Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hello! My name is Strawberry_Hearts, but you can

call me Strawberry! Welcome to my book about Shota Aizawa, here you can request 

different fics about him. I will be writing boyfriend scenarios in my spare time

but will always put your requests first. Follow the guide below <3

1. Gender of reader?
2. Type of fic? (angst, fluff? smut?)
3. Prompt (optional)
4. Additional info

I will write anything and everything (with minor exceptions, like r/pe and yellow water works, daddy kink</3)

Please remember I am just an author and cannot write his character down to an exact point, so if

there are some things you notice that are "off" about him, please make no big fuss over it.

I write at my own pace! Thank you for your patience

Chapter Text

     Nerves are running wild, sweat beading down your face under the warm sun of Japan. Today is the day; the day you began your new job at UA. It made you jittery, or maybe that was just your coffee you purchased at Moonbucks. Either way, going from a front office clerk at an elementary school to being a teaching assistant at the UA highschool was a drastic jump up the corporate ladder. It even involved a decent pay raise, too.

     With the breeze brushing against your skin, you took a deep breath and opened the doors to the front office of UA with a confident smile.

     “I’m here as the new teaching assistant.” You tell the lady at the front. 

     “Your name?” 

     “(Y/N) (L/N).”

     “Ah, here you are,” she says, clicking at what you assume is your info on her computer, “first off, congratulations on your new job; UA has been in need of a teaching assistant for quite some time now. It’s hard to get accepted as one, especially considering…”

     She pauses for a second, adjusting her glasses as she squints at her screen, “you’re not even a hero! Maybe you could learn a thing or two from the people here, huh?” A chuckle escapes her lips and she waves her hand dismissively at you. “You’ll be in Class 1-A. Good luck, you’ll need it with those kids.”

     “Where would that be?”

     “Just down the hall on your left, sweetie. It’s a big door, you can’t miss it. Trust me.” A wink is sent your way. 

     You nod and sigh as you make your way down the hall, your hands nervously gripping the strap of your bag and your coffee cup. You take a sip and lick your lips, wiping away the remnants of your coffee off your upper lip. 

     Will I be a good assistant? Will the students make fun of my nerves? Will I mess up on my first day?

     These thoughts and many others run through your mind endlessly. You were so caught up in your thoughts, you almost did miss the giant door of class 1-A. You glance at your watch, you have ten minutes before class starts, you start to wonder if you got here late. Before you can even reach for the door handle, it slides open. 

     A young man with glasses and jet blue hair and the most arched-out brows you’ve ever seen, stands before you under the door threshold. 

     “Good morning! My name is Tenya Iida, I take it you are (L/N), is that correct?” He extends a hand out to you, which you promptly shake. His grip was firm and strong but not enough to cause you any discomfort. With a nod of your head, but before you can speak, he smiles warmly at you. “Welcome to our class, (L/N)! We all heard you would be coming as an assistant. To be fair, our teacher needs the extra help. We have quite a few troublemakers in our midst.”

     You heard a loud shout of “I can hear you, dumbass!” come from inside the room. You raise a curious eyebrow, was this kid not the teacher? He sure looked the part, and acted like it, too. You peeked inside before taking a cautious step in. It seems like most of the students were in their seats, a few standing and talking amongst each other. Your entrance turns the heads of these kids, and you notice a few different gazes. Most of the girls give you a look of relief, while a few, or rather, two of the boys, look at you so intently you almost shrivel under their gaze. You try not to let it affect you; you would have to deal with all kinds of personalities from here on out, and if a few intense gazes would make you nervous like this, you would not last.

     As the clock slowly ticked away to the next hour, the students began settling in their seats. You look around, (e/c) eyes trying to find the teacher. Was he late?

     “He’s just sleeping.”

     You heard Iida say with a laugh, reading your expression. He makes a gesture for you to peek behind the desk, and so you do. Upon leaning over the desk, you find … a sleeping bag? Another curious eyebrow was raised, and you walk over to the side of the bag. Squatting down, you nudge the sleeping bag which earns you an annoyed grunt. 

     “I still have two minutes, go away.” You hear a gruff voice grumble out. Was he… lying face down on the floor, too? You were about to nudge him again when he turned his head to look at you, his expression one of surprise. 

     “I forgot you were coming today.”

     The man awkwardly climbs out of his sleeping bag, and from inside it, he pulls out a lanyard. He hands it to you. 

     You inspect it carefully, reading your full name and even your picture on the front. It was the same as your ID. How did they..?

     You decide not to question it much; the hero society was intricate and thorough like that. It was innocent enough anyways, so no complaints would be raised any time soon about them finding your ID. Putting your head through the lanyard, you extend a hand out to the man. He looks disheveled and tired, and a section of hair covers his face. 

     “Shota Aizawa.” He greets you, loud enough for you to hear, and he extends a hand to meet yours. His grip, unlike Tenya’s, was lazy and light. “I guess you’ll be my new assistant to help teach these kids. Congratulations on making it in.” His voice didn’t sound like he was congratulating you at all . It was more like he just wanted to get this day over with already. “Just do what I tell you and you’ll be fine. You can shadow me for a while and when I feel that you’re ready, maybe you can even take over my classes every once in a while.”

     You give him a confident nod and a beaming smile, which was not reciprocated. You didn’t let that bring you down, though; you knew Eraserhead was supposedly a difficult man to talk to, given his introverted nature and harsh way of teaching. You weren’t going to let that get in the way of your assisting, however, you would do your utmost best to be all that a good – no, great – assistant could ever be. 

     “Alright class. As I told you yesterday, we have a new assistant that will be here for the rest of the school year. Go ahead and introduce yourself, (L/N).”

     You stand at the front of his desk and bow your head towards the students. 

     “My name is (Y/N) (L/N). I look forward to working with you all, you seem like wonderful kids. Do you have any questions for me?”

     An immediate hand shoots up and you look down the arm that extends it, your eyes landing on a green-haired boy. You nod your head, signaling for him to speak. He stands up and bows his head in return as a sign of respect.

     “Good morning, (L/N)!” he starts, an innocent smile on his face, “are you a Pro Hero? What’s your hero name? And what’s your quirk? What ab-”

     “Alright Midoriya, don’t harass our new assistant with questions.” Shota chimes in with an annoyed sigh, his eyes closed. For just a moment, he opens them to look at you, his gaze bored and uninterested. “Just answer what you think is important. We don’t want to take up the whole class talking about you.”

     An embarrassed chuckle leaves your lips and you look back at the boy, Midoriya. “Well, my quirk is (name), but no, I am not a Pro Hero. Maybe I’ll learn as we go through the courses, and I can enroll sometime! Any more questions before we move onto the course for today?”

     You see that Midoriya was about to open his mouth to speak but was quickly shut down by Aizawa’s stare. You feel a little bad for him but decide not to test Aizawa’s patience any further.

     “Alright, if that’s all the questions, we’ll get started on the lesson for the day. Here, pass these out, (L/N).” Aizawa tells you, handing you a stack of papers. ‘Mental exercises today, class. Answer the prompts on the papers. There are no right or wrong answers so answer freely.”

     You take the stack of papers from Aizawa and begin handing them out one by one to each student, starting with the first row. So far, so good. This was easy, right? Just handing out papers. That’s all it was. It was simp-

     “Watch it!”

     You snap out of your thoughts immediately upon hearing a rough, angry voice ring in your ears. You look down to see a blond young man, his feet propped up on his desk. You had accidentally stumbled into his seat and rattled him.

     “Sorry, sorry. Here.” Apologies spew out of your mouth and your face burns pink with embarrassment. Shoving a paper onto his desk, you quickly resume your paper-passing. An annoyed grumble is heard from the young boy but you can’t make out what he says, but it earns a defensive retort from Midoriya and Iida. You could just feel Aizawa’s stare burn into the back of your head, watching your every move, analysing you closely. When you look up, his attention was quickly drawn to his desk instead of you. 

     “There were a few extras.” You pipe up as you approach him, a few papers in hand. You set them down on his desk and Aizawa gives you a nod. 

     “Great. You’re done for right now. Just sit back and observe me and the students.”

— — 

     More papers, more flyers, more sophisticated works of art and knowledge. You were passing out many of these things for the remainder of the class, all up until the very end. All up until the bell rang, signalling the end of the day. As students stood up and filed out of the classroom, bidding you and Aizawa goodbye and good day, you turned to the older teacher. 

     “What? Class is over, you can leave.”

     “I just wanted to thank you for being patient with me and letting me assist you today. It was a great learning experience.” You say with a polite smile and a bow of your head. Aizawa sighs and rubs the back of his neck.

     “You sound like Midoriya. You did fine today, just keep listening to what I tell you and you’ll do great.”

     Your smile widens and a laugh escapes your lips, earning just the tiniest of tugs of Aizawa’s lips. “Are you heading out? I’d love to treat you to some late lunch if you wouldn’t mind.”

     Aizawa paused, raising a curious eyebrow in your direction. He always got the offer of going out to lunch with some of his fangirls, but you were different; you didn’t offer it just for the sake of trying to get a date with him or more, but you genuinely seemed like you wanted to thank him and enjoy some time together as colleagues. 

     “Sure. What place do you have in mind?”

     You refrain from your smile getting any bigger and explain to him that there was a nice cafe a block away from the school. You have been there many times before and thought it would be a decent place to start. They have delicious sandwiches and cookies!

     The teacher nodded his head and packed away his sleeping bag under his desk. He grabbed his phone and held open the large door of the classroom for you, “come on then.” 

     You smile and nod at Aizawa, uttering a quiet thank you before leaving the classroom. He follows you out, shutting the door behind him. The two of you walk down the halls of UA in an uncomfortable silence. Walking towards the front of the school and giving a nod to the lady, she gives you a wave.

     “Hope your first day went well!” She chirps excitedly, a grin coming across her face. You return her grin and nod, “it went splendid!”

     “Splendid, huh?” Aizawa’s voice rings in your ears, a very faint smirk coming to his lips as he walks with you out of the school and towards the gates. The evening sun bore down on you both, yet a nice gentle breeze kept you both cool. You weren’t sure how Aizawa put up with the summer heat in his all-black clothing. 

     “Yeah! I would say it went pretty well, don’t you think?” You curiously ask, looking up to him as the two of you fully exit the UA grounds. At this point now, you take the lead and begin walking down the sidewalk towards the cafe you had mentioned earlier.

     “I suppose it did,” he utters with a slight shrug of his shoulders, “you did well for your first time as an assistant, even though you were just passing papers out. I noticed you were nervous but you didn’t let that stop you. Congrats on your first day.”

     His words struck a string in your heart and they almost made you tear up, but showing him your happy tears was not on your bucket list right now. Shaking away your thoughts, you point at the cafe right down the street.

     “There it is!”

     “Wow, it’s really tucked away back here isn’t it? No wonder I never knew about this place. What would you recommend?”

     “A coffee.” You suggest bluntly, an amused laugh finding its way past your lips. Shota’s own smile didn’t go unnoticed this time and it made you feel proud. You got the Eraserhead to smile! That was a delightful feat of its own.

     “Harr harr.” He replies with his own amused chuckle. He opens the door for you and beckons you to go inside first. As you enter the cafe, the lovely aroma of coffee, tea, and all sorts of baked goods hit your nose. It was cool inside with fans spinning all around the ceiling, gently bristling the hanging decor and hair of many people that were inside. 

     “It smells nice in here,” he states softly, taking a moment to inhale the scent of the cafe. A few people turn their heads and whisper: is that Eraserhead? What’s he doing with some civilian? Shouldn’t he be working?

     “Just ignore them.”

     You snap your head up to look at Aizawa, his words striking down any doubts or negative thoughts you were about to have before you even thought about having them. A shy smile graces your lips once more as the two of you approach the young barista on the other side of the counter. “A tall macchiato, please.”

     Turning your head to Aizawa expectantly, you raise an eyebrow upon seeing him staring dumbfounded at all the options on the menu overhead. 

     “Uhh. A black coffee. Please.”

     A chuckle leaves you and Aizawa looks down at you puzzled, awaiting an explanation.

     “Too many to pick from?”

     “What the hell is a macchiato?” 

     Another laugh comes from you, this time causing a few heads to turn; some of jealousy, others of curiosity. Paying no mind to them, you keel over a bit, your hand coming up to hold your stomach. 

     “A guy like you, and you don’t know what a macchiato is?”

     “Am I supposed to?” A slight pause. “And what do you mean, ‘ a guy like me ‘ ?” A playful tone was evident in his voice, showing you that he was in no way offended by your comment, which was a nice but subtle relief to you. You pull out your phone and open up the cafe app, swiping to the barcode and scanning it. An affirmative beep plays, signaling that your payment went through. 

     “Oh, did you want anything to eat?” You ask him, and once again, he squints up at the menu overhead. A disgruntled hum comes from deep within his chest, sending a shiver up your spine. “There’s so many options, pick whichever.”

     “I uhh, will have… that.” He points at one of the pastries on the menu, and the barista nods. He adds it to your overall charge and then nods again approvingly. 

     “Come on, let’s take a seat, our order will be called out shortly.” You lead him to one of the corner tables by the window and offer him a gentle smile. He seems to hesitate for a split second before he sits in one of the chairs. You sit yourself, and a few moments of silence pass by before your name is called. Standing up from your seat, you walk back to the counter and grab your drinks and Aizawa’s pastry. You set it on the table you sat at and hand him his portion of the order. 

     “You seem like this is your first time in a coffee shop.” You comment with a teasing smirk, and Aizawa returns it, meanwhile sipping his black coffee. 

     “Maybe it is.”

     “What?” Disbelief was evident in your voice, “first time in a cafe? Really?”

     “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He says with a chuckle, his smirk turning into a slight grin. He sips his coffee and inspects his pastry, raising an eyebrow when he sees the pink drizzle over the mini balls of dough. “Strawberry?”

     “Can I have one?” 

     His eyes shoot up from his donut to meet yours, and an amused twinkle glints in his normally cold eyes. “Get one yourself.”

     “Hey, I paid for that! It’s only fair if I get one!” You whine, a pout on your face as you glare at him. He looks at you for a solid couple of seconds before sighing, but the grin on his face told the truth about his fake annoyance. He turns the bag towards you and you promptly shove your hand inside and take one of the mini strawberry drizzled donuts. 

     "Only fair," you reiterate as you pop the mini donut in your mouth. Aizawa watches intently, his eyes following the donut before your expression. When you seem delighted about the taste, he decides the donuts aren't bad and follows suit; taking one of the pastries and eating it. Immediately, his nose scrunches up and you can see he struggles to swallow his donut. A laugh escapes you and you watch on curiously, crossing your arms on top of the table.

     “Too… sweet…” he forces out hoarsely, quickly taking another drink of his coffee. He slams his cup down on the table with a husky breath, relief on his face. He shakes his head and pushes the bag of mini donuts towards you. “I’m alright on these.”

     Another laugh, “do you want something else to eat maybe?”

     “Unless they have salty licorice, I’m fine, but thank you. I’ll stick to what I know is good.” He states, watching you again as you eat the mini donuts. You raise an eyebrow, “what?”

     “You got strawberry filling on your mouth.”

     Before he can say or do anything, your hand swipes your mouth clean, tossing the remnants of the filling someplace on the floor of the cafe. How embarrassing!  

     He laughs softly and downs the last of his coffee, his eyes moving from your face to your own cup, noticing you’ve barely taken a sip of your ‘ macchiato ‘ .

     “Want to take that to go? I have twenty minutes before I have to report for work and I’d like to take a walk.”

     You look at him for a second, then at your donuts, then at your cup, before back to him. “I don’t see why not.”

     Aizawa stands up and grabs his empty coffee cup, waiting for you to follow him. You do so, grabbing your little bag of donuts and your macchiato before following him. He tosses his cup in the trash before opening the door of the cafe and holding it for you. Exiting the building, the warm evening air hits your face. Taking a deep, relaxed breath, you sigh in delight. 

     The two of you once again begin your walk down the street, walking close together on the sidewalk. You finally drink your macchiato and continue biting into the mini donuts, while Aizawa stuffs his hands in his pockets and scans the environment out of habit. The silence this time wasn’t awkward as you both made your way through the entrance of the city park. 

     Shota suddenly nudges you in the side and you look up at him; he’s smiling down at you. It’s a slight smile, but one you can see nonetheless. 

     “Get home and get some sleep, it’s another long day of teaching tomorrow and I want you fresh, you hear?”

     You nod, watching as he puts his goggles on from beneath his scarf, which he adjusts. His expression turns serious, “you don’t live far from here, right? I’ll tail you to make sure you get home safe, then I really have to get to work.”

     “If you read my file, you should know I only live a few minutes away. Thank you. I appreciate it.” You smile at him, but with his scarf covering half of his face, you couldn’t tell if he was smiling back at you or not. 

     “Get going then, I’ll be right behind you. Goodnight, (L/N).”

     “Goodnight, Aizawa.”

Chapter Text

     There was a yearning; a deep yearning for more literary wonders to be held in your hands. A disgruntled sigh escapes your lips as you close the book you held, fingers solemnly grazing the spine and then over the cover; over the golden cursive to the silky string bookmark that now hangs between the last two pages. It was such a fantastic book; one of those where you just yearn to live in its world. But alas, good stories all must have an ending, right?

     Or so you thought; not unless you pick up the next book, the next story, the next work of art to take you to far away lands, out of reach of reality. A world of illusions. You glance at the clock on your wall; 12:45. It was a Sunday in the summer days of Japan, meaning school was out for the day, otherwise you’d be at your job still, helping the Pro Hero Eraserhead with his students. You hum to yourself as you stand up and approach your bookshelf, sliding the book you had just finished into its correct slot between many other spines. Eyes glaze over the many different titles and authors; you’ve read all of these already… it seems like it was time to take a trip to your local bookstore.

      You stand up from your couch and quickly get dressed, having been in your pyjamas all day. Slipping on your shoes, you pet your cat, [cat’s name]. She meows and headbutts your arm, asking for more scratches. You chuckle and scratch her ears a few seconds longer before dusting your hand off from her fur. Walking into the kitchen, she follows you and jumps onto the counter and watches you with hopeful eyes. Knowing exactly what she wants, you grab a paper plate and a can of cat food from the fridge. You dish it out on the ceramic and slide it over to her like you were a bartender sliding a shot down the counter. [Cats name] immediately digs in, mostly licking at the juice before picking at the actual food.

     You decide to grab a quick snack yourself, deciding on a plain yoghurt. Hand reaches inside one of your drawers, grabbing a plastic spoon. You pop open the yoghurt and toss the lid in the trash. Your cat stares at you every now and then as you rush around and grab your things; phone, bag, keys. You kiss your cat goodbye before you walk out of your apartment, feeling the warm sun bearing down on you. Thankfully, the walk wasn’t a long one.

     As you enter the bookstore, the smell of old pages and ink hits your nose. It was a comfortable aroma; a welcome home. A labyrinth of wonders lays before you, eyes gleaming over all the different placards that read what genre of a row you were looking in. Sunlight poured in through the slitted windows, casting warm shadows in crooks and nannies and even warmer glow on the books. Hushed whispers and the rustles of page-turning was the only sound that cut the eerie silence of the bookstore.

     Unbeknownst to you, however, Aizawa stands in just the next two shelves over, his gaze eyeing you up curiously; full of intrigue. “What are they doing here?”

     His gaze seems to soften as he notices your expression as you look at the many books in your favourite section. It takes him a few seconds to muster up the courage to approach you; is it wrong to approach a colleague outside of work? No, right? It’s just an… unexpected encounter.

     Aizawa decides to step out from the row of bookshelves, his footsteps quiet and imperceptible; as they need to be when he’s on the job. With every step, he closes the distance between you both. After a second's time, he ultimately stands right behind you, close enough that you can feel the subtle shift in the air around you.

     “(L/N),” his low voice rumbles behind you, the sound of it resonating within your chest. His voice startles you, making you whip your head around in surprise to see him standing there, hand mid-stretch as if he was going to grab your shoulder.

     “Quick reflexes,” he chuckles faintly, the corners of his lips twitching upwards slightly, it was almost unnoticeable.

     The two of you share a moment of silence before you finally relax; heart racing and adrenaline pumping through your veins gets you pretty worked up.

     “You scared me, Mr. Aizawa.”

     “Please, Shota is fine.” He says to you, rubbing the back of his neck. It’s only been a few months since you’ve first started your job as his assistant, so him making it a first-name-basis with you two made you quite happy.

     “Then you can call me (Y/N).” You state with a sweet smile before your eyebrows raise in curiosity, “what are you doing here, Shota? I didn’t know you like to read.”

     “Bookstores tend to bring people together, don’t they? I’m only here because this section is one I haven’t read yet, so I guess you could say, "curiosity.”” He explains to you, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “What about you, (Y/N)? What brings you to this haven of old pages?”

     “I finished my last book today and have nothing else to spend my time on, so here I am. I love reading; getting lost in different worlds and cultures is so appealing to me. It’s my refuge, an escape.”

     Aizawa’s eyes almost sparkle with fascination; who knew his assistant would be such a bookworm? “I understand that. Books have such a unique way of shaping our perspectives and letting us find emotions. They make us think and process many different things, we can learn a lot from these authors, even at a first glance.”

     His hand reaches up from his side to run gently across the spines of the book, his touch gentle and affectionate.

     “Don’t you think so?”

      You chuckle with amusement and nod your head, looking at each book he trails over. One catches your eye and you pull it from the shelf. It was a pretty, velvety red.

     How to Become a Hero

     “I do, like this book.” You say, turning the front of the book to face Aizawa. He reads the title and the tugs on his lips grow a little wider. You observe his expression closely, the title of the book seeming to have struck a chord between the two of you. It was a nice reminder of the path he’s been on, and the path you might journey yourself one day.

     “Fitting, isn’t it?” He says, peering down at the book, but really, he was staring at you now. His eyes still gleam with that sense of curiosity and intrigue. “I’ve only heard about that book but have never read it. I think I’ll buy it for the giggles, if you aren’t going to use it?”

     “Save it for someone who isn’t a hero yet, Shota.” You remark, your voice playfully condescending with him. He smirks down at you now, shoving the book against your chest.

     “Like yourself?”

     “Oh shut up.”

     The two of you giggle to yourselves, earning you a few annoyed glares from the librarian and customers. Quickly, you shut yourselves up, or rather, lowered your voices, as you both continued to exchange jokes and lighthearted conversation in the aisle of the shelves. The sweet embrace of literature embraces the both of you as you chat and skim through different books, occasionally recommending different books to one another and pointing out interesting phrases in the yellowed pages of old. The more you talked and enjoyed each other’s company, the more the emotions in the books and yourselves intertwined as your relationship from coworkers to friends burgeoned.

     Book after book, word after word, the two of you flip through endless pages and share your thoughts, making conversation about different authors and their writing pattern, or the illustrators for some of the more light-hearted books. It feels like hours since you’ve both walked into the bookstore, and eventually, a silent agreement comes between the two of you. One that wants to explore this newfound feeling of friendship and bond together, outside the confines of the store.

     You purchase the book that was so generously shoved back in your hands, the two of you deciding you’ll just read it together. Afterwards, you and Aizawa step out into the sunlit streets, the warm breeze tousling your hair gently. The walls of the bookstore open up to the large open area of a park right ahead across the street. A symphony of greens and blooms greet you as you approach the large gate of the park. As you pass through, even the delicate smell of trees and flowers fill your noses. The sounds of the city slowly drown out under the sounds of the park, allowing nature to take its rightful place in your neighbourhood. Leaves crunch under your feet, signaling autumn making its beautiful golden approach into nature.

     You and Aizawa talk, walking comfortably next to each other as if you’ve known each other for years. His voice carries a hint of tranquility as he speaks.

     “Isn’t nature beautiful? It’s refreshing,” he mutters to you, eyes glancing at your face for just a second as he takes a deep breath. His hands shove into his pockets and he walks a step closer to you. You hum in agreement as the two of you continue on your walk, passing by shimmering lakes, ancient trees with nestled benches beneath their leaves, and lovely, vibrant flower gardens. Slowly, the sun begins its descent, leaving a golden glow across the whole park.

     Finally, you and Aizawa make it to a secluded part of the park where not many people seem to be occupying. The clearing was surrounded by cherry blossom trees that oversee the lake atop a small hill. It was tranquil and absolutely gorgeous. Cherry petals fell all around you, dusting the luscious green grass beneath you with a pink carpet.

     The usually reserved and stern look on Aizawa’s expression softens, just as it did in the bookstore. The weight he carries as a hero lifts just a smidge, allowing him to be himself with you as he leads to one of the many benches by one of the blossom trees. The two of you sit down, close enough so that you can open the book over your right leg and his left. The closeness felt nice, peaceful. For a moment in time you felt like you weren’t truly alone, like you weren’t just his assistant, but more as a friend.

     As the two of you flip through the pages, occasionally stealing glances at each other, the bond between you two seems to grow. The two of you share laughs and jokes about the book, other times just talking about something specific within. Eventually, however, the sun has reached a low point on the horizon and the array of colours in the sky slowly begin turning black.

     “It’s getting late, you should probably head home, (Y/N).” His voice suddenly gets picked up in your ears. You slowly look up at him, your tired eyes saying it all. A tinge of a smile pulls at his lips and he takes the book from your laps and he closes it. He tucks it under his arm and stands up before offering his hand to you.

     “Come on, I guess I’ll walk you home this time.” He tells you, pulling you to your feet when you take his hand. Reluctantly, you two leave the little alcove and start walking back into the rest of the park. “Just lead the way.”

     You nod and begin leaving the park with him, a comfortable silence falling between you two. His gaze meets yours every now and then, the expression on his face showing warmth and appreciation for the past couple of hours you just spent with him. It seems like he really needed something like this; some simple encounter to relax.

     A lovely rhythm of walking steps hitting the concrete sidewalk, a pattern that comes naturally instead of being awkward or too slow, or too fast for one another. The silence was nice while it lasted as Shota speaks up, “Want to exchange phone numbers?”

     “Of course.” You affirm with a smile. “I’ll give it to you when we get to my apartment, okay?”

     “Sounds good to me.”

     The night sky soon fell as you two walk, making your way down the streets of Japan to get to your apartment complex. It didn’t take long of course, but each step felt like moments of eternity, one that you wish did last for so long.

     The apartment building looms over you both, both welcoming and familiar. You beckon him inside the lobby, “come on, walk me up and I’ll give you my number.”

     Aizawa’s eyes sparkle with anticipation and approval as he follows you inside, you and him walking in harmony up the steps to the third floor. You make light banter with him as you approach the door to your apartment. You bring out your keys and unlock the door.

     “How about you come in? I have some coffee or tea.” You suggest, opening the door and motioning inside.

     “That would be nice,” he accepts your offer, his voice carrying a hint of gratitude. His gaze towards you softens once more, “I won’t stay for long, I know you’re tired.”

      Aizawa steps inside your apartment, the space inviting; a reflection of your personality. You close the door behind him and lead him to your kitchen island. “What would you like?”

     “Whatever coffee you have, please.”

     You nod and start brewing him a coffee, thinking that a french roast would be something he might enjoy. With a practiced hand, you begin measuring out what you need for a french roast. The aroma fills the air, enveloping the kitchen in a thick smoky blanket. You pour water into the coffee maker and lock the lid, letting the device do its thing and make the coffee.

     Meanwhile, as you begin pouring the coffee into a small mug, Aizawa studies you from his seat at your kitchen table. His arms were crossed, legs slightly apart, back leaning against the back of the chair in a relaxed pose. How could this person he met just mere months ago already feel like such an important person in his life? He wasn’t big on friends but you were a different case; one that intrigued him greatly, one that made him want to know more about you.

     “Thanks,” he states as you set the coffee mug down in front of him on a circular toaster. He grabs it by the handle and raises it to his lips, taking a slow sip, his eyes closing in delight. “This is great, what is it?”

     “French roast.”

     “I see, you should be a barista or something.”

     You chuckle and shake your head. “I think I am happy with my job as your assistant.”

     “Really? I would’ve never guessed.” He replies playfully and you could see the corners of a smile peeking out from his cup. You reach into your fridge and pour yourself some tea before you sit across the table from Aizawa, a happy smile on your face.

     As minutes pass, the drinks slowly transform from mere beverages to catalysts; a vessel for deeper conversations and moments of vulnerability with one another. It was relaxing, but invigorating. The way you two talked as if there was no care in the world, as if you’ve been friends forever, was blissful. The lovely smell of coffee and tea still linger in the kitchen. It was like a winter solstice with how time seemed to freeze and all there was was you both.

     Mugs and cups may be empty now, but the time you had just shared with Aizawa was something special, something that webbed your bond with him even closer and deeper together. The two of you share a knowing glance, a silent understanding that the both of you ought to head to bed now. It was close to midnight now, where did time go?

      “Thank you for having me over like this, it was nice getting to know more about you. I feel like we’re more than just colleagues now, something I haven’t really felt with many other people.” His voice finally rings in your ears. He stands up from his chair and waits for you, giving you a second to finish the very last of your tea before you follow him to the front door of your apartment.

     “The pleasure is all mine, Shota. We should do this again sometime, don’t you think?”

     “We really should. Maybe next week?”

      You smile and nod your head, opening the door for him and stepping aside so he can walk out. The hours were finally drawing to a close, and the excitement of the evening slowly began to die down. You had just made good friends with Aizawa, an impressive feat. You were already yearning for next week, already yearning for more, yearning to progress this blooming friendship.

     “That sounds wonderful.”

Chapter Text

Deep breaths, (Y/N))

You breathe in deeply, holding your breath for a few long seconds before exhaling. These students were getting on your nerves today, specifically Denki. That boy has been flirting with Kyoka all class and she was beginning to be receptive to it, making matters worse. Don’t get yourself wrong, you were all for romantic relationships blooming between your students, but when it gets in the way of their schoolwork, that’s when it becomes a problem for both you, Aizawa, and them. 

“Kaminari,” you call to him, “focus on your work please. I don’t want to say it again.” A stern, strong voice emanates from you, ringing throughout the classroom and making the others focus more intensely on their schoolwork. You’ve gotten the hang of this pretty well, it’s been a little more than half a year now since you first arrived at the prestigious school that was UA High and you’ve settled in quite nicely in your role as teaching assistant to the Pro Hero Eraserhead.

“Good work as always, (Y/N).” The hero tells you with a slight, amused smirk. You spare a glance towards the teacher, appreciating his acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Shota.” You beam, a sense of pride evident in your voice. His words only made you more determined to support your students in every way possible. 

“You’ve become quite adapted to this role, you know. It’s impressive. I don’t really have to struggle with these kids as much as I used to ever since you showed up.” He leans against his desk, his eyes sweeping across the students engrossed in their work. “You’ve become quite the asset to my classroom, congratulations.”

When his eyes meet yours, his expression softens just the smallest bit, “the students respect you, even the troublesome ones.”

Your cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink and you put up a humble, modest smile. “I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do; ensuring the students lead a successful path to becoming a hero, all while helping you.” 

You feel a sense of gratitude wash over you as you say these words, your chest puffing out a small bit. Your dedication and sense of pride reminds him of himself in a way, and of his ideals he holds as a hero. 

“Your commitment to me and my students is commendable, (Y/N).”

A subtle shift in the air occurs between you both; an unspoken strengthening of your bond together. One that goes beyond the box of colleague and colleague, just as it has been these past few months. Aizawa takes a step closer to you, his expression showing that he’s happy his students are completely focused on their work, but out of the corner of your eye you can tell a few are staring; like Mina and Jiro. 

His voice lowers to a whisper, his tone almost intimate with you. He leans down slightly, raspy voice whispering in your ear: “You bring warmth to my classroom, (Y/N). Thank you. I appreciate you.”

Warmth spreads throughout your chest and especially over your face. What was he doing, so close to you like that? You can’t help the smile that comes to your face, albeit one that’s a little nervous and shy. A quick glance to the side shows you that most of the class is staring now, completely invested in the scene that’s happening at the front of the room. 

Before you can say anything, Aizawa stands straight and with an annoyed sigh, he looks over the classroom, “get back to work, there’s nothing to see here. Say a word and I’ll fail you.”

“Shota! Don’t be so harsh on them!” You retort, giving him a light nudge in the arm. A pout comes to your face and your ears twitch at the sound of giggles. You fwip your head to the side and glare at the students giggling, “back to work! You heard him.”

A few hushed whispers and laughs come from a few of them before they die down quickly, daring to make a few retorts under their breaths but not daring enough to disobey their teacher and his assistant. 

Minutes pass as you and Aizawa chat and laugh together, leaving the students to finish up their work for the rest of the class. The bell eventually rings and the young heroes quickly pack up their things and file out of the classroom, a few more rushed than the others to get out and go home. 

As the remaining students bid their goodbyes, the air in the room feels a lot more intimate and warm than the usual bubbly and lighthearted vibe. Aizawa pushes himself off from his desk and takes a step forward towards you. This time he raises his head, seemingly making sure the last of the students were out of the classroom. As he steps closer, his dull eyes shine with vulnerability, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“You know, not only the students benefit from your presence here. Working alongside you like this has impacted me quite a bit, (Y/N). I just thought you should know that.” 

You glance at him once, then twice, and the third time is when you finally manage to look at him, the slight blush on your face earning a larger smile from the teacher. The weight of his words weigh heavily on you, but in a nice way, like you were under a thick warm blanket on a cold winter night. A new territory was slowly being tread on, one that he was beginning to hope you would walk on with him. 

Seeing your blushing face sparks something within him; it makes his heart flutter and his mind race. What was this? He began to sweat a little, his hands becoming clammy and words feeling like rocks in the depths of his throat. When you thank him, he’s at a loss for words. 

Raising a curious yet concerned eyebrow, you wave a hand in front of his face.

“Shota?” You call. “Shota, hello? Shota?”

Your voice calling him reaches his ears but it takes him a long second to snap out of his daze, hands still clammy and words eluding him. 

“S-Sorry,” his voice betrays his flustered state, “I just got lost in thought. I apologise profusely.” He sputters, bowing his head slightly as an act of apology. 

Your brows furrow in a mix of concern and understanding and you give him a gentle pat on the arm. “If there’s something bothering you, Shota, I’m here to listen.”

“I appreciate you willing to lend an ear, but I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it. Maybe soon. How about you and I go out for a walk? I can clear my head and tell you all about it. How does that sound?”

You beam up at him and nod your head approvingly, “that sounds great. I’ll get my things.” Stepping past him, you reach under his desk and bring out your bag. You shove your notes and phone inside, along with your water bottle, before sending another nod his way. “I’m ready to go. Come on.”

His lips curve into a grateful, fond smile. Aizawa opens the door to the classroom and beckons you outside, “after you.”

“What a gentleman .” You tease, earning a snicker from the teacher. 

Together, the two of you walk side by side into the fresh air outside, happy to be out of the congested space of the classroom. Aizawa takes a deep breath and sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he usually does. His stoic demeanour returns, but you notice he’s in deep thought. You were about to ask, but when he shoots you a glance, you quickly decide against it. He will tell you when he feels ready to. 

The cool breeze of the outside world hits your faces, rejuvenating the two of you. It was only now that you realise just how long you were inside the classroom after the final bell rang, as the sun had slowly begun its descent. Each step that was taken had made the air feel more comfortable, which allowed the two of you to reflect on your own thoughts. Yours was full of concern for Aizawa while he was full of many mixed emotions. 

For the first time in a long time, his typically reserved heart was beginning to open. Everytime he looked at you, you noticed the subtle touch of vulnerability in his eyes. Every time he heard you speak his name, a myriad of emotions and conflicting desires swirled within him. It was now, as he stole glances at you when you weren’t looking, did he realise something. His heart, which was once reserved and shielded, began to crack. The more you talk, the more he spends time with you in class, the deeper he is pulled into this web of emotions, full of uncertainty and hesitancy. And yet, despite this inner turmoil, he finds assuagement with your presence. The support and care you offer him provides a way for a deeper connection.

“How about we head up to the roof of your apartment and stargaze?” He asks suddenly, breaking the rather comfortable silence. “The sunset is rather pretty.” 

Aizawa nods at the setting sun, eyes squinting a little as he looks at the pretty colour variants that paint the sky. You turn your head to him, intrigue in your eyes, albeit hopeful and full of excitement. 

“That sounds wonderful, Shota, I would love to stargaze with you. Maybe then you can tell me what’s on your mind?” You ask, a bit of hesitancy in your voice as you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable in the slightest. His expression softens once more, his own eyes showing a spark of glee and vulnerability again.

“Of course.”

Together, the two of you begin walking again, making your short way back to your apartment. Anticipation and nerves run wild as the two of you walk up the stairs of the apartment complex, eventually reaching the door that leads to the roof. Aizawa opens it for you and allows you to step through first before following suit. The thought of spending this intimate quality time with one another made both your cheeks turn pink and butterflies flutter in your stomachs. You two step out into the open space and the sight of the star-studded sky fills you both with awe. You nudge Aizawa and then nod at a few chairs under some closed umbrellas by the railing at one side of the building. 

“Come on, let’s go sit there.”

As you both gaze upward, sitting relaxed in your separate chairs, Aizawa can’t help but glance over at you. His breath hitches in your throat, his eyes noticing how absolutely gorgeous you looked under the starlight. The way your eyes sparkled with reflections of the stars, the way your lips parted open in a gasp when you saw a shooting star; it made his heart race. It made his hands clammy again, made his face turn red, a stark contrast to the dark colours of the night sky. He is completely captivated by you, and it wasn’t until now that he realised that maybe, just maybe he has feelings for you. 

As the silence continues to stretch on, he caught himself staring now. No longer was his attention on the stars or even on the sky at all, but it was all on you. He was wrestling with himself deep down. Should I say something?

Finally, Aizawa musters up his courage and with a subtle shift of his chair, he moves closer to you, enough to where your knees are touching. The sudden action causes you to snap your head back down to look at him, eyes glancing between his knees and his face. You raise a curious eyebrow and open your mouth to speak, but are cut off by him.

“(Y/N),” he begins, his eyes showing sincerity with an ounce of hesitancy. Your reaction to his moving closer made him even more nervous. His voice was barely above a whisper, “You know what’s been on my mind lately?”

You look at him in the eyes now, eyes twinkling with curiosity and you nod your head. “Go on, I’m here to listen. What’s troubling you, Shota?”

“You are.” He replies bluntly. Your eyes widen slightly and an embarrassed blush comes to your face. You were about to speak again, worried for what you might’ve done to trouble him so. 

“I realised something tonight, (Y/N). You look absolutely stunning tonight, under the light of the stars… you’re absolutely mesmerising, I can’t help but be drawn in by you. The way your eyes sparkle with the thoughts of the universe, or the way you look so entranced by the endless possibilities up there, it makes my heart flutter.”

He takes a second to take a breath, his eyes searching yours for the reciprocation to the feelings he was confessing to you. He continues when all he receives is stunned silence.

“I may not… be able to word things right right now, but I want you to know that being here with you right now feels incredibly special to me. It feels like magic, like the beginning of something extraordinary.”

A fragile, fragile silence hangs in the air as Aizawa bares his heart to you, his expression nervous; unsure of how you will respond to his confession. In his eyes hold a glimmer of hope that you feel the same way, and for now, he falls silent, awaiting your response.

“Shota, I–” you stammer, your worried expression changing to one of awe and fondness, “I’m enjoying myself up here with you just as you are. I think the stars highlight your features very well, too.”

His eyes go wide; all he wants to do now is to hug you, to embrace you in his arms and maybe even–

“But,” your words snap him out of his thoughts, “what are you really trying to say? Confirm it for me.”

Trepidation runs through his blood as his heart pounds against his chest. He takes another deep breath, gathering his thoughts and bringing forth the courage to express what he really feels with you, without sugarcoating it.

“I…,” he whispers, leaning in just a little closer to you, “this time we’ve spent together has made me realise that I have feelings for you, (Y/N). I think I’m crushing on you – no, I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes stare into his, noticing the vulnerability and sincerity in them and in his voice. Both your faces were a deep shade of red now. Your expression shows many things, surprise, compassion, and even some hope. 

“Confirm it for me.” You whisper, your voice soft yet firm. Aizawa scoots his chair closer to yours and tentatively reaches out, his hand grasping for yours, searching for affirmation as he realises the importance of your request. 

“I have feelings for you, (Y/N). That’s what has been on my mind lately. All throughout today I’ve had these… feelings. I get nervous yet confident when I am around you, like I can take on even the most dangerous of villains. Like I can take on the League all by myself. I hope you–”

“I do.”

His eyes snap open to peer up at yours, mouth slightly agape mid-sentence. His heart was about to jump out of his chest now.

“You do? Will.. will you be–”

“I will.”

Not even a second after your response, Aizawa engulfs you in a tight hug, his scent of cologne filling your nose as his hand comes to the back of your head, ushering your head into his chest.

“I’m happy to be yours, (Y/N).”

Chapter Text

“Thank you for walking me home, Shota, it means a lot to me.”

 You beam up at him, a smile gracing your lips as the two of you walk hand in hand together down the darkening street of Japan. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a beautiful glow over the neighbourhood; a glow that Aizawa finds grateful, as it accentuates your lovely features. The evening was quiet, allowing for a nice air of serenity.

“Of course, kit,” he mutters lowly, using your favourite – well, his favourite nickname for you. His hand squeezes yours once, a nonverbal way of him telling you that he loves you. The two of you have been dating for a while now, perhaps a year? Maybe a little longer. You were the one that kept track of those things, not him. A slight frown comes to your face, ruining the pretty smile you had. There was something off about him right now, something tense. His posture was stiff, rigid. He was on alert, that much you could see, as his eyes darted around, stopping for just a second at all the dark corners and alleyways.

“Baby?” you ask, squeezing his hand, “what’s wrong?” Concern etches itself on your face, concern that mirrors the worry in your heart as it picks up its beats. The rather calm air that surrounded you both was now charged with a sense of urgency. 

His hand squeezes yours once more, a silent reassurance that he recognises your concern. He turns his head for just a moment so his eyes can meet yours, his own gleaming with a mix of anticipation and an ounce of fear. He hesitates, expression revealing his thoughts. His voice was steady but laced with quiet caution. 

“There’s someone tailing us,” he confesses, his words laying heavy in the air, “they’ve been doing so since the park. Just keep walking, we’re going to my place instead.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, sweat quickly beginning to form on your forehead as a chill runs down your spine. The world around you seems to slow down and merge into the background of the rest of the darkening city. Now it was just you and Aizawa, walking together in shared vulnerability and heightened senses. 

