fairly inactive

there’s just something about you seeing you on top of him that turns his insides into a syrupy mess, knees weak. maybe it’s because kento nanami is a man who strives on order and control, and you’ve found a way to slither your way through his system.

it’s probably because when you murmur his name in that honeyed voice of yours, he knows he’s a total goner.

“mm, my beautiful wife,” he rumbles, hands smoothing over your waist, eyes lidded as he watches your hips rise and fall in that slow, tantalizing rhythm that drives him mad. “doing such a good job, sweetheart.”

all you can manage is a series of little moans in return, too caught up in how his cock feels inside you, so perfectly nudged in your walls, filling you just right. how his tip bumps against that gooey spot that makes you clench around him tighter, or how he groans your name with a low, rough sound.

there’s your tits, too — nanami’s always been rather partial to them — that he loves to capture between his lips, biting down gently on the stiffened peaks. he loves how you squeal his name, mouth curving into a cute little smile, and he loves how you manage to look so adorable and utterly debauched at the same time.

if his lips aren’t on you he’s cupping your chest with such devoted reverence, so softly. the contrast from how he pistons his cock into you, sharp and quick, makes your mind blank.

nanami’s favourite part of it all, perhaps, is that he can look up at your pretty face when you finish. he loves seeing your features twist in pleasure, your kiss-swollen lips part, brows furrowing just slightly. your eyes rolling back as you climax, gushing a mess around his cock, hands digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave little crescents.

and after he’s made you cum at least four times (he’s a man, after all), you droop down onto his chest, burying your face in his neck, clinging onto his biceps. he coos your name gently, strokes your hair, and smiles to himself when you whine about being too sore to walk tomorrow.

a/n: don’t know where this came from but here ya go!

Hey so… I am thinking about your husband, the Number One Hero Izuku Midoriya, getting home late to you, his pregnant wife.

And I’m thinking that maybe the Number One Hero has had his fill of being a hero. That perhaps he decides after the day he had—watching children die always takes a big chunk of your soul—he could just…retire early, move away with you, build a family with you.

He just can’t watch another child die because he “can’t save everyone.”

And the little holes in his soul, are mirrored on his expression.

It’s a traumatic expression, one that will haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

It’s defeat. Pure and utter defeat. It’s the expression of a man who has nothing left. Chewed up and spit out day after day, little chunks of himself ripped away and cast to the wind until there’s nothing but scraps of himself left. Like a torn candy wrapper on a cool summer breeze.

He floats to you, still awake on the couch—obviously—and the second he feels your touch he crumbles.

You’ve watched a building come down before, caught in an explosion from your husband breaking down the walls of a building that held you captive. The debris and smoke in the air made it hard to breathe, like you were suffocating. You coughed pieces of concrete and fiberglass from your lungs. And as the shards came up your throat, the sliced at the tender akin and made your throat burn.

You can only guess that that is what your husband’s defeat feels like.

He sits on the couch with you standing between his thighs, he rests his ear on your stomach and wraps both arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

He listens for a few minutes in the silence, and he feels a nudge against his cheek.

And then, he sobs.

Loudly. A large revving engine of sorrow as he buries his face into the fabric of your pajamas holding you tightly and trembling.

Because once again, you’ve done it.

You’ve saved him. The life you bring into his heart is unmatched. If he has you, that’s all that matters to him.

And the tiny life the two of you have created, that slumbers in your tummy will be the victory he’s happy to win.

You wrap your arms tenderly around his head, silent tears of your own trickling into his tousled green hair. You kiss his forehead over and over, and let him cry until he’s coughing and hiccuping like he’s in a collapsed building.

And as the moon moves across the night sky, a new dawn approaches for both of you.

29 August 1958 - 25 June 2009

warnings: talk of grief

A/n: I tried working on Sleep On the Floor more while I was away but found I can’t write the same way I used to a few years ago so I ended up writing the ending and it ended up being more venty and cathartic than I imagined. Either way I’m sick of looking at it so I’m posting it and fleeing again.

Katsuki reaches a hand out to you. 

“No! Don’t! Just… just don’t touch me,” you wail and flinch away from his outstretched hand. 

