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lovra974 · 22 hours

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★ (i think) heavily ooc xavier + play fighting + manhandling?? + stuff escalating quickly + dom!xavier idk im not sure + fear play ig + spitting and pussy slapping + no protection + he calls the reader mean names...so degrading...but not so mean names so no degrading + uhh uhhh brat taming + this is a mess.

★ let a girl dream please. please. hear me out and let me dream. i have work tomorrow and i desperately need the mental companionship that this thought gives me. i have no idea about what this is but it is something believe me. didn't read it twice!!! if the mistakes are annoyingly a lot pls let me know thank you <3

"Please."

The word leaves your mouth for the hundredth time today, your persistence making Xavier numb and immune as he mindlessly scrolls on his phone. You're right next to him on his big, comfy sofa—almost on top of him as you scoot closer and keep insisting.

He doesn't answer you, and you feel yourself growing impatient by each passing second. What's his deal, really? You're not asking for something extreme, just for a little bit of combat training with him, that's all. Hand-to-hand, fair and square, all he has to do is say yes and that's it, you've promised to leave him alone only if he takes you up on that offer. However, he's as still and unmoving as a rock as he sits there. His legs are spread open as you're on your knees right next to him, your gaze slightly shifting to the screen of his phone and you catch him mindlessly scrolling through his feed. "Xavier!"

"I'm too sleepy for this," his response is dismissive, clearly indicating that he doesn't want to do it. Your hands sneakily get their way up to his chest starting from his torso, your eyes shining with a mischievous glint as you look at his face to see any hint of discomfort.

There's none.

"You can sleep after we're done," you excitedly say, your answer immediately coming after his rejection, you do not yield. "Please, don't be a dick about this."

"Don't call me that."

"What?" You softly chuckle as your hands explore his chest hiding beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt, but you can still feel how warm he is. "It'll be fun, make it a bit hard for me."

Xavier lets out a deep breath, slightly annoyed with himself rather than you—he can't say no to you, definitely not when you're this insistent.

"Not in the mood for a proper fight," he says, his eyes finding yours and you can clearly see that he's admitted his defeat. You feel warm inside because of the way that he sees no point in hiding what he's truly feeling. He's always open with you about his feelings towards you, and you're more than happy to accept them. "But yeah, okay, fine."

You immediately spring to your feet when he finally says yes, your eyes shining brightly as if you've managed to fit a whole night sky adorned with stars in them. He slowly gets up from the couch as well, stretching slowly as he yawns—you cannot help but laugh, because you just know that he's going to kick your ass while still being gentle with you. Still, you have a lot to learn from him, and a defeat will teach you more than a victory.

"No cheating," he says as he takes a step, moving to the empty area in the center of his living room. "I'm not a cheater!" You say with an offended tone, all fake, as you follow his steps. You stretch as well, your body feels tense since you've been on that couch pressed against him for the last hour, just to make him say yes.

"Dare I say, ladies first..."

"C'mon, Xavier, just come at me."

You'll always feel thrilled by a challenge, and it's pretty obvious from the subtle shift in your stance and demeanour—your eyes are carefully fixed on Xavier when he moves as fast as light, managing to capture you between his strong arms before making you fall down to the ground. He still has his arms around you, falling with you to soften the way your body meets with the ground—and you can't decide if this should give you so-called butterflies or irritate you. It's the thought that counts, you think.

"You could've given me some time to prepare myself!" You protest as your body is caged between his arms, the warmth radiating from his body feels like you're being glued to him. Your back pressed against his chest, you try to break yourself free from his embrace.

"Are you even taking this seriously?" His voice makes you jolt with surprise, low and indifferent, his lips touch the shell of your ear as he speaks. His breath hits your skin, your nape, sending shivers down to your spine. The room gets hotter all of a sudden, making you swallow a lump in your throat as you struggle in his strong hold.

"Of course, I am." You immediately talk back, kicking your legs and turning your body around to save yourself from Xavier. You haven't planned it like this, no, he could've given you the opportunity to show off some of your skills. The more you writhe and struggle, the hotter the room feels—you can feel his body, even though he's covered by the fabric of his clothes, and he can feel your curves. It's been far too long since he's been able to do this, and now that he's doing this with you, Xavier feels puzzled by the intensity of the emotions whirling inside his body. The adrenaline is buzzing around as his heartbeat races and heat rises from his chest. He slightly loosens his grip without making it pretty obvious, just the slightest bit of a move of his arms—and if you try a bit harder this time, you can free yourself. Because he wants you to. He needs you to.

"You think you're all that, right?" With all you've got, you give a push to your body—turning and rolling around. Being able to escape his arms makes you sigh in relief, your eyes focusing on him again as Xavier keeps laying on the ground. "Don't fall asleep on me now, c'mon!"

Both of you get back on your feet at the same time, putting a little distance between each other, and you react quicker this time—lifting your leg up as much as possible to land a kick to the side of his shoulder. Without giving it a break, you do the same to his other shoulder—and that is a dumb idea, really. Because his hand reaches further places than you can reach, and his reflexes have always been good. It doesn't come off as a surprise when you think thoroughly of it, you shouldn't be mad at him because he successfully managed to grab your ankle and made your body fall into the sofa this time. You should be mad at yourself. "This is what you've been begging for?" Xavier asks with the slightest bit of a mocking tone in his voice, you feel annoyed but also lightheaded all of a sudden.

"Shut up." You know that in the case of a real fight, your performance would be a lot better than this—whatever the hell this is, but when you're doing this with Xavier a part of you enjoys being handled like this.

"Don't talk to me like that, miss. I might have to teach you the required courtesy that you should be equipped with."

With your rosy cheeks and your heaving chest, you look up at him. Xavier stands next to the couch, hovering over you like a gloomy and tall building as you lay on your back on the couch. Fuck it, really. He's a distraction with his sleepy eyes and his expressionless face, you can see the slightest shade of pink on his cheeks but that's all gives it away—that he enjoys this little game, too. Just like you.

"If you can get me, that is. I'm not gonna cry and whine and tap out."

With a sudden move, you hit the back of his knee with your foot, and make him land on top of your body. He softens the impact by resting his elbows on both sides of your head, but it's not enough to hold himself off of you. Chest to chest, and face to face, you lay there and carefully study his features. Suddenly your mind goes numb—have you ever seen him this close? His eyes draw you in, his hot breath fawning over your face as he does the same as you. There are countless voices in your mind screaming at you; telling you to continue, telling you to kiss him, telling you to keep fighting. You don't feel threatened or in danger, but there's a certain tension between you and Xavier that feels cracking as he keeps the position.

"Then I'd like you to see you do just that," his voice is low and taunting—he's trying to provoke you on purpose, knowing that you'll get mad in the end. "Go ahead, I'll give you a headstart. If I get my hands on you, I'll fuck that attitude out of you."

He doesn't move after his words hang heavy in the crackling air between you two, but you do.

With your elbow, you hit his arm this time—making him fall on top of you completely, and the adrenaline rush holds you back from thinking clearly about this, but he is letting you have your way with him. When Xavier's body falls on top of yours you push him down to the ground, and start to run.

