s. aizawa. it's like you’re sleeping alone with how he sticks to his side of the bed and stays there. the second his head hits the pillow, he's out like a light. you'd think he was dead if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest. you can cuddle up to him, but don't expect him to return the favor when he’s in a rem cycle.
t. yagi. in theory, he’s up there as someone you’d love to sleep with but the reality is far less kind. you'd better fall asleep before he does, because while he's awake, he'll be mindful of your space. don’t relax just yet cus the second he conks out he somehow manages to spread out and take over the entire bed, no matter how tiny he is. he's also pretty restless, kicking you in his sleep, and an incredibly light sleeper. even you getting up for a glass of water has him waking in a cold sweat.
fat gum. the worst mistake of your life. please, get a separate bed and reconsider. he rolls around constantly, stretching out his limbs without a second thought. he's the type to flail an arm into your face, and when you push it away, it somehow comes back twice as hard. loves cuddling so much, which is exactly what you don't need with his quirk in the mix. the second you're in his arms, he's pulling you against his chest and practically suffocating you. at least you can feel a little pity for all his victims in your last moments.
present mic. surprisingly chill to sleep with. the best way you could describe the way he sleeps is like he was laying in a too large beanbag. one leg ends up draped over you while the other somehow hangs halfway off the bed. he's also unexpectedly considerate, wearing mouth tape to keep his god-awful snoring under control or will play with your hair, watching till you fall asleep.
nighteye. he has trouble sleeping, so he'll spend a while staring at the ceiling (you) until he finally drifts off. he stays firmly on his side of the bed, never crossing that invisible boundary unless you make the first move. since he doesn't exactly reciprocate affection physically, you're almost always stuck being the big spoon, no matter how much it bruises his ego. the real question is how much space do you take up in his king sized bed? approximately 90%.
endeavor. hear me out… he's actually a pretty quiet sleeper. falling asleep is the hard part for him though. he'll lie awake while his thoughts eat him alive. he wants to reach for you... or would that wake you? he wants to pull you into his arms... or would you overheat and shove him away? in the end, you almost always wake up with some part of him propped on you. his hand on the dip of your waste, his leg between your own, or the rough sandpaper of his stubble against your bare back.
knuckleduster. absolutely no doubt dominates the bed. you don’t even have the grace to say it’s subconscious, he just sprawls out to tick you off. he's not much of a big spoon, either; he'd rather lie directly on top of you (he likes your boobs—how uncouth). if you're lucky, he'll let you rest against his bicep, but that only lasts so long before he's shoving you into his chest and placing a head on your head to make sure you stay.
knuckleduster with a darling who likes how obsessive he is
pairing: iwao oguro / knuckleduster x gn!reader
tags: yandere!knuckleduster, obsessive/overprotective behaviour, wholesome fluff, established romantic relationship
you always knew that iwao was a protective man! hell, even a little too protective at times. but you never minded that. in fact, you secretly even enjoyed having someone who was THIS protective of you and showed so much care for you
yet for the longest time, you had no idea just how obsessed iwao actually was with you. until one day, you discovered that he had not only installed a tracker on your phone, but has been secretly taking pictures of you while out in public…
most people would be appalled by that – and iwao thought you'd be too – but you weren't! while he was scrambling for an apology, you cut him short and confessed how happy you were that he cared so much about your safety and wellbeing!
honestly, iwao was quite surprised by that revelation! but now that he knew you liked that, there was no reason to hide anymore, right?
so aside from the tracker, he asked if he could have access to your accounts as well – just to see if anyone potentially dangerous was texting you!
and when you allowed that as well, he was sure that he could go as far as he wanted, without ever scaring you off…
even if he'd kill someone to keep them away from you, he was certain you'd forgive him, as long as he told you he did it to keep you safe…
still life — knuckleduster/oguro iwao x (f) reader. ୨୧ Still unsure if he's truly deserving of a life of peace, Iwao tiptoes around his new home with you— afraid that even his now-quiet existence may yet shatter the tranquil rhythm he's found himself dancing to.
tags and warnings: post-timeskip, post-naruhata lockdown, reader is a divorced single mother in her (mid-)30s, slight age difference things, implied sexual content, mentions of marriage and (an unconfirmed) pregnancy, minor original characters, domestic fluff and slice of life.
wc: 4.8k
୨୧ This fic will not use 'yn' and instead follow my usual naming convention. Please kindly see yourself out if you're uncomfortable with fics using placeholder names for the reader. I do not use 'yn' in any of my fics. I still use 'you'/second person pronouns and write with a generic (f) reader in mind. I use "Otome" as a placeholder as it means maiden, or Maiden-chan, which pretty much translates to 'yn'. The name isn't mentioned often and is just for the sake of my preferences since I find it jarring to write 'yn' frequently.
🌺 author's note: I am finally settling on a fic format lol. That aside, I started watching Vigilantes late and fell for Fist Geezer a bit more than I expected. I think KD is neat and deserves a break.
୨୧ images used are from pinterest unless stated otherwise.
🎧 now playing... town from the ffi ost | koi no retronym by mekakushe
Here was a feeling he thought he had forgotten— the surface of a clean living room floor, a sliding door left slightly ajar, an afternoon breeze gently blowing through the peach-colored curtains, a weight on his arm…
It's been eons since he's felt this peaceful, and a muted ceiling is now a welcome sight for him. Right next to him on his left curled up a little boy no older than six, a missing front tooth revealed by his slightly opened tiny mouth and on his right arm rested a head of messy hair, a face just as peaceful, and a body like a slice of heaven underneath the airy cotton dress.
Iwao curled his right arm ever so slightly, prompting you to nuzzle even closer to him, slinging your own arm over his broad chest. This feeling itself was a slice of heaven served to him on a gilded plate. He never even realized how hungry he was.
Oh. He wanted to punch himself. Surely this must be some sort of cruel prank, a dream he has yet to wake up from. He's a troublemaker, after all, and hasn't really done anything worth being rewarded something like this…
"Mm… Is something the matter?…" You asked as you slowly sat up from your restful sleep, allowing yourself a little stretch before reaching for his right knee, rubbing gentle circles over the cap. "Does the cold hurt your knee?"
The cold made everything all over ache, he thought to himself, though not at all brave to tell you upfront. You coddled him too much, after all, like he wasn't a grown man years older than you were. Still, he'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't enjoying all the attention.
"I'll close the window…" You said as you poised to stand up, only for Iwao to grasp your hand in his larger one.
"'S'fine," he murmured, slowly pulling you down into his hold. "You're warm enough…"
"Well… If you're okay, then I'm okay," you hummed at him, resting your warm cheek on his chest as you lowered yourself back into his arms. "Oh, I just remembered. Tama-chan called earlier today while you were out. I said I'd tell you to call her back, so don't forget to do so."
