom.

Two weeks had passed since the final task and many students were still mourning Cedric Diggory. His death had been traumatic for a lot of people - they had expected to see a winner come out of the maze, not a cadaver -, and the image of Cedric's lifeless body in the middle of the pitch will forever be inked in their memory.

Juliet didn't know Cedric a lot. He was three years older than her and they didn't cross paths a lot at Hogwarts. All she knew was that he was the embodiment of the qualities of a Hufflepuff and was their quidditch team' seeker. She was sad and disturbed about his death, as everyone was, but wasn't weeping in mourning.

As they neared London, a smile formed on her lips. In his last letter, Remus had informed her that she'd be spending a small part of summer with the Weasleys and she was thrilled.

According to Ginny's letters, summer at the Burrow sounded really fun. The younger of the Weasley clan would always tell Juliet about the many pranks the twins would pull, swimming in the pond during hot days, playing quidditch above the field and even de-gnoming the garden.

''I don't mind you coming over during summer vacation, Juliet, but don't make it a habit. I see you enough at school,'' Ron said as he dragged his trunk onto a trolley.

''I'm just so obsessed with you that I can't leave your side, Ronald,'' Juliet replied jokingly. She wrapped her arms around him and attempted to kiss his face, but Ron dodged her lips. His cheeks were bright red from the attack, not used to girls being so close to him - beside his mother and sister.

Ginny and the twins laughed.

''Worry not, I won't be staying for long.''

''Well, I don't mind you staying for the summer. We're gonna have so much fun!'' Ginny said excitedly.

''Mom's here,'' George pointed out, seeing her hurry through the mass of parents and students and trolleys full of luggages.

The Burrow's back yard was beautiful during summer. Molly's large garden was filled with flowers, overgrown weeds and...chickens running around. It was a lot livelier than the old flower box at 12 Grimmauld place that she and Remus never watered and had left to die.

''You can stay in Percy's room if you want, dear. You'll be more comfortable than on Ginny's floor. I've put an extra blanket for you. The nights are cold, even in summer,'' Molly informed, tearing Juliet's attention from the window.

She thanked Mrs. Weasley and frowned. ''Where's Percy? Won't he need his room?'' she asked, confused. She didn't personally care about Percy, but she didn't want to steal his room and cause more trouble between them.

Ron shook his head, walking past her and looking around the kitchen, in search of anything he could steal and eat before dinner. ''He's not here. He got himself a job at the Ministry of Magic as assistant to Bartemius Crouch.''

''So you won't have to worry about him attacking you during supper,'' Fred added with a grin.

Juliet bit back a smile, shaking her head. Of course he remembered that.

''Mr. Crouch can't even remember Percy's name, it's hilarious. He calls him Weatherby,'' George added, not even holding his laughter.

Fred mimicked his brother and Molly scolded them both, using the hand towel she had in her hands to swat at Fred's arm. ''Quit making fun of your brother, will you? He worked really hard to get this job.''

''What's for dinner, Mom?'' Ron asked as his stomach made a growling sound.

Beside him, Ginny rolled her eyes. How could he always be hungry?

Percy's room being on the same floor as Fred and George's, Fred decided to be a decent host and show her the way.

''Here's Percy's den,'' Fred said, opening the door. ''Careful not to stay too long in here, you might lose your humor.''

The room was neat and clean compared to Ginny and Ron's. There were no posters or family pictures on his walls, but Ministry law books, ink pots, parchemin papers and old Daily Prophet newspapers all over his desk.

Juliet walked in and set her trunk down at the end of the neatly made bed. ''Fear not,'' she reassured the redhead, having no intention of staying in Percy's room for longer than necessary. She'll come here to sleep and that's it. ''My humor is deep in my blood.''

With Sirius Black for father, it was impossible to not have a great sense of humor. Juliet didn't share his attraction for mischief - not to his extent -, but she liked to tease people and joke around.

''I'll make sure to make jokes everyday, just in case. If you stop laughing, I'll know it's because of Percy's bedsheets.''

Biting her cheek, Juliet fought a smile. ''Always have my back, uh Freddie?''

He grinned in confirmation. ''If you need anything, just knock on my door.''

The next day, the sun was shining high in the sky as Ginny pulled Juliet through the backyard, both dressed in their bathing suits. They went up to the small deck that led to the pond, excited to jump in and cool off.

The first day of summer vacation was usually dedicated to cleaning the yard, but Molly had made an exception and let the kids play in the water since they had a guest.

When the girls arrived, Ron and the twins were already in the pond, fighting with pool noodles.

''Get him, George!'' Fred cheered as George hit their younger brother with a green noodle, a slapping sound echoing.

''Go George!'' Juliet joined in, taking George's side too.

Her voice had distraught Ron and his short moment of inattention cost him to get hit square in the face by George - and losing grip of his noodle. ''Bloody hell, what are you wearing?'' Ron asked, catching sight of the girls and staring at Juliet with wide eyes.

''I won!'' George exclaimed, turning to his twin for a celebratory high-five.

Juliet sat on the edge of the deck, about to get in the water. ''It's a bathing suit, Ronald. You wear it to swim,'' she explained, making the others snicker.

''This is a bathing suit.'' He pointed to Ginny's bright red one piece. ''Not...whatever this is.''

Juliet rolled her eyes and got in the water while Ginny jumped, cannonball style and splashed everyone - including Ron who scowled.

''You seemed in need of a cold shower,'' she told him as she resurfaced. ''Let's play chicken fight.''

''In case you forgot, we're an uneven number. It won't work,'' Ron reminded.

''Well, one of us is gonna wait on the sideline and replace the first person who falls. And, that person is you. You can be referee.''

''Me! Why me?''

''Because you're the one who mention it and I don't trust you to keep me up on your shoulders.''

Ignoring the bickering between his two siblings, Fred had dove under to refresh himself, starting to feel a burning on his pale shoulders. He emerged of the water and shook his head, sprinkling water everywhere with his long red locks. Those boys really needed a haircut. It was getting out of hand.

Ron grumbled some more, reluctantly accepting his fate as Ginny went over to George, ready to play.

''Juliet, you go with Fred. I'll go with George.''

Upon hearing his name, Fred caught eyes with Juliet and swam up to her. ''Ready?''

Fred's body had changed a lot over the past year. Puberty was most likely one of the reasons, but also quidditch. As beaters, they couldn't be frail and lanky; they needed muscles.

Standing so close to him, Juliet was surprised by how broad and strong those shoulders were underneath his robes and sweaters. She couldn't help but dart her eyes to his naked chest and the galaxy of freckles on his wet skin.

Shaking her head, she pushed those thoughts away. ''How do I get up there?'' she asked, having never played this game before.

Fred lowered himself down in the water and Juliet awkwardly climbed on his shoulders, fingernails digging into his freckled skin in panic as he stood up, feeling herself wobble.

''I'm not gonna drop you,'' he said in a reassuring voice, putting his hands on her knees for security. ''If I can hold Ron up, you've got nothing to be scared of.''

''Get ready to lose, losers!''

After playing in the pond all afternoon, the Weasleys had gathered in the backyard for a campfire. Mrs. Weasley had brought out the marshmallows to roast and Fred and George had decided to show off their firework skills.

It was a day Juliet wasn't going to forget anytime soon.

But, all good days come to an end and it was now time to go to bed.

After an hour of tossing and turning, the young witch came to the conclusion that she wasn't going to find sleep anytime soon. It wasn't because she wasn't tired - she was -, but sleeping in Percy's bed made her feel uneasy. His loud comments regarding Sirius had hurt her and she’d honestly rather sleep on Ginny's wood floor than here.

She had fallen asleep fast enough last night, but she always fell asleep fast after a train journey.

Sitting up, Juliet reached into her trunk and grabbed a book. Might as well read instead of sitting there in the dark and waiting for sleep to come.

A gentle knock on the door made her slightly jump, and then, someone poked their head in. Fred.

''Everything okay?'' He was in his pajamas and his hair was slightly mussed from sleep. ''I was on my way from the bathroom when I saw some light. Given the hour, I decided to check on you.''

Juliet put down her book, heart warm. It was very kind of him to check on her.

''I just... I can't seem to find sleep.''

''It's because of Percy's smelly sheets, isn't it?'' Juliet looked down at the bright patchwork blanket, doubt and disgust in her eyes, and Fred laughed. ''I'm kidding. Mom washed them.'' He stepped in and sat on the end of the bed. ''So, tell me. What's keeping you up tonight, Black?''

Juliet sighed. ''Lots of things,'' she half lied.

''Let's play a game. I tell you something I haven't told anyone and you tell me one until you fall asleep. I'll start. I'm gonna be graduating Hogwarts next year and I'm scared. Worried, mostly. As you know, George and I want to open a joke shop. It's always been our big dream. It used to be an almost impossible dream to reach because of our shortage of money, but with the money Harry gave us, it's allowing us to make test samples and slowly build a small variety of candies to sell. But what if we fail?''

Hearing Fred confess his worries about the future changed Juliet's perspective of him. Fred was always so bold, confident and positive, going around telling people that anything's possible if you've got enough nerve. He gave the impression that he was never afraid of anything, but he was just good at hiding it.

''I think everyone's a bit afraid of the future. It is scary.''

''I try to stay positive, but there's always this 'what if' that's in the back of my head. If we fail, what will I do with my life, work at Gringotts? At the Ministry of Magic? Become a teacher? Absolutely not.''

''You're great at quidditch. You and George are the best beaters Gryffindor ever had.''

Fred chuckled. ''I’m flattered, but I’m not good enough to play professionally. And I like to play with George. Quidditch is something we’ve always played together. I’d feel weird to play without him. It’s your turn.''

Finding something Juliet had never told anyone turned out to be more difficult that she'd imagined. In their Ravenclaw dorm, she and Luna had a lot of late night conversations over the years. They’d talk about everything and nothing, typical girl things and...stranger things, but Sirius was a subject they never dipped in.

''I almost didn't meet my father,’’ she started, which immediately caught Fred’s attention. ‘’When Harry and Hermione saved and helped him escape in third year, I almost didn't follow Harry into the yard. I was scared he wouldn't be the person Remus had told me about. That he wouldn't be as great as I had been told. I was scared to be disappointed. I also knew that it might be my only chance and I'd regret it all my life if I didn't go.

''When I got to the yard, he wasn't at all like I had imagined him to be. He was...scary looking, as anyone would be after spending so long in Azkaban. I almost turned around and ran, but he called my name, his voice so hoarse and broken, and a smile had curled on his face. The first in Merlin knows how long. At this moment, I realized that I held a power. A power to bring him a sliver of happiness after all those years of coldness, darkness, misery and despair.''

''I'm sure it was an emotional experience for him too. It must've been a shock to see you.''

''I write him letters almost every day, but I don't have an address to send them to so I keep them in a shoebox under my bed.'' Juliet laughed at herself. ''It's silly, I know-''

''It's not,'' Fred countered. ''I think it’s cute and understandable. You had gotten your father back when he was taken away from you - again. It's a way for you to talk to him, even if he can't read your letters or respond.'' He yawned and apologized. Unlike Juliet, he had been sleeping before knocking on her door.

''You can go back to bed if you’re tired.''

Fred shook his head. ‘’I’d rather stay and talk with you. It’s my turn now, is it?’’

They kept going for a few more minutes, talking in Percy’s room while the rest of the house was asleep.

If Molly were up, she’d undoubtedly scold them for being awake past midnight and Fred going into Juliet's room. Her rules were clear about guests from the opposite sex: no visiting after bedtime.

While they were talking, they had shifted on the bed and changed positions. Their knees were now touching and their feet were buried under the patchwork blanket.

''I didn't want you to go back to Angelina after we danced at the Yule Ball,'' Juliet said, surprising herself. She found herself panicking inside, realizing that, although true, it could ruin their friendship in a disastrous way.

A smug smile curled on Fred’s lips. ''I'm a brilliant dancer, am I?''

She chuckled, but didn't deny. Although Fred Weasley wasn't great at following through with the classic steps when ball dancing, he knew how to spice it up and make it really fun.

''I didn't tell you, but you looked gorgeous in that dress.''

Juliet blinked.

It wasn’t the first time Fred complimented her, but he had never been so bold. He’d usually say something subtle that he could easily say to his sister, but tonight, it sounded very flirty - and Juliet didn't hate it.

After that, it was a blur. She could recall Fred talking, but one of them fell asleep and the other followed.

Fred was gone when Juliet woke up.

At first, she thought last night had been a dream, but the blanket was moved as if somebody else had slept there. She grabbed the blanket and a faint smell of Fred lingered on the blanket. Juliet smiled.

''Morning!'' Ginny greeted, walking in and inviting herself on the bed. She was still in her pajamas so it must've been still early. ''Luna sent an owl this morning, inviting us to have tea at her house tomorrow,'' the redhead informed, holding the piece of parchment in her hand. ''I'll ask Mum if we can go, but it should be okay. She doesn't live too far.''

Juliet rubbed her eyes, still washed with sleep and nodded, looking forward to seeing Luna. One of the things she didn't like about summer was not sharing a room with Luna for two months. She missed her so much. They'd write letters, but it wasn't the same.

''Mom is making pancakes. She sent me to get you.''

''Oh, yum!''

The raven haired girl pushed the covers away, excited to eat Molly's delicious pancakes, but Ginny stopped her. ''Before we go down, there's something I wanted to talk about...I think my brother fancies you.''

Panic flashed in Juliet's mind. Was Fred that obvious? His flirting was pretty subtle and rarely when there was people around. How could've Ginny come to that conclusion?

Juliet laughed. ''What? He doesn't. Gin, you're insane.''

''He was so red at King's Cross when you hugged him! And, he kept staring you when we were at the pond yesterday. He's into you.''

Ron. Ginny was talking about Ron, not Fred.

''See it the way you want. Now, let's go eat pancakes!''

#fred weasley #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #oc x fred weasley #Harry Potter #fred weasley x sirius black daughter #unexpected flame #sorry for the long wait #I changed my mind many times while writing this #and it's longer than planned #sorry but also not

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dongiovannaswife · 3 years

Note

Oh, horny crusaders time!! Do share your fantasies, Queen!

look i wrote this last night after realizing i had gotten this ask and now i just rewrote it from a fckn piece of paper so askljdjks here you go, excuse the horrible grammar and pacing :,D

She whimpers, eyes almost closed and lips slightly parted —her hands clutching his forearms in search of support even when he's keeping her caged against the bed and his frame.

