I Could Do This All Day

That was how your paths crossed.

See, the thing with contracting psychic illnesses is that those afflicted have either gone mad or are days away from passing on. Ignoring ethical concerns—but you always cared about those, the latter were too unpredictable and the former would rather spend their final days with their loved ones which left you without any test subjects.

So you decided you would become the test subject. 

And you had proudly proclaimed so when proposing your research to him. He had baulked at the proposition. It was suicidal, and while Magnus is the last person to preach about caution, he wasn’t the one running around asking for money to consume poison.

He rejected it the second you finished your presentation.

In response, you continued to push, hounding him like a dog. You were practically there at every turn approaching him with passionate—— near manic eyes. He continued to reject you for years, hoping you would eventually wear yourself out, but that never happened.

Instead, he became your research partner.

Somehow, you had managed to convince him, and somehow he had let himself be convinced.

Maybe that was a sign of what was to come, a sign that that partnership would grow into something more.

Or maybe he was just as insane as you.

No, that’s not right, isn’t it? You always made far better decisions than him. Always.

Either way, the endeavour was a success, and together, you discovered several treatments in quick succession. You went on to open a clinic; it was a humble place compared to the towering pyramids that overshadowed it, and on the day of its grand opening, you asked him to marry you. 

Right. In. Front. Of. Everybody.

And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

You became his, his partner in study and in life. Magnus was never one to believe in blessings, but you were his, and he couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t meet you. It was a good marriage, all things considered. Propsero prospered under your care; you and he were at your happiest, and that didn’t change when his Father, his progenitor, finally came for him. You simply became a parent to his legion, to his Thousand Sonds.

Sadly, by his fault, it was short-lived.

He sought to resolve the issue of the Flesh Change that plagued his legion and paid a far heavier price than he thought.

In the beginning, you had joined him in looking for a cure. 

But his legion, his sons, continued to die. 

Bit by bit, he watched as your hope for a cure dwindled. It broke you; you, the brightest star in Prospero, the doctor who cured the incurable.

“We’ve know that this illness is connected to the Great Ocean,” you had said, looking over the cadaver of a legionnaire, an apothecary who had ended his life as soon as the symptoms of the Change worsened, “But its cause is unknown and those affected are not limited to the physchically gifted of your gene-line.” 

You looked to him, forlorn, “I’m starting to believe there is no cure. We simply do not have enough knowledge about the Great Ocean to find one.”

He should have left it at that, grieved those lost and shifted his focus to palliative care. 

But he didn’t.

Giving up did not mean you would abandon the pursuit—not even the Emperor Himself could stop you from attempting to save a life, and the research would simply be put on the back burner. He knew you had hoped that if you did not find a cure yourself in the present, you would in the future, if not, years down the line, someone would. 

You had the patience to wait.

Magnus did not.

You were always his better half.

He delved into the Depths of the Great Ocean against his better judgment and his Father’s warnings. Then It came along and It offered a deal—a cure in exchange for a piece of his soul and a piece of his flesh.

He took it, and you paid the price.

You see, when he married you, he tied his soul to yours. It was a vow of loyalty in that he would have no other but you. However, to those who looked into the Warp, they would see the two of you as one, entwined forevermore.

When he Resurfaced he had found you screaming as you attempted to claw your eyes out. Only, you had no eyes, just smooth skin where they should have been. 

The same happened to your mouth, days later. 

Next week, your ears.

By the end of the month, you were nothing but a sack of conscious flesh with a hole for a nose.

The rest of your body was in similar condition. Limbs multiplied or disappeared, and bones rearranged themselves under your skin. His best apothecaries could find no source for this unknown affliction, but Magnus knew.

He was paying his dues.

A piece of your flesh. A piece of your soul.

You suffered for months, physically screaming out in pain, begging him to put you out of your misery. He couldn’t, he couldn’t bear to let you go. You were his better half and he could not accept that he had done this to you.

He promised you a cure. 

That was for naught.

One night, you fell silent, your soul disappeared. 

To where?

Magnus does not know.

Ten millennia later, your soul still eludes him.

Perhaps, it is better this way.

Prospero, your beloved Prospero was razed and now it was being rebuilt. However, gone were the beautiful gardens, sprawling plazas and towering pyramids of Tizca instead, there was only a great war forge. 

Every bit of his homeworld will play its part in the great game.

And you would hate that.

Your clinic, your research would no longer be used for cures but to create the ailments. Some would say such an act would be more befitting for the followers of the Plaguefather but the Changer of Ways appreciated such twists of fate.

In this way, you, his beloved,  would be remembered.

You would hate this.

Somehow, three days later, you found yourself at Home Depot, pushing a cart while Rogal filled it with lumber, cement mix, and various tools. You'd called in sick to work, using vacation days you'd been saving for a trip to Florida.

Instead, you were funding the fortification of your modest suburban home by a giant amnesiac with one hand who worked with frightening efficiency.

"The perimeter will be secure by nightfall." Rogal informed you as you loaded supplies into your hatchback. Despite his size, he'd proven surprisingly inconspicuous in public, people seemed to glance at him, then immediately find something else to focus on, as if their brains refused to process his existence.