"Mm, did she now?…" Iwao mused aloud. He wasn't quite ready to speak to his daughter again after his last scolding. It was supposed to be their typical lunch date, but having brought up the topic of relationships and your still-undefined status cost him their peaceful conversation.
"Second chances don't come easy. You said it yourself," Tamao stated as she knowingly wagged a finger at her father before helping herself to another slice of their shared pizza. "And I happened to like her… your girlfriend, I mean. She's so kind and sweet… And her kid, too! I've always wanted a little brother, and Yuki-kun is just the sweetest! A-Anyhow! I want you to stop being silly and respond to her feelings properly, old man!"
Dating should have been off the table for him, even though he's been widowed for the last four years. He mourned his late wife and the life they once shared, and he swore to himself that he'd never go around ruining another woman's life because of his own indecisiveness. Dating and relationships were a Pandora's Box he had no strength to open because it meant sorting through its messy contents. He didn't have the energy for that at all.
And yet, when he saw you defending the local cafe from what looked like an attempted villain break-in, he couldn't help but hear the hypothetical box being rattled, its contents clattering from the inside, demanding to be heard by him. And he didn't just hear you shout back a string of profanities while brandishing a baseball bat at the men now… Did he?
A pretty thing in a brown apron with a mouth like a seasoned sailor.
The elderly owners shivered in fear as you shielded them from the verbal assault launched by the no-good-doers, your gaze like steel, your form unmoving even as one of the thugs aimed a carefully sharpened pocket knife at you. The ruffians looked just about to retaliate when they flinched altogether at the sight of Naruhata's own Fist Geezer stepping in to mediate the tense standoff. Even with his makeshift cane (that surely served as another one of his weapons), he was still every bit as menacing as he was when he previously patrolled the streets with The Crawler and Pop☆Step.
"Step away from the cafe," the masked man stated as he towered over the group of men with clenched fists. "And I suggest you put that down before you hurt yourself, miss…"
Knuckleduster held the other end of the bat and tried to gently wrench it out of your smaller hands, but he was evidently confused at the amount of resistance he met when you didn't let go initially.
"I'm not going to leave myself defenseless until these gentlemen vacate our premises," you stated, though visibly relaxing at the sight of your would-be savior. "Well? You have five seconds to turn tail before I start swinging."
The thugs left without making any other commotion, unnerved by the appearance of the striking and rugged man in the worn-out mask. They knew better than to cross the older man, who was well-known for letting his fists do the talking.
"Thank you for stepping in," you said with a low and gracious bow you directed toward the vigilante. Your brave front did not hold, and you nearly lost your footing by the time the troublemakers were out of your sight. Knuckleduster caught you in his arms before you could fall, and you could faintly remember the look of concern that washed over his face as your elderly parents crowded over you.
You worked as a waitress at Cafe Lilico, your family's little rustic cafe that seemed out of place in the slate-gray Naruhata district. And as he vowed to your parents, he came over to check up on you the day after, where you served him a coffee your mother promised him, along with something else…
"Oh! It's the Punchy Man!" Came the excited trill of a little boy's voice, his ecstatic footsteps resounding against the cafe's redwood floor, the light on his shoes aglow as he stepped into the older man's space. "Are you here to see my mama?! It's because she's sooo pretty, right?!"
"Yukiya! Wh-What are you…?!"
"The kid's right, you know?" The masked man grinned as he placed a large hand over the boy's head, ruffling his hair. "Your mom's popular, huh? That why you got troublemakers comin' from all over the place?"
"Issokay! She beats them back every time!" The boy, Yukiya, exclaimed as he peered at the masked vigilante from behind your mother's skirt now.
You placed the cup and saucer of your mother's famous black brewed coffee on his table. "That's quite enough, Yuki-kun. Let's not bother Mister Knuckleduster, okay? He came here for a coffee…"
"I said your kid's right. I did come here for you," Knuckleduster stated as he helped himself to the black coffee you just served him. "Your ma said somethin' about teaching you basic self-defense."
"Did she now?" You remarked, obviously unconvinced by your mother's motives. This wasn't the first time she tried setting you up with a new man.
"I'd be glad to teach you a trick or two, but you're already plenty scary with your bat and your smart mouth," the older man chuckled. The sound of his laughter was low and hearty and incredibly inviting.
A warmth of quiet hope bloomed over your chest as you told yourself this may be the last time your mother sets you up with a new man.
"Ah, well… H-How about a sandwich to go with your coffee? O-On the house, of course!"
That was nearly half a year ago. And for all of your supposed busyness, you were a surprisingly attentive girlfriend. It was a word he was still coming to terms with now that he's bared himself to you. And you were incredibly affectionate— a fact he was still adjusting to whenever he came to visit your home, which happened to be the third floor of Cafe Lilico, your family's place of employment.
That single-unit apartment became his most well-kept secret, a stronghold he had no intention of revealing, no matter how much he'd be tortured— not that it was ever going to happen, but that was simply to show how sacred the place meant to him.
Iwao's reverie was cut short when you climbed over and straddled him, reaching for your son, who was still cluelessly and sleepily curled up beside him.
"Yuki-kun, time to wake up… We're heading to grandma and grandpa's, remember?" You cooed at the boy as you brushed up the mess of hair over his forehead.
"Want me to take him?" Iwao asked you as he helped Yukiya's slow ascent, a wide yawn escaping the boy's mouth as he drove his tiny fists over his eyes to rub away the sleepiness that still lingered over his head.
Your parents lived on the floor below you and usually had their grandson over with them on Fridays. They didn't mind babysitting at first as you navigated through your messy divorce a few years back, but now it has become a ritual for the three of them to hang out and play board games every Friday night, leaving you with a quiet night of contemplation to yourself.
But your Fridays have been hardly quiet lately ever since you gave Iwao your spare key.
"I was thinking you could cook some rice for us while I bring him down," you replied with a small smile as Yukiya stood up and coiled his arms around your neck. You wrapped your arms around your son and slowly rose from your comfortable seat, carrying your boy with you as you walked over to close the window. "I'll make dinner when I get back."
"Rice, huh… Easy enough," Iwao remarked as he sat up himself, a hand flying over his mouth as he let out a similarly wide yawn as your boy did just moments ago.
"I'll be quick, I promise," you beamed at him as you made your way to your door. "I bought some beer the other day, too. Shall we have a little drink later?"
He quirked an eyebrow at you. "You want to drink? With me?"
