I Will Need 2-3 Buisness Years To Recover From Episode 6 Of Captain America And The Winter Soldier.

I will need 2-3 buisness years to recover from episode 6 of captain america and the winter soldier.

Someone tell John Walker that you can’t just DIY your own shield unless you are a Stark.

5 things | izuku midoriya

pairing: izuku midoriya / gn!reader

word count: 2.3k

summary: five things you love about izuku midoriya, your unfairly insecure boyfriend.

content: insecurity, heavy fluff, comfort, i think light cursing, just me rambling abt how pretty izuku is for three pages <3

it all starts with four little words:

"izuku, you're so beautiful."

he stalls for a moment, like his brain is rebooting inside his head, and for a good twenty seconds all he does is blink at you from over the textbook he's pouring over, lips slightly parted - and then his eyes widen comically, colour floods his face at a breakneck speed and his mouth opens and shuts like a fish out of water, barely concealing the embarrassed squeak he emits.

"i - you - huh?" he wheezes, eyes bugging. your small smile widens, and you lean forward to brush a hand over the side of his face, walking fingers down his boiling cheek; you can feel him shudder under you, his eyes tracking your every movement.

"pretty boy," you affirm quietly, toying with a stray green curl by his earlobe. he grows impossibly redder and buries his face in his hands, mumbling something incoherent.

"hmm?" you ask in response, and his face just barely peeks out from between his shaking fingers, his cheeks rosy apples.

"i said - i'm not, really. not like - i mean - i'm pretty plain-looking, i think," he gets out eventually, prompting you to frown.

"no way," you counter, taking hold of his wrists gently. "i could look at you for hours, izuku."

"really - i don't - " he's spiraling under your gaze, flustered as hell. you can see plainly that he doesn't believe you, and an attempt to press or insist would be detrimental, so you resign yourself and sit back, pressing your mouth into a line.

"i'll make you see," you say after a minute, when the flush on his face has cooled somewhat and his eyes have been glued exclusively to the textbook. he cocks his head at you in inquiry. "i'll make you see how pretty you are to me," you clarify firmly, watching with a heavy feeling as doubt etches onto his features. "that's a promise."

01. his hands

you know that izuku is simultaneously proud and insecure of his hands. they're hands that have done great things! every blast of power he's used has been sent from those hands, and he has the scars to prove it. those hands had tried to pry the sludge monster off of bakugo, had protected kota from death, had strained to catch eri and taken her to safety. but those acts of strain took a toll. welts and scars rose like veins beneath his skin, spiderwebbing between fingers and over his wrists. the softness of the pads of his fingers and the circles of his palms had given way to rough, dry calluses - and they shook, all the time. it made tying his shoelaces a damn sight harder than it had any right to be, and he couldn't fill a mug up too much lest he spill liquid all over him like some kind of toddler.

you know that he strays from touching your bare skin with his hands deliberately. it's not as if he's an exceptionally touchy person, but he does kind of revel in the quiet intimacy of your fingers carding through his hair, of collapsing his face into your neck after an exhausting day, of feeling the warmth of you seep under his own skin and cajole his heart into pounding under his shirt. but he never takes your hand. you thought maybe it was you, at first. he walks with his hands in his pockets most of the time, so the first time you ever deliberately reached out and wound your fingers through his he started, eyes flicking from your face to your conjoined hands anxiously whilst you fought not to combust with nervousness.

"oh, um - i - i'm sorry, i know my hands are a little rough..."

now, as the two of you sprawl comfortably on the bed in his room, sat upright against the wall, you glance down at his hands, illuminated by the blue of the television. the light casts every scar and vein and shadow into sharp relief, elongating the calluses, making the harsh harsher. you reach out and hook your fingers through his, and izuku turns to you, surprised and pleased and faintly flustered as he always is when you initiate physical contact - but his sweet expression falls to bewilderment as you tug his hand toward your face and press your cheek to it gently. he's frozen, wide-eyed, feeling your breath fill the hollows of his knuckles, your lips ghosting over the skin before you turn and press a feather-light kiss to the jagged scar over his thumb.

you can hear his tiny gasp over the buzzing din of the television, white noise to you now. you smile gently and press your lips to the skin again, firmer, longer. "i love your hands," you tell him quietly without looking up, but your hear him stifle a whimper. he's trembling putty as he watches you afford the same treatment to each cicatrix thats mars his skin, his throat tight, eyes stinging. you flip his hand over at the wrist and place a final, tickling kiss to the center of his palm, and all the meanwhile your other hand has taken a hold of his absent one. you can feel it shaking minutely under your grip as you finally look up at him. his eyes are wide and melancholy and full of stars that spill absently down his gently flushed cheeks, but otherwise he appears utterly shellshocked as you smile and take his hand in a firm grip, interlocking your fingers tightly.

he knows you must feel every welt and wound beneath the soft tissue of your hands, but you don't seem to care. not trusting himself to speak, he lets his dizzy head fall onto your shoulder, squeezing back against your grip.

the next day, he takes your hand of his own volition, smiling nervously as he does, and when you only grin and adjust his grip, his heart swells three sizes.