His apartment isn't the biggest, and you know that he'll find you in the blink of an eye but chasing this feeling gets you even more excited. Without looking back, you enter his bedroom—immediately hiding in the corner between his closet and the window of his room. Maybe the inside of the closet was a better idea, but you're lightheaded and all you can hear is the thudding of your heart.

What's happening? What the actual fuck is happening?

You just wanted to spar with him as a silly little training, why are you feeling extremely hot and bothered by this? His low voice rings in your ears, sudden change in his attitude as his body was on top of your and his eyes stared into the depths of your soul. Whenever you make eye contact with Xavier, you feel like he sees every bit of you—the prettiest ones, brightest ones, the most deranged ones, and unhinged ones... you're an open book for him, a book that he enjoys running his fingers along the spine, between the pages.

You don't hear him moving, but you've never heard him moving before so this doesn't help you relax—you just feel even more excited because of it. His footsteps nor his breath, nothing. It's eerily silent in his apartment as you take deep breaths, closing your eyes to help with the tension. Just as you peek your head out to see if he's in the room, his shadow falls over you—a surprised yelp fills Xavier's bedroom, and without wasting a second ge throws your body over his shoulder.

"Told you, didn't I?"

Your body meets with his bed, soft sheets welcoming you with a nice chilly feeling against your burning skin as Xavier pins your legs down on the bed by holding your inner thighs. Your body trembles because this has been exciting and interesting—you are so wet that you'd be embarrassed to admit it out loud.

"Xavier, I—," you mindlessly start, having no idea about what you can say as you watch him unzip his trousers. The clinking of the metal of his belt sends the sweetest feeling down to your core, your fingers aching to rub your clit as you watch Xavier hurriedly pushing his trousers down. His cock is straining his boxers as he hooks a finger and pulls down your sweatpants along with your panties—the chilly air of the room hitting your body makes you tremble slightly.

"This is what you've wanted all along, isn't it?" His eyes are focused on your pussy, glistening folds as your soaked panties are pulled down to your knees before he takes one of your legs out of it—he is more impatient than you at this point, probably more turned on, too. "No, I—no," you immediately answer, your voice coming out weak but you're telling the truth. If anything, he's the one who turned everything around with that demanding tone and cocky attitude.

Xavier doesn't give you the chance to explain yourself as he lands a slap on your sensitive pussy, ripping out and earning a delicious moan from you as your body jolts and tries to escape from him. But who are you lying to? You do like where you are.

"Fucking liar," he murmurs under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitch with a sly smirk as he lands another slap. A gush of wetness drips down to your legs, and to his bed, making you get even more turned on and flustered as you lie there and take it. "You were all over me, begging me to fight you, just so you can get your pussy filled at the end."

You anticipate another slap, but instead Xavier leans down and licks a hot stripe over your wet folds—causing you to lock his head between your trembling thighs. He doesn't, though. He pins your legs down onto the bed again, but before he pulls back you hear him spitting—as if you're not wet enough to take his cock with ease. When he pulls back, you feel the tip of his cock pressing against your pussy before he easily slips inside. Xavier doesn't bottom out immediately, he's slow and annoying about this—and you find yourself pushing yourself down on his cock desperately.

"No, not so fast, doll," he murmurs, his two fingers easily prying open your mouth before he pushes them inside. Without wasting time, you suck his fingers—and he finally bottoms out. A muffled moan fills Xavier's ears, one that's coming from you, even though you're practically dripping wet, he's still big, and the first stretch always does more than enough to get you high on the feeling. "That's it, that's it—you'll take it nice and slow first, because I'm just getting started with you. Because we have the night to ourselves, and I know that you'll take ne like the good girl you are until I fuck that sassy attitude out of you."

And you know that he's dead serious. You know that he'll use your body and fuck you until his cum drips from your pussy, until you're fully pumped, until you're able to know that no matter what, Xavier will have you.

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lovra974 · 2 days

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୨ৎ starving | xavier — shen xinghui

shen xinghui / xavier x fem!reader … quick smut !

18+ … mdni

Xavier just can’t keep his lips hands off you.

— all characters are of legal age and are mutually consenting.

→ content includes… explicit nsfw, porn/no plot, semi-public (bathroom), oral (fem receiving), use of ‘pussy’ and ‘cunt’, non-canon compliant, not proofread

→ song suggestion… “les” by childish gambino

̣̣̣︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶˚̣̣̣

“X-Xavi!” your fingers grasp tightly at ash-blond strands of hair, desperate for some form of comfort as the man himself tortures the sweet heat between your thighs.

Who knew that red velvet fabric would make a guy lose his mind.

Xavier’s tongue lapped up the slick that oozed from your cunt like a man starved, crouched down uncomfortably in front of you as you sit prettily on the bathroom sink of this random bar your coworkers dragged the both of you to—something about wanting to celebrate a recent big project and getting drunk? Honestly, you couldn’t care less at this point. The only thing on your mind was the man wedged between your legs, squeezing your thighs tight in his rough, slender hands.

“Mmnf,” Xavier grunts when he feels your thighs squeeze around his head, brows furrowed with slight disturbance. “Quit squirminnf-“

“Xavi, I’m gunna—!” you squeal, swallowing hard in attempt to keep yourself from being heard by any other bar-goers. You can feel your partner smirk against your slit as your thighs clench around his head, in which he makes no effort to make you squeeze less hard. Xavier’s tongue is relentless, tracing tight circles on your clit as he practically devours you whole.

It wasn’t uncommon for Xavier to act like this—being between your legs, that is. When he isn’t hungry for a medium rare steak, he’s always tugging at your bottoms and dragging you to bed, practically burying his nose into your cunt the second your head hits the pillows. The ash-blond relishes in every little whimper and whine that leaves your mouth, eating you up like a man starved for what feels like hours.

Tonight was no different, it seems.

“Cum for me,” Xavier gasps out when he just barely pulls away from your pussy, slick clinging to his lips. “Please- m’so hungry,” he practically whines.

“Don’t s-stop then,” you pant, shoving his face back against your folds. It’s almost as if he melts in your touch with the way he relaxes against your cunt. You had the lingering idea that maybe he didn’t see it as any different from your lips—he kisses you down there like he’s leading your daily makeout sessions on the couch of his apartment, sloppy yet calculated.

The hunter’s thumb finds your clit when his tongue slips into your opening, rubbing imaginary hearts onto the bundle of nerves.

“Sh- fuck—!” you hiss, keeping his head flush to your pelvis. Xavier doesn’t protest, letting you roll your hips against him without complaint. “M’gunna cum, baby…”

Xavier moans against your pussy, excitement bubbling in his stomach as he feels you clench around his tongue. Eventually, your eyes roll and your head tilts back, knocking gently against the mirror as you let yourself go. Your lover groans delightfully at the taste of your juices, lapping it up and not wasting a single drop.

“Tastes so good…” he grunts, barely audible as he tongues at your slit. You try to look at him as he goes back to tongue-fucking you, but find yourself teary eyed as the stimulation begins to push you over the edge again.