"God forbid a girl wants to drink with her boyfriend on a Friday night," you rolled your eyes at him. "Of course, I want to drink with you. That and more…"
Fortunately, Yukiya was a well-behaved and well-meaning boy who was always more than happy to spend time with his grandparents, especially now that they bought yet another board game to play— something easy enough for all of them to understand and entertaining enough to get them through the night. He was surprisingly mature for his age, too, though he was still more charmingly innocent than precocious. Yukiya easily warmed up to the idea of Iwao becoming part of his family, and he was always upfront about his feelings on the matter.
"I like you a lot, Iwa-san. You make my mama smile and laugh a lot. I wish you were my papa…" He once told the older man as they walked back home together on a rainy day. For Yukiya, the world seemed endlessly vast whenever the vigilante carried him high in his strong arms. The little boy buried his face in the crook of Iwao's neck in utter embarrassment. "I wish I was strong like you. So I can protect my mama."
"You're a thoughtful kid, Yukiya. I'm sure your ma's awfully proud of you… But you don't have to worry about protecting her because I'm here. I'll protect you both. She'd want you to just enjoy being a kid…"
"Mm… I hope we can become a family for real… Me, mama, you, obaa-chan, ojii-chan, and Tama nee-chan, too…"
A family, huh?
Iwao mused as he lit his favorite cigarette outside the apartment window, even though the evening breeze brought an ache to his scars and knees. He didn't want the place stinking up with smoke, much to his own surprise. Lighting cigarettes indoors reminded him of Pop's endless scolding— "Ugh! My hair will stink of cigarette smoke, old man!"
"Something funny?" You asked from behind him, and he made space for you right next to him. "You're smiling, after all…"
"Just remembered somethin'," he countered, offering you a cigarette even though you always refused. "Rice is cooking, by the way."
"Mm, that's good. I'll whip up some karaage and steamed veggies and bring out our beer!" You grinned at him before eventually pointing to your living room coffee table. "Don't forget to use your ashtray."
Oh, he had one of those here, too? Iwao didn't know what brought on these contemplations— his self-imposed questions about his life and worth— and whether or not he deserved this peaceful life after all that he's done.
But it was clear to him from the way he had his own ashtray here… His dark towel hanging to dry along yours and your son's… A third toothbrush in your bathroom that clearly belonged to him… A fresh change of clothes his size… His own key to this place… The boy, Yukiya, always running up to him in utter elation… And you, with all of your warmth, beckoning him into your arms every time he arrived home…
This space that was once just yours and your son's… It was clear to him that this was his home, too. You made it into his home.
"Iwao? Sweetheart? Is something the matter?" You asked from across the room as you sliced through the freshly-washed carrots and broccoli. "You seem a little absentminded these days."
You listened as he lumbered into the kitchen space, the smell of cigarette smoke lingering on his clothes, but you didn't mind much at all. He stood right next to you, his presence ever so evident though he tried his best to keep quiet.
"Just thinking," he said with a low hum, watching you chop the vegetables deftly.
"Oh, how dangerous," you chuckled to yourself. "You know, Yuki-kun just told me the wisest thing the other day. I think it was because he caught me deep in thought…"
"What'd he say?"
"A trouble shared is a trouble halved. A joy shared is a joy doubled," you said thoughtfully. "He said sharing what's on my mind will lighten my load either way. Honestly, that boy is too smart for his own good."
"Good kid, that one," Iwao replied. "You did a fine job of raising him."
"I'm glad you think so. I had help from my parents, of course… Though Yuki-kun would've benefitted greatly from having a f-father figure to look up to…"
Iwao was quick to notice the sudden tremor in your sweet voice, closely followed by a quiver in your movements. He stepped into your space, just right behind you, his broad chest pressed to your back, and his larger hands enveloping yours as he carefully guided your motions. It didn't take long for you to calm down, a tender hum leaving your lips as you managed to bring the vegetables to a steam.
There was no differentiation between the sound of your heartbeats from how close you stood, his strong arms now coiled around your waist as you swayed to and fro, your rhythm slow and easy enough for him to follow.
At night, he was Naruhata's guardian, but you liked the thing you had going on with Knuckleduster— with Oguro Iwao— during the day. He nearly laughed his socks off when you first started referring to each other as boyfriend-girlfriend, for lack of better terms, but only because he thought it was funny that someone of his old age would have one— a girlfriend— and a really pretty one, to boot.
But you were no spring chicken yourself, no matter how pretty you were in other people's eyes… And the fact that your parents had to meddle in your affairs, even with the best of intentions, was embarrassing enough when you mentioned it on your first date with the vigilante. He didn't think it was strange, but more endearing, because he thought you'd be tired of your parents worrying for you… But you took their advice and went on that date to placate them, completely unaware of what was to come. You don't regret it one bit.
And you want to think that he doesn't regret it, either. If he did, he wouldn't even be here. right? His strong, muscular arms wrapped around you, his hold entirely reassuring, like an unwavering and unyielding promise you could lean into without thinking twice.
Yet his quiet, absentminded musing frightened you a little. You were afraid that whatever unspoken thoughts he had would lead him away from you, even though he was already such an important part of your life now.
"You… think I'd make a good father to Yukiya? I'm sure you've already heard a lot from Tamao…" Iwao spoke, his voice low and smoky, his words full of intent, reverberating against your chest and settling in your ribcage. "…Do you think I deserve this? This… kind of life…"
Is that what's been eating at him?
"Iwao, sweetheart…" You said, gently breaking your embrace to face him. You raised your hands to cradle his face, scarred and rugged but every bit charming to you still, and it pulled at your heart to see him melt into your caress, the hardened vigilante in him rendered malleable in your hands. "Tama-chan meant well when she told me about your relationship. It's not like you didn't try your best to be a good father to her. It just so happened that you didn't see eye to eye on things. As a parent myself, I can't fault you for feeling that way back then. Even though Yuki-kun's still practically a baby to me, I'm not looking forward to the hard conversations and arguments we'll have… But they have to be said, either way. A-And your wife, she…"
You swallowed hard, averting your eyes from his steady gaze.
"When Tamao and I finally spoke after all of that ugly business, we agreed to move forward with… with our lives. We mourned her mother, and I swore to myself that that was it," Iwao stated, grasping your wrist to bring your palm to his lips. "You were no damsel in distress, I know. There was a fire in your eyes that said you weren't someone to be trifled with, but I couldn't stop myself from stepping in…"
When he first saw you driving away the ruffians outside your family's cafe, something shifted for him. Time only slowed for him, only just, since he wished to burn this memory into his mind until the ink bled into the following pages. His altruism was only part of the entire reason why he helped you out. Fiery, fearless, self-assured, and yet… The overwhelming urge to protect the defenseless overrode everything else. You were brave, but those thugs would knock you out senseless and rob your family of what you're worth if he arrived even a second later.