He pauses for a minute to watch you shrink and curl into a ball. It’s the first time you look terrified, hurt, wasted away. Dark circles, tear filled eyelashes, your shirt stained with sweat under your arms and down your back.

You’re shivering, more like trembling with emotion and your bloodshot eyes bore into his. You look so fragile, like if he touches you with one finger, you’ll shatter into a thousand pieces. 

“So many people kept touching me, hugging me, and looking at me. I want them to stop. I want it all to stop. I don’t want them to touch me because they’re not her. They don’t feel like her. I just want everything to stop,” You say through hiccups and labored breaths

It’s only then that he realizes you look like he did, the day you found each other in the bar. It clicks then, it’s how you knew this trip would be exactly what he needed. You knew the look, picked up on it immediately and instead of turning a blind eye like everyone else in the bar, you reached out a hand for him to take. 

It’s time he returned the favor.

Your head is buried in your arms atop your knees now and your shoulder shake with every sob. Katsuki hesitates for just a moment before quickly pulling you into his arms, enveloping you completely and resting his chin on top of your head. He squeezes your face against his chest, tightening his arms around your body as if he’s holding all the pieces threatening to shatter together. 

As soon as you feel him your sobs stop. Your body goes limp but he only squeezes you tighter and squeezes his eyes shut. All he wants in this one moment, is for you to feel as safe as you made him feel. It’s the least he can give you considering all you’ve given him the past few weeks. 

You both sit like that for what feels like hours but neither of you move, or speak. You listen to each other’s breath, Katsuki’s calm and controlled, yours slowing to sync up with his. When you’re both breathing as one, he places his lips to your forehead and whispers comforting words to you. 

“I’ll sit here as long as you need to. I’m not gonna pretend I know what to say either. You’re better at words and making people feel better, not me. And this ain’t something I can just take away from you, even though I’d give up everything to be able to. But I ain’t letting go. Not a chance,” he whispers gruffly. 

You move slowly, turning to bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms around his back. You pull him closer, inhaling the scent of his shirt and sighing.

“You feel different,” you say simply. It’s muffled but Katsuki can understand you perfectly. 

“Whatcha mean?” He asks with genuine curiosity. 

“It’s warm. It’s not her but, it’s the closest thing to her I’ve felt in days,” you untuck your face from his chest to peer into his eyes. 

Your eyes are wide, filled with tears and still red but you’re smiling up at him. Even now, he thinks you’re gorgeous. Even now while you’re hurting terribly he’s thankful for your smile. 

“It’s like, when your favorite ice flavor gets discontinued. But the same company comes out with a similar flavor and you try it and it’s good. It’s really good, it reminds you of your old favorite flavor but it’s still not the same. But…you’re ok with this one because it’s good and it makes you happy. And even though you’ll never forget your favorite flavor, you still really like the way this new one tastes,” you explain while still looking at him. 

Katsuki's eyes are warm when he looks at you. He raises an eyebrow playfully. “You and your fucking analogies,” he says gruffly. 

He smirks a bit then puts his thumb under your chin to grab it and bring your lips toward his. He kisses you, lips dragging lazily against yours,tasting your salty tears and your mango flavored chapstick. It’s a familiar action, one you slip into easily when you wrap your arms around his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair. 

When you pull back from him, you touch your forehead to his. “You know you don’t gotta hide this from me, right?” he asks in a serious voice. He peers into your eyes, demanding your full attention. You nod, his head bobbing with yours.

“And you don’t gotta hold it all in. You don’t have to be happy all the time. You wanna scream, I’ll take you somewhere to scream. You wanna cry, you can cry with me here. I won’t touch you if that’s what you want.”

When he says this your fists tighten around the fabric of his shirt and when you scoot closer and nuzzle your face into his neck, he knows you’re telling him not to let you go. 

 “Where do we go now?” You whisper against his neck. 

He stands then and reaches a hand down for you to grab it. You look at it for a second then slip your hand into his and he pulls you up off the ground. He intertwines his fingers with yours and pulls you back toward the car with a wily smirk. 

“Wherever we fucking want.”