“That good, baby?” he coos, shifting the angle of his thrusts so he gets to see her eyes close for real and hear a long moan.

But not an answer.

And it doesn't bother him in the slightest; it strokes his ego, one he never thought he had until the very first moment he got to see her like this, lost in pleasure. Losing herself to his caresses.

Giorno smirks, slowing down now to a painfully slow grinding. He gets to feel her walls close and engulf his dick, asking for more of that rough treatment from before.

But he's a tease. He's been teasing and edging her for a while now just because she had been teasing and riling him up through the day.

“Can't hear you, sweetheart" He kisses her cheek, humming when she wraps her arms around his neck, barely nodding and shifting under him to try and get some friction.

Reaching down, he sprawls his hand over her abdomen, keeping her hips glued to the bed. “Now, now, Lena —” he chuckles, kissing her jaw now and enjoying the sounds of her ragging breaths and her failed attempts to talk back just like she had done before, “Where's that teasing from before? Let me guess, can't think straight?”

She whimpers, nodding and mustering a small “No.”

Giorno nods, shifting until his arms are at each side of her head and he's looking at her from arms length —green eyes darkening upon the sight of her pale skin littered in love bites and sweat, cheeks flushed and eyelashes batting slowly; her hair sprawled under her head and forming random shapes across the sheets.

It's only when her walls close around him that he reacts, giving her a smirk and a subtle roll of his hips just to accentuate his actions and words; a promise. “Don’t worry, bunny, no need to think right now—"

She nods frantically, adding in a weak, fragile voice. “Jus' gotta look pretty and take it?”

Giorno smiles, delighted. Inching closer, he hums into her lips before muttering his reply in a deeper voice. “If that's what you want —though I do warn you, doll, you won't be able to walk tomorrow; nor will you sleep.”

Helena nods again and her eyes betray her when they close, paired up with a mewl, “I want it, please, Gio.”

He doesn't respond, taking a moment to look at her. Taking note of the way her freckles seem to stand out when they're not that noticeable usually. It must be her words affecting him.

And even when he's staring at her face, enamoured with her features and reactions, he rolls his hips again, building up the pace slowly until he's pounding into her.

Looking down at the place they're connected he can't help it but whisper “Ah, fuck— fuck, feels so good.” in between grunts and moans —her own moans echoing in his ears. The sting from her nails on his back one he's come to love.

But he's a tease. And he loves it when he pulls back out of nowhere and she whimpers at the loss, trying to reach out for him in desperation and need.

He doesn't realize and neither does she seem to care when he puts a bit more of strength into maneuvering her into her knees and elbows, hips raised high and face into the mattress.

And he loves it when his hands hold her waist from behind as he sinks in fully, enjoying the sounds of skin against skin —observing the way she looks at him through her shoulder: bottom lip caught between her teeth, hair a mess and moans falling from her lips.

He doesn't know what comes over him when he leans over her back without stopping his thrusts, kissing and biting her lip until she pulls back with a loud moan. The way her walls engulf him makes him grunt and moan at once.

But the thing that catches his attention and triggers his own release is the way she tenses and moans louder, gripping at the sheets. Her thighs tremble and she buries her face into the sheets, crying out loud.

Warm liquid pools down his length and thighs, trailing down as it keeps flowing out of her, mixed with his own release.

And even then, he keeps going for a few thrusts more, feeling the overstimulation way too satisfactory —and loving the way she moans and shifts to take it.

“Giorno,” she murmurs, trembling still. “love you, love you so much.”

He starts to slow down, stopping eventually. Leaning over her back, he kisses her spine, mumbling into her skin. “Love you too, Helena.”

She nods, rolling into her side through shaking legs with a goofy smile and a dry chuckle, “ 'M all messy,"

Giorno laughs, throwing his hair back with a hand, “We are messy.”

Lena smirks, taking a moment to breathe in and to stick some hair out of her face, “Will we get messier, though, Giogio?”

He smirks, tracing her tattooed thigh with a warm palm. “You have no idea how many ideas I'm having. By the time I'm done, you won't even know your name.”

She smiles, cheeks red from the way his voice dropped a few octaves, but excitement creeping up higher. “I'm waiting, then.”

Giorno smirks, mischievously even, as his hands engulf her waist and he’s rolling into his back with her on top.

#anonymous #n sfw ish #GioLena #a.k.a h dons

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smallpumpkinboi · 3 years

Text

I've been working on my new wip a bit and wanted to post the unedited version to see if its worth committing to rn or if I should wait a bit

Huge trigger warning (They'll be all in the tags) but it's also missing a few parts so bare with me

Tonks looked down at the picture, the pale man had blood dripping from his nose, leaking from his mouth, eyes blood strained.

"Harry, it happened again" she shoved the file into his hands. He flipped through it, looking at the torched body, deep cuts ripped black robes, blood pooled underneath him, Harry was far too comfortable with the scene. Throwing the file onto the pile of similar murders he rubbed his head.

"Again?" Harry glanced at the pile, a high stack of grotesque pictures nearly toppling over, unsettling papers sticking out.

"Yah'' she sighed, this was the 16th poisoning ever since Voldemort's defeat. All people found the same way cases seemingly unrelated, it seems like his death brought the worst out in people. Attacks where becoming more frequent, suicide rates shot up and serial killers running lose. There wasn't enough people in the whole ministry to help build their world back together

"Got any leads on the stabbings" she picked up another file, thinner then the others but deaths just as violent.

"Yes actually!" Harry smiled "er well it's kind of a lead anyway but we discovered that it's not a spell that's doing the killing and whatever is being used is tainted with dark magic, like dark dark magic." He finished up, most dark objects were being confiscated but if they could trace the magic they could find the object and the owner!

"That's brilliant, keep it up and maybe we can put away one of these nut cases" Tonks said, relieved to finally have some good news. The war might've ended 6 months ago but it hadn't stopped the death eaters from fighting, people were still going missing, being kidnapped, killed. Last month they put away Fenrir for trafficking magical creatures, selling werewolves and seers to god knows who for god knows what. Harry picked up his file, tired eyes scanning the sheets looking for answers he gave a big yawn before turning to the next page

"You can go home you know" Tonks politely took the file from his hands, she occasionally caught Harry sleeping in her office and was getting concerned.

"No, there's too much work to be done" Harry picked up the previous file, turning the pages but not looking at the pictures.

"Hermione's not there, it gets kinda lonely you know? She's busy reading journals from last week's raid but lots of them are burnt up. She wants the piece together what she can, I mean she thinks it's some kind of dark magic they are talking about. Hey maybe it's the same magic that's in my victims!" Harry shot up, throwing the file back into Tonks desk and taking his,

"I'm going to go see her" he got up. "Coming with? It might say something about your victims too" Harry opened the door, waiting for Tonks to leave.

"Sure, whatever I can take" she looked at her watch "shit i'm going to be late! Sorry Harry but I'm going to have to take you up on that offer later, I have another meeting" she smiled rolling her eyes, being head of the Auras was hard on her but before Moody died he put in a request for her to be trained as his successor.

"Ill catch you later then!" Harry waved, running off, Tonks watched him disappear into the crowd. Harry had been a big help in putting away the death eaters, Hermione as well, but they were just children and would soon burn out. Tonks shook her head, a smile still on her face and both kids would do anything to help. Looking back at her watch she swore, swinging her office door shut and making way to her next meeting.

Rushing along the corridors she looked at the wanted pictures on the wall, most faces of death eaters others who used the war for exploitation. One face always stood out, the young rosy cheeks stood out against the hardened faces, the innocent life vivid in his eyes. She tried to keep Ron off the wanted wall for as long as she could, keeping him with the missing persons, alongside her friends and family but after a while and debate he was slapped into the wanted side, poster saying "traitor, found dead or alive."

"Oh excuse me! Uhhh- of- oh hi Tonks'' someone ran headfirst into Tonks, making them both fall.

"Hey Hermione'' Tonks picked the bushy haired girl off of her. Hermione scrambled, grabbing the fallen papers and tucking them back into her arms ``you know Harrys looking for you" she handed Hermione some papers, ink slightly smudged.

"Oh really? Good I need to talk to him, in some of the books I found the mentions of horcruxes and I think somebody was doing experiments with them, it kept mentioning the " devils fire" and " the others" I don't really know what it means but Harry has destroyed more then me so he's the experts." She said in one breath, eyes wide and full of curiosity. Her hair bounced down her back, papers slowly slipping out of her arms. "I'll catch you later okay?" She smiled, starting to walk off. "I gotta go talk with Harry" her voice waved as she noticed the picture of Ron. His disappearance hit her hard, she could barely go to the burrow neverminded talk the other Weasleys but she was slowly healing, she was even going over for dinner on Sunday. Remembering her previous task she ran off, being late for her meeting.

"Did you find my baby?" Miss Chang ran up to her, hope in her eyes. Tonks barely has walked into the door before the sad lady interrogates her.

"Miss if you'd sit down?" She gestured to the couch. She hated this part of her job but no one else was willing to do it.

"But did you find her?" She clung to Tonks robes as she guided her to her seat. "You found her right? My babys okay?" Tears welled in her eyes,

"We are following up on some leads today, I promise I'll let you know what happens okay?" Tonks tried to reassure the crying woman, she has had far too many "meetings' ' with grieving families and just once wanted to give somebody good news. Cho went missing in february, snatched away from her bed no one knew who took her or where she went but because they never found a body they are going off the motion that she's still alive, even if the chances are slim.

"Sorry I'm late" Tonks sat down at the head of the table, two auras where waiting for her full aura gear, ready to go out.

"Where are we heading off too?" He asked

"I got note of an abandoned death eater hideout, it was mostly used in the first war and was used for transporting hostages in the second. Cho was moved and I believe there might be evidence there, if not for her for somebody." Tonks said in a breath, anxious for her mission.

The door creaked open, noisily scratching against the concrete floor. It echoed throughout the room, a dim light lit up a cell, blood soaking the floor beside it. A table sat beside the cell, blood dripped off of it, an axe and blood soaked chains draped over each other

"Hey boys!" Tonks froze where she stood, the voice came from the cell, sounding familiar.

"Aura Tonks show yourself" she announced, standing up straighter. Hearing the rattling of chains she stepped forward, coming closer to the cell but keeping her distance. The man shook the door, proving it was locked and rested his hands on the bars, pale skin was covered in blood, it dripped off his long fingertips, falling into the huge pool underneath, dirt matted the parts of his arms that weren't covered in blood, building up under long fingernails. Tentatively making her way over she noticed the man moved, hearing the chains clanking around,

"Are you coming?" He mocked her, the chains moved again, clanking against one another. Angry she marched forward, and held tightly in her hand wanting to tell off this man for mocking her, but the sight she saw surprised her.

There he was, thick red hair, bright blue eyes, well over 6ft and silvery scars wrapping around his arm was Ron Weasley.

"Took you long enough" he spoke to the ceiling, he was lying on his back, legs raised up against the fall and arms folded under his head. Thick chains clasped around his wrist, connecting to the ground, he laid in a pool of blood, it coated the back of his head, drenching his dirty hair. He looked as if he hadn't taken a bath in weeks, hair covered in dirt making it black, his clothes hung from him, sticking to his body and smelling of sweat, his legs where exposed, all he had on was a pair of shorts, clearly the rest of the jean had been torn off, his bright freckles were invisible under the brown and red, large purple bruises covered his skin, cuts and scrapes alongside them.

He's been considered missing, no one really knows the true date he disappeared but he hadn't been seen since he left Harry and Hermione

#ron weasley #tw: murder #tw: suidice #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: strong language #harry potter fic #yes this one is also Ron centric its all I know how to write

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romioneficfest · 4 years

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Constellations

Title: Constellations

Prompt/Day: Day 13 - Rings

Tumblr name:

Rating: K+, but with a brief mention of sexual interaction near the beginning

Brief summary: Hermione’s obsessed with the freckles that dot Ron’s back: she can’t help but stare every time he’s shirtless around her. But when she realizes they’re a bit like constellations, she has an idea— an idea that involves Ron laying flat on his stomach on their bedroom floor, and that involves her handling paint and paintbrushes to bring a galaxy to life on his back.

Tags: brief, nonconsequential mention of sexual interaction near the beginning (not important to the actual story)

Hermione is accustomed to seeing Ron’s bare back. That’s the ins and outs of couple life: she’s seen it in settings as intimate as in a shroud of sheets, his bare skin against hers after they’ve made love, and she’s seen it in settings as innocent as when he pulls off a sweater and his shirt rides up with it. It’s just a part of getting to know his body, but no matter how many times he’s caught glimpses of his back, she’s still transfixed by it. It’s strong, rippled with muscles (a collateral benefit of how physically demanding it is to be an Auror, no doubt), the skin soft and supple, a faded scar right under his shoulderblade from when he fell off Charlie’s broom when he was six, and an ocean of freckles splayed across every square inch of his pale white skin. It’s always the freckles that get her— she’s always trying to pick patterns in them, discern an order for them, pinpoint specific ones to single out as her favorites. It’s like they’re stars, and she’s always trying to arrange them into constellations.

That’s what gives her the idea.

“I still don’t know what we’re doing,” grumbles Ron, laying shirtless on his stomach on a frayed old towel on the wooden floor of their bedroom.

“You’ll see soon,” says Hermione, who’s straddled him to sit comfortably, making sure not to hurt him, atop the small of his back, where his butt begins. She has an assortment of paint jars next to her, standing to attention like colorful soldiers, as well as an array of paintbrushes of different thicknesses and a small plastic container filled halfway with water, sitting on a paper towel. Luna lent her the paint— she was elated when Hermione told her what she was planning.

“I don’t like this,” he keeps complaining, nestling his chin more comfortably into his folded arms, still refusing to lay down wholly. Hermione dips a thick paintbrush into a jar of deep purple, tapping it lightly against the mouth of the jar to cast off any excess. “I don’t like this one bi—”

Ron’s complaint dissolves into a pleasurable sigh as Hermione strokes the paintbrush across his back. It feels good: the coolness of fresh paint, overlaid over the soothing caress of the paintbrush’s bristles, makes for a sensation his skin can’t help but cry for. “Merlin, Hermione, that’s good,” he groans contentedly, nestling his head into his arms like a pillow, finally allowing himself to relax fully.

“When am I ever wrong?” Hermione quips back, now laying a stroke of ocean blue against the violet already on his back. Ron wants to make a witty retort, but he’s too overwhelmed by the feel of the brush against his skin, so he decides to let it slide just so she won’t stop doing whatever’s making him feel so good.