You nodded, hoping your neighbors wouldn't notice the construction.

By sunset, your backyard had been transformed. What had been a sagging chain-link fence was now a sturdy wooden barrier, reinforced with metal bracing at strategic points. Despite having only one hand, Rogal worked with astonishing speed and precision.

"I appear to possess construction knowledge." he noted, studying his handiwork. "Perhaps I was a builder or engineer before."

"Maybe." you agreed, genuinely impressed. "You built this faster than the contractors who redid my bathroom, and they had two hands each."

For the first time, you caught what might have been the ghost of a smile on Rogal's stern face.

*****

Two weeks into your unexpected roommate situation, you were adapting to the strangeness with surprising ease. Rogal had proven to be a model houseguest, if one ignored his constant structural critiques and predilection for reinforcing random elements of your home.

Your bathroom plumbing now worked better than it ever had. Your kitchen cabinets were reinforced to withstand what Rogal called "orbital bombardment", whatever that meant. Your home security system had been upgraded with parts he'd somehow fashioned from your old DVD player.

You'd settled into an odd routine. You went to work at the graphic design firm while Rogal stayed home, building and planning. You'd stop at Home Depot on your way back, bringing him modest supplies that he somehow stretched into impressive constructions.

"This is my life now," you told your reflection while brushing your teeth one morning. "I have a giant amnesiac handyman living in my spare room. Could be worse, I guess."

That evening, you came home to find Rogal standing in your backyard, staring intently at a man in black armor kneeling on your lawn.

Not a man in black armor, you realized as you approached cautiously. A man who seemed to be black armor, as if it were grafted to his body. His head was shaved, his face severe, and a massive sword was strapped to his back.

"Um, Rogal?" you called. "Who's this?"

Rogal turned to you, his expression thoughtful. "I believe this is Sigismund. Though I cannot explain how I know this."

The armored man rose, towering nearly as tall as Rogal. "Father" he said to Rogal, then looked confused at his own words.

"Oh fuck." you whispered. "There's more of you?"

"I awakened in a field approximately seven kilometers from this position," Sigismund stated. "I was drawn here by… something I cannot explain."

You looked between the two giants, noting the similar stern expressions and military bearing. "Fantastic. Now I have two of you."

Sigismund surveyed the yard, his gaze lingering on Rogal's fortifications. "The perimeter is well-constructed, but lacks depth. A determined assault would breach it within minutes."

"That's what I said" Rogal agreed. "But we have limited materials."

"I have a more pressing question," you interrupted. "Where is he going to sleep? I don't have another spare room."

Both men turned to you with identical blank expressions.

"Sleep is optional." Sigismund stated.

Your headache returned with a vengeance.

*****

One month and three more arrivals later, your modest home had become something unrecognizable. Your backyard now featured what could only be described as a miniature fortress, constructed with materials that should have been insufficient for the task.

Alexis Polux, another giant man, had appeared next, followed by two others who identified themselves as Vladimir Pugh and Halbrecht. All wore the same confused expression upon arrival, all knew Rogal somehow, and all immediately set to improving your home's defenses.

None could explain their presence or past, though they occasionally used terms like "Astartes," "Imperial Fists," "Black Templars" and "Crimson Fists" in their conversations.

You had given up questioning it. Your house now had the most sophisticated security system on the block, plumbing that would survive a nuclear winter, and structural reinforcement that made you wonder if your property taxes would go up.

Your neighbors had started avoiding eye contact when you collected your mail.

"The garage conversion is complete." Alexis reported one evening as you returned from work. "It will accommodate our increased numbers."

You nodded, long past being surprised by anything. "Anyone else show up today?"

"Negative." Rogal answered from where he was modifying your kitchen island. "Though I sense others may yet arrive."

"Of course they will." you sighed, setting down your grocery bags. "Because why wouldn't they?"

You'd taken to buying food in bulk, as your houseguests consumed calories at an alarming rate. Somehow, your grocery bill was offset by the fact that your utility costs had plummeted, Sigismund had reconfigured your HVAC system for "optimal efficiency."

"Your dwelling is becoming more defensible," Rogal noted with what, for him, amounted to enthusiasm. "Though the neighboring structures remain vulnerable."

"Just focus on our place, okay?" you said, unpacking groceries.

Our place. When had you started thinking of it that way?

When you sat on your reinforced back deck, watching Halbrecht and Vladimir construct what appeared to be a guard tower in the corner of your yard, Rogal joined you.

"You have accommodated us without question." he observed, lowering himself carefully onto a bench he'd built. "This is… unexpected."

You shrugged. "What was I supposed to do? Call the authorities? That would have gone well."

"Nevertheless. You have shown remarkable adaptability."

You glanced at him, surprised by what sounded almost like a compliment. "Thanks. You guys aren't so bad yourselves. Apart from the constant construction noise and eating me out of house and home."

"We contribute what we can." Rogal said solemnly. "Though I recognize it is… unconventional."

You nodded, a small smile forming. "But hey, my house has never been in better shape."

Rogal nodded. "The fortress will stand."

"It's a suburban ranch house, Rogal."

"It is whatever we make of it." he replied simply.