“Mnngh- baby, m’gunna cum again, quit it!” You whine, trying to push him away from your sopping cunt. Xavier doesn’t obey, eager to make you cum again. The taste of your love mixes in with the alcohol he had tonight, and he swears up and down that he’s only drunk because of you, and he never gets drunk.

“Just one more…!” Xavier says against your pussy, muffled and desperate, almost like a kicked puppy.

Who are you to deny him?

You cum within seconds, and he eats it up like it’s his last meal. Eventually, when he thinks he’s had his fill which is impossible for someone with his appetite, he pulls away and stands straight, his hands gently squeezing your hips as he gives you a pleading look.

“Can we go home?”

You stare at him, chest heaving up and down as you try to come down from your high.

“Help me put my clothes back on first,” you say as you roll your eyes. Xavier gives you a dumb, minuscule smile.

“Yes, ma’am.”

——

dearest,

erm this is just a cope post bc uni is actually killing me i miss being chronically online guys :/

⁺♪ sincerely, valentine ♰

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lovra974 · 2 days

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Naked

ღ Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x reader

ღ Summary: Izuku returns home to find you sleeping naked

ღ Words: 1k

ღ Notes: again i say i truly suck at naming things and writing summaries... but anywhooo thanks for reading. feel free to leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed it :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Its early in the morning when Izuku tip toes his way through your shared apartment, trying to be as quiet as possible to avoid waking you up. He’s still upset about the fact that a villain somehow managed to slip through his fingers.

He pushes the door to your bedroom open slowly, wincing when he hears the familiar creaking sound, eyes instantly flicking over towards your sleeping figure before widening almost comically.

You’re naked

Like completely naked. Usually you’ll sleep in one of his shirts and a pair of panties. But nope, your entire body is completely bare.

He stands near the door, shocked, for a few moments before a loud moan brings him back down to earth, he watches as you unconsciously grind your hips down on his pillow , trying to get a little friction to your aching clit.

He has to bite his lip to stop the groan that wants to escape, he feels himself hardening in his hero costume, not bothering to change back into his normal clothes before leaving the agency because he wanted to hurry up and get home to you.

He walks over to the bed, eyes darkening as they rack over every inch of your bare body, taking in the way your chest rises in fall with each breath you take. The way the cool air in the room has your cute little nipples hard as a rock or maybe it’s the dream your having, and the way your thighs and his pillow glisten with slick.

“fuck” he groans quietly. He quickly discards his hero costume, before joining you in your bed. “baby” he whispers placing a kiss to your lips as he tries to wake you up. You stir a little bit but remain sleep.

He takes one of your nipples between his fingers, pinching and tugging at it as his mouth engulfs the other one, tongue swirling around the nub before nibbling on it.

“Zu?” you question sleepily, letting out a soft moan as he hums against you. “oh fuck” you whimper when his free hand makes its way to your heat, fingers collecting the slick that’s already gathered, and you’re so happy you chose to sleep naked.

“we’re you having a good dream?” he questions “it was a nice surprise to come home and find you naked, thought I was going to come in my pants when I seen your grinding this slutty little pussy down on my pillow.” He teases causing you to whine out in embarrassment.

He kisses his way from your chest down to your heat, leaving a couple of wet, open mouth kisses down your body. He pushes his face deep into your pussy, inhaling your scent with a growl.

“fuck you smell so good”

He places a soft kiss on your clit before licking up your slit, groaning at the sweet taste of your slick on his tongue.

“fuck zu” you cry out as he pushes through your entrance, tongue working its way through your tight walls as he drinks up all of the slick that pours out of you.

You’re reduced to a whimpering mess when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking harshly on the nub.

“gonna cum zu” you manage to force out right before your orgasm washes over you, your body twitches and convulses as your high rips through your body.

Izuku’s mouth doesn’t stop even after you come down from your high, he licks up all of your slick, feeling it dripping from his mouth down to his chin and he’s so high off of the sounds you make for him that he doesn’t care about the way your pushing his head away from your cunt, crying out about how its too much.

Because he knows it’s not.

You can give him another one before he splits you open on his cock.

You will give him another one.

“jus one more baby” his voice is muffled by your pussy and the vibrations having you moaning loudly. “just one more and I’ll give you what you really want”

He knows he’s got you when your hands loosen the grip on his hair, arms falling next to you as he turns his attention back to your entrance, he watches it clench down on nothing before forcing two of his fingers inside, thrusting them quickly.

His cock is twitching against his thigh, ready to explode just from eating you out.

He wastes no time finding that spot that’ll have your mouth open in silent screams, rubbing at it as he forces another orgasm out of you.

He pulls his fingers out of your walls, bringing them up to his mouth and licking them clean, moaning as the taste of you coats his tongue yet again.

God he could probably live off of the taste of you alone.

He allows you a couple of minutes to regain your senses, waiting for your breathing to return to normal before he’s lining himself up with your entrance.

He pushes himself in slowly, inch by inch until the last inch is swallowed by your tight walls, before pulling back out.

He slams his hips back into yours, starting off with a brutal pace from the get-go. He watches as your tits bounce with each snap of his hips.

“o-oh fuckk” you whine out as he fucks into you so good that it has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, the overstimulation from your two previous orgasms leaving you’re a crying, whimpering mess.

He’s so big that you can feel the bulge in your stomach each time his hips meet yours. Your hands reach up and grab the back of his head, fingers lacing through his messy curls as you pull his face towards yours for a messy kiss.

The kiss is frantic and messy, he forces his tongue inside your mouth, allowing you to taste the remnants of yourself on his tongue.

You can tell he’s about to cum with the way his thrusts are growing sloppy, dick twitching inside of you, and the thought of him filling you up with his seed is enough to push you over the edge.

His thumb finds your clit as he rubs fast circles on the sensitive nub, spilling himself deep inside of you.

His lips are still on yours, his hips still slowly rocking as he the last spurts of cum paint your walls white.

“you should sleep naked more often”

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lovra974 · 2 days

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NAME : katsuki bakugou , boku no hero academia

SONG : apple cider , beabadoobee

SUMMARY : y/n gets hit with a quirk, making their mostly stoic facade disappear, turning into a more clingy, more flirty in a way? wc : 1.8k

(y/ns quirk is practically earth-bending. its not really important tho so like dont worry)

(set around the time where they have dorms and hero license)

y/n smiled in the chair as they sat, patiently waiting as they tapped their feet on the floor and recovery girl looked around their figure, looking for any injuries.

"so, i don't see any injuries. i only see the personality change."

"they are okay though, right?"

bakugou asked, arms crossed as he leaned on the wall near the door of the nurse's office as he looked down to the ground, his eyes gazing up to the smiling y/n.

"yeah they are. i believe it's made them the opposite personality they are, simple thing really- it'll last for about a week. for now, i think it's best you act like everything's normal. say yes to whatever they say. i also don't believe they'll remember anything the next week-"

"katsuki!"