Hermione works as diligently as she does in anything: even knowing there’s nothing at stake, she’s too much of a perfectionist to allow anything to slack. The familiar crease of concentration appears between her eyebrows, and her tongue sticks out a bit from the corner of her mouth, an adorable display of how much focus she’s devoting to this. Despite having never seriously painted before (she’s never been the artist, and when she was smaller she refused to do anything she wasn’t immediately stellar at), she pays attention to every single detail as she would to the last gram of a potion’s ingredients, her hand as steady and masterful as when tracing out delicate runes on parchment paper. The paintbrushes dip in and out of the paint jars —magenta, lilac, sky-blue, navy, mauve— and leave streaks across Ron’s back in their wake, blending naturally as they mix on his skin.

“What is it you’re painting?” Ron pipes up all of a sudden, his voice slurred with a mix of sleepiness and bliss, just as Hermione begins tracing a circular outline in ochre, with a thinner brush.

“I’m taking inspiration from Astronomy,” Hermione says, pleased at how perfect her freehand circumference has turned out.

“Leave it to you, Hermione Granger, to draw a bloody star map on my back and call it art.”

“It’s not a star map,” Hermione says defensively, beginning to fill in the circle with more ochre paint. “It’s a galaxy.”

“Never got around to seeing too many of those,” mumbles Ron, his eyes closed. “But I suppose when your Transfiguration teacher takes four Stunning shots to the chest on the night of your O.W.L, there’s a good reason why you don’t end up doing the N.E.W.T.”

Hermione laughs shortly, delightfully, and Ron smiles to himself as he nestles further into his arms, a tuft of hair falling across his forehead.

She finishes filling in the planet she’s outlined, in a nice shade of ochre, and she now dips the thinner paintbrush into a milky-yellow hue of paint to begin tracing the rings around the planet— she hadn’t realized it, but she’s unwittingly painted Saturn. The rings are her favorite part: she remembers when she was eight or so, and her parents gifted her a book about space for Christmas, and she spent hours poring over it trying to understand why some planets had rings. She doesn’t remember much about it now —Astronomy took on a different character when she entered Hogwarts—, but she still feels a predilection for those planets with rings around them.

“When you said you were going to paint me,” Ron says, distracting her from her memories, “I thought you meant you were going to draw a picture of me, not use me for a canvas.”

“I’m full of surprises,” she replies, filling in the rings with the same milky yellow and a few thin lines of greyish black.

When she’s done with her galaxy, Ron’s back is filled with color: blueish hues dance and mingle as the backdrop, with Saturn standing radiantly against it. But there’s only one thing missing to make it a proper galaxy: stars.

The paint layer is thick enough to create a cohesive painting, but thin enough that she can still faintly make out Ron’s freckles. She knows this is going to be the most painstaking part of this— but it’s why she’s doing it in the first place, isn’t it?

She takes the thinnest brush she can find, dips it into the white paint, and carefully dots Ron’s back with it, placing a “star” over every freckle she can make out. Ron seems to like that, because she feels his muscles lose even more tension, but she can’t lose sight of her work: every freckle must be painted over, a star for each kiss she’s ever wanted to press to each little spot.

When she’s finally done, she looks at her work with satisfaction: it’s a proper galaxy now, speckled with stars and perched majestically on Ron’s back. She stands up, dusts off her hands, and places her hands on her hips to observe it from a different angle.

Ron stands up too, his hands awkwardly by his sides so as to not mess up the painting. “So? How’s it look? Can I look at it now?”

“Not yet,” Hermione says softly, lifting her wand from her nightstand. “It’s not quite finished.”

Wordlessly, she points the wand at his back and gives it a little tap, careful not to smudge any of the paint with it. The galaxy comes alive: Saturn revolves around its axis, the hues in the back conglomerate and dissipate like clouds, and the rings oscillate around the planet with a gravitational tilt. But best of all are the stars: they dance around Ron’s back, arrange themselves into shapes and formations, they seem to play with one another as they shoot across his skin. It’s as if Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” had come alive, but so much better: it’s a cosmic dance, a galactic performance for her eyes only, and it’s everything she’s ever imagined Ron’s freckles to be. Finally, they’ve made the leap from mere stars to the constellations she’s so often pictured.

“So?” comes Ron’s voice again, with a hint of his trademark impatience. “How’d it turn out?”

Hermione lets her gaze sweep up and down the body of the man she loves again. Every curvature of it, from the sturdiness of his thighs up to the strength of his back to the delicateness of his nape, crowned by a cascade of orange-red locks she loves to tangle her fingers in. Merlin, she loves him.

Her answer comes without a trace of hesitation: “It’s perfect.”

#Romione FicFest 2020 #Fic Post #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Submission #Queue Up for the Dragon #Rated K+#Ace Safe

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punkrockmads · 4 years

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Dandelions And Broken Glass

So, this isn't an Abby x Reader fic... this is a story tailored specifically to my personality and it's very important to me. I've been hesitant to post it but, yeah. Here it is!

Light. Flickers of white light fill the darkness. I think of them as tiny fairies flitting about, inviting me back into the cruel reality of life. The warm welcome becomes one of agony when I feel a searing pain in my right side. Slowly, my eyes open. A woman leans over me, moving a flashlight left to right, trying to see if my eyes will dilate. If I'm still alive.

The woman looks down at me with a soft smile, turning off the flashlight with a click and setting it down. Her skin is pale and wrinkled with age, her brown hair slowly graying. She has on a white lab coat. Doctor? Am I in a hospital? No, hospitals don't exist anymore. Not after the outbreak started years ago.

"Glad to see you awake." Her voice is soft; friendly. I'm not used to being near friendly people. "Do you remember what happened?" I shake my head. I have no fucking clue. "A couple of our people found you passed out and bleeding in an abandoned building. Looked like you took quite a fall. Straight onto a bunch of broken glass." I start to piece things together in my head.

I was looking through an abandoned building for supplies when a group of infected jumped me. I tried to run and one ran at me from behind, shoving me forward off of the landing and straight down to the first floor. I remember the sound of glass crunching underneath me and tearing through my clothes and skin. The infected were still coming so I flipped myself over, shooting as my vision went blurry and blood poured from the gaping wound above my right hipbone. When I had shot the last runner, I felt my body go limp and I blacked out.

"You're lucky a couple of our scavenging team members heard your gunshots. You had only been out for a few minutes when they got to you." The woman's voice pulled me back to the present. "I patched you up the best I could. You'll need to rest for a few days. But you'll be back on your feet in no time."

"Where..." I try to speak but my voice is hoarse and my throat is dry. I swallow and try to clear my throat before speaking, my voice rough but clearer. "Where am I?" I go to sit up but the pain in my side forced me back down onto the bed.

"Catalina Island. Welcome to the Fireflies." I furrow my brows. I had heard the Fireflies were regrouping but I never bought into the rumor. I've been alone for about a year now. I used to travel with my older brother before... before he was gone. We had been in groups before but it always ended with the two of us traveling alone. We were a great team. "Can I ask you your name?" The woman continues to give me a warm smile, attempting to make me feel welcomed but I still feel anxious and out of place.

"Madison." I say, bringing my aching arm up to my face to wipe sweat off of my forehead.

"Well, Madison. I'll let you get some rest. For now, just stay in bed and try to be cautious of your stitches." And with that, the woman leaves my line of sight and I hear a door open and close gently.

'Yeah, fuck that.' I think, trying to sit up again. The pain in my side is almost unbearable but I manage to drag my body up and lean against the cream colored wall behind me. I look around, scanning the room I now realize is a bedroom. Most of the bedrooms are overgrown and destroyed; taken back by nature. But this one is clean and comfortable.

There's a small, dark wooden dresser with a mirror in the corner to my right. It's missing a knob on one of the drawers and the edges of the mirror have gathered a bit of dust but, other than that, it looks untouched. A closet with two white double doors is built into the wall to my left. There's a desk with a chair and a little bookshelf next to it in front of me. The wood is light and slightly faded. A few books are placed on the shelf, the spines worn and tattered. The white bedroom door is open, giving me a view of a hallway and an entryway into what looks like a kitchen. The bed rests in the middle of the room but if it was moved just a bit to the left, I'd be able to see more.

What catches my attention is the window on the right wall. The sun shines through the paper thin, pale pink curtains. The warm white sheets under the navy blue comforter brush against my bare legs as I shift to get out of the bed and that's when I realize I'm only wearing a large grey t shirt, my black underwear and my lilac colored sports bra. I look around, trying to find where the hell my clothes are but I can't spot the jeans or burgundy tank top anywhere.

I panic more when I can't find my backpack, gun or switchblade and realize I'm in an unknown place completely unarmed. I go to search for my things but fall back onto the bed as soon as I try to sit up. I lean myself back against the wall and pull the comforter over my legs, feeling a bit cold. I grit my teeth at the pain in my side and lift the shirt to see a large white bandage with spots of blood seeping through. 'I'm completely fucked. These people could kill me at any minute.' I tell myself. I pull the shirt back down and lean back against the wall, groaning a bit. 'Fuck, brother. What have I gotten myself into?' I feel myself start to panic, heart beginning to pound, breaths becoming quick and shallow.

I'm trying to calm myself down, staring at the covered window when I hear a door open. I turn my head to the door, holding my breath. A young boy walks into the room quietly. He's got short black hair and scars on his face... From the corners of his mouth to his temples... Seraphite. He's carrying a medicine bottle and some water. He sees me looking at him and smiles, nodding at me as a greeting before turning to look back the way he came.

"Abby, she's awake!" 'Abby?' I think. 'Is that the doctor from before?' I hear a woman's voice respond with 'I know.' Boy, was I wrong. A woman walks in behind him, closing the door she had come through. I get one look at her and I feel like my stomach is doing backflips. 'Holy shit, she's beautiful.' Her long, golden hair is pulled back into a braid. Her skin is pale and dotted with freckles. She has more muscle than I could ever dream of gaining. And those eyes... I look away before she can catch me staring.

"Hey," Her voice is smooth and sweet like honey. It makes me look back to her instantly. She's smiling at me. Warm and welcoming. Her smile is pretty. I feel my face heat up a bit but I don't look away from her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got stabbed by a lot of glass and woke up with a stranger staring at me." I say with a joking smile. My throat is still a bit scratchy but my voice is back, for the most part. She laughs lightly, arms crossed over her chest. Her laugh sounds like sweet music. Abby and the boy walk into the bedroom, Abby sitting down on the bed beside my right leg, careful not to move me and risk hurting me more. The boy grabs the chair from the desk and pulls it over to sit in front of her. I tense a bit at his presence. I don't have the best history with Seraphites. Abby seems to notice my concern and starts talking to draw my attention back to her.

"I'm Abby and this is Lev." She gestures toward Lev who hands me a bottle of water and sets the pills on the dresser. I nod, giving him a silent thank you.

"I'm Madison." I say, running my index finger along the edge of the plastic bottle cap.

"Cute name." Abby compliments and I feel my face heat up again. The way her light red tank top and blue jeans hugs her strong figure makes it hard for me to not stare but I have to focus on my safety first. "Do people call you Maddy?" I look at her face again, her brown eyes looking straight into my pale blue pair.

"I suppose." I laugh a bit, remembering the nickname from when I was a kid. I take a small sip of the water Lev had given me, immediately grateful for the way it soothed my aching throat.

"Cool." Abby's lips are a soft tinge of pink. I scold myself for admiring her when I should be figuring out what my next move is.

Lev speaks up from beside me. "Why were you alone out there? Do you have any people?" I see Abby give him a stern look, silently scolding him for asking a question like that when I had just woken up. I don't say anything, not because of the question but because I'm in the same room as a Seraphite and he isn't trying to kill me. "I'm sorry." Lev says after a moment of silence. "I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories."

"Oh, no. It's okay, honestly." I say quickly, giving him an assuring smile. "I just... I've never met a Seraphite who hasn't tried to kill me immediately." At that, Lev reaches to touch the scar on his left cheek and for a moment I think I've offended him but he just chuckles.

"I can see why you'd think that but I'm not a Seraphite. Not anymore, at least. Most of the Seraphites are gone." He explains. I relax a bit.

"Thank God for that." I sigh. "I seriously don't need to run into that group ever again."

"That goes for all of us." Abby cuts in, kicking Lev in the ankle lightly. I can see their brother- sister dynamic and it makes me even more sure that Lev is okay. If Abby trusts him, so can I. Abby looks me up and down before meeting my eyes again. I see something flash in her eyes for a split second before it disappears. "You should try to eat something. You've been out for a few days." My eyes widen at that.

"Days?! I thought it had only been a few hours!"

"Time tends to go by quickly when you're passed out." Abby laughs and my stomach fills with butterflies again at the sound. "Hey, Lev?" She turns to the boy. "You okay going down to the cafeteria and grabbing Maddy something?"

"Sure!" Lev grins, standing up and leaving the room. When the door he leaves through closes, Abby looks back to me.

"How are those stitches treating you?" I look to my side, lightly brushing my hand over it through the shirt.

"Could be worse." I shrug. It's better than being infected.

"Mind if I see?" Her question catches me off guard a bit but I don't have anything against it.

"Sure." I say. I lift the right side of the shirt up just to the end of my sports bra, revealing the bandages to Abby. I suddenly feel a bit exposed and what makes it worse is I'm exposed to this drop dead gorgeous girl who is focused on me. I jump slightly in shock when she delicately runs her fingers over the bandages.

"Sorry!" She says, pulling her hand back as though she's touched a hot flame. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay. You didn't hurt me." I tell her.

"Okay. I just forget my own strength sometimes." She laughs, blushing a little. She's cute when she's shy. "Makes me regret all the muscle."

"I think you look great." I say with a small burst of confidence. "And that muscle has probably saved your life more than a dozen times so that makes it even better." She laughs louder this time, her embarrassment fading away.

"Well, not to brag but they do come in handy. Y'know, saving lives and all." She moves to flex her arms before moving her focus back to the bandages, pressing on them lightly. I feel my heart rate speed up at the way her muscles tense. Her tough build perfectly compliments her kind personality and soft eyes. 'Oh, Brother. What am I gonna do about this girl?' "So. What Lev asked... how long have you been alone?" I swallow, not sure if I was ready to tell her about everything. I just met her.

