Authors Note: Hey everyone, this is my first foray into actually writing fan fiction instead of just lurking like a creep. I was inspired by the story Red Rope by OwlWanderer on AO3 (info for link to story below) but wanted to explore their concept from a different angle and show Deku as the rope master I know he could be. This first chapter is in Deku's pov.

archiveofourown / works / 8887717 (warning, this fic is NSFW) (add . com after own)

I also want to give a shout out to user itsanotherfanficwriterohno for being my beta and cheerleader for life. Another shout out goes to user thelastjuan, who was inspired to create this beautiful meme cover of my story (I just had to include cause its truly the definition of graphic design is my passion). (info for link to my fanfic cover below)

imgur / Gg273Yp (add . com after imgur)

Hope you enjoy!


Chapter 1

As with anything that had to do with my hero obsession.

It started with All Might.

It began innocently enough in the middle of my second year. I was sick of studying, so I had decided to take a break. Lazing on my All Might themed bed, I began rewatching one of the most classic All Might films of all time: All Might takes on America.

True to form, the plot was on par with any other All Might movie you've probably seen. The classic hero All Might is there to save the day and defeat the evil villain. However, it was during this programming when something strange caught my attention; the skill that All Might demonstrated when tying up the villain. He tied up villains with such speed and practiced precision it was as if nothing could escape him.

After the movie, with the credits playing in the background I was looking up to the dorm room ceiling and an idea came to me, "Learning how to tie rope would be a useful skill" I thought. Which then got me thinking…

"How did All Might tie those knots?!"

"What kind of rope did he use?"

"Where were the best places to make sure a villain couldn't move?"

"If the villain has a physical quick, how would that affect the knots then?"

"How much rope do you need to even tie someone up?"

"What other uses could learning how to tie rope have for the hero profession?"

The jumbled mess of thoughts started to consume me so I did what I always do and started to write in my journal. I can distinctly remember the frantic pace at which I jumped from the bed to my cramped desk. In my haste to turn my thoughts into written words, I almost broke the pencil I grabbed. The fragmented sentences spewed forth, filling up page after page.

This eventually culminated into a research binge; which then led me to a single word kinbaku.

My introduction to the term came suddenly, popping up on my screen before I had a chance to go back. Initially, I had no kind of opinion on what I was looking at, I honestly just didn't know what to think. I could only recall my emotions at the time, the growing sense of mortification as I continued to stare and soon after, the feeling of my entire face burning as I kept blankly gazing at the screen. I was in a state of shock.

After about a minute just looking at the screen my brain finally kicked into gear and I came to my senses. In a panic, I slammed my laptop shut, almost breaking it in half with the force I used. From there, I took a courageous leap from my desk and back into the safe haven that was my bed.

What the hell did I just see? This thought and more ran through my mind as I hid under the covers, my face still burning.

It took several days after this incident before I could think about what had even happened without dying of embarrassment and the new thoughts and ideas that came continued to plague me. I can still remember the force of my desperation in the efforts to keep my mind off of the image; unfortunately, my insatiable curiosity finally got the best of me.

It was during a school night, about a week after the initial incident when I "rediscovered" the picture. At my second look, the built-up anticipation caused my hands to tremble and my breathing to steadily rise. I couldn't stop the tension coursing through my veins, like an unquenchable flame being fed gasoline.

The woman was only in a bra and underwear. She was in the process of being tied up, forced in a kneeling position. Arms placed on her back, she was craning her neck upwards. Looking up at the camera like she was somehow grateful to be where she was.

I didn't even know what this was supposed to be.

What was the point?

It looked…..

It looks like the woman was in pain, the ropes digging into her skin. Red marks were clearly visible across her body and inspecting the image further, the only thing I could keep my attention on was the women's expression.

Hazy, unfocused.

Happy.

The intricate patterns formed by the rope inlaid on her body appeared tight enough to make breathing difficult.

It was…

Oddly beautiful...

Looking back, I can safely say that this was the just the beginning. That is to say, the turning point in my fascination.

From then on, it wasn't about being a hero anymore.

It began in the dead of night, after training and schoolwork. Slowly, it became my nightly ritual, to practice my craft. In reality, the only thing I was really doing was sinking further into mania.

Taking diligent care in learning each bind.

Orienting myself with each type of rope.

Teaching myself how to turn a simple material into a bound masterpiece.

This grew into my new normal, learning how to bind someone and how to do so safely. Over time, my knots became more complex and with that, a lingering thought remained somewhere within my subconscious. How I could make someone bend to my will with just a knot? As much as I tried to hide my uneasiness about how crazed I was with my fascination with kinbaku; each knot eventually became a silent source of strength.

Whenever I had the rope in hand, I was the one in control.

No one could take that from me.

With my growth, an innate understanding came of not only my power, but a sense of true purpose in kinbaku. It was not simply a skill, but an art form. A true exercise of trust between the person tied and the person tying. At this point in time, I could have never imagined myself telling anyone about this. Not All Might, not my classmates; no one could know. I remember how isolated I felt back then, the disgusted way I felt about my secret. It's was all just… too embarrassing, too weird to say out loud.

From those nightly rituals, time had continued to march forward, as it does. The days turned to weeks, the weeks turned into months. Months turned into a new school year.