"yeah i know, idiot!"

bakugou yelled out, using his quirk to jump up into the air to avoid the villains running to tackle him, using his explosions on the villain coming his way. y/n stomped the ground as the ground made a crumbled path towards a group of villains, sending them into the air and todoroki froze them in air using his ice.

there was a villain hiding in the alleyway near the fight, watching his group being beaten by just three measly high schoolers. yeah they might be in the hero course but they were still teenagers!

"i think.. we're done.."

y/n breathed out, their hands resting on their hips as the two other guys went to stand with y/n, walking towards them.

"god, i did most of the work."

bakugou said, panting slowly as todoroki breathed out ice. y/n glanced around the area, seeing civilians taking photos of them on the sidelines of the streets.

"katsuki, your turn to take photos with civilians."

"hah? no way."

"me and shoto did it yesterday, your turn."

"argh, you're useless!"

bakugou yelled out, begrudgingly stomping his way to the civilians as they squealed, hitting each other and fixing themselves up in their phone cameras.

y/n watched as bakugou walked away, admiring him in a way. y/n's class saw them as the quiet, but powerful and strong person. y/n didn't mind it as todoroki was the same. but rather, y/n admired bakugou. even if they were friends and seemed to be considered 'close'. it's not like you can't admire your friends, right?

y/n's eyes glided back towards todoroki, but then suddenly a dash of colour came into their view, as they looked towards it and turns out, there was a villain aiming for bakugou, who didn't see, still walking towards the civilians as they didn't notice the villain either, too focused on bakugou.

without thinking, y/n's feet dashed towards bakugou, pushing him out of the way as the villain's hand latched onto their face, their eyes fluttering shut as y/n passed out on the ground.

bakugou stumbled forward, turning around and seeing y/n on the floor, their eyes closed and the villain standing over them. bakugou respected y/n in a way, they were strong, stronger than the whole class, even bakugou could admit. there was admiration that bakugou felt for y/n, he was also fearful of possible feelings that he felt for y/n, pushing them down.

"..who do you think you are, you villain?!"

bakugou yelled, his hands behind him as he launched himself towards the villain, his hands latching onto the villain's shoulder as bakugou sent him tumbling to the ground.

"what did you do to them, hah?"

todoroki ran to y/n, crouching down and checking their pulse.

"they're just passed out."

todoroki said to bakugou, who looked back at him and then bakugou looked back down to the villain on the floor, his knee digging into the villain's back.

"what's your quirk? and you better tell me straight or else."

y/n walked down the hall with bakugou by their side, y/n linking their arm as they held bakugou's arm who's hands were in his pockets.

"katsuki! are you hungry?"

"mhm yeah. do you want me to make you something?"

"oh yeah please!"

y/n became nicer, more clingy with everyone, but mostly bakugou. bakugou felt his chest warm up at the tone of voice y/n used to call his name, 'katsuki!' .

they made their way together to the kitchen, as bakugou made his way to the fridge and cabinets, taking some ingredients and setting them on the counter.

"do you want me to help, katsuki?"

"just sit there and look pretty."

bakugou said, setting down the egg carton on the counter, before walking over to y/n, picking them up by the waist, both hands firmly on the side of their waist as he lifted them up to sit on the counter next to the stove.

y/n payed no mind to bakugou's touch, smiling wide as they swung their feet, their feet not touching the ground.

a good thing about this quirk effect was how sweet y/n was. bakugou was used to the nonchalantly y/n, pretty y/n sitting there like no one was bothered by how pretty they were, even if they acted so stoic all the damn time.

another good thing was bakugou could make this into his advantage, try to make y/n feel giddy in a way. it's not like they’ll remember anything, right?

bakugou grabbed an egg out of it's place. grabbing four and cracking them into a bowl while separating the whites and the yolk.

"can i mix the yolk?"

y/n asked, twindling their fingers as they waited for bakugou's response as he looked sideways to look at them.

"yeah, here."

bakugou handed y/n the bowl of yolks while also handing them a pair of chopsticks, watching y/n mix the yolks while they stuck their tongue out a little in focus. bakugou forcing his eyes to look away to put rice into the rice cooker.

bakugou watched as y/n ate their omelette, eating his omelette calmly as y/n practically swallowed the whole meal in 3 bites. quickly finishing it as they waited for bakugou to finish his.

"what do you wanna do, pretty?"

bakugou mumbled, putting their dishes in the sink, thinking 'class rep is gonna do them anyway'. y/n heard his voice, smiling softly.

"i'm sleepy, can we have a sleepover in your dorm?"

bakugou nodded, bringing his hand towards y/n's as he clutched onto it, bringing y/n to the elevator.

the next day, it was a friday. class 1-a got excused from class early to rest. it was a friday anyway. nonetheless, the class cherished the rare wide smiles that y/n was giving them, doing whatever they could to make y/n smile bigger.

"guys! i say we have a movie night tonight!"

mina said, her hand in the air to direct the classes attention to her.

"what movie?"

"let's binge watch all the harry potter movies!"

"hell nah cuh"

eventually, the whole class agreed. mostly everyone set up the comfy area of blankets and pillows, making a little oval around the large couch that sat infront of the large flat screen tv that the dorms had supplied for the students.

bakugou only agreed to come to sit next to y/n, as close as he could, and no one could comment on it because y/n wanted to sit next to bakugou!

y/n sat in the floor, their back leaning on the couch as kirishima sat on the couch behind them, y/n between his legs. bakugou sat on their left, the closet people to him were kirishima and y/n. y/n’s legs were under a blanket to create warm underneath, bakugou also under the blanket close to y/n. y/n held onto bakugou’s hand, playing with his fingers as bakugou watched y/n’s hands work.

no one could see anyway, bakugou thinks a bird just got murdered, but he doesn’t know, nor care really.

y/n gingerly intertwines their fingers, rubbing their thumb along bakugou’s own. y/n places a leg between bakugou’s legs, getting impossibly close to him as bakugou lets it happen, getting closer to y/n aswell.

“what you doing, dumbass?”

bakugou whispered, not letting anyone else but y/n hear his voice, it was slightly raspy in a way, he had never talked in such a soft tone.

“jus’ wanna get close to you..”

y/n admitted, looking up into bakugou’s eyes. thank god the lights were off and the tv was emitting a small bit of light, bakugou’s face was burning, but maybe y/n could already tell by his sweaty palms. he’s had to wipe his hands on the blanket several times already.

y/n looked around to their classmates, leaning into bakugou’s ear as they placed a hand over their mouth to cover their voice. at the same time, bakugou placed his hand on y/n’s lower back, leaning his ear towards them.

“can i sit between your legs?”

y/n asked, leaning back out with a soft smile adoring their lips. bakugou couldn’t resist, not saying anything but just moving the blanket and tapping the space between his legs.

y/n smiled widely, quickly getting up a little bit and sitting down between bakugou’s legs. y/n leaned back on bakugou while he wrapped his arms around y/n, holding onto their waist and he liked the way it slightly squished under his rough hands. bakugou placed his head into the crook of their neck, snuggling his nose into the side of their neck as y/n giggled, telling bakugou ‘that tickles!’ .

bakugou rested his chin on y/n’s shoulder, getting comfortable as y/n rested their full body weight on bakugou.