“Who is it? Is it someone from the League?” You ask curiously, fear evident in your voice that made Aizawa’s heart hurt. He never wanted to see or hear you afraid, and this was the first time he was ever targeted with you around. Or were they targeting you? That’s something villains did all the time to mess with heroes; target their loved ones. Whoever this was, was bold to be targeting either of you, and if it was you, moreso bold since he was around, hand in hand with you. 

“I don’t think so, (Y/N). If it was someone from the League, there would be more of them but I can only pinpoint one. Stay close to me, I’ll protect you.” He offers you a forced smile, trying to remain cool and collected in this time of urgency and anticipation. In the dark of night, each alleyway you pass, each corner you round, your breath hitches, bracing for impact if it were to come. But Aizawa was a beacon, a shield for you to hide behind. Each step was calculated, each shadow glared at, every sense heightened. The two of you are on alert, acutely aware of the impending strike that can come at any second. 

A sudden footstep was heard coming from behind you and before you knew it, Aizawa had let go of your hand. With expert precision that comes from his many years of being a hero, he deflects the attack, whilst his free arm wraps around your torso and he leaps backwards, bringing you flying through the air with him. Once his feet reach solid ground, he skids to a stop and sets you down quickly. 

“Stay here.” He growls out, his arms leaving you. One hand moves to his goggles and puts them over his eyes, his other hand grabbing his scarf. Without hesitation, Aizawa springs into action and a series of blows and quirks being used plays out before you. The villain was scrawny and short, a stark contrast to Aizawa’s built body. 

Fear and admiration runs thickly through your veins as Aizawa’s quirk, Erasure, acts as a formidable defence against the villain, neutralising his abilities. Every move Aizawa makes is not only aimed at protecting himself, but to ensure your safety as well. In the midst of the clash of abilities, your gazes meet. You recognise the danger he puts himself in just to protect you. However, this one glance is what gives the villain the upperhand, and Aizawa is knocked backwards, nearly tripping over his own two feet. Thankfully, he steadies himself and rubs his jaw where the villain had gotten a strike at. 

It was at this moment where you heard a triumphant scream from the rooftop above you. Head whips upward and eyes go wide as you see a second villain above you, his hand holding what looks like a stick from below, but to him, is a special weapon; part of his quirk. 

“Shota!” Your scream echoes throughout the neighbourhood, and his head immediately snaps towards you, complete fear in his eyes that something had happened to you. The villain on the rooftop snaps his weapon and a beam of light shoots out from him. In a flash, the two of them – Aizawa and the villain he was fighting – are engulfed in this mysterious bright light. You were about to run towards the two, but the villain from the roof stops you in your tracks, jumping down in front of you and holding your wrist. The last thing you see is his fist swinging down from high above his head before you’re knocked unconscious. 

—

“(Y/N), (Y/N) wake up!”

You groan as your eyes slowly peek open. “What?” You mutter, hazy (e/c)’s staring up at the two men before you. Or, was it one? Were you seeing double? Hearing double? 

“Shota?” You inquire softly, looking at the two of them as he slowly helps you sit up. You glance back and forth between them both, feeling like you were going crazy. You rub your eyes a bit before squinting at Aizawa, then at the other Aizawa. 

“Sorry,” one of them utters, now helping you to your feet, “I didn’t expect a second villain. I hope you’re not hurt.”

“I think he gave me a concussion, I’m still seeing two of you right now.”

Aizawa and his doppelgänger share a glance with one another before looking back at you. “No, no. There’s two of us. (Y/N). That villain’s quirk allows him to create body doubles of people, but he missed his buddy and hit me instead.”

Listening to their explanation, the pain in your head and the haze in your eyes slowly subsides. You take a moment to think it through. A villain with the ability to create doppelgängers had caused the bizarre duplication of your boyfriend. 

Even though the pain you feel is only a dull ache at this point, a sense of relief washes over you, knowing that the two Aizawas before you were not a result of a concussion but rather a villain's misguided attack. The two of them share a look as you stare at them bewildered, a bit unsure of how to soothe the situation for you any further.

“Why not I take you back to your house? You’ll be safer there and we can both tend to your head.” One of them speaks up after a few moments of unsure silence. You watch the two share another glance before you end up nodding, gratitude shining through your gaze. 

“That sounds like a wonderful plan, I trust both of you to take care of me. You’re my boyfriend after all.” You say softly, and a sly grin comes to your face, “until this quirk wears off, does this mean I have two boyfriends?”

“Absolutely not.” One of them snaps, but not in a way to scrutinise you. The two glare at each other, a sense of jealousy and protectiveness radiating off them both. Aizawa extends a hand towards you but before you can take it, the other Aizawa also extends his hand out to you.

“Guys, come on,” you sigh, grabbing both of their hands, “don’t be fighting over me. You can share or get nothing at all.”

“Deal.”

–

Upon reaching your house, it was like a blanket of familiarity and safety. Aizawa lets go of your hand and enters your kitchen while Shota guides you to your couch, where your back hits the soft leather cushion and your head is supported by the armrest. Shota kisses your forehead and sits on the side of the couch with you, gentle hands rubbing your thighs as Aizawa returns with a cold towel wrapped around a bag of ice. He gently dabs it around your head, calloused hand moving the hair from your face lovingly. The two of them look on in concern as you wince from the sudden cold of the ice, knowing that the hit to your head likely won’t stop being an ache any time soon.

As you rest on your couch, the two of them take it upon themselves to attend to your every need. While one of them sits with you and comforts you, the other decides to do your household chores. Amusement and appreciation dances in your eyes as you watch them both seamlessly transition between tending to your chores and your wellbeing. You can feel the love and nurture they have for you just by their actions alone, words need not be spoken. As Aizawa busily mops the floor of your living room, Shota brings you a steaming cup of tea; one of your favourite flavours too. 

“Here,” he whispers softly as to not startle you, “to soothe you. It’s your favourite.”

You sit up on the couch, turning your body so you properly lean against the cushions of the back of it. You take the mug of tea from Shota and sip it gingerly, relishing in the warmth it brings you and the soothing feel it brings to your head. The atmosphere fills with a sense of tranquillity and solace from the sweet aroma of the tea. 

“Thank you.” You utter softly, humming in delight as you drink more of the tea. Enjoying the hot beverage, you continue to watch the two of them finish up your house chores. 

“Are you hungry?” One of them asks you, “I’ll cook dinner for us.”

“That sounds nice,” you hum, setting the mug of tea down on your coffee table in front of you as anticipation of a cooked meal fills your senses, “I am looking forward to it.”

Both of them leave the living room and enter your island kitchen, working seamlessly together to create something delicious. Their skilled determination and demeanour reflect their desires to provide you nourishment and a comforting atmosphere in your home. 

With the two of them cooking together, the scent of a lovely home-cooked meal eventually reaches your nose. The delightful sound of utensils and plates clinking together fills your ears, telling you that dinner was done. You stand up from the couch, steadying yourself. You set down the bag of melting ice on the coffee table and tread your way into the kitchen. You sit at the dining table and Shota places a plate down in front of you along with some utensils. What sat before you was a small platter of cut up steak pieces surrounded by white rice, carrots, and peas. It smells absolutely delicious, the spread of aroma and flavourful scents filing the air. 

“Dig in, kitty,” Shota says to you, setting his own plate down on the table, which Aizawa does as well. The two of them sit next to each other on the other side of the table across from you. As you take your first eager bite, you savour the harmonious blend of flavours. You could tell the food was prepared with love and admiration, and it filled not only your stomach but also your heart. Laughter and conversation fills the air, the bond between you three deepening more than ever. Tonight, at this dinner table, it felt like home. You and Aizawa occasionally spent the night at each other’s houses and had dinner together, but this time felt different. It felt like something more in a weird sense, one that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

As the evening draws to a close, Shota collects your plates together and starts washing the dishes while Aizawa cleans up the rest of the kitchen. It didn’t take long for Aizawa to finish cleaning, as the two of them generally didn’t make that much of a mess. 

“We’ll be in the room, come join us when you’re finished.” Aizawa tells Shota as he grabs your hand and leads you to your bedroom, knowing exactly which hallway to turn down as he’s been down the walls of your home many times now. Raising an intrigued eyebrow, you follow Aizawa down the hall and into your bedroom. He beckons to your full-sized bed, his free hand pulling you forward and tossing you onto the mattress. An excited squeal leaves your lips and you stare up at him with wide eyes.

“What’s this about?” You ask, leaning up on your elbows.

“Lay on your stomach, kitty.” He orders, reaching into your bedside table and pulling out your bottle of massage oil which smells of sweet lavender jasmine and lotus flowers. His words send a shiver down your spine; his request had an intimate undertone to it. Your heart flutters, knowing that Aizawa intends to care for you in a deeply personal way. You watch him pour some of the oil onto his hands and rub it into his palms, his eyes staring you down expectantly. A small smirk plays at your lips and you roll onto your stomach, your hands reaching over your shoulders to grab your shirt and raise it up, exposing your back. 

Aizawa crawls onto the bed with you, his legs straddling your hips. His hands make contact with your skin, his touch strong and firm, but soothing and deliberate. You feel a wave of relaxation wash over you, his touches providing a sweet symphony of sensations that melt away the previous stressors of the day. Each stroke is precise and designed to provide you comfort and relief. His calloused hands work intently to roll out the knots and kinks in your back and shoulders, giving you such an enormous sense of relief. 

You feel his weight shift and his breath feels hot against the back of your ear. Another shiver runs down your spine, earning you a deep chuckle from Aizawa.

“Enjoying this, kitty?” he whispers, his voice low and raspy. A whimper escapes your lips when his thumbs dig into a particularly rough knot in your back and he takes that as your answer. 

“Y-Yes,” you whisper back to him, a groan coming from you. In the midst of this intimate moment, however, another voice breaks through the peacefulness. 

“Having fun without me I see.” Shota’s voice rings through the doorway, his eyes glued to Aizawa’s hunched-over form on your back, his hands still working on your shoulders under your shirt. Seeing the blissful expression on your face elicits a bit of jealousy from Shota as he saunters over, unable to resist the temptation of joining in.

“You’re just in time, actually.” Aizawa tells him, his voice mischievous, “there’s always room for one more.” Shota steps forward, his eyes seeking your permission. With a subtle nod and coy smile, you invite him to join. The three of you shift so that you lay in the middle of the bed with either hero on your side. As Aizawa resumes his massaging, now focusing on your lower back, Shota begins his ministrations on your upper back and shoulders, the two of them working expertly to provide you with relief. The combined efforts of both their hands sends a shiver of pleasure up your spine, eliciting another groan from you. At this point, Shota had pulled your shirt over your head, leaving it loosely hanging on your arms. 

The sight of your bare back pulls at something within Shota, causing him to dig his fingers in a little more than Aizawa. 

“Shota,” you moan, head hanging low against the mattress. You shift your shoulder blades back, arching yourself up slightly to press into his hands, “that feels so good.”

Aizawa shoots a glare at Shota, wanting to hear you address him instead. Aizawa’s hands move further down your back, now resting on your hips. HIs hands push down the cute shorts you were wearing, along with your lacy underwear, just enough to gain bare access to your hips and waist. Oiled hands begin their massaging once more, effortlessly sending ripples of pleasure through your body. 

“Hey, that’s cheating,” Shota remarks, his eyes glued to your skin. You could feel a heavy tension in the air between them both now, it was full of jealousy, full of lust at seeing how you squirmed beneath their touches, how you moaned their names whenever they hit just the right spot.

It didn’t take long for the simple and innocent massage to turn into something more. Into something full of desire, into a competition . One that both of them were eager to win.

Shota’s hands delicately run over your back before he grabs a hold of your hips. With ease, he lifts you up and sits you between his legs, his own on either side of your hips. He tears your shirt off your arms, revealing the white bra underneath. Aizawa crawls over behind you, his own legs on either side of your hips, resting by Shota’s. You were sandwiched between them both now, feeling their hands traverse all over your skin. While you could see Shota’s arousal before you, you could feel Aizawa’s poking your back as one of his arms slink around your waist, pulling your body up against his. His right hand, meanwhile, moves around your shoulder to grab your jaw. Tilting your head back, he whispers in your ear, his voice sultry and hoarse, breath warm on your skin. 

“Think you can take us both , kitty?”

Shota chuckles at your flustered look, his view from the front riling him tremendously. Before you could get a word out, his head dips down, wet tongue dragging a pathway across your neck, tasting your salty skin as it begins to moisten with sweat. Licking his lips, Shota attacks your neck, leaving wet trails of saliva across your skin. His hands trail up your sides, thumbs being the first to touch your breasts. 

You shiver slightly, back arching into his touch, urging him to continue, to do more. It wasn’t the first time you and Shota were close like this, but having two of them now was exciting. The thought of them both having their way with you made your skin hot and your face turn red. With an ounce of bravery, your hands fly towards Shota’s, moving them up an inch further so his palms rest right on top of your breasts. 

A sly smirk made its way to Shota’s lips at your action, noticing how needy you already were for his touch. Aizawa, meanwhile, peppered the top of your head with gentle kisses, his hand that was around your waist beginning to expertly undo the buttons on your shorts, allowing him to shimmy them off easier. 

The air was getting hot, it was getting heavy with the actions these two were performing. Aizawa’s hand dips below the waistline of your panties, fingers stroking over your naval before your lips, causing you to whimper. Instinctively, you arch your hips up, hands moving to Aizawa’s thighs, your nails digging into his pants. 

Shota’s mouth finds its way back to your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he marks your neck and collarbone. He slowly moves his head down, one of his hands moving over from its spot on your breast to make way. His eyes glance up at you, the sight of your head tilted back in bliss as Aizawa’s fingers work beneath your panties. The faint sounds of his fingers touching you so dirtily turned him on so fucking bad. He wants more, he needs more, but he would wait. He wants to taste you more first. Shota’s tongue escapes his mouth, the wet muscle licking over one of your rosy buds that hardened in the cold air. He bites it gently, rolling your nipple between his tongue and his teeth before finally soothing the ache with a few gentle sucks and licks. 

You couldn’t help but moan, enjoying the double attack the two of your boyfriends made on your body. Shota’s mouth on your breast and Aizawa’s fingers between your legs made you see stars, it was so blissful. Your moans ricochet off the walls of your bedroom, reaching their ears like music. Aizawa’s fingers, rough and calloused, work their way in and out, in and out of your womanhood, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit. His other hand holds your jaw still, lips whispering naughty nothings in your ear as he bites the cusp of your ear.

“You like that, don’t you, kit?” He whispers, “you like being touched by two of me like this? Isn’t that so filthy?”

Shota smirks upon hearing Aizawa’s teasing, and to make matters worse, he suddenly bites your nipple again, earning him a pained gasp from you. 

“Shota!” You hiss out, whimpering from the ache he leaves on your throbbing bud. You don’t get to respond to Aizawa’s question, whether or not he meant it rhetorically, since his fingers find their way deeper into you, curling upwards to reach that sweet spot he knew how to get to so well. Oh!

“Right there!”

“I know kitty, I know.” He laughs quietly, his pace picking up slowly as he feels you clench around his fingers. “Already, huh?”

With a soft pop! he pulls his fingers out from you, and he and Shota share a glance, an unspoken agreement passing between them, one that you didn’t notice as you were too busy begging Aizawa to keep going, to put his fingers back and continue. Unfortunately for you, though, he didn’t. His hand emerges from your panties and Shota pulls his mouth away from your breast, his free hand moving to the side of the bed to help himself up.

He stands at one side of the bed, hands working to undo his belt and then the buttons of his pants. He slowly, agonising slowly, rolls down the zipper before he shimmies down his jeans. You turn your head quickly to look at him, your (e/c) eyes glancing down. His boxers had a thick outline in them and a small wet spot where his tip would be. He was already leaking precum, he was eager, excited. 

Aizawa follows suit, standing up from the mattress and positioning himself at the other side. With a coy smirk, he meets your gaze. It was now that it clicked what exactly was about to happen, and before you got the chance to move or say or do anything , Shota grabs your torso and flips you around onto your back. Your face erupts in a deep blush as your head hangs over the side of the bed, eyes level with Shota’s manhood. Without a second to spare, you feel your legs being lifted high. You raise your head just a smidge to look, seeing Aizawa holding your legs over his shoulders. His gaze meets yours and again, a smirk comes to his face. 

“Come now, kitty. You want your milk, don’t you?”

Shota asks, chuckling at his own joke as he taps your cheek. You let your head fall back over the edge of the bed, eyes meeting his for just a second on your way down. He reaches forward and grasps your hand, his free hand resting on one of your breasts.

“Squeeze three times if you need to stop or take a break, alright? This will act as our safe word.”

You blink a few times as the blood rushes to your head and it takes you a few seconds to respond, but you nod anyway and squeeze his hand once. 

“I trust you both.”

Not even a second after you say those words, Shota takes a step forward, the tip of his cock rubbing against your lips. You part them open and he promptly slides inside your mouth, a shiver that you feel running up his spine. At the same time, Aizawa shoves himself into your entrance, bottoming out in one swift movement. Your back arches and you moan again, hands clawing at the bed sheets beneath you. The two of them start moving together like pistons. With each thrust Shota makes, your tongue swirls and licks his shaft, and with every buck Aizawa makes, you clench around him, earning yourself moans from the two men. Long forgotten was your head injury, hell you didn’t even feel it at this moment.

The moment you three were sharing together was bittersweet; it was full of passion and love but also desire and lust. Ripples of pleasure shoot through all three of your bodies, eliciting a sweet harmony of moans, groans, and “oh fuck” s . Heavy breaths and the sound of skin against skin were the only sounds complimenting this harmony, creating a lovely orchestra. 

Shota’s hand fondles and massages your breast, his breath shaky as his manhood throbs in your mouth, precum leaking from his tip, coating your throat. Aizawa’s hands on your calves tightened their grip, groans and grunts coming from the both of them. You could feel the way they both twitched and throbbed, moreso when you tightened around Aizawa and felt him stutter. 

Minutes fly by like this, both of their thrusts beginning to get sloppy and out of sync. You can feel tears swell in your eyes, gagging as Shota bucks into your mouth particularly roughly, hitting the back of your throat and causing you to gag. This seems like it was the final point for Shota, as he quickly makes a few smaller thrusts before bottoming out in your throat, and you can feel the salty, warm liquid pour down your throat. You sputter and gag a bit on it, but manage it relatively fine. 

In a quick haste, Aizawa suddenly stops his movements, instead pulling out and finishing his orgasm over your stomach and breasts. Just as quick as he had pulled out, he had dropped to his knees and buried his face between your legs. His tongue shoots out, immediately beginning to lick you from the inside out, his teeth rubbing against your clit. With a sharp gasp, you squeeze Shota’s hand and moan Aizawa’s name, legs beginning to tremble. 

Shota chuckles and pets your hair, his eyes watching you closely, enjoying how your eyes squeeze shut and how your face contorts in pleasure. The two of you breathe heavily, chests rising and falling, although yours much more quickly as you soon reach your high. Aizawa, from below, hums in delight as you do, and he laps up every bit of it. His arms wrap around your thighs and he spreads you open more, letting his tongue reach deeper and deeper, tasting your orgasm and the remnants of himself inside you. 

He stands up after a moment and wipes his mouth, chest heaving just the same as yours and Shota’s. Without a word, he walks into the adjacent bathroom and soon returns with some towels. He tosses one to Shota before gingerly beginning to clean your abdomen off of his ejaculation. 

“How was that, kitty? Enjoy yourself, did you?” He asks, a sheepish grin coming to his lips as he looks on at you, tossing the dirty rag into your hamper. Shota, meanwhile, wipes the sweat off your face and neck before himself, letting Aizawa do the same before that, too, gets tossed in the basket. 

“I did,” you mutter, slowly sitting up on the bed with Shota’s help. You crawl into the middle and hold your arms out to them both, which they promptly climb in next to you and throw the thin sheet over yourselves. Wrapped in their arms, they both give you a kiss on the head. Being in each other’s embrace like this, you find solace. The boundaries between you three become a blur as you revel in the intimacy of the acts that just transpired. Right now there is no room for doubt or insecurity, only love and the tender connection that holds you three together. Their soothing warmth envelopes you as a gentle tranquillity washes over the room. You begin to lull into a state of serenity, their soft breathing acting as a lullaby. The world begins to fade away as you drift off to sleep, knowing full well you would always be protected by Shota. You did not know if the doppelganger would be there when you awoke, and the thought of it saddens you, but for now, you find solace in their warm embrace, and with no other thoughts,

You drift asleep, surrounded by their loving comfort.

Chapter Text

Faster. Faster! I have to run faster!

Like a relentless drumbeat, the thought echoes through your mind, each step pounding in time. Your feet swiftly connect with the rough yet slippery surface of the rooftop, breaths sounding ragged and desperate. The city of Musutafu stretches out before you, towering buildings creating a labyrinth of endless possibilities. 

Rain and cold wind whips against your face, the scent of rain-soaked asphalt being carried with it. A sea of stars overhead punctuates the darkening sky, an eerie contrast to the chaos below you; the hum of city life ringing faintly in your ears. Stealing a quick look back behind you, you see him - Aizawa, the pro hero, relentlessly pursuing you. 

Legs work to their limits, heart races to keep up, adrenaline rushes through your veins; your whole body aches as you run and hop across rooftops. Each stride takes you farther and farther and he gets closer and closer, his unwavering determination casting a long shadow over your escape. His capture weapon snakes through the air, inches away from your fleeing body. The sound of it whistling through the wind serves as a haunting reminder that he is quickly gaining ground. 

The rain on the rooftop you run on causes your feet to slip for just a moment, sending your heart leaping into your throat. 

I can’t afford to get caught. Not now, not after all I’ve done.

“Stop running!” you hear him shout, his voice bouncing off the walls of taller buildings around you, making it sound like he’s everywhere at once. “Surrender peacefully, we can resolve this without any further incident!”

Gritting your teeth, the taste of defiance is profound on your lips. That was definitely not an option. The mission you’ve sworn to complete, the mission of gathering intel on the students of Class 1-A – all depends on your escape. 

The chase continues, a dance of predator and prey on the urban stage of rooftops. Each jump, each ledge navigated, takes you further into the city and further away from your capture. Aizawa is unyielding, however, his eyes, focused on you, flash red behind his signature yellow goggles. 

His capture weapon darts out towards your feet, missing you by an inch. You were nimble and quick, the distance you have giving you just enough of an advantage. Without your quirk, you were stuck in a simple cat-and-mouse chase across the city. 

A glimmer of hope strikes you in the corner of your eye. Taking a faithful glance towards the end of the rooftops you were on, you spot a construction scaffold – a bridge between two skyscrapers. Your energy is beginning to wane, but you push for it anyway. For just a moment, you turn towards Aizawa, a sly grin playing on your lips. 

“Give it up already, villain!” He barks, sending his capture weapon towards your feet again.

But you have a final trick up your sleeve! You activate a concealed device within your raincoat and a blinding flash of light envelopes the rooftop. Aizawa shields his eyes and stumbles backwards momentarily.

Now is your chance. 

With a renewed sense of determination, you push yourself across the swaying scaffolding, feet landing precariously on the platforms. Your heart pounds, knowing that the city’s chaotic depths below you hide countless secrets and yet you’re determined to keep yours hidden, even if it means staying ahead of the Pro Hero one rooftop at a time. 

The flicker of hope you feel is short-lived, however. Just as you reach the scaffolding’s end, the pro hero emerges from the blinding flash, his goggles scanning the rooftop. It seems no amount of tricks can deter him for long. Eraserhead leaps forward, his capture weapon lashing out with deadly precision. 

The steel coils of his scarf wrap around your body, constricting like a python. And just like that, your escape slips through your fingers. You gasp for breath as his scarf squeezes tighter and tighter, making you fall face first onto the platforms roughly. He really was determined to capture you, and you sure as hell were determined to escape once more. 

“Game over,” he says as he steps closer, his boot landing firmly on the back of your head to emphasise your defeat. Raindrops around you create a gentle patter, as if mourning your capture. His voice is stern yet tinges with a hint of exhaustion; he knows what it took to catch you. 

You struggle against the capture weapon, which only tightens up around your body some more, squeezing the ragged breaths out of you like a tea kettle. You grunt when you feel his boot raise an inch before stepping back down on the side of your head. From your position, you shift your eyes as far as they can go to get a good look at him. 

He looks dishevelled and messy, the rain soaking his hair that sticks to his face, water mixing with sweat. In this moment, you see a determined and relentless pursuer instead of the stoic hero you’re used to seeing in the media. Of all things, however, his eyes remain unwavering, locked onto your every move. He of all people knows that this game between you two isn’t over yet until you’re in custody, and he’s not the type to underestimate his opponents, especially not one as cunning and swift as you. 

As the rain continues to fall, he puts weight into the foot on your head, causing you mild discomfort. Even as the raindrops wash away the sweat on your face, you can’t help but cringe your nose in disgust when you feel the muddy dirt from his sole rub off on your cheek. 

“What’s your name, villain?”

Your voice, straining to be heard over the rainwater, carries a defiant tone, “names aren’t important in this city, hero. ”

A part of you yearns to resist, to defy his questioning and keep a shroud of mystery over your head, but yet you recognise that there’s a second game being played here, one of information and power.

Despite this, however, he presses onto the side of your head with his boot some more, earning a pained grunt from you. 

“Say your name or I break your skull.”

After a moment's hesitation, you finally give in, the pain resonating in your head becoming too much to bear. 

“(Villain Name).” 

“I know that,” he growls, tightening the scarf around your body some more, “I meant your real name. And don’t bullshit me.”

“(Y/N), (L/N) (Y/N).” You huff out through gritted teeth. 

Through his goggles, you can see a flicker of acknowledgement in his eyes. He’s heard the name before for sure, perhaps in the whispers of the underworld or in reports from other heroes. 

You sigh in relief when he eases up on the pressure from his boot, though he still keeps you firmly pinned beneath it. The city’s distant hum seems to blend in with the tense atmosphere on the rooftop, the rain continuing to soak the both of you. The pro hero leans closer to you, bending down slightly to get a good look at you. 

Your hair stuck to your face, dirtied by the wet sludge from his boot, and your eyes glare up at him defiantly. You may be captured under his boot, but you can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You have his attention, and in this world, that counts for something.

“(Y/N), huh? Well, (Y/N), you’ve caused a lot of trouble for me tonight. Tell me, do you work with the League?”

“No. I’ve no reason to work with a bunch of idiots like them. I work alone.”

“Then what is it? What are you after?”

“I was just gathering some information,” you mull out with a sing-song voice, “I’ve been keeping an eye on your students, you know. They’re quite the promising bunch.”

Aizawa’s scarf tightens on your body once more, a subtle warning that he isn’t there for small talk. You press on, however, knowing that your knowledge could be a bargaining chip. 

“Watching their strengths, their weaknesses. Information is power, you of all people should know that, Eraserhead. I was planning to use that information when the time was right.”

Behind his goggles, you see him narrow his eyes. How coincidental that you were chased by the one hero you didn’t want confrontation with. You knew how much he cared for his students, even if he was standoffish and stoic in his methods of teaching. He is undoubtedly considering the implications of your words, the rain that beats down on you two acting as a constant reminder of the world outside this rooftop standoff. 

Finally, he eases off your head. With one swift motion, his scarf lifts you up to your feet, but yet he still maintains a firm grip on you. He begins leading you away from the rooftop, intent on you taking you into custody.

“Well, you won’t be doing anything with that information in the confines of your cell. Now stay close.” He grumbles, but just as the two of you are about to descend the scaffoldings, an unexpected sound slices through the rain – an ominous, low growl. Aizawa’s head whips up, his yellow goggles scanning his surroundings, while you strain to see what’s happening.

On the adjacent rooftop is a menacing figure, emerging from the shadows. Yellow, feral eyes gleam in the dim light, and you can hear the sound of a deep, rumbling snarl. A Nomu. 

Aizawa’s hand grips your shoulder in response to the growing threat, his voice terse and alert. “Don’t move.”

The nomu leaps onto the scaffolding you both stood on, closing the distance with alarming speed. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever encountered before; seeing one up close was terrifying. It made you want to run, it made you want to book it and go. And you do just that.

Seizing the opportunity, you decide to try and make a break for it. With Aizawa momentarily distracted, his attention split between you and the advancing threat, you wriggle and twist, desperately trying to free yourself from his capture weapon. 

With a surge of adrenaline, you manage to do it, you manage to break free; rolling away just as the nomu converges on Aizawa. In a flash of unclear clashes, you watch for a moment, heart pounding in your chest.

“Hey!” You hear the hero shout once he realises he has a lot of slack on his scarf. For just a second, you see his eyes turn towards you before he is ultimately drawn back to facing the nomu. 

This is your chance – the perfect distraction. You scramble to your feet, the rain soaked night acting as your ally. Labyrinthine streets lay before you, a maze of shadows and secrets.

“See you later, Eraserhead!” You chime, happy that the nomu had absolutely no interest in you whatsoever. 

You can’t help but smile; you’ve managed to slip through Aizawa’s grasp afterall. Your thirst for information was still unquenched however, and even if it meant playing a dangerous game with heroes and other villains alike, you were determined to uncover the secrets of UA and its students. 

With each step you take, you move closer to your next move, and farther away from Aizawa and the nomu. In the end, the rain-soaked night was your accomplice, the city’s shadows your sanctuary. For now, though, you had to head back home and recover. That chase really took it out of you. 

As you finally reach your lovely abode, you lock the door behind you. Peeling off your wet clothes, you take a moment to catch your breath and relax once and for all. Moments like these are when you realise that recuperation is highly important. Sure, you were a villain, but you were also a strategist; understanding that sometimes retreat is your best bet. 

For now, though, you will rest and plan again for your next move. The city’s streets and UA’s secrets are still waiting to be uncovered, and you are aiming to be the one to unravel them all.

Chapter Text

Soft glimmer of a dim lamp illuminated your sanctuary, the ceasing rain outside leaving the city damp and refreshed. Your chest heaves with remnants of exhaustion as you gingerly dabbed at a bruise on your thigh – it serves as a reminder of your close encounter with Aizawa. Having managed to escape his pursuit, even if only temporarily, granted you with a giddy thrill. Tossing the alcohol-soaked cotton ball into your trash, you flump backwards onto your mess of a bed, allowing yourself a moment of respite. The world of heroes and villains could wait outside your door for a little while.

Tranquillity is always short-lived, however.

Adrenaline surges anew as your senses snap to attention upon hearing the all-too-familiar sound of glass shattering, bringing you out of your momentary reprieve. 

Was it Aizawa? Did he track me down to finish the job?

Without an ounce of hesitation, you shoot up from your bed. Your heart leaps into your throat, pounding and throbbing. On instinct, you reach into a concealed compartment underneath your bed, where you retrieve a small device, similar to the flashbang you used earlier this evening. You stealthily move towards the living room, clutching it tightly in your hand.

And there it stands; a sight that chills you to the bone and causes you to pale. A hulking figure, grotesque appearance beautifully framed by the wreckage it just caused crashing into your apartment. 

You thought yourself safe within your own walls of your abode, but it seems that the city’s chaos always seems to find you. The situation escalates beyond anything you’ve ever anticipated. 

Yellow eyes fixate on you as it approaches, its movements slow and deliberate as if savouring the fear it instilled. You were a strategist, and even in the face of terror, you kept your wits.

“Stay back!” You snap at it, your voice a steady contrast to the tremble in your hands. “I won’t hesitate to use this!” Your words were more to convince yourself rather than threaten the hulking beast before you.

It responds to you with a low, guttural growl – a sound that sends shivers down your spine. Your mind was racing with thoughts as you weighed your options. Using the device in your hand could help, but its effectiveness against a nomu was uncertain at best. Running might be a gamble too considering how fast these things can be, especially with your current state of exhaustion; running was all too familiar to you but yet so draining.

The nomu advances further, intentions inscrutable. Your heartbeat seems to echo throughout your apartment, time slowing. Before you could make a decision however, a sudden noise from the corridor drew your attention. 

With a resounding thud, the door to your apartment is forcefully pushed open. A figure emerges, silhouetted by the dim lighting of your apartment. Your blood runs cold as recognition strikes you like a bolt of lightning. 

“Well, well, well,” he purrs, his voice dripping with malevolence. “Look who we have here.”

Shigaraki Tomura, leader of the League of Villains, stands in the doorframe, his ghastly hand mask and ruffled appearance sending another shiver down your spine. He slowly steps into your apartment, the scent of chaos and destruction following him like a haunting melody.

You press your back firmly against the opposite wall of your living room, your wide eyes darting between the subdued nomu and Shigaraki. A nightmare you couldn’t have anticipated.

“I’m not in the mood for games,” the villain continued, his tone unnervingly calm. “You’ve been causing quite a stir in the underworld – gathering information, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Your mind races with thoughts as you search for a way out of this unexpected confrontation, but before you could move, Shigaraki made a gesture towards the nomu. The creature lunges forward, seizing you with a grip like vice. You hurriedly struggled against the nomu’s unyielding hold, panic welling up inside you. 

“Looks like you’re coming with us, my dear,” Shigaraki hisses. His sinister laugh echoes through your apartment, his eyes gleaming with a twisted sense of triumph. 

With each step the nomu took, your heart pounded with dread as you were dragged, struggling and helpless out of your apartment. How did you go from evading Eraserhead to being held captive by the notorious leader of the League of Villains? The weight of the situation presses down on you, knowing fully well that escaping this situation would be far more challenging than any you’d faced before. 

Being transported through the city’s labyrinthine streets and alleys, Shigaraki occasionally mutters to the nomu, issuing instructions quietly in a tone you can’t quite make out. This beast obeyed with a second thought, its hideous form a constant reminder of the danger that loomed around you. 

The few bystanders who crossed paths with your trio promptly averted their gazes, unwilling to be entangled in the affairs of villains, and for the first time, you wish a hero would come to help, would see what was happening. 

But what would they think? You’re just another villain afterall. Maybe it was simpler to let the three of you go to sort yourself out. 

Eventually, you arrive at the League of Villains’ hideout, a grim and forbidding place hidden away from the city. Tension and malevolence made the air thick and the mere presence of the other members sent shivers down your spine. 

Shigaraki leads you deeper into their hideout, the nomu obediently carrying you behind him as instructed. Eyes watch your every move, whispers and hushed conversations accompany your arrival.

“Welcome to our humble abode!” the leader of the villains declares with a twisted grin, gesturing broadly to the building you were in, “I hope you find your stay enlightening.”

Your lip curls into a snarl, but yet you couldn’t help the flicker of determination within you. Even in the heart of villainous territory, opportunities for escape and manipulation could arise. You were adaptable and resourceful, you were sure you could worm your way out of this one. 

A week passes since your abduction, each day that passes by feeling like an eternity. The oppressive atmosphere and the ever-present threat of Shigaraki weighs on you like a leaden shroud. 

As days wore on, your resilience had been tested to its limits. Not only were you subjected to interrogations but also psychological manipulation, all attempts to uncover the secrets you held. You remain resolute, however, refusing to give up any information that could compromise your own interests.

A glimmer of hope emerges within the darkness, however. Word spread like wildfire that the League made a move; capturing (villain name) for some odd reason. What did the most powerful organisation of villains want with a puny day-of-the-week villain? That piqued the interest of the heroes considerably, more importantly, Aizawa’s. He took it upon himself to track you down, he couldn’t let you go again, not after your last encounter with him on that rain-soaked rooftop. 

He enlisted the help of his fellow heroes, combining his and their efforts into leading them closer to the League’s hideout. Meticulously gathered information, traced leads, and navigated web of the criminal underworld all led them here. To you.

Sounds of chaos and conflict erupt throughout the hideouts’ corridors, shouts and screams all echoing as a fierce battle begins to unfold. You seized this opportunity to break free, pushing your way out the door of your holding cell and past the guards that were too distracted with heroes to notice. The cacophony of combat masks your escape and so you race through twisting passageways. The eerie silence of the hideout gave way to the clamour of battle. You could hear the clashes of quirks crackling and villains and heroes alike shouting. 

Unbeknownst to you, however, Aizawa had been leading the charge of his fellow heroes. His keen instincts detect your escape amongst the raging battle. The distinctive sound of your footfalls reach his ears over the sounds of battle. His eyes widen behind his signature goggles and without hesitation, he breaks free from a fight with a villain to pursue you once more. 

You, however, push your body to its limits, each step of yours echoing your unwavering determination to break free from the clutches of the League. But AIzawa is relentless, his determination running strong to keep him propelled on one singular mission – retrieving you. You struggle to maintain your lead, he is gaining ground and he is gaining it fast, his capture weapon closing in with each passing second. 

Just as it seems he might close the distance between you, you make a sudden turn into a small alcove. You press your back against the cold, damp wall. Your heart was in your throat, you could practically feel it beating its way out of your chest. Your ears twitch slightly when he skids to a stop, his golden goggles scanning the corridor ahead.

Aizawa’s capture weapon remains taut, poised for action. He meticulously scans the corridor ahead, and for a moment it seems like he has lost your trail. The hope of escape flickers like a dying ember.

But, just as quickly as he had paused, Aizawa’s expression shifted. His gaze locked onto something, a subtle change in his demeanour that sent shivers down your spine. It was then you realise the truth – he hasn’t lost you at all. He has been biding his time, waiting for just the right moment. It was now you realise you had a better chance of escape if you challenged him to an endurance race again.

Aizawa’s capture weapon shot forward with lightning speed, coiling around you before you could react. The fabric tightened with a vice-like grip, rendering your struggles futile. You were trapped, captured once and for all. 

He approaches you with a calm, collected demeanour, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. His weapon squeezes you tightly, serving as a secure leash. The chaos of the fighting behind you seems to fade as he closes the distance between you. 

“(L/N) (Y/N),” he begins, the smirk on his lips tugging, “we meet again.”

Your name on his lips sent yet another shiver down your spine, a stark reminder of the persistent pro hero. You meet his gaze with a mix of defiance and begrudging respect. The encounter was fraught with tension and unspoken history, forging an unbreakable connection between hero and villain, a dance of light and shadow that defies categorisation. 

His voice carries a weight of familiarity, a reminder of the night you had spent evading his pursuit across rooftops.

“So we do, Eraserhead. What’s your reason for chasing after me when it’s the League you want?”

“I enjoy this game of cat and mouse.” He retorts enigmatically, his smirk deepening. The air hangs heavily between you two, the line between your two roles as villain and hero blurring. In this moment, you were both players of a high-stakes game where the rules were ever-shifting. He begins leading you out of the dimly lit hideout, the echoes of the fighting before fading into the distance. 

His capture weapon remains secure on you, a constant reminder of your capture. Despite the situation you were in, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that he rescued you from the League’s clutches. 

Police cars with blaring sirens had converged on the hideout’s location, a swarm of officers securing the area. A testament to the hero network’s efficiency in times of crisis. He guides you to one of the waiting police cars, his steps deliberate and measured. His capture weapon shoves you against the trunk of the police car, to which he allows the appointed officer to handcuff you in quirk-cancelling cuffs. 

“Get in,” he instructs afterwards, his voice firm but not unkind. 

Complying, you settle into the backseat of the car with a mixture of resignation and anticipation on your face. Aizawa follows suit, taking a seat on the other side of the backseat. The door closes with a loud thud and the vehicle begins to move, leaving the hideout and its chaotic world behind.

The weight of unspoken words hangs in the air, the silence between you two almost suffocating. His gaze slowly shifts from the window of the police car to you, his eyes gauging your expression. You look worried; regretful. You steal a glance towards him, feeling a sense of understanding in his expression; a recognition that the boundaries between hero and villain were not as clear-cut as they seem. 

“You’re not what I expected,” he suddenly breaks the silence, his voice a mixture of honesty and curiosity. You snap your head towards him and meet his gaze, his words causing a flutter of surprise within your chest.

“What did you expect? For me to be on the same level as the League?” You counter, your own curiosity piqued. 

Aizawa’s lips pull into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “A villain with a disregard for others, but yet you’re different. You have your reasons, your motivations.”

“You have your reasons, too, Eraserhead.” You point out, your own voice holding a hint of understanding. 

“We’re all products of our circumstances, it seems.” He replies. 

It was at that moment that you felt the car's interior shrink, the space between you and Aizawa narrowing. 

The car continues its journey, the two of you sharing the feeling that your lives were forever intertwined, shaped by the chaos around you. The conversation you just had left you contemplating the intimacy of it, and the complexities of heroism, villainy, and the blurred lines that connected them. 

The city’s chaos remained a constant reminder that the struggle between heroes and villains was unending and your role within it was much more intricate than you have ever imagined.

Chapter Text

As you sit in the police car, your thoughts race, the weight of captivity lingering despite your freedom from the hideout. The police car’s interior was a cocoon of tension, the steady hum of the engine and rhythmic drumming of rain against the windows being the only things that break the silence.

The car slows to a halt at an intersection, however, the wailing sirens provide a temporary mask for your movements. In one swift movement, you slip your hands below your legs to get your cuffs to the front of your body. Seizing the opportunity, you unfasten your seatbelt and fling open the door. 

“Hey, wait!”

You hear Aizawa’s voice call out behind you, but you were already on the move, your feet hitting the wet pavement. Dimly lit streets and rain-soaked alleys became your friends once more as you darted through the city, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, the thrill of escape fueling your every step. 

Behind you, however, the police give chase, but it was Aizawa’s pursuit that you could sense the most keenly, the weight of his determination quite the presence lingering behind you. The gap between you and him closes with each passing moment, and one quick look over your shoulder and you can see his capture weapon poised and ready to strike. The neon lights of the city’s nightlife whir to life, beckoning you forward, promising the possibility of escape.

Just as you begin to believe you were gaining a lead, a sudden rush of movement comes from behind. The hero closes the distance between you two with astonishing speed, his scarf snapping forward like a serpent. He tackles you with precise precision, his arms wrapping around you as his scarf ensnared your body. The force of his tackle sent you sprawling to the rain-soaked pavement, your breath being knocked out of you. 

Raindrops once more splattered against your face as you squirmed beneath Aizawa’s firm grasp, but both he and his weapon kept you held securely. Your heart pounds in your chest, the city’s chaos seeming to hush as the two of you lay locked in this confrontation. It was now that you feel his body press against yours. You lay flat on the ground, cheek pressed firmly against the wet, dirty concrete of the alleyway, the filth smudging against your skin. Aizawa lay above you, his arms wrapped firmly around your waist as if he was spooning you. His legs straddle your hips, his scarf keeping you still. 

The chase has come to an abrupt and dramatic halt. His goggles bore into you, a slight smirk playing on his lips. 

“The cat wins again, (Y/N).” He purrs in your ear, his voice low and full of an unexpected warmth. 