"It's been me and my older brother for as long as I can remember. We were a team. Always looking out for each other." I say, the faint image of him being burned alive singed into my mind. "But he's been gone for a year or so now. I've been alone ever since." I choke back tears, refusing to cry.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Sounds like you guys were pretty close." She smiles at me with sympathy, pulling my shirt back down and reaching for my right hand. I let her grab it, feeling her squeeze it gently but firmly. Her hands are warm and soft.

"We were." I let out a breath. "He's gone now, though. So it doesn't matter." When it comes to the memory of my brother, I prefer to shut it out and forget about it. It doesn't stop the nightmares, though. The flames. The yelling that haunts my dreams. The smell of burning flesh.

"I lost my dad when I was fourteen." Abby says and I feel a pang of hurt for her. The fact that she had gone through something like that made me want to protect her from ever feeling that pain again. I have to keep myself from reaching over and hugging her, afraid to overstep my boundaries.

"It took a lot but I managed to get through it." Her tone is calm and almost relieved.

"What a fucked up world we live in, Abby." I say, giving her hand a small squeeze.

"Damn right, Maddy." How could someone be this wonderful? She jumps a little when the door opens and slams shut but doesn't let go of my hand until Lev comes into the bedroom with a small tin can and a plastic spoon. "Thanks, Lev." She says, taking the can and spoon from him. I feel my heart sink a little when her warm hand lets go of mine.

"Mhm," Lev nods, sitting himself cross-legged on the chair. "I thought that might be easier for you to eat." He says to me. I smile at his thoughtfulness.

"Thank you, Lev." I say and I see his smile grow wider. Abby hands me the can and I read the worn label. 'Fruit Cocktail'. I pull on the tab but I don't have enough strength to open the can and my hands are a little shaky. This frustrates me because it shows that my injury did more damage than I thought. "Dammit." I groan.

"Hey, take it easy." Abby says in a soft tone, reaching for the can. I let her take it back. "You got pretty fucked up back there. I'm surprised you were able to sit up on your own." She says with a playful tone, opening the can, grabbing the spoon and sticking it into the container of fruit.

"Alright." I roll my eyes, trying unsuccessfully to hide my grin. "What, are you gonna try to feed me now, too?" Abby chuckles, shifting to sit cross-legged in front of me. I can see Lev shaking his head at us with a smile, playing with the buttons on his coat.

"Try?" Abby snorts playfully. "Use that tone and I'll do more than try."

"Whatever you say." I giggle and I see that flash of emotion in her eyes again. What was it? Why does it feel like I've known her forever? She hands me the can again and I slowly start eating. "So who do I have to thank for saving my life?"

Abby rubs the back of her neck as she looks at me, her grin turning sheepish. A sign of nervousness.

"Us, I guess." Lev answers. "We were the ones who found you."

"Is that why you guys came to check on me? Have you been doing that since I got here?"

"Yeah. Abby carried you back to our truck and got you to the infirmary. She stayed with you while you got patched up but I wasn't allowed in the room so she let me set up the apartment for you." As Lev explains, the urge to hug the two of them, especially Abby, grows stronger. But I don't want to make them uncomfortable.

"Well, thank you." I say to him before looking at Abby. Her shy gaze meets mine and her face heats up a bit. "Thank you both."

It's quiet for a minute as my eyes stay focused on Abby's. She coughs a bit before standing up, patting my knee. "Okay, you need to eat and rest so I won't have to open more cans for you. Those pain meds work great but they'll make you exhausted. I'll come check on you in a bit." I nod, watching as she stretches a bit. "C'mon, Lev." Lev stands up, putting the chair back before following Abby to the door. "See you soon." She smiles at me, nudging Lev toward the front door. I wave at the two of them, already missing their presence.

"You like her, don't you?" I hear Lev ask and my heartbeat speeds up.

"I- ye- okay, go! You're on dish duty tonight!" Their voices fade as they walk away. I want to laugh at Abby's reaction but it fills me with too much joy for me to comprehend. 'She might feel the same!'

Abby was right, those pain meds do make you exhausted, because I fall asleep and by the time I wake up, Abby is back. She's beside me again, brushing a bit of stray hair out of my face with her fingers. She smiles softly at me when she sees me blink away the sleepiness in my eyes.

"Hi." I manage to mumble, taking in the sight of this stunning person in front of me.

"Hi." She responds, quietly. "Did you sleep okay?" I nod, attempting to sit up. Abby notices my struggle and moves to place her hand on my back, gently guiding me forward as though she's afraid she'll break me if she isn't careful. "I brought you some new clothes." She says. "Figured you'd wanna get cleaned up."

"Definitely." I respond with a sigh. "I probably smell like garbage." Abby laughs.

"Nah." She says. "More like blood, sweat and dirt." She teases.

"Oh, wow. Very precise." I joke, laughing with her.

"Well, lucky for you, we have running water." She nudges my right shoulder lightly. Why is she so kind to me? Suddenly, I realize I'm missing something.

"My backpack?" I question, my eyebrows raised in slight worry.

"Oh, right!" Abby stands, leaving the room for a moment and returning with my brown leather backpack. I reach out, silently asking her to hand it to me and she does, sitting back down in her spot. I frantically dig through the bag, seeing my knife, gun and small journal before pulling out a silver chain with a pendant attached. I grip it tightly, letting out a breath of relief as I hold it to my heart. "What is it?" Abby asks, curiously. I show her the pendant.

"It was my brother's." I say, smiling at the small, silver Firefly pendant.

"Your brother was a Firefly?" She asks. I shake my head.

"No. Our father was in Salt Lake before he and my mother decided to leave the group. He and my mom died when I was only a few weeks old. My brother was five. He used to wear it. Hell, he never took the thing off. Said he was gonna join the Fireflies again someday." My smile falters a bit, remembering his shaky hand pressing the pendant into my palm. That was the last time I saw him smile.

"My dad and I were Fireflies." Abby says, knowingly drawing me out of my thoughts. "He was a doctor at St. Mary's." So, our parents probably knew each other.

"Well, I guess you're a Firefly again." I say with a small tinge of happiness.

"Yeah." She chuckles. "And, if you want... you can stay and be a Firefly, too?" It's more of a question than a statement.

I think it over, running my finger along the metal firefly. "I'd like that." I say, nodding at her. I see her eyes brighten and her smile grow a bit, causing mine to grow, too.

"I'm glad." She says, simply. I can tell she's holding back some of her joy but the way she lights up doesn't go unnoticed by me. "C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up." I turn to swing my legs off the bed, letting my feet touch the cold, wooden floor. Abby moves to stand in front of me, bending down a bit to grab my hands. I let her pull me up, my legs shaking a bit. I bite my tongue, trying not to cry out in pain. 'Fuck, my side is killing me!'

"Are you okay?" Abby asks, clearly sensing my discomfort. I grab her forearms, feeling her muscles tense as she helps me stand up straight as carefully as she can. She's a few inches taller than me so I have to look up a bit to meet her eyes. They're filled with worry. The freckles on her face look like little stars. "You want me to carry you?"

"It's okay." I breathe. "I've got this." As much as I want to be held in her strong arms, I have to do everything I can to get my strength back. I begin walking towards the bedroom door, letting Abby move to place her left hand on my lower back for support. I cling to her right arm as she slowly guides me out of the bedroom and into the hallway. I look around, noticing the red front door, the little kitchen with the white, slightly chipped cupboards, the marble counters and oak stools, the living room with the grey couch and matching armchair, the glass coffee table sitting on a small, pale green rug and the medium sized television resting on a black stand. The whole place looks like something out of a catalog I had found while my brother and I were holed up in a store once.

"This way." Abby says quietly, walking me to a white door to the left, just before the front door. She moves her left hand from my back to turn the silver handle and push the door open before quickly placing it back. The bathroom's cold, tile floor makes me shiver slightly as I tread forward carefully. I sit down on the lid of the toilet, only managing with Abby's help, and let out a small groan. I instantly notice how close her face is to mine, cheeks almost touching as she makes sure I'm situated.

She handles me as if I'm a fragile porcelain doll. I feel her hot breath on my face as she lets go and stands up straight. I barely understand her as she asks if I need help getting undressed, too caught up in my thoughts. I just look up and shake my head and she nods, a stunning smile on her face as she turns away to start the shower, giving me as much privacy as she can. I peel the shirt off my body, goosebumps forming on my exposed skin. The sight of Abby crouched by the bathtub, steam traveling around her and the light on the ceiling acting as a spotlight distracts me from the stabbing feeling above my right hip. She looks angelic. I wish I could take a picture of her in this moment. I manage to strip myself of my last bit of clothing, leaving me fully exposed and a bit anxious. I instinctively cross my hands over my breasts. I've never been very confident in my appearance and being in front of a beautiful girl that I've only met today is not the most comfortable feeling in the world. My ash blonde hair, pale skin, icy blue eyes and barely toned build are nothing compared to Abby's perfectly sculpted figure. She looks like a goddess. It makes me almost hate my body even more, riddled with a hint of jealousy.

"Okay," She sighs, standing up and turning around to look at me. I instantly feel her eyes on me but they aren't glaring at my body. She looks at my face. Only at my face. She never makes a move to look at my body, keeping her gaze only on my flushed cheeks, giving a small smile that immediately brings me comfort. I notice her cheeks slowly growing red as I remember what Lev had asked her. 'Does she feel the same?' Abby takes my hand, keeping her focus on my eyes, pulling me to my feet. I stumble forward a bit, letting out an involuntary whimper. Abby puts an arm out in front of me, the other wrapping around my shoulders as she helps me regain my balance.

"I've got you." She says in a voice that makes me melt. I notice a bit of panic in her eyes and I nod, letting her know I'm okay. She makes sure I'm able to lean against the wall and steps out to grab the clothes she had brought. The warm water soothes my aching muscles. As I wash all of the dirt and filth, I try to imagine what my brother would say about the way I stare at Abby. He would've teased me about her. He would've told me to make the first move, knowing I never could. I don't even know if Abby likes me. The way she looks at me can't be just friendly, can it?

A few minutes later, Abby comes back in, setting the change of clothes on the bathroom counter. "You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good." I respond. I lean down to shut the water off but the stitches only let me get so far. Eventually I give up, annoyed at how incapable I am. "Shit. Abby, can you turn the shower off please?"

Abby chuckles at my frustration. "Hang on." I watch her hand peek through the blue shower curtain and turn the shower off before it disappears again. She slowly opens the curtain, handing me a soft, purple bath towel. I wrap it around me before I can get goosebumps. I put on a clean outfit; pastel purple underwear, a light gray and black sports bra, a black tee shirt and, with some help from Abby, I manage to wiggle into a pair of dark red sweatpants. She helps me go out into the living room, sitting beside me on the surprisingly comfy couch."I figured pyjamas were the more comfortable option. There are some day clothes hanging in your closet for when you're ready to get out of your little apartment. Oh, and I've gotta say, your black combat boots are seriously awesome." I smile at her, drying my hair with the towel.

"Thanks." I smile, grateful for everything Abby has done for me. "And they're pretty damn nice."

"Ever crushed an infected's skull with them?" She asks with a playful grin.

"Actually, a few times." I start. "One time, a runner's eyeballs squeezed out of it's skull!"

"Oh, gross!" Abby snorts, kicking off her worn gray sneakers and sitting cross legged, body turned towards me.

"Yeah." I say, faking a frown. "Poor dude will never model again." We both laugh. I look to the far wall, out the big bay window that had one long, green curtain pulled to the side and held with twine. The sun is setting, painting the sky in orange and yellow hues. The ocean rests below, blending with the scenery.

"Nice view, huh?" Abby's voice draws my attention back to her. I notice her eyes look me up and down quickly as she bites her lip. 'Did I just see that right?'

"It is." My voice is soft. I feel completely calm, sitting here beside Abby. I could sit here with her forever. Forget about the horrors that lie outside.

"Can I change your bandage?" She's hesitant with her question, knowing it's going to hurt me. I give her a nod, letting her know I fully trust her. She picks up on my silent message. "Okay. Let me grab a few things." Abby turns on the living room light and disappears into the bathroom for a minute before coming back out with a med kit. "Lie back." Her voice is commanding but gentle. I do as she says, shifting to lay on the couch. She kneels beside me on the floor, putting the med kit on the coffee table behind her. I fidget with my fingers as she lifts my shirt up, not quite sure what to do. She's so careful, slowly removing the bandages and gauze, revealing the wound that brought me to her in the first place. The stitches look almost perfect but there will still be evidence of it when it heals.

"That's gonna leave a nasty scar." I mumble, noticing her pouring hydrogen peroxide onto a white cloth.

"It's gonna look super cool, though. Makes you look like a total badass." She smiles at me for a second before looking at the cloth in her hands, then at my wound. "So... this is gonna suck." Her smile turns into one of pity.

"Yeah, but it's gotta get done." I mumble. She nods, pausing for a moment. As soon as she presses the cloth to my side, my back arches off the couch and I hiss in pain, clenching my eyes shut.

I feel Abby grab my hand and I squeeze hers tightly, choking back a small scream. "Hey, look at me, Maddy." I look at her face. She's calm but clearly not enjoying the pain she's inflicting. She keeps her cool, looking at me with those big, hazel eyes. Her gaze instantly brings me comfort. "Just focus on me, okay?" I nod, keeping my eyes on her. "Just listen to my voice. I'll be done soon, I promise. But I need you to stay still." When she touches the cloth to my skin once more, I tense, willing myself to stay put for her. She lets me squeeze her hand as hard as I need, probably not even bothered by it.

It's quiet for a few seconds before Abby speaks again. "I'm scared of heights." She says, simply. "Lev and I had to walk on these super high, narrow bridges once. I'm talking skyscraper high! I thought I was gonna die right on that bridge. I felt dizzy, couldn't breathe properly. But Lev, he just kept walking like he was on solid ground. He kept trying to get me to find my true strength or something like that." She laughs a little. I watch the way her lips curve into a small smile and, for a moment, I think about what it'd be like to kiss them. "Well, shit went to hell when my vision started getting blurry and I slipped. I was just dangling there and I swear I felt my heart drop into my stomach. Lev tried to pull me up but we both fell and smashed into this glass skylight. We landed in a pool that was underneath us, thank fuck. So, we both swim out of the pool and I'm just laying there gasping for air and Lev stands up beside me and he's immediately ready to keep moving. As if we didn't just almost fall to our deaths." I smile at her story, picturing Lev babying her. I don't even notice her set the cloth down and reach for gauze and bandages until she let go of my hand.