02. his freckles

you know izuku thinks himself plain-looking, and you wonder if his freckles have something to do with it.

personally, you could gaze at them for hours, because there were always more than you thought in such unexpected places. the darkest ones resided on the apples of his cheeks, a spray of tan stars over his snub nose, and you delighted in how they darkened when he blushed. but when you drew closer you could see them making dotted pathways up his temples, in the delicate crescents under his eyes, creeping like ivy toward his jawline, but these ones were fainter, almost skin-coloured.

they are dashed over his shoulders too, to your delight, which you find out when he thoughtlessly changes his shirt in front of you one evening. they flare over the skin of his shoulders and the points of his elbows and the planes of his back, fainter as they drew closer to his waist. when he remembered you were there as he changed his face became choked with redness and he pulled on a sweater at breakneck speed with a frantic apology. when you caught him coming back from a run wearing knee-length shorts, you saw familiar speckles of brown crowding the juts of his knees and spiraling over the facets of his calves and the points of his ankles.

izuku midoriya was covered in constellations, in thousands of minute kisses from the universe.

you cup his cheek, watching with a light heart as he melts into your touch unquestioningly, eyes drifting closed - but they prick open when he feels your fingers walking themselves from his jawline to the plump peaks of his cheekbones. there's a look of distinct concentration as you trace invisible patters into his skin, and the motions make him feel impossibly blissed-out and sleepy. he snuffles slightly and lets his eyes droop closed, face resting on his hand.

"i love your freckles," he hears you murmur from somewhere far away.

"i hate them," he mumbles truthfully, too tired to sugarcoat. "they take up so much space. make me feel so... crowded."

you tut. "they're like the stars," you tell him. "so beautiful. you're like a little supernova, izuku."

he feels every freckle on his body light up at your words, and as you resume your motions on his cheek, he drifts off to sleep, dreaming of constellations.

03. his hair

it's just so - everywhere! you never get tired of it. you especially love when the two of you are walking together and the daytime sinks gradually into sunset, soaking the two if you in gold. his hair appears ethereal in the bask of the low sun, something coppery and full of life, almost bronze, almost molten. the amount of times you've thoughtlessly reached up to toy with a stray curl or simply run your fingers through the soft green sea is lost on you, but you delight in the way it makes his voice die in his throat, his breath hitch, and his eyes lock on to you with something like reverence.

it smells like spring apples, sharp and sweet. he tells you he's used the same shampoo since he was a kid, and you chuckle and press a lingering kiss to the crown of his head, feeling him twitch instinctively underneath you. you lie on the couch in the common area, almost empty but for bakugo and his gang catching up on some studying, and hagakure clumsily strumming an acoustic guitar as jirou instructs her with a fond smile. the atmosphere is drowsy, heavy, and you lie propped up against the armrest with izuku between your legs, his back resting comfortably on your stomach.

you take three stray strands and braid thoughtlessly; his head turns, catching the motion, and then he huffs a soft laugh at your antics. it's difficult hair to braid, has a mind of it's own in the way it twists and resists your motions.

"sorry," izuku mutters. "it's always been all over the place like that. i wish it was easier to - mphf!"

he squeaks as your fingers scrape against his scalp, not enough to hurt, just to get his attention. "i love your hair," you tell him firmly. "it's beautiful the way it is. don't you dare change it."

izuku goes rigid. he's never had someone love something that is so attached to him before, not like this. he never thinks of any distinct part of himself as being worthy enough to adore like you claim you do, and it chokes him up, makes his eyes cloud with tears.

"a - alright," he promises shakily, and you smile unseen to him, carding your fingers through tumultuous locks of green to your heart's content.

04. his eyes

god, his eyes.

the first time you glimpse them you make the grave error of thinking they're simply green. it's only when they gaze at you, wide and reverent, full of sunlight, that you realise what a fool you were.

'green' does not come close to giving justice to his eyes. they're wide and topped with lashes that are longer than they have any right to be, a darker shade than the hair on his head. they flutter when he's taken off guard and squeeze shut tight when he's scared or embarrassed. when you see them beneath the sunlight, they're something intangible to you, something no words can describe. they're deep pools, crowded with emerald moss, glowing in the moonlight. they're glittering gems from the depths of the sea, half-sunk in sand, ghosting along the seabed languidly. they're a supernova, crushing and expanding, filling you with an indescribable wonder, pulsing with glimmering stars.

they're beautiful. you kiss his eyelids and they flutter predictably, his nose scrunching as he laughs nervously.

"y/n? did - did you miss?"

"no," you smile, watching those eyes blink up at you curiously. "just think your eyes are so pretty."

this time, he flushes but it's not uncomfortably like all the other times - it's pleased, proud; you cock your head, waiting for him to explain.