The words send a shiver down your spine, the unexpected intimacy of his voice and this moment unsettling yet strangely electrifying. 

“Are you really winning if I keep escaping?” You retort, “sounds like you keep losing.” 

His smirk deepens considerably and his capture weapon tightens ever so slightly around your body, his fingers digging into your stomach in a way that felt more intimate than anything. 

“Perhaps it’s all a matter of perspective,” he muses, his voice tinged with amusement. As moments pass, you are acutely aware of the pro hero’s presence, but it was in this tense moment that Aizawa’s true nature as a hero reveals itself. As the distant wailing of sirens grows louder, the flashing lights of police vehicles reflect themselves on Aizawa’s goggles. Without hesitation, he shifts his position, maneuvering you behind a stack of discarded crates and out of sight.

Police vehicles arrive, their officers spilling out into the rain-soaked alley. The tension in the air is palpable as you watch through the crates how they scan the area with flashlights in hand. Their search continues, their footsteps becoming dangerously close to your location, but thankfully for you, their efforts yielded no results. Aizawa’s strategic positioning and instincts keeps you hidden from view, allowing you to remain undetected.

Minutes pass like hours and finally, the officers retreat, and faintly you can hear them gossip about how they “thought they went this way.” Their sirens fade into the distance as they move onto other parts of the city.

The alleyway remains silent now, aside from the pitter patter of rain against concrete. Aizawa’s capture weapon slowly retracts from you, his golden goggles focusing on you. He unravels his arms from around you and helps you to your feet. He reaches into one of his pant pockets and out comes a set of clinking keys.

“Your hands,” he mutters, “let me see them.”

Uncertainty clouds your thoughts, causing you to hesitate. You extend your cuffed hands toward him, palms upturned. The trust that had formed between you and Aizawa urged you to comply in the end. 

Aizawa is deliberate as he uses the keys to unlock the handcuffs that bound you. The metallic click of the cuffs releasing felt liberating. You flex your fingers, the sensation of freedom washing over you just as the cool breeze does in this rain-soaked night. 

“Why are you helping me?” You ask curiously, eyes meeting his through his goggles. He takes a second to respond, but when he does, his voice is steady. 

“I’m not helping you.” He states. “I’m maintaining balance. Come with me.”

He gestures for you to follow him as he stealths through alleyways, keeping you and him in the shadows. With each step, you couldn’t help but wonder about his motivations, or what his cryptic message really meant. He leads you through a series of winding streets, his footsteps soft against the wet pavement. 

Eventually, you arrive back at your apartment building, soaked and drenched and yet strangely exhilarated by the night’s events. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you push past him and enter the building. The familiar surroundings of your apartment offers a sense of respite from the relentless rain. You were grateful for this moment of calm. 

As you stand in your apartment, you wonder about the enigmatic pro hero who had both pursued and protected you. The complexities of your relationship remain a puzzle, the future as uncertain as ever.

With a nod of acknowledgement, he turns to leave, disappearing into the night as silently as he arrived. The echoes of his presence lingers in your apartment, a reminder of the blurred lines that defined your existence in this world of chaos and order.

Standing alone now in your apartment, you were left to contemplate the testament of the intricate balance of uncertainty that shaped your journey and the world around you, where heroism and villainy were not always what they seemed.

“Goodbye, Eraserhead.”

Chapter Text

“What brings you in here at this hour?”

Your ears twitch slightly at the sound of a voice cutting through the silence of the teacher’s lounge as you walk in. You turn your head to see him, Aizawa, sitting alone at one of the tables. In fact, he was the only one in the room.

The overhead lights, however dim, cast a soft glow on the room of the building, revealing an assortment of belongings and cluttered tables. It is quiet in the lounge, the only sound that’s heard being the faint hum of the air conditioning. Aizawa sat in one of the darker spots of the lounge, barely illuminated. He is hunched over slightly, leaning on the table with his elbows as a coffee mug sits in the middle, filling the air with a sweet aroma. 

Footsteps echo in the empty room as you approach the counter, the soft tap of your shoes against the linoleum floor being the loudest sound right now. 

“Just making coffee.”  You reply with a quick smile in his direction, before you turn your back to Aizawa to face the counter. As you grab a mug with one hand, you turn the coffee machine on with the other, the sound of it whirring to life filling the air. You begin brewing your favourite coffee, humming a soft tune to yourself as you wait. 

“Can’t sleep, huh?” he asks, sounding more like a statement than a question. 

“Just one of those nights.”

You say quietly, pouring the steaming liquid into your personal mug. Aizawa studies you closely with a keen but unreadable gaze as he leans back in his chair. 

“Heroes can’t afford restless nights.” He says with a casual tone, yet one that carries an underlying weight to it. 

Turning to face him now, you glance at him from over the rim of your mug, the relaxing warmth from the coffee seeping into your fingertips. You peer at him for a second, the soft glow of the lights overhead highlighting the tired lines on his face. 

“You’re right.”

Cue the eyebrow raise.

“I am? I mean, you’re agreeing with me?” He asks, surprise evident in his voice. A wry half-smile found its way to his lips. 

“You’re never this nice to me, or anyone for that matter,” he continues, “not even your students receive your agreement half the time.”’

“Well,” you begin, “consider it a special occasion. Cherish it.”

His eyebrow raises a touch higher. “Did I miss a memo?”

You chuckle slightly; you were known for being the “strict teacher” around the school, more so than Aizawa himself. Your students and colleagues alike respected you, maybe some even feared you a little with how many walls you built around yourself on a daily basis. 

“So, what’s keeping you up tonight, (L/N)?”

You pause, thinking over just how much you want to share. After a moment's passing, you decide to be honest.

“Just my own thoughts keeping me up, y’know, the kinds that don’t quiet down when you want or need them to.”

“We all have those nights.” Aizawa nods in understanding. 

You walk towards his table and set your coffee mug down, “mind if I sit?”

“Not at all.” Aizawa sips from his own coffee mug now, the steam dissipating into the air. You pull the chair back before sitting down on the opposite side of the table so you face him. 

Now that you sit closer to him, Aizawa can make out your features better. Or maybe he just needed glasses; his quirk did put a strain on his eyes after all. 

“(L/N),” he begins, his voice suddenly turning serious, his eyebrows furrowing together, “how’d you get that?”

He asks, his eyes leaving your gaze to fall on the long scar that was on your face. It went over your right eye and down to your lower neck, leaving you partially blind. 

“Ah, it was just some villain attack. The school nurse healed me just fine, but says she can't get rid of the scar.” 

Shota’s gaze lingers on the scar, his expression unreadable.

“Villain attack huh? This is the third time you’ve been needing stitches, and second time in the past month, that the injury you received could have killed you.”

Aizawa begins, a small hint of concern evident in his voice.

You meet his gaze, appreciating the concern in his voice. “It comes with the job, Aizawa.”

The pro hero sighs and runs a hand through his unruly hair. “We’re supposed to be heroes, (L/N), not regular patients in Recovery Girl’s infirmary.” He says, a bit of anger flashing through his tired eyes. “Who did this to you? What villain got you?”

It was your turn to sigh this time, and you ran your fingertips over the scar on your face. Your sleeve falls up your arm slightly, revealing the beginning edges of more scars underneath. You notice Aizawa’s eyes following your sleeve, and you quickly put your hand down. 

“It’s no big deal, Shota. It was just some villain who got a lucky swipe.”

His eyes flicker to your good eye for a second before at your wrist. He leans in slightly closer, leaning over the edge of the table.

“Really? Just some villain ? (Y/N), come on. You’re our best stealth hero around, and you’re telling me some villain just so happened to get a swipe at you?”

“I’m good at being stealthy, not fighting, Aizawa.”

The heroics teacher studies you for a second, eyes lingering on your scar again before he returns his gaze to your good eye. 

“Being a stealth hero doesn’t excuse you from combat training. You should know that by now, (L/N).” 

A playful smile comes to your lips, shrugging your shoulders. “Combat training is overrated, I prefer being subtle.”

Aizawa glares at you a little, his posture straightening up as he gives you a disapproving look. “Subtle doesn’t always cut it, you know. You need to be prepared for anything and everything. As your higher up, I demand you start combat training in your free time.”

You sigh and close your eyes for a moment before nodding your head.

“Alright, alright. I’ll work on my combat training.” 

His expression softened, his concern now replaced with a hint of satisfaction. “Good. I’d hate to see one of my best heroes end up seriously injured.”

A smirk graces your lips as you lean back in your chair, reaching for your coffee mug and taking a slow sip from it. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, Shota.”

He rolls his eyes but he can’t hide the small smile that came to his face. “Just take it seriously.”

You watch as he stands up from his seat, empty coffee mug in hand. Aizawa walks to the sink and turns on the hot water. 

“Here, let me.” You say, bringing over your own half-empty mug and dumping the lukewarm beverage down the drain. You nudge him aside and dip your hands wet, not bothering to roll up your sleeves and get them wet. You begin washing the two mugs in the sink, happy that there were no other dishes to be cleansed. 

“Let me get that for you.” Aizawa chimes up, taking the opportunity to reach over and roll up your sleeves for you. Inch by inch, scar after scar is revealed. Some from a villain, others from accidents, while some come from a dark past. Aizawa’s eyes go over the scars, having seen the edges of them earlier but not fully expecting to see so many. 

“(L/N)-”

“Don’t.” You whisper, quickly pulling the sleeves back down as you rinse your hands off, your cuffs damp. “They’re not important.”

“(Y/N),” he calls you by your first name now, proving how concerned he was. “Those are important. There’s too many for you to say that they’re not important.”

He grabs your shoulder, turning you to face him. “How are you even functioning with that many scars? Recovery Girl must have really busted her ass to fix you up. How many times were you near death, (Y/N)?”

“Recovery Girl’s good at what she does,” you reply to him with a gentle smile to ease his worry. “I’ve had my fair share of close calls, but I always come back from having one foot in the grave.”

Aizawa falls quiet for a moment, his eyes searching your good one for more answers as he didn’t seem entirely convinced. “There are limits even for us Heroes, (Y/N). You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, you can’t keep letting yourself get hurt like this either. Do I need to send a partner out with you on your nightly patrols?”

Your eye widens slightly at his words and you shake your head quickly, immediately brushing off his hand from your shoulder.

“Absolutely not! I do not need a partner on my solo patrols! Aizawa, I am a stealth hero. I don’t need a partner.”

Shota raises an eyebrow at your vehement response, but it was clear in his eyes that he still held concern for you. “Solo patrols are fine, but not at the cost of your well-being. I won’t allow you to take any more unnecessary risks.”

“I can handle myself, Aizawa.” You assert, your voice firm. “I can’t compromise my style with a partner; solo patrols are my specialty.”

“We can’t lose another hero, (Y/N),” he says. You meet his gaze, the weight of the unspoken hanging in the air. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, alright?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” A hint of relief is evident in his voice as he gives you a nod of approval. He sighs faintly, letting go of your shoulder to run that same hand through his hair again.

“You’re going to give me grey hairs at this rate.”

“Hey,” you retort, snickering at his joke, “maybe you ought to start thinking about settling down with a family.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Start a family?”

You give him a playful nudge in the side with your elbow. “Yeah, you know, white picket fence, few kids, beautiful wife. The hero's retirement plan.”

A smirk makes its way to his lips, his usual stoic expression momentarily replaced with amusement. “I might consider it once you stop giving me heart attacks on a daily basis with all these scars you’re getting.”

You laugh softly, your grin stretching from ear to ear. You nudge him in the side again, “I’ll think about it. For now, you focus on finding someone pretty.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation that lingers in the air, his silence making you fidget nervously. “Did I say something wr-”

“No! No, no you didn’t say anything wrong (Y/N). I was just thinking, I already have someone in mind.”

You feel your heart twist at his words and your smile falters for just a split second, the fire in your eyes dying down slightly at the thought of him already having someone in mind.

“Why not tell me all about her on the way to my office? I gotta get out of this cold break room.” You say, breaking the awkward silence that followed his sentence. You rub your arms and force a tremble, pretending to be cold. 

With a slight smile, Aizawa nods, and beckons you to leave first.He gestures to the doorway, and you promptly follow suit. Exiting the lounge, you begin your walk towards your office, occasionally glancing at your watch. 

“So, you found someone already huh?” You ask softly, keeping pace with him as the two of you walk down the halls of UA. Eventually, you make your way to your office. Pulling out your keys, you unlock the door and open it, motioning for him to step inside. You follow behind him and shut the door after.

When you turn your head around to face him, you see Aizawa leaning against the front of your desk, hands in his pockets and his eyes trained on you. You raise a curious eyebrow and smirk, crossing your arms. 

“What? Like my attractive looks or something?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“What?”

You say quickly, your good eye going wide. 

Aizawa maintains his neutral expression, but there’s a subtle twinkle in his eyes. “I mean it. You’re not bad to look at.”

Your playful smirk turns into a surprised gasp, completely caught off guard by the compliment. “You really think I’m attractive?”

“Everyone appreciates a bit of eye candy, (Y/N). Don’t act so surprised.” He says with a faint chuckle, a smile tugging at his lips. “Who do you think I was talking about earlier? When we were talking about a family and all that.”

“I thought you were going to say Ms. Joke, o-or, I don’t know, Midnight. She’s quite the eye catcher too, y’know. You were really… referring to me?”

“Of course I was,” he begins, pushing himself off the desk and taking a few steps towards you. He didn’t stop, however, and kept walking until he bumped into you. You stumbled backwards, your back hitting the door. Aizawa raises an arm, leaning it above your head on the door as he leans in close to you. He looms over you, his smile turning into a smirk. 

“Shota..” you murmur out, a slow blush rising to your cheeks. You could feel his breath on your face as he stares down at you.

“It’s true, (Y/N). You’re the eye candy that I appreciate. I don’t eat the wrappers on my candy, though.” He whispers, his free hand that wasn’t supporting him coming up to your shoulder. His fingers dip beneath the collar of your shirt, slowly stretching it so your shoulder is exposed. You flinch, the cold air of your office always makes your scars tingle. 

He runs a delicate finger a few of the scars on your shoulder, his eyes following his own movements before he looks back to you, as if asking for permission. You gulp a bit nervously, but nod your head slightly, your lips pressed into a fine line. 

His hand came back to the front of your shirt, expertly undoing the multiple buttons on your collared shirt. He slips the shirt off your shoulders, cold hands finding their way to your arms now. Aizawa turns you around so you’re facing the door, your back to him. He slowly wraps his arms around your waist, his head leaning against your shoulder.

“I saw how nervous you were earlier; about showing me your scars.” He whispers, thumbs tracing over a few minor scars on your belly above your pantline. 

“Thank you for letting me see the rest of them. I think they really define you.” He murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your shoulder, right next to the blade. He pulls back just slightly, his eyes glazing over each and every scar you have. This one from that fight with a villain, this one from a training session with him, and don’t forget about this one from that accident. Even the self inflicted ones, if any. He goes over them all, kissing what he can. 

He made sure to pepper all your scars in gentle kisses, giving the larger ones more attention with more, longer kisses. All the while, your face burns red, but the intimate act that he was doing made you sigh in delight.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the quiet hum of your fluorescent lights and his faint breathing. Aizawa’s actions convey a silent understanding, a way of showing that each mark tells a story, and that he is acknowledging and accepting them. Your face remains flushed, enjoying the way he gingerly tends to your skin. 

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy, “I like to savour the candy too.” He says, and you could just feel the grin on his lips. His hands meanwhile run idly over your stomach and the upper part of your chest near your collarbone, calloused fingers sending shivers down your spine. 

“I’ve never… really been appreciated like this, thank you.” You whisper, the smile on your lips growing ever wider. 

“I just want you to be more careful, alright? Stop pushing yourself so hard and taking unnecessary risks. I have a lot of kisses to share, but with the sweet tooth I’m getting from you, I might need to see a dentist.”

You laugh at his joke and nod slightly, sighting in satisfaction. 

“You deserve it, you know. Heroes don’t get the appreciation they deserve.”

You lean against him now, your back pressed against his chest. It was just now you realised how thankful you were that your windows were near the ceiling, so no one can peek in. You chuckle to yourself and hum in response.

Aizawa’s fingers trace the outline of the final scar he could find, a final acknowledgement of the stories etched into your skin. The air, that was once filled with quiet intimacy, now holds a sense of peace.

“You should probably try to get some sleep, (Y/N). It’s reaching into the morning hours, and we have a lot of students to take care of.”

You check the time on your watch and huff as a reply. You lean against him some more, putting more of your weight onto him. He holds you steadily, arms still wrapped around your waist. 

“You’re right…” you say, trailing off for a second as you pick up your fallen shirt. 

“What say you to a sleepover? Even if it is just for a few hours.”

“A sleepover?”

“Yeah, a sleepover,” you say with a grin, turning to face him. “I mean, we just shared quite the intimate… interaction. Surely if I slept over at your house, it wouldn't be that big a deal, right?”

‘Well, it couldn’t hurt. Just keep it between us, you know how the school is with colleagues having relationships.”

“Deal.”

With that, you slip your shirt back on and walk out of your office, arm linked with his as you make your way towards his car. He opens the passenger door for you, closing it after you seat yourself inside. He then gets in the driver's seat and starts up the engine. He gives you one final, firm look before gazing out at the road. 

“I’m proud of you.” 

Chapter Text

Nerves shook your fingers which delicately gripped the small envelope, causing your teeth to grind and grit slightly. You stood outside the large door of class 1-A, a hesitant drop of sweat beading down your face. The sounds of muffled students within the classroom reached your ears, adding to your anticipation. Aizawa Shota, their homeroom teacher and your boyfriend of a few months, was undoubtedly in the midst of the chaos somewhere within. With a determined exhale and a gathering of your resolve, you knocked on the door, heartbeat echoing in the quiet hallway. 

“Come in,” you hear his voice ring out from amongst the students’ chatter. Opening the heavy door and stepping into the classroom, your eyes sought out your boyfriend - a stoic figure amid the lively crowd. His gaze met yours for just a brief second and you couldn’t help but notice a subtle quirk of his eyebrow, a silent acknowledgement of your presence. The noise of the students dies down for a moment as hushed whispers emanate from the students.

“Look, it’s Mr. Aizawa’s partner.”

“Hey, isn’t that (Y/N) (L/N)?”

You gulp slightly; all eyes were trained on you. You felt as though the invitation in your hands suddenly weighed a couple more pounds. The sudden attention sent a warm blush to your cheeks and you offered a small, uncertain smile in response. Being aware that you were the centre of discussion added an unexpected layer of nerves to the task at hand. 

Approaching the desk that Aizawa sat behind, the subtle hush persisted, and you could feel the curious eyes of the students following your every move. It wasn’t often that you visited your boyfriend’s classroom, and he was all the more on the down-low about your relationship, so when you do make your blue-moon visits, the students stare and whisper each and every time. The hero himself maintained his usual composed demeanour, though there was a flicker of a smile that tugged his lips.

“Good afternoon, Shota,” you greet, trying to project confidence despite your nerves. The students exchange glances and you sense their curiosity hanging in the air. 

“Is there something you need, (Y/N)? You rarely come to see me during working hours.” He asks, his expression giving away nothing at all. You took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of the moment. 

“There is, actually,” you begin, an anxious smile coming to your lips, “I was wondering if you’d like to spend a quiet Christmas evening with me. Just the two of us and a movie, maybe some popcorn or sugar cookies? I can bake.” Outstretching your hand, you show him the small envelope, patiently awaiting for him to open it. Aizawa takes the slip of paper in hand and sets it on his desk. He held your gaze for a second longer than usual, and for a moment, the class seemed to hold their breath. Then, with a subtle nod, he replies,

“I appreciate the invitation, but I have some work to catch up on. Not every hero has the day off for Christmas. I’m sorry, kit.”

The collective disappointment from the class was palpable, though Aizawa’s attention shifted back to his work as if the matter was done and settled. 

“At least you tried,” you heard the pink girl say, Mina. 

“How about some of us go over instead?” You hear the electric boy whisper to his group of friends.

You dejectedly shook your head and turned your back to your boyfriend and the classroom, making your way outside. You couldn’t shake the lingering gazes and hushed discussions that followed. The quiet hallway was like a refuge as you leaned against the cool lockers, contemplating the rejection. 

—

“Really, Mr. Aizawa? You can’t take a break for one evening?”

“I bet (L/N) worked really hard to make it special too. Way to go, Mr. Aizawa.”

The class hums in disapproval before returning to their discussions, some still whispering about your boyfriend’s rejection. Aizawa, however, merely rolled his eyes at his student’s comments and returned to his work. Guilt began to settle, and the murmurs of discontent from his students, along with the realisation that he disappointed you, left an uneasy feeling in his chest. He sighs quietly, knowing that it was a rare opportunity for him to connect on a personal level.

After a moment of lingering silence on his part, Aizawa sighs and sets his paperwork down. He eyes the envelope you had gifted him, a part of him debating whether or not to open it. It took him a second before he grabs the slip of paper and carefully tears it open, revealing the invitation inside. It was a soft pink letter, words inked in sweet red and decorated with your little doodles of hearts and Christmas stickers.

“Maybe I over-thought this,” he muttered to himself, his eyes scanning over your words. The simplicity of the invitation, contrasted with the weight of his refusal, made him reconsider his decision. Guilt lingered, but so did a realisation that he had missed an opportunity for a rare moment of connection. 

With a resigned sigh, he stood up, abandoning his work temporarily. He made his way to the front of the desk and leaned against the topside of it, crossing one leg over the other and sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Keep it down,” he grumbles to the class, “I can’t believe I’m asking you kids for this, but I need some help making it up to (Y/N).”

A collection of excited murmurs erupt from the students and a few of them start raising their hands, while others just shout out what they want to say.

Meanwhile, you, feeling a mix of sadness and disappointment, decided to take a stroll to the nearby supermarket. The chilly air bit your cheeks as you walked through the streets, the glow of different Christmas decorations in the yards of the neighbourhood casting a soft ambiance. 

Entering the store, you wandered the aisles, your mind occupied with the rejected invitation. You headed to the “snacks” aisle, eyes lingering over the array of comfort foods - snacks, chocolates, and warm beverages that promised to soothe the ache in your chest.

Selecting a few of your favourite items to lift your spirits, you couldn’t help but notice the holiday decorations that adorned the store. The twinkling lights and festive displays served as a bittersweet reminder of what could have been. 

With your comfort items in hand, you headed towards the checkout, hoping that the treats would bring a sense of solace and warmth to the quiet night ahead. 

“Merry Christmas!” the clerk tells you as you leave the store. You nod and smile, one that quickly drops from your face as you turn your back. You shake your head and sigh, deciding it’s best that you try not to let the rejection get you down too much, especially on Christmas. 

Leaving the store, you brace yourself against the winter chill, your bag of comfort foods a meagre comfort against the weight of rejection. 

Entering your apartment, you sighed and kicked off your shoes. You look around at your empty apartment, awaiting that special meow! that came from somewhere deeper within. Alas, like your boyfriend, it too never came. Must be asleep.

Gazing at your Christmas tree, you sigh and walk into the small kitchen, where you begin putting away the goodies you brought at the store. The gentle twinkle of your christmas lights create a gentle ambiance in your apartment, being the only current lightsource made it so it was dim but just bright enough to see. 

With a heavy heart, you begin to dejectedly take down the ornaments. Each bauble and strand of tinsel brought you a pang of regret, a visual representation of plans that had fallen apart. Just as you carefully packed away the last of the ornaments, a sudden knock on the door startles you. For a moment, you hesitate - who could be knocking at this hour?

Opening the door to your apartment, your eyes widen in surprise. There stood Aizawa Shota, your boyfriend, holding a bouquet of flowers, a tree-shaped box of chocolates, and a movie case under his arm. His usually stern expression softened as he met your gaze.

“I finished work earlier than expected,” he murmurs softly, his voice carrying a hint of sincerity. “Can I come in?”

His gaze searches yours for any signs of acceptance. Without a word, you step aside, allowing him to enter. The weight of disappointment began to lift, replaced by a mix of emotions that ranged from surprise to a glimmer of hope.

The atmosphere in the room shifts as he looks around, taking in the dimmed lights and remnants of festive decorations. His eyes settle on the box of ornaments you had left out, and a small frown comes to his face. He quickly turns to you and extends the bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates.

“I brought these,” he says, “and a movie. If you’re still interested, of course.”

The room, once filled with the weight of unfulfilled expectations, suddenly felt lighter. His sincerity and effort he made into making things right melted away the remnants of disappointment. As you took the gifts, a small smile played on your lips. Aizawa’s presence, although unexpected and sincere, signalled the possibility of salvaging the night. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, gratitude evident in your voice. Aizawa nodded, a subtle acknowledgement. His gaze lingers on the now-bare Christmas tree, and you could almost sense the unspoken apology in his eyes. He glanced at the scattered decorations and the remnants of the cosy atmosphere you had tried to create earlier. 

“I’m sorry about earlier today. I didn’t realise how important this was to you.”

You nodded, appreciating the sincerity in his words. His genuine admission surprised you, however, softening the edges of disappointment. 

“It’s okay, dear. I understand you have responsibilities.”

He sighed in relief, knowing that you weren’t harbouring any lingering resentment.

“That doesn’t excuse turning down a chance to spend time with you.”

His words brought a genuine smile to your face, and Aizawa’s stoic expression softened as he returned the smile. The apartment, once draped in a melancholic atmosphere, now held the promise of a cosy Christmas celebration. 

“How about some cookies?” You ask him, leaving the entryway of your apartment and leading him into your kitchen. Aizawa followed, the subtle scent of the bouquet accompanying both of you as you entered the inviting space. 

“I was planning to bake some cookies for our movie night. I thought popcorn was too cliche, and cookies are festive right? What say you? Sugar or chocolate chips?”

Your boyfriend nodded, his reserved demeanour giving way to a more relaxed stance. “Sounds delightful, kit. I think sugar will do nicely.”

You smiled and opened a cupboard, revealing a wide array of ingredients. Gathering them all and preheating the oven, a comfortable silence fell between you both. A quiet understanding that extended beyond words.

Aizawa, usually immersed in his hero duties, found solace in the simplicity of this domestic scene. The scent of cookies baking in the oven mixed with the fragrance of flowers created a unique blend that filled the air. 

You stole a glance at your boyfriend, seeing how he stood there against the counter of your kitchen, hands in his pockets and eyes gazing softly at nothing in particular. You smiled fondly and approached him, slinking your arms around his waist and pressing your body into his. He looks down at you with a cheeky grin and promptly returns the hug. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, kit.”

He whispers, leaning his head down to give you a gentle kiss on the forehead, then your cheek, and finally –

Beep! Beep! 

The timer beeped, and his lips stopped just above yours. A blush rose to your cheeks and a shy smile came to your lips.

“Seems the cookies are done.” He says, pulling away from you. The sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies fill the air, the warmth of the oven offering a comforting contrast to the chill of the winter night.

You both returned to the living room, a plate of freshly baked cookies in hand. You set them down on the coffee table and dimmed the lights before flickering on the fireplace. You recline the back of your couch, just enough to lean back against comfortably. Aizawa kicks off his shoes and lays them neatly by the foot of the couch. 

Briefly returning to the kitchen, you pour two glasses of finely aged wine in frosted glass. Aizawa waits for you patiently on the couch, warm blanket covering his lap and cookie in his hand. You grab the movie he brought from off the coffee table and pop the disc into your movie player. You join Aizawa on the couch, sitting next to him and scooting close. He throws the blanket over you as well, one arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you against him, the other holding the glass of wine you offered him. 

The laughter and camaraderie flowed effortlessly as the movie played on. The barriers that usually accompany his reserved nature slowly melted away in the warmth of the moment. Occasionally, you’d catch each other’s eyes during particularly interesting or amusing scenes or heartfelt moments in the movie, sharing unspoken sentiments that transcended the screen. Aizawa would rub your arm gently, or turn his body in such a way to give you a kiss on the top of your head. The quiet joy of being together, with the light of the TV and soft hum of the film, created a sense of connection that surpassed words.

As the movie reaches its conclusion, you both sit in comfortable silence, savouring the lingering sweetness of the cookies and warmth of each other’s presence. The apartment resonated with shared laughter and quiet companionship. 

“Thank you for tonight.” Aizawa spoke as the credits rolled, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity. 

“Thank you for coming,” you reply, the gratitude mirrored in your eyes. 

The night that began with waves of disappointment had transformed into a cherished memory – a Christmas celebration that unfolded in unexpected yet expected ways. As the two of you linger on the couch, surrounded by remnants of holiday decorations and glow of string lights, there was a shared understanding that some of the most meaningful moments emerge from unscripted pages of life. 

Chapter Text

Rhythmic tapping of a pen against the desk fills the room, creating a calming cadence in the otherwise silent space of Aizawa’s dimly lit office. The pale soft glow of the computer screen casts a gentle light on his face as he sits in his chair, surrounded by stacks of papers that never seem to diminish. Aizawa’s sharp yet tired eyes lifts from his paperwork as the subtle sound of sirens abruptly shatters the tranquillity. 

“It’s probably just another villain getting caught.” Was his initial assumption, one that offered momentary reassurance, but the persistent wailing of sirens and growing commotion outside demanded his attention. The rhythmic tapping of his pen ceases, leaving an uneasy silence behind that seems to amplify the distant sounds. 

With a heavy sigh, Aizawa pushes himself up from his chair and crosses the room. He stands by the doorway, contemplating whether to investigate or continue with his paperwork. The intensity of the noise increased his curiosity, however, and it got the better of him. Opening the door, Aizawa was met with the sight of a crowd forming in the corridor, students and faculty alike peering down the hallway. Flashing lights of an ambulance reflects in his tired eyes, and he feels a knot of concern tighten in his chest. 

“More than just a villain,” he mutters to himself, making his way through the gathering crowd. Conversations cease as the students notice his presence, their hushed whispers falling silent in anticipation which only made that knot tighten more. 

As he approaches the exit of the school, he glimpses the paramedics wheeling a stretcher into the back of the ambulance. His gaze fixates on your unconscious form, the sight hitting him harder than he expected. He halts for just a moment, his steps faltering as a wave of worry and a pang of something deeper surged within him. 

His typically stoic facade cracks for just a moment, his brows furrowing further. He couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. The faint glow of the corridor seems to dim moreso, mirroring the sudden shift in his emotions. He fell into step beside the stretcher, an almost imperceptible exhale escaping his lips as he observes the paramedics’ movements with a watchful gaze. Questions race through his mind and a protective instinct he hadn’t realised he harboured surfaced.

The journey to the ambulance felt longer than it should have, each step he took accompanied by an unsettling mix of worry and fear. He studies you intently as the paramedics secure you into the vehicle, his heart sinking at the sight of the various bandages and medical equipment strapped to your body. Your face, which was usually vibrant with life and energy, was now pallid and marked with signs of pain and distress. 

His jaw tightens as he observes the assortment of injuries - a visible reminder of the danger that lurks around the city. His mind races still, with possibilities. Bruises, gashes, and abrasions painted him a painful picture, telling a silent tale of a fierce struggle. Bandages hinted at injuries that went beyond superficial wounds, sparking a concern that went deeper than his professional detachment usually allowed. 

“Y/N-” he calls to your unconscious form, hand outstretching to reach for you, but he’s stopped by one of the paramedics, who shoots him a glance full of warning that carries a hint of worry. 

“Please, sir, give them some space. We are working diligently to fix them.”

Fix?

Aizawa’s eyes widen just a smidge, a rare display of surprise, and he involuntarily lowers his hand. The implications of the paramedic’s choice of words linger in the air, his gaze never leaving you as the ambulance doors close, shutting him out from the immediate scene. An unfamiliar and unwelcome sense of powerlessness gnaws at him, his mind racing with questions, to which the answers currently eluded him at that moment. 

–

Aizawa finds himself back in his office, fatigue heavy in his eyes but an unsettling restlessness in his chest. The news of one of U.A.’s best heroes being seriously injured spread like wildfire, and had already caught the attention of the media. He wanted – no, he needed answers, and the usual channels within the school weren’t providing them quickly enough. 

A low hum of voices outside his office door catches his attention, and so he steps out to find a huddle of faculty members conversing in hushed tones. Among them he notices a reporter, hungry for any morsel of information. His eyes narrow as their camera turns towards the sound of his door opening, and almost immediately, he is met with a sea of questions and speculative glances.

“Eraserhead, Eraserhead! Can you tell us what happened outside of U.A. today? Rumours are circulating about Pro Hero (hero name), and–”

“I cannot disclose any information until an official statement is released.” He replies steadily, his usual monotone carrying an air of authority. Just as he was about to retreat back into his office, the persistent reporter continued their line of questioning, pushing Aizawa to the edge of his patience. 

“It’s been reported that–”

“I cannot disclose any information,” he repeats before the reporter can finish speaking, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. Before he can continue, however, one of the staff members pushes past him, and he could feel the subtle weight of a paper being slipped into his baggy pockets. He turns his gaze towards the staff member, their eyes briefly meeting in a silent exchange. 

Aizawa excuses himself, quickly retreating back into his office and away from the persistent clicks of the camera behind him. Alone now in the dimly lit room, he reaches into his pocket and unfolds it with a sense of urgency. It was a newspaper that has yet to be released into the public, with a smiling picture of you on the front. 

“Pro Hero (hero name) Severely Injured In Villain Attack,” the title reads, and he continues onward, “(Hero name) has been severely injured in a recent villain attack just outside of the prestigious U.A.. Reports indicate that they managed to save a handful of children and three adults before falling to major villain, Shigaraki Tomura.”

Aizawa’s eyes widen at the name. Shigaraki. The name resonated like a chilling echo in his mind. A name synonymous with chaos and devastation. Shigaraki. The same villain that had posed a threat to his students, the same villain who nearly claimed the life of All Might, and the same villain who had almost ended his own heroic journey. The realisation hit him like a wave and a mix of emotions surged within him – anger, frustration, and an unsettling sense of vulnerability. 

The crinkling sound of paper being crunched in his palm resonated through the otherwise quiet room. As the reality of the situation sank in, his tired eyes hardened with a renewed sense of purpose. The urgency of the situation had just escalated and the need to confront Shigaraki became an even more pressing matter. But first, and to him, more importantly, he had to check on you. 

Aizawa moves with a determined stride towards the exit of his office, crinkled newspaper dropping into a ball on the floor. The same group of faculty staff and the same reporter all turn their heads as he roughly opens the door and steps out. His focus was singular as he ignored them all, navigating the familiar hallways of U.A.. 

He approaches his car, ignoring the calls of his fellow teachers and heroes. He knew for sure he would get reprimanded for leaving the school during operational hours, especially just to go see someone he supposedly “had no relations with.” The whispers of disapproval would inevitably follow, but he remains absolute. 

He cuts off the noise from the school with a decisive thud of shutting his car door. Hearing the engine roar to life, he steers the vehicle towards the exit of the parking lot. There were priorities that transcended bureaucratic expectations, and ensuring the safety and recovery of you was one such priority. 

Arriving at the hospital, he parks his car with a precision that spoke to the years of experience he had accumulated. Stepping into the sterile ambiance of the hospital, his eyes scan the signs directing him to the main desk. A receptionist sat at the desk, diligently typing away at their computer. 

“I’m here to inquire about a hero that was brought in earlier,” he states carefully, knowing he had to tread carefully, given the circumstances. 

The receptionist looks up from her screen, her expression shifting from monotony to a knowing look. 

“I’m assuming you mean (hero name)? People have been coming in all day to check on them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He replies, his gaze unwavering. 

“Room 309 on the third floor. You’ll be the last visitor for the day, poor thing has been bombarded with visitors.” A quick tap of keys and the receptionist glanced back to him, handing him a visitor’s sticker.

“Thank you,” he acknowledges, his steps carrying him towards the elevator. As he ascends towards the third floor, his thoughts circle back to you, worries and questions filling his mind. 

As he navigates the halls of the hospital, a subdued hush fills the corridor, a stark contrast to the chaos that often defines Aizawa’s world. 

The door creaks open as he enters, revealing the clinical confines of the hospital room. His eyes immediately found you, propped up on a bed and surrounded by the hum of medical equipment and the antiseptic scent that permeated the air. Your pro hero costume, now tattered, ragged, and stained, hands nearby – a testament to the battle you had faced.

“(Y/N),” his voice was steady with an underlying hint of concern as he approached your bedside. Your eyes, though weary, met his. 

“Shota,” you acknowledge with a faint smile. 

“How are you feeling?” He inquires, his gaze scrutinising your condition. His usual expression of stoicism softened in the face of genuine concern. 

“Better than I look, I suppose,” you reply, your attempt at humour punctuated with a wince of pain. 

You notice his eyes lingering on the bandages and your expression tightened, the weight of the recent confrontation evident in the lines etched on your face. Aizawa’s expression of usual reticence gave way to a moment of vulnerability and he takes a step closer, his hand hovering over yours momentarily before laying it down on yours gently. 

“I’m used to this,” you admit, trying to downplay the severity of your injuries. “Occupational hazard, yeah?”

Aizawa can only nod, his gaze never leaving yours. As he pulls a chair to your bedside, he takes a seat, his presence a reassuring anchor in the clinical environment. The faint hum of medical equipment fades into the background as he leans forward, a rare display of intimacy from him. 

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he speaks quietly, his voice a low mutter that carries vulnerability, “it’s okay to admit when things hurt.”

His hand squeezes yours, a gentle touch on your hand – a gesture that spoke of camaraderie and shared resilience. 

“Rest and recover,” he whispers, his tone carrying a rare tenderness. The lingering touch of his hand was warm, a nice feeling against your cold skin. 

“I appreciate the company,” you confess, and he nods in response. HIs gaze holds a depth of understanding that transcends words. As he stays by your side, the lines between professional colleagues begin to blur, giving way to a more intimate connection that begins to forge in the crucible of heroism. 

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispers again, this time leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, careful not to apply too much pressure or accidentally shift his weight onto you. The soft warmth of his lips against your forehead brings a subtle reassurance; a tender acknowledgement. 

“I’ll be right here, right by your side. Always.”

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a normal day. You were supposed to be on school grounds, assisting the many teachers of UA. Today, you were supposed to be assisting the famous Pro Hero, Eraserhead, otherwise known as Shota Aizawa. 

You were supposed to be in his classroom right about now, probably handing out papers or helping the students with their studies. But as your quirk clashed with that of a villain, one whomst had a problem or grudge with UA, you realised one thing. 

You were going to be late. 

Your breaths came in ragged gasps as the villain’s quirk wreaked havoc on your senses, the air around you crackling with an ominous energy and tension. Both of you were determined to gain the upper hand; the villain, shrouded in a sinister aura, unleashed their malicious intent, their quirk clashing against the protective barrier of your own. Quirks collide, creating a shockwave that reverberates through the immediate vicinity. Gritting your teeth, you felt the strain of trying to maintain control of the situation. Relentless attacks from the villain pushed harder against your defences, but your focus remained unwavering. 

Sweat forms on your forehead as you concentrate on defeating this foe, but they are cunning. Exploiting weaknesses and finding gaps in your defence, their sudden surge of energy overwhelms you and you stagger backwards, giving the villain the opportunity. 

You attempt a counterattack, summoning your quirk to repel the villain in a desperate move. The clash of quirks reached its peak, the fluctuations of energy creating a dazzling display of lights. In the midst of the chaos, however, the villain’s quirk broke through, sending a shockwave that engulfed you. You found yourself thrown to the ground; the impact brutal, pain coursing through your body. Onlookers who witnessed the unexpected turn of events all gasp, and the villain, sensing victory, prepared for another, final strike. 

Was this it? You were just a teaching assistant, supposed to be working with students and faculty staff alike. Why you? Why did the villain have to attack you? Wrong place, wrong time, it seems. 

Dazed and hurting, you lay on the ground, the villain looming over you with a menacing grin. Their attack’s shockwave still echoed in your ears and every movement sent sharp jolts of pain through your body. Cries of concern from bystanders seem distant as you struggle to push yourself up. You could feel their triumph-fueled laughter ringing in your ears as they swung their weapon down, eager to incapacitate you further. Vision was blurring, but the urgency of the situation snapped you back to the present. 

Summoning the remnants of your quirk with sheer determination, you manage to deflect the villain’s attack; repelling him and creating an opportunity to bring yourself to your feet. For a brief moment, it seems as though you might regain control of the fight, noticing the look of surprise on their face as they stumble backwards.

Uncertainty teetered on the tide of battle, but just for a moment. The villain is driven by a relentless desire to dominate and throws another flurry of blows in your direction. The struggle, reaching its peak, was a tough one to fight. Fluctuations of energy became a chaotic dance of opposing forces. In a matter of moments of desperately trying to parry his attacks, you found yourself being lifted off your feet from the force of the shockwave. Trying to right yourself, your world spins as you hurl through the air. 

The impact with the ground was brutal and the world spun in disorienting spirals. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, a sense of helplessness threatening to overtake your resolve as you lay on the ground, vulnerable and battered. Each of your attempts to rise met with resistance from the pain that radiated off every inch of your body.

“And just like that, the heroes begin to fall,” the villain remarks, the smirk evident in his voice. Dark tendrils of energy erupted from the villain, crackling and whipping through the air with a force that threatened even nature itself. You feel a dirtied boot suddenly press down on your back, and you could just hear the faint crack of your ribs. A cry of pain escapes your lips, fingers digging into the rocky pavement beneath your body. 

The attack never came. 

Cracking an eye open, your strain to turn your head over your shoulder to see just what was taking so long. That is when you saw it; silverish fabric wrapping tight around the villain, the tendrils of his quirk immediately dissipating into the air. You could recognise that silver scarf from anywhere, and your head falls back to the floor in a brief moment of relief. 

The villain, frozen mid-attack, struggled against the scarf that bound them. Aizawa, with his capture weapon expertly deployed, stood a few feet away from you and the defeated adversary. The chaotic and malevolent energy of the battlefield fell, and an eerie silence steps in its place. His aura radiated a presence of control, Aizawa’s quirk easily erasing any trace of the villain’s menacing powers. 

With a swift tug of his scarf, Aizawa pulls the villain off your back and sends them crashing to the floor. The relief you felt was immeasurable, the pressure of the villain’s boot leaving an indent in your clothes. You could feel the quick glance that the hero spares you before refocusing on the subdued villain. 

The adrenaline-fueled haze blurred the world around you, making the flashing lights of police cars and paramedics a distant spectacle. With each heartbeat, the pain from the encounter throbbed more and more, but the immediate danger has thankfully passed. 