Then came your parents' unbelievable request— "You look like a reasonable man. You should date our daughter. She could use a strong arm like you around. Just come over and tell her you're here to give her some self-defense lessons!"
Him? Reasonable? He lost an eye and busted his knee because he was in everyone else's business and had no business being in everyone else's business…
That cup of coffee your parents offered him gave him hope. So much hope, in fact, that he thought he was overreaching things. He only realized now, holding you like this, that he filled you with the same kind of hope— for better things to come— as you moved forward in your life as well.
"Hah! So you're finally admitting that you did approach me because you thought I was pretty," you remarked rather triumphantly. It was the same smugness that endeared you to him the moment he laid his eye on you.
Iwao planted his palms on the kitchen counter, trapping you in his arms as he leaned forward to close the space between you. A low chuckle left your lips as he kissed you, tickled by the stubble he had yet to clean up. His tense arms wound around you once more, hands rough against the cotton of your dress as he traced the curve of your back.
"Oh, you're awfully pretty, all right. Awfully warm… and awfully soft, too…" He murmured against your jaw, warm kisses trailing the length of your neck. His hold on you tightened ever so slightly, and it was your turn to melt into his touch. He crashed into you like an unrelenting wave, his figure rigid over your contrasting softness. You felt the tension in his arms as he held himself over you, his fear of overwhelming you evident from his furrowed brow, but you reassured him as you always did, that you could handle the weight and the press of his strength— the intensity of his love for you.
You could only hope that he could handle just as much from you.
Your dinner was cold, and your beer was sub-zero by the time you woke up in the middle of the night. Iwao's shirt was the closest piece of clothing you managed to grab as you stealthily slipped out of your bed, or so you tried, until you were stopped in your tracks by a strong hand grasping your thigh.
"Where're you goin'?" Came his groggy query, to which you replied by pressing a tender kiss on his forehead.
"Just gonna put our dinner in the fridge…"
"I thought you were gonna leave me. Keep on forgettin' that this is your place. If there's anyone who has to leave, it's me…"
His sleepy blathering prompted a laugh from you, and you moved to gently comb his hair over his forehead until he was lulled to sleep again. You drew your comforter over his topless figure, one foot off the bed, until he spoke again.
"…Whaddya say to making me part of your family?"
The question hit you like a lightning bolt, time stopping for you just enough for your heart to catch up to what you just heard. Your chest tightened, and all you wanted to do was cage yourself in his arms. So you did.
"Oh, Iwao… You never had to ask," you murmured against his chest, your eyes filling with tears you've wanted to cry out for so long, yet rather not show him. It didn't matter now if he didn't hear your answer. It won't change anything, anyway. He was your family the moment he decided to step in and make your business his own. "You already are."
"Tama-chan! Oh, welcome!" You happily greeted the young woman, your arms open as she excitedly jumped into your embrace.
"Yohoo, Otome-san! Thank you for having us over!" Tamao beamed at you as she gladly took your hands in her own. Her smile only widened as she saw Yukiya ecstatically running over to her.
"Tama nee-chan! Soga nii-chan! And the fireball guy and the lizard guy!"
"Yuki-kun!" The young woman exclaimed as she got on her knee to receive the running boy in her arms. "Ah! How have you been? Why do I feel like you grew a little taller?! Don't grow up too fast, you little bugger!"
"I didn't realize Rapt and I didn't have name— guh!…" Moruyu stated with a feigned pout, only for Soga to elbow him quiet.
"Have a seat, you guys! Order whatever you want, it's on the house today," you said as you led the group to Cafe Lilico's best table, handing them your menus. The cafe was closed for the day to give way to your simple marriage registration celebration. "I recommend the garden pizza and the chocoffee as these are our bestsellers, but feel free to choose whatever you want to eat!"
As you took the group's orders and left for the kitchen, your little boy elatedly raised his hands to give each visitor a high five.
"Tama nee-chan, Soga nii-chan, I have a secret to tell you," Yukiya said, eyes wide and starry as he latched onto the older girl's leg. "Don't tell anyone else, okay?… Uh, maybe you can tell the fireball guy and the lizard guy, too…"
Tamao ruffled the little boy's hair and shot him a big grin. "C'mon, Yuki-kun. We're all family here. No need for any secrets…"
"Yeah, squirt. What's up? You want us to beat someone?" Soga chuckled as he made space between himself and Tamao on the crimson leather booth seat. The young boy climbed up, all smiles as he happily yet quietly declared that, "We might have a little brother or little sister… At least that's what obaa-chan told me! So I'm gonna be a big brother! And you're gonna be a big sister!"
"That so? That's great news!" The young woman exclaimed with a thoughtful smile as she coiled her arms around Yukiya. "I was already plenty happy with Yuki-kun, but another sibling? Color me impressed!"
"Yuki-kun? Come here now, let's not disturb Tama nee-chan and her friends!" You called out for the little boy, whose happy smile melted into a small pout as he slowly slinked off the seat.
"Ojii-chan says I should be a good boy and listen to Mama whenever she calls me so I don't hurt her. Because if I hurt her, I'll hurt my little brother or sister, too," Yukiya mumbled, crestfallen at having to part with Tamao after not seeing her for quite a while.
"Aww, don't worry, Yuki-kun. We'll see you when we're done eating, and we'll play the whole day!" The redhead remarked, holding out a pinky finger to the little boy. "That's a promise."
Yukiya curled his tinier finger over Tamao's, his smile as bright as the sun as he skipped to the building's upper floor to his grandparents' home. Once the boy was out of their range, she visibly gagged, prompting laughter from the rest of her friends.
"Ew, I didn't realize my old man could still get it up," she said as she shook her head and stuck out her tongue in disgust at the strange thought. Yet it brought a warm and understanding smile to her face all the same. "A baby, huh?"
"Don't be silly. Anyone can get it up if they're doing it with someone like Otome-sa— ack!…" Rapt confidently started, only for Soga to whack him with a menu. The ringleader's glare commanded silence from the rest of the group, with the reptilian quietly nursing his throbbing forehead.
"Good for the old man," Soga remarked reflectively. "We can't keep him off the streets, that's fer sure, but that ought to slow him down, even if just a little…"
"But ain't 50 too old to be a dad? A-And I'm surprised you're taking this awfully well, Tamao," Moruyu said, his voice hushed to a whisper now as Iwao approached them in a brown apron that was clearly too small for him, a tray with a pitcher of lemon water and a set of cups in his hands.
"Yo," he greeted them, placing the cups on their table and filling each one with the fragrant water. "Thanks for being our witnesses, Tamao, Soga."
"No sweat, old man. Too bad those two couldn't be here, huh? They'd be so surprised," the turquoise-haired young man said with a playful wave of his hand. "I think it's a mighty wise decision to skip all of that wedding weirdness."