Vladimir, who was now visible on your roof positioning what appeared to be gargoyles shaped like eagles, gave you a solemn thumbs up.

"This isn't happening," you muttered. "And why does my ranch house suddenly have castle turrets?"

"Improved sightlines for defensive operations," Sigismund answered, appearing beside you in full black armor. "Also, Vladimir insisted the aesthetic was important."

Alexis approached with blueprints for what appeared to be a moat system that would encircle your entire property.

"We require your approval for the next phase." he said solemnly.

"Is that a moat?" you asked weakly.

"With optional crocodiles." Halbrecht added, nodding seriously. "I have located a supplier."

You looked at your once-normal house, now a bizarre hybrid of suburban ranch and medieval stronghold, surrounded by giant men with amnesia and apparent fortification compulsions.

"No crocodiles." you said firmly. "But I suppose the moat is fine."

"A wise decision." Rogal approved. "Water barriers are highly effective deterrents."

You sank down onto a nearby bench (reinforced, naturally) and started laughing uncontrollably. The giants paused their work, watching you with identical expressions of mild concern.

"Are you experiencing a malfunction?" Rogal inquired.

You wiped tears from your eyes. "No, I'm fine. Just processing that I now live in the most defensible split-level ranch in Ohio history."

"Not yet." Rogal corrected seriously. "But we are making progress."

As if on cue, a large delivery truck appeared at the end of your driveway. The driver stepped out, consulting his clipboard.

"Got a delivery of… sixteen tons of granite and a medieval trebuchet kit for this address?" he called uncertainly.

Vladimir and Halbrecht exchanged what could only be described as excited glances.

"That would be for us." Rogal confirmed, striding toward the truck.

"I didn't order a trebuchet!" you hissed after him.

CHAPTER 1:

CHAPTER 2:

Sunday night, December 22nd 2024, I noticed an influx in visitors to my fic You & Me & Holiday Wine. When I searched the title online, hoping to find out where they came from, a new listing popped up (third one down, no less):

This listing is still up today, by the way, though now when you follow the link to word-stream, it just brings you to the main site. (Also, to be clear, this was not the cause for the influx of traffic to my fic; word-stream did not link back to the original work anywhere.)

I followed the link to word-stream, where to my horror Y&M&HW was listed in its entirety—though, beyond the first half of the first chapter, behind a paywall—along with a link promising to take me—through an app downloadable on the Apple Store—to an AI-narrated audiobook version. When I searched word-stream itself for my ao3 handle I found both of my multi-chapter fics were listed this way:

Because the tags on my fics (which included genres* and characters, but never the original IPs**) weren’t working, I put ‘Kara Danvers’ into the search bar and discovered that many more supercorp fics (Supergirl TV fandom, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor pairing) were listed.

I went looking online for any mention of word-stream and AI plagiarism (the covers—as well as the ridiculously inflated number of reviews and ratings—made it immediately obvious that AI fuckery was involved), but found almost nothing: only one single Reddit post had been made, and it received (at that time) only a handful of upvotes and no advice. 

I decided to make a tumblr post to bring the supercorp fandom up to speed about the theft. I draw as well as write for fandom and I’ve only ever had to deal with art theft—which has a clear set of steps to take depending on where said art was reposted—and I was at a loss regarding where to start in this situation.

After my post went up I remembered Project Copy Knight, which is worth commending for the work they’ve done to get fic stolen from AO3 taken down from monetized AI 'audiobook’ YouTube accounts. I reached out to @echoekhi, asking if they’d heard of this site and whether they could advise me on how to get our works taken down.

While waiting for a reply I looked into Copy Knight’s methods and decided to contact OTW’s legal department:

And then I went to bed.

By morning, tumblr friends @makicarn and @fazedlight as well as a very helpful tumblr anon had seen my post and done some very productive sleuthing:

@echoekhi had also gotten back to me, advising me, as expected, to contact the OTW. So I decided to sit tight until I got a response from them.

That response came only an hour or so later: 

Which was 100% understandable, but still disappointing—I doubted a handful of individual takedown requests would accomplish much, and I wasn’t eager to share my given name and personal information with Cliff Weitzman himself, which is unavoidable if you want to file a DMCA.

I decided to take it to Reddit, hoping it would gain traction in the wider fanfic community, considering so many fandoms were affected. My Reddit posts (with the updates at the bottom as they were emerging) can be found here and here.

A helpful Reddit user posted a guide on how users could go about filing a DMCA against word-stream here (to wobbly-at-best results)

A different helpful Reddit user signed up to access insight into word-streams pricing. Comment is here.

Smells unbelievably scammy, right? In addition to those audacious prices—though in all fairness any amount of money would be audacious considering every work listed is accessible elsewhere for free—my dyscalculia is screaming silently at the sight of that completely unnecessary amount of intentionally obscured numbers.

