Work Text:
Pathetic, wasn’t it?
He was a grown ass man. An Pro Hero- Pro Hero: Deku, to be precise- and yet, as the rain pounded on the window, Midoriya Izuku shook like a leaf, flinching with every crack of thunder. It was on dreary days like the one he had been having that made everything feel so much worse.
Fuck.
His arms hurt so much.
The twisted and crooked bones ached under the pressure of the oncoming front and the long, dark history of battles that had crippled them in such a manor. When the lighting would flash across the window, emerald gems lost sight of their familiar warm apartment.
No.
Instead, he was thrown into battles.
The sickening crack of the first time he had ever broken a bone ‘in battle;’ he was a freshly graduated middle schooler, hours away from being quirkless again.
An aftershock tore apart the sky as his mind montaged- Muscular’s sick grin, Kota’s pleading face, Shoji’s worried expression, Bakugou- fuck, Bakugou. His face during that night was something Midoriya would never forget.
Even as the night went quiet, Midoriya looked up to see Kirishima’s pained face; the frustration bubbling up in him as he, well, as they both thought about the fear their friend must have been facing.
The next crack wasn’t as loud, but it rumbled deep, shaking Midoriya’s already quaking chest. White light sent him back to the time he first saw Eri and the unease that plagued him for so longer after. As the sparks branched off and toyed with the shadows around him, he was met, again, with Kirishima. The redhead fighting side by side with him. Then, the black faded out, into stillness; the haze in the air felt the same as whence he first saw Overhaul in battle, and the sky seemed to agree with his anger, igniting just like the viridian glow of his quirk.
No bones were broken that day, but he did have a few lingering complications from the overdriven reversal of Eri’s wayward quirk.
Blackness reminded him of those battles where he lost control of his quirk; the panic that surged through his veins on overdrive made his body vibrate once again, ready to fight an invisible enemy.
And, fuck, when the thunder peaked, he was violently thrown into That Time, again. He could hear his mentors screaming around him, the sound of destruction following to what felt like the ends of the Earth. White noise was swimming in his ears again, the vertigo making sure that he didn’t dare get off of his own knees, forcing him to succumb to the fact that he couldn’t do anything but clutch his head and hope to be rescued.
He wasn’t alone: he tried to reason with himself.
He had worth outside of heroing: he tried to convince himself.
He was worth more than what he could give to others: he repeated over and over.
He didn’t have to carry this burden by himself-
Despite all of the assurances he played through in his mind, Midoriya couldn’t escape the throbbing of his arms. His pulse became unbearable as it shook his tilted and torn skin.
A loud ‘bzzt-’ went through the systems around him, but the Pro on the floor couldn’t see past his own darkness as it coated his emerald eyes and blinded him to the comforts around him. Of course now that the power was out, the lightning outside seemed brighter as it ripped apart the sky and torn into his vulnerable skin.
He might have been crying.
Honestly, Midoriya couldn’t tell. All of his senses were overwhelmed to the point where life was numb. He could only focus on the sound of thunder, the sight of blinding lighting flashing into his scattered, shattered comfort zone. The Pro was so out of it that he didn’t even hear the heavy bootsteps stomping up the stairs or nimble fingers fiddling with the doorknob.
Amicable chat died out as the door slowly creaked open, “Izuku?” Lighthearted and curious, the voice was soon overwritten by a much more gruff, “Shitty nerd, where are you? Why’s it so fucking dark in here?”
Two sets of red eyes squinted in the night, both males dripping from the heavy downpour outside. Neither of them liked leaving Midoriya home during a storm, but, unfortunately, Heroism came before ‘being a good boyfriend.’
“Fuck,” the more brash male spoke up as realization hit him. Brushing a damp lock of blond hair away from his sticky forehead, he glanced over to the kitchen, “Go do what you do best, Ei, I’ll get some fuckin’ tea.” Eyes widening slightly, the redhead beside of him gave a grin and a calm, “Gotcha!” He might not have been on the same telepathic link with Midoriya as his childhood friend, but he knew how to comfort his boyfriend without a doubt.
At first, his footsteps were light- well as light as they could have been, seeing as he was naturally heavy-footed, but, seeing Midoriya curled up in a shaking ball, caution went to the wind.
“Hey! Izuku! Can you hear me?” the redhead dipped down, carefully drawing one hand over Midoriya’s skin, stroking from his elbow to his wrist. When the Hero didn’t spazz out or react negatively, his boyfriend shifted to bolder movements. He reached an arm over Midoriya’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug, whispering, “You’re okay,” and “We’re here for you.”
“What’s the status, Eijirou?” the blond poked his head through the doorway, smoke trickling from his palms as he used his quirk to warm up the water in his hands. It was going to be tea once everything was finished, but the process took too long for his nerves to remain calm at the idea of his boyfriend upset.
Kirishima Eijirou, otherwise known as Pro Hero: Red Riot, looked back at his boyfriend with a face that held many emotions. He sat there, calmly cradling Midoriya, eventually finding the courage to pull him against his chest. “His breathing has calmed down a bit, but he’s still shaking, Kat.”
“How are his arms?”
“He’s rubbing them- or at least trying to. With this front, they probably hurt.”
“Shit, you’re right. Fuck.”
The blond disappeared again wishing he could speed up the process of making tea. Bakugou Katsuki was many things- a Pro Hero like his boyfriends, a doting partner, a little bit touch starved if he was honest, and a man who had made it through a lot of shit to get where he was; he was not, however, a patient man. Resigning himself with a sigh, the explosive male gave up at one mug of tea. He didn’t need anything, and he knew that Kirishima wasn’t going to fault him for focusing on Midoriya’s comfort when he clearly needed it the most.
“I made his cup,” Bakugou cut through the soft quiet with his rough attempt at a whisper.
Kirishima nodded, moving Midoriya in a way that could allow both of his boyfriends to effectively pamper the shit out of him. Bakugou sat at his right side, where the scars were the worst, and the redhead threw his legs over the forest haired male’s lap to efficiently cuddle up to his partner’s side.
With heated palms, the blond moved to massaging the tensing muscles angering the aching bones. At first, Midoriya flinched in pain, but, with the warmth flooding through Bakuou’s fingertips, he found himself relaxing into the touch with a shaky breath.
After a few minutes like that, when their boyfriend’s entire body went slack, Kirishima and Bakugou shared a look of relief, but didn’t stop their movements. The blond still smoothed the skin from Midoriya’s wrist to his shoulder, getting as much of his neck as he could with the couch in the way. The redhead continued to rub soft circles in Midoriya’s hips and mumble soft reassurances.
With a quaking breath brought to life, emerald gems blinked open; heavy with exhaustion and pain, but open nonetheless. “Thank you guys,” Midoriya barely mustered up a whisper of thanks before his eyes fluttered shut again, “I love you.”
“Love you, too, Izuku,” Kirishima smiled like he had stolen the spotlight from the sunshine- or perhaps the clouds were trying to hide the sun’s shame, losing to Kirishima’s smile so easily as the redhead handed his lover the cooled down cup in his hand.
“Yeah I love you, too, shitty nerd,” Bakugou wouldn’t admit it, but the grin on his face could cheat a millionaire out of his last dollar- in the best way, of course. Midoriya certainly wasn’t complaining when the curve of his lips were being pressed up against freckled cheeks.
Even without the power, they lit up the room, curled up on the couch like they belonged there.