"Glad you think so. We agreed that the money for the ceremony could be better spent elsewhere. Not that money was ever an issue," the older man said with a rather proud smile. He placed his large hand over his daughter's head and ruffled her red hair, eliciting a laugh and an annoyed grunt from the young woman. Their single eyes met, both twinkling with a synchronized glint of hope and a sense of fulfillment.
"Are you happy, old man?"
"More than I deserve to be, but I'll roll with it."
Was he? Tamao didn't even need to ask. She could confirm this much… From the way you blew silly flying kisses to her father from the open window leading to the kitchen… that he was happy with this quiet life. And so was she, reassured by the fact that you constantly reminded him that he had a place in this world, and it was right next to you.
🌺 By SongsofAdelaide. Please don't copy, plagiarize, or use my work to train AI. Please do not repost them to any other social media platforms. / masterlist
hi ur literally a gem for doing this bc the lack of content for mha vigilantes is actually sending me into a frenzy
anyway!! would it be okay to request knuckleduster x gn!reader? maybe smth like strangers to lovers/fateful meetings almost? and the reader doesnt have to be a hero or vigilante they can just be a regular person that somehow got tied up in the middle of it or smth
hope that fits ur criteria and apologies if smths off😭
[A/N] the first post I made that isn't zzz... Nice, anyway I didn't know if you wanted a head cannon or one shot so yeah next time just make sure the I know what you want fully and maybe a little ooc so yeah; hope you enjoy
[type] One-Shot
[word count] 1,800+
[Summary] For some reason you a nurse nurse couldn't stop bumping into the vigilante to the point that a relationship form
[Genre] fluff / Strangers To Lovers?
[pairing / characters] Iwao Oguro (Knuckleduster) x Nurse Reader
You still don’t fully understand how you got wrapped up with the vigilantes. One minute, you were just walking home from your shift at the hospital.exhausted, still wearing your nurse uniform, mentally cursing out every difficult patient you'd dealt with that day. The next, your life was tangled up in something way bigger than yourself.
You turned into an alleyway, taking your usual shortcut like always. Behind you, faint at first, you heard people screaming sharp, panicked cries that prickled at the back of your neck. You paused, heart beginning to race. Then came another sound, closer this time. Not a voice, didn't even sound human. A low, guttural roar that rolled through the alley like thunder. It wasn’t a cry for help. It was something far worse.
You turned around slowly, not out of curiosity, but fear, heavy and cold in your gut. Down the alleyway, barely illuminated by flickering streetlights, you saw what you could only guess was a man. Or used to be one. His skin was an unnatural shade of blue, his bloodshot eyes wide and unblinking. Ice crawled up his arms and legs like armor, jagged and uneven, and you could see the tips of his fingers blackened with frostbite, just like his tongue when he let it loll out, panting like some kind of beast.
You’re frozen. Stuck. Your body refuses to move. The man or whatever he is stares you down with eyes full of desperation and rage. It’s not just anger. It’s hunger. You try to speak, to scream, but nothing comes out. Then, without warning, he lets out another guttural roar and charges. Ice explodes beneath his feet, spreading like a wave as he sprints straight toward you
You try to step back, but your foot lands on a glass bottle. It rolls, and you slip, crashing down hard onto the cold concrete. Pain shoots through your palms as they smack the ground, but you barely notice it. Your eyes lock on the charging man.he’s only three feet away now. One thought flashes through your mind, cold and final 'Is this how I die?'
But then, just as the thought forms, a fist swings past your head, fast, brutal, and perfectly timed. It slams into the man’s face with a sickening crack, sending him flying backward like a ragdoll.
A gruff, rugged voice came from behind you. “Heh, you’re not getting away from me that easily.” You turned, still sprawled on the cold pavement, and looked up. Towering behind you stood a man who looked like he’d fought through a dozen wars and didn’t bother patching up after any of them. He was broad-shouldered and built like a wall, dressed in a worn dark grey jacket with the sleeves rolled up, exposing scarred forearms. His face was rough unshabby and weathered. A faded mask covered his eyes, and there was something dangerous in the way he held himself.
You try to thank him for the save, but he doesn’t even glance your way. It’s like he didn’t hear you or just didn’t care. His focus is locked on the man he just flattened. Without a word, he strides forward and grabs the unconscious man by the collar, yanking him up with ease, like lifting a bag of trash. “Weak,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes narrow as he inspects the frostbitten tongue hanging out of the man’s mouth, as if it confirms something he already suspected.
From where you’re still sitting on the ground, you can tell he’s annoyed. He clearly wanted to ask the man some questions, but he’d hit him too hard and knocked him out cold. With a grunt of frustration, he drops the unconscious body like dead weight.
Then, finally, he turns his attention to you. “Hey. You.” The sudden acknowledgment makes you flinch, your heart jumping as you blurt out, “Y-Yes?” He jerks his chin toward the limp body. “Call the police, won’t you?”
“O-oh! I can do that,” you stammer, fumbling to pull your phone from your pocket. You start dialing the police, glancing down at the screen as you speak. “Also, thank you again for the—” But when you look up, he’s gone. Just like that. Only the unconscious man remains, crumpled on the pavement. “—save,” you finish quietly, the word feeling a little foolish now.
---
It’s been a week since you saw that man. You’re still not sure if he’s a hero at least, not in the legal sense of the word. But technically, he is your hero.
Ugh. That thought alone makes you cringe, and you mentally roll your eyes at yourself as you walk past the alleyway you used to take as a shortcut. Lesson learned. You’ve avoided it ever since.
But just as you’re about to keep moving, a familiar, gravelly grunt echoes from the shadows. You freeze. It’s faint, but you recognize it. Weirdly enough… it sounds like him.
You sneak a peek into the alleyway and there he is. The man that save you. One man already lies unconscious behind him, while he’s locked in a fierce brawl with another, much larger opponent. Somehow, he’s holding his own. Every move is fast, brutal, precise. It’s like watching a street fight choreographed by nature itself. You can’t help but stare until something catches your eye.
The unconscious man is stirring. Slowly, quietly, he starts to rise. Your hero hasn’t noticed. 'Oh no. What should I do?' The man behind him braces his stance, his arm beginning to harden like stone. Instinct takes over. “Watch out! Behind you!” you shout.
Your hero doesn’t hesitate. He sidesteps just in time, narrowly dodging the hardened punch, then spins on his heel and drives a crushing blow into the ambusher’s gut. The man doubles over with a choked gasp, collapsing like the wind’s been knocked from his soul.