Paramedics rush to your side, urgent movements contrasting with the surreal calm that enveloped you. Turning to address the arriving authorities, Aizawa handed over the villain to them. Police took charge of your adversary, securing them tightly in restraints as they prepared the transport to deliver them to justice. 

The EMTs begin their assessment, their words a distant murmur to you as they begin to tend to your injuries and administer care. The ordeal took quite the toll on your body, your breaths remaining shallow and ragged. As the weight of the situation began to settle in, it was at that moment that Aizawa approached as the medics hurriedly began to put you on a stretcher.

“Easy there,” he says to you, his voice a steadying presence. His eyes flicker over your body, personally assessing your condition. His usual stoicism wavered for just a brief moment as the paramedics worked to stabilise you. Aizawa’s hand, typically reserved and pocketed, reached out in a gesture of silent reassurance; a small but significant act.

// // //

Two weeks had passed since the intense confrontation with the villain, and you were still on the mending side of recovery. The injuries kept you from returning to your normal routine, despite their gradual healing. Surprising both you and himself, Aizawa took it upon himself to ensure you were well-taken care of during this time. 

Nursing a warm cup of tea, you sit idly by on the couch of your apartment, appreciating the soothing presence the hero provided. Despite the lingering soreness in your body, the atmosphere was comfortable, with the scent of fresh bandages and antiseptic lingering in the air. 

Eraserhead, usually stern and focused, was surprisingly adept at navigating the domestic environment. Moving around your apartment with a quiet efficiency, he tidies up and takes care of the chores that you couldn’t manage in your current state. The gesture was much appreciated by you, as confused as it made you; Aizawa typically never showed this nurturing side of him to you. He may have only been your boyfriend for about a month, but he already showed that he was more than willing to take care of you. 

“You really should be resting more, (Y/N).” He comments, eyes momentarily leaving the dish he was washing to glance in your direction. “Recovery is crucial, don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I’m aware,” you retort with a gentle smile, gingerly sipping from the mug in your hands.  “But I’m doing better, don’t you think?”

“You’re right,” he remarked, a hint of approval in his tone. His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before returning to the task at hand, the rhythmic sound of water splashing against the dishes filling the otherwise quiet room. The evening continued in this manner, with Aizawa taking care of every aspect of your recovery. The soothing hum of background music occasionally interrupted the quietude of the apartment, creating a peaceful ambiance. 

The subtle creak of the cushions under his weight signalled his presence as he joined you on the couch after a few moments. He sits besides you with a measured calmness so as to not startle you, his gaze focused on your face.

“You’re handling this well,” he observes, “not everyone can bounce back so quickly after a fight like that.”

“Thanks to a certain hero’s influence,” you chuckle softly, appreciating the acknowledgement. 

“Maybe so.” His lips quirk in a rare display of a half-smile. 

The evening continued to unfold with quiet conversation, discussing everything from hero work to mundane topics that brought a sense of normalcy to the apartment. The night deepened, the apartment bathed in the soft glow of lamps and gentle lighting. In the midst of your vulnerability, a deeper connection with Aizawa began to bloom, his presence becoming a source of comfort and strength during your healing process. 

His questions were thoughtful, probing into your experiences and feelings since the encounter with the villain. He sought to understand not just the physical toll of the incident but the mental and emotional aftermath as well. 

“I’ve had my fair share of close calls,” he admits, his gaze momentarily distant. “But each one leaves a mark. How are you really holding up?”

The fear, the vulnerability, but the determination to move forward, all came rushing back to you as you remembered just what you felt during the incident. You opened up to Aizawa and he listened attentively, his typically sharp eyes reflecting a depth of understanding. Touching on lighter topics, the conversation shifted organically that brought moments of laughter and shared anecdotes. Not one to easily reveal his personal side, Aizawa shared snippets of his own experiences – tales from his early days as a hero, amusing encounters with students, and even some moments that showcased his more humorous side.

His stoicism occasionally softened, revealing glimpses of a more approachable demeanour that you hadn’t seen very often in your time of dating him. The evening continued, and Aizawa eventually stands to stretch his legs, and you couldn’t help but notice the subtle signs of fatigue in his movements. 

“You’ve been taking care of me all evening,” you say with a teasing smile, “isn’t it about time you take a break?”

He scoffs but eventually acquiesces, sinking back into the couch with a tired but content expression. “Not yet.”

// // //

You feel your eyelids grow heavy, and a yawn escapes your lips, the fatigue from the recent ordeal and ongoing recovery beginning to catch up with you. The ambiance of your apartment, which was comfortable, combined with the soothing hum of background music and Aizawa’s gentle breathing, created a tranquil atmosphere that seems to invite rest. The ever-observant Aizawa notices the subtle signs of your weariness. 

“You should get some rest,” he suggests, his voice a gentle undertone in the quietude of the apartment.

Shifting on the couch, you nod your head in agreement and find a comfortable position. Shota, without a word, made room for you to lean against him. Settling into his support with a sense of gratitude, you close your eyes and bundle up with the blankets he provided for you. He continues to sit beside you, his stoic exterior a comforting presence. You find solace in the steady rise and fall of his chest as sleep claims you, the warmth of his shoulder a soft pillow, and the world around you faded into the background. 

“Sleep well, kitty.”

Chapter Text

“Shota,” you drawl out, closely hugging his arm as you walk with him down the streets of Musutafu. You cast a hopeful gaze up at him, the crisp morning air nipping at your skin. “Can we get some coffee? Please?”

A small, subtle smile tugs at the corners of Shota’s lips, a low chuckle resonating from deep within his throat that sends shivers up your spine. “Sure, we can get some coffee.”

The two of you make your way to a quaint cafe to settle into, the wind carrying the scent of the city. As you both take a seat, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee envelopes you, mingling with the soft murmur of background chatter. An eclectic mix of tables of chairs that provided soft cushioning and pristine surface-tops, all under the dim lighting of the lamps that hang from the ceiling. Finding solace in the plush cushions and gentle hum of old jazz that plays through hidden speakers, you sigh in content. Grabbing the menu off the small rack, you flip through the different pastries and drinks. 

Aizawa looks on, a small smile on his lips as he rests his chin in the palm of his hand, knowing fully well that you were just going to order your usual, and that you were looking through the menu for no real reason. It was like clockwork; Aizawa had lost count of the amount of times the two of you came to sit at the same table next to the window, how you looked through the menu just to order your favourite, and then ask him about his.

“What do you want, baby?”

Ah, there it is.

“My usual. What about you?” Fake ignorance.

There’s a playful glint in your eyes as you flip through the menu, pretending to deliberate over the choices. “Decisions, decisions,” you mumble, sighing. Aizawa raises an eyebrow, clearly seeing through your act. With a mock sigh, you finally close the menu and give him an exaggerated look of uncertainty.

“I think,” you say with a theatrical pause, “I’ll go with my usual cappuccino and slice of cake.”

Aizawa chuckles softly, as if he expected nothing less.

The barista, who’d been observing the interaction, jots down your order on her IPad. She marks down Aizawa’s order as well; a strong black coffee and whatever pastry you get. The two of you were regulars at this cafe, and typically when you go straight to the tables, it meant you weren’t changing your order for the day. 

The cafe’s door suddenly swings open with a forceful push, causing the bell to jingle louder than usual. An ominous figure steps inside, the air growing tense as the ambient sounds of the shop diminish. Panic ripples through the cafe as patrons and staff gasp and scramble for cover, all eyes on the masked figure in the doorway.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Eraserhead himself. Oh, and what’s this?” The villain inquires, slowly stepping towards you and your boyfriend, weapon in hand. “Out on a date with your girlfriend huh? How cute. Y’know, I’ve been meaning to make a name for myself. Meaning to seize the opportunities I get. And, well, I’m seizing this one.”

“What do you want?” Aizawa hisses, abruptly standing up, the force of his sudden movement knocking his chair over. His hand reaches for his capture weapon, free hand gripping his goggles and pulling them down over his eyes. 

The villain remains silent, the only sound coming from him being a deep laugh. He lunges at Aizawa with surprising speed, engaging him in a fierce hand-to-hand combat. Their movements were a blur of agility and skill, tables and chairs overturning as the two clashed. The stern focus of the hero contrasts with the maniacal laughter of the villain, creating a tense scene within the four walls of the cafe. Further complicating the fight, the villain takes an opportunity to reach into his pocket and pulls out a small canister. You watch as the villain pulls the pin and throws it to the ground. 

A smoke screen engulfs your senses and screws up your sight, eyes squinting and struggling to see. In a fit of panic, you stand up from your seat and start waving your hands in the smoke, trying to dissipate it. Villain had some sort of plan, knowing full well that Aizawa needed to see for his quirk to stay active. You catch glimpses of the intense battle unfolding between the two as the smoke disperses in response to your efforts. Once a haven of tranquillity, the cafe now bears witness to a clash of forces.

Taking advantage of the situation, the villain launches a series of rapid blows, aiming to overwhelm the hero. He nearly succeeds, his punches and stabs from his weapon coming from random places in the smoke. You can hear your boyfriend grunting in pain, and your heart stops for a second, knowing the all-too-familiar sound of his injured noises.

A sudden burst of wind from the cafe door slamming open fans the smoke away, revealing Aizawa in a defensive stance, determined and unwavering. Your eyes widen and a hand comes to your mouth upon seeing your lover, bruised and bleeding. His hero costume was torn and ripped, soaked red with life. One arm of his hangs limp; broken or simply dislocated? 

A mixture of fear and concern grips your heart when you see his injured state, the visual sending a shockwave through you. The realisation of the perilous nature of hero work hits home as you witness the toll it has on the people you care about the most.

Shota’s gaze meets yours for a brief second, eyes behind his goggles reflecting the weariness of battle but also providing you a silent reassurance. Distant sound of sirens grows louder, accompanied by the chatter and yells of more heroes joining the fray and entering the cafe. A cavalry. The villain, now outnumbered and overpowered, is swiftly dealt with and taken into custody. The smoke fully dissipates, revealing the cafe’s now-battered interior. Rushing to Aizawa’s side, concern etches your features as you assess his injuries, gentle hands running over his bruised and bloodied form. 

His stoicism wavers and breaks as pain flashes across his face as a medic rushes over and begins tending to his injuries, his hurt arm being looked at closely. Staying close to offer silent support, you watch as the EMT begins their process of closing the most dangerous wounds on Aizawa’s body. Ears twitch slightly as the sound of a stretcher rolls into the cafe, and you back up to give the paramedics some space instead. With some help, they manage to lift Aizawa into the stretcher, and out of the cafe. 

You follow as close as you can without being in their way, eyes full of worry and concern as you do so. Watching the medics lift Shota into the ambulance, you approach. 

“Can I ride inside? I’m his girlfriend.” You ask, your voice unwavering despite the concern etched across your face. 

The medic, acknowledging the gravity of the situation, nods in understanding. “Of course, we’ll make room for you. Please, climb in.”

Stepping into the ambulance, you feel the weight of the atmosphere weigh heavily on your shoulders, one of focused urgency. You make your way to the front of the ambulance, sitting in the corner out of the way. The vehicle hums to life and the sirens wail as the medics begin to urgently yet gingerly take care of your boyfriend, coordinating their efforts. 

// // //

The ambulance doors swing open, revealing a team of professionals ready to continue their work. Shota is swiftly moved from the truck to a hospital bed, and you follow closely behind. You stand by Aizawa, holding his uninjured hand as the bustling energy of the medical staff surrounds you both. Your worried look is met with a grateful nod from Aizawa, a silent acknowledgment of the support you’ve provided thus far. Finding momentary respite in the hospital room, you sigh and lean back in the chair you were given. 

The hours in the hospital room starts to take a toll on your own energy, despite your anxiety lingering in the air. As Shota drifts in and out of sleep, the exhaustion from the day’s events catches up with you, and you can’t help but feel the heaviness in your own eyelids. Despite your best efforts to stay awake, you find yourself succumbing to sleep, the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment creating a soothing lullaby. 

Eyelids growing heavier, you were just about to pass out when Aizawa stirs on the hospital bed. In his semi-conscious state, his usual stoicism gives way to a surprising warmth. His bandaged hand reaches out to gently grasp yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. His eyes, softened by the effects of the medication he was administered, meet yours. 

“Mmm, kitty…” he mumbles, voice a low murmur filled with a rare vulnerability. “You stayed…” 

“Of course I did, baby.” You chuckle softly, giving his hand another squeeze.  A soft smile graces your lips as you fight off the drowsiness. His gaze, albeit sleepy, remains fixed on you, a flicker of affection in his eyes. The medication-induced vulnerability seems to unlock a set of emotions that is normally concealed beneath his composed exterior. 

“Come here,” he whines, arm tugging on yours lightly to urge you closer. Obeying his request, you stand up from your seat and lean over the railing of his hospital bed. His hand moves from yours to cup your cheek, bandaged thumb gingerly rubbing the skin underneath it. With a tender pull, he beckons you closer. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss. The unexpected gesture sends a jolt through you both, and the kiss is soft and lingering. 

“Thank you, kitty-cat,” he grumbles out as the kiss breaks, his voice deep and quiet. “You know I love you, right? I… I love you a lot.”

“Yes, love, I know. I love you too.” You say with a soft laugh, putting a hand over his that was on your cheek. You feel his fingers dig into your skin just a slight bit as he pulls you closer once more. Lips meet, just as gentle as before. The kiss remains for a tad longer this time and by the time you pull away from him, the both of you are panting slightly. 

“Come here, come,” he beckons you again, hand sliding down to your hip. He shifts around in his bed for a moment, and with a wince of pain, he turns onto his side and scoots to the edge of the bed. If it wasn’t for the railings that were set up, he most definitely would have fallen off. 

“Shota, no, I can’t lay with you.” You laugh softly, trying to gingerly move away from his pulling. 

“Kitty…” he whispers, his grip on your hip growing stronger as he practically pulls you over the railing and onto his hospital bed. “Cuddle with me, please… I’m so cold. And you’re so warm.” He sighs, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent deeply. You try to protest but ultimately decide against it when you hear his snoring. 

You chuckle to yourself and shake your head, deciding to at least make yourself comfortable. You shift around, being mindful of his IV and bandaged wounds. Turning on your side to face him, you pull yourself closer, one hand of yours coming to start petting his hair. His arm wraps loosely around your abdomen, breaths soft against your neck. 

// // //

“(Y/N)... (Y/N)! Kitty, wake up kitty…” you hear his voice wake you from your slumber and you slowly crack your eyes open. You hum in response, groggily turning around to face him on your shared bed in your bedroom. Your eyes land on his, telling him to continue. 

“I want a kiss,” he murmurs, voice soft and full of a warmth that lingers from the medication he was still on for his injuries. Rolling your eyes playfully, you smile and shift closer to him, meeting his request. His hand gingerly cups your cheek as his lips find yours. The kiss is sweet, carrying a lingering tenderness that has become a newfound routine in the days following his discharge from the hospital. 

Pulling away, your eyes meet, a playful glint in his gaze. “Again.” He requests.

You oblige, leaning in for another kiss. This one is filled with a mixture of sweetness and laughter, his fingers delicately tracing patterns on your cheek. He leans his forehead against yours, a happy and content sigh leaving his lips. You find yourself revelling in the unexpected tenderness that colours these stolen moments of intimacy. His playful and affectionate demeanour is a delightful contrast to his usual stoicism. 

“One more for good measure, okay?” he murmurs, eyes gleaming with affection.

You can’t help but smile, and lean in for another sweet kiss, savouring the connection that binds you both. Lips mesh and press against one another, eyes closed in delighted bliss. As the final kiss concludes, you find yourself nestled in his arms, face pressed against his chest now. 

“Back to sleep now, kitty-cat.” He whispers, petting the back of your head with his hand. He smiles down at you, a full smile. One that you seldom see. The room becomes a cocoon of tranquillity as you and him share the quiet moment, echoes of laughter and affection lingering in the air.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He repeats to you over and over, giving you multiple kisses on the head and face. You giggle, appreciating the vulnerability that he’s willingly sharing. 

“I love you too, Shota.”

Chapter Text

“Hmm,” you murmur softly, surveying your closet’s array of outfits. In a mere hour, a date awaited with your boyfriend, Shota Aizawa. Glancing in the mirror, you take in your still-wet form wrapped tightly in a warm towel, the scent of your chosen perfume lingering in the air. Tonight’s destination was surely a mystery to you; a new restaurant he had chosen. Twilight Tastes. Just what on earth should you wear to a place called that?

Anticipating the evening ahead, you feel excitement and a hint of nerves flutter in your chest. With a determined huff, you select an outfit that strikes the perfect balance between casual and chic, your fingers lingering on the soft fabric. Looking towards your vanity, you swiftly move over to its chair and sit down in front of the large mirror. 

You pick out a subtle palette for your makeup, opting for soft hues that accentuate your features without overshadowing the natural glow of your skin. Anticipation builds with each stroke of mascara and sweep of eyeshadow, the ritual of getting ready transforms into a quiet moment of self-reflection, the excitement of the date mirrored in the sparkle of your eyes. 

Considering the different styles available to you, you finally decide on settling with loose waves that frame your face in an elegant manner. Gentle hums of the hairdryer and the rhythmic click of the curling iron creates a soothing backdrop to your thoughts, your fingers skillfully navigating through your strands, shaping the curls with practised ease. 

Returning to your closet, you dress yourself in your chosen outfit, and with a final glance in the mirror, you take a moment to admire the reflection staring back at you. Glancing at the clock on the wall, you perk up. He should be outside by now, waiting for you. Excitement courses through you as you grab your phone, ready to send your boyfriend a quick message to let him know you’re on your way down from your apartment. 

A frown replaces your anticipation as you notice the lack of messages and missed calls from Aizawa. Deciding to give him a quick call, the ringing in your ear adds to your suspense. After several unanswered calls, concern begins to creep in. Taking matters into your own hands, you grab your keys and make your way to the door, determination replacing the initial excitement. Your plans of the night may have hit a snag, but that you’re not about to let that ruin the evening. 

The engine of your car purrs to life as you drive towards Twilight Tastes, city lights painting the streets with a soft glow under the darkening sky. Your anticipation that fills the air now mingles with an undercurrent of worry as you pull into the restaurant’s parking lot. “He’s just running a little late is all.” You tell yourself. 

Steps quicken as you head towards the entrance, determination and concern guiding you through the elegant doors. Inside, the ambiance of the restaurant engulfs you – the dim lighting, soft murmur of conversations, and the tantalising aroma of exotic cuisines. Approaching the reception, a waiter greets you with a welcoming smile. 

“Welcome to Twilight Tastes, where our food and services are like the twilight of the dark on your taste buds! Do you have a reservation?”

Trying to keep your voice steady despite the lingering uncertainty, you reply. “Reservation for two, under Aizawa’s name.” 

The waiter consults the list and nods. “Right this way, please.”

Following him through gracefully arranged tables, you reach your table, the atmosphere becoming a symphony of clinking cutlery and muted laughter. The waiter pulls out your chair for you, and you take a seat, glancing at the empty chair across from you. Alone, you wait, eyes occasionally darting towards the entrance in the hope of seeing Aizawa’s familiar figure. Checking your phone again, you notice the lack of messages, or a call that never arrives. Minutes pass, each tick of the clock overhead echoing the growing unease within you. 

A distraction! That’s it, that’s what you needed. With a sigh, you focus on the menu, ignoring the unanswered questions that linger in the air. As you immerse yourself in the culinary choices, the soft ambiance of the restaurant wraps around you like a comforting shroud. Gentle flicker of candlelight casts warm shadows on richly decorated walls as soft jazz plays in the background. The scent of alluring spices and delicacies fill the air, heightening the restaurant’s enchanting atmosphere. 

You try your best to lose yourself in the menu provided, but you can’t help but sense the growing awareness of your solitary presence. Discreet glances from nearby tables become more pronounced, accompanied by hushed whispers that ripple through the air like a gentle breeze. 

A group of friends seated across from you shoot curious glances in your direction, and a couple at a nearby table exchange a knowing look. The air thickens with unspoken questions, and you catch snippets of conversation as other patrons discuss the sad and unusual sight of someone waiting alone after so long. 

You feel a mix of self-consciousness and frustration begin to build up as the weight of the silent scrutiny intensifies. Why hasn’t he shown up yet? Did something happen? Did he forget about you? No, that can’t be it. He wasn’t the type to just forget about something so important to not only you but to him as well. The unanswered questions resurface, now accompanied by the growing awareness that the eyes of the entire restaurant seem to be on you. 

Seconds turn into minutes, and eventually, those minutes turn to an hour. A waiter eventually approaches your table, a timid but polite smile on their face. 

“Excuse me, miss. Are you ready to place your order?” they inquire, the warmth in their tone contrasting with the watery gloss in your eyes.

Glancing up towards them, you attempt a smile, but the words catch in your throat. A lump forms as you shake your head. The waiter’s expression shifts to one of understanding, and they give you a sympathetic nod. “Take your time, if you need anything or your companion arrives, just let us know.” 

You manage a weak “thank you” as the waiter retreats, leaving you alone once again with the empty chair across from you. The realisation that Aizawa may not be joining you tonight settles like a heavy stone in your chest. 

You collect your belongings with a deep breath, the sound of your chair scraping against the floor echoing in the hushed atmosphere. Making your way towards the exit, you feel the gaze of other patrons following you, a mixture of curiosity and pity. 

The doors swing open, releasing you into the cool night air. City lights twinkle, but the once-exciting promise of the evening has dimmed. Your steps are heavy on the pavement as you make your way to your car. Sitting inside, you nestle yourself against the soft leather seat, tears threatening to fall. 

Engine purrs to life, and tires squeal against the pavement. You drive through the city streets with a heavy heart. Just where has he gone? What happened to him? Should you give him another call? No. Why should you? Anger flushed your already pink cheeks a deeper rose colour as you huff. He totally just ditched you!

Arriving home, you unlock the door to your apartment, the quiet greeting you as you step inside. You find solace in the familiarity of your own space, the tears that you held back for so long finally spilling down your cheeks. 

In the midst of quiet sobs, your phone buzzes on the table. Glancing at the screen to see Aizawa’s name, confusion and a spark of frustration mix with the sadness, you answer. 

“Shota?” You say, voice thick with emotion. 

“I’m sorry,” comes his gravelly voice, a hint of fatigue in his tone. “I got caught up in a fight with a villain. Took longer than expected, I couldn’t make it on time to pick you up or even arrive late to the restaurant. Where are you now?”

“I’m at home,” you reply through sniffles, which, although you can’t see, make Aizawa frown. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just beat. I’ll be heading over right now.”

Relief washes over you as the pieces click into place, and you wipe away the remaining tears. “I’ll be here.”

As you hang up, the heaviness that is attached to you through the evening starts to lift. His call brought clarity and you find yourself grateful for his return. The waning anticipation that held you at Twilight Tastes is replaced with a renewed hope as you wait for him to arrive.

Time stretches as you sit in your living room, the soft glow of lamplight casting a warm ambiance. The sound of a knock on your door breaks the silence, and your heart races with anticipation. You rise from your seat and approach the door, swinging it open to reveal Aizawa standing on the threshold, holding a bouquet of flowers. 

Tired eyes meet yours and a weary smile tugs at his lips. “Hey,” he greets you, his voice carrying exhaustion. 

“Hey,” you reply softly, relief flooding your senses as you struggle to read his expression. There’s a subtle tension in the air, and you can’t help but notice the way his eyes linger on your neck for a moment longer than usual. Maybe he was just avoiding eye contact due to guilt?

He steps inside and you offer him a seat on your couch. You study him closely, noticing a weariness in his movements, but there’s something else too – a certain restlessness that wasn’t there before. 

“Is everything alright? You’re not hurt, are you?” you ask, concern returning to your voice.

Despite the distant gaze he gave you, he nods. “Just a rough night, the villain was tougher than expected.”

You notice the subtle changes in his behaviour as the two of you converse. HIs eyes flicker towards the windows, where city lights dance in the darkness. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you inquire, senses and instincts on high alert. Aizawa hesitates for a moment before assuring you that he’s fine. However, as the conversation continues, you can’t help but feel that something is amiss. His eyes gleam with an intensity you’ve never seen before, and his movements, although controlled, carry an unusual fluidity. 

As minutes pass, Aizawa finds himself grappling with the aftermath of the fight with the villain – and the bite that he received from it. His heightened senses, now in overdrive, pick up on every nuance in the room – the rhythmic beat of your heart, the sound of your blood rushing through your veins, and your scent, oh god , your scent was driving him wild. 

Fighting against primal urges threatening to surface, he clenches his hands to maintain composure. He struggles to hold a conversation with you, and he finds himself navigating the fine line between the man you know and the vampire he’s becoming. 

Your concern shifts from his physical well-being to the emotional toll of the night as you remain oblivious to the internal battle raging within him. Unaware of his heightened senses, you continue sharing your thoughts and worries.

Aizawa, struggling to keep his focus, occasionally glances away, attempting to distance himself from the captivating scent that fills the room. His movements become painstakingly deliberate, each step a careful dance around the instincts that threaten to take over.

Unable to resist any longer, he finally succumbs to the primal instincts that surge within him. In a moment of weakness, his gaze locks onto your neck, the desire to taste the blood that courses beneath the surface overwhelming his rational restraint. 

His eyes narrow, pupils constricting, and his breath hitches as he leans closer to you on the couch. His usually steady hands tremble as he reaches out, his fingers grazing your skin. The room seems to pulse with an electrifying tension as his lips brush against yours, a desperate hunger underlying the kiss. For a moment, the world fades away, and you feel the intensity of his emotions in that single, unspoken connection.

Just as he deepens the kiss, you feel him suddenly bite down hard on your lower lip. With a hiss, you pull away, a mix of shock and pain etched across your face. Aizawa licks his lips, the metallic taste of your blood lingering and the sight of his fangs as clear as day. His expression shifts from hunger to realisation, a moment of clarity breaking through the vampiric urges that had momentarily consumed him.

“Sorry,” he rasps, “I… lost control.”

Your hand instinctively goes to your lip, feeling the blood oozing onto your fingertips. You look at him with a mixture of confusion and even a slight tinge of anger. “What the hell was that?”

“I’m sorry, ” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck, something that you’ve grown to know is a sign he was uncomfortable or unsure about something. “Let me kiss it better. I won’t bite this time.” 

With a wary nod, you lean into him again, your lips connecting with his in an electrifying embrace. Immediately, you could feel the hunger radiate from him. With an eagerness you’ve never seen before, he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip, once again tasting the blood that coats it. You sigh softly, the sensation of his lips against your own making the pain subside. 

Just as you are about to pull away, lips leaving him for just a fraction of a second, he closes the distance again. His lips smash against yours, teeth grazing your lip as his movements become more forceful, more needy, more desperate. He’s gotten a taste of you and now he just can’t get enough. 

“Shota…” you murmur in between kisses, struggling to find a moment to breathe and speak. Feeling his tongue enter your mouth, you couldn’t help the soft groan that leaves the depths of your throat. His hands move from delicately cupping your cheek to roughly grabbing your wrists and pushing you down onto your back, pinning your hands above your head onto the armrest behind you. 

His lips part from yours for a mere moment, just long enough for him to whisper, “sorry, I just… I can’t control myself. The villain I fought, he–...” he cuts himself off, the dumbfounded look on your face making him pause. He felt his heart leap in his chest; there was something about you, something so alluring about that innocent look in your eyes that made him go mad. He found himself kissing you again, his tongue finding yours in an erotic dance for dominance. 

You didn’t know what had gotten into him. Something about the villain he fought? Either way, in the depths of your mind, you found yourself to be enjoying his advances. Your gentle and passionate boyfriend was now leaving for something more primal, something more supernatural. 

One strong hand found its way to your waist, and he flips you over onto your stomach with practised ease. His other hand kept its firm place at your wrists while the other trails up your back. Finding the zipper to your dress, he swiftly pulls it down and unclasps it at the very end. Quickly pushing away the straps off your shoulders, revealing the black bra underneath, he unclasps that, too. 

With an impatient groan, he leans his head down, wet tongue sliding up the small of your back up your spine to the middle of your shoulders. Feeling you shiver against his tongue, Aizawa smirks. Keeping your hands firmly pinned above your head, he brushes his lips against the nape of your neck, fangs gliding against your skin. 

He reaches the soft flesh that mended your neck and shoulders together before biting down harshly, eliciting a pained gasp from you. “Shota–” 

“Shut up and enjoy it,” he growls through his bite on your skin, his fangs sinking into your flesh. He is totally losing himself to his vampiric side, the metallic taste of your blood reaching his lips. He drinks eagerly, an excited groan leaving him. You shiver, biting your lip to hold back the moan that threatened to escape you. You wanted to tell him off for speaking to you like that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say a word. A yearning throb between your legs confirms your suspicions, you enjoyed it, just like he ordered you to. 

After what seems like eternity, you felt yourself feeling lightheaded, which only added onto the pleasure you were feeling, the pain from his bite seeming like a fading ache now. He positioned his body on top of yours, and you could feel his throbbing erection pressing against your ass. 

“Let me…” he pauses, pulling away from your neck with a heavy breath, “let me make it up to you, for leaving you alone in the restaurant.” 

“Shota…” you murmur softly, “you don’t have to make up for anything. You were attacked by a villain and–” 

“And nothing. I’ll make it up to you, kitty,” he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls your head upwards, before turning his wrist to make you face him over your shoulder. He leans in closer and meshes his lips with yours once more, effectively shushing you. 

“I can’t resist you,” he whispers against your lips, teeth grazing your lips before biting down again. You hiss at the pain, relishing in the fact that he is hooked on you. You didn’t know if he was drunk on your blood or just you, or maybe both, but god did it feel good. 

“You’re so beautiful, kitty,” he breathes out heavily, a sudden buck of his hips against your rear making him groan against your lips. “You’re so fucking alluring.” 

You feel your face heat up as a blush crawls its way up your skin, reaching your ears and down to your neck. He is normally this blunt, but to curse as he compliments you? Uuf, sends a shiver up your spine.

His hand travels down your body, fingers tracing over every curve and divot. “Lift your hips up for me.” He orders, and you promptly obey. Raising your hips just a smidge, he takes advantage of your compliance. His hand shoots underneath you, around your waist and down your silky panties. He presses two fingers against your clothed folds, feeling just how fucking wet you are.

“Fuck…” he hisses out, his thumb expertly pulling your panties aside, giving him easy access to your nether region. His index finger traces your entrance before stopping at your clit, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against it before moving his finger around in circles. A surprised moan escapes your lips, feeling the pleasure shoot through your body. Automatically, your legs try to close shut and you buck your hips down, but his grip on you remains firm. His fingers press against you harder, lifting your hips back up to where they were by your cunt. 

His hand that held your wrists together, which had lost all blood circulation by now, finally let go. The sound of his hand cutting through the air reaches your ears just a second too late, and you feel a sharp slap! against your asscheek. “Keep those legs open for me.” He growls in your ear, and before you could reply, you feel your folds being pushed open by his two fingers. 

You clench around him immediately, eliciting a groan from him as he feels just how tight you are. “Shota…” you trail off, a breathless moan leaving your lips as he begins to vigorously pump his fingers in and out of you, earning him countless moans and squelches with how wet you are. You bury your face into the soft cushions of your couch, drool collecting into a small pool beneath your mouth. 

“That’s it, baby,” he purrs, “moan for me… gods, you’re so damn sexy like this. I can’t wait to just…” He stops himself, an idea popping into his head. He slowly retracts his fingers from your dripping cunt, pulling his hand out from underneath you. You whine at the loss of him invading your space, turning your head over your shoulder to look at him with a desperate look in your eyes.

“Taste yourself.” He grumbles, his hand reaching forward and he shoves his two fingers into your mouth. You revel at this, eagerly beginning to suck on his fingers and swirling your tongue around them. Wet, moist noises fill the air alongside both of your moans. “Such a good slut.” He praises you, making you squeeze your thighs together. Fuck , this bite is really hitting him hard, isn’t it?

His free hand came down on your ass again, leaving a red handprint. He watches as your ass jiggles at the impact, and he has to bite his lip to keep himself in check. 

“I can’t take it anymore…” he hisses at you, and he retracts his fingers from your mouth. He stands up and reaches over you, grabbing your hips and forcefully tugging you over to him. Your knees sit at the edge of the couch, your body bent over for him to see. There is barely any room for your upper body to lay, so you’re pressed against the back portion of the couch. 

With a rough tear, he rids you of your panties. It hasn’t been long since the two of you had last had sex, but seeing you like this felt like the first time all over again. Aizawa hurries to push his pants down, not bothering to unzip them. He lifts his boxers over his erection carefully, watching as it springs free, a droplet of precum slinging from his cockhead and onto your now-bare ass. 

He swipes his hand up your entrance, coating his palm in your slick. He proceeds to stroke himself, using your wetness as his lube. “Gods… I don’t think I even need to do this.” He murmurs, his breath heavy. You hear some rustling, and feel inclined to turn your head over your shoulder again. Your eyes widen at the sight of him behind you; his hair, dampened by sweat, sticks to his face. In his teeth, he held the hem of his shirt, which was tightly pulled up over his chest, revealing a toned abdomen. One hand pinches at his perky nipple, while the other strokes his cock. His eyes are fixed on you, and through his teeth you could hear his faint moans. 

“Aizawa–” you begin, but you stop yourself when his gaze slowly lifts to meet yours. The look on his face is impeccable, full of pleasure as he took in the sight of you. He takes a step forward, and you feel his cockhead press against the entrance of your cunt. 

“Ready, kitty?” 

You whimper in response and nod your head, biting your bruising lip.  Before you can blink, he’s pushing inside of you, thick member stretching you wide just as it always does. You moan in ecstasy and arch your back, revelling in the feeling of him filling you up, inch by inch. You paw helplessly at the cushions beneath you, breathing heavily as he bucks his hips forward, bottoming inside of you. 

Pleasure courses through your veins, through each pore in your body. He feels amazing. Your folds spread open for him as you shift your knees farther apart, opening yourself up more for him. He groans in your ear, his grip in your hair tightening. He grits his teeth as he pulls out completely, before thrusting right back in. He tugs on your hair, earning himself a pained whine from you.

“You feel so good, baby,” he whispers, leaning down to bite into your neck again, his shirt falling back into place. Fangs pierce your skin, your flesh, and by the sounds he is making, he is enjoying himself a little too much. He drinks your blood ravenously, the sweet, thick substance coating his teeth and lips. His hands move to your hips, and you feel that all-too-familiar grip of his. He’s about to fuck you senseless.

With a slow pull of his hips, he quickly snaps them back in place at your ass. He repeats this motion, over and over, the sound of skin against skin echoing off the walls of your living room. “Hah… ah…” he moans against your skin, teeth pulling out of your neck to let his tongue swipe over the bite mark, licking up the blood that oozes out. 

His lips trace the contour of your neck, kissing fiercely. His hips never stop moving, and he occasionally delivers a rough spank to your ass. He shivers this time, feeling how your walls clench around him so tightly, how your ass bounces against his hips, or how you cry out his name in utter pleasure. It is truly a sight for him to see, one that turns him on so goddamn much.

“Shota!” You whine out, your breaths coming out in ragged pants and sharp inhales. He reaches forward again and grabs a fistful of your hair before giving it a harsh tug, pulling your head so far back you are able to see him. Your back cracks and pops in protest, but that didn’t stop your vampire boyfriend. He pulls just a little harder and leans over you, capturing your lips in another rough, heated kiss.

His tongue enters your mouth once more, exploring your wet cavern from upside down. His thrusts grew erratic and sloppy, his cockhead brushing that sweet spot with each pump of his hips. His other hand, that was originally around your waist, comes up to your neck. He wraps his fingers around your delicate form, giving your neck a gentle yet firm squeeze.

“I’m…” you start, trying to break the kiss for a moment to speak. 

“I know.” He growls lowly, feeling how you clench around him so tightly, how you are milking him so sexily. His hand that was in your hair lets go, and immediately returns to its place at your clit. He rubs it in circles, first at a slow pace. When you grind your hips down, he picks up the pace of his circling, even going as far as pinching your clit gently. 

“Fuck, Shota!” You cry, reaching your orgasm. Your body trembles and spasms, sweat covering your skin in a thin layer. Just as you were about to ride down your high, you could feel Aizawa’s thrusts pick up in speed. With a few more thrusts, he suddenly pulls out of you, and you feel the warmth of his semen on your ass and lower back. He groans loudly, tilting his head back and panting. 

“I’ll get you a towel.” He says with a lick of his lips. Before he can step away, you chime up. 

“It’s alright, no need. I’m going to hop in the shower.” You reply softly, slowly climbing off the couch. You stumble into him and he easily catches you, a smirk playing at his lips. He wraps an arm around your throat and pulls you to him, your back flush against his abdomen. His free hand reaches down to cup your breast, giving it a firm squeeze. 

“Careful there, kitty… don’t want you collapsing on me. Maybe I ought to join you in the shower. What do you say?”

Your face heats up at his suggestion, a quiet moan leaving your lips as he fondles your breast. He pinches your nipple lightly, giving it a tug as he leans his head down, his tongue darting out to lick over the bite wound he left on you, the dried blood being cleaned off your skin. 

He groans at this and manoeuvres you around to the side of the couch, roughly bending you over the armrest. He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, keeping you pinned on the couch. 

This is going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

You stir awake as the first rays of sunlight filter through your curtains, which cast a warm glow across the room. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you sigh, mind already racing with the day’s tasks ahead. Pushing aside the comfort of your blankets, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, feet meeting the cool hardwood flooring. 

The air is crisp, tinged with the promise of another bustling day. Rising from your bed, you pad across the room to your window, drawing back the curtains to greet the dawn. The city stirs to life outside; the distant hum of traffic mingling with the chirps of birds.

Taking a deep breath, you hurry to your bathroom, shivering in the morning chill. Stripping yourself of your clothes, you step into the tub and turn on the faucet, waiting just outside of the water’s range to wait for it to heat up. Stepping beneath the spray, the water envelopes you, washing away the last remnants of drowsiness. Steam fills the room, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace as you lather your hair with your favourite shampoo, relishing the feel of clean, washed locks. Cleaning your body with meticulous care, you sigh in contentment. 

Minutes pass underneath the warm spray of the shower, and eventually, you emerge, feeling rejuvenated and ready to face the day. You wrap yourself in a soft, plush towel, you make your way back to your bedroom, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin. 

Dressing yourself in your hero costume, you make your way to the kitchen. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as you, with practised ease, prepare a quick breakfast. Savouring the warmth of the food as it fills your stomach, you feel your ears perk slightly to the sound of your mail slot opening and snapping shut. 

Intrigued, you set down your fork and stand up. Making your way to your front door, you are met with a small pile of mail; advertisements, bills, and the occasional letter from a friend or colleague. Your fingers sift through the stack, setting aside the mundane items until you come across a small envelope with no return address.

With your curiosity piqued, you carefully tear open the envelope, revealing a neatly folded piece of paper inside. You pull it out and unfold it, finding yourself met with elegant handwriting, each word carefully penned with precision. 

“Dear [L/N] [Y/N],

We at Big Bear Agency have heard of your heroic deeds and abilities, and we are impressed by your dedication to protecting our city. We believe that your skills would be a valuable addition to our team, and would be honoured if you would consider joining us. 

Feel free to drop by our agency, which is written on the back of this paper, at your earliest convenience to discuss this opportunity further. We look forward to meeting you!

Best Regards,

[Big Bear], Head of Big Bear Hero Agency”

As you read through the words on the page, excitement and uncertainty bubbles within you. The idea of joining not only your first hero agency, but a new one is both thrilling and daunting. But, as you glance out the window at the bustling city beyond, you feel a surge of determination coursing through your veins. With each passing day, you’ve grown more confident in your abilities as a hero, and now this invitation is a testament to your hard work and dedication. 

As your excitement reaches a crescendo, you couldn’t contain the urge to share the news with someone who has been by your side since the very beginning of your hero journey: Aizawa. Reaching for your phone in your pocket with trembling fingers, you dial Aizawa’s number with a sense of urgency. 

Finally, the call connected, and you hear the familiar voice on the other end. 

“Shota Aizawa speaking.”

“Aizawa!” you exclaim, unable to suppress the excitement in your tone. “I just received an invitation from a new hero agency in town! They want me to drop by and discuss joining their team!”

As you speak, your words spill out in a rush, fueled by the exhilaration of the moment. You could practically see Aizawa’s eyebrow raise through your phone screen, his scepticism evident even from a distance. 

“Slow down, [Y/N],” you hear him reply, his voice calm and steady. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Have you thoroughly considered the implications of joining a new agency? It’s important to weigh all your options carefully.”

You, however, remain undeterred, your excitement bubbling over as you paint a vivid picture of the opportunities that await you at this new agency. You tell Aizawa that this is your chance to work alongside new heroes, to learn and grow in a different environment, and to hopefully make a meaningful impact on the city you two love. 

Sensing your determination, he relents, knowing that there is no point in arguing with you when you had already made up your mind. 

“Fine,” he says with a sigh, “we’ll meet at our usual spot in half an hour. But remember, [Y/N], this decision shouldn’t be taken lightly. Make sure you are fully prepared for what’s to come.”

“Of course, Aizawa. I’ll see you soon!”

You hang up the phone with a sense of purpose burning in your chest, a smile spreading across your face. You stuff your phone in your pocket and quickly tidy up your kitchen. Grabbing your bag and your keys, you slip on your shoes and make your way out the door. 

Making your way to the usual meeting spot, you keep your pace brisk, excited to tell Aizawa about your thoughts regarding this new hero agency. Reaching the designated spot, you see Aizawa waiting patiently, his scarf billowing in the cool morning breeze. 

“Shota!” You call out, waving wildly to catch his attention. He turns to face you, his expression unreadable as he takes in your appearance. 

“You’re here,” he remarks, his tone neutral. “Ready to check out this new agency?”

With an eager nod, you fall into step beside Aizawa, your excitement palpable as you make your way through the bustling streets of the city. Along the way, the two of you pass by throngs of people; a mix of reporters, heroes, cameramen, and civilians, all gathering outside the entrance of the new hero agency.

Flashes of cameras illuminate the air and voices raise in excited chatter, causing a chaotic scene. Despite this, however, you feel a sense of exhilaration building within you, fueled by the prospect of what awaited them inside. That is, until a loud voice suddenly reaches your ears, cutting through the clamour of the crowd. 

“Attention, everyone!” 

The booming voice echoes throughout the street, commanding the attention of all those gathered. The crowd hushes, falling into an eerie silence. You and Aizawa turn your heads to see a figure stepping out onto the balcony overlooking the entrance of the agency. It is the new hero, their presence imposing and their voice carrying authority. 