Speaking of which! As soon as the post on r/AO3—and, as a result, my original tumblr post—began taking off properly, sometime around 1 pm, jumpscare! A notification that a tumblr account named @cliffweitzman had commented on my post, and I got a bit mad about the gist of his message :

Fortunately he caught plenty of flack in the comments from other users (truly you should check out the comment section, it is extremely gratifying and people are making tremendously good points), in response to which, of course, he first tried to both reiterate and renegotiate his point in a second, longer comment (which I didn’t screenshot in time so I’m sorry for the crappy notification email formatting):

which he then proceeded to also post to Reddit (this is another Reddit user’s screenshot, I didn’t see it at all, the notifications were moving too fast for me to follow by then)

... where he got a roughly equal amount of righteously furious replies. (Check downthread, they're still there, all the way at the bottom.)

After which Cliff went ahead & deleted his messages altogether. 

It’s not entirely clear whether his account was suspended by Reddit soon after or whether he deleted it himself, but considering his tumblr account is still intact, I assume it’s the former. He made a handful of sock puppet accounts to play around with for a while, both on Reddit and Tumblr, only one of which I have a screenshot of, but since they all say roughly the same thing, you’re not missing much:

And then word-stream started throwing a DNS error.

That lasted for a good number of hours, which was unfortunately right around the time that a lot of authors first heard about the situation and started asking me individually how to find out whether their work was stolen too. I do not have that information and I am unclear on the perimeters Weitzman set for his AI scraper, so this is all conjecture: it LOOKS like the fics that were lifted had three things in common:

They were completed works;

They had over several thousand kudos on AO3; and

They were written by authors who had actively posted or updated work over the past year.

If anyone knows more about these perimeters or has info that counters my observation, please let me know!

I finally thought to check/alert evil Twitter during this time, and found out that the news was doing the rounds there already. I made a quick thread summarizing everything that had happened just in case. You can find it here.

I went to Bluesky too, where fandom was doing all the heavy lifting for me already, so I just reskeeted, as you do, and carried on.

Sometime in the very early evening, word-stream went back up—but the fan fiction category was nowhere to be seen. Tentative joy and celebration!***

That’s when several users—the ones who had signed up for accounts to gain intel and had accessed their own fics that way—reported that their work could still be accessed through their history. Relevant Reddit post here.

Sooo—

We’re obviously not done. The fanwork that was stolen by Weitzman may be inaccessible through his website right now, but they aren’t actually gone. And the fact that Weitzman wasn’t willing to get rid of them altogether means he still has plans for them. 

This was my final edit on my Reddit post before turning off notifications, and it's pretty much where my head will be at for at least the foreseeable future:

Please feel free to add info in the comments, make your own posts, take whatever action you want to take to protect your work. I only beg you—seriously, I’m on my knees here—to not give up like I saw a handful of people express the urge to do. Keep sharing your creative work and remain vigilant and stay active to make sure we can continue to do so freely. Visit your favorite fics, and the ones you’ve kept in your ‘marked for later’ lists but never made time to read, and leave kudos, leave comments, support your fandom creatives, celebrate podficcers and support AO3. We created this place and it’s our responsibility to keep it alive and thriving for as long as we possibly can.

Also FUCK generative AI. It has NO place in fandom spaces.

THE 'SMALL' PRINT (some of it in all caps):

*Weitzman knew what he was doing and can NOT claim ignorance. One, it’s pretty basic kindergarten stuff that you don’t steal some other kid’s art project and present it as your own only to act surprised when they protest and then tell the victim that they should have told you sooner that they didn’t want their project stolen. And two, he was very careful never to list the IPs these fanworks were based on, so it’s clear he was at least familiar enough with the legalities to not get himself in hot water with corporate lawyers. Fucking over fans, though, he figured he could get away with that. 

**A note about the AI that Weitzman used to steal our work: it’s even greasier than it looks at first glance. It’s not just the method he used to lift works off AO3 and then regurgitate onto his own website and app. Looking beyond the untold horrors of his AI-generated cover ‘art’, in many cases these covers attempt to depict something from the fics in question that can’t be gleaned from their summaries alone. In addition, my fics (and I assume the others, as well) were listed with generated genres; tags that did not appear anywhere in or on my fic on AO3 and were sometimes scarily accurate and sometimes way off the mark. I remember You & Me & Holiday Wine had ‘found family’ (100% correct, but not tagged by me as such) and I believe The Shape of Soup was listed as, among others, ‘enemies to friends to lovers’ and ‘love triangle’ (both wildly inaccurate). Even worse, not all the fic listed (as authors on Reddit pointed out) came with their original summaries at all. Often the entire summary was AI-generated. All of these things make it very clear that it was an all-encompassing scrape—not only were our fics stolen, they were also fed word-for-word into the AI Weitzman used and then analyzed to suit Weitzman’s needs. This means our work was literally fed to this AI to basically do with whatever its other users want, including (one assumes) text generation. 

***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but I’m hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-stream’s search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, don’t have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS.

Again, please, please PLEASE reblog this post instead of the one I sent originally. All the information is here, and it's driving me nuts to see the old ones are still passed around, sending people on wild goose chases.

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

Erasure Head was groaning as he sat with his back pressed against one of the walls of the abandoned building the two of you were taking refuge in. Sitting in one of the narrow and windowless hallways of the building. Soft pants leaving his lips as he pressed his hand against his abdomen where he had earlier been stabbed by a villain while saving you. "Fuck." He hisses out, eyes squeezed shut as he continues to apply pressure to his wound.