“you’re lucky i like you.”

bakugou mumbled, it was nearly silent, but since it was right next to y/n’s ear, they heard all of it. y/n’s smile disappeared, their face being replaced with embarrassment and a burning hot face. y/n turned their head to the right, facing their head away as they were flustered.

"hah? are you embarrassed, pretty?"

bakugou let go of y/n's waist, rubbing at their hips as they placed their hands on bakugou's thighs, avoiding bakugou looking at them.

"do you not like me?"

y/n gasped, whipping their head around and hitting bakugou on the chest as he yelped slightly at the sudden action.

"of course i do. why do you think i hang out with you more than anyone else?"

y/n mumbled the last bit, looking back at the movie like they've been paying attention.

"you're gonna watch the movie now?"

"i've been watching the whole time, what do you mean?"

y/n quickly said, their hands crossing above their chest as bakugou leaned into them, his chest touching their back.

"you want me to stop?"

y/n didn't answer straight away, but eventually,

"no.."

bakugou heard the small mumble, as he hid a chuckle and a smirk by digging his face into their neck, which made y/n smile at the ticklish feeling, which made them laugh quietly, smacking bakugou softly to get him to stop.

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lovra974 · 2 days

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deku lets you finger him for the first time as an indulgence to you. you admit to him when you're a little tipsy once that you've thought about it a lot, assuming he'll laugh and brush it off, but he's the one that brings it up later. curious himself - enough that he's willing to at least give it a shot for you once, to see if either of you love it.

you expect to love it. you're sure you will, knowing the thought of it has been firmly rooted in in your mind since the first time you saw deku's cheeks flush in an orgasm.

what you didn't expect, is his reaction. how he's still and centered, assuring you with a soft laugh when you hesitate, and how he sucks in a soft breath when you first slip inside of him. what you don't expect is the flush that begins to creep up his neck, nor the sweat that begins to pool in the hollow of his throat.

you don't expect him to groan softly. for his hips to lift off the bed, for his cock to fill, ruddy and thick, for him to shudder and leak as you learn him in this new way. as you feel this new part of him and find where to push, where to press, to make his head tip back and his hands fist in the bedding. you don't expect him to come so hard that it splashes up his chest, nearly up to his chin, his chest heaving as he comes back down to himself.

what you don't expect is the way he looks down his body at you, after, his lips bitten red and puffy, a dazed smile dimpling his flushed cheeks, and his throaty, murmured, "holy shit, baby."

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lovra974 · 2 days

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OUT OF MY HEAD, HALF BURSTING ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU

synopsis: japan’s sweetheart and saviour is in a quirk induced coma. you’re the only one that can bring him back.

tags: GN reader, post canon au, pro hero deku, quirk accidents, fluff + angst, hospitalisation, mutual pining, intimacy, technically doctor/patient but they know each other, friends to lovers, reader has quirk (‘dream walker’), memory/dream sharing, referenced depression, getting together, kissing, cheesy idc idc

wc: 5.2K

In your years wading through patients' memories, you’ve found that people have the most uncanny ability to resign themselves to their fate. You’ve wondered time and time again whether it’s instinctive to ruin things—if humans couldn’t help but stumble and make a mess of the things around them.

You recall that thought process now with a weary sigh, as your eyes skim over the patient's name for the tenth time in as many seconds. Midoriya Izuku.

“Well? Are you gonna do it or not?”

You’ve been staring at the medical file for long enough that an uncomfortable silence has dawned upon your office. Two weeks prior, a villain named Catatonic used her quirk to force Deku into a comatose state, that which he has yet to wake from. Even after the liberal use of quirk inhibitors, countless visits from Eraserhead and the administration of various stimulants, Deku would not stir. Realistically he should’ve roused from the coma naturally as soon as the quirk was cancelled. But he hadn’t, and his doctors can only assume it’s because he can’t, or refuses to.

Thus the case in your lap. A last resort.

“I’ll do it,” you intoned, thumb flicking at the corner of the manila folder. There’s already a deep crease there. The file itself is the heaviest you’ve ever had in your hands. Dense in a way that makes you ache. You and Deku are good friends—the kind of friendship that forms mainly because you frequent the same places. That place in particular being the hospital, except you were there to work, and he was often wandering the hallways listlessly to burn off the dregs of whatever sedatives he’d taken or visiting with patients.

Awkward small talk eventually blossomed into real, fulfilling conversations, and you started to like him, a lot more than you should. You kept the memory of his small, sincere smile close to your chest; nothing like that dazzling grin he wore on duty, it was softer, something private, and you relished being on the receiving end of it.

He was skilled at talking around his injuries. Sometimes if you felt especially bone-weary after a shift you’d be so relieved to see him that you forgot to ask. That sits with you. Deku is a hero. A good one, the best one. He’s brilliant at what he does—keeping people safe, protecting them from harm. In the entirety of his career, it appears he rarely, if ever, turned that care and consideration onto himself. You’re not a licensed therapist, and barely a doctor. Still you contemplate his medical history with a cold sense of regret.

“You realise there’s a large possibility I’ll end up seeing a lot of confidential stuff while I’m in there”.

“Don’t care. S’not like you can tell anyone”.

“I don’t think you understand how invasive this will be. I’ll see personal things. Private things, Bakugo. He won’t be happy”.

“Don’t care. If he doesn’t like it then maybe he should fuckin’ wake up”.

“This might not work, you know,” you finish tiredly.

Bakugo arches his brow at that. Despite the shadows under his eyes there’s no defeated slope to his shoulders, only a fierce scowl. “Either you can do it or you can’t,” he says, voice unsteady as if reeling between rationality and outright aggression. “You’re supposed to be the best at what you do”.

“I am the best at what I do, Bakugo. I can promise you I’ll find him”.

“Then what’s the damn problem?”

The file feels heavier. It feels like a foregone conclusion. You swallow, your throat dry. You don’t bother attempting a smile. You’ve lost the will to maintain your professional veneer.

“I can’t promise he’ll want to come back”.

Dream walker.

At twelve years old you thought it made your quirk sound whimsical, and gentle, and not at all the invasive thing that it actually is. After all, your reach didn’t end only at dreams. You were able to project your consciousness into another’s mind if it pleased you, parse through every memory, ambition, fantasy, trauma and fear, and manipulate them however you liked. Back when your control was non-existent you would drift into people’s heads whenever you slept like some wayward soul and saw far too much far too young.

The need to understand yourself and your quirk is what drove you to studying medicine. Neuropsychology, mainly. You carved meditative techniques into the very recesses of your own brain and learned to keep your consciousness tightly moored but had no real ambition beyond that. After the war and the complete upheaval and reform of hero society, it was difficult to find your place.

Until Okumura Yukiko.

At the small age of eight, Yukiko fell under the effects of a severe nightmare quirk, and despite the quirk being canceled she couldn’t wake up naturally. You had carefully walked through the delicate threads that made up her young mindscape—quirk-infested by formless shadows with knife-sharp teeth and worse, eerie figures that wore the appearance of her father—you found her trembling inside her mothers figmental wardrobe, took her hand, and guided her out.