“Thank you all for joining us today,” he declares, their tone confident and charismatic. “I am thrilled to announce that I am the new head of this hero agency, Big Bear! It is my honour to welcome each and every one of you here!”

The crowd erupts into applause and roars, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the new hero’s commanding presence. You and Aizawa watch silently as the new hero continues to address the crowd, outlining their vision for the agency and the exciting new opportunities that lay ahead. 

His gaze sweeps across the crowd, his eyes landing on you with unmistakable recognition. With a big grin, he descends from the balcony and makes his way through the throng of people, his confident strides drawing closer and closer.

Your heart pounds with anticipation as he approaches, your expression a mix of curiosity and excitement. As the new hero finally reaches your side, he extends a hand in greeting, his grin widening with genuine warmth. 

“Ah, you must be [Hero Name]!” He exclaims, his voice full of enthusiasm. “I’ve heard so much about you and Eraserhead here. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you both in person. I’m Big Bear”

“Indeed I am,” you reply, offering a tentative handshake in return. “It’s an honour to meet you, Big Bear.” 

His grin widens at the mention of his hero name and he chuckles heartily. “Please, call me Bear. We’re all friends here, are we not?” he asks, his voice smooth. With casual ease, Bear lays a friendly hand on your shoulder, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. 

“It’s not every day we get to meet a rising star like yourself.” 

As Big Bear engages you with thoughtful and joyous conversation, his charisma and charm is undeniable. He speaks with a confidence that is both captivating and disarming, effortlessly drawing you into his orbit with each word. 

Meanwhile, just a step away, Aizawa observes the scene with a growing sense of unease. Eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the two of you interact, Bear’s charismatic presence casting a looming shadow over the crowd. His jaw clenches involuntarily as he witnesses Bear’s friendly gesture towards you, his hand lingering on your shoulder a fraction longer than necessary. 

Despite his best efforts to remain aloof, Aizawa couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. He knows he has no right to suddenly feel this way, yet the sight of you engaging with Big Bear fills him with an irrational sense of jealousy. 

Nodding tersely to himself, Aizawa forces his gaze away from the two of you, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions. 

The atmosphere crackles with a palpable energy, fueled by Bear’s charismatic presence and your genuine interest. Despite his professional facade, his flirtatious undertones are impossible to ignore, leaving you feeling both flattered and intrigued by his attention. 

With each charming remark and playful gesture or touch, he dances on the line between professional courtesy and personal interest, his magnetic charm drawing you in deeper with each passing moment. His eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur that sends a shiver down your spine, a murmur that Aizawa couldn’t hear despite being a step away. 

You find yourself laughing at his jokes and engaging in animated conversation, your earlier reservations melting away in the face of his infectious enthusiasm. You couldn’t deny the thrill of being the centre of Bear’s attention, his playful banter awakening a dormant sense of excitement within yourself. 

Just inches away, Aizawa’s unease continues to simmer beneath the surface, his jaw clenching tight as he watches you both. Each flirtatious remark from Bear and each genuine laugh from you only serves to fuel his irrational jealousy, leaving him feeling increasingly unsettled. 

—

Weeks have passed since that encounter, and your life has undergone a whirlwind of change. You have accepted Bear’s invitation to join his agency, drawn in by not only the promise of exciting opportunities but by the presence he radiates. 

In the intervening weeks, you have become increasingly immersed in your new role. Your days are full of rigorous training sessions, daring missions, and endless paperwork. Throughout it all, Bear has been a constant presence by your side, offering support, guidance, and no shortage of playful banter. 

The two of you have grown exceptionally close, a connection forging between you two that went beyond mere colleagues. You are drawn in by his enthusiasm and unwavering confidence. Big Bear carries himself well, and is quite handsome in the eyes of society. He’s tall and his frame is built like, well, a bear.

Despite the passage of time and the growing bond between you and Big Bear, Aizawa couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of unease that resides deep in the pit of his stomach. As he observes your increasing closeness to Big Bear, a pang of jealousy pierces his heart, a bitter reminder of the distance that has grown between you both. 

Week after week, he has had to watch you turn down his invitations to hang out in favour of spending time with Bear. Each rejection stings like a knife to the heart, despite his attempts at remaining aloof and unaffected by your newfound companionship with Bear. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal creep into his heart, which slowly turned to jealous anger. You two have been through so much together! Faced countless challenges side by side! But yet, it seems that your bond with one another is no match for Big Bear’s charismatic charm. 

As Aizawa sits alone in his apartment, he couldn’t shake the feeling of loneliness that gnaws at him from within. He has found himself growing more distant and withdrawn in these past few weeks, his once steadfast resolve wavering in the face of your newfound allegiance to Big Bear. Try as he might to suppress his feelings, he couldn’t deny the ache in his heart.

He eventually resigns himself to the bitter truth: you have chosen a new path, one without him. But he wasn’t about to give up just yet. Aizawa finds himself reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. His fingers tremble slightly as he composes a new message to your inbox. 

“Hey,” he types, “I know it’s been a while, but I was wondering if you’d like to hang out today. Just wanted to catch up, let me know.”

With a resigned sigh, he hit send, not expecting a reply from you. To his surprise, however, his phone buzzes with a notification almost immediately, and his heart skips a beat when he sees your response. 

“Sure!” your message read, “I’ll be there in 20. :) “ 

A rush of excitement surges through Aizawa at the idea of seeing you again, his loneliness momentarily forgotten in the face of their impending reunion. Springing into action with renewed energy, he hurries to take a shower and make himself presentable for their meeting. 

In record time, he emerges from the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower but his spirits soaring high with anticipation. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of nervous excitement coursing through him, his heart pounding in his chest with each passing moment. 

Then, right on time, he hears the knock on his door, signalling your arrival. With a steady breath, he makes his way to the door, his hand lingering on the handle for a moment before pulling it open to reveal you standing on the other side.

“Hey,” he greets you, voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of excitement. “Come on in.”

With a nod, you step inside, a warm smile lighting up your features as you greet him. Aizawa can feel his earlier anxieties melting away in your presence, in your familiar warmth. 

As the two of you settle onto the couch, he tries to maintain his usual air of aloofness and reserve, but inwardly, he is eager to hear what you have to say. He listens intently as you launch into a flurry of stories about your adventures and time with Big Bear, your words flowing like a river as you recount daring missions and thrilling escapades. 

However, Aizawa feels that same pang of jealousy gnawing at him from within, that same bitter reminder of the distance that had grown between them. Despite his best efforts to remain composed, he finds himself growing increasingly restless as the conversation stretches on. He desperately tries to mask his unease behind a facade of indifference, but inwardly, he feels a burning sense of frustration beginning to boil over. 

“And then–”

“[Y/N]...” he murmurs, cutting you off from your next words. “Do you like Big Bear?”

You freeze, taken aback by his abrupt question. Your mind races as you try to process his words, searching for some semblance of understanding in the midst of your confusion. 

“Where did that come from?” you ask, your voice tinged with bewilderment, “why are you asking me that?”

Aizawa hesitates for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor as he struggles to find the right words. Finally, he looks up, steel black eyes meeting your [e/c] ones with a mixture of vulnerability and longing. 

“I’m… I’m jealous,” he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I miss you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his confession, a rush of conflicting emotions washing over you like a tidal wave. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, couldn’t fathom that Aizawa, of all people, could feel this way about you. 

“Jealous?” You whisper, “I thought… I thought you didn’t like me that way. That’s why I spent so much time with Big Bear. To get over you…”

His heart sank at your words, the weight of his own insecurities crashing down upon him like a wave. He spent so long pushing you away, convinced that he didn’t deserve your friendship, let alone your affection. And now, he couldn’t help but regret every moment he had let slip through his fingers. 

“I’m sorry. I should have told you how I felt sooner.” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I should have been honest with you from the beginning.” 

Your eyes soften as you look at him, your heart aching with empathy for the pain he has endured in silence. In that moment, all the walls between you two seem to crumble away, leaving nothing but raw honesty and unspoken longing in their wake. 

Reaching out, you take his hand in yours, a gentle reassurance of forgiveness and understanding. His hand squeezes yours gently, his thumb gingerly rubbing over your knuckles. Your eyes lock, and for a moment, you feel the tension in his grip ease up. He glances down at your lips and you can’t help but smile. 

“I’m single, you know.” You murmur, leaning in closer to him. He chuckles softly, and with his other hand, he cups your cheek, thumb caressing your skin. 

“Not anymore.”

And with those few words, he leans in close and lightly presses his lips against yours. Smiling into the kiss, you return it, moving your lips in sync with his. Once he feels your reciprocation, he immediately deepens the kiss, his lips mashing together with yours. He bites and nibbles on your lower lip, silently begging for access, which you grant him. 

Parting your lips open, you invite him in with a swipe of your tongue against his lip. Forcefully pushing his way inside, his tongue roams your mouth greedily, caressing over your teeth and battling with your tongue. You can’t help the quiet whimper that escapes your throat at his sudden aggression, which only seems to spur him on further. 

You shiver as you feel his hand leaves yours and wraps around your throat, his fingers digging into your skin as he squeezes and applies light pressure. 

“Shota…” you whisper in between kisses, feeling your body heat up as he moves in closer. Slowly, he pulls away from the kiss, his eyes half-lidded and full of unspoken desire and warmth. He stands up and moves his hands towards your hips, roughly grabbing you and pulling you towards the edge of the couch. 

“You’re mine, got that?”

He then slides his hands up your legs to your thighs, slowly and sensually, before parting them open and stepping forward so your legs hang in the air on either side of his hips. Leaning down, he crushes his lips to yours once more, his hand returning to its rightful place on your throat while his free hand finds its way up your shirt.

Calloused skin meets soft skin as his fingers trail up your stomach, drawing gentle circles around your skin. You wiggle slightly as his hand trails higher, pulling your shirt up more as it moves. Shivering slightly, your arch your back, pressing into his touch. His hand on your throat squeezes a little harder, earning a ragged gasp from you. 

Finally, his lips pull away from yours, leaving you both with your mouths parted open and breathing heavily. You look up at him with eyes full of excitement and endearment, the same look you always give to Big Bear. Damn him.

“You’re not his.” He sneers down at you, a pang of jealousy rising within his chest once more. His hand that is under your shirt suddenly yanks your bra down, revealing your endowment. You shiver at the cold air hitting your skin, and in mere seconds, Aizawa finds his index finger and thumb pinching at your perky nipple. 

“You were never his.” He growls, pinching particularly hard at this statement, earning a pained cry from you. 

His eyes narrow slightly, his mind racing with multiple thoughts. How you look so helpless beneath him, eyes wide at his harsh treatment on your breasts, how you squirm and whimper at each pinch and pull, or each flick. It is intoxicating. Then a thought crosses his mind, one that has been boiling in the back of his brain ever since this morning. 

“He’s probably touched you, hasn’t he?” He grumbles, hand leaving your throat momentarily to suddenly reach down between your legs and press two fingers against your clothed folds. “Answer me.”

“Y-Yes!” You squeal, a flash of shame and surprise crossing your features. This earns you a deep rumble from Aizawa, and he presses down a little harder, his fingers slowly moving up and down, caressing you. His eyes narrow a little more, and you notice his lip has curled up into a slight snarl at your answer. 

Another pang of jealousy hits him hard, and he feels his heart beginning to race with mild frustration. With a swift motion, he grabs your shirt and pulls harshly, tearing it off of you, alongside your bra, whose clasps break under the pressure. You gasp and blush furiously, your entire top half now on full display for him to see. 

“So he’s seen you like this?” He asks you, and you hesitantly nod. The snarl in his lip curls more and he resumes his pinching on your nipple. Biting your lip, you squirm and arch your back, your breaths becoming heavier with each flick and pull of his fingers. 

The thought of Big Bear seeing you squirm and hear your moans just fuels his fire further, and with a quick glance down, you notice that not only one but two fires are burning with jealousy, the outline prominent in his deep grey sweatpants. Was… he getting off to this?

His fingers leave your nipple to squeeze at your throat again, his other hand trailing upwards to begin working on unfastening your belt. 

“I bet you liked it, didn’t you?” He whispers as he leans down again, his lips barely brushing against yours as he speaks. “And now you’re getting wet because of me. Doesn’t that make you feel filthy? To have had two different men touch you like this within the past few weeks?” 

Your mind is hazy, full of conflicting thoughts and emotions, all that turns you on even more. You can feel yourself throb at his words, and you try to close your legs together on instinct. Aizawa bucks his hips forward and presses his body down firmly to yours, keeping your legs spread in an aching position. With a swift motion, he yanks your belt from your pants and tears the button off its thread. Grabbing the top of your pants, he yanks them down, stepping back momentarily to throw them off your ankles.

Your panties follow suit quick enough that you couldn’t even shiver at the cold before he is back between your legs, warm hand rubbing your folds. 

“Answer me, kitty.” He growls, feeling just how wet you really were . 

“Y-Yes, Shota…” you whisper and in a flash, you feel a slight pain between your legs. He is pinching that bundle of nerves, rolling it between his fingers.

“Master.” He growls, adding a little more pressure on your clit and on your throat. 

“Yes, Master. ” You correct yourself, breath hitching in your throat. You sigh after a moment as he lets go and resumes his slow rubbing of your folds. He dips a finger past them suddenly, plunging it deep. 

You squeal and arch your hips up, not expecting his finger to feel so thick inside you. You can feel every bump and scar from his calloused finger alone, only adding to the sensations that you feel. He groans softly, feeling how tightly you squeeze him. Now, to feel that on his cock…

He slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, your slick being used as his lubricant as he mashes his lips to yours once more. His tongue fights its way past your lips, which you part open for him. His hand that is around your throat now moves to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging your head back. Your lips break from his, but you don’t feel his move away from your skin.

Immediately, he dips his head down and begins to kiss along your neck, nipping and biting at your sensitive flesh. Your hands trail up his back, finding your way up his shirt and feeling up his toned back. 

“That’s a good kitty,” he whispers as he licks over a bite mark he left on your skin. You shiver and whimper softly, knowing fully well that your skin is going to be left covered in hickeys and marks from his teeth. 

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs against your skin, suddenly adding a second finger into your cunt, earning a surprised moan from you. “Such a dirty slut for your master, isn’t that right kitty?”

“Yes, baby…” you whine, earning a growl from deep within his chest. His hand leaves your hair to resume its attack on your breasts, pulling and pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“What, did you call him that too? Force of habit?” He asks, and shamefully, you nod your head again. He suddenly curls his fingers up, hitting that right spot within you that makes you squeal and moan. 

“Yes, Master! ” You correct yourself again and buck your hips up, which only makes him press harder. 

“God, you’re such a filthy whore. Just look at you, kitty. It’s pathetic. Tell me, what do you want? Who do you want?” 

“I-I want you baby, please. I want you, I want … to feel you.”

“Say it properly, kitty.” He sneers, slowly adding more pressure onto your g-spot. 

“I want to feel you, master! Please!” You beg him, feeling absolutely humiliated. With one swift movement, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He yanks his sweats and boxers down, revealing his hardened member. 

With another glance down, your eyes widen slightly upon seeing his girth, his cockhead leaking precum that drips down onto your navel. 

“Tell me something, kitty,” he breathes, leaning down again to bite your lower lip between his teeth. “Tell me you don’t like him. Tell me that you’d rather have me. Rather have me touching you like this, touching you like a dirty bitch. You’re my kitty, my whore. Not his.”

“I don’t like him!” You cry, shivering as he begins rubbing his cockhead against your open folds. “I’d rather have you, not him! I want you to touch me. I want you, master!”

“That’s a good slut.” He praises you, his free hand reaching down to grasp the base of his cock. He begins pushing inside of you slowly and his lips connect with yours, effectively shutting you up. You moan against his lips and dig your nails into his back, your legs hooking themselves on his hips.

His free hand leaves your breast for just a moment, before roughly contacting it again. The slap echoes through his living room, leaving a red mark on the side of your breast. The action earns him a pained gasp, which he uses to his advantage to promptly shove his tongue back in your mouth. 

Inch by aggravating inch, he pushes into you, bottoming out inside you in a matter of seconds. And in a matter of seconds, he’s pulled out and shoved back into you, causing you to emit a moan, muffled by his assault on your mouth. 

The air is thick and hot as he thrusts his hips into you again and again, and eventually, his hands find themselves at your ass, lifting you up just enough so that he could hit just the right spots within you. One hand of his leaves for a moment before colliding with the side of your asscheek, once again leaving a red handprint on your skin. 

He breaks the kiss for a moment, his breaths beginning to become heavier. 

“Moan for me, kitty.” He whispers, promptly thrusting into you once again. You obey, moaning for him. You tilt your head back slightly, your legs squeezing him tightly just as your cunt was squeezing his cock. 

“Yes, just like that,” he murmurs, pulling out of you and thrusting right back in, “that’s a good bitch. You like that, don’t you? You like me fucking you like this, like you’re just some toy for me to enjoy myself with?” 

“Master… yes..” You whine out between moans and ragged breaths, scratching at his back with your nails. Feeling your eyes roll back, you part your lips open in a breathless moan. He joins you this time, a low groan escaping his lips as he feels you tighten around his member, your warm, wet walls feeling like heaven to him. 

“Going to cum already, slut?” He asks, knowing you are too far gone to really answer him. He chuckles at the expression on your face, one contorted in pleasure. Mouth open, brows knit together, eyes fluttering shut only to fling open at a harsh thrust from his hips. 

“Worthless toy for me to use, that’s all you really are. I have to get my frustrations out somehow, don’t I? What better way than to use my favourite fleshlight?” 

And at that, you feel your body convulse as you cum at his words. You whimper and toss your head back, arching your back high and tightening your grip on him with your legs. “I didn’t give you permission yet, slut. What a naughty girl you are. Maybe I should keep going until your voice is hoarse from begging me to stop. But a dirty cunt like yours would like that, huh?”

He chuckles softly, another groan escaping his lips as he thrusts into you harder, nearly reaching your cervix with how deep he was forcing himself to go. Another slap to your ass, to your breast, and even a gentler slap to the face when he noticed you were overstimulated. 

“Don’t give up now, kitty. I’m not done with your cunt yet.” He growls lowly, ragged breaths escaping past his lips as he picks up his pace. 

You couldn’t help but feel your heart burst for him. With how much he degraded you, and how much he yearned to see you break beneath him, you know he cares for you, just as you care for him. 

After what feels like hours pass, but in reality were mere minutes, you feel him pull out of you, and a warm, sticky substance coats your stomach and navel. He groans loudly, his own head tilting back as his chest heaves. Sweat beads down his face and neck as he recollects himself. 

“Damn, kitty…” he murmurs, staring down at your naked body covered in sweat and cum. 

“Baby…” you whisper, beckoning him closer. He obeys your call and leans down, a surprised grunt leaving him as you kiss him roughly, your own teeth biting into his lower lip. After a moment, you pull away from him, retracting your hands from underneath his shirt. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” He whispers, leaning up to give you a kiss on the forehead. “Do you want some water, maybe some snacks? Wait here, alright?”

It is like a switch just flipped, and as you stare at his back as he turns around to pick up his sweats from his ankles and leave to his kitchen, you couldn’t help the smile that plays on your lips. 

You could get used to this. 

Chapter Text

Waking up slowly from your disturbed slumber, the weight of insomnia hanging heavy upon you like a relentless specter haunting your thoughts. Your sleep is fractured and fragmented by the relentless grip of sleeplessness and it’s been this way for as long as you can remember. 

With a heavy sigh, you push yourself upright, your movements heavy with exhaustion. Swinging your legs over the edge of your bed, you rub your tired eyes and plant your feet on the cold hardwood floor below. Moonlight filters through the window, casting eerie shadows across the room as you rise to your feet.

You shuffle across the room with leaden footsteps, dragging yourself forward, each step a struggle. You could feel the weight of night pressing upon your shoulders, the silence of early hours echoing with the rhythmic beat of your restless heart.

Finally reaching the kitchen, you reach for a snack, the familiar surroundings offering a small semblance of comfort. Your hand automatically moves to your snack cabinet where you grab a handful of saltine crackers; anything to soothe the hunger that gnaws at your stomach. 

Munching on your crackers, you pour yourself a glass of cool water, relishing the liquid as it washes away the aching dryness in your throat. It feels like a small victory, a brief respite even, from the onslaught of insomnia. It is suffocating; the silence of the night. Desperate for some relief, you find yourself drawn to the front window, your feet on autopilot. 

You stand before the window, gazing out into the darkness beyond. The streets lie empty and quiet, the only sound is the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze or distant hum of cars. The cool night air beckons you, promising a respite from the stifling confines of your room.

You make your decision with a heavy sigh, the need for fresh air outweighing any lingering doubts. You step away from the window and make your way to the front door where you grab your keys off your rack and your sweater off the hanger. 

Taking a deep breath, you push open the door and step out into the darkness. For a moment, you simply stand there, allowing the cold night air to wrap around you like a comforting embrace. With each breath, you feel a sense of calm wash over you, the tension draining from your weary muscles.

A sense of tranquility washes over you like a soothing balm for your soul as the cold air envelopes you, your feet padding softly against the concrete as you exit your hideout. It’s a run-down apartment complex, one that hasn’t been sold yet but the landlord hasn’t been bothered to keep up with. 

Maybe you’ll find some old lady to rob, or maybe you’ll find your hands in someone’s open car window, carelessly forgot about. You rub your greedy hands together like a fly, a smirk coming across your face as your eyes begin to dart around, looking for potential victims. 

But just as you are about to approach your first car of the night, a prickling sensation creeps up the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. On instinct, you glance around, but the darkness shrouds everything in its inky veil. Shaking off the feeling of unease, you convince yourself that it’s just your paranoia playing with you, the same paranoia that comes when you indulge in your thievery, afraid that you’re going to be caught in the act.

You continue closer to the car, eyeing it carefully. Headlights are off, interior is off, there’s no riders, and what do you know – the sunroof is open. Just as you are about to hop onto the hood, that same sensation grows stronger, becoming almost palpable. You stop just in front of the car, weighing your options. You look around once more, but notice nothing in the veil of shadows. This sense of being watched; it is too much for you. It’s more than normal. 

A bead of nervous sweat begins to form on your forehead and you can feel your body heating up with anticipation despite the cold air. You begin walking in the same direction as you were before, trying your best to make your speed increase subtly. But, no matter how fast you walk, this silent specter haunts your every step. 

You’re just a civilian. You lie to yourself. You’re just walking home. You did nothing wrong. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you cast a single glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to see someone lurking in the shadows. Alas, the darkness offers no answers to the questions that plague your mind. 

The sense of unease grows with each passing moment, the air crackling with tension around you. You know better than to run, especially when you don’t know if there’s someone or something really following you. 

Briskly making your way into town, you seek refuge in the familiar surroundings of a convenience store. The harsh glow of fluorescent lights washes over you as you step into the building. You make your way down the aisles, completely ignoring the polite greeting from the clerk behind the counter. You browse aimlessly as you try to shake this feeling of being watched. 

Reaching the back of the store, the sound of the front door sliding open catches your attention, causing your heart to skip a beat. On instinct, you glance over your shoulder, only to find yourself locking eyes with a particular pro hero. Eraserhead. 

Dread fills your senses as you realise it’s been him that has been following you this whole time, him that’s been watching you like a hawk. Panic threatens to consume you as the gravity of the situation weighs on your shoulders. You know you’re in trouble – you’re a villain after all, and being caught by a pro hero is a disaster. 

Trying to play it cool despite the surge of adrenaline, you mask your fear behind a facade of calm indifference. Beneath the surface, however, your mind races with a multitude of thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. 

“Are you alright?” you suddenly hear him ask, and it is just then you realise that he has made his way over to where you stand. You force yourself to meet his gaze, your expression carefully neutral. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that makes you shiver. 

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, hoping to mask the fear that churns within you, but beneath the surface, your heart races with primal instinct, urging you to flee. 

Without warning, you jerk away as Aizawa’s hand reaches out to grasp your arm, his grip like a vice closing around your wrist. You propel into action, adrenaline flooding your veins as instinct takes over. You wrench yourself free from his grasp with a swift, practised motion. Your heart pounds as you bolt towards the door of the convenience store, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the empty aisles. 

Behind you, you hear his voice calling out, his footsteps slamming against the tiled floor as he gives chase. You refuse to look back, your focus solely on escaping him. WIth a burst of speed, you book it out the door and out into the cool night air. The sensation of dread lingers, a constant reminder of the danger that lurks just behind you. 

Pushing yourself to run faster, you navigate through the darkened streets, weaving between buildings and alleyways in a desperate bid to escape. As you dart around corners and duck beneath low-hanging branches, you manage a glance over your shoulder, dread coursing through your veins as you catch Aizawa’s figure looming in the distance. He is gaining ground, and he is gaining it fast; his determined stride closing the gap between you two with each passing moment. 

You refuse to let the fear consume you as it grips onto you like a vice, pushing yourself to pick up speed. Your muscles scream in protest, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Desperation claws at your chest as you push yourself to your breaking point, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm you. 

Wind whips against your face as you tear through the night, your lungs burning with exertion. You can feel Aizawa’s presence looming ever closer behind you, his relentless pursuit driving you to the brink of exhaustion. The gap between you two narrows with each passing moment, fear coursing through your veins like ice water. 

You can feel the weight of his gaze boring down you, his scrutiny piercing through the darkness like a beacon. Pushing yourself to your limits, the darkness of the night swirls around you like a suffocating shroud. You realise he’s gaining ground with a surge of dread coursing through your body. 

Panic seizes you as you realise escape is futile, that his capture on you is inevitable. You are at your limit, your lungs aching and your heart pounding. With a trembling hand, you reach for your quirk, hoping to summon its power. But before you can think or even act, Aizawa closes the distance between you two in a matter of seconds. 

In one swift motion, Aizawa lashes out with his capture scarf, the steel wire snapping around your body tightly. With a surprised gasp, you stumble and fall forward, your limbs ensnared in the unyielding coils of his capture weapon. 

For a moment, time stands still as you struggle, but it is no use. His grip on you is unbreakable, determination unwavering as he reels you in like a fish caught on bait. Sweat beads on your forehead as your chest heaves with ragged gasps and you meet Aizawa’s gaze with a mixture of defiance and resignation. 

HIs expression is unreadable, his eyes hidden behind the dark shadows of his goggles. There’s a palpable tension in the air, thick with a tense silence. 

“You should know better than to run,” he finally says, voice calm yet laced with an undercurrent of disappointment. “Especially from a pro hero like myself.”

Gritting your teeth, you fight the urge to lash out in anger. You knew the risks when you chose to defy the law, but the thrill clouded your judgement, leading you down a road of reckless abandon. 

“I’m not going down without a fight!” You say oh-so cheesily, your voice straining but defiant. “You’ll have to do more than just catch me!”

You notice his lips quirk in a faint semblance of a smile, but there’s no humour in his expression. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his tone almost teasing. Despite your bravado, you can feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on you, chipping away at your resolve. 

As he opens his mouth to say more, a sudden roar echoes through the night, loud and frighteningly unmistakable. Snapping his attention away from you for just a moment, his gaze darts towards the source of the sound. 

Instinctively, you seize the opportunity, pushing yourself up from the floor and breaking free from the coils of his scarf with an adrenaline-fueled strength. 

“Hey–” he starts, taking a moment to look back towards you, but you are already gone. You rush into the darkness, the pounding of your heart drowning out the sound of your footsteps as you flee into the night. 

A fleeting moment passes and you glance over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of Aizawa’s silhouette against the backdrop of the city skyline. Just as you are about to turn your head away to keep running, a second figure appears, one that makes you stop in your tracks. 

Your heart skips a beat as you recognise the silhouette of a nomu, its hulking form looming menacingly in the growing light of dawn. Before you can even react, the massive figure lunges forward with surprising speed, catching your captor off guard and knocking him to the ground with a powerful blow. 

You watch in horror as Aizawa barely manages to stand up before he takes another blow from the nomu, which sends him flying against the wall of a nearby building. You watch as the fight goes on, unsure of what to do. The sounds of the fight have begun to attract people, who come out of their homes or stop their cars to look. 

Despite every instinct telling you to run and find safety, you find yourself rooted in place, paralysed by the sight of your heroic admirer in danger. The thought of leaving him behind fills you with a sense of guilt and desperation, overriding any sense of self-preservation. 

Pushing aside your fear, you rush back towards the fray with a surge of adrenaline, determination burning bright in your eyes. Ignoring the voice of doubt whispering in the back of your mind, you throw yourself into the fight. 

With every ounce of strength you possess, you tackle Aizawa out of an incoming attack from the nomu. For just a second, you lock eyes with him as you tumble to the ground, the growing light of dawn letting you see past his goggles. His eyes are wide, a clear surprise on his face that you would come back and knock him out of the way. 

Your own eyes are wide as the nomu’s attack hits the ground just a few feet away from where you lay on top of Aizawa, awkwardly positioned over him. This fleeting sensation of a fire in your belly leaves just as quick as it came, and you scramble to your feet, your mind racing as you assess the situation. 

The nomu, unfazed by your intervention, turns its attention towards you. With a swift motion, it charges forward, its claws slashing through the air with precise yet deadly precision.

Aizawa, although his injuries slow him down, joins you in the fight, his capture scarf lashing out and slicing through the air with lethal precision to wrap around the nomu’s legs, making it trip and crash to the floor. The nomu is relentless, however, shrugging off the trip and standing up as it moves in for the kill. 

In the midst of this chaos, AIzawa takes the next blow directed towards him, the force of the impact sending him crashing to the floor now with a guttural shout of pain. Panic surges surges through you as you glance over, noticing that he lay motionless on the floor, blood seeping from his mouth and torso. 

Every fibre of your being screams for action, knowing that time is of the essence. Other heroes have arrived on the scene, their attention focused on subduing the rampaging nomu. Once its attention is drawn elsewhere, you look back towards Aizawa, only to see that a few heroes have already begun assessing his injuries. 

Without hesitation, you rush to his side, ignoring the chaos unfolding around you as you scoop him up in your arms, paying no mind to the other hero’s protests. Aizawa’s weight feels heavy against you but you refuse to falter, your unwavering determination pushing you to run, to carry him to safety. 

As you reach your destination, your hideout, you cast a wary glance over your shoulder to ensure no one is following you. You duck inside just as some heroes rush by, looking for you and Aizawa. 

You rush into your bedroom, gently but haphazardly laying him down onto your bed. You immediately set to work on tending to his injuries, your hands moving with practised precision as you do everything in your power to save him. 

The minutes stretch into hours as you wait anxiously by his side, your heart pounding as you hope for his recovery. 

“Wake up, wake up…” you whisper softly this time, crouching down beside your mattress to get closer to him. You idle around for the next few hours, your hands gently finding their way into his hair, giving him soft and gentle pets. 

You watch anxiously as his eyelids flutter, a faint groan escaping his lips as he slowly regains consciousness. Dazed and unfocused, his eyes blink open as he struggles to make sense of his surroundings.

For a moment, there’s confusion in his gaze, one that mixes with a flicker of uncertainty as he takes in the dimly lit confines of your room. His gaze then focuses on your as his vision clears, his eyes fixed on yours with an alertness like no other.

“What happened? Where am I?” he asks you, his voice hoarse with disuse as he struggles to sit up. Moving closer, you cautiously offer him a supportive hand. He eyes you for a moment before gingerly placing his hand in yours and eases himself up into a sitting position. 

With a heavy heart, you recount the events of the previous night. He listens in silence, his expression grave as he absorbs the gravity of the situation. A somber silence descends upon the room as you finish speaking, his gaze meeting yours once more as he shifts on the mattress.

“You know they’re out looking for me.” He says to you, concern etched in his voice. His brows furrow and his lips curve into a frown. 

“I know. I … I just wanted you to be safe. I had to get you out of there.” You murmur, taking a step away from him as he begins to stand up. He pauses for a moment as he looks at you, the tiniest hint of a smile gracing his features. 

“I know, and for that, I owe you my life. Don’t worry, I won’t try to capture you or arrest you. Not now, anyways. But, I do have to leave. I can’t stay here. Other heroes are probably looking for me, and I need to regroup with them. I won’t say anything about you if I can help it. For now, you’re a hero instead of some thief stalking around cars in the middle of the night.”

You feel a surge of emotion well up inside you at his words, a mixture of relief and gratitude washing over you, threatening to overwhelm. 

“I won’t forget what you’ve done for me,” he continues, his tone firm, “but if I catch you stealing out of cars again, I may not be so forgiving.”

You nod in understanding, knowing he’s right. With a final glance towards you, he offers a small nod of thanks before turning to leave. You watch him go, a sense of bittersweet sorrow settling over you as you realise your time together has come to an end. 

You know this is not a goodbye, merely a temporary parting. And as you stand alone in the silence of your hideout, you take comfort in the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, Aizawa cares for you, even if it's just a little.

Chapter Text

Soft morning light filters through your curtains, gently coaxing you awake from your slumber. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, the first thing you decide to do is reach for your phone on the bedside table. You blink away the remnants of dreams and see that you have a text message. 

Aizawa’s text greets you, causing a spark of excitement to flutter in your chest. “Good morning,” it reads, “I have a surprise for you. Be ready by the evening; we’re going to a hot spring. My treat.”

A warm smile tugs at your lips as you read the message, the prospect of spending the evening with your crush filling you with anticipation. Your fingers are quick to type out: “Good morning Shota! I’ll be ready! :)” 

Throughout the day, you found yourself eagerly counting down the hours until your evening rendezvous with Aizawa. Even as you train and perform your hero work, your mind is still occupied with thoughts of him. This would be the first time you’d see him relax properly, more so sit in a hot spring with you. 

Finally, the sun begins its descent below the horizon. You hear a knock on your door, a gentle yet firm knock that echoes through your apartment. Quickly glancing at yourself in the mirror, you make sure you look presentable. Hurrying to the door, heart racing with excitement, you greet the tall man who stands before you. 

His usual tired expression softens slightly at the sight of you, a rare and subtle smile pulling at his lips. “Hey,” he greets, “ready to go?”

Nodding eagerly, you step out of your apartment and lock the door behind you. “Definitely.”

Following Aizawa down the hallway, a soft rustling catches your attention. Glancing backwards, you see Orange, your beloved cat, peeking out from behind a potted plant. 

With a playful swish of his tail, Orange pads over to join you at the door, eyes brimming bright with curiosity, as if to say “ where is master going?”

“Hey there, Orange.” Speaks Aizawa, a slight chuckle emanating from his throat as he crouches down to scratch Orange behind the ears. “Trying to sneak out with us, huh?”

Purring in response, Orange rubs against Aizawa’s hand before darting away into the kitty door to make it into your apartment, leaving you two alone once more.

You turn to Aizawa, excitement coursing through you like electricity. “Let’s go,” you say, a grin tugging at your lips as you fall into step beside him. Together, you make your way outside to his car, anticipation building with every step. 

Aizawa unarms his car and opens the passenger door for you, gesturing for you to sit inside. You do so, nodding a small “thanks” to him as you settle into the passenger seat of his car. Aizawa slid into the driver’s seat beside you, the purr of the engine rumbling through the quiet street as he started the car. 

You lean back in your seat with a content sigh, feeling the tension of the day melt away as the car begins to roll smoothly down the road. Soon enough, the conversation flows easily between you and Aizawa as the familiar rhythm of the journey lulls you into a sense of calm. 

The two of you talk about mindless things – favourite movies, hero gossip, quirks of your respective hero agencies – each topic drawing you closer together as you share laughs and exchange stories. There’s a comfort in the easy familiarity of your conversation, a sense of connection. 

Minutes pass by in a blur of streetlights and shadows. You steal glances at Aizawa, marvelling at the way the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminate his features. Eventually, the city gives way to open roads and starlit skies, the darkness enveloping you comfortably. 

At long last, you arrive at the hot springs – a secluded oasis nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery. The building itself seems imposing, but you knew better than to judge by a cover. 

With a sense of excitement that brims your very soul, you follow Aizawa through the entrance and into the warm embrace of the hot springs. Inside, the atmosphere is serene and welcoming, the glow of lanterns casting gentle  pools of light across tiled floors. A friendly attendant greets you from the front desk.

“Welcome!” they say, their voice soft. “How can I help you this fine evening?”

“We’d like to book a private room for two, please,” Aizawa speaks for you, his voice calm and assured. 

The attendant nods, their smile widening as they hand Aizawa a keycard. “Of course,” they say again, “enjoy your stay. You’ll be in room C.”

With a nod of thanks, Aizawa led you down the winding corridor. It is a cosy sanctuary nestled away from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. 

Inside, the room is bathed in a warm, inviting light, the air thick with promise of relaxation and rejuvenation. Aizawa locks the door behind you, ensuring your privacy as you prepare to immerse yourselves in the healing waters. 

“Turn around,” you order him, “I’ll go first.” 

With a slight chuckle, he raises his hands defensively. “I won’t look, promise.” 

With a shared glance and smile, you strip off your clothes and slip into the warm embrace of the hot springs, the soothing waters enveloping you like a gentle caress. You sigh contentedly, settling into the comforting embrace of the water. The tension of the day melts away, leaving only a sense of peace and contentment in its wake. 

“Okay,” you call out to Aizawa, raising your arm above the water to beckon him. “You can come in now. And don’t worry, I won’t look.” 

“Alright,” you hear him murmur and you promptly turn your head away, a subtle blush coming to your cheeks. You close your eyes and let yourself be carried away by the serenity of the moment. After a few moments, you hear Aizawa’s footsteps approaching and you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest.

Moments later, you feel the water shift beside you as Aizawa slips into the hot springs, his presence a comforting weight beside you. You turn your head after the water calms, noticing that he has his hair up. His shoulders and collarbone are exposed, the steam of the hot springs beading precipitation down his face, giving you quite the view. 

You exchange a quiet smile, the atmosphere around you feels charged with gentle energy, the air thick with a soothing scent of the hot springs and the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm, golden light across the water. It’s as if time itself has slowed down, allowing you both to savour the tranquillity of the moment. 

Before long, the two of you begin to chat, talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories and laughter as you bask in each other’s company. The warm waters of the hot springs work their magic with each passing moment, rejuvenating your tired muscles and revitalising your spirits. 

“How about a massage?” He suddenly speaks up, looking over at you with a lazy smile. He then motions his head towards the call button on the wall near the steps of the hot springs. 

Your eyes flicker with excitement at the suggestion of a massage and you eagerly agree with a nod. Aizawa’s lazy smile only adds to your anticipation as he reaches out to push the call button on the wall. 

Moments later, the door swings open and a young lady wearing a bikini steps into the room, holding a bottle of massaging oil in her hand. You can’t help but notice the faint flicker of surprise that crosses Aizawa’s face at the sight of her, a subtle shift in his expression that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Who is she?” you whisper, a curious frown furrowing your brow as you glance between the two of them.

You can feel Aizawa’s hesitation, his eyes glued to the woman who only smiles big and wide at him. Finally, he meets your eyes, uncertainty in his gaze. “I’ll tell you after.”

With a sense of curiosity gnawing at your insides, you watch as the woman, graceful and confident, approaches and introduces herself as the massage therapist. 

“Ohh, Shota! I didn’t expect to find you here!” the woman beams, holding her hand out to help him out of the springs. Aizawa hesitates once more, giving you a glance and a motion of his head to look away. You promptly do so, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach. Why could she see him, but not you?

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here either, Mai.” 

First name basis, hmm, okay… Your mind churns with thoughts and a mixed feeling of emotions. Before you can go too deep into your own head, however, you feel a nudge on the back of your head. You swiftly crane your head over your shoulder to see Aizawa, with a towel wrapped around his waist, holding an outstretched hand to you. 

“Here.” He murmurs quietly, in his hand holding a towel. Once you take it, he turns around and walks over to the massage table, leaning against it idly. 

You, with a slight frown, stand up out of the hot springs and wrap the towel around your body. Once you’re covered, his gaze meets yours, his expression guarded but polite. He gestures for you to join him on one of the massage tables.

As you settle onto the table, the woman begins to work her magic, her skilled yet dainty hands kneading away the remaining tension in your muscles with practised ease and precision.  Despite the soothing touch of her hands, your mind still races with questions, your curiosity burning like a flame in the back of your mind. 

You close your eyes, letting the massage therapist work her magic on you. She kneads away the tension in your muscles with expert skill, and you can’t help but notice a subtle shift in the atmosphere around you. A sense of unease prickles at your mind as you listen to the idle chatter before Aizawa and the woman, their conversation seeming oddly familiar and comfortable with one another. 

You sigh and let yourself be carried away by the sensation of the massage, the gentle touch of the therapist’s hands lulling you into a state of bliss. Eventually, she finishes her massage and promptly orders you to “get up” so Aizawa can have his turn. 

You can’t help but notice that the woman seems to be more touchy with Aizawa, her hands lingering a little longer than necessary as she works her way across his muscles. A pang of jealousy flares within you, but you quickly brush it off as it just your imagination, reminding yourself that she’s just doing her job.

But yet, the unease grows stronger, gnawing at the pit of your stomach like a hungry beast. You listen still, standing idly by the wall as you watch the woman and Aizawa laugh and chat, the sound of their voices sending a chill down your spine. 

You can feel your heart sinking as you realise there’s something that isn’t quite right – that there’s more to their relationship that meets the eye. But before you can voice anything out loud, the woman finishes her work on Aizawa and moves away, leaving you strangely alone and vulnerable in her wake. 

Forcing a smile on your lips, you push aside the doubts and fears that threaten to overwhelm you, bidding goodbye to the massage therapist as she smiles and waves goodbye at Aizawa. 

You can’t shake the feeling of unease that hangs in the air, her departure leaving an awkward silence between you and Shota. You glance over at him, expecting to see the same calm and collected expression he always wears, but instead, you’re met with a troubled frown etched across his features.

“What’s wrong?” you ask him, concern lacing your voice as you reach out to touch his arm. You notice him hesitate, his gaze distant as he wrestles his thoughts. Finally, he meets your gaze, and with a heavy sigh, he responds. 

“That was my ex,” he admits, his words hanging heavily in the air between you. “I haven’t seen her in years.” 

You feel a surge of emotions welling up inside you – confusion, jealousy, anger – but you push them aside, forcing yourself to remain calm and focus on his troubled expression instead. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, voice soft with concern.

He nods, a weary smile pulling at his lips as he stares at the door his ex left through. “Yeah,” he whispers, voice tinged with resignation and mixed feelings. “It’s a lot to process. Sorry, (Y/N), but I think I should head home. I’ll drop you off back at your place.”

Nodding in understanding, you sigh. A pang of disappointment tugs at your heart; you’d been looking forward to spending time with Aizawa, but you can’t ignore the weight of the situation weighing on him. 