"I'm scared of the ocean." I laugh at my own stupid fear. Abby lets out a small chuckle.

"So is Lev." She grins. "Why are you scared of it?"

"I can't swim." I smile at her look of disbelief.

"You seriously can't swim?" She raises a brow, briefly pausing to look at me.

"Yep." I confirm, slightly embarrassed.

"How the hell do you not know how to swim?"

"I never got a chance to learn." I shrug. She goes back to applying the thick cloth bandages.

"Well, I guess we'll have to teach you how to swim." She stands up, carrying the med kit back to the bathroom and I move to sit up on the couch, slouching against the arm of the surprisingly comfortable furniture. I can't help but stare when she goes into the kitchen. She opens the refrigerator and goes to pull out a couple water bottles, giving me a perfect view of her backside. I bite my lip and look away. Silently scolding myself for staring. "Wanna watch a movie?" She asks, leaning in the entryway of the kitchen that's connected to the living room.

"Sure." I say. "But what about Lev?" Abby sets down the water bottles and a bottle of pain killers on the coffee table before she goes over to the TV stand, crouching down to open a small cupboard and pulling out a few DVD cases.

"He's staying the night at a friend's house." She says, looking through the DVDs. "I use the word friend lightly because I'm pretty sure Lev has a crush on him but he won't admit it." She gossips.

"Is Lev gay?" I ask, not meaning to sound rude.

"Yeah. He's also transgender." She explains. "Why? Is that an issue?" Her tone becomes defensive and she glares at me over her shoulder.

"Why would it be?" Her gaze softens at my words. "Hell, I'm not straight either." At that, she lights up just slightly but enough for me to notice. "Men are okay. Prefer women, though." I explain, simply.

"I'm with you on that." And at that, I light up. Abby smiles at me, turning on the TV and putting a DVD into the player. She grabs the remote, going to turn off the light before sitting back down on the couch. As she starts the movie, I contemplate moving to sit closer to her but I decide against it. I picture what it would be like to have her lips pressed against mine, her hands tangled in my hair, my arms wrapped around her neck, her body so close to mine.

"Here." Abby says and I jump a bit. She just smiles and I know she noticed but she doesn't point it out. Instead, she hands me two painkillers and a water. I thank her, taking them and turning my attention to the movie, letting myself get completely sucked into the story of this random popular schoolgirl character. Thoughts of Abby loom in the back of my mind.

Halfway through the movie, I fall asleep. When I wake up again, Abby is gone and I'm in my bed, wrapped up in the warm blankets, the daylight shining through the window. 'This bitch carried me to bed!'

It's been many months since I've joined the Fireflies. I adjusted rather quickly and fit in well with the others. The sparks between Abby and I are only growing stronger and our feelings for each other are obvious to everyone. Everyone including Lev who has become like a younger brother to me.

"Seriously!" Lev sits at the kitchen counter, working on a drawing of a horse while I do dishes. "You need to tell her! She already knows! Everyone does!" He gestures towards the front door for emphasis. I laugh at him, placing another dish into the drying rack.

"I can't just go up to her and say 'Hey, Abby. I love you and I really, really want you to be mine so we can be a family and grow old together.'. It's not that easy!" Lev sighs, grinning at me.

"Yeah, it is that easy."

"Oh really?" I turn to him, raising my brow in a pointed look. "Then how come you haven't told that boy you like him?" His face turns beat red and he looks back to his drawing, practicing his shading skills. "That's what I thought." I chuckle at his silence. I look out the living room window behind me to see the sun slowly going down. The sky will be painted with vibrant orange soon. "Actually, she should be back by now." My heart sinks a little at the thought of something happening to Abby while she's out on a run.

"She'll be back soon." Lev reassures. I just bite my lip, hoping everything is okay.

I really start to worry when the sun is almost gone and Abby still isn't back. I fidget with my fingers while I sit on the couch beside Lev, trying to distract myself with whatever movie Lev put on. My panic doesn't go unnoticed by Lev.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. "She's tough, Maddy." He reasons. "She's gonna be back soon and you're both gonna look at each other with that same lovestruck face you guys always do." I roll my eyes at his last comment. He isn't wrong, though. About half an hour later, there's a knock on the door.

"Maddy? It's me!" I let out a breath of relief at the sound of Abby's voice, jumping up to greet her. She opens the door, barely having enough time to close it behind her before I run over and wrap my arms around her neck, pulling her into a tight hug. She stumbles back a bit before wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me close. "Hey." She chuckles. I bury my face in her neck, the material of her light jacket brushing against my right cheek.

"How was the run?" I ask. I want to be angry at her for being late and making me worry but all I can feel is relief that she's here and okay.

"Good." She says, shuffling her backpack off her shoulders when I pull away to examine her for any wounds. Thankfully, I find none. "Sorry I'm late. The damn truck kept stalling and Aaron dropped a crate of supplies at the gate."

"That guy's such a ditz." I laugh. Abby shakes her head, laughing with me as I take her hand and pull her into the living room. "I'm glad I'm going with you next time. I'm always worried he's gonna get you killed."

"Hey, Abby." Lev turns away from the movie to smile at her. He looks at me with a smirk. "I told you she was okay." I roll my eyes at him.

"Hey, goober." Abby grins at him, walking over to ruffle his hair, not letting go of my hand. "Good day?" I release Abby's hand, shaking her shoulder lightly and going into the kitchen to pick up Lev's drawing stuff. Normally, I'd make him clean up after himself but I decide to leave him be.

"Yeah!" Lev's voice is cheerful as he answers Abby. "We had spaghetti for dinner and Maddy let me help her make sauce with some tomatoes from the garden instead of trying to find a jar!"

"That sounds fun! Did you help or did you make a mess of her kitchen?" God, she can be such a mom.

"A bit of both." I chuckle, handing Lev his art book and pencils. "Made you a plate, too. Figured you'd forget to eat and go straight to bed again." I cross my arms, looking at Abby with a knowing smile. She knows I don't like when she forgets to eat.

"Thanks, Mads. I really appreciate it." I just give a simple nod, letting my arms drop to my side. I wish I could kiss her. She lets out a deep breath. "C'mon, Lev. It's getting late."

"Okay." Lev says quietly, turning off the TV and standing up beside Abby. I go to grab the plate of spaghetti from the kitchen, making sure the plastic wrap is secured around the plate.

"Here." I hand Lev the plate since he's put his stuff in Abby's backpack and she's busy pulling the straps over her shoulders. "Make sure she actually eats for me, okay?" I grin, playfully.

"Promise." He smiles back.

"Oh my God, can you both stop babying me?" Abby says with an annoyed tone.

"Never." I tease, reaching up to wrap my arms around her neck once more. I close my eyes, feeling the warmth radiating off her skin as she hugs back. "But seriously." I mumble, lips brushing against her freckled cheek. "Promise me you'll remember to eat?"

I feel Abby nod. "I promise." I hum in approval, letting her go and looking at her flushed face. She opens the front door, moving so Lev can leave first.

"Bye, Maddy." Lev says, walking past us and out the door.

"Bye, kiddo." I say back. "Goodnight." I say softy to Abby. She rubs the back of her neck.

"Goodnight." Abby mutters, closing the door behind her as she leaves. I stare for a minute at the door, contemplating whether I should run after her or not. But I just turn away and decide to get ready for bed.

His face. His screams. I'm in a nightmare and I can't wake up. I want to reach out for him. I want to save him. But I know I can't leave my hiding spot or the Seraphites will find me. He yells and swears, clothes quickly catching fire. I can only sit and watch as his body hangs there, becoming charred. Unrecognizable. I have to help him! I can't move! Please, no! He cries out for me, yelling 'why won't you help me?!' and 'You coward!'. Things my brother would never actually say. But it all feels so real.

I sit up quickly, gasping for air as I look around my bedroom for flames. It's dark, the only light coming from the window. I can't get the image of him out of my head. 'Oh, brother.' I think, tears pouring down my face. 'I wish you were here.' I try to lay back down and go to sleep but I can only sit there, paralyzed. I let out a small sob, trying to think of what to do. Abby. I need Abby.

Before I can think, I'm putting my jacket on over my pyjamas and lacing up my combat boots. I leave my dark apartment and head down the stairwell to Abby's. I let myself mindlessly wander there, choking on sobs. When I get to her door, I knock lightly and instantly feel bad. What if I woke her or Lev? Before I can turn back, the door opens. Abby stands there in a pair of black sweatpants and a gray t shirt. Her face instantly contorts with worry when she sees my red eyes and puffy cheeks.

"Maddy?" She steps forward, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, what's wrong?" I can't stop myself from letting out another sob, more tears falling down my face mercilessly. She wraps her arms around me but I can't find the strength to hug her back.

"I'm sorry." I whimper into her shoulder. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's okay. You didn't wake me, Mads." She reassures me. "I was reading. Here, come inside." She gently pulls me inside, closing the front door. "Wanna tell me what happened?" She doesn't try to pressure me. She just waits for me to speak, rubbing my back.

"I had a nightmare." I say, feeling childish. "About my brother. I just... I needed you." I mumble the last bit, face heating up.

Abby takes my hand, pulling me with her. "C'mon. Let's go to bed." I let her guide me into her bedroom, tugging off my jacket and boots before crawling onto her bed. She closes the door and turns off the light before laying down beside me. She pulls the comforter over us and I shift to lay my head on her chest, curling into her left side. She drapes her right arm over my waist and runs her fingers through my hair with her other hand. I cling to her shirt, my tears drying on my cheeks.

"I'm sorry." I whisper, feeling like a burden.

"You have nothing to apologize for." Abby says. Without thinking, I shift to wrap my legs with hers, begging to be closer to her, to feel her presence as she slowly brings me back to reality. "What happened to your brother? I mean... Sorry. You don't have to answer."

"The Seraphites caught him." I swallow the lump in my throat. "They, um... they burned him. I had to watch."

"I'm so sorry, Maddy." I shake my head, letting her know it's okay.

"His name was Kai." I say. "He used to call me Dandelion because my mom said I made wishes come true." I laugh, quietly.

"Dandelion." Abby ponders the nickname. "It suits you."

"Abby?" I shift to look at her, my face hovering above hers. Her eyes widen a bit, flickering from my lips to my eyes and I catch myself doing the same to her.

"Hmm?" I place my left hand on her cheek, rubbing it softly with my thumb.

"I love you." I say. Before I can process anything, Abby pushes my head forward, pressing our lips together. The kiss is long, needy and full of love. Our eyes close. Her lips are warm and sweet. Soft. We don't pull away till our lungs are burning, pleading for air.

"I love you, too." She whispers, tracing my bottom lip with the pad of her thumb. I give her a small, tired smile, pecking her lips once more before resting my head back on her chest. Her arms are around me once more and I feel safe. At home. This is where I belong. With her and Lev. "Goodnight, Dandelion."

So, this is a thing now! I hope you guys liked it and, if not, I'm sorry lol. Here's a photo of me cause idk how to end this Author's Note

#abby tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson #lev tlou #personal

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neerasrealm · 4 years

Note

just imagine this: slender and jack are going out and bc all the responsible pastas are out they hire a babysitter (y/n) to look after slendra. she’s rlly shy at first but eventually she and y/n become best friends (and they steal slender’s gramophone to play some music while they make cookies and maybe wreck the kitchen in the process depending on y/n and slendra’s combined skills)

I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THIS REQUEST AND I HAD A BLAST WRITING IT sorry it took so long school murdered me plus I was jumping from draft to draft and just. A lot happened ok. I didn’t get all the prompts in because I couldn’t work em in but I feel like I did good. I loved writing y/n just subtly noticing that this house Is Not Human and it- it was a fun dynamic to do gshdjdshj Also new hc this is the origin story for y/n in the poly slenjack fics

You're starting to have regrets about taking this babysitting job. Maybe it was that you'd seen too many slasher movies, or maybe you were just paranoid. Or maybe it was the fact that you were dragging your bike through the woods in order to get to the address you'd been given. The sane part of your brain is saying that this is dangerous and you should turn back, but the broke millennial part of your brain is saying that the $500 paycheck is too good to pass up. I mean- $500? For babysitting for one night? That's insane! It’s gotta be a joke right? Maybe it is. Maybe you are going to be murdered horribly tonight in the middle of the woods.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by the sight of- a house. Presumably the house you’re supposed to be babysitting in. It’s gigantic- more of a mansion than a house. The outside looks refined and welcoming. There’s even flowers planted around the place. Cute pink pansies and blossoming bushes of roses. You look around hesitantly, then wheel your bike along up to the front door. You very carefully lean it against the wall and look around some more. How come you never heard about this place? I mean- a giant house in the woods? Why has that never come up? You’d think someone would talk about it, right?

As you’re looking around this odd place you realise something. It’s sprawling with cats. At first you only noticed a couple, and assumed they were pets, but now your counting has hit the double digits. Why do cats hang around here? Are they all pets? Is the owner of this mysterious house a cat person? Or do they just- kidnap cats? What if you’re babysitting a cat…

Okay no that’s dumb. You turn around again and knock on the front door. It’s silent for a moment, and out of awkwardness you look down at your feet. You’re standing on a fancy doormat that reads ‘welcome’ in elegant cursive. The door opens and your head shoots up to attention.

Standing in the doorway is a tall man. Far taller than you. His skin is deathly pale, almost white, and his hair is neat and blonde. He’s wearing a suit, and as he looks down at you you realise his eyes are the brightest blue you’ve ever seen.

‘’M-mister Schlankwald?’’ you ask, stepping back and away from this strange man. He nods and smiles.

‘’That’s me.’’ he holds out a hand to you. ‘’You must be y/n, yes? The babysitter?’’ he smiles gently, and you realise he actually- looks kind of nervous. That’s a tad reassuring. You take his hand and shake it. You nod.

‘’Yeah, that’s me.’’ you say. He steps aside and you cross the threshold. As you take your coat off you look around. Past the small entryway is a large living room. There're three whole couches, and a few more armchairs scattered around. There’s a large TV surrounded by cabinets full of DVDs and videogames- it looks like a very luxurious place. And also there’s more cats just- hanging around in various places, but you’re not really paying attention to them. Your attention is grabbed by the person standing in the living room. He’s- insanely tall, with long black hair, striped socks and sleeves, feathers on his shoulders for some reason and- bandages. Just wrapped around his torso. He’s also wearing a grey crop top, and what you assume to be white face paint. His nose is striped too, and cone shaped. Everything he’s wearing is either black or white. You stare at him in surprise and just- disbelief. He raises a hand in greeting.