When you came to she was curled up in the swaddle of your arms, trembling still, but awake. Her timid incantations ring true in your ears even now. Those tiny little thank you, thank you, thank you’s inspired the person you are today. Not quite a doctor, or a therapist. A specialist for special cases.

Something in your gut told you that traipsing into Midoriya Izuku’s mind wouldn’t be simple. That it would permanently change things. This isn’t some stranger, or a patient you’d never cross paths with again. He’s important to you in a way others aren’t.

Your hand hovers over his face, fingertips brushing his temple. You push your fingers into his thick green hair, rich in colour and soft, no knots to catch on your knuckles. His friends have been visiting in shifts, keeping him comfortable and presentable.

Bakugo had managed to keep the Hero Commission at bay for the time being, but if you came back without Midoriya tomorrow there would be far more than one scowling man looming in your office. Though the possibility left a bad taste in your mouth you can admit, in the privacy of your thoughts, that you’ve contemplated prolonging his recovery for the sake of allowing Midoriya rest. There must be something keeping him under, his genuine reluctance or worse; you’ve been reassured repeatedly of All for One’s death and the absence of the previous quirk holders but it’s best to exercise vigilance.

Midoriya does not react, not even a twitch of his nose, but there’s a flutter beneath his eyelids and a sleepy-sweet warmth to him that has you smiling, fond. Tucking your feet around the legs of your chair, you scoot it forward and bend closer, elbows resting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m not sure you can hear me in there. Maybe not. But I hope you won’t hate me for this,” you tell him.

Midoriya’s face remains serene as ever—more so than you can remember. It makes you wonder how much pain and discomfort he’s been hiding throughout your interactions. The tension has been sapped from his expression, lashes fanning over his cheeks. You’re close enough to count each individual freckle. Lightly, your thumb taps the space between his brows. “There are a lot of people out here that love you. They’re waiting for you to wake up, so I’ll have to have a look around your head a bit. Okay?”

Nothing. Heartbeat monitor pulsing a healthy rhythm, broad chest rising and falling, Midoriya continues to sleep. You sigh and cast a final glance around the private hospital room. The clock reads 18:22. Outside the window you see a single cloud, wispy as a dandelion, slowly disintegrate across the dusky sky. You make a cradle with your arm, head resting in the crook while you take Midoriya’s hand and try to relax. Anticipation turns in your gut. Years of experience aside, you’ve never really acclimated to the feeling of that first step into another’s subconscious.

Pressure gathers inside your skull as your quirk activates. You inhale a quick, wounded breath at the sensation. Your eyes roll back, vision swallowed by abrupt darkness, and you jerk against the distinct sensation of falling as your stomach roils. You’re overwhelmed by a cacophony of images and sounds—a determination that happiness would come, then moored to the burden of expectation, any optimism muffled under exhaustion and pain, replaced swiftly by a sense of discontent, grief and regret that swelled over time.

And then everything stops.

Your arms feel empty. Your chest feels hungry. You ache with it, the disquieting loneliness. Fog leaks into the memory, surroundings concealed beneath a thick mist. Behind you is a small pond. There’s a notebook soaking in the water. The koi are mouthing curiously at the weathered corners, faint black tendrils of ink curling off the charred pages. Scrawled boldly across the top is ‘Hero Analysis for The Future: No. 13’. Your strikingly young reflection ripples as you plunge your hand in and fish it out, holding it at arm's length as you shake the excess away.

Sufficiently less soaked, you draw the notebook to your front and carefully turn the cover to read the first page. You can feel the slight indentations on the back where a pen has been pressed hard enough to score the words through the page. Written inside, smudged but undeniable, is Midoriya Izuku’s name.

“Uh—excuse me…” a shaky, pitched voice comes from behind you, belonging to a very familiar pair of teary eyes. Midoriya is not just small, he’s scrawny. His hair is longer, unable to decide on which direction it wants to grow, and his middle school uniform is slightly ill-fitting, as though his mother bought it a size bigger for longevity. He ducks into the higher collar to hide his reddened face when you look at him.

The urge to bundle him up and hide him from the world is fierce. The situation is odd, but you offer a smile and his blush worsens. “Is this yours?” you ask, holding up the notebook. You try not to grimace at your own childlike voice. Midoriya nods frantically. His hands flex around the straps of his backpack. Smaller than the broad palms you’re familiar with, neither scarred nor crooked, trembling where they motion to clasp around the notebook. Your fingers brush and he attempts to swallow the yelp that bubbles in his throat.

“Thank you,” he stammers, pressing the notebook flat to his own chest. Midoriya swallows. His gaze never strays from you, growing brighter with each passing second as the idea in his head takes shape.

“Do you go to school here?”

“Oh,” you blink and the shadows have elongated. The pond is now hugging a school building. You recognise it despite never having seen it before. Aldera Junior High. “I don't,” you answer, sounding sorry. He predictably deflates. “I live close by, though!”

Midoriya perks up again. He shifts his weight between each foot. Red faced and unsteady, he quietly asks, “Do you think we could be friends?”

Your mouth slacks a bit, answers dying in your throat. You look down at your hands, palms upturned and unblemished. The dappled sunlight passes through your incorporeal form. Interaction with anything aside from the true patient during your work is incredibly rare though not entirely unfounded; people who daydream in vivid detail or ruminate chronically on old regrets usually had false memories in excess. Their minds seem to naturally meld around your intrusion, but they never went so far as to seamlessly incorporate you. Which can only mean one thing.

You fit because Midoriya has imagined this numerous times before—befriending you as a child.

Before you can respond you’re being dragged abruptly into a memory, the echo of a blinding flash of pain rippling through you. A reflexive gasp has your chest heaving and you curse at your lack of control. There’s barely a shard of light. Behind you is a hard, jagged surface but below is loose, uprooted. Attempts to move are futile, and agonising. You slump into the displaced rubble, silt and icy embrace, and listen. From above there is only a haunting silence but only a few feet ahead you hear muffled crying and Bakugo’s strangely tinny voice.

Your vision adjusts in increments, from pure darkness to a soft outlined blob to a comfortingly familiar silhouette. Midoriya is poised like an Atlantean statue, holding up the creaking structure and keeping it from crushing the young girl cowered in front of him.

Another wave of pain washes over you as the rubble groans. Midoriya bites back a whimper. His body is sinew and bone pulled taut, skin stretched over a drum. Everything seemed to swell dramatically around him.

“We’re almost there, kid. Two minutes,” Bakugo’s voice spills jarringly from the bulky earpiece hugging Midoriya’s ear. “Now look at Deku for me. You lookin’?” the young girl does as he commands. You see her trepidation falter at the easy smile Deku is wearing. “Bet he’s got a big dumb grin on his face right now, yeah?”

“Y—yeah,” she echoes, clutching the dirtied hem of her dress.

“You think he’d be smiling if there was anythin’ to be scared of?”

Her shoulders slant, the tension released, and she offers a tremulous smile of her own, “No”.

But you can feel, quite viscerally, how scared Deku was in that moment. The nauseating pain in his arms has dwindled into numbness and he daren’t spare himself more than the occasional shallow breath, as if the bloating of his lungs alone might disrupt his balance. Not once does his smile falter.