“Of course,” you reply, doing your best to keep the disappointment out of your voice. “I understand.”

You finish getting dressed yet you notice the hurried movements of Aizawa as he rushes out of the room, barely tying his boots together on his way out. A sense of unease settles within your stomach, and so you hesitate, unsure of what to do. Eventually, though, you dress yourself and follow him out of the hot spring and into the lobby.

What you find is your longtime crush standing a little closer than necessary to his ex, the two of them engaged in conversation, their voices low and earnest. For once, you notice a flicker of genuine emotion in Aizawa’s eyes, a vulnerability and happiness you’ve rarely ever seen before. 

Watching from a distance, you’re unsure of whether to approach or give them space. Part of you wants to intrude, to demand Aizawa tell you answers, to ask him if he’s been playing with you all this time, but, why should you? He looks so … earnest, so happy, talking with her. 

Eventually, Aizawa raises his gaze and catches sight of you standing there apprehensively. Hesitation washes over his posture, but his expression softens and he excuses himself from the conversation. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice tinged with uncertainty. “I really needed to talk to her.”

You nod in understanding once more, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” you reply, although the words feel inadequate in the face of emotions swirling inside you. 

–

The two of you make your way back to his car, the atmosphere between you both heavy. Settling into your seats, the silence feels suffocating, each passing moment stretching on like an eternity. Glancing at Aizawa every now and then, you try to read his expression, but his gaze remains fixed on the road, his expression stoic and empty.

You want to break the silence, offer him comfort, to reach out to him, but the words stick to your throat like glue, lost amidst the weight of the situation. The distance between you two feels more palpable than ever.

The journey back to your apartment passes in a blur, the sound of the engine and rush of the wind outside the only sounds filling the car. You do your best to focus on the passing scenery outside the window, but your mind is consumed with thoughts of Aizawa and his ex. 

Finally arriving back at your apartment, the sense of relief that washes over you is discernible. Aizawa pulls up outside, bringing the car to a stop with a heavy sigh. 

“Thanks for understanding, (Y/N). I just need some time to think.” He says, his voice soft and apologetic. “Have a good night.”

You offer him a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Anytime.” You reply, the words feeling hollow on your lips. With a final glance, Aizawa bids you goodbye and drives off, leaving you standing alone on the cold sidewalk. 

As you step into your apartment, a sense of melancholy settles over you like a heavy blanket. It weighs down your spirits and clouds your thoughts; the events of the evening replaying in your mind like a broken record, each moment etched into your memory with painful clarity. 

Sinking into your couch, the silence of the empty room echoes the emptiness in your heart. The sense of unrequited love gnaws at you like a persistent ache, leaving you feeling lost and adrift in a sea of uncertainty. 

No matter how hard you try to bury these feelings of disappointment and longing where they can’t hurt you, they refuse to be ignored, lingering in the shadows of your mind like ghosts of what could have been. 

Burying your face in your hands, the weight of your emotions overwhelms you. You wonder where things went wrong, why fate seems determined to keep you and Aizawa apart despite the undeniable connection that is there between you. 

The night stretches on, the ache in your chest only growing stronger, a relentless wave of heartache crashing over you again and again, threatening to drown you in its depths. Watching Aizawa chat and laugh with his ex, the same woman who had once held his heart in his hands, feels like a dagger through your chest, twisting and turning until you can hardly breathe. 

The sight of them together in the lobby of the hot spring is like a cruel mockery of everything you once shared, a painful reminder of the love that had slipped through your fingers like grains of sand. 

Tears blur your vision as you turn away from a picture of you two that you didn’t realise you were staring at. The pain in your chest is overwhelming, a physical ache that seems to echo the emptiness in your soul. You want to scream, to lash out in anger and frustration.Your chest feels tight, as if an invisible hand is squeezing the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and desperate for breath. 

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring the world around you into a hazy, distorted mess. You feel them welling up, threatening to spill over and cascade down your cheeks like a river. You bite down hard on your lower lip, trying to hold them back, but it’s no use – they come anyway, hot and salty against your skin. 

Your hands tremble uncontrollably, fingers curling into fists at your sides as if trying to hold onto something, anything, to anchor you in this storm of emotion. Your heart thunders in your chest, a relentless drumbeat of despair that echoes in your ears. 

You want to shout your pain to the heavens until the very stars themselves weep in sympathy, but as always, the words catch in your throat, leaving you choking on the bitterness and bile that rises up within you. Your jaw aches from being clenched so tightly, your teeth grinding together until your temples throb with strain. 

After what feels like a millena but in reality is just a few moments, you begin the walk back to your room. With a heavy heart and trembling limbs, you make your way down the hall, each step feeling like a lead weight dragging you further into the depths of despair. 

–

In the days that follow, the distance between you and Aizawa only seems to grow wider. You try to reach out to him, to bridge the growing divide, but each attempt is met with silence or indifference. 

Each and every offer you send to him to hang out is met with a vague excuse or a polite refusal, leaving you feeling more alone and isolated than ever before. Despite your best efforts to bury your feelings beneath a facade of indifference, the ache in your chest refuses to be ignored, a constant reminder of the pain that lies in its wake. 

And then, one day, you finally muster up the courage to ask him to hang out one last time, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, things can go back to the way they were. You are anxious in waiting for his reply, each moment feels like an eternity as you wait with baited breath. 

His response finally arrives and it’s like a dagger through your heart, twisting and turning until you can hardly stand the pain. “Sorry,” he texts, his words like a death knell ringing in your ears. “I was on a date.”

The world spins around you, the ground falling out beneath your feet as you struggle to make sense of the crushing blow. You’re breathless, as if someone just punched you in the gut, the air knocked from your lungs as you try to catch your breath. 

Tears blur your vision as you stumble backwards, dropping your tear-stained phone to the floor. The weight of his words crashes down on you like a tidal wave, and in that moment, you realise that the man you loved is gone, replaced by a stranger whose heart belongs to someone else.

With teary eyes, you turn away, the pain of this revelation cutting deeper than any blade. In that moment, you know that there’s nothing left to salvage, nothing left to hold onto but the shattered fragments of a love that was never meant to be. And so, with a silent prayer on your lips and a heavy burden in your heart, you walk away, leaving behind the ashes of a relationship that was doomed from the start.

Chapter Text

The fluorescent lights hum softly overhead as you sit at your desk in Aizawa’s classroom, the rhythmic drone of your teacher’s voice fading into the background. You have always prided yourself on your ability to focus, to fully immerse yourself in your studies and training as a student at U.A. High School. But lately, you feel as if something has been off. Was it your recent breakup? Or maybe the stressors at home?

Aizawa lectures at the front of the classroom, yet you find your thoughts drifting, your mind wandering to places it shouldn’t go. You try to shake off the fog that clouds your thoughts, to force yourself to pay attention, but the harder you try, the more elusive your focus becomes.

Noticing your distraction, the furrow of concern deepens on his brow as he watches you from the front of the room. He knows you well, knows about the dedication and determination that brought you to U.A., but when he sees the shadows that linger behind your eyes, he couldn’t help but worry. 

“Is there something on your mind, (L/N)?” His voice cuts through your haze of thoughts, pulling you back to the present with a jolt. 

Startled by the sudden attention, you blink, and glance up to meet Aizawa’s eyes. There’s a moment of hesitation, of uncertainty, as you struggle to find the words to express what you were feeling. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, staring into his eyes with an intensity that makes him raise an eyebrow. “Nothing’s on my mind, I’m just tired.”

Aizawa’s expression softens, his gaze unwavering as he regards you with a mixture of concern and understanding. He knows better than anyone the weight of burdens that weigh heavily on the shoulders of his students, the struggles they face both in and out of the classroom. 

“Get some rest when you go home. A tired hero can’t function properly.” He states, and although his words sound harsh, there’s an underlying hint of concern in his voice.

A flush of embarrassment colours your cheeks as his words sink in, his keen perception cutting through your feeble attempt to mask your troubles. Averting your gaze, unable to meet his eyes, you feel exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny. 

“Yes, sir,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll make sure to get some rest.”

His expression softens a tad further, his concern palpable as he regards you with a gentle gaze. He knows the weight of the expectations placed on young heroes like yourself, the pressure to excel and prove yourselves in a world that demands nothing less than perfection.

“Good,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and snapping his textbook shut. The bell rings, signalling the end of the class, and with a lingering sense of shame that clings to you like a shroud, you gather your things and hurry out of the classroom, eager to escape the uncomfortable weight of Aizawa’s gaze. 

Stepping out of the classroom, you find yourself navigating the bustling halls of U.A. High with a sense of unease gnawing at your insides. The familiar chatter and laughter of your classmates fade into the background as you make your way towards the school gates, your thoughts consumed by the impending confrontation awaiting you at home. 

Each step feels like a struggle against the rising tide of apprehension that threatens to engulf you, the journey back feeling longer than usual. By the time you reach the familiar street of your home, your nerves are stretched taut, a coiled spring of tension ready to snap at the slightest provocation. 

Approaching the door to your home, you can already hear the sound of raised voices drifting through the air, the sharp cadence of your parents' argument cutting through the silence like a knife. You hesitate, sweat beading down your face and your hand trembling, as you steel yourself for the confrontation that awaits you inside. 

Taking a deep breath, you push open the door and step into the chaos. Your parents’ voices fall silent as they turn their attention towards you, their expressions a mixture of frustration and disappointment. 

“About time you showed up,” your father says, his tone sharp with accusation. “We need to talk.”

Feeling your heart sink, you brace yourself for the barrage of questions and criticisms that you know are coming. You swallow hard, steeling yourself for the onslaught. 

“What’s going on?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. 

“Being a hero isn’t a real job, (Y/N).” Your father says, his voice laced with scepticism. “When are you going to get a real job and start paying bills around here?”

Your mother’s voice slices through the tension, her tone softer than your father’s but no less disapproving. “Now, now, let’s not be too hard on (Y/N),” she says, her eyes flickering with sympathy as she looks at you. “They’re doing their best to follow their dreams.”

There it is, a flicker of hope igniting within you at your mother’s words, a glimmer of support amidst this storm of criticism. But before you can find solace in her defence, your father interrupts with a scoff. 

“Dreams don’t pay the bills, (Y/N),” he says, voice dripping with scorn. “It’s time to face reality and get a real job.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the expectations and pressures weighing heavily on your shoulders. You open your mouth to protest, to defend your choices and aspirations, but the words catch in your throat, choked off by the weight of your father’s disapproval. 

The argument escalates, voices rising in a cacophony of accusations and recriminations. You feel yourself shrinking, a small and insignificant figure caught in the crossfire of your parents’ discontent. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them see how shaken up you are.

Your mother’s voice wavers in the midst of the chaos, torn between her loyalty to you and her desire to appease your father. “Maybe we should give (Y/N) some time to figure things out,” she suggests tentatively, her eyes pleading with your father.

But still, he shakes his head, his resolve unyielding. “We’ve given them enough time,” he says, his voice hard and uncompromising. “It’s time for them to face reality! Being a hero isn’t a job! It’s just a lame excuse to throw your life away for others!”

And with those words, the argument reaches a boiling point, a tempest of anger and frustration swirling around you as you struggle to find solid ground.

You feel a surge of defiance rising within you, a fierce determination to stand up for yourself and your dreams. 

“Being a hero isn’t just a job, Dad!” You retort, your voice trembling with emotion but ringing with conviction. “It’s about making a difference, about helping people and fighting for what’s right! It’s not a lame excuse – it’s who I am!”

Your father’s eyes narrow, his face contorting with anger as he glares at you. 

“I don’t want to hear any more excuses,” he snaps, his voice a sharp lash of disapproval. “You have a week to find a real job, or else you’re not going to school anymore.”

The harsh words of your father hang in the air like a death sentence, a harsh reminder of the ultimatum hanging over your head. Your heart stinks, the thought of losing your place at U.A., of having your dreams ripped away from you before they’ve even had to take flight, crushing your heart. 

But even as fear and uncertainty threaten to overwhelm you, a spark of defiance flickers in your chest, a stubborn refusal to let your father dictate your future. You lift your chin and meet his gaze head-on, your voice ringing with defiance and determination. 

“I won’t give up,” you say, your words quiet but resolute. “I’ll find a way to make this work.”

And with that vow echoing in your ears, you turn and storm out of the room, leaving your father’s angry words and ultimatums behind as you steel yourself for the challenges that lie ahead. 

Reaching the sanctuary of your room, the weight of the confrontation finally crashes down upon you like a tidal wave. With trembling hands, you close the door behind you and lean against it, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

You take a deep, shuddering breath as you sink to the floor, the walls of you room closing in around you as the reality of your situation sets in. The weight of your father’s ultimatum bears down on you like a crushing weight, threatening to suffocate you with its grip. 

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you try to hold yourself together as the dam holding back your emotions threaten to burst. But despite your best efforts, the tears, hot and relentless, stream down your cheeks in a silent cascade of despair. 

Your sobs wrack your body, each breath a struggle as you grapple with the overwhelming sense of failure and disappointment that washes over you like a flood. You feel lost and alone, adrift in a sea of uncertainty, with no clear path forward in sight. 

You collapse sideways to the floor, your body trembling violently as waves of anguish crash over you, leaving you gasping for air. Your vision blurs with tears as you lose yourself in the depths of your despair. 

Hands clutch at your hair, fingers clawing at your scalp as if trying to tear away the pain that gnaws at your insides. Your heart pounds in your chest, a relentless drumbeat of fear and sorrow that threatens to overwhelm you. 

You feel as if you’re drowning, breaths quick and ragged as you relentlessly pull at your hair. 

“Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” you cry, tearing out strands of hair. One of your hands yanks free from your tangled mess of hair, and with a sharp sound that cuts through the air, you bring it down on your cheek. 

The impact leaves a red mark, the sound reverberating through the confines of your room. Your head snaps to one side, and your eyes immediately land on your drawer. Your breath hitches, stabilising for a mere moment as thoughts wrack your head. 

You’ve been clean for a year now, fuck, you’ve been clean for a year now. Do you really want to do this?

Your hands tremble as you stand up, your legs shaky as you drag your feet towards your dresser. Opening it, your glossy eyes stare down at your once best friend, laying idly in the back of your drawer. 

You’ve been clean for a year now. Are you really going to throw it all away?

Reaching out, your fingers graze the sharp end of the razor. It hasn’t lost its sharpness. Picking it up, you let out a heavy breath, your shaking slowly coming to a stop. You feel calm, at ease even, as your hand draws closer to your arm. 

Have you really been clean for a year? Or was that just a lie you tell yourself?

Shit, it really hasn’t lost its sharpness.

— 

Exhaustion weighs heavily on your shoulders as you arrive at school, dragging you down like an anchor. Every step feels like a herculean effort, your limbs heavy with fatigue and dull aches as you make your way through the familiar halls of U.A. High. 

Despite the weariness that threatens to overwhelm you, you put on a brave face, masking the turmoil raging beneath the surface with a facade of strength and resilience. Plastering on a smile, you nod in greeting as you pass by your friends, exchanging pleasantries and small talk with practised ease. 

But yet, your facade cracks, the strain of your emotions beginning to show and seep through the carefully constructed mask. Your friends notice the exhaustion etched into the lines on your face, the weariness that lingers in the depths of your eyes. They offer you words of concern and support, but you brush off their worries with a dismissive wave of your hand, insisting that you’re fine, that it was just a long night. But even as you speak, the weight of yEveour lies presses down on you, suffocating you with their deception. 

Settling into your seat in the classroom, the exhaustion threatens to overwhelm you. With a weary sigh, you straighten your shoulders and steel yourself for the challenges that lie ahead, determined to face them with courage and resilience. 

The bell rings, signalling the start of another day. Aizawa walks into the classroom, hands shoved in his pockets. As class begins, you do your best to focus on the lesson, but the weight of exhaustion makes it difficult to concentrate. Aizawa’s monotone voice washes over you, the words blending together into a blur as you struggle to keep your eyes open.

You refuse to give up, however, determined to soldier on and push through the day. With each passing moment, you steel yourself against the exhaustion, drawing upon the reserves of your strength. 

Aizawa pauses in his lecture, his gaze sweeping over the classroom as he poses a question to the students. You raise your hand instinctively, your sleeve slipping down slightly to reveal the fresh scars from the previous night’s emotional turmoil. 

Aizawa’s sharp eyes catch sight of them, a flicker of concern crossing his features before he quickly masks it with his usual stoic expression. Nodding in acknowledgment, he calls on you to answer the question, but his gaze lingers on the scars for a moment longer than necessary. 

Answering the question to the best of your ability, you keep your voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within you. But even as you speak, you can feel Aizawa’s eyes boring into you, their intensity burning into your skin like a brand. 

Aizawa finally moves on as you finish speaking, and you let out a silent sigh of relief, grateful that he didn’t address the scars in front of the entire class. You aren’t even sure if he noticed them. 

The bell rings in your ears, signalling the end of class. You begin gathering your belongings, ready to leave and put the exhausting day behind you. Before you can make your way to the door, however, Aizawa’s voice cuts through the chatter of your classmates, stopping you in your tracks.

“(L/N),” he calls, his tone firm but not unkind. “I need to speak with you. Please stay for a moment.”

A flicker of apprehension flares to life within you as your heart skips a beat at his words. You set your bag down, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You turn to face Aizawa, steeling yourself for whatever conversation awaits. 

The last of your classmates file out of the room, leaving you alone with Aizawa. A heavy silence settles over the class, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing. 

Aizawa regards you with his usual stoic expression, but there’s a hint of concern lurking in the depths of his gaze. “I noticed something during class today,” he begins, his voice quiet but measured. “Your sleeve… it slipped down for a moment, and I saw…”

He trails off, leaving the rest of his sentence unspoken, but you know exactly what he’s referring to. You brace yourself for the inevitable confrontation, the weight of your secrets pressing down on you like a leaden cloak. 

Aizawa’s gaze softens ever so slightly, regarding you with a mix of understanding and compassion. 

“I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through,” he says quietly, his voice a gentle reassurance amidst the storm of your emotions. “But I want you to know that you’re not alone. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

His words sink in and a lump forms in your throat, struggling to contain the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. Tears well up in our eyes and you nod in gratitude, unable to find the words to express the depth of your appreciation for his kindness.

“Thank you, Mr. Aizawa,” you manage to choke out, your voice thick with emotion. “I… I really appreciate it.”

Aizawa offers you a small but understanding smile. Without another word, he gestures for you to follow him, and together you make your way out of the classroom. 

As you walk through the emptying halls of U.A. High School, a sense of relief washes over you. You feel a glimmer of hope flicker to life within you, a tentative ray of light amidst the darkness. 

When you reach Recovery Girl’s office, Aizawa stops outside the door and turns to face you, his expression serious but compassionate. 

“I’ll wait out here.” He says quietly, his voice steady. “Take your time. And remember, you’re not alone.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, you push open the door and step into the office, the warmth of Recovery Girl’s presence enveloping you like a comforting embrace. Settling into the chair, you begin to talk, and the weight of your burdens begin to lift. 

You pour your heart out to Recovery Girl, finding solace in the knowledge that you’re not alone, that there’s people who care about you. 

Stepping out of the office, a sense of lightness fills your chest, the weight of your burdens lifted by her healing touch and the comforting reassurance of her words. 

Just as he said he would, Aizawa is waiting for you just outside the door, his expression softening with relief when he sees the faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Without a word, he falls into step beside you as you make your way down the hallway. 

As you reach the entrance of the school, Aizawa stops and turns to face you, his gaze thoughtful but kind.

“How about we take a little break?” He suggests, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, “I know a good ice cream shop not too far from here. What do you say?”

The offer takes you by surprise, but a warm glow spreads through your chest at the thought of spending time with Aizawa outside of the classroom, away from the pressures and expectations of hero training. 

“I’d like that,” you say, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “Thank you, Mr. Aizawa. For everything.”

With a nod of agreement, he begins leading the way out of the school, the two of you falling into step together as you make your way through the bustling streets of Musutafu. The sun shines overhead, casting a warm glow over the city as you walk. 

“(L/N)...” he begins softly, his voice quiet, just loud enough for you to hear over the wind. “I said it before, but I want you to know I’m here for you. Whatever’s going on in your life right now, it will pass. This shadow… it will disappear with time, as long as you let it. I’ll be here for you, always, even when you become a great hero, I’ll be here. So please, if not for yourself, do it for me, and do it for your friends, don’t hurt yourself. We can’t have you in Recovery Girl’s office every day, now can we? I’ll start checking on you daily. Now, let’s talk about convincing your parents to let you stay in the dorms.”

You smile, a grateful, wide smile. 

“Thank you, Mr. Aizawa.”

Chapter Text

Your heart races with excitement as you rummage through your closet, searching for the perfect outfit for your long-awaited night out with Aizawa. It has been weeks since the two of you had a day off together, and you are determined to make the best of it. 

Settling on a casual yet stylish ensemble – after much deliberation – you slip on your favourite pair of jeans with a flattering blouse and a light jacket for the chilly evening air. A sense of anticipation bubbles within you, a warm glow of excitement that spreads from head to toe. 

You turn towards the mirror and give yourself a once-over. With a satisfied nod, you grab your keys and head out the door, eager to reunite with Aizawa. As you make your way to the rendezvous point, you feel the vibrant energy of Musutafu adding to your already buoyant mood, the city streets bustling with life. 

A familiar figure catches your eye as you approach the meeting point – Aizawa, standing tall and imposing, his signature scarf billowing in the breeze. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you quicken your pace, the thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins. 

“Aizawa!” You chime, waving enthusiastically as you draw closer. “This is so exciting! It’s been far too long since we’ve seen each other like this!”

His gaze softens at the sight of you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I know,” he replies, his voice a quiet reassurance. “I’m looking forward to it too.”

With a shared smile and a sense of anticipation hanging in the air, you both set off into the bustling city streets, ready to make the most of your precious time together. 

Walking side by side with Aizawa through the lively streets of Musutafu, the excitement of the evening ahead fills you with a sense of joy and anticipation. 

“So, where are we going tonight?” you ask, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. 

Aizawa’s lips quirk into a small smile at your eagerness, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Nothing too fancy,” he replies, his voice laced with mystery. “Just a humble little diner I know.”

Grinning at his response, you feel the anticipation building within you even more. Despite its humble reputation, you just know that spending time with someone like Aizawa will make even the simplest of meals feel like a special occasion. 

Continuing your leisurely stroll through the city, the diner comes into view – a quaint little establishment nestled between two larger buildings, its neon sign glowing warmly against the darkening sky. You inhale deeply, the aroma of sizzling food wafting through the air and to your nostrils, enticing you with promises of warm hospitality and delicious comfort foods.

Stepping inside the diner, a wave of warmth washes over you, enveloping you like a comforting embrace. The cosy interior is bathed in a soft, golden light, casting a glow over the space and creating an inviting atmosphere that puts you at ease.

The comforting aroma of sizzling food and freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of dishes. Old-fashioned jukebox music reaches your ears, adding to the nostalgic charm of the diner and transporting you to a simpler time. 

Adorning the walls are vintage posters and photographs, each one telling a story of days gone and adding to the diner’s unique charm. The booths are upholstered by rich, burgundy leather, their plush seats beckoning you to sink in and stay awhile. 

Settling into the booth by the window, you can’t help but smile at the sight of Aizawa sitting across from you. Despite his usual stoic demeanour, there’s a warmth in his eyes and a softness to his expression that speaks volumes about the genuine pleasure he takes in your company. 

The waitress approaches with a friendly smile, her apron tied neatly around her waist. You can’t help but return the warm greeting, a sense of excitement bubbling within you. 

“Hey there!” she says brightly, her eyes lighting up when she notices Aizawa. “Ah, Eraserhead! It’s so nice to see you! What can I get you?”

The raven-haired man nods in acknowledgement, his expression impassive but polite as he responds to her greeting. “Good to see you too,” he replies, “I’ll have the usual, please.”

Trying to catch the waitress’s eye, you are eager to place your own order and join in on the conversation, but she seems to be solely focused on your dinner-date, her attention fixed as if you weren’t even there.

You are undeterred, however, and clear your throat and speak up, trying to assert your presence and make your voice heard. “I’ll have the burger and fries, please,” you say to her, your tone polite yet firm. 

Finally looking in your direction, her gaze lingers on you for a moment before she nods in acknowledgement. “Got it,” she says, her tone less enthusiastic than before. “One burger and fries, coming right up.”

You can’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance as she walks away to place your orders. It’s not the first time you’ve experienced this kind of treatment, but it still stings nonetheless.

You turn to Aizawa with a wry smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “Looks like I’m invisible compared to you, huh?” you joke, trying to brush off the discomfort of being overlooked. 

His lips quirk into a small smile, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Don’t take it personally. Some people just have a way of commanding attention, whether they mean to or not.” He replies, his voice reassuring. 

It feels like an eternity before the waitress finally returns with a tray laden with steaming plates of food. Setting Aizawa’s usual order down in front of him, she addresses him once again, her demeanour brightening. 

“Here you go, Eraser,” she says cheerfully, her tone warm and friendly. “Enjoy your meal!”

He nods in thanks, his expression unreadable as he surveys the food that was brought to him. You watch for a moment as he picks up his fork and knife, his movements deliberate as he begins to eat. 

Her attention turns to you, her smile visibly faltering as she sets your burger and fries down on the table. “And here’s your order,” she mumbles, her tone polite but lacking warmth. Thanking her quietly and picking up your fork, you try not to let her dismissive attitude bother you. 

You steal glances at Aizawa as you eat, marvelling at how effortlessly he seems to command attention wherever he goes. You reach for your glass of wine, eager to wash down the delicious flavours of your meal. But as you take a sip, something doesn’t feel quite right. The wine tastes strange, with a bitter undertone you hadn’t noticed before. Were you so used to regular wine that a restaurant’s taste was so… off?

Glancing at Aizawa, you notice he seems oblivious to your discomfort, his attention focused solely on his food as he eats in silence. Panic begins to rise within you as you realise something was seriously wrong. 

The strange sensations intensify within you suddenly, and you struggle to keep your composure, your mind reeling with confusion and fear. With each passing second, the tingling sensation in your limbs grows stronger, spreading like wildfire through your body until it feels as if your very skin is burning off your body. 

You gasp for breath as you push yourself upright, your chair clattering to the floor behind you as you stagger to your feet. Each movement sends waves of agony coursing through your body. Your vision blurs and swims before your eyes, the world tilting dangerously as you struggle to stay upright. You glance around wildly, your gaze falling on the waitress who watches you with a predatory gleam in her eyes, her smirk widening into a cruel grin.

The realisation dawns on you with sickening clarity – she must have tainted your wine. 

The panic that has been simmering beneath the surface explodes into full-blown terror as you realise what’s happening to you. 

You double over in agony with a strangled cry, your muscles contorting and shifting beneath your skin. Bones crack and shift, muscles tear and reform, and an agonising pressure builds in your chest as your body reshapes itself. 

“(Y/N)?” You hear Aizawa whisper, concern evident in his tone more than ever. He stands up abruptly, rushing to your side and completely ignoring the eyes that fell on you both. 

Clutching at your stomach, you grit your teeth against the searing pain, tears streaming down your face as you feel yourself being torn apart from the inside out. It’s a torment unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, a relentless assault on your senses that threatens to drive you to the brink of madness.

With a final gut-wrenching roar of agony, you collapse to the ground, your body trembling with exhaustion and pain. But even as you struggle to catch your breath, a primal sense of power surges through you, a feral energy that pulses beneath your skin. 

You struggle to regain your bearings, and your vision blurs, the world around you spinning in and out of focus. The raw power coursing through you feels alien, a force you’re not sure how to control. But amid the chaos and confusion, one thing stands out: Aizawa’s voice.

“(Y/N)!” His voice cuts through the air, full of concern and urgency. You glance at him, your eyes meeting him with a mix of anger, shame, and fear. You see the shock in his eyes as he takes in your transformed state.

A deep, primal instinct kicks in, and without another word – not that you could utter one if you tried – you bolt from the diner, your movements quick and fluid. You surprise yourself; the sheer speed and power of your transformed body frightening. 

“Slow down!” Aizawa’s voice chases after you, but you won’t stop, you can’t stop. You need to find safety, shelter, somewhere away from prying eyes, away from potential danger. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you sprint towards your apartment. 

But your fellow hero doesn’t give up. He follows, his pace relentless as he uses his own skill and agility to keep up. “(Y/N), please!” he calls out, his voice cracking with emotion. “Let me help you!”

But even then, all you can think about is reaching your apartment. You push harder, your limbs straining against the intensity of the transformation as your bones croak in protest, pain shooting through your body more than ever. 

Every fibre of your being is being driven by an insatiable hunger and a need for shelter. You reach your apartment building, leaping up the stairs two at a time, feet barely touching the ground as you tear through the hallway. 

The urgency in you is overwhelming as you reach your door, and so, with a burst of primal strength, you slam into it, sending it crashing open with a splintering crack!

You barely notice the few neighbours peering out of their doors at the sound, rushing into your apartment. The scent of raw meat draws you like a magnet to your kitchen, the pulse of your own heart pounding in your ears as you fling open the refrigerator door with a violent jerk.

The cold air does nothing to calm your burning skin. You claw at the contents inside, roughly tossing aside containers and jaws until you find the pack of raw meat you were looking for. With zero hesitation, you tear into it with your claws, the scent and taste overwhelming as you devour it with a ferocity you never imagined possible.

You hear the sound of footsteps behind you, the familiar voice of Aizawa echoing in the hallway. “Calm down, (Y/N)!” he shouts, his tone urgent and full of concern. But you’re too far gone, animalistic instincts taking over as you bite into the raw meat, each one sending a shiver down your spine. 

Aizawa steps cautiously into the apartment, his scarf loosely coiled around his neck, ready to act if needed. His eyes are wide with concern, yet hold a hint of compassion as he observes you. He knows you’re struggling to maintain control. 

“(Y/N),” he says gently, his voice soft. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He moves a step closer, his gaze steady as he assesses your condition, watching for any signs of aggression. 

All your senses are on high alert, every instinct within you urging you to fight or flee. The scent of the meat fills your nostrils, mingling with the musty smell of your apartment. Aizawa moves closer, his steps measured and deliberate. “I’m here,” he repeats, his tone soothing despite the tension in the air. 

The words he speaks trigger a surge of raw energy within you, and before you know it, your body reacts. Your claws reach for him as you teeth bare in a feral snarl, pouncing on him. The primal urge to attack, to defend your territory, surges through your veins. His eyes noticeably widen as you launch towards him, his scarf coiling, ready to counter. 

Just as you’re about to sink your teeth into his shoulder, something familiar hits your senses. It’s his scent – a mixture of fabric softener and the faintest hint of cologne and coffee, mixed with something uniquely his own. The realisation hits you like a shockwave. Stopping inches from his shoulder, your snarl turns into a low growl as you struggle against your instincts to attack. 

Aizawa remains steady, though his muscles are tense, ready for any sudden movement. 

“(Y/N), it’s okay,” he says quietly. “I’m here.”

Breathing in his familiar scent deeply, you ground yourself and pull back, your claws retracting. You step backwards, panting heavily as you struggle to maintain control, body still trembling from adrenaline. 

Aizawa’s gaze remains locked on you, his expression softening as he realises you’ve regained control, at least for now. “I’m here,” he repeats softly, “we’ll get through this, alright?”

He reaches out slowly, testing the waters as he hovers his hand above your head. When you don’t react aggressively, he gently rests his palm on your fur. It feels grounding; this simple touch, a connection to something familiar in the midst of the turmoil churning within you. 

As he strokes your fur, you let out a soft whine, eyes closing as the soothing gesture brings peace to your mind. Despite everything, despite your instincts which are slowly subsiding, you lean into his hand, your head tilting to guide him to the right spots.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, continuing to pet you, his voice low. “You’re doing great. What a good pup.”

The tension in your muscles ease and your body relaxes under his gentle touch. The whimper you let out next surprises you, but it feels right – natural. His hand moves with practised ease, the soothing strokes helping you focus on his presence. 

Before you know it, you’re leaning into his side, seeking the comfort and reassurance he always seems to provide you. You nuzzle him, the moment you’re sharing with him strangely tender. 

Aizawa’s lips quirk into a faint smile as he continues to pet you. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his other arm stretching to wrap around your shoulder.

 “We’ll figure this out together.”

Chapter Text

The alarm clock blares in the early morning silence, a harsh reminder that today was the day. You groan and reach out to silence the noise, your hand trembling slightly as you fumble for the button to silence your phone. You sit up in bed, groggy as all hell, and slowly blink away the remnants of blissful sleep. Taking a deep breath to calm your already racing heart, you sigh, yet the excitement and anxiety of your new role keeps your pulse running high. 

As you get ready in whatever manner that may be, you can’t help but feel a twinge of nervousness with every step. The bathroom mirror reflects your expression, a mix of determination and apprehension. You try to focus on the positive, to remind yourself that you’re qualified for this job, but the voice in your head continues to whisper, “what if you’re not good enough?”

Your fingers tap a quick rhythm against the sink as you brush your teeth; a small tic, one that seems to surface quite often. You take another deep breath to steady your hands, but the tapping persists.

By the time you are ready to leave and start your new job, your anxiety has risen through the roof. Your foot bounces incessantly as you slip on your shoes, your fingers drumming lightly against the side of your bag as you grab your keys. It is hard not to think about the impression you’d make on your first day. What if the students didn’t take you seriously? What if you stumble over your words? Does your makeup look okay? What if there’s an accident on the street, and you get hospitalised? What if–

You shake your head, trying your best to clear the barrage of negative thoughts. “Just breathe,” you remind yourself, recalling what your therapist said to you. You close your eyes for a moment, focusing on slowing your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale to ground yourself. It helped, a little.

You leave your apartment, the early morning air greeting you, cool and fresh. A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. The sounds of the city are just waking up, the distant hum of traffic and occasional bird song helping to distract you from the knots twisting in your stomach. 

Your fingers drum idly against the strap of your bag as you board the train, your leg bouncing. You clear your throat, causing a few other commuters to focus on you, expecting you to say something. But you don’t. And yet you clear your throat again, and then a third time, all within the span of a few minutes. 

You rush to take a sip of your water, guzzling down the cool beverage from your flask to help ease the drying sensation in your throat. You try to ignore the stares from others, focusing on your goal instead: getting to the school and starting your day. 

But as you approach the school’s entrance, the sight of bustling students and impressive architecture of U.A. High makes you tense up. Everyone is watching you, judging you. You can practically feel your confidence slipping. You shake your head once more, knowing deep down that no one is really paying any attention to you right now. Remember what your therapist said to you? Not everyone has the time to pay attention to you; you’re just the background player in most people’s lives. 

You take yet another deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind. It’s just your first day, no one knows who you are yet. You’re just another new face amongst many. 

“You’re okay,” you whisper to yourself, clutching your bag a little tighter. “You got this.” Your fingers tap against your bag, your foot making quiet tapping motions as you stand at the entrance. You take a moment to steady yourself, a shiver raking over your body that nearly makes you drop your flask of water. 

You steel yourself and step through the grand entrance, the polished floors and vibrant chatter of students filling your senses. You keep your head down, finding the polished floors to be quite interesting; how are they so clean? You head straight to the teacher’s lounge, knowing fully well how important it is to settle in and prepare for your first day. 

The hallways buzz with activity, students mingling and teachers chatting in small groups. You do your best to avoid the big parts of the crowd, keeping to the edges and avoiding eye contact. 

Finally, you reach the doors of the lounge, a small sanctuary from the hallways’ chaos. The room is quiet, save for your sudden burst through and slam of the door shut behind you. You didn’t even realise the rush you were in. 

Shit. Now everyone’s eyes are really on you. You do your best to smile politely and greet them with a shy wave. You find an empty spot at the far end of the room and set your bag down, taking a moment to breathe deeply and collect yourself. 

This is just the beginning, you remind yourself. One step at a time. 

The tapping of your fingers grows more frantic and your foot bounces uncontrollably under the table. You feel your breathing become shallow and your vision blurs slightly as the waves of nervousness crashes over you. 

Just focus on the things in front of you – your bag, the table, the soft hum of conversation around you. But you’re pulled deeper into a whirlpool of racing thoughts. You are being watched, surely, judged, definitely, like there is a spotlight that shines only on you and you alone. It was becoming unbearable. You feel tears well up in your eyes; oh god, were you really going to cry now? Of all places, of all timings, now ? 

“Hey,” you hear a voice, low and even, cutting through the noise in your head. “You’re the new Art teacher, right?”

Looking up, you see a man standing beside you, dressed in a black sweater with a distinctively unruly set of hair. Aizawa; one of U.A.’s more experienced teachers. HIs expression is calm, stoic even, but there’s a hint of kindness in his eyes. His presence carries a sense of authority, yet there’s no judgement in his demeanour. 

Nodding your head, you manage to stammer out a few words as you force a polite smile. “Y-yes, that would be me.”

Aizawa takes a step closer, his hands casually tucked into his pants pockets. “Welcome to U.A.,” he welcomes you, his voice reassuring and steady. “How’s your first day going so far?”

It is a simple question, but it helps distract you from the anxiety spiralling inside your chest. You force yourself to slow the rapid tapping of your fingers on the table’s edge. “It’s… it’s good,” you reply, your voice unlike his in which yours trembles. “Just, uh, getting settled in.”

The man nods, unbothered by your stuttered response. “First days are definitely rough,” he says as he leans against the table. “But you’ll find your rhythm, don’t worry about it.” He offers a faint smile, barely visible but there nonetheless. 

“I’m Aizawa,” he adds, offering his hand. “I teach Heroics here. If you need anything, you can find me around.”

The bell suddenly rings, echoing through the halls of U.A. High. The noise sends a jolt through you, the realisation finally hitting: it’s almost time for class. You instinctively grab your bag, your fingers resuming their rapid rhythm against the strap as you scramble to gather your belongings. The other teachers begin to file out, heading towards their respective classrooms, their casual chatter filling the air. 

Aizawa straightens up and gazes at you steadily. “Good luck today,” he says, “remember, if you need anything, just ask.”

You force a polite smile and nod, but the growing knot in your stomach tightens as the noise in the hallway grows louder. Your knuckles become white with how tight you clutch your bag, and you almost choke while clearing your throat for a fourth – or was it fifth? – time. 

Leaving the lounge, the hallway bustles with students and faculty, their energy amplifying your anxiety.  You weave through the crowd, avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone, but it’s hard not to feel like everyone is watching you. Were they? No. That can’t be it. Remember your therapist and her words to you: you’re just a background player, an extra in a play even. Sometimes you ponder and wonder about her licensing and how she got it, saying things like that. But maybe she was right… What if she was? Or what if she wasn’t? What if you weren’t just an extra? Did you really have an impact on people’s lives?

You reach your classroom and open the door, the familiar smell of paint and empty canvas helping to ground you in the moment. The room is empty for now, but soon it will be filled with students eager to learn and create. Setting your bag down, you arrange your supplies and prepare for the day’s lesson. 

This is where you belong. Teaching art is your passion, you’re determined to make the best of this opportunity. Aizawa’s words echo in your mind, helping ease those racing thoughts in that pretty little head of yours. 

The clock ticks down to the last minute until class starts and you take a moment to centre yourself, focusing on the simple act of breathing. One step at a time. You’ve got this. 

The bell rings, and the first wave of students begin to file into the classroom. You do your best to keep a calm demeanour, but you can’t help the way your foot taps against the floor, or how your fingers fidget with your blouse, or how you jerk your neck involuntarily. 

The students settle into their seats and you stand at the front of the room, patiently waiting for their chatter to die down. It’s a lot harder than you thought it would be, facing a room full of expectant faces. 

“Um, hello class,” you begin, your voice wavering. You clear your throat, hoping to project more confidence than you feel. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N), the new art teacher.” You offer a nervous smile, doing your best to make eye contact with a few students in the front row. “It’s my first day here at U.A., and I’m excited to be teaching you all.”

Your classroom quiets a bit, but you can still feel the undercurrent of energy and curiosity from the students. The tapping of your fingers against your thigh grows more pronounced, so you shove your hands in your cardigan in hopes to hide your nerves. 

“I know starting something new can be a bit daunting,” you continue trying to inject some warmth into your voice. “But I hope we all can have some fun together in this class. There’s a lot to look forward to, as we’ll be exploring all kinds of art – painting, sculpture, drawing…”

A few students lean forward in their seats, their interest piqued. A small boost to your confidence. So you take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. Just where do you begin? What if they don’t like you? What if your first impression already left a bad taste in their mouth?

“I’d like to get to know all of you,” you blurt out suddenly, forcing another smile. “So…” you pause, hesitating. A few students look at you expectantly, others widening their eyes in alarm. Your eyes zero in on one particular student, whose fingers drum against the desk. It was a habit you knew all too well, and you flash them a knowing smile. 

“So, why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves? Just your name and maybe your favourite type of art.” You offer them; you knew that if you helped them out, even in miniscule ways as to first introductions, they would help you in return. 

“I”ll start. My name is (Y/N), and I love impressionist painting.” You give a small nod to the student in the front row, indicating that it’s their turn. 

You listen attentively as the introductions begin, doing your best to remember names and faces. You swallow thickly, feeling your nerves begin to subside as the attention is taken off of you for just a moment, so that the students can focus on themselves and their interests, their stories. 

You force yourself to smile and nod along with each student in turn, and before long, the introductions are over. The effort to maintain a calm exterior starts to take its toll. The energy in the classroom is high, with excitement building and voices rising, and it takes all you have to not become overwhelmed. 

Your hands tremble in the pockets of your cardigan so you quickly clasp them together to try to hide the shaking. Taking a deep breath, you hope to calm the fluttering in your chest, but it only seems to worsen. The sounds of the classroom grow louder, the buzz of chatter and scraping of chairs against the floors grating on your nerves. 

Closing your eyes for a moment, you count silently to yourself, willing your anxiety to subside. But the intrusive thoughts won’t let go – worries about messing up, about not being good enough, about not living up to expectations. But then came the more… wild ones. What if a villain came crashing through the window? What if you got so nervous you vomited all over your front desk, in front of everyone? What if– 

“Miss (L/N)?” you hear one of your students call to you and your shoulders tense, a nervous tic starting to twitch at the corner of your eye. This was it, wasn’t it? This is when you’d break. 

But you can’t let your students see you falter. You open your eyes, forcing another smile as you step up to the whiteboard to write down the day’s objectives. “Sorry,” you reply to the student who called for you. “I’m just… so happy to be here.”