‘’Ey.’’ his voice is deep and rough. ‘’Ye’re th’ si’er?’’

You blink for a moment, not sure what he- even just said. ‘’Y-yes?’’ you say, hoping that’s the right answer. Apparently it was, because he smiles at you.

‘’Ah!’’ he steps towards you and leans down, holding out his hand. ‘’Me name’s Jack. pleased ta mee’ ya!’’

You shake his hand and nod. ‘’I’m y/n.’’ you murmur. Jack stands back up and you look over your shoulder at Mr Schlankwald. He gestures to the other male.

‘’This is Jack, my husband,’’ he explains. ‘’Do excuse the makeup. He’s a performer, you see.’’

‘’Ah.’’ you relax a bit. A performer...that makes sense. I guess. You look around a bit. ‘’So uh- where’s the kid?’’ In all this strangeness you almost forgot why you hiked into the deep dark woods.

‘’Righ’ ‘ere.’’ You turn to look at Jack again and watch him step aside to reveal a small girl who’d apparently been hiding behind him before. Her eyes widen as she comes into view and she stares at you. Her skin is a dark, almost reddish-brown colour. Her face is peppered with freckles and her hair hangs around her shoulders. It’s bright blonde, like Mr Schlankwald’s, but a bit more yellow. She quickly skitters back to Jack’s leg and hides behind him again. You frown. Jack looks at you. ‘’She’s a bi’ shy.’’ he murmurs. He crouches down to the girl. ‘’Ey, luv, i’s okay. Th’ si’er isn’ gonna ‘urt ya.’’

‘’Wh-wha’ if I scare ‘em or say somefink?’’ she mumbles. She has the slightest hint of her father’s accent, but more- refined almost. And a lot easier to understand.

‘’Ye’re no’ gonna, ye’re a smart girlie, ain’t ya?’’

Mr Schlankwald taps your shoulder and you look over at him. ‘’We- haven’t gotten a sitter before, so she’s a little nervous about the whole thing.’’

You nod. ‘’That’s alright, I’ve had shy kids before.’’ you smile at him. He seemingly brightens up.

‘’Righ’,’’ Jack’s voice interrupts you two. You look at him as he stands up. The girl shyly steps out from behind him and Jack lightly pats her head, ruffling her hair. ‘’We’d be’er ge’ goin’, luv.’’

‘’Of course.’’ Mr Schlankwald says. He shakes your hand once more and then looks at the girl. He holds out his arms and she quickly runs over, hugging him tight. ‘’Be good now, won’t you my dear?’’

‘’I will.’’ she mumbles. Her parents step away, with Jack heading for the door. Mr Schlankwald looks at you again.

‘’Her bedtime is at nine thirty, snacks are in the kitchen,’’ he nods towards a door behind you. ‘’Feel free to help yourself.’’

‘’Got it!’’ you chirp back as they leave. Once the door has closed it’s just you and the girl. She turns slowly and looks at you. You smile at her and lean down to her. ‘’Hiya.’’ you greet. ‘’I’m y/n. What’s your name?’’

She gulps and steps towards you. The tiny child looks you dead in the eyes and holds out her hand to you. ‘’I’m Slendra. Slendra Jackson.’’ she says with all the authority of a business CEO. you almost, ALMOST, crack up laughing but force yourself to take her seriously. You shake her hand.

‘’Well nice to meet you.’’ she retracts her hand. ‘’How old are you, Slendra?’’

‘’Fo-’’ she stops. ‘’Eigh'. I’m eigh'.’’ she folds her hands behind her back, just like her father did. You smile at her. She takes after her father, you suppose. It’s cute.

‘’So what do you like? Got any hobbies?’’

‘’Uhh…’’ she toys with the sleeve of her striped shirt. ‘’I like...music...and bakin'...I like readin' too and uh-’’ she shrugs. ‘’That’s abou' it, I guess.’’

You nod. ‘’I see.’’ you smile at her. ‘’So what do you wanna do? We got…’’ you glance down at your watch. ‘’Three and a half hours to kill.’’ She shifts on her feet and shrugs again. You tilt your head at her. ‘’We could watch TV...maybe draw something? Are you hungry?’’

She seems to perk up a little bit. ‘’I have drawin’ stuff in my room,’’ she says. ‘’We could do tha'.’’ there’s a glint of excitement in her eyes. ‘’I-if you want to.’’

‘’Of course I do,’’ you stand up and smile at her. ‘’Lead the way.’’

Slendra smiles a little in excitement and turns, heading quickly up the stairs. You follow after her, looking around curiously. This place is massive. Upstairs is a hallway with doors running all along the right. Each one is decorated differently. One is striped, with ‘laughing jack’ written on it, another is pink with a castle-shaped sign on it that reads ‘Sally’ and under it ‘& Dina’ is written in what looks like sharpie. The one right across from the stairs that Slendra climbs up has a metal sign on it, decorated with a skull and crossbones, that reads ‘Kate’s room, keep out!’

You follow Slendra up the staircase and arrive on the third floor. Slendra leads you to her room. Her door is also decorated, with flowers and butterflies and bowties. Her walls are purple, and the room kind of reminds you of...and office. She has a large desk covered in boxes and papers. Shelves are piled high with toys and trinkets, and she has a massive bookcase stuffed to the brim with- well, books. Fairy lights hang over her bed, which is large and round and covered in pillows and plushies. Glow in the dark stickers decorate her ceiling and walls.

Slendra grabs a large plastic tub from under her desk and drops some paper sheets onto it. She picks up the tub and smiles at you. You frown. ‘’Isn’t that heavy?’’

‘’Huh?’’ she looks at the box. ‘’I guess- I’m kind’ve strong though.’’

You smile a bit. ‘’I bet you are.’’ you step towards the door and open it. ‘’C’mon. If you need help with that I’ll take it.’’

Slendra shakes her head and walks past you. ‘’I got it.’’ she says, holding her head up proudly to show off how big and independent she is. You smirk a bit and follow after her. You walk past the hallway of odd doors and through the living room into the kitchen. Slendra places her box on the dining table and smiles over her shoulder at you. You glance around the kitchen. it’s- well, a normal kitchen. The fridge is covered in children’s drawings and magnets, but oddly no photos. Thinking about it now, you haven’t seen a single photo up on the walls. Odd.

‘’So you like drawing, huh?’’ you say to Slendra. She pulls out a chair, which has a big ginger cat sleeping on it. She pets it and nods.

‘’My brother Helen is an ar'ist. He lets me join 'im sometimes, and he teaches me a lo'.’’ she smiles over at you.

‘’Your brother’s name is Helen?’’

‘’Yeah.’’ she tilts her head. ‘’It’s a unisex name innit?’’

You- don’t really have the heart to say no, so you just nod. ‘’How many siblings do you have?’’ you ask, watching the ginger cat roll over. Slendra scratches its stomach.

‘’Ten.’’ she replies without batting an eye. You freeze for a second. You blink. Huh- so- Mr Schlankwald, the strange gay man who lives in a mansion in the woods, apparently has eleven children. You slowly tilt your head.

‘’How many people live here…?’’

‘’Fourteen, though my uncle Ivan sometimes comes to visi', so maybe fifte- oh!’’ she’s interrupted by the ginger cat suddenly jumping down off the chair and wandering off somewhere. She climbs up onto the now empty chair and looks over the table at you. "Dad left snacks for us," she points over at the counter by the fridge. "Do you wanna grab some?"

"Oh uh- sure." You walk over to the counter Slendra pointed to. There's some plates and a bowl covered in tin foil, probably to keep the cats from eating whatever's been left for you. You grab one of the plates and peel away the tin foil. You're greeted by a plate that's sectioned into thirds. Each third contains...snacks? Of some sort. One section is miscellaneous coloured potato chips, one is full of little black squares that look like...seaweed? Maybe? And the third section looks like- thin slices of various vegetables. Dried out to a crisp. You slowly glance over at Slendra.

"What're uh- what're these?"

"Oh! Dad's healthy snacks. They're real good." She smiles. "Try one!"

You hesitate, then reach to grab one of the potato chips. They're all different colours. Orange, red, yellow- even a couple purple ones. You grab a yellow one and very carefully bite into it. Your eyes widen as you chew. It's...good. really good. A nice balance of cheese, onion- are those chives? Yeah! Chives. Fancy. You pick up a second, orange one and toss it into your mouth. It's a bit sweeter, but still just as good.

Pulling aside the foil on the bowl you're greeted by popcorn, nuts, and various shaped potato chips that also appear to be homemade. You grab one and toss it into your mouth, and get hit with soy sauce and spices. Surprising, but still really good. It reminds you of asian takeout. You take the foil off the last plate and- "Oh! Cookies!"

"Yep! Dad made 'em especially for you." Slendra says as she opens the box she brought down and pulls out a few things. "He always tries to make sure we have food for guests. Every time we ge’ a visitor he tries to feed 'em."

"Huh…" you grab the plates very carefully and carry them over to the table, setting them down between you and Slendra, who's already begun her drawing. "What is your dad like anyway? How'd he afford a giant place like this?" You ask as you wander back over to grab the bowl you left.

"Oh uh- well-" she suddenly seems nervous. "He said tha’…" she pauses for a moment, like she's thinking. "He invested in stocks b'fore the economy wen’ bad." She finishes, speaking like she's reciting a line. You smile a bit.

"I see." You put down the bowl of various snacks and grab another potato chip. Slendra reaches over and grabs one of the black squares of seaweed, biting into it and crunching on it happily. "Weird that I never heard about this place, huh? Giant mansion in the woods…’’ Slendra stares at you, eyes wide. ‘’...That’s full of cats for some reason…’’

She nods and smiles sheepishly. ‘’Heheh, yeah…’’ she puts down her pencil and grabs a thin, dried out tomato slice, crunching on it quietly. ‘’Dad feeds 'em. He loves cats.’’

‘’Huh.’’ you grab a cookie from the plate and bite into it. It’s soft and crumbles in your mouth. Like shortbread, but with deliciously sweet chocolate chips. Without thinking you reach for a second one before you’ve even finished your first. ‘’So what’re you drawing?’’ you tilt your head at her.

‘’Fairies.’’

‘’Oh yeah?’’ you lean over to get a look. You were expecting to see friendly, childish drawings of little people with wings, but instead...you’re greeted by creatures with odd proportions, eyes in odd places, sharp teeth and mean expressions. ‘’...oh.’’ you regain your composure quickly. Kids sometimes draw scary things, it’s normal- probably. ‘’You’re really good at drawing.’’

‘’Ehh…’’ she shrugs. ‘’I guess. I’m still learnin'. Helen says I’m gettin’ better though!’’

You smile a bit. ‘’Keep practicing. By the time you’re ten I bet you’ll be amazing.’’

Slendra laughs a bit. ‘’I only really draw when Helen asks me if I want to.’’ she murmurs. ‘’I mostly like to sing.’’

‘’Oh yeah?’’

"Uh-huh. Dad taugh’ me to play piano, and pops taugh’ me the accordion." She grabs a handful of popcorn, chips and nuts from the bowl and calmly grabs a single nut, putting it in her mouth and crunching on it softly. "I'm learnin' ukulele right now."

"Wow," you tilt your head at her. "Guess your parents can afford a lot of tutors for you, huh?"

"Nah, we're all homeschooled."

"Oh." You blink in surprise. "Does your dad do all of that?"

"Uh-huh. He's real smart." Slendra puts down her pencil and neatly puts her page aside. She delicately grabs a couple more snacks. She has awfully good table manners. A thing that comes from her father, you guess. ‘’He makes learnin’ fun too. My brothers say school is real borin’.’’

‘’Huh…’’

You spend a couple hours sitting there with her, watching her draw odd creatures and talk about her even more odd family. The cookies have been eaten, and most of the other snacks are gone completely. Including the seaweed squares, which weren't actually all that bad when you tried them. And now you're lounging back in your chair, petting a chubby chausie cat that's apparently named Brian.

"So...he covered up...the hole in the wall...by making more holes."

"Yep."

"...No offense but this Jeff guy sounds pretty dumb." You say. Slendra laughs a bit as she puts away her coloured pencils, dropping them back into the large box of supplies she brought down.

"Jeffery is a good boy, he means well." She murmurs. She grabs the last of the dried out tomato slices and crunches it down. "Wha’ now?"

You shrug. "I dunno. Whatever you want." you smile at her. She frowns in thought, then suddenly perks up.

"Oh! I could practice my music," she looks suddenly excited. "Dad has a lo’ of records in ‘is office. Could we listen to those? And I can play along with my ukulele."

You shrug and smile at her. ‘’Sure, I don’t see why not,’’ you tilt your head. ‘’Where’s his office?’’

‘’Downstairs.’’ Slendra hops off her chair and grabs the box. ‘’I’ll grab my things! You go wait.’’ she adds before quickly leaving the room. You laugh a bit and grab the last couple potato chips, then the half-empty bowl, just in case. After nudging Brian off your lap you walk down to the basement and look around. There’s a few rooms, but the thing that catches your attention the most though is the lounge area that’s full of comfy looking chairs and cabinets stuffed with videogames. And also the cats, there’s even more down here, but you’re kind of used to them by now.

You glance around at the doors down here. There’s three doors on the left, and none of them are really decorated. There’s a couple other doors, and one of them has a large padlock on it for some reason. The one next to it, surprisingly, is decorated. Fish and deep sea creatures are painted onto it. You’re pulled out of your thoughts by footsteps on the stairs. You look towards them and see Slendra running down them with a ukulele in hand. She grins at you as she walks up to you. You notice she has a small concertina accordion hanging off her waist from a shoulder strap. ‘’Dad has the door locked,’’ she says as she walks past you towards the last door on the left. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out...a cat claw…? You frown. ‘’I can ge’ it open though.’’

You watch her attempt to pick the lock with the claw. ‘’uh...I don’t think that’s gonna-’’

‘’Click!’’ the door opens as if to spite you. Slendra grins over at you.

‘’Told you!’’ she chirps. She walks into the office and you follow her in, bemused. Inside the office is...odd. Grey walls and carpet, lots of bookshelves, a cat tree in the corner, and comfy looking wicker chairs in front of the desk. On the walls are photos of Slendra and other kids who you assume to be her siblings. There’s an...odd painting hanging on the wall across from the door. It contains two faceless white beings, a similar being with black eyes and no mouth and a strange creature with similar black eyes and a wide smile. You frown at it. Abstract art, you suppose. The creatures remind you of Slendra’s drawings.