You wince slightly, guilt eating at your stomach for being reckless and getting in the way. You should've been paying attention, you should've noticed the stray villain firing at passing civilians, and out of all the other normal pass byers- you were the only one that hadn't noticed or tried dodging when the spikes flew at you.

So here you were, in an abandoned building with the injured pro hero as he groans in pain. "Sorry." You muttered quietly, eyeing his hand covering his would. By now the area was evacuated and the villain was still roaming around. Heroes were stretched thin lately, so Erasure Head's call for back up could take a while. The two of you were sitting ducks now.

"It's fine." He grunts out, a breathe forcing a tuff of hair away from his face. "You wouldn't happen to have a healing quirk, would you?" He asks, not really expecting a confirming answer from you, just figuring that it'd be worth asking.

You really couldn't help but to look away as heat spread across your cheeks. "Technically, I do." You muttered quietly, embarrassed to talk about your quirk. It wasn't something you were particularly proud of, it was embarrassing really. Most times you just told people you were quirkless just to avoid explaining how your quirk worked.

He lets out another soft grunt, finally opening an eye to look at you. "And you just plan on sitting there?" He asks in a gruff voice, causing you to squirm and look even further away. "it's not that simple." You mutter, crossing your arms over your chest to provide a sense of comfort for the awkward conversation you're about to have with a pro hero. "Not simple? I'm bleeding out, there's a deranged villain running around ready to kill, no confirmation of any incoming help, you have a healing quirk but it's apparently 'not simple'?" He says, a slight edge in his tone. You could tell he was frustrated by the current events and your unwillingness to help using your quirk, and it honestly made your skin crawl a little with guilt.

"It's not simple as in..." You have to pause for a moment, eyes searching around the walls as you think of the right way to explain. "A little wave of hand, or a mantra, or I don't know- the point is, it's an unorthodox way of healing." You finally got your words out, managing to look back at the black haired man again. He stared at you with narrowed eyes, like he didn't like your explanation. Something about the way he was looking at you made you mad, like he was challenging you, like it wasn't as bad as you made it out to be. With a glare of your own you open your mouth again. "I can't heal you without you being in my pussy." You say bluntly.

He pauses, and honestly you feel a little proud at the look of shock across his face, even though it's not extremely noticeable. He clears his throat, letting out a soft sigh before speaking, "What do you mean?" He asks, his voice still gruff but with a hint of softness showcasing he's not as upset as before. "I can't heal you without you being..." It was suddenly embarrassing to talk about again- your earlier want to catch him off guard fading away. "Inside of me." You finish off, looking away in embarrassment again.

He lets out another sigh, grunting as he scoots closer to you. He had moved maybe a few inches closer, his sprawled out feet almost able to touch your crossed legs as you continued sitting across from him. "Explain it a little more. Does it have to be genitalia, fingers, any part of the body? Is there a limit to how much you can heal someone? Are they're any side effects on the-"

"I can heal someone as deep as they go. The deeper they are, the more discharge they're touching, but it also depends how long they're in." You decide to cut him off, listing off what you knew about your quirk. You hadn't gone through any training for it so it was still a mystery to you for the most part. All you really knew was that your discharge was the source of healing and it was only if it was from within your vaginal walls. "It can really be anything that can reach deep enough to penetrate. I-..." You pause, a heavy blush crossing your cheeks as you look up at the ceiling in embarrassment. "I don't know if there is a limit to what I can heal, but one of my ex-boyfriends had gotten cancer after we broke up the first time. We got back together after a while, and apparently the tumor had completely dissipated. That's as much as I know about a limit." You mutter. "And I'm not aware of any side effects." You finish off answering his voiced questions.

There was an awkward silence between the two of you now, neither of you really knowing what to say. He lifts his free hand to the back of his head, wincing in pain from the stab as he rubs the back of his neck. "I know this is an uncomfortable thing to be asked, but would you... consider letting me put something in you?" Your eyes shot back to him.

His pale skin was flushed a light pink, his black eyes looking at the floor. You had always considered the pro hero to be beautiful, before now even. His long hair, off putting persona, tired eyes, scruffy beard, and dark clothing had always allured you.

"If... If you feel it's necessary to save us... sure." You say, voice small and unsure. You weren't completely unsure of your words, you'd be fine having sex with a man as handsome and reserved as him, but you were unsure of whether he was ok with the idea of it.

He lets out a sigh, nodding his head. "Better safe than sorry." He grunts out. He pulls his hand from his would, revealing wet fabric around the area and blood on his hand. "Deeper heals faster, right?" He asks, trailing his black eyes up to meet your gaze as he covered the wound once again.

You hum and nod, tearing your eyes away as you scratch the back of your neck from nervousness. "The more contact one has with my 'fluids' the faster and more they heal, yes." You clarify before hearing a quick 'zip' coming from across of you. Your eyes widened and snapped back over to the pro hero. He was slowly stroking his soft cock- even without being erect he was decent sizes, maybe four inches? You could clearly see the straight trimmed black hair at the base, his tip a soft salmon color with a little bead of precum forming at the opening. Your jaw dropped, mouth falling agape at the sight of him.