After finishing off the second guy complete with another quick check of his tongue, for whatever reason your hero stood tall. You just watched again, hands at your sides, but at least this time… you’d helped. And then, for the first time, he actually acknowledged you. Properly.
“Thanks,” he said, flashing a big, toothy grin. Most people might have found it unsettling, like a wild dog showing teeth but to you, oddly enough, it was… kind of charming. He wasn’t acting like he did last time either. Less distant. More human.
You coughed into your hand and gave a small, awkward nod. “It was no problem. I mean, you saved me, after all.” He tilted his head, brows scrunching beneath his mask. “I did?”
That caught you off guard. You frowned, mildly annoyed now. “What do you mean, ‘I did?’ You saved me. Just last week. In this exact—” you threw your hands out, gesturing around you “—alleyway!”
For a moment, he just blinked. Then his eyes lit up with recognition. “Ohhh… right. You’re the good looking nurse from last week!” he said, followed by a short, rough laugh. “Didn’t recognize you without the panic face.”
Your face went hot in an instant. Good looking? He actually called you good looking. You opened your mouth to respond with something sharp, something witty but nothing came out. Just air and a frustrated groan.
The man chuckled again, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Didn’t mean to rattle you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “it's just that I remember you being all skittish.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to recover your dignity. “Well, someone had to keep you from getting sucker-punched." He grinned wider. “Fair enough. Guess that makes us even now, huh… nurse?”
"... Fine"
---
As the weeks passed, you started running into the vigilante more and more. Almost too often to be coincidence. You eventually learned his name: Knuckleduster. And the more it happened, the more you began to suspect he wasn’t just “passing by.”
He never admitted it, of course. But the way he lingered a bit longer after fights, the way his eyes always found you in a crowd, the way he smirked when you called him out on it. it all said more than words.
You got to know his partners well more like students, really. One was a fast-talking guy who slid around like a hockey puck with a jetpack, and the other, a sharp-eyed girl who soared through the air like it was second nature. You found yourself patching them up from time to time. Nothing too serious, just scrapes, bruises, and the occasional sprain.
But somehow, he always seemed to be the last one to get looked at. The one who waited behind while the others left. Sitting there with that cocky grin and battle-worn jacket, tossing out lines like, “You sure you're qualified for this?” just to get a rise out of you.
And yeah… maybe you looked forward to those moments a little more than you should have.
---
It was late, past midnight and the city outside your apartment buzzed quietly with distant sirens and the occasional honk. You’d barely managed to unlock your door with one hand, the other gripping Knuckleduster’s arm as he leaned heavily against you. His jacket was torn, and blood soaked through the side of his shirt.
“You know,” you muttered as you kicked the door shut behind you, “you could stop taking punches with your ribs. Just once.” He grunted in response, half amusement, half pain. “Wouldn’t be much of a fight if I dodged everything.”
You guided him to the worn stool in your kitchen and flicked on the overhead light. Harsh. Too bright. But necessary. “Shirt off,” you said flatly, already reaching for your first aid kit. He raised an eyebrow at you. “Getting bold, huh?”
You rolled your eyes, heat creeping into your cheeks anyway. “Shut up and lift your arms.” With a smirk, he peeled the shirt off, wincing slightly as dried blood tugged at the fabric. His torso was littered with scars, some old and faded, others fresh and angry. You swallowed and got to work, cleaning a gash along his ribs. His skin was warm under your fingers, muscles tensing slightly every time you dabbed antiseptic as you tried to ignore the closeness; even though you know that it's impossible to.
“You really need to learn what ‘taking it easy’ means,” you muttered. “I don’t get the luxury of easy,” he replied, voice low and gravelly. But he wasn’t looking at his wound. He was watching you. You kept your eyes on the bandages, pretending not to notice. A beat of silence passed. Then, softer: “You always do this?”
“What, patch up stubborn vigilantes in my kitchen? No. Just the reckless ones who keep showing up like strays.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Lucky me.” You tied the bandage off, your fingers brushing the curve of his side. His breath hitched, just slightly. Your eyes finally met his close, quiet, charged.
“Next time,” you murmured, “try not to bleed on my welcome mat.” “I’ll aim for the couch,” he shot back, voice rough but teasing. And despite everything, the hour, the blood, the danger
you smiled.
The silence lingered after your smile, thick with something unsaid. You started to turn away, to clean up the bloodied gauze and wrappers, but his hand caught your wrist; gentle, calloused, firm.
You looked back at him, your breath hitching just a little. He didn’t say anything, just searched your face for a moment. Eyes softer now, less guarded than usual. Like he was trying to memorize you in this moment, the quiet calm between chaos.
“I keep showing up,” he said lowly, “because I know you’ll be here.” That stopped your heart for a second. No sarcasm. No smirk. Just honesty. Raw and stripped down.
You didn’t even realize you were leaning in until he was, too. Slow, like either of you might still back out. But neither of you did. The kiss was brief. Warm. A little rough around the edges, like him but real. And when you pulled back, his hand lingered on your wrist, thumb brushing your pulse.
“Guess I’ll be bleeding on your welcome mat again sometime soon,” he muttered, the smirk returning, but softer now. You rolled your eyes, but your lips curled anyway. “Just try not to make a habit of it.”
a/n: *slowly slides over again* some PainDuster smut for your thoughts? 👀 spinoff of the main All Might fic, feel free to either treat this as a standalone/AU or as canon ♡ Painkiller's info page & what i imagine she looks like! div by pixopix
summary: All Might and Charlotte (hero name: Painkiller) attended Heroes University of California together before partnering up for the rest of his stay in America. After they parted, many things were left unsaid. It's been decades since, and neither of them have really moved on, but Painkiller's hero work brings her to Japan, trying to drink her feelings away when Knuckleduster joins her at the bar.
tags: vigilante x hero, one night stand, porn without plot, does it count as rebound sex if her and All Might never actually got together?, I think I'm literally obsessed with this man, sexual tension, teasing, dry humping, rip Charlotte's tights, fingering, light angst, pain kink, sexual use of Quirks, he's lowkey whipped 🤭
songs: She’s My Collar (Gorillaz), You Right (Doja, The Weeknd), The Less I Know The Better (Tame Impala), You Are the Right One (Spots), Hush (The Marias)
Observant as he was, it didn’t take Knuckleduster long to notice that she was withholding her sounds; stopping her breath, digging her nails into her palm, gritting her teeth. Evident gestures of masking pleasure… or discomfort. Gestures she’d so clearly hardwired into herself.
He got a gasp out of her when his hands worked her dress higher up her thighs, able to dig into nearly-exposed skin, mirroring his teeth in the side of her neck. He felt her shiver in his arms, felt her grasping onto his shoulders, felt his clothed erection grow harder against the fabric of her pantyhose, seeped in that wetness coming through her underwear.