‘’Here we go!’’ Slendra catches your attention again. She’s knelt on the ground, looking through a drawer stuffed with records. You glance over at a table in the corner of the room. To your surprise, it isn’t a record player, it’s a gramophone. An old looking one at that. Must be an antique. It honestly wouldn’t surprise you if Mr Schlankwald was a collector or something like that. Slendra gets up and very carefully places a record on the player and drops the needle. It’s silent for a couple moments and then a delicate piano starts playing. Slendra strums her ukulele and begins to sing.

‘’I know...you belo-o-ong to so-omebody ne-ew…’’ her voice is almost...mesmerising. You relax despite yourself as she sings along. ‘’But tonight, you belo-ong to me.’’ Maybe you’re imagining it, but you swear you can hear multiple voices coming from her. Or maybe it’s just the vocals from the record. You’re not really paying attention. Instead you sit down in one of the wicker chairs and watch her. ‘’Although…’’ she smiles a bit. ‘’You’re a apa-a-art, of my he-e-a-art,’’ her eyes catch yours. They seem to glint a moment and something- odd, passes over you. You suddenly feel extremely relaxed, all tenseness leaving your body. You lean back in your chair. ‘’And tonight, you belo-ong, to me.’’

-------

You don’t remember much else from the evening after that. Just that Slendra continued singing along to the greatest hits from the fifties and sixties. Things start to become a bit less fuzzy around nine thirty. Her bedtime. You read her a bedtime story, told her goodnight with a wide smile, and took a seat on the couch downstairs. Which is where you are now, watching a movie in the dim lighting. You feel...good. Really happy for some unknown reason. Not that you’re complaining.

The front door opens and you glance over as Mr Schlankwald steps inside. He closes the umbrella he's holding while Jack shakes himself off, kind of like a dog. Mr Schlankwald looks over at you and smiles.

"Ah, hello." He steps towards you, with Jack following after. He strides past the blonde and collapses himself in one of the armchairs. Somehow his makeup is still flawless despite the rain outside. "How were things?" He asks, tilting his head. He seems nervous, slightly. Jack opens one eye and looks over at you.

"Good," you sit up. "No trouble at all. She behaved excellently, we just sorta...chilled." you smile a bit. "She's the most well behaved kid I've ever looked after honestly. She didn't even complain when it came to her bedtime."

"Oh!" Mr Schlankwald smiles a bit. "I'm glad to hear that- we were worried, eheh." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He frowns. "Hm...Jack have you got three hu-"

"Righ' 'ere luv." Jack reaches into his striped sleeve and pulls out a small wad of notes. Mr Schlankwald smiles and takes them, folding them up neatly before holding them out to you.

"Five hundred, as agreed." He says as you quickly count the money. You knew you'd be getting that amount but still, actually holding the money now you can hardly believe it. You stand up quickly.

"Thank you." You barely manage to get the words out. "I had a great time babysitting her- I uh- I've babysat some real demons before so uh- heheh-" you're just rambling now because of the sheer elation of actually being given five hundred fucking dollars. Mr Schlankwald smiles, as polite as ever.

"Well, if we ever need another sitter we'll call you." He says, walking over to the door. He grabs your coat from the coat rack and holds it out. Quickly, you walk over to him and take it. He opens the door while you put it on. "Do get home safe," he murmurs. "Does your bike have a light? Do you need an umbrella?" He frowns at you, apparently worried.

"No, no. I'll be fine." You give him an anxious smile while you pull your hood up and step outside. You grab your bike, flicking on the light on the front of it. Mr Schlankwald smiles at you, pleased to see that you won't be in the dark going home. You walk off towards the forest path you followed earlier and wave over at him.

"Get home safe!" He calls as he waves back.

"I will!" You turn away from him and smile wide.

That's the best babysitting gig you've ever had.

You really, really hope they call you back for another night...

#ask #request #frozensriracha #writing request #creepypasta #creepypasta oc #slendra jackson #slenderman #laughing jack #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #writing #slenjack #y/n

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mehenxe · 3 years

Note

❛ There’s nothing wrong with a bit of tease before. ❜ / ❛ Maybe I’d rather take my time. ❜ / ❛ Come here, give me a kiss. ❜ / ❛ Is there anything you can’t do with that tongue? ❜ / ❛ Maybe we just take our sweet little time, make it last. ❜ / ❛ You really do know how to keep it interesting. ❜ / ❛ I could show you instead. ❜ / ❛ Are you going to just keep staring or are you going to come touch? ❜ / \ 0 /

❛ There’s nothing wrong with a bit of tease before. ❜ // the spider maiden ◌ his red shield.

“mm — no — of course not —” his words fade into a trembling moan, high-pitched in the back of his throat. his head, shoulders roll against the side of the tub, water sloshing over the sides. it is almost painful, this want, this dark craving for him. both of them bare, his legs wrapped just so around that waist, but it is those hands that rest between them, fingers wrapped around him, working him slow, methodical, agonising. his hips rut forward into that attentive grip, his lashes fluttering, his teeth gnawing his lower lip raw. “gods — ” his name, a wild gasp, that white-hot yearning for him flashing in the back of his head; that free hand gripping his chin to slide his thumb against his lip, into his mouth, pressing down against his tongue. “oh, don’t stop. your hands —” sweat, heat, sliding down his neck, flesh flushed from it. “don’t stop.”

❛ Maybe I’d rather take my time. ❜ // the bog-shaper ◌ her corvid hunter.

the words lock her own in her stomach, and they churn, uninterrupted, shivering. her breath is shaky, her hands fastened in the collar of his shirt, twisting there. her hair is long, dark, a mess of curls, and the cathedral veil that covers them, tossed onto the floor. he touches one. a single ringlet, and he pulls it from the waterfall of hair against her shoulder, disentangling it from all of the rest. he feels very warm. he has not shed his clothes, and she, vulnerable and healing in the herbal bath, but she invited him in, she wishes for him to be there. and for so long, she wished he might touch her, he might see her. he rubs the curl between his fingers. his arm rests on the tub’s edge, opposite of hers, their heads resting on their arms, mirrors of each other. “yes,” she whispers. bare, aching. “maybe you should. maybe it would please me greatly if you did.”

❛ Come here, give me a kiss. ❜ // the man of shadow ◌ his possessed soldier.

he glances up from the swath of old news on the crinkled papers, the blackened headlines now rotted-grey from age. it is all a farce, all keeping up appearances — and he is needed. he rises from the table, metal and solid and stark between them, and goes to him. his face lifts up in the anticipation, and he grips his chin, he leans in for that kiss, he presses his lips full against those which turn malleable beneath his. a soft noise from his lover’s throat, the soldier fading for that of a man encased in furious love, and the shadow leans back, that smirk on his face. he hovers over him, smoothing the twitch out of his jaw, humming thoughtfully. “you’re in a rather strange mood this morning,” he muses. “do you need to talk about it? or — not talk? and instead, ask me to undress you, command me to fuck you on this table? i’m listening intently either way.”

❛ Is there anything you can’t do with that tongue? ❜ // the grey seer ◌ her dark demon.

there is no answer, not with words. her smoke-laden mouth traipses lazily down the middle of the seer’s chest, black-varnished nails like stains against the pale, freckled skin she caresses so carefully, so tenderly. she drags her palms, those nails scraping, to her lover’s navel and the curve of her hips, one hand to cup her breast, kneading the flesh, fingers shaping over its softness, feather-light against her nipple, until her lover gasps, until her spine arches. then those hands, razor-quick, sharp, to the small of her back as it arches off the bed, her tongue trailing hot, open-mouthed, lust-filled kisses to the thin skin at her hips, & lower. those legs parting for her, her hands digging into the supple flesh of her back, of her rear, then to her thighs, her mouth going lower — lower — & she curses when that tongue finds her and flicks slow, long.

❛ Maybe we just take our sweet little time, make it last. ❜ // the fighter ◌ his rabid dog.

he laughs at that. his lover always has a way of being able to make him want to be louder. already, he perches on top of him, and the fighter gazes up at him, tongue moistening his lower lip, hands steady as they come to touch those hips, then grip them, firmer, harder. take our sweet little time means: it is quick, feverish how his lover presses down on top of him, how he rocks those hips, grinding in small circles. it means that moan slips out, loud and unashamed, and the fighter bruises him with how hard he holds those hips, tipping his head back to thrust inside of him, & it is he who slows it down, makes it last: slows his hips until his lover’s slow, until their moans are dark & in each other’s mouths, fingers mussing each other’s hair, lines left behind as he takes him, & is taken deeper. “like that?” a growl. “god — fuck me like that —”

❛ You really do know how to keep it interesting. ❜ // the bug collector ◌ his preacher man.

“is that your way of saying that you still don’t think i’m boring?” body wrapped in the sheets, he lies on his stomach beside him, & his lover on his back, and he bites his lip, and he can’t help it, he feels like laughing, he feels as though at last, he could be happy. “you’re just being nice.” for it can’t be more than that; it can’t taste like love. i’ll show you somethin’ real nice, and then, he is pinned beneath that weight, that comfortable weight, & those hands find his legs & he opens them, is spread out underneath him so willingly. it can’t taste like love, but it does. & his lover has told him there’s been no one to make him laugh like this before, & he believes it. so much so that he kisses that honeyed mouth, moans his name against it as he moves inside of him, rough in how he is bitten, marked red on the neck. “mm — yeah, like that — harder —”

❛ I could show you instead. ❜ // the feral wolf ◌ his moonlit god.

“mm. yeah, you sure fuckin’ could.” the cigarette lights in the room, his belt half-unbuckled, his eyes at half-mast as he watches him, watches how he takes himself into his hands, makes his own spine curl, makes his hips jerk. & in his mind, in the bond between them, he has his lover in his hands instead, taking him from behind as his lover stands on his toes, pushes those hips as high as they can go in order to take him deeper, a hand on that neck to keep him bent over, nail marks slick down that back, red lines of their hard, fevered love-making. as the images play out in his head, shared between them, the cigarette smoke obscures his gaze. red, like love, like sex filthy and gritty between mates. “mmhmm. i see it. that what you want from me? that’s how y’all wanna be wrapped around me? c’mon then.” he grabs those hands. “c’mere.”

❛ Are you going to just keep staring or are you going to come touch? ❜ // the lost king ◌ his dark knight.

his throat goes dry at the sight of him, glowing in the firelight, naked, bronze against the swath of mahogany bear furs beneath his body. his skin covered in ink, tattoos tattling of the life that he has lived, of the soul still lurking within. he himself, the king, in his bare feet, still clothed, just stops to gaze at him, to watch as the flames consume him, & he, star-hot in his desire for him. it leaves him breathless, how those legs shift, how those arms slide, those fingers gripping the fur & beckoning him in. he is slow, descending to his knees beside him. & one of those hands lets go of the fur, & those fingers shake as they fumble with the tie of his linen shirt. he grasps those fingers, he brings them to his mouth. he kisses each knuckle. slow. arduous. “you are enjoying it more with me staring at you. so i will do both. i will look nowhere else, as i touch you.”

#mr: mine #moonbeam tag #v: we are engraved in our hearts

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doctoraliceharvey · 4 years

Note

could you write a malice fic where matthew buys alice lingerie

this got long, but I don’t think you’ll complain. thank you so much for the prompt! - Dee

AO3 | FF.NET

---

Matthew scratched the back of his neck as he looked around the department store; he was totally out of his depth, but he wanted to do this for her. She deserved nice things, and Matthew wanted to be the one to give them to her.

---

“What are you doing?” Alice’s voice startled him and he dropped the bit of clothing he’d been examining while he thought she was busy in the bathroom.

“Um… well, you see…”

She smiled and picked up her bra - a plain nude colored article, with no extra adornments or luxurious fabric.

“If you wanted to see it, Matthew, you could just ask.”

“Sorry, Alice, I will next time.”

“Why were you looking at it?” she asked as she laid back down on the bed - drawing the discarded sheet over her bare body; Matthew joined her, propping up his weight on his elbow.

“Just curious, I haven’t had the chance to examine them up close in quite awhile,” he grinned at her giggles. “This might be a stupid question, but… why so many layers?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you have the… bra, the pants, the… stretchy thin-”

“Girdle?”

“Yes, the girdle, then stockings, and the slip, and that’s all before the actual clothes. Why so many?”

“Fashion, I suppose, the clothes wouldn’t fit as well without them.”

“Are they expensive?”

Alice shrugged, “Not as much as it had been during the war, but it can still be a chunk of change for women to spend on.”

“So… do you have more than one of each?”

“I have a couple of each, but I keep mine plain.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier… but, I have always liked the look of other colors and fabrics.”

Matthew smiled and settled down in the bed with her, “If you could have any kind of underthings-”

“You can say the word, Matthew,” she teased - kissing his finger when he pressed it against her lips.

“Alright, alright, if you could have any kind of lingerie, what would you pick?”

“Hm…” she shifted on the bed and pondered his question. “Does it have to be realistic?”

“Whatever your heart desires,” he kissed her temple and trailed his kisses down her cheek to her jaw.

“I’ve always loved… the idea of something black,” Alice hummed into his kisses as they continued down her neck.

“Do tell.”

“Something black… lace and satin… with little bow and ruffled details… something so unlike what I wear everyday.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm,” she smiled as he kissed her softly, “with matching black stockings edged in lace. Impractical, definitely, but I’d feel so… luxurious, I think.”

“Christ, I’d love to see you in that, sweetheart.”

“Maybe you will, Superintendent,” Alice teased as she rolled him beneath her on the bed - her thighs straddling his waist.

“One more question, before this gets interesting.”

“Only if you promise it’s one more.”

“I promise,” Matthew chuckled and picked up the bra that Alice had left behind, “how does the sizing work?”

He laughed when she plucked the bra from his hands and tossed it over her shoulder.

“You didn’t answer it.”

“Question tabled for now, there are far more interesting things we can do with our time right now,” Alice leaned down and kissed him - all thoughts of lingerie sizing left him as she trailed her kisses and hands down his chest to under the sheet.

---

He did eventually get out of Alice how sizing worked, and hoped she was none the wiser towards his plan; Matthew had been called down to Melbourne, the reason for his presence in the city had been delayed another day by the time he’d arrived, and so Matthew put his plan into motion. But once he’d arrived in the department store and wandered around until he found the correct section, his confidence failed him.