"You don't have any STD's or anything of the sort, do you?" He asks, staring into your eyes as he shamelessly fists his cock in front of you. You close your mouth, glancing back and forth between the leaking head and his eyes. "N-no." You confirm in a slightly strained voice. He nods, letting his head fall back again as he lets out a breath. "Are you ok with-" He lets out a small grunt, one that sends a heat to your core. Your eyes focused in completely on him, watching as his member grows with each stroke of his hand. "Ok with this?" He finally asks, opening his eyes once again as they zone in on your face. "Yes, perfectly fine with it." You say, almost too eagerly as you continue watching him. He lets out a hum, biting into his lip as he closes one eye from pleasure.

He lets out a breath and his hand stops it's up and down movements along his length. He wipes the precum away with his thumb, flicking away excess liquid. His eyes flick up to yours, scanning over your features as he contemplates how exactly to go about the situation. Realistically seeing as he was the only Hero around it was better to try and heal than sit like a pair of waiting ducks. On the other hand, he was asking a civilian to fuck him. Shota Aizawa was many things, but a womanizer was never one. He felt guilty asking you for this, so much so he'd be sure to send you a gift afterwards to make up for it. He lets out another sigh, patting his thigh. "Alright, come on." He grunts out, his voice slightly raspier than before.

You eagerly crawl towards him, pulling down the waistband of your pants as much as you can while getting closer. You struggled slightly to get them past your knees, but as soon as that obstacle was crossed your pants were thrown off to the side. You grasp his shoulder, noting just how broad and strong they were, he was strong. An involuntary sigh left your lips as you straddled his muscular thighs, lifted just enough so you weren't sitting on him.

"Do you need me to do anything?" He asks, placing his hands on the fat of your hips, gently rubbing his thumbs up and down in a soothing notion. He looked amazing from this angle. Long black hair sprawled across his broad shoulders, black eyes staring up at you, mouth agape with soft breaths falling- each breath causing his shirt covered chest to raise and lightly brush against your own- and a light layer of sweat covering his features. Even fully dressed he looked like some type of god. You'd been so focused on how gorgeous he looked underneath you like this that you hadn't noticed his right hand trailing from your hip to your crotch, not until the cold pad of his thump was pressed against your clothed clit.

Your eyes widened and your grip on his shoulders tightened, nails digging into the fabric of his uniform. "Oh~! Hahhh-" You whimpered, your head falling forward from the feeling. You weren't expecting him to try and please you- even if it was just some pressure against the sensitive bud. "Th-that's not necessary!" You huff out in a whiny voice. You didn't want him to stop despite your words, and considering he wasn't removing his thumb he didn't plan on taking it away.

"The wetter you are, the quicker I heal." His voice came out gruff, the sound of it so close to your ear causing a shiver to run down your spine. His thumb started rubbing slow and small circles against the clothed bud, causing you to lean into his chest, head resting near the crook of his neck. "That's it, just relax." He whispers into your ear, his middle finger pressing against your entrance from the other side of your underwear. You knew he'd be able to feel how wet you already were, the thought was so incredibly embarrassing- barely knowing the man beneath you and you were already forming a wet spot on your panties, but it was also incredibly arousing- the fact he didn't mind. In fact it almost seemed like he wanted more. "Good girl~" He praises into your ear, his voice just above a whisper- the vibration causing you to squirm slightly. He let his thumb continue to rub little circles on your clit, every once in a while flicking stripes across it. His middle finger kept prodding at the clothed entrance, pressing in lightly and gathering more of your slick.

He gently pulls the fabric to the side, his fingers wrapping around the thin material as he adjusts it to stay out of his way. His hand then wraps around his cock once again. By now his length had nearly doubled, hardened to a lengthy seven- maybe even eight- inches. He pumps his member a few times before rubbing the warm tip along your slit. His head was brushing against your clit, the warm skin of his dick eliciting a soft moan from you. "You feel ok?" He whispers the question into your ear, his mouth right against your hair as he breathes heavily. You let out a soft whine and nod, encouraging him to keep going. He presses a soft kiss against your hair, moving his cock back and forth along your folds, his head catching at your entrance every few seconds. "Good girl." His voice a soft and raspy whisper. "Think you're ready for me?" His tone was soft now, not wanting to push you to say yes if you were doubting this. You eagerly nod, letting out a soft moaned "Yes."

He kept one hand on the base of his cock, keeping it in place as he uses the hand on your hip to gently guide you down. You can feel his hot tip pressing through the first ring of your gummy walls, he already feels thicker than he looks.

He was fighting so hard not to let his hips stutter upwards into you- your pussy was just so warm and inviting for him. He couldn't tell if it was a part of your quirk, but you were so fucking wet. It was so easy to push into you from below, to fill your tight hole, to just cum in one delicious pump of your pussy- but he was a man of class. A patient man that didn't let his needs get too far ahead of him, so he kept his hips still. "That's it, doing so good for me." He mutters with closed eyes. His hand tightening on your hip as he pulls you further down his length. He lets out a breath, head leaning back to hit the wall as his eyes open in ecstasy, pupils blown wide at the feeling of you swallowing him whole with your pussy. "Just like that, slow and easy, baby." He mutters, the pet name slipping out without much thought.