The marker squeaks against the whiteboard, your hand trembling slightly as you write. You hear the students finish their introductions, so you turn back to face them, still smiling despite the growing knot in your stomach. “Thanks, everyone,” you project your false confidence. “Now let’s get started with today’s lesson.”

You begin to walk them through the basics of the art curriculum, explaining the projects they’ll be working on and the techniques they’ll learn. All the while, you do your best to keep your voice steady, even as you shift back and forth, even as your hands clench and unclench at your sides. 

Despite your high anxiety, you push through the rest of the class, focusing on the lesson and doing your best to engage with the students. You ask questions, offer encouragement, and try to maintain a steady pace. 

By the time the bell rings to signal the end of class, you’re exhausted but relieved. The students gather their things and head out, and you let out a heavy sigh. You made it through the first class! It wasn’t perfect, but you did it. And it is definitely something to be proud of. Now you just have to do this again… oh, you have to do this again? For another class now? Your anxiety spikes as a new flood of students rush into your classroom. 

Your hands shake, you feel nauseous. The world is spinning and you can barely breathe. Oh god, this is all too much. Your heart pounds relentlessly in your chest, and your hands feel clammy and full of sweat, even before wiping your sweat-laced brow. 

You can feel the ground shifting beneath your feet. You grip the edge of your desk, trying to keep yourself upright, but the dizziness threatens to overwhelm you. The classroom feels small, too small, too suffocating. The faint smell of paint and charcoal suddenly becomes too much to bear, and the noise from the hallway – students chattering, lockers slamming – echo inside your head.

You swallow thickly, the nausea making it hard to breathe. You know you have to push through, to get to the next class, but the thought of standing in front of another room full of students feels daunting. 

You gather your materials, the dizziness intensifying. You’re desperate now, wanting to reach out to someone for help, but who could you turn to? Aizawa’s voice echoes in your mind, but right now, it feels like you’re in this all by yourself. 

The bell rings, and one by one, the students file into your classroom. You, once again, force a smile to your face as you try your best to ground yourself back into reality. 

You’re going to get through this. 

–

The day progresses and you manage to make it through your classes, though each one feels like an uphill battle. The constant noise, the need to stay composed, and the pressure to make a good impression all takes their toll. You’re completely drained by the time the final bell rings, signalling the end of the day.

The students file out of your classroom, chatting and laughing as they go, whilst you sit at your desk, feeling the room spin. The nausea has been steadily growing throughout the day, and now it’s become unbearable. Your feel your stomach churning and a cold sweat forms on your forehead. 

Breathing deeply, you focus on the rhythm of your inhales and exhales, but the nausea won’t let up. The classroom is empty, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. It was either the trash can, or you try for the toilets.

You decide to take slow, deliberate steps towards the trash in the corner of the room and hunch over it, resting your trembling hands on the rim as you try to steady yourself. The ground shifts beneath you, and the smell of trash from the can invades your nostrils. 

It’s at that moment that Aizawa enters the room, his expression calm but concerned. He’d noticed you hadn’t emerged after the final bell and decided to check on you. What he sees stops him in his tracks. You, hunched over the trash can, your shoulders shaking as you try to fight off the nausea. 

“(Y/N)?” he asks, his voice low but laced with worry. He steps closer, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos you’re experiencing. “Are you okay?”

You can’t muster the energy to respond, your focus entirely on keeping yourself from getting sick. You feel him place a gentle hand on your shoulder, his touch firm but comforting. “Take it easy,” he says with a softening tone. “Breathe. I’m right here.” He kneels beside you, a steady presence in the empty classroom. 

He stays there with you, not saying much else, as your grip tightens on the trash can and you struggle to regain control over your body and mind. The nausea starts to subside, albeit slowly. As you straighten up, feeling drained but no longer on the verge of collapsing, Aizawa remains by your side, ready to offer you a hand. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” he says softly. “A change of scenery might help. You’re not alone in this, remember? Every new teacher goes through their first tough days.”

Despite the exhaustion and the anxiety that lingers, his words offer a small comfort. You nod, grateful, and allow him to guide you out of the classroom, feeling just a little bit lighter with him by your side.

He gently guides you out of the classroom, his hand steadying you as you navigate the bustling hallways. The noise and commotion has definitely quieted down, since most of the students have left the school grounds. As you step outside, the cool evening breeze helps ease some of the tension you still feel in your body. 

Aizawa leads you towards a bench in a quiet corner of the school grounds. It’s rather peaceful, with just the faint rusting of leaves. He motions for you to sit, and you do, grateful for the moment of calm. 

But even as you try to relax, you can’t help the bouncing of your knee, and your fingers drum against your thighs. You clench your fists, trying to suppress the movements, but it’s difficult to regain control. 

The male takes a seat beside you, keeping a comfortable distance. He notices the bouncing in your knee and gently places a hand on it, applying just enough pressure to stop the movement. 

“It’s okay,” he says softly, his voice calm and reassuring. “You did great today.”

“It’s normal to feel anxiety,” he adds quietly, his eyes focused on the horizon. “Especially on your first day of your new job. But you’re doing fine. You made it through the day, didn’t you? That’s something to be proud of.”

“So,” his voice cuts through the buzzing anxiety in your mind, bringing you back to the present moment. “How was your first day as the new art teacher? I’d like to hear about it.” He doesn’t push or pry, just offers an invitation. 

You hesitate, feeling the usual nerves arise when talking about yourself. You bite your lip, contemplating what to say, but Aizawa waits patiently, giving you space to gather your thoughts.

“It was… okay,” you begin, your voice soft. “I was nervous, you know, being the new teacher and all. But I tried to stay calm.” The tapping of your fingers begins to slow as you focus on the conversation. 

Aizawa nods. “What did you do in your classes? Any interesting projects lined up?”

You smile faintly at the question, “Yeah, I introduced them to basic art techniques. We talked about different styles, and they seemed really interested. I think we have some talented artists in the making.”

As you talk, the anxiety begins to cease, replaced by a sense of pride and excitement about the future. 

“And you survived the introductions,” he adds with a faint smirk. “Always the hardest part.”

You chuckle softly, the sound a welcome relief after a long day. “Yeah, I did. They were actually pretty cool about it. I was just so worried about messing up.” You relax against the bench, feeling more at ease now that you’re getting this off your chest.

“You did just fine. Just keep being yourself, and you’ll be great.”

The conversation continues, and soon you’re laughing and chatting with Aizawa as if you’ve known him for ages. 

As the evening settles in, you realise you’re not alone on this journey, and that makes all the difference.

Chapter Text

Silence. That’s all you heard except for the distant sound of sirens in the city and the occasionally rustling of leaves in the night breeze outside your open window. You sit on the edge of your bed, the sense of dread filling you like a thick fog. The lights in the hallway outside your closed door flickers, casting eerie shadows that seem to move with a life of their own. 

You knew better than to make noise. Of course you knew that. Your mother has a short temper, and it didn’t take much to set her off. You sit there, clutching a pillow to your chest, trying to muffle the sound of your rapid heartbeat. The anxiety tics started a while ago – tapping your fingers, bouncing your leg – but you did your best to keep them quiet. 

The door to your room creaks open, and your mother stands before you, her face a mask of anger. “What did I tell you about coming home late?” She snaps, her voice a harsh whisper. “You want the neighbours to start asking questions?”

Shaking your head quickly, tears well up in your ears. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean to. It was just a few minutes.”

Her expression twists with rage and she steps into the room, her hand gripping the door frame with a white-knuckle vice-like hold. “Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it!” she yells, her voice dripping with venom. “You think you can just do whatever you want, and there won’t be consequences?”

You shrink back, pressing yourself against the corner of the wall by your bed, hoping it would swallow you whole.  She is relentless, however, her anger a raging storm, lashing out at everything and anything in her path. The familiar wave of terror washes over you as she raises her hand, her quirk manifesting in a violent burst of energy.

It is sharp and searing; the pain that follows, like a thousand needles piercing your skin. You cry out, unable to contain the agony, but that only fuels her anger. Her eyes blaze brightly with a fury that you’ve come to know all too well. Her rage is feeding off your suffering, you knew that too well. 

“Useless bitch! ” she screams, her voice echoing off the walls. “Why are you even here? To make fun of me? To mock me, huh?!”

You curl into yourself, trying your damned best to disappear into the corner of your room, but her quirk finds you no matter where you go, no matter where you try to hide. Her palm strikes again, a viscous slash across your arm now, leaving a deep welt. You bite back another yipe – you knew better – tears streaming down your cheeks as you struggle to endure the onslaught. 

Her presence looms over you like a shadow as she steps closer. Her hand lashes out once more, striking you across the face, the force of the blow sending you sprawling out onto the floor. It’s intense, this pain, but it’s the words that cut the deepest. Each insult and derision leaves a scar on your very soul. 

“Look at you,” she spits, her voice dripping with contempt. “Wanting to become a hero and save lives. You won’t ever get anywhere with that! Does that boy you talk to everyday know that you can’t even cook? Or clean right? Maybe I should sell you off to some black market!”

Finally, she stops, her breathing heavy from the exertion. She nudges your body in the side, and when you don’t move, she scoffs. You hear her footsteps retreating, the door slamming shut a grim signal that her fury is spent – for now.

The silence that follows is heavy as you lay there, broken and trembling, every part of you aching. You curl into a fetal position, your body wracks with shivers. A suffocating wave of shame and guilt washes over you like a tsunami. You wonder if it’s your fault, if you somehow deserved this. Maybe if you’d been quieter, maybe if you did something different – like come home early – this wouldn’t have happened. But dammit! Talking with that boy – Shota Aizawa – from your class, was the best feeling ever. Just thinking about him made your bruised heart flutter. 

And that’s when your eyes open, your body jerking as if yanked from the depths of a nightmare. Sweat drenches your sheets, your heart racing in your chest so fast and hard that it might burst. You lie there, trying to catch your breath, the darkness of your bedroom pressing in on you like a suffocating shroud. 

It felt so real; every detail etched into your mind as if you were just reliving those terrible moments all over again. The feeling of helplessness, the fear, and the stinging pain from your mother’s quirk – it is there, haunting you to this day. It takes you a moment to remind yourself you’re not in that place anymore, that your mother turned to villainy and left you alone to fend for yourself. 

Closing your eyes, you take deep breaths, counting each inhale and exhale as a way to steady yourself. You’ve moved on, or at least have tried to, but the past has a way of clawing its way back into your mind when you least expect it. 

The distant sound of traffic and the ticking of your bedside clock helps anchor you in the present, the gentle hum of night a soothing remedy. The calm and reassuring noises remind you that you’re no longer trapped in that oppressive house, no longer subject to your mother’s irrational outbursts. 

Glancing at the clock, you realise just how early it is. Too early for most people to be awake, but you know you won’t be able to go back to sleep. Your fingers drum against your damp sheets, your foot bouncing in rhythm with your racing heart. You sit up and swing your legs over the edge of your bed, pushing the tangled sheets aside. 

The dream’s vividness starts to fade as you stand up, but the emotions it stirred up remain. The guilt, the fear, the feeling of unworthiness – the things you thought you had buried. Shaking your head, you try to clear the cobwebs of memory. 

You walk to the bathroom and splash cold water on your face, the shock of it helping to jolt you into wakefulness. Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you focus on the person you’ve become, not the broken child you once were. You’re strong, you’ve come so far. And what about today? You are ready to begin your new career! Isn’t that great?

Sunlight begins to creep through the window, casting a soft glow across your room. Taking a deep breath, you muster up the resolve to face the day, knowing that the memories may not fully go away, but they won’t define who you are now. 

Getting ready for the day feels like a familiar routine, something solid to ground yourself in. You pick out a simple outfit for the day, noticing the small things – the feeling of fabric against your skin, the soft hum of the city waking up outside. A subtle way to remind yourself that you’re here now, in the present. 

You enter your kitchen to make an even simpler breakfast – a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. Maybe not the best combo, but you enjoy it anyway. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee clears away the remnants of the nightmare. You take your time eating, while still being mindful of the time – you didn’t want to be late on your first day now did you?

After your meal, you grab your bag and keys. It’s your first day at U.A. High School, your new job as a hand-to-hand combat teacher. The anticipation brings a mix of anxiety and excitement, but you do your best to focus on the excitement. A new opportunity. A chance to make a positive impact.

The city is alive with activity as you leave your apartment; the streets bustling with people heading to work and the familiar sounds of traffic fill the air. You walk towards the train station, the cool morning breeze brushing against your skin. Today is a new day.

You find a seat by the window and watch the cityscape pass by. U.A. High School has a reputation for excellence, and you’re determined to live up to it. 

As the train pulls into your stop, you gather your belongings and step out onto the platform. The school is just a few minutes walk away, and you can already see the iconic U.A. buildings in the distance. The nerves resurface tenfold, but you remind yourself you’ve faced challenges before. This is just another step forward.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you head towards U.A. High School, ready to start your first day as a new teacher specialising in hand-to-hand combat. The sunlight warms your face as you walk, and you can’t help but feel a spark of optimism. 

Entering the school’s grand entrance, you take a moment to look around, taking in the lively atmosphere of the students milling about. You follow the signs leading to the teacher’s lounge, where you’d been told to meet the other faculty members and get oriented for the day.

It’s a spacious room, filled with comfortable furniture and a scattering of teachers chatting over coffee and paperwork. Taking a deep breath, you step inside, your eyes scanning the room for familiar faces. They land on a figure with distinctively unruly hair and a scarf draped casually over his shoulders. You’d recognise that hair anywhere. 

“Aizawa?” you say, a hint of surprise in your voice.

He turns at the sound of his name, and his dark eyes meet yours. A moment of silence passes by as recognition flickers across his face and a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Oh, what a beautiful person you’ve grown into. 

“It’s been a while, (Y/N).” He replies, his voice low and even. 

A mix of nostalgia and excitement fills your chest as you take a few steps closer. It’s been years since you last saw him, years since your heart pounded this rapidly in your chest. While he’s changed in some ways, his calm demeanor and intense gaze are exactly as you remember. The memories of high school come rushing back to you – late-night study sessions, training together, and the quiet moments when you’d confide in each other.

Oh, if only he knew. And oh, if only you knew too. 

“It has!” You chime, smiling back at him. “It’s so good to see you again!”

Aizawa nods, his expression softening at the sight of your bright smile. “Likewise,” he says, gesturing for you to sit with him. “I didn’t expect our new teacher to be you.”

You laugh, feeling the tension ease off your shoulders. “I didn’t expect to be here either, but here we are.”

The conversation flows easily, and you find comfort in his presence. You both share a bit about your journey since highschool. It’s quite strange how the years seem to melt away, replaced by the familiarity of an old friendship. 

It’s been years since highschool, but the rapport between you and him feels as fresh as if you had just seen him only yesterday. You both find yourselves slipping back into the comfortable rhythm of conversation, swapping stories about anything and everything. 

“Remember when we skipped class that one time?” you ask him, your eyes glinting mischievously. “We thought we were slick! But we got caught, and had to clean up the whole gym.”

Aizawa’s stoic expression softens. “Yeah, you were the one who convinced me it was a good idea.” he replies, his voice full of nostalgia. “I think we spent more time cleaning than we would have in class, but you were always good at making boring things interesting.”

You feel a warmth spread through you; a warmth of shared memories, of a connection that transcends time and distance. “You were always the serious one,” you reply, nudging him playfully with your elbow. 

He raises an eyebrow, a very faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “ Someone had to keep us out of trouble,” he says dryly. “But like Yamada, you had a way of pulling me into your schemes.”

Each story leads into the next. Aizawa listens attentively, his eyes focused on you. You can’t help the faint blush that rises to your cheeks, and you weren’t sure if you saw his own cheeks turn red when you looked away. 

As conversation continues, you notice that the years of separation seem to vanish. You both trade jokes and teasing remarks, just like old times.

–

Months have passed since then, and you settled into your new role as a teacher nicely. The students were getting used to your style and you made new friends amongst the staff. Aizawa had become a steady presence in your life, his dry humour and calm demeanour a constant source of comfort and familiarity during your transition. 

The night air is chilling as you walk side by side with Aizawa – you were paired with him for a nightly patrol since you both work so well together and compliment one another’s abilities.

The city streets are quiet, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. You pull your coat tighter as you walk beside him, his own scarf billowing in the breeze. 

“Feels like old times,” you muse, breaking the silence. “Back when we’d sneak out at night to train.”

A faint smirk tugs at his lips as Aizawa gave a small nod. “Except now we don’t have to sneak,” he replies, “and we have the added responsibility of making sure nothing’s out of place.”

You find comfort in his dry wit and laugh softly. “True. I guess we have to be adults now, huh?”

His dark eyes catch the dim light from the streetlamps as he glances at you. “You know that’s not my strong suit,” he playfully replies. “But someone has to keep the city safe.”

The two of you walk in comfortable silence for a while, the occasional sounds of the city punctuating the night. As you walk, you couldn’t help but reflect on how much has changed since you joined U.A. The initial anxiety of your first day has given way to a sense of belonging. 

Just as you are about to speak up, a sudden noise pierces the calm – a loud clatter, like something being knocked over, followed by a sharp cry. You and Aizawa exchange a quick glance before darting towards the source of the sound. 

The adrenaline kicks in as you round the corner, your instincts guiding you to a narrow alley. At first, you don’t see anything unusual, but then you hear a muffled cry, followed by a threatening voice. You move in closer and see a figure hunched over, struggling with a small child. The scene sends a shiver down your sine, the darkness and desperation hanging in the air bringing back unwanted memories.

Aizawa is the first to move forward, his scarf uncoiling and ready for action. Your heart races as you recognise the figure – the voice, the stance, everything about them, down to their palpable anger. 

“Hey!” Aizawa’s voice is sharp, his presence looming as he approaches the two. “Let the kid go and back away slowly!”

Your mother spins around, her eyes flashing with the same fury you know oh all too well. She doesn’t release the child; instead, her grip tightens, and you can see her quirk manifesting – a malevolence energy. 

“Use your quirk,” Aizawa says to you, his voice low and urgent. “We need to stop her.’

Your body freezes. The memories of your mother’s abuse flood back, the pain, the fear, the way her quirk was a constant threat. Your hands tremble and your heart pounds, but you can’t move. The trauma from your past paralyses you, making it impossible to call upon your quirk. Why should you, anyways? Your quirk is useless, unworthy. It’s not something to be proud of, so why use it? Especially on your own mother? You still love her, don’t you? 

Aizawa glances at you with eyes full of concern. He notices that something is wrong but there’s no time for hesitation. He steps forward, his scarf sna[[ing out to grab your mother’s wrist, trying to disarm her without harming the child. 

You feel helpless, an all too familiar feeling, as you watch Aizawa handle the situation for you. You want to help, you need to help, but that boxed trauma holds you in place. You are in that room again, curled up on the floor. 

His scarf wraps around your mother’s wrist, yanking her back with surprising force. She drops the child, who, while unharmed, cries and scurries away. His expression is focused and stern, his eyes locking onto your mother. 

But she’s stronger than she looks, her anger fueling her strength all the same. She breaks free from Aizawa’s scarf with a burst of energy, sending sparks flying through the alley. Her quirk flares with malicious intent as she hones in on Aizawa.

He waves and dodges, his skills honed from years of hero work. Aizawa uses his scarf to keep your mother at bay, but she’s relentless. Her attacks become more aggressive, each burst of energy more powerful than the last. 

You feel your heart racing as you watch the fight unfold. Your fingers drum uncontrollably, your leg bouncing erratically, your breathing rapid and shallow. Your mother swings her arm, her quirk creating a wave of energy that slams into the alley wall, cracking the bricks. 

Aizawa narrowly avoids the attack, but you can see he’s being pushed to his limits, even with his own quirk running on overdrive. She’s not holding back, but yet Aizawa is trying to subdue her without causing serious harm. She launches another attack, aimed directly at Aizawa’s chest, and he has nowhere to go. 

Snap! The fear and paralysis that had a death-like grip on you vanishes in an instant. Adrenaline. That is all you feel, and in that moment, that’s all you’ve ever known. You throw yourself forward, your hands outstretched, as you call upon your quirk – a power you vowed to never use, and one you haven’t used in years. 

A shimmering shield of energy materialises, blocking your mother’s attack just inches away from Aizawa’s chest. The force of the blow sends a shockwave through the shield, but it holds firm.

You see your mother stagger back, stunned by the sudden appearance of the shield. Aizawa wastes no time; in a swift motion, he coils his scarf around her arms and then flips her to the ground. The impact is heavy, but she doesn’t get up – her head hitting the pavement hard enough to knock her out cold.

Aizawa turns to you, but the moment you lower the shield, something shifts within you. The trauma you’ve kept buried, the feeling of helplessness – all of it resurfaces like a tidal wave. The shock of using your quirk, the intense emotions, it all overwhelms you. 

Your eyes glow with energy and before Aizawa can speak, you lash out. The energy from your quirk erupts in a surge of raw power, directed at him. He jumps backwards, noticing the scorched ground beside him where your quirk hit. The attack is wild, uncontrolled. 

“(Y/N), stop!” he shouts, but his words don’t seem to reach you. The trauma response has taken over, and all you can see is the fear and pain that your mother inflicted on you. Your vision blurs as your quirk flares once more, energy pulsing from your steady hands with a ferocity that mirrors the storm within you. 

Ever the calm presence, Aizawa doesn’t retaliate. He uses his quirk, his eyes locking onto yours, nullifying your powers. You drop to your knees, gasping for breath, the trauma hitting you like a physical blow. The glow fades, but the fear in your eyes doesn’t. 

“I… I remember those eyes,” you stammer out, your own eyes wide. 

Aizawa moves cautiously, his steps deliberate as he approaches you. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice a gentle reassurance. “You’re safe now.”

His words are like a lifeline in the darkness, a beacon amidst the chaos. You tremble tears streaming down your cheeks as the emotional floodgates open. You sob uncontrollably, your body shaking as the weight of your past crashes over you.

Shota kneels beside you, his presence reassuring. He doesn’t say much – just stays with you, letting you work through the waves of emotion. HIs hand rests on your shoulder, his touch grounding you as you regain control of yourself. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, “take your time. I’m here for you.”

As the sobs slowly subside, you lean into him, finding comfort in his calm strength. It’s a slow process, but his presence is a reminder that no matter how dark the memories, there’s always a way forward. 

And with his support, you’re ready to take the next step.

Chapter Text

The sun begins to set, casting a warm glow over the U.A. High campus. Shota Aizawa, better known as Eraserhead, sits in his office, grading his students' papers. The only sound is the occasional rustling of paper and the distant chatter of students on the school grounds. It's a rare moment of peace in his busy schedule.

A knock on his door interrupts the quiet, and he looks up to see his daughter, Koto, standing in the doorway with a big grin on her face. She has a backpack slung over her shoulder, bursting with notebooks and pens. Despite his stoic exterior, Shota couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm.

"Dad!" she exclaims, bounding into the room. Aizawa's smile widens even more; god, she has just the striking resemblance to Hizashi, and the sight of her made his heart swell with pride and adoration.

"You promised we'd go exploring today!"

Shota glances at the stack of papers on his desk. It is getting late, and he knows he should finish his grading, but he just couldn't resist Koto's excitement. He pushes aside the papers and stands up, extending a hand out to ruffle her hair, messing it all up. "Alright, alright, let's go exploring. What are we looking for today?"

Koto's eyes sparkle with excitement, a gleam of eagerness flashing through that wide-eyed stare. "I want to see your students! Their quirks are so cool! Can we go see them?"

Aizawa chuckles softly, "I think I know just the place."

The two of them make their way through the campus, passing students who greet them with polite nods. Koto waves to everyone she sees, her boundless energy infecting those around her. Aizawa leads her to one of the training grounds, where several heroes-in-training are practicing their quirks.

"Wow!" Koto exclaims, watching as one particular student creates a gust of wind with a flick of his wrist. "That's so cool! How does he do that?

Aizawa kneels beside her, "that's a wind quirk. It allows him to manipulate air currents. Every quirk is unique, you know. It takes practice to master them."

Koto nods eagerly, jotting down messy scribbles in her notebook with a quick doodle of the student. She asks question after question, each one more enthusiastic than the last, albeit some are way out of Shota's league. He patiently answers what he can, enjoying her curiosity.

As the two of them walk, they encounter other students demonstrating their quirks. Koto marvels at each one, taking notes and asking her father to explain the science behind them. Aizawa finds himself talking more than usual, despite his usual reserved demeanor, enjoying the chance to share his knowledge with his daughter. Her eyes dart from one student to another, her notebook clutched tightly in her hands. She sees a student with a quirk that lets him create and control flames, and so her eyes widen in excitement. The student conjures a swirling vortex of fire in his palm, then releases it into the air, where it dissipates into a shower of embers.

"Dad, dad!" She chimes, quickly jotting down what she sees. "How does he do that? How can he control fire like that? Can he do that with every fire source, or just his own?"

Aizawa glances at the student, his gaze steady. "That's a fire based quirk. It allows him to generate and manipulate flames. Each quirk is unique because it's tied to a person's genetic makeup. Think of it like a fingerprint – no two are exactly alike, even if they belong to the same category. Right now he can only control his own fire, but maybe someday, with enough practice and training, he can control more."

Koto's brow furrows as she considers his words. "So it's like the quirk is just a tool, but how you use it depends on you?"

"Exactly," Aizawa nods. "Quirks are a part of who we are, but they don't define us. Our choices, our experiences, and our training all play a role in how we use them."

Koto seems satisfied with the answer, but she definitely wasn't done asking questions. As they continue walking through the training complex, they pass a group of students with transformation quirks. One student transforms her arms into wings and soars into the sky while another grows thick, protective scales on his skin.

"Okay, what about them? They have quirks that let them change big parts about themselves. How does that work?" Koto asks, pointing to the group.

"Transformation quirks are some of the most varied. They can involve changing body parts, gaining new abilities, or even becoming something entirely different. The differences come from the same thing – genetics, personal experience, and training."

Koto nods, scribbling in her notebook as she listens. "And is there a way to know what kind of quirk someone will have before they're born?"

Aizawa chuckles softly. "There's no guaranteed way to predict it. While some families have quirks that run through generations, there's always a chance of a unique quirk appearing. It's part of what makes quirks so fascinating and unpredictable."

Koto looks up to her father, her eyes bright with curiosity. "I want to learn more! Can you teach me more about quirks, dad?"

He smiles, his demeanor softening. "I'm glad you're interested, Koto. Just remember understanding quirks is the first step. The most important thing is to use them to help others and make the world a better place. Keep asking questions and never stop learning." He pats her on the shoulder. "How about we go to the library?"

Koto's eyes lit up at her father's words. "The library?! Really? Will they have books about quirks there?"

Shota nods, already turning towards the campus library. "They have plenty of books about quirks, ranging from basic guides to advanced studies. You can learn a lot from them, but remember, books can only tell you so much. Experience is just as important.

Her excitement is palpable as she bounces on her heels. "Can we go now? I want to see what books they have!"

"Sure, we can go now." Aizawa chuckles. "But remember to keep your voice down in the library; it's a place for quiet study."

Kota nods eagerly, following her father as they walk across campus. The library is a large, towering building, with tall w windows that let in plenty of natural light. It is serene, with students and faculty quietly reading or working on projects at the various tables.

As the two of them enter, Aizawa greets the librarian, who gives them a warm smile.

"Hello, Mr. Aizawa, and of course the tiny one too. What brings you here today?"

"I'm here with my daughter, Koto. She's interested in learning more about quirks," he replies while gesturing to Koto, who is already looking around with wide, curious eyes.

The librarian nods, her smile growing. "Well, you've come to the right place. We have a section dedicated to quirks and their physiology. It's on the second floor – feel free to explore and let me know if you need any assistance.

Aizawa thanks her and leads Koto up the stairs to the second floor. It is quieter, with rows of bookshelves lining the walls, the old, timely scent of ancient pages filling the air. The section that houses the books on quirks is easy to spot, with colourful books and diagrams showing various quirk abilities.

Koto's eyes grow wider as she sees the array of books. "There's so much!"

Aizawa smiles at her enthusiasm. "Take your time and find a book that interests you. If you have any questions, I'm here to help."

Koto quickly scans the shelves and eventually pulls out a book that catches her eye. It is a beginner's guide to quirks, filled with illustrations and explanations of basic quirk types. She sits down at a nearby table, flipping through the pages with excitement.

Aizawa sits down beside her, watching with amusement as she absorbs the information. She asks him questions about different quirk classifications and how quirks are inherited, and what it took to become a pro hero. Her father patiently answers her questions, providing additional insights based on his own experiences as a hero and teacher.

Koto's curiosity seems endless! She takes notes in her book, pausing occasionally to ask her father to clarify a point or explain a term she didn't understand. Aizawa truly enjoyed these moments with his daughter, sharing knowledge and encouraging her thirst for learning.

"Can we come back here again?" She suddenly asks as she looks up from her book.

Aizawa nods, a faint smile on his lips. "Of course, whenever you'd like. Just remember to balance your studies with other important things."

Koto nods eagerly, "I will! And I'll remember to use what I learn to help others, too! Just like you said to do."

–

After spending an hour in the library, Koto's notebook is full of sketches, notes, and even a few doodles of some of the more interesting quirks she'd read about. Aizawa has patiently answered her questions, providing explanations and sharing insights from his experience as a pro hero. But he knows that there is one more person who could offer a different perspective on quirks – Recovery Girl.

"Koto," he says softly, standing up from the library table, "how about we make a visit to Recovery Girl? She knows a lot about quirks, and can give you a unique perspective on how they're used."

Koto's eyes lit up with a fire that Aizawa has only seen when she is super excited about something. "Yes! That would be awesome!"

Aizawa leads Koto out of the library and towards the medical wing of U.A. High. "Recovery Girl's quirk allows her to accelerate healing in others. She uses it to help injured heroes and students, I'm sure she'd be happy to explain more about it."

Koto couldn't help but ask more questions about the nurse's quirk, and while Aizawa explains how it works, he emphasizes that it comes with limitations and requires careful use to avoid overexertion.

When they reach the medical wing, Recovery Girl is tending to an injured student that sits at her exam table. She looks up and smiles as the two of them enter. "Well well, if it isn't Shota Aizawa and his cute thing of a daughter, Koto! What brings you here today?"

Aizawa nods politely, "Koto's interested in learning about quirks and I thought you'd be the perfect person to explain how quirks can be used in healing and physiology.

Recovery Girl's eyes brighten immediately. "Of course! I'd be happy to share my knowledge with the young one. Go ahead and have a seat!" She gestures for Koto to sit in the chair beside the exam table.

The young girl, of course, wasted no time in asking questions. "How does your quirk work? And what does dad mean by "accelerate healing'? How do quirks affect our bodies? Is it exhausting to use our quirks?"

Recovery Girl chuckles at Koto's enthusiasm. "My quirk, Heal, allows me to speed up the natural healing process in others. When I use it, I can close wounds and mend broken bones much faster than they would heal on their own. But there's a catch – it requires energy from the person I'm healing, so I have to be careful not to push them too hard."

Koto's eyes grow wide once more. "That's amazing! But does it work on everything? Can you heal any injury?"

"Not quite," Recovery Girl replies. "I can only speed up natural healing processes, which means I can't cure illnesses or fix conditions that aren't related to physical injury. And because it uses the patient's energy, it's not a solution for everything. It's important to balance using my quirk with other medical treatments."

Koto nods and whips out her notebook. "So you have to be careful with how much you use your quirk?"

"Exactly," the nurse says. "It's all about finding balance. If I use my quirk too much, it could be harmful to the person I'm trying to help."

Koto looks towards her father with wide eyes next, a gleam of curiosity shining through those doe-like orbs. "Daddy, do you think I'll have a quirk like that? That can help people like she can?"

Aizawa gave her a small smile. "It's hard to say what your quirk will be, Koto. You know your father's quirks very well, but you know..."

"I know, dad. It's okay." She looks down at her notebook with almost a sad yet happy look, a smile playing on her lips.

"But hey, remember that quirks are just one part of who you are. What matters most is how you choose to use it. If you want to help people you can do that with or without a quirk."

"I can?"

""Of course, Koto. You don't need a quirk to help save lives or make life better for some people. You wanted to be an analysis researcher, right? You don't need a quirk for that. It's a good job, too." Aizawa stops to ruffle her hair some more. "You'll be great, no matter what path you take."

Koto nods thoughtfully as she closes her notebook. "Thanks dad. And thanks to you too, Recovery Girl! Your quirk is so cool!"

The older woman smiles warmly, nodding appreciatively at Koto's words. "Anytime, Koto. Feel free to visit me if you have more questions. I'm always happy to talk about quirks and how they can be used to help others."

Koto couldn't help but grin from ear to ear; the conversation with Recovery Girl has sparked something inside her – a deeper sense of curiosity and excitement about the world of quirks.

Aizawa places a gentle hand on Koto's shoulder. "Ready to go, kiddo? I'm sure you've got a lot to think about."

The young girl nods enthusiastically, sliding off the chair she sat on and following her father out of the medical wing. As they walk down the corridor, she couldn't contain her excitement.

"Dad, did you hear all the things she said? Her quirk is so cool! She can heal people just by kissing them! I didn't know quirks could do that!" She flips through her notebook, eyes darting over the pages. "And did you hear how she has to be careful not to use it too much? She's a great nurse, I like her!"

Aizawa smiles, enjoying her enthusiasm. "Yeah, I did. Quirks can be quite diverse. That's why it's important to understand how they work and what their limitations are. You don't want to push too hard and risk causing harm. One of my students is a prime example of that."

He chuckles as Koto nods, but her excitement doesn't wane. "Do you think there are other heroes or even bad guys with healing quirks like hers? What about transformation quirks? I want to learn about elemental quirks too – like fire and water! There's so many options, so many routes and varieties!"

Aizawa listens as little Koto rattles off a list of quirks she wants to explore. Her energy is contagious and he found himself enjoying this side of her – the eager learner, always curious and ready to absorb new information.

"You've got quite the list there," he says idly, glancing at her notebook. "Remember, learning about quirks is a lifelong journey. Take your time. Each quirk is unique, and there's always something new to discover."

As the two of them continue down the corridor, Koto couldn't stop talking about all the things she wanted to learn and study under when it came to quirks. It is clear she is on a journey of discovery, and he is proud to be a part of it.

"Dad, do you think there are quirks that can control the weather? What about teleportation? And what about those quirks that let people turn invisible? How does that work?"

Aizawa listens patiently as she asks her rapid flurry of questions, his calm demeanor unchanged. "There are quirks that can do a lot of things. Weather control and teleportation quirks exist, but they can be rare. And invisibility quirks can vary – some make the user transparent, while others bend the light around them."

Koto nods, her pen scribbling furiously in her notebook as she walks side by side with her father. "That's awesome! What about quirks that can manipulate time? Or those that can change objects, like a streetlamp? How do those work?"

Aizawa raises an eyebrow at the barrage of questions, an amused scoff leaving his lips. "Time manipulation quirks are extremely rare and have significant limitations. And objects changing? Those quirks often involve manipulating molecular structures. But Koto... slow down – your brain's going to overheat with all these questions."

She giggles at the thought of her brain overheating, but that doesn't seem to slow her down. "But I want to know more! What about–"

Aizawa places a hand on her shoulder, interrupting her stream of questions. "You've learned a lot today. It's good to be curious, but you also need to give your brain a rest. Let's take a break, we'll talk more about quirks tomorrow."

Koto nods quickly, looking rather disappointed, but recognises that her father was probably right. "Okay dad. But tomorrow, can we talk about mutation quirks? And–"

"Tomorrow, Koto." Aizawa chuckles. "You've got a long time to learn about quirks. No need to rush." He guides her out of the school building and into the evening air. "How about we get something to eat? I think a good meal would be the perfect way to end the day."

Koto brightens at the mention of food. "Yes! Can we have ramen?"

"Ramen it is," Aizawa replies, leading her down the street towards their favourite ramen shop. As the two walk, Koto's questions continue, but Aizawa makes sure to keep them lighthearted, directing her focus towards the day ahead and their plans for the weekend. He knew that her curiosity is a good thing, but balance is key.

By the time they reach the ramen shop, Koto's energy has mellowed a bit, and she seems content to enjoy a meal with her father. Aizawa is grateful for this moment of calm and made a mental note to schedule more of these outings with her. It's important to nurture her curiosity but it is equally important to give her time to be a kid.

As the two of them sit down to eat, Koto glances at her father with a smile. "Thanks for today, dad. I learned a lot."

Aizawa's stoic demeanor softens slightly. "You're welcome, kiddo. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Just remember, you don't have to learn everything all at once."

Koto nods, already thinking about her next question. "Okay! But after dinner, can we talk about quirk classifications? I heard that there are three types!"

Aizawa couldn't help but smile at her persistence.

"We'll see, Koto. But first, let's enjoy our ramen. Learning can wait for a little while."

Chapter Text

The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air of Recovery Girl’s infirmary as you meticulously organise medical supplies on the shelves. It’s a routine task, one you have grown accustomed to during your time as Recovery Girl’s assistant.

Ever since you joined U.A. as a young hero, you have constantly admired Aizawa from afar. His stoic demeanour and unwavering dedication to his students has captured your heart, igniting a flame of admiration that burns brighter with each passing day. Yet, despite your growing affection, you remain silent, fearful of disrupting your professional relationship and risking rejection; he likes someone else anyways, so why bother?

Your thoughts swirl like a tempest in your mind, each wave crashing against the shores of your heart with relentless force. Lost in your reverie, you don’t notice the tickle in your throat until it erupts into a coughing fit, your body convulsing with each harsh exhale. 

Recovery Girl looks up from her work, startled by the sudden outburst, with concern etching into the lines of her aging face. “Are you okay, dear?” she asks, her voice full of worry.

You force a weak smile, your hand pressing against your chest in a feeble attempt to quell the raging storm within you. “Just a dry throat,” you manage to choke out between coughs, your words strained and raspy. 

Recovery Girl narrows her eyes, her expression skeptical. She has seen enough heroes try to brush off their injuries to know when something isn’t right. “If you say so,” she replies, though her tone suggests that she wasn’t convinced.

As she scrutinises you with a hint of suspicion, the infirmary door creaks open, and in stumbles none other than Izuku Midoriya, looking worse for wear. His clothes are torn, and bruises marr his face and arms, evidence of yet another rigorous training session. 

Your annoyance flares at the sight of Izuku’s injuries, a pang of frustration stabbing at your heart. He was just here yesterday! It seems like every time you turn around, Izuku is in the nurse’s office, nursing yet another injury sustained from his pursuit of heroism. 

You suppress a sigh and push aside your own concerns and muster a professional demeanour as you approach Izuku. “What happened this time, Midoriya?” you ask, your tone full of exasperation. 

The young hero winces as he gingerly lowers himself onto one of the infirmary beds, his gaze as apologetic as ever. “Just a minor mishap turning training,” he replies sheepishly. “I’ll be fine, really.”

You shake your head, your irritation melting away at Izuku’s earnestness. Despite your annoyance at his frequent visits, you couldn’t help but admire Izuku’s unwavering determination to become a hero. 

With practised efficiency, you begin tending to his wounds, your hands moving deftly as you clean and bandage his injuries, your hands emitting a gentle, soft glow as you heal him. Your quirk is simple, like Recovery Girl’s even – you extract energy to heal, whether that energy is yours or the patient’s. 

As you tend to Izuku, your mind wanders back to Aizawa, your colleague. Thoughts of him often lingers in the back of your mind, a constant presence that you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried. You can’t help but wonder; what would he say if he knew about your feelings for him? Did he even like guys? You’re attractive, well-liked by the staff and students alike, but was there something there, waiting to blossom? 

You shake your head. No. There isn’t anything there. You’ve seen the way he looks at certain female staff, you’ve seen the way he pines over them, how he seems to smile more when that special someone is around. There isn’t anything there for you. 

A slight ache flares in your chest, a fleeting reminder of your unrequited love that has plagued you for so long. But you brush it aside, pushing through the discomfort and pain with a determined resolve. You’ve grown accustomed to the pain, learning to live with it as a constant companion in your life.

With the final bandage secured in place, you step back, your hands still emitting a gentle glow from your quirk. You offer Izuku a reassuring smile, hoping to ease his worries and alleviate his pain, even if just a little, even if for a moment. 

He returns the smile with a grateful nod, his eyes brimming with appreciation. “Thank you, Mr. (L/N),” he murmurs softly, his voice full of sincerity. 

You nod in response, your heart heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. As Izuku leaves the infirmary, you can’t help but wonder if Aizawa will ever figure out your feelings for him.

–

The next day dawns with a soft glow of morning sunlight filtering through the windows of U.A. High School, casting golden hues across the corridors. As the school buzzes with the energy of students and faculty alike, you find yourself making your way towards the faculty lounge, your thoughts consumed by the events of the previous day.

As you enter the lounge, your gaze immediately lands on Aizawa. You find him seated at a desk in the corner, engrossed in a stack of paperwork. A faint blush dusts your cheeks as you watch him, your heart fluttering with a mixture of longing and admiration. 

Your pulse begins to quicken at the sight of him, your heart pounding in your chest as a rush of emotions flood your senses. Despite your best efforts to suppress your feelings, you can’t deny the shy thoughts that linger in your mind – secret desires and hidden yearnings that you dare not speak aloud. 

As you go about your daily tasks, preparing to assist Recovery Girl in the infirmary, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Unbeknownst to you, Aizawa’s gaze follows your every move, his normally stoic demeanour betraying a hint of flustered admiration. 

You gather and organise your medical supplies, your movements fluid and precise with practised efficiency. You hum softly to yourself, lost in thought and work.

Aizawa, who has previously been engrossed in his own work, found himself stealing glances at you whenever you thought you weren’t looking. He can’t help but admire your dedication and skill, a faint blush colouring his cheeks as he watches you move with grace and purpose. Handsome, you are, with your gorgeous (e/c) eyes that sparkle when you’re excited, and your (h/c) hair that flows beautifully on that smart head of yours. 

It isn’t until a staff member interrupts Aizawa with a question that you finally notice his flustered expression. As the woman approaches, Aizawa’s gaze flickers from you to the newcomer, his reaction momentarily thrown off balance by the unexpected interruption. 

You notice the subtle change in his demeanour – the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. For a moment, your heart skips a beat, a rush of warmth spreading through your chest as the sight of him. 

But even then, as you observe Aizawa’s flustered reaction to the woman’s approach, a pang of disappointment tugs at your heartstrings. You can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the sight of Aizawa’s blush, a bitter reminder of the distance that existed between you both. 