The surroundings warp again. You struggle against the whiplash, flung unwillingly into another memory. Breath forced from your lungs, the echo of Izuku’s pain dissipates in a blink and you land on unsteady feet, coughing and spluttering in the middle of an eclectic café covered in tinsel.

A sign written in cursive above the chalkboard menu reads ‘Mean Mug’. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and the bell above the door is soft enough to get lost in the smooth notes. You’re cocooned by heat and met with bold patterned wallpaper. The unifying palette seems to be warm-toned colours; red, orange and brown come together amidst the mismatched decor to create a cosy atmosphere.

A half heartedly disguised Midoriya shuffles awkwardly by the counter, looking up at the door with trepidation every time the bell chimes to signal another customer. He grins once Uravity arrives in a casual disguise of her own, eyes still bright beneath the shadow of his cap.

They order and settle in a quaint alcove away from the windows and any prying eyes. Neither hero notices your presence as you seat yourself at their table and listen to their conversation. There are things you don’t understand. Code words to be used when discussing sensitive matters outside of their agencies. Inside jokes that you weren’t there for. But most curious of all is the knowing look on Uraraka’s face when Midoriya mentions that he saw you at the hospital that day.

“You’re hopeless, Deku-kun,” she says, as fond as she is amused. “What was your excuse this time?”

Midoriya clears his throat. He grips his cup, pressing until his knuckles turn white. It draws your attention to the thin cast splinting his ring and middle fingers together. “I broke my fingers sparring with Kirishima”.

You remember that, though too entrenched in his memory to attempt receding into yours for details.

“So you leapt halfway across the city to have them stuck together despite the fact that your agency has an on-site infirmary,” Uraraka’s hair falls in a gentle swoop beneath her jaw as she laughs. Midoriya shrinks into himself ever so slightly and her eyes soften. She pokes at his forearm. “C’mon Deku—why haven’t you asked yet? Do you really think you’ll get rejected?”

Glancing back and forth between them, your heart beats a tattoo across the inside of your ribs. You feel as if you’ve both missed something quite important and heard too much. You push your chair backwards and fall away from the table, and the memory, before Midoriya can respond.

With renewed determination—and heat rising to your cheeks—you reign in your quirk, steering cautiously through Midoriya’s subconscious mind as you should’ve in the first place. Images flicker in and around your periphery, each as desperate to draw you in as the last.

You see Midoriya crying, bleeding, lashing out in anger. You see him in a sterilised room, lulled by monotonous beeps, flesh stitched back together. You hear the doctor's voices coalesce into white noise. You watch as he’s handed crudely drawn thank you cards, coffee-stained police reports and thick manila envelopes marked as confidential in large red letters.

You turn away as Eraserhead approaches, a solemn expression, a quiet clink accompanying his footsteps, unnaturally heavy to one side, a young girl with silver hair following right behind him.

Your heart leaps to your throat when he screams in agony. You look down. There’s blood running down the street in rivulets, skin coming apart like wet paper.

You close your eyes. Next you risk a glance All Might is there, thinner than ever. He’s sitting in a wheelchair by a large window swaddled in a thick knitted blanket, watching over the city, smiling.

You turn away, feeling a pang of grief. Midoriya is expressionless, examining his battered body in the mirror, condensation still lingering on the glass, tendrils of heat curling upward as the shower drain gurgles.

Then he’s in a dark room bringing a stranger's hand to his mouth, kissing the centre of their palm, drawing the finger into his kiss-bitten mouth and sucking with a hazy gleam in his eyes.

It’s overwhelming. You stumble and suddenly Shouto is eating across from Izuku. He brings his chopsticks to his lips, noodles hung limp between them. “It’s obvious you like each other. You should just confess,” he says before shovelling his food.

Too private. You turn on your heel and find a patient of yours on the bed, unresponsive. Izuku is beside you, muttering under his breath, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. He reaches back to brush your wrist and offers a tentative touch of reassurance. You watch yourself lean against him for a moment and then retreat, grateful for his consideration, unneeding of it, and desperately wanting it, all at once.

The scene ripples violently. A reporter is staring up at Izuku with sparkling eyes. Her hair cycles through an array of colours as she shakes with excitement. “It’s amazing, Deku-san,” she insists. “For your spirit to be so heroic that it physically steers your body… that’s special!”

Izuku conceded with a strained laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. You feel how his stomach knots. “I used to think so too,” he says, sounding far away.

It’s the middle of the night somewhere when your search finally comes to a halt. You find you’ve landed on an empty street, in that dense, heavy darkness that makes you feel like the only person in the world who’s awake. There’s a tall residential building hugging the pavement. Intuitively, you know this is where Izuku lives.

Your footsteps are made heavy by Izuku’s lingering hurt and exhaustion. It’s disconcerting, the way he feels about his apartment. Coming home should be effortless. People come home in the same way they draw breath. But to Izuku, it's a weary, miserable journey that he must consciously think about and do. His perennial loneliness is overwhelming, a near physical force repelling you from opening the large glass door.

One foot in the lobby and the surroundings undulate. You’re dropped in the middle of his living room. It’s vacant. There’s a large box of case files tucked under the coffee table, an old takeout box left out on the counter, a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch cushions. You pinch the soft fabric and rub it between your fingers, bringing it to your nose as you’re overcome by the urge to smell it. Izuku’s warm scent floods your senses.

Something thuds outside, followed by a tinkling of keys on a chain. Your blood runs quicker as the front door abruptly opens. Izuku looks harried as he ducks into the genkan, quite visibly frayed. The upper half of his hero suit is unzipped, pushed down to hang over his hips, littered with debris and dry mud. You hold your breath as he kicks off his shoes and lifts his head, meeting your wide-eyed gaze. The air around you is charged. Trepidation prickles at your nape.

Then the shadows over his stormy face recede. Izuku gentles, light returning to his previously empty eyes. “I’m home,” he breathes. “I missed you”. His voice shivers down your spine—you know in your gut that this is him, the real Izuku, but that fact is hard to believe while he’s looking at you like he wants you.

“Welcome home,” you smile back, slipping the blanket around your shoulders as you move toward him. “Hard day at—?”

Your intentions are to sit him down, keep him calm so as not to be ejected, and explain what’s happening, but before you have the chance his larger body crowds you against the wall—the dull impact reverberates through your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs and he’s kissing you as if it’s something he always does.

Though it’s more of a collision than a kiss. The sensation is indescribable. Information spills into your mouth, your quirk reflexively absorbing his every fantasy, ache and want. Your knees almost buckle. The blanket puddles at your feet. Fingers snake into his thick hair, nails dig into his roots where skin becomes earth as you try to reciprocate his fervour.

Under your tongue you feel the cut on his lip, under your palms the dark swell across his cheek. You shake off the cloud of desire. Too many lines have already been crossed. “Izuku,” you whine. His name comes naturally now; you know him deeply enough. Blunt teeth graze at your jaw, your throat. You lean away for air only to catch a glimpse of another angry ivory-red bruise peeking from beneath his loose collar. “Izuku,” you tried again. Then louder. “Izuku, that’s enough”.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Izuku rasps as he rears up from the crook of your neck with wide, glassy eyes.