One long and heavy breath escapes your lips as you sink down on his length, the girth stretching your walls deliciously with every inch down. A hummed moan erupts from your throat, finally bottoming out on his length. Your mouth fell open at the stretch, your body slumping forward against his own, your chest pushing against his- causing the fat of your breast to flatten slightly, and arms wrapping around his neck.

His hands moved from your hips now encasing your back. One arm had wrapped around your waist, hand pressing into the fat of your side, while the other arm pulled you closer flush against his chest from your upper back. He could feel your walls clench around him, forcing a hiss to leave his slightly swollen lips- red and puffy from him biting them. Aizawa didn't have sex much, rarely even, but this felt amazing. He lets out a soft groan, letting his hands sink into your skin from pleasure. "Quit squeezing like that." He says with a gravely hissed voice.

"'m sorry, I can't- can't help it-! 'ts so big." You babble against his neck. He was filling you completely, his head pressing against your cervix in a painfully good way- and each flutter of your core made every detail of his member more vivid, each flutter making his member press in every sweet nerve you had in your vagina, each flutter causing a beautiful groan escape his throat- like an orchestra working their souls into the sweet noise for you to hear. You shake your head, nuzzling it into the crook of his neck as you try to calm down. "Fuck~!" You moan right under his ear, causing him to tense under you. "'m sorry, Mr. Erasure, 'm so sorry." You keep babbling. It would be embarrassing, but mentally you can't find the energy to worry about it. Not when you're stuffed so full and ready to just cream and cum around him after one pump.

His mind short circuited at your words. A low groan leaving his throat with a light growl at the end. You kept squeezing his girth, letting out little whines here and there, clinging to him like an animal to it's owner, and god the way you talked. It was almost enough for him to throw professionality out the window and just fuck you into the cock hungry slut you were already acting like. "Shota." He grunted out, his hot breath fanning against your slightly exposed shoulder. "Call me Shota." I mutters. He'd be damned if you used that pretty voice to call out his hero name instead of his name. He let out another groan, his head lifting from the wall to rest his cheek against one of your arms wrapped around his neck. He was trying to figure out if you felt this good inside because of your healing quirk, or if this was just you. Either way, he didn't care. It didn't matter really, this was just so he could heal back up and go back to fighting and eventually save you and whatever other civilians might have gotten trapped around here. At least- this is what he was thinking to remind himself of why he was inside you to begin with.

"Shota~!" You moaned out breathlessly.

Fuck.

How the hell was he supposed to worry about healing his would when you purred his name like that? And the way your pussy clenched around him- squeezed around him? You let out a soft whine, scooting closer on your knees to get to his upper body, wanting to fit against him for warmth and pleasure. You didn't even process the fact it would cause you to grind down on him. causing a satisfying push against your cervix from his cock. A whorish moan left your parted lips, eyes rolling back as you couldn't help you greedy walls from actively trying to milk him. He was pressed against your cervix, the clenching of your vaginal walls making every sensitive nerve in you flutter against his length.

A tightly strained growl came from his throat, sending another shiver down to your core. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your jittery nerves, eyes squeezing shut as you cling to the Pro Hero. "I'm sorry, i just-... It's sensitive. I'll try to k-keep still." You stammer over your words, pleasure filling your mind. Truth be told, you hadn't had sex in months, almost a year, and having such a big and girthy cock fill you was heavenly. You inhaled deeply, taking in his musky scent. He smelled amazing- almost doing the opposite of the calming affect you were trying to reach by taking deep breaths. You slowly released the breath of air, your body relaxing against him. Your walls no longer clung so entirely tightly to his member, relaxing a bit as you inhale once more. "Good girl." He mutters into your ear- not helping your attempts to calm down.

He was thankful you stopped squeezing and squirming, no longer having to struggle completely to hold himself back from fucking you like a jack rabbit. He swallowed thickly, letting his head rest back once again as he rubbed soothing little circles on your side and back. Your hands had started softly playing with his dark lochs, one hand twirling the ends of his strands and the other gently scratching at his scalp. The two of you had relaxed and molded into each others soothing touches.

Minutes had passed now, and Shota could tell his wound was healing quickly already. The ache in his abdomen had gone from agonizing to just a dull pain. You clear your throat, slowly pulling back to look him in the eyes. "You doin' any better?" You ask quietly, gaze flickering over his face. He gives a slow nod, swallowing deeply before speaking. "It's a powerful healing quirk... too bad it's unconventional." His gruff voice tickles your ears, even at the distance you're at. You let out a small laugh, nodding along to his words. "My friends and I joke I'd be the perfect Hero wife." He lets out a small chuckle, his lips lifting into a soft smile. "It'd be a nice treat to come home to after a hard day." He says in return, continuing to softly rub your skin.

There was a sudden rumbling in the ground before a loud boom came from outside the building. Your eyes widened and a hand instinctively grabbed on to Shota's shoulder, fear etching your face. The floor beneath the two of you shook violently, vibrating as the villain throws another rampage outside while screaming for someone to 'try and stop him'. The tremors within the building forced you to clam around Shota's member in fear while his arms wrapped tightly around you in a protective way. He lets out a small grunt, thrusting his hips upward and deeper into your heated core. Your eyes squeezed shut, mouth falling open in pleasure as he presses against your cervix again. "F-fuck." You mutter, grinding your hips back and forth against his, forcing friction between your bodies as you clit rubs against the tuff of pubic hair at the base of his cock. He groans next to your ear, eyes shut as his head pushes his forehead against your shoulder.