"ah, just - i get them from my mom," he tells you, a small smile on his mouth, and you're so overcome with sudden affection that you feel your own eyes stinging suddenly.

05. and all the rest

"i love you, izuku."

even here in his hospital bed, he flutters visibly at your quiet declaration, always surprised but ecstatic to hear it.

"i - i love you too!" he blurts. he eyes your frown with cinched brows. "is everything okay?"

he squeaks when you let your head fall into his lap, fingers tentatively coming up to rub patterns into the nape of your neck at the foam of your hairline.

"don't leave me, pretty boy." your voice is stifled by the bedsheets, but he can hear that it's pained, strangled, and his heart falls out of his chest. his hands stutter over you, heart pounding. "please. don't leave me."

his eyes well. "i - i won't. i'm sorry. i'll do better, i won't get hurt as much, i p - promise." you shift, sitting up; your eyes are rimmed red like you're choking back tears, irises shining.

"you're so strong," you murmur, and izuku's breath catches in his throat. in that moment he feels every scar making jagged lightning over his skin, every torn ligament, every screaming muscle - and he is grateful for them, for the way it makes your hands squeeze desperately at his flesh like you're trying to anchor him to you. "i'm so proud of you." your hands on his scars again, in his hair, brushing fallen tears from his cheeks. "all of you. understand?"

he looks at you - your mussed hair, the worried circles carving beneath your tired, puffy eyes, your unwashed clothes and bitten nails clutching him desperately - and he thinks, for the first time, he does understand.

you are utterly beautiful to him.

when that agent said “it’s kinda of a legal gray area” about who the shield belongs to... uh no? a stark made that, is stark property. and pepper would probably give it to sam anyway so shut up

“you can stop being a goody two shoes for a day and come hang out with me,” you offer in the nicest tone you can muster, chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor as you scoot closer to your companion. “please?”

“no.”

“boring. can’t believe you’re so grumpy even though you’re friends with me.”

“we are the furthest thing from friends,” bakugo grits out, pointedly ignoring your jabbing in his arm and  fixing his eyes on his homework.

“alright so like, do you mean that as in enemies or lovers?” the tip of your pen continues to prod at the boy, ignoring his attempts to move away from the action. you both know he’s not exactly trying anyways, all the doodles on his arm where you pushed his sleeve up to draw a testament to that. 

“both if you don’t shut the fuck up and let me finish right now, brat.”

your racing heart does nothing to stop you from provoking him further, leaning dangerously close into his personal space. “oh? did i just hear that grumpy ol’ bakugo would date me?” 

“did you miss the part where i said i’d obliterate you?” 

his palms are sweaty and he’s gripping his pen too tight but he hopes you won’t notice. scribbling down onto his worksheet loudly just to make a point, a feeble attempt to pretend as if all of his undivided attention wasn’t on how close you were right now.

his response goes by completely ignored, only fueling you even further. “you’re not denying it.”

“stop being stupid.” 

“you’re avoiding the question,” you point out, and shit, he realizes, you’re kind of right.

he wants to put his head through the table right now. why is it that every time you’re even near him that it sends his mind into a frenzy, when just months ago he’d have lashed out at you with genuine insults just for talking to him?

“shut the fuck up,” he says again, weakly. you laugh, the sound sending a flutter through his heart. 

“you’re cute when you’re all embarrassed like this.” 

Finally, finally he lifts his gaze from the sheet to look at you, lips formed into his signature scowl. 

“will you be quiet if i say yes?” he blurts out, eyes darting back away from you the moment he gets the words out. it’s now or never, he thinks to himself. might as well get it over with.

“w-what?” you splutter, not expecting him to give such a comeback. 

“i said what i said. take it or leave.” 

“well,” you begin slowly, still processing his words, “not really, since if i said yes then that means you’d be stuck with me and then-”

your words are cut off when bakugo leans in and presses his lips to yours for a split second, so quick and chaste you wonder if you imagined it. 

“you’re so annoying,” he mumbles when he pulls back, turning back to look at the desk.

“you like me though,” you say cautiously, mind still reeling from the sudden escalation of events, “right?”

bakugo sighs, though it sounds much more fond than irritated this time. “can you not take a hint? i do. deal with it.”

“oh.” he looks much softer when he’s not scowling. maybe even cute. Hopefully no one else gets to see this side of him, you muse. “that’s nice of you.”

“yeah yeah, whatever. now just stay fuckin’ quiet like you are right now and let me finish this damn worksheet, yeah?”

— anniversary bake sale; bakugo k.

intimidation | myg

⇥ pairing: yoongi x reader

⇥ genre: fluff, a lil touch of smut, college AU

⇥ summary: in which you think Yoongi is intimidating bc of his dark clothing and his quiet ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude… but then someone makes him laugh and you watch as his face lights up in the cutest gummy smile complete with shining eyes and blushing cheeks and BOOM you’re whipped for that boy

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: dirty talk, light smut, cursing

⇥ sequel: intensity

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