Iwao hoisted her up, offering a new wave of friction between them, and her thick thighs trembled against the sides of his abdomen, urging him to buck into her. He looked up to see her biting into her lips so badly she’d drawn blood in order to stay quiet, eyes squeezed shut.
The brass over his knuckles was cold against her chin, allowing itself to be lifted. She met his eye level, masked features hovering over her. Caged between his bulky frame and the wall, Charlotte felt herself grow wetter under his scrutinizing gaze, felt her walls clench painfully around nothing.
“What?”
The venom laced into her question did its best to shield her wanton need for him to hurry up and fuck her.
“No need t’ hold back, dollface.”
“I told you not to ca-”
As her lips parted to let that next vowel out, his left hand gripped onto her wrists and slammed them above her head, right lifting her thigh higher with a sharp roll of his hips. The fold of fabric over his zipper tab caught against her just right, reflexively jolting against him.
“-a-aaah!”
“Gotcha.”
Maybe it had been a little too long since Iwao’s last time; that must’ve been why he felt the overwhelming urge to bottle the look on her face up, a swirl of irritation betraying repressed desire.
He wanted to make her cry until both her voice and every single one of his limbs had given out.
Contrary to the satisfying blush crawling over her cheeks, she scowled his way, looking way too inviting pinned against the wall under his strength.
“Dickhead.”
Despite how intensely he watched, leaning in closer for good measure, her guard was back up, commanding every muscle in her face to stand still as Knuckleduster continued grinding into her, this time at an agonizingly slow pace.
“That’s not very ladylike.”
Their hot breaths collapsed into each-other, and Iwao thought how horrible of an idea it would be to kiss her, and how difficult it was to convince himself not to.
As if she read his mind, she bared her canines, tightening the coil of her legs around him. The way they rubbed together had her voice lowering to mask its tremble, unconsciously pressing her chest further into him, head rolling back at the sensation.
“You always talk this much?”
He adjusted his grip on her, a light weakness of his own peeking through, attempting to guide his impatience with a husky sigh.
“Sorry, I get nervous ‘round hot women who don’t know how to ask for what they want.”
A scoff of indignation left her, the red in her cheeks brightening.
“I know how to ask just fine, thank you very much!”
“Well? I’m waitin’.”
It was so obvious from her flustered expression that he’d been right on the money again; her lips parted and closed, then pursed with unsteadiness. Oguro delighted in the way her eyes softened into a bashful puddle the more he stared, urging him to let go of her wrists.
Her arms slowly lowered, shoulders rolling with a stiff exhale; he took note of it in the back of his head, noticing the small hints here and there that her body seemed to already be strained, supported by the controlled manner in which she carried herself, like a wounded animal trying to intimidate and distract from its gaping wounds.
Her hands looked for him, frame still towering over her. They tentatively ghosted the very tips of her nails over his mask, the shape of his jaw, dangerously pulling down the collar of his shirt to trail his jugular.
The thrill of that risk coursed through him, bass rumbling in his chest.
“Those nails of yours go any lower?” he tested his luck, almost chuckling at the surprisingly innocent expression on her face as she tried to seem offended; she stuttered trying to bark out a snarky response, but ended up swallowing it back.
Her hands now seated themselves on the curve of his chest, lightly tucked beneath the edges of his coat.
“Like this” Iwao pressed again, his free hand cupping her chin before trailing to hold the side of her face, reaching the sensitive space behind her ear. She let out a shaky sigh, as if in fear of him closing the distance between their mouths.
He respected her wish not to, despite how much his eyes lingered on that gloss over her lips, guiding his hand lower. He let the size of her chest fill it out, listening to her breaths as he softly kneaded his fingers into her, lightly annoyed by her dress and bra, but quickly distracted by how reactive she was to his touch.
Knuckleduster had to consciously tear his hand away and convince it to keep going, the pads of his fingers following the curve of her waist. His grip tightened, coaxing a sharp inhale past her lips, giving into the urge to scrape her hips with his nails, too.
Her breath caught, eyes flickering up to him, eyebrows slanted and imploring.
Without a second thought, Iwao’s other hand let go of her hip for a split second, throwing the brass knuckles off with a loud clang and reaching up to hook his teeth into his glove, giving it an effortless tug and pulling it off.
“You might wanna grab onto me” was all he could get out before he tore into her tights without warning, jerking his wrist to open a hole up right where he needed.
She followed his advice in surprise, hands grasping onto the lapels of his jacket, eyes wide and face completely overtaken by her blush.
That was quite possibly the hottest thing she’d ever seen.
“T-Those are expensive, you know!”
He hovered around the waistband of her lace underwear with a taunting smirk, watching her squirm in anticipation, trailing his other hand over thigh.
“Then don’t wear ‘em around me next time.”
N-Next time-?!
His middle finger found her clit before she could finish taking that breath into her lungs, steadying her by pulling her left leg up again. Iwao enjoyed the way she grasped onto him a little too much, a melodic moan finally rewarding him as her hips jumped further into his touch.
Before she could brace herself, his hand dug lower into her panties, reaching to slick itself in her wetness and swipe it back up to watch her tremble again. His smirk only grew wider as he watched, settling on rubbing her clit and listening to her get progressively louder, easing into a steady rhythm of grinding herself against his hand as her back lifted off the wall, pulling tighter onto his jacket.
“F-Fuck-”
A pause tightened her throat. Right, she didn’t know his name. That’s what she wanted, right?
His eyes seemed to rub that decision in, completely concealed together with the rest of his face.
Suddenly, the fact that she really had no fucking idea who he was really sunk in, along with the sensation of one of his fingers.
She gasped, hands shaking to the point of whitening her knuckles, eyes locked onto his.
Egged on, Knuckleduster slipped another finger inside her - shit, how is she so tight? - adjusting his arm to fit them in properly; her legs grew completely weak, their foreheads now resting against each-other.
All she could do was take it, her sounds growing more lewd by the minute, given little time to adjust. She melted against the wall, overwhelmed by the girth of his fingers, by how well he seemed to fit them inside her, by how good it felt to stretch and flutter around them. The muscles in his hand tensed, wiggling them even further inside; bit by bit, reaching deeper, until they brushed against a spot inside her that made her shriek.
His lips haunted hers, so, so close to a kiss, but just far enough apart that it wasn’t, aching to devour the sounds she made for him like some starving ghoul in the night.
Her eyes had grown considerably glossier, tears budding along her waterline.
Okay, he was good, but her responsiveness was much too heightened; at first, he’d thought she was just more sensitive, and that had to be true; but, something else bothered him.
Was she… maybe not... used to this?