“Can I help you, sir?” a young attendant approached him, and Matthew hoped his ears weren’t as pink as they felt.

“Ah… well, I was hoping…”

“Getting something special for a special someone?” she smiled.

“Yes.”

“Come with me, I’ll help you. Do you have an idea on where to start?”

“Black… and lace or satin or both, that’s what she’d love.”

“I know just the thing, follow me.”

He left - a significant amount of time later - with a preciously wrapped gift within a box in a plain, white bag, and a slight spring in his step; he couldn’t wait to get home.

---

“Here, I got this for you, sweetheart,” Matthew pressed a kiss to her cheek as they sat on Alice’s couch in her little rented bungalow; he handed her the flat, wide box and smiled when her gaze darted between the box and him.

“You got me a gift?”

“Of course.”

“But… it’s not my birthday, or Christmas.”

“I can’t spoil you outside of the holidays?”

A small smile crept into the corner of her mouth and Alice leaned over to kiss him softly, “I suppose you can… I’m not used to them.”

“I aim to change that with this first gift.”

Her smile grew, “Is that your way of telling me to open it?”

“I know better than to tell Dr. Harvey to do anything,” he grinned as she kissed him.

Alice slowly lifted up the lid of the box and paused when she pushed aside the tissue paper.

“Matthew?” she looked up at him and then back down at the dark bundle in her lap. “What…?”

“Take a look, sweetheart.”

With slightly trembling hands, Alice lifted out the black lace-edged satin bra - trimmed with ribbons and little bows - and then a similarly decorated pair of knickers; a matching set of black stockings edged in lace at the top, and a short, black satin robe finished it all off.

“Are they like you wanted?” he asked her softly.

Alice surprised him by wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight embrace - clinging to him as she sniffled into the crook of his neck.

“Sweetheart?”

“They’re beautiful, Matthew,” she drew back with a brilliant, dazzling smile.

“Just like you,” he kissed her softly - smiling at the way she giggled as she looked at the lingerie again. “Happy with the gift?”

“Very,” she kissed his cheek, “and now, we get to see if you are too.”

“What?”

“Wait here while I change,” Alice pressed a kiss to his lips and got up from the couch with her gift in her arms - leaving behind a very pink-eared Matthew.

Some time later, Matthew looked up as he finished pouring them both a couple of fingers of whiskey - the bottle nearly falling out of his hands at the sight of Alice leaning against the doorframe; she’d reapplied her lipstick - her hair delightfully tousled from changing into the lingerie, her blue-grey eyes darkening the longer she stood there - and smiled when his jaw dropped. The lingerie fit like a glove; the black satin and lace contrasting lovely with her pale, freckled skin (turning more pink by the second as his gaze swept over her body), the hem of the short, loosely-tied robe ending just above mid-thigh - leaving her long legs on display in their new stockings. Alice shifted and he caught a flash of her upper thigh as she smiled.

“Well? How do you like your gift, Superintendent?”

“Bloody hell, Alice,” Matthew tried to stand, but his legs shook so much that he fell right back down - making Alice giggle as she practically skipped over to him. “You look beautiful. I mean, you always do, but… bloody hell.”

She giggled again and gently sat on his good knee with her arms around his neck and shoulders; his arms curled around her - one hand on her satin-clad hip, the other around her waist and the cool fabric quickly warmed beneath his palms as Alice leaned in and kissed him.

“Thank you, my dearest Matthew,” she murmured against his lips - grinning when Matthew surged forward to kiss her again, nipping at his lower lip to tease. “Thank you for this gift… I shall treasure it.”

“You deserve beautiful things, sweetheart… and I’m glad I can give them to you,” he kissed her again, trailing his lips and tongue down the long line of her throat as she leaned into them with a satisfied sigh. “And I’m very glad I get to see you in the beautiful things.”

Her laughter vibrated beneath his mouth, “I enjoy having someone to model them for… now, let’s go someplace more comfortable.”

As Alice pulled him up from the couch and they spent the rest of the evening in her bedroom, Matthew had to say that Alice truly did deserve beautiful things; she looked gorgeous in them, and he looked forward to seeing more… but he did also enjoy getting her out of them too.

#alice harvey #matthew lawson #matthew x alice #tdbm fic #writing of dee #this was fun!#matthew.alice #Anonymous

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writing-radionoises · 5 years

Text

a man of eternity

ship: kamukoma for: me and all those other sexy goth bitches who love vampires genre: alternate universe - vampire! izuru and human! nagito prompt: komaeda is cold and homeless and izuru is a sexy and forgiving vampire notes: tw for blood drinking and background junkan, mostly just domestic fluff though

There's always been rumors about the mansion in the edge of town. Rumors that a vampire lives there, or maybe even multiple ones. Though Komaeda thought it was nonsense, probably just an abandoned old house that people thought was creepy. Besides, he doesn't really have anything to lose. Walking through the hard and cold rain in soaking, thin clothes with only a pocket full of change to his name, what's the worst that can happen? Actually, ignore that thought. A lot could happen, but it would be better than dying of hypothermia. Nagito climbed up the steps to the house, pulling the hood on his cape tightly with his hand that wasn't holding the lantern. He then knocked on the door to the mansion, as to make sure no one was home. There was no response, so Nagito tried the door handle. The door was unlocked, and it opened easily as Nagito cautiously entered the dark house. He closed the door behind him, carefully analyzing the house. It was dark and dusty, the furniture covered in clothes as if it hadn't been tended to in years. Nagito set the latern down on the table, pulling down the hood on his cape as he approached the fireplace. It was stocked with wood, a box beside it filled with paper and other burnable items. He quickly got to work with setting up the fire, then using the fire within his latern to bring it to life. The house lit up as Nagito then went to light candles around the room. He could now see the house in more detail. The walls were a light shade of gray, and the living room had many cases of books, much taller than Nagito and filled to the brim. A painting stood above the fireplace, a young strawberry blonde woman standing beside a darker, long haired man. There were wearing much older clothes than common fashion, this house had to be old. Behind Komaeda was a door into the kitchen, and stairs beside that. He dared not intrude, there was no need to. He was quite content where he was. In front of a warm fire in a pretty house... He wiped off the dust of the gold plack underneath the painting, reading the words carefully. "Junko Enoshima and Izuru Kamukura, 1314..." Komaeda hummed to himself, "They weren't even married, maybe siblings. Strange." Nagito sat down in front of the fire place once again, beginning to drift off. Life had not been kind to him in the past, but he had a feeling he was about to get very lucky. He laid down, using his cape as a blanket and arm as a pillow as he drifted to sleep.

He awoke in a warm and comfortable bed, not to sunlight drifting through the windows, but rather candlelight. Nagito blinked a couple times, his vision slowly returning as he caught sight of blazing red eyes, watching him carefully. "Good morning," says the owner of these eyes, "Are you doing well?" Nagito's eyes finally focus as he scans this man carefully. He had long, very long, dark brown hair, and beautiful tan skin. Freckles litter his face and hands, and his eyes are wide and staring, like a doll. He looks a lot like a doll, actually. He is wearing a ruffled white button up and simple black slacks, the clothes look modern enough for Nagito's time, though. "A, ah, good morning..." Nagito said, sheepishly as he say up, awkwardly rubbing his head, "I apologize for breaking in, I thought this place was abandoned a, and-" "No need to apologize. I know you had no ill intent," replied the man, "May I ask what your name is?" "Oh! I'm Nagito Komaeda, my house burnt down last week and I haven't had anywhere to go since then..." He answered. "I am Izuru Kamukura, I've lived alone here for many years," replied the other. Nagito's brows furrowed, glancing Izuru up and down. "Izuru? Like the one in the painting downstairs? That... Doesn't make much sense... How old are you?" The other chuckled softly, hiding his smile behind his hand, "My, my, you catch on quick. Yes, I am the same one in the painting downstairs, can you guess how old I am?" Komaeda glanced to the side, beginning to count in hundreds on his fingers before looking back to Izuru with wide eyes, "600 years? That can't be right." "Close, I am 559," answered the dark haired male, "You can figure out why if you think about what others have said about this place." "... You're a vampire? Like, an immortal one?" Kamukura nodded, "Yes, I am the last one of my coven. The rest have passed away due to hunting. I'm rather young for a vampire, however." Komaeda tilted his head to the side in astonishment, "Do you have fangs?" "Mhmm," he answered, his hand, polished with black on the nails, reaches up to pull back his top lip and show the other. His fangs were not particularly large, though he were rather sharp. Komaeda now realized that the tooth that poked out under Izuru's lip was he smiled was indeed a fang. "They poke out when you smile, huh?" Komaeda asked, and Izuru nodded. "Yes, it's a deformity. I'm far from the perfect example of a vampire, I've had trouble ingesting human blood since I was young, and I cannot hunt for myself, both are due to my coven's passing... May I touch you?" Though caught off by the request, the white haired boy nodded, and Izuru reached out to touch his hair. Manicured nails carded through Komaeda's fluffy and curly hair, his free hand settling on where Nagito shoulders met his neck. "How... How long have you been alone?" Nagito asked, leaning into the other's touch. "Junko Enoshima passed roughly 300 years ago, she was the last one of my coven," Izuru replied, "She had raised me with her wife, Mikan. She was devastated when Mikan was caught and killed. Mikan was the first, followed by Junko's sister, then my twin brother, and soon all of my cousins had passed. This house was a last attempt to shelter us, it was me and Junko, before they caught up to her too," Izuru explained, "I have been alone since, and have never left this house." "How many of you were there?" "Seventeen, they called us the Despair Coven." Nagito fell silent, glancing to the side, "... I'm so sorry." "No, it's okay, you're here now, and than makes things a whole lot better," he said with a smile, pulling his hands away from Nagito as the white haired boy immediately missed the weight of them. "Is there... Anything I can do to make up for breaking into your house and making you tell a son story?" Nagito said with a laugh, "I'm not good at much, but I can clean!" Izuru snickered, "Tell you what, if you can keep this place clean, you can live here as long as you'd like." Komaeda's eyes widened, "Really? Well then, it's a deal!"

Over the next year, Komaeda would've explored the whole house, the guest bedroom he once awoke in would be claimed as his as he dusted down every part of the house and removed all the sheets from the furniture. The only rooms he had never seen were Izuru's and Junko's. He knew where Izuru's was, but chose not to disturb him. As for Junko's, it was locked, the key was most likely kept somewhere clever, knowing Izuru, though also knowing how highly he spoke of Junko. She was clever, the ultimate analyst. It's how she survived so long in the first place, outsmarting hunters to keep herself and her son safe. The key was the least of Komaeda's problems, though. The real problem was that Izuru had started throwing up goat's blood nightly, the blood he had lived off of for 600 years. Komaeda held his hair back while he did it, listened to him vent his frustrations and eventually end up crying on Komaeda's shoulder, whispering something about missing Mikan or Junko, how they would know what to do. Izuru stopped eating all together, which was only causing more trouble than solving it. It was late at night when Izuru knocked on his door, and Komaeda said to come in. Izuru say down beside him on the bed, pulling the white haired boy into a hug. Komaeda didn't mind, Izuru did this when he got lonely, which wasn't very often, but still. "You're not looking too well, Izuru," Nagito said, leaning his head on the smaller one's shoulder. "I know," he answered, "I don't know what to do about it. I am hungry, but I cannot eat. It will not stay down." Komaeda fell silent as Izuru carefully pet his hair, his paling hands carefully and shakily combing through the other's hair. "Izuru, when was the last time you fed off of a human?" Nagito asked. Izuru stopped, brows furrowing as he tried to recount, "When I was 200 years old. I couldn't keep that down either, and that's when it was decided I was a defective vampire." "Have you thought about trying again?" Izuru nodded a no, "Are you suggesting I try on you?" Komaeda snickered a bit, nodding, "Yes, I don't like seeing you suffer, so I'll gladly offer myself up." Kamukura smiled, pulling Komaeda closer to his chest, "You are too kind, but I don't want to hurt you." "I have a high pain tolerance," Nagito countered, "You are very gentle anyway, I don't think you would." Kamukura fell silent, quietly rocking Komaeda in his arms. He was thinking. Nagito reached up seized one of Izuru's cold and shaking hands, holding it carefully against his chest. "I... I will try it, okay?" Izuru finally says, there is anxiety in his voice as he glances down at Nagito, "If I hurt you, though, you get to punch me." Nagito laughs, "I won't be doing that." Gently, Izuru sets Komaeda down on the bed beside him as Komaeda releases Izuru's hand, the sitting up. Izuru moved himself into Nagito's lap, cold hands drifting down Komaeda's neck as to find an appropriate spot. Komaeda shivers under the touch as Izuru's fingers stops at a certain spot. He backs away for a moment, wiping off his fangs with his button up sleeve before his worry sicken eyes meet Nagito's. "Are you sure you wanna go through? I can stop." "Don't be a baby, you're 600 years old, I said it's okay. I'm not scared." Izuru continues to look for a reason to stop, but eventually gives in. He takes a breath, then leaning in once more. It doesn't hurt when his teeth sink into Nagito's neck, as expected. They are sharp and full of precision, Izuru is careful as always. Had it not been for Izuru's breath and the fluttering of his lashes against his neck, Komaeda probably wouldn't of even noticed. A smile comes to Komaeda's face as his arm haphazardly wrapped around Izuru's waist. "You're good, you can keep going," Nagito says reassuringly. They remain silent for a few minutes before Izuru pulls away, there is blood dripping from his mouth as Nagito cleans it up with his thumb. The dizziness catches up with Komaeda, but he can work through it as he notices some of the color come back to Izuru's face. His doll like eyes are no longer dull and hollow, the life has returned to them. "You're staring," Izuru interrupts his train of thought. "You're pretty," Nagito replied with a smile. The dark haired one blushes, sitting back and pushing his long hair behind his ear. "I'm going to do something a little crazy, is that okay?" "Be my guest, is there really anything crazier than drinking my blood?" Izuru nodded a no with a smile, leaning in and pressing his lips against Nagito's, to which Nagito reciprocated instantly. It's kinda weird to taste your own blood on someone else's tongue.

#danganronpa #danganronpa nagito #danganronpa fanfiction #Nagito Komaeda #komaeda nagito #izuru kamukura #kamukura izuru #izuru x nagito #komaeda x izuru #komaeda x kamukura #kamukoma #fanfiction #writing #writer #writers #writblr

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