“No—I’m,” your heart beats hard in your ears. Dread sinks low in your belly. “It’s me. I’m really here, Izuku. You’ve been away for too long. I had to use my quirk. We need to wake up”.

“Wake up? You’re… oh,” his eyes grow wider, then shutter closed on a shaky exhale. The cut on his bottom lip has started bleeding again. Rivulets seeped into the cracks between his teeth and stained his gums red. You yearn for the searing heat of his hands as he releases you and staggers backwards to scrub at his face. “Oh my god”.

“Wait. Please don’t throw me out,” you say quickly, reaching to clutch at his wrist in case he panicked. Izuku tenses at the contact only to relax a beat later, his fingers spreading over his eyes so he can get a peek at you. “It took me forever to find you here. There’s a lot of stuff in your head”.

“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” he mumbles. You could collapse in relief. He’s not angry, he’s embarrassed.

“Thank you. I promise I tried not to look at anything too private”. Your mind didn’t make it easy, you think. It was almost like he wanted me to see everything.

Izuku groans and lets his hands drop to his sides in defeat, revealing an entirely pink face. You keep your fingers curled around his wrist, his pulse light and fast. “Okay. I’m okay. We should probably sit down for this,” he eventually croaks, a tremulous smile working its way across his lips. “Drink?”

You pick up the blanket and make your way to the couch while he briefly disappears into the kitchen. Around you the apartment takes on a rosy sheen. A dull clink shudders through the silence as Izuku sets a cup on the coffee table in front of you. It’s your favourite work mug down to the smallest details.

“You remembered this old thing?”

Shaped like a cat, the handle curved in and away like a feline’s tail. It’s piping hot, steam already curling up from it like a crooked finger, like the invitation he meant it to be.

Izuku nodded awkwardly, perched so far forward that it stretched credulity to say he was on the couch at all. He tracks your movements with intensity when you lean to pick up the hot drink. The initial sting to your palms quickly dwindles into numbness as you bring it closer and realise what’s inside. Hot chocolate. The surface sprinkled with those small, cube shaped marshmallows that he likes.

You swallow and feel the warmth spread through your body. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as the thick, saccharine flavour floods your senses, washing back the bitterness and thawing your anxiety. You can hear the tension in Izuku’s shoulders snap as he slumps forward, arms hung over his knees and head low in relief. His reaction is oddly vindicating, if not contagious.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asks. “Time is weird here”.

“You’ve been comatose for over two weeks,” you reply. “They tried everything they could before Bakugo insisted on bringing me in. You have a lot of people waiting for you”.

Izuku inhales sharply. He makes an aborted motion to scoot closer before thinking better of it. Your attention strays to the nervous wringing of his battle worn hands. Endeared, you put your mug down and close the distance yourself. Pressed thigh to thigh, you envelop his tightly curled fists, bringing them into your lap. The shaky breath he takes is loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Honestly I’m surprised you’re still working”.

He looks at you with an unsure, watery smile, sunlight caught in glassy eyes. His voice is thick as he asks, “What do you mean?”

You smile sadly and run your thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve been on patrol. I thought you might’ve locked yourself in your head because you needed a proper break—and who could blame you, really. But you’re working yourself thin even in your dreams”.

Izuku huffed a laugh, more breath than humour. “I love being a hero. It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he says, his voice tight. You sink into his side and feel his diaphragm stutter. “But it isn’t everything. It felt like I was suffocating and I needed something more. Something to come home to for a little while…”

His red-rimmed eyes quickly return to his lap when you meet them. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Your quirk really is incredible”.

You can feel the shame swatting at you like a summer-born heatwave, reminded of just how deeply you’ve invaded his privacy, and how easily you overstepped your bounds.

“I’m so sorry,” he continues, at the same time that you tell him, “I’m sorry, Izuku”.

“Please. Let me go first,” he murmurs like a question. You nod your assent. “I’m sorry I forced myself on you. I thought you were a part of my imagination, like the rest of this place. I should have realised you weren’t. I’m sorry,” he rambles on. “I wanted to be closer to you but I got carried away and I’m sorry”.

“You couldn’t have known. I should have told you it was me as soon as you walked in,” you firmly interject. Izuku doesn’t look any less stricken in your periphery, cheek sunken where he’s gnawing at the flesh. “And you didn’t force anything. I hardly pushed you away,” your brow wrinkles and you smile despite yourself. “I got a little lost in your head, too. Not my most professional moment. But I wouldn’t want to leave either, if we were cuddled up in here all day”.

“Really?” Izuku blinks. Hope colours his cheeks. He clears his throat and shifts in place as he tries very hard to appear unaffected. “You don’t think it’s creepy—me picturing all this with you?”

You think of that young boy yoked with the burden of expectation and feel your heart crack. You can still taste his desires. They’re insipid, belying their age, as though they’d lingered long enough to stale. Izuku treasured his friends and fans', their love and loyalty; yet he felt guilty for allowing them to foster such a blind faith in his goodness. He was a man with faults like any other, capable of making mistakes, of inflicting harm. More than anything Izuku longed for someone to see the darker, uglier corners of his life, and make room for all of him. You wanted to be the one to do it.

“I’ve imagined this with you. This and more,” bolstered by everything you’ve seen, the confession spills out with startling ease. Your eyes squint above the curve of your smile. “I like you too,” you coaxed his fist open as you spoke, mapping out the carved furrows, shallows and depths on his palm. “A lot”.

“Oh,” he exhales, slowly entangling your fingers.

You give an emphatic nod.

“How mad is Kacchan?”

“Pretty mad. But when is he not?” you laugh at his grimace. “I’ll be there as a buffer when you wake up. It’s my professional opinion that you need a few more days to recuperate and take me out for crêpes. So will you come home with me?”

There’s a gleam in his eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugs at your chest. His gaze flickers across your face, from your lips to your eyes in askance. You lean in and he kisses you again, sipping gently at your mouth, firm and slightly sticky with congealed blood. Strange. It feels so real. You suppose it is, in all the ways that matter.

“Okay,” he whispers after one last peck to your lips. You get to your feet as he stands and gestures nervously toward the genkan. “I, uh. I don’t really know how to get out of here so… lead the way?”

You laugh and take him by the hand. “Don’t worry. The way back is always a lot faster. It’s a little disorienting—watch your step,” you warn as he follows you through the front door. Rather than the lobby, or a stairwell, both bodies are swallowed up by darkness.

Spat out just as abruptly, your senses return to you piece by piece. Breathing through the vertigo you peel your eyes open to the rapid rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he reorients himself. A crick in your neck, a knot in your spine. The clock reads 07:12. There are already nurses bustling around the hospital bed, likely alerted by the frantic heart monitor; that which does little to hide the way Izuku’s pulse stutters when you lift your head to get a look at him.

“I’m home,” he says, throat rough from disuse.

Your hands are still entwined, albeit a little sweaty. You smile, “Welcome home”.

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