Oguro didn’t get to debate it any further, hit by an unexpected pang of pain; it started in his shoulder and traveled throughout his arm, making him inadvertently flex his hand and wince, gently pulling out of her so he wouldn't cause any accidental harm.
What the fuck?
Had he done something wrong? He wasn't that old-
“FUCK! I’m so fucking sorry- God, damn it!”
It took his slightly inebriated mind a moment to catch up, processing that whatever had just happened must’ve been some sort of effect of her Quirk, judging by the anguish flaming over her features.
The tears in her eyes were already spilling, but not with pleasure, like he’d hoped – with anger. Shame. Her hands let go of him after his pain abruptly disappeared, covering her face instead.
“God, this FUCKING Quirk! This is why I don’t do this sort of thing- I should, just- go-”
So, she had some sort of pain Quirk that could hurt others through physical contact… but it hadn’t hurt him until now, not until he’d gotten her so close to an orgasm. Not until… she’d started finally letting go of that iron hold on herself.
The softness in his voice surprised even the vigilante himself as he let go of her leg and instead brought his hands up to take a reassuring hold of her arms, unconsciously starting to rub his thumb over the fabric of her dress, despite how unfamiliar with this he was. He wasn’t exactly the…. comforting sort. He’d been told that much, with more colorful language.
“Hey, hey. ‘s alright. Y’don’t have to go nowhere. I mean, look’t me! I really seem like I can’t handle a little pain?”
Charlotte didn’t reply at first, bathing in placid self-hatred. He didn’t insist, simply standing there, close enough in case she needed him without trying to invade her personal space too much.
Shit. Actually, nevermind. He felt way too guilty to just keep quiet, so he opted to blabber on.
“I promise. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”
Unclear if his attempt to lighten the mood worked or not, he noticed the tightness of her posture easing just a little, encouraging him to continue, tentatively leaning in to whisper in her ear, voice gritty yet caring.
“So stop worryin’ an’ feel free to go back to makin’ those pretty noises you were makin’ just a second ago, songbird.”
Panic gripped him a moment later. Fuck first, ask questions never, or something - right, dumbass? No wonder everyone’s scared of you and you fucked the only chance you had at a family right up.
“Unless you’d rather take a breather! I’m itchin’ for a cig and I got a fridge full o’ beer-”
“You do talk a lot when you get nervous” she cut him off, voice rumbling in a sultrier register than he’d expected.
Knuckleduster’s pulse didn’t just skyrocket. That’s. That’s not a thing it did. Ever. Except when he was in the middle of a fight.
“I-I do, don’t I?”
She yanked him by the collar, bringing him closer to her level.
“Mhm.”
The way she hunted him down for any hesitance in his eyes was downright scary, not to mention incredibly arousing, wasting no time in getting right back to where they were.
“You’re absolutely sure you-”
“Never been more sure of a damn thing in my life.”
His words were final; confident, cocky, always ready for a challenge and never one to shy away from getting his hands dirty.
Iwao’s hands were on her in a heartbeat, lifting her up again and carrying her over to the couch, where he laid her down as gently as he could in the midst of his craving to make her come undone.
His sordid craving to feel her pain hook itself into him again; a wish that came sooner than he’d expected.
The seams of her dress cracked in protest as he stretched her collar until it would go over her chest, letting out a growl, face buried in between. His fingers were already back in, fucking into her even deeper than before, lifting her legs to give him better access as she writhed against the cushions, feeling his mouth all over her breasts; biting, licking, marking.
Pain struck through him again when his teeth pinched her nipple, much stronger than before; he growled louder and audibly sucked, his pants unbearably tight around his throbbing erection, begging for more space to breathe.
An apologetic cry left her mouth, soothingly running a hand through his hair.
She took it right back. The pain.
“Fuck’s sake, woman.”
Oguro stopped everything he was doing, earning a fretful whine. Was he a horrible person for getting so turned on by that desperation and neediness on her face?
She had to gulp at that chastising glare he coated her in, pathetically clenching around his stilled fingers as she dared to ask.
“W-What?”
“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Takin’ it back.”
That breathtaking face of hers looked at him like he was some sort of treasure, a priceless gem, an oasis in a scorching desert.
… Shit.
Like he was some kind of… model citizen.
Some kind of hero.
“I-”
“’s not up for debate. Stop takin’ it back or I’ll stop too. For good, this time.”
Yes, fucking tighten around me, gorgeous, he couldn’t help his thoughts, getting filthier by the minute the more she panted under him, keeping his fingers hot and soaked; sheepish, wanting. Hurting.
Calling for him. Making him feel needed. Desired. Exalted.
Like some kind of fucking hero.
“You’re insane.”
Her harsh confession had him chuckle against her skin, surprisingly bewitched by her scent; her sensual perfume, her sweat.
God, it had been so long since he’d been so close to someone.
His mouth ran ahead of his brain, admitting to a guilty pleasure he’d never dared to speak out loud before, propping himself up to gauge her reaction, to take in that tantalizing twist of embarrassment on her features, much too beautiful, witty, brave and respectable of a woman to be sleeping with the likes of him.
This what they called a lucky day? Never had one of those before. Maybe it was just the booze.
For once, he was so fucking glad he’d skipped the beer and went straight for the whiskey.
“And you’re insanely hot and gettin’ my pain kink off. I’d call that a win-win.”
Ah. There it is. That face.
“Shut up already.”
Let me share that agony you’ve orphaned inside you while you cry for me, songbird.
“My pleasure.”
Undoing that fucking zipper on his pants was very high on his to-do list, especially with the ruthless way she pulled his hair and clawed at his biceps, burying his face so strongly in her chest that he nearly suffocated. Charlotte came around his fingers with a broken scream, muffled into a cushion.
The agony of her Quirk coursed through his veins like mercury, and he had to catch himself before he almost came undone on the spot, too, hissing and panting with exhilaration in between decorating the stretchmarks on her abdomen with blooming hickeys.
Wouldn’t have had any complaints if that was how he died; but he didn’t die that easily.
And Knuckleduster – oh, Knuckleduster was just getting started.
Iwao, no matter how unmoved he appears, no matter how much he tries to hide behind his unending need for fighting the good fight, is sorely tempted by everything you do. He forgets himself if you lick your lips, staring too long, his fingers clenching into fists at his sides. He'll pause in the middle of speaking, and try his damndest to cover it up with a gruff: "Hmm."
He's always busy, always chasing down a villain or some punk on the street, but he lingers if you smile. You've never managed to put him off his rounds as Knuckleduster completely, but you're starting to have the feeling that you simply haven't tried hard enough.
After all, he keeps coming back.
"So," you start, catching immediately onto his slowing steps, head tilting to hear you better, "are you going to join me for dinner or what?"