"Feels so good~! I-I-I'm sorry~ I-" Your words die un your throat for a moment, "please fuck me, please. I- I need to cum, you're so p-perfect." Your words tumble out from your lips, like an avalanche of whines. You were getting needy. The stretch of your walls around his girth, the warmth you could feel between both sets of clothes, his voice- pushing you to beg and plead with the man.

He let's out another grunt before giving one small nod, the movement barely registering in your mind before his feet were firmly planted on the ground and his hips wildly thrusted up into yours. The sheer force of his cock pistoning in and out of your dripping hole causes you to gasp in a breath of air before releasing choppy moans, separated in time with his thrusting. His arms held you tightly against his chest, keeping your body steady and in place so you couldn't move away and ruin the quick and heavy rhythm he'd began. A growl escaped the back of his throat as his teeth sunk into the flesh of your shoulder. Your eyes rolled back as a delirious smile crossed your lips, a fucked out expression on your features. You haven't been fucked in ages- and you've never been fucked this good.

He rolled the two of you over, his body raised over yours. In the new missionary potions he could watch each delicious bounce of your tits as his thrusts reached deeper into your quivering pussy. Your arms raised upwards, hands tugging his head down. His focus was completely on your perked nipples. The push on the back of his head only encouraging him to lean down and take one of the perked buds into his mouth. A low moan buzzed around your nipple as he began sucking and licking at the sensitive nub.

Your pussy clenched around his throbbing cock. The double stimulation of his cock rampaging into you like you're toy purely there for his pleasure and his mouth clinging to your breast like a man starved. Your back arches upwards into him, the new angle allowing his length to kiss your cervix with each pounding thrust of his hips.

He lifts his eyes from your collarbone to gaze up at your fucked out expression. Eyes rolled back, lips parted as your tongue rests against your bottom lip, flushed cheeks, and messy hair. Maybe the pleasure of feeling how snug your pussy was around his touch starved cock made him begin to think of making you his- or maybe he genuinely wanted to have you. He didn't know, but it was all he could think about while staring at your prettily slumped face. He could keep you around, keep this magical pussy all to himself- maybe even fall in love with you and not just the vaginal walls that clamped around him.

Your body bounced, pushing up and down on the floor as he continued snapping his hips against yours to piston his girthy dick in and out. You felt so full with every drag in to kiss your cervix- so full that even when he would pull as far out as possible without slipping out of your greedy folds, you could still feel the impressions his girth left inside of you.

"C-cum in~~~" a huff leaves your lips as you take a shallow breath, "inside, Sh-Sho-" Your words are cut off as his tip drags along your g-spot before kissing the end of your vaginal canal once again, the motion repeating several times. A gutted moan escapes your throat as your walls squeeze him- putting a stutter in his thrusts as the pressure. You were cumming. You hadn't even realized till you felt an excessive wetness against your front as his body slit against your own.

He lets out a whimpered laugh, his body forcing himself to push deeper- deep enough that his seed would release closest to the depths of your pussy, closest to where his semen would meet an egg to fertilize- not that it would. You were on birth control.

Warmth fills your fluttering walls, pussy painted white from the inside by his thick and gooey cum.

"Fuck... Did so good f'me, pretty girl." He groans out as he rests his head into your shoulder. Your body was sore. The intensity of how rough he was on your poor kitty, bruises along your breasts, and the slight pain in the back of your head from rubbing against the floor so much. It was worth it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

A week had passed by now. Your encounter with the pro hero was short lasting, much to your dismay.

After he had been fully healed thanks to your quirk he easily took down the low life criminal, now locked behind prison bars once again. You remember how pretty he looked coming back to you to get you back to the safety of your home- insisting it was the least he could do.

You had expected a visit considering he knew where you lived, but alas, nothing.

Nothing until you were of your way home from work today. Walking out the elevator to wander down the hall towards your apartment. You rounded the fluorescently lit corner and let out a small sigh, eyes closed with exhaust. You had managed about six steps before opening your heavy lids once again.

There he was.

Messy hair pulled back into a high bun with a few strands left out to frame his angled face, baggy black sweatpants and sweatshirt, and a beautiful bouquet of red roses in his hand.

You froze in your tracks, staring at him blankly. A heat spread across your cheeks and your mouth fell open to speak- say something even if you were at a loss of words. "Shota?" You sputtered out.

A soft smile graced his lips and his eyes lightly crinkled at the sides. "Pretty girl." He greets back. Your lips stretch into a smile of your own, overridden with joy of seeing the man you thought of all week. You walk closer, readjusting the keys in your hand to unlock the door. "What're you doin' here?" You found yourself asking as you stand before him.

He lifts the flowers towards you, using his other hand to brush away a few of his stray hairs out of his face.

"Came to ask if my pretty savior would like to go on a date with me this Saturday."

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Holy moly