For but a fleeting moment, your mind races with thoughts and doubts, each one a sharp arrow aiming at your fragile heart. Was he truly flustered by her presence, or was it something else? Did he notice you at all, or were you simply invisible to him?

A wave of anguish washes over you, intensifying the growing ache in your chest. It feels as though a vise is tightening around your heart, squeezing tighter with each beat, each breath.

The pain grows more pronounced, a sharp stabbing sensation that threatens to consume you from within. It’s as though something has taken root in your chest, its thorny branches digging deeper with each passing second. 

But even as you struggle to endure the physical torment, your mind remains fixated on Aizawa, your thoughts consumed by the image of his flustered expression. You can’t help but wonder if your unrequited love is destined to be your undoing, to break you down and tear you to pieces. 

As you turn away, your steps heavy with the weight of emotions, another coughing fit seizes you, wrenching you from your thoughts and plunging you into a world of agony. You double over, your hand flying to your mouth as you hack and wheeze, your chest heaving with each painful breath. 

Amidst the coughs and gasps, something changes. A sharp, stabbing pain pierces your chest, radiating outwards like a dagger driven straight through your heart. With trembling fingers, you bring your hand away from your mouth, your eyes widening in disbelief at the sight before you. 

There, nestled in your palm, lay a single, pink petal – dampened with spit and blood. It is as though the world has suddenly shifted, revealing a truth that you have been too blind to see.

Your doubts and fears come crashing down around you in that moment, replaced by a cold, hard certainty. The hanahaki disease wasn’t just a myth , but a cruel reality.

As you stare down at the petal in your hand, a sense of resignation washes over you, mingling with the despair that gnaws at your soul. You have spent so long denying the truth, clinging to the hope that your feelings were nothing more than a fleeting fancy.

As the weight of the disease sinks in, a wave of despair washes over you, threatening to drown you in a sea of anguish and regret. You have spent so long clinging to the hope that your feelings would be reciprocated, that you have convinced yourself of a reality that simply did not exist. 

You clutch the petal tightly with a trembling hand, your vision blurring by tears that spill down your cheeks. Each drop is a silent testament to the heartache that consumes you, a poignant reminder of the love you have dared hope for, only to have it cruelly ripped away.

Along and broken, you stand there, the weight of your unrequited love bearing down only you like lead, crushing your spirit. It’s in that moment you realise the true extent of your folly – your foolish belief that love could conquer all. 

Now, facing the harsh reality of the disease, you could no longer hide from the truth. Aizawa did not in fact return your feelings, and no amount of wishing or hoping could change that fact. 

With a sorrow-heavy heart, you turn and flee from the lounge, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as you rush towards the exit. As you stumble out into the cold embrace of the morning air, your tears mingle with the wetness of the wind, and you blink them away. 

As days pass, you find yourself trapped in a downward spiral of despair and agony, your body succumbing to the onslaught of the hanahaki disease. Each breath is a struggle, each cough a painful reminder of the love you had hoped for. You’ve stayed home from work, unable to face the outside world as the disease tightens its grip on your fragile heart and weakening lungs. Your absence has been noticed by Recovery Girl, who has grown increasingly concerned for your well-being, but you could offer no explanation for your sudden illness.

Meanwhile, Aizawa couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. Despite his best efforts to focus on his duties as a teacher and hero, his thoughts keep returning to you, your absence weighing heavily on his mind. 

It isn’t until Recovery Girl mentions your prolonged absence and worsening sickness that Aizawa’s suspicions were confirmed. He’s determined to uncover the truth, and so he sets out to find you, his heart heavy with worry. He searches high and low, scouring every corner of the city’s neighbourhood in search of your home, in search of the person who had unwittingly stolen his heart.

As he stands before your home now, a sense of foreboding washes over him, the weight of his worry pressing on his shoulders like a leaden cloak. He has followed every lead, searched every street, until finally, he arrives at your doorstep. 

With a determined resolve, he raises his hand and knocks on the door, calling out your name in a voice that trembles with emotion. “Mr. (L/ – )... No. (Y/N)?”

He’s met with a deafening silence of an empty house, haunted by the echoes of a love lost. Growing increasingly desperate, Aizawa tries the doorknob, only to find it locked tight. With a sinking feeling, he knows that he has to act quickly, before it is too late.

Summoning his strength, he forces the door open, the wood groaning in protest as it gives way to his relentless determination. And as he steps inside, he is greeted by a scene of utter devastation. 

Flower petals litter the floor, their vibrant hues dulled by the passage of time. And amidst the sea of petals, small droplets of dried, old blood stain the floor and walls, a grim reminder of the pain that accompanied you in your final moments. 

Aizawa surveys the scene before him with a heavy heart, his mind reeling with a whirlwind of emotions. He must have arrived too late, too late to turn back the hands of tie and undo the damage that has been done. 

But even in the face of such a tragedy, he refuses to give up hope. He clings to the faintest glimmer of possibility, and so he forces himself to press forward, driven by fierce determination to uncover the truth.

As he makes his way deeper into your home, a faint sound catches his attention – a soft, ragged cough that echoes through the empty halls, sending a shiver down his spine. With renewed urgency, he rushes forward, his heart pounding in his chest. 

He bursts into your bedroom, his worst fears realised in an instant. There, alone on your bed, lays you, your body wracking with violent coughs. 

Your shirt has been pulled open, revealing bloodied branches that protruded from your toned chest like twisted tendrils of despair, the once vibrant blossoms now stained crimson. Cherry petals litter the floor and bed around you, a haunting reminder of the beauty that has been tainted by the ugliness of your affliction. 

But even as blood drips from your mouth and tears stream down your face, you don’t seem to notice Aizawa’s presence until he is right there, kneeling beside you, his hands trembling as he reaches out to touch your feverish brow. 

Your eyes met, full of pain and fear and aching desperation. Aizawa feels his heart shatter into a million pieces, each piece a testament to the depth of his love for the one who lay before him, broken and alone. 

As you lay before him, clinging to life by a thread, Aizawa feels his heart constrict with a pain so profound it threatens to consume him whole. The sight of you, so frail and vulnerable, fills him with a sense of dread. 

With trembling hands, he reaches out to touch your face, his fingers brushing against your clammy skin as he whispers words of comfort and reassurance. But deep down, he knows his words are futile, that no amount of love or devotion could save you from the cruel fate that awaits. 

Tears stream down his face, and so he makes a decision – a decision born out of desperation and despair, but also out of love so pure. 

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper as he confesses his deepest, most closely guarded secret. “ I love you more than words can say, more than life itself. And if it’s the last thing I can do for you, I will stay by your side.”

But even as those words left his lips, he knew that it might already be too late, that your fragile form might slip away from him at any given moment, leaving him alone. He refuses to give up, however, for in your eyes, he sees a glimmer of something beautiful, something worth fighting for. 

His heartfelt confession hangs in the air, and a silence descends upon the room, broken only by the ragged sound of your laboured breathing. And then, in a moment of startling clarity, your eyes widen in surprise, a flicker of recognition igniting within their depths as you struggle to comprehend the weight of his words.

With a violent cough, you hack up more petals, the pain ripping through your chest like a thousand knives as you expel the remnants of the disease that has plagued you for so long. But this time, it is different – something miraculous – about the petals that fall from your lips. 

For intertwined among them is a single, bloodied branch, its twisted form a haunting reminder of the love that has blossomed between you two, even in the face of death. 

For in that moment, you realise that Aizawa’s love for you is real, that he truly does return your feelings with a depth and intensity that takes your breath away. As the realisation dawns on you, a sense of peace washes over you, replacing the fear and despair that has gripped your soul for so long. 

With tears streaming down your face, you reach out to him, your shaking hand seeking his in a silent gesture of acceptance. Your fingers intertwine, and in that moment, you cling to each other amidst the wreckage of your shared despair. You know that together, you could overcome many obstacles, for in each other’s arms, you have found solace and redemption . 

As you cling to each other, a sense of urgency washes over your both. With each passing moment, the petals and branches that had once choked the life out of you begin to wilt away, their vibrant colours fading into a sickly grey hue. 

It’s a silent but desperate exchange as Aizawa picks you up in his strong arms, his own heart pounding in his chest as he begins to rush you out of the bedroom and out the door to the nearest hospital. With determination etching into every line of his face, he knows that the fate of your fragile existence hangs in the balance. 

He pushes forward, his steps quick and sure as he navigates the bustling streets of the city. With each passing moment, the weight of your body in his arms serves as a reminder of the fragility of life.

As he bursts through the doors of the hospital, his chest heaving with exertion, a team of medical professionals spring into action, their skilled hands working tirelessly to save you from the brink of death. 

–

You lay in your hospital bed, your body finally at rest after the whole ordeal. Aizawa sits by your side, his gaze never leaving your peaceful face. With a sense of relief washing over him, he watches over you with a tenderness that belies the stoic facade he usually wears. 

With a gentle touch, he reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his fingers lingering against your skin. He settles back into his seat, vowing to never let you go, to hold you close. And as the first light of dawn breaks through the darkness, bathing the room in a golden glow, Aizawa leans forward to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.”

Chapter Text

The harsh glare of fluorescent lights illuminates the deserted streets of the city, casting long shadows that stretch like fingers reaching out into the darkness. In the heart of the urban sprawl, a lone figure moves with purpose through the silent streets, her footsteps echoing against the cold pavement.

You, known only by your alias, The Pale Rose, are a notorious villain whose name struck fear into the hearts of even the bravest of citizens. You are driven by desperation and hunger, and thus find yourself drawn to the dimly lit glow of a convenience store nestled on the corner of the street.

You glance around to ensure that no one is around, and then slip inside the store, your movements swift and silent as you make your way to the food aisles. Your eyes dart from one item to the next, lingering on the tantalising array of snacks and provisions that lay before you. 

With a steady hand, you reach out and select a few items from the shelves, stuffing them into the pockets of your worn jacket with practised ease. Guilt and shame gnaws on your conscience, but the rumbling hunger in your belly outweighs any moral qualms you may have. 

With a final glance around the store, you make a dash for the exit, your footsteps echoing against the cold linoleum floor. The sound of your hurried escape seems to reverberate through the empty store, a constant reminder of the risks you were taking.

Just as you reach the door, a voice rings out from behind the counter, freezing you in place with a sense of dread. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Your heart skips a beat as you turn to face the source of the voice, your eyes widening in alarm as you meet the gaze of the store clerk who stands behind the counter, his expression a mix of anger and suspicion. 

You stand frozen in place for a moment, your thoughts racing, screaming at you to run and escape. Your options are dwindling, fast.

So, with a sudden burst of speed, you dash out of the store, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surges through your veins. Behind you, you can hear the store clerk shouting after you, his voice full of frustration. Ignoring his cries, you push yourself to run faster, feet pounding against the pavement as you race down the empty street.

As you round the corner into a dimly lit alleyway, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, you skid to a stop. Your eyes widen in shock once more when you look up to see another figure standing there, his figure looming ominously in the shadows. You recognise that scarf and goggles from anywhere – Aizawa.

Neither of you speak, the silence between you heavy with unspoken tension. Your eyes lock onto his and you are filled with a sense of dread. You know that he’s the worst person you could go against, you are caught between a rock and a hard place.

You consider trying to reason with him, to explain the circumstances that had led you to this desperate act. But as his gaze bores down on you, you know that words would be futile. 

You watch as Aizawa takes a step forward, his expression impassive but his determination evident in the set of his jaw. He speaks, his voice low and steady, urging you to reconsider your actions. But you feel a surge of defiance rise within you, and so you shake your head stubbornly, your resolve hardening.

But as Aizawa lunges forward, his movements swift and decisive, you know that your time is running out. With a cry of desperation, you turn and flee. Behind you, you can hear Aizawa’s steady footsteps following close behind, his presence looming ever closer with each passing second. 

With a burst of energy, you push yourself to run faster, your heart pounding in your chest as you run through the darkened streets of Musutafu. You can hear the steady thud of Aizawa’s footsteps echoing behind you, growing closer with each passing moment. 

Fear and desperation fuels her, but this is normal for you; running from heroes. The narrow alleyways blur past you, the dimly lit streets flashing by in a dizzying whirl of motion. 

Despite your best efforts, you can’t shake the feeling of dread that clings to you like a suffocating cloak. With each moment, each breath, Aizawa draws closer, his presence looming ever larger. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you duck around a corner and disappear behind some bins, ducking into the safety of your hideout’s hole. Your chest heaves with exertion as you stumble through and slam it shut behind you. Leaning against it, you close your eyes, trying to calm your racing heart as you clutch your goodies in your pockets.

The adrenaline begins to ebb away and you find yourself sinking to the ground, your back pressed against the rough surface of the door. But even as you struggle to catch your breath, your mind races with thoughts of Aizawa. His stern gaze, his unwavering determination – they haunt you, lingering in the recesses of your thoughts like a ghost refusing to be exorcised. 

With a frustrated sigh, you run a trembling hand through your hair, your heart pounding in your chest wildly as you try to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that you feel. You don’t understand why you feel this way, why you can’t deny the strange desire to see him again, to be in his presence once more. It’s a foolish notion, you know, but try as you might, you can’t shake the feeling of longing that tugs at your heartstrings.

The following weeks have taken a toll on your body and mind. Every breath feels like a struggle, your chest constricting as if weighed down by chains. Fatigue clings to you like a cloak, dragging at your limbs with each step you take. Yet, despite the physical toll, your mind races with thoughts. 

Lost in the labyrinth of your mind, you stumble forward, your gaze fixing on the ground as you navigate the bustling streets of Musutafu. Each footfall feels heavy, sluggish, and unsteady as you fight to keep pace with the throng of pedestrians that hurry past you. 

But even amidst the city’s chaos, your mind remains fixed on one thing and one thing alone – Aizawa. His image lingers in the back of your mind, his sharp gaze etched into your memory. Lost in your thoughts, you fail to notice the figure that looms over you. With a startling gasp, you collide with someone, your body jolting at the impact as you stumble backward.

Your heart races in your chest as you scramble to regain your balance. When your eyes meet Aizawa’s, your breath catches in your throat, your cheeks flushing crimson as you struggle to find your words.

He raises an eyebrow in amusement, his expression unreadable as he regards you with a hint of curiosity. “Are you okay, miss?” he asks, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

The teasing tone of his voice only serves to deepen your embarrassment, your cheeks burning hotter with each passing moment. “Y-Yes… I’m fine,” you stammer, your voice barely a whisper as you avert your gaze, unable to meet his piercing stare. 

His smirk widens ever so slightly, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes as he studies your reaction. “Good to hear,” he replies, “you don't want to make a scene now do you?”

As his words wash over you, your blush deepens, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to maintain your composure. But once you open your mouth to speak, a coughing fit takes you over, your chest heaving with each raspy breath. 

You feel something dislodge in your throat in the midst of your coughing fit, and before you can stop yourself, you cough up a single petal, its delicate form stained crimson. Panic floods your veins as you quickly cover your mouth, your eyes wide with shock as you stare at the petal in horror and confusion. 

Aizawa’s expression shifts from amusement to mild concern, if you can even call it that, his gaze narrowing as he takes in the sight before him. “What is that?” he asks, his voice tinging with curiosity. 

Panic seizes your heart, your mind racing with a thousand excuses but even you don’t know what it is. Shakily breathing, you force yourself to meet Aizawa’s gaze, your voice trembling. “It’s nothing!” you reply, your tone defensive as you turn away, your steps faltering as you begin to run. 

With each hurrying step, your heart beats rapidly, your mind being consumed by a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. You can’t afford to linger, can’t risk exposing yourself any further to Aizawa’s probing gaze. Ignoring the burning ache in your chest and the relentless coughing that racks your body, you push yourself to move faster, desperate to put distance between you two. 

Behind you, you can hear the echo of Aizawa’s voice calling out to you, his tone laced with confusion and apprehension. But you dare not stop, dare not turn back to face him and risk revealing the truth of your affection. 

As you stumble through alleyways, your steps growing increasingly unsteady, the weight of this sudden illness bears down on you like a crushing weight. Each breath is a struggle, your lungs burning with effort as you push yourself to keep moving forward. But as the darkness of the alleyway envelops you, your strength falters. 

With a ragged gasp, you collapse to your knees, clutching at your chest as you double over in pain. The bitter taste of blood fills your mouth as you cough violently, the sound echoing off the walls. Through tear-blurring vision, you watch as a cascade of delicate petals spill from your lips. 

Your body trembles with exhaustion and despair, your mind clouding with feverish delirium as you struggle to comprehend the gravity of your situation. As consciousness slips away, the darkness of the alleyway swallows you whole. Time loses all meaning as you drift in and out of consciousness, your mind clouded by a haze of pain and confusion. 

When you finally awaken hours later, it is to the harsh reality of your surroundings – the cold, unforgiving pavement beneath you, the dim glow of the streetlights casting eerie shadows across the alley. Every movement sends waves of agony coursing through your weakened body, but with grim determination, you push yourself upright, your muscles beginning to tremble with the effort.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, you begin the slow, laborious journey home, your steps faltering and unsteady. Hours pass by in a blur of pain and exhaustion as you stumble through the empty streets, your vision swimming and your thoughts scattering. The world around you fades into a blur of shadows and half-formed shapes, your senses dulled by the piercing ache in your chest.

Finally, you reach your hideout, and with trembling hands you fumble for your keys and unlock the door, your heart heavy with weariness as you step inside. Alone in the darkness, you collapse on your mattress, your body wracking with pain. Tears mingle with the blood on your lips as you succumb to this foreign illness. 

As you lay there, gasping for breath and clutching your chest, you reach for your phone with trembling fingers. With blurred vision, you navigate to the search box and type in your symptoms, your heart sinking with dread as you read through the results. 

Your worst fears are confirmed when you stumble upon the term “hanahaki disease.” The 

description sends a chill down your spine, your blood running cold as you learn of the deadly affliction that plagues those who suffer from unrequited love. 

With shaky hands, you scroll through the articles, your mind reeling with disbelief. How could you have been so blind, so foolish to not realise the truth until now? The realisation hits you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for air as you struggle to come to terms with the depths of your feelings.

And then, like a lightning bolt, it dawns on you – Aizawa, the enigmatic pro hero who has captured your heart with his unwavering dedication and quiet strength. The memory of your encounters with him floods your mind, each moment etching into your memory. 

–

Days pass and whispers of your disappearance echo through the city streets. Aizawa finds himself haunted by the memory of your encounter. And while he knows he should hold no concern for a villain such as yourself, a gnawing sense of unease gnaws at his conscience. 

He tells himself it’s merely a professional obligation, a duty to ensure the safety of the citizens he swears to protect. But deep down, he knows there’s more to it – a nagging sense of curiosity, a lingering question that refuses to be silenced.

In the quiet moments between patrols, he finds himself lost in thought, his mind wandering to your figure who has crossed his path. He recalls the fire in your eyes, the determination in your voice, and wonders what could have driven you to the path of villainy. 

Lying in bed, your body feels heavy and sluggish, weighed down by the relentless onslaught of the disease ravaging your chest. With each passing day, the pain only seems to intensify, the thorns digging deeper into your flesh, tearing at your insides with every ragged breath.

You cough and hack, the sound echoing through the stillness of your hideout, each spasm wracking your body with agony. Pink petals litter the floor around you, a cruel reminder of the unrequited love festering within you. 

As you lie there, helpless and alone, you can’t help but wonder how it all came down to this. How did a simple crush on a hero lead to such a devastating fate? You curse the day you ever laid eyes on Aizawa, the man who unwittingly became the object of your affection. The catalyst for your downfall. 

–

With trembling hands and heart heavy with desperation, you muster the last of your strength to carry out one final act of defiance. The adrenaline courses through your veins as you stumble through the streets, and finally, you reach your target. But as you raise your hand to strike, you can feel the thorns digging deeper into your chest. 

With a defiant roar, you press on, your vision swimming as you push yourself beyond the brink of exhaustion. But even as you struggle to carry out your mission, a part of you knows that it’s already too late. That no amount of defiance can undo this damage.

And so, you wait, your body wracked with pain as you brace yourself with the inevitable confrontation. With each passing moment, the shadows lengthen, the silence of the night broken only by the sound of your laboured breathing. 

And like a specter emerging from the darkness, Aizawa appears before you, his presence looming ominously in the stillness of the night. His eyes narrow as he takes in your haggard appearance, his gaze piercing through your facade.

For a moment, neither of you speak, the silence between you heavy with unspoken tension. Then, in a voice laced with weariness and resignation, you finally break the silence.

“Come to finish me off, hero?” you taunt, your words tinged with bitterness and defiance. But even as you speak, you can feel the last vestiges of your strength slipping away. 

Aizawa’s expression softens imperceptibly, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he takes a step forward. “You can’t even put up a fight,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You meet his gaze with despair, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you maintain your composure, albeit struggling to. “I don’t need your pity,” you spit, your words sharp with bitterness. “I can take care of myself.”

But even as you speak, the facade crumbles, your resolve wavering in the face of his unwavering gaze. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes, the weight of your burden bearing down on you like a leaden weight. 

Aizawa’s expression softens further, his eyes full with unspoken sorrow as he takes another step forward. “I’m not here to pity you.”

And in that moment, as the walls around your heart begin to crumble, you find yourself opening up to him, confessing your deepest fears and regrets. You tell him of the hanahaki disease that ravages your body, of the unrequited love that has become your undoing.

As you bare your soul to him, tears stream down your cheeks, your voice raw with emotion. “I didn’t ask for this!” you choke out, your words a desperate plea. “You’re the reason this is happening to me!”

Aizawa’s eyes widen in shock at your accusation, his breath catching in his throat as he takes in your words. For a moment, there is only silence. 

And then, he drops to his knees beside you, his hands reaching out to cradle your trembling form. “I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, “it’s a shame this world makes us experience heartbreak like this.”

But his words offer little comfort as you feel the last of your strength slipping away, your vision growing dim as the darkness closes in around you. You gasp for breath, each inhale a struggle as the thorns dig deeper into your lungs, tearing you apart from the inside out. 

And as you collapse to the floor, you can’t help but wonder if this is truly the end. If your love for Aizawa has condemned you to a fate worse than death. 

“I can’t just fall in love with you like it’s – like it’s nothing.” He whispers as he cradles you in his arms, his heart heavy with the weight of your fading presence. With trembling hands, he reaches for his phone, his fingers fumbling as he dials for help, his voice urgent as he pleads for someone, anyone, to send an ambulance.

But even as he waits for help to arrive, he knows that time is running out. Your breathing grows shallower with each passing moment, your pulse weakening beneath his touch. He feels the panic rising within him, threatening to consume him whole as he struggles to keep you awake. 

And as he looks down at your pale face, so fragile and so beautiful in the soft glow of the streetlights and darkening sun, he knows that he would do anything to save you, but in the back of his mind, he wonders: did he truly care for you, or was it just his heroism speaking, wanting to save everyone, even if it meant villains?

–

One surgeon looks to another, shaking his head wistfully. The other surgeon frowns, and scribbles furiously on a piece of paper.

“Pronounced dead at 11:29PM.”

Chapter Text

I was in a deep, much needed sleep when I first heard the knock. It was a soft, light tapping on my door, that gradually got louder. At first, I ignored it, hoping whoever it was would assume no one was home and leave. But it persisted, growing more insistent with each passing moment. 

With a groan, I push myself out of bed, irritation bubbling up at having my sleep disturbed. The clock on my bedside reads 2:13 AM. Who in their right mind would be knocking at this hour?

I shuffle to the door as I rub the sleep from my eyes. When I open it, I am greeted by the sight of a young child, no older than thirteen, standing on my doorstep. They had a determined look in their eyes, one that was oddly familiar. 

“Are you Mr. Aizawa?” they ask me, clutching a letter tightly in their hand. 

I frown, my irritation turning to mild confusion. “Who’s asking?”

The teen takes a deep breath and hands me the letter they were clutching so tightly. “I’m your kid. This is from my mom. She said it’s your turn to take care of me.”

I am too stunned to respond – I glance down at the letter, recognising the handwriting of an old flame, someone I haven’t thought about in years. 

I stare at the letter, the words blurring together as a wave of memories crash over me. The letter is unmistakably from her, an old girlfriend I haven’t seen or spoken to in over a decade. Her familiar handwriting brings a flood of emotions, but I force myself to focus on the present. 

“Dear Shota,

I know this must come as a shock, but it’s time you knew the truth. This is our child, and it’s your turn to take care of them. I’ve done my part, and now it’s up to you.

- Xoxo”

It’s short and to the point, leaving me with more questions than answers. I look back at the teen standing before me, their eyes wide with uncertainty. 

“You’re… my kid?” I repeat, still struggling to wrap my mind around the idea. 

They nod. “Yeah. My name’s Shina. I don’t… have anywhere else to go. My aunt just dropped me off and left.”

I take a deep breath, trying to process everything. “Come inside then, it’s too cold out here.”

As they step into my apartment, I can’t help but notice how out of place they seem in my sparse, barely lived-in home. They look around curiously, taking in the surroundings while I shut the door. 

We stand in awkward silence for a moment before I gesture to the couch. “Sit down. We need to talk.”

They obey, perching on the edge of the couch like they are ready to bolt at any second. I grab a chair from the kitchen and sit across from them, studying their face for any hint of familiarity. There are subtle resemblances - the shape of their eyes, the set of their jaw - but it’s still hard to believe.

“So, tell me everything,” I say finally, leaning back in my chair. 

They hesitate, fidgeting with the hem of their shirt. “Mom always said you were my dad. She said you were a big tough hero and that one day, I might need to find you. A few months ago, she… she got really sick. And.. And before she passed away, she gave me that letter and told me to find you.

I clench my fists, anger and grief mingling in my chest. She had kept this from me all these years? “Why didn’t she contact me sooner?” I mutter more to myself than to Shina. 

“I don’t know,” they reply softly. “She never talked a lot about you.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions stirring within me. “Alright, we’ll figure this out. But for now, you can stay here.”

Their black eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” I say, a bit more firmly than intended. “But we’ll need to set some ground rules.”

They nod eagerly, relief washing over their face. “Sure, whatever you say.”

As I start listing the rules – no going through my things, no loud noises, the usual – I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. 

–

The next few days were a whirlwind. I barely have time to process the situation before I am knee-deep in the challenges of suddenly having a teenager in my home. They tried their best to keep out of my way, but the small apartment makes it impossible for us not to constantly bump into each other.

About two weeks in, one morning, I was trying to catch up on sleep when a loud crash jolts me awake. I bolt out of bed and rush to the kitchen, finding Shina standing amidst a sea of broken dishes.

“What happened?” I demand, my voice sharp. 

They look up at me with wide eyes, guilt written all over their face. “I was just trying to make you breakfast… I-I’m sorry…”

I take a deep breath, forcing my irritation to subside. “It’s alright. Accidents happen. Just… be more careful next time.”

I start to clean up the mess and they kneel down to help, their movements tentative and awkward. It’s clear they are trying their best. 

–

Days turn into weeks, and slowly, we begin to find a rhythm. They go to school, and I continue my work as a Pro Hero, but the questions about their future lingers in the back of my mind. I know I have to find a more permanent solution, but every time I think about sending them away, to some nursery or foster home, a pang of guilt tugs at my heart. But it has to be done. 

One evening after a rough day at work, I come home to find Shina waiting for me, a hopeful look in their eyes. 

“Hey, dad,” they start, their voice hesitant. “I was wondering … do you think we could maybe … train together? You know, like you do with the other kids?”

I stare at them for a moment, the weight of their request sinking in. Training is a serious commitment, one that requires trust and dedication. But as I look into their eyes, that same old familiar spark of determination glimmers. 

“Alright,” I finally say. “We can start tomorrow morning. But be prepared – I won’t go easy on you.”

–

As the weeks pass, our training sessions have become a regular part of our routine. We spent hours honing their skills, pushing their limits, and slowly, I began to see the potential they possess. They have a natural talent, a drive that reminds me of why I became a hero in the first place. 

But even as we grow closer, the looming question of their future remains unanswered. I know I have to make a decision soon. The mail should arrive tomorrow, and in it will be some paperwork I have to fill out to send them to a foster home. Then this will all be over.

One afternoon, after our training, we sit on the edge of the roof, watching the sunset. The sky has been painted in hues of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the turmoil in my mind. 

“I’ve been thinking,” I start, my voice breaking the comfortable silence. “About your future.”

They look up at me, their eyes glimmering with hope and uncertainty. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been considering… other options,” I say carefully, like I was walking on eggshells. “There are places that can provide better support for you, where you can continue your training and education.”

My heart clenches as their face fell. “You mean… I will go to a different family? To a different dad?”

I nod slowly, the words heavy on my tongue. “Yes. Foster care. They’re equipped to help you in ways I might not be able to.”

The anger in their eyes is immediate, blazing with hurt and betrayal. “I don’t want to go to some stranger’s house! I want to stay here! With you!”

“I understand that, but–” I start, but they cut me off, their voice rising with emotion. 

“No!” Tears well up in their eyes, and they glare at me with rage and desperation. “Mom said you were a good dad! She said you’d take care of me! She lied! You just want to get rid of me!” They’re shouting now, their voice breaking. “ I hate you! ” 

Before I can respond, they turn and storm off down the stairs and into our apartment, their footsteps echoing down the halls. I sit there, stunned and feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut. 

For a moment, I just sit there staring at the steps, my mind racing. I want to go after them, to explain, to make this right, but the words just won’t come. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the sense of failure lingers.

–

Later that evening, after the raw emotions have settled, I find myself standing outside my door to my room, hesitating. I can hear the muffled sounds of crying from inside, and it tears at my heart. I knock gently, waiting for a response, but to no avail. I get no response. 

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for 

you. I need you to understand that.”

I get no answer, just the continued sound of quiet sobs. I sigh, resting my forehead against the door. I contemplate saying more, but decide against it. I walk away, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on my shoulders. 

Alone in the quiet of the living room, I sink into the couch, my head in my hands. The words they had shouted at me echo in my mind. “I hate you.” It shouldn’t hurt this much. I’ve dealt with threats and anger before, but this is different. This is personal. This is just a kid. My kid. And I’ve failed them. 

Why did it have to come to this? Why couldn’t things have been simpler? My life has always been about control, about knowing what to do and how to handle any situation. But this… this is uncharted territory. 

I think back to the letter from their mother, the one that threw my world into chaos. “It’s your turn to take care of them.” Her words were so final, so certain. Did she know how unprepared I’d be? Did she think this would be easy for me? I never asked for this, never wanted to be responsible for another life in this way. Sure, I’m responsible for my students, but this… I’m no father. 

But then I think of their face, their desperation, the pain in their eyes when they thought I was abandoning them. The anger and betrayal… I never wanted to cause that. I just wanted to do what was best for them. But what if I’m wrong? What if sending them away is the worst I could do? What if they end up somewhere abusive?

I lean back and stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of my own inadequacy. My mind races with questions and doubts. Am I really not capable of taking care of them? Am I really so broken that I can’t offer them the stability they need?

I close my eyes, trying to imagine a future where they’re not here, where I’ve sent them away. The apartment would be quiet and empty. No more small reminders of their presence, no more shared meals or awkward conversations. It would be easier, certainly, but for what?

I let out a deep, shaky breath, my hands trembling. They deserve better than this, better than me. But maybe, just maybe, I can try. I can learn. They’re my responsibility now, whether I’m ready or not. And running away from that isn’t the answer. 

The house feels like a cage, each room a reminder of the walls I’ve built around myself. I thought I was protecting myself, keeping my life simple and manageable. But now, I’m left standing in the ruins of these crumbing walls, uncertain. 

Hours pass, and I find myself back at the door. The sobs have quieted, replaced by heavy silence. I knock gently, my heart aching. “I’m sorry,” I repeat, my voice cracking. “I’m just trying to figure this out.”

Still, no response. I sit down on the floor and lean against the door, letting the silence envelope me. 

“I don’t want to let you down,” I whisper, hoping they can hear me through the door. “I’m just… scared.”

The tears come then, silently, as I sit there. This is my chance to do something right, to be there for someone who needs me, someone who needs me on a personal level. 

As the night drags on, I finally stand. I can’t give up on them. I won’t. 

–

Morning light filters through the windows, casting a soft glow over the apartment. I’ve barely slept, my mind churning. But as I make my way to the door of my room, I feel a renewed sense of determination. I need to make this right. I will make this right. 

I knock gently. “Hey, can we talk?” My voice is soft, a fragile truce offered through the barrier between us. 

There’s a long pause before they creak the door open. They stand there, eyes puffy and red from crying, looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen them.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, my voice earnest. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know what to do.”

They look down and bite their lip, and I can see the conflict in their eyes. “I don’t want to go to another family,” their voice trembles. “I don’t want to be alone.”

I kneel down, trying to meet their gaze. “You won’t be alone, I promise. I’m here. I’m going to try my best, we’ll figure this out together.”

–

Days turn into weeks and we begin to settle into a routine again. It’s far from perfect, but we’re making it work. There are still moments of tension, of doubt but they’re becoming fewer. I can see the change in them, the way their shoulders relax, how they start to trust me, little by little.

A comfortable silence fills the room one evening, and they turn to me with a hesitant half-smile. “You’re not so bad, you know.” They say, their tone teasing but sincere. 

“Thanks, I guess,” I reply with a chuckle, feeling a warmth spread through my chest.

–

Months pass, and the apartment starts to feel like a home. There are still challenges, still moments where I question if I’m doing the right thing. One evening, I come home to find a letter waiting for me. The official seal of CPS catches my eye, and a sense of dread fills my chest as I open it. 

“Dear Mr. Aizawa,

This letter serves as a formal notice regarding the child currently residing with you. As you are aware, the child has been under your care for several months without official registration. According to our records, the grace period for temporary housing has expired. You are required to either formally adopt the child or make arrangements for their transfer to a registered foster care facility within the next 30 days.

Please contact our office to discuss the next steps.

Sincerely,

Child Protective Services”

The letter falls from my hands and I slump into the couch, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on my shoulders. My mind races with a thousand thoughts, none of them comforting. I know what I have to do, but the decision feels monumental, like a turning point I’m not sure I’m ready for.

Later that night, as we sit together in the living room, I can’t keep the worry off my face. They notice, of course. They always do.

“What’s wrong?” they ask, their voice tinged with concern. 

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the upcoming conversation. “I got a letter today. From CPS. They’re saying I need to either formally adopt you or… send you to a foster home.”

Their eyes widen in shock, fear flashing across their face. “But you’re not going to send me away right?” Their voice trembles, and my heart breaks. 

“I don’t want to,” I say softly, reaching out to take their hand. “I don’t want to lose you. But adoption is a big step. It means committing to being your parent, officially and legally.”

They look down, their hand tightening around mine. “I don’t want to go to a foster home. I want to stay here, with you.”

The certainty in their voice, the trust they place in me, fills me with pride. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure you stay,” I promise, my voice steady. 

–

A few months pass by, full of paperwork and meetings with social workers. But as I come home that late evening, I open the door to see Shina standing there, waiting with their eyes hopeful. 

“It’s official.” I say with a grin, opening my arms for a hug. 

“You’re officially adopted.”

Chapter Text

Ex’s and the oh, oh, oh’s they haunt me. 

You stare at your phone in disbelief, the words on the screen blurring as tears well up in your eyes. It has been quite an ordinary evening until your boyfriend’s name popped up, calling you. 

“Look, I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he begins, his tone detached and unfeeling. “We need to break up.”

“What?” you manage to choke out, your voice trembling. “Why? What did I do ?” 

“It’s not about what you did,” he sighs, sounding irritated. “It’s about what I found. There’s someone else.

“Someone else? Who?” You ask, your heart dropping into your stomach.

“She’s a waitress at the Stop’n’Go,” he admits casually. “We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but… it did.”

You feel like the ground has just been pulled out from under you, your head spinning and body trembling with each shaky inhale. “So you’ve been cheating on me?”

“It wasn’t like that,” he tries to justify. “It just happened. We connected in a way I haven’t with you.”

A sob escapes your lips; the betrayal cut deep. “I thought we were happy! How could you do this to me?”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, (Y/N). I’ve made my decision, I’m with her now.”

Before you can respond, the call ends, leaving you staring at the screen, the silence in the room deafening. You drop the phone onto the couch beside you, burying your face in your hands as the tears flow freely.

After a few moments of letting the pain wash over you, you know you couldn’t stay alone, there has to be someone you can turn to, someone to help you ride out this breakup. You grab your phone again, fingers trembling as you dial a number.

“Hey, what’s up?” His voice rings out from the other end, calm and steady.

“Shota,” you begin, your voice breaking. “He broke up with me. Can I come over?”

A brief pause before he replies. “Of course. I’ll be here.”

–

Aizawa’s apartment is a familiar haven, and as soon as you step inside, the tears you have been holding back start to flow freely once more. With his ever-present calm demeanour, Aizawa guides you to his couch and hands you a box of tissues.

“What happened?” he asks softly, his usually stoic face softening with concern. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “He… he left me. For some waitress at the Stop’n’Go.”

Aizawa’s brow furrows, a rare flicker of anger crossing his features. “What an idiot. He didn’t deserve you.”

You manage a weak smile through your tears. “Thanks, Shota. I just… I don’t understand. I thought we were happy together.”

The hero sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders in a comforting gesture. “Sometimes people are just selfish. They don’t think about the damage they cause. You deserve so much better than him.”

You lean into his embrace, finding solace in his steady presence. “I just feel so stupid!” You cry. “How did I not see this coming?”

“Don’t blame yourself,” he says firmly. “He’s the one who made the mistake. One day, he will realise what he lost.” Shota gives your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll always have me, no matter what.”

You nod, sniffling as you wipe your tears. “Thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Just then, your phone buzzes with a new text message. You glance at the screen and see your ex’s name. The sight of it ignites a spark of anger within you. You image it’s something condescending or dismissive; you don’t even bother opening it.

Anger mingles with the heartbreak and an idea forms in your mind. “You know what?” you say, looking at Aizawa with a determined glint in your eyes. “Let’s get back at him.”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “How?”

“I want you to pretend to be my new boyfriend,” you declare, feeling a surge of adrenaline. “Just for a little while. Let him see that I’ve already moved on, and that I’m with someone who actually cares about me.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yes!” you say your resolve strengthening. “He needs to see that he didn’t break me. Besides, it’s not like it would be hard for you, right? We’re already super close!”

The hero hesitates, his mind racing. He’s always had feelings for you, feelings he’s kept hidden for the sake of your friendship. The idea of pretending to be your boyfriend, even if it’s just an act, stirs something hopeful in his chest. 

“If that’s what you want,” he says carefully. “I’ll do it.”

Relief washes over you and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “Thank you, Shota! You’re the best.”

He gives you a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll make sure he knows what he’s missing.”

–

Over the next few days, you and Aizawa spend more time together, making sure you’re seen in places your ex frequents. You take selfies and laugh together, sharing moments that look intimate and genuine. For the most part, it’s easy – after all, you’ve always been comfortable with one another.

One afternoon, as you’re sitting together at a cafe, your ex walks in. He spots the two of you immediately, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion. You feel a surge of satisfaction as you lean closer to Aizawa, pretending – well, you didn’t have to pretend – to be engrossed in your conversation. 

Your ex approaches your table, trying to mask his curiosity with indifference. “Hey,” he begins, glancing between the two of you. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Who’s this?”

You lace your fingers with Aizawa’s and smile sweetly. “Oh, hey. This is Shota, my boyfriend.”

Aizawa plays along perfectly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a gentle touch, yet you feel the underlying possessiveness in it. “Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice confident.

Your ex shifts uncomfortable, clearly taken aback by the sight of you with someone else. “I didn’t realise you’d moved on so quickly. It’s been what, a week?” he mutters, his tone betraying a hint of jealousy. 

Keeping your expression neutral, you shrug. “Life goes on. Shota’s been amazing. He’s really helped me through a lot.”

Aizawa squeezes your shoulder, giving you a supportive smile. “She deserves the best,” he says, his words carrying a double meaning only you understand. 

Clearly unsettled, your ex nods and walks away, and you feel a sense of triumph. You did it! You showed him that you’re stronger than he thought. You glance at Aizawa, who’s watching you with a look of quiet pride. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

His expression softens, a rare warmth in his eyes. “Anytime,” he says to you with a smile. 

Feeling a sudden urge to celebrate the small victory and push away the lingering sadness, you turn to Aizawa. “How about we go back to your place? Open a bottle of wine and toast to new beginnings!”

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement on his lips. “Wine, huh? Celebrating already?”

You nod eagerly, wanting to seize the moment and look on the brighter side of things. “Yeah, why not? It’s been a rough few days, and I think we both deserve a break.”

He nods after a moment of consideration. “Alright, alright. Let’s go. I’ve got a decent bottle at home.”

The walk to his apartment is full of light conversation and laughter, the earlier tension easing away. When you arrive, he unlocks the door and gestures for you to enter first. The familiar space brings a sense of comfort, and so you kick off your shoes at his door.

Aizawa heads to the kitchen and retrieves a bottle of red wine from the cabinet. “Hope you like red,” he says, grabbing two glasses. 

“Perfect,” you reply, taking a seat on the couch. He pours the wine and hands you a glass, sitting down beside you. 

“To new beginnings,” you say, raising your glass.

“To new beginnings,” he echoes, clinking his glass against yours.

–

As the evening progresses, you find yourself leaning closer to Aizawa, the barrier of friendship feeling more fluid. The wine loosens your tongue and inhibitions, and you start sharing stories and memories, laughing together over shared memories.

At one point, you catch yourself staring into his eyes, the room growing quiet around you. “You know, pretending to be your girlfriend wasn’t so bad.” You say softly, your cheeks flushing a deeper red.

“It wasn’t bad at all,” he agrees, his voice low and steady. 

The moment hangs between you. You feel your heart beating in your chest, each beat echoing in the quiet room. Time slows as you both lean in, the distance between you shrinking until it feels like the whole world has narrowed to this one point. 

Without another word, you close the distance. Your lips meet in a gentle, tentative kiss that quickly deepens, fueled by emotions of the past few days. It’s a kiss full of relief, longing, and the promise of something new. Aizawa’s hand comes to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

Responding with equal fervour, your hands find their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The kiss becomes more urgent, a release of all the pent-up feelings and unspoken words. For a moment, nothing else exists but the two of you.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together. His eyes search yours, and you see a flicker of uncertainty mixed with the raw emotion reflecting there. 

“Was… that okay?” he asks, his voice a whisper. “I know you just… I know you’re going through a rough patch right now.”

You smile slightly and nod. “It’s okay.”

He smiles back at you, and you can feel a surge of emotion rushing through you. You notice him glancing down at your lips, and this time, you grin. 

“Maybe you can be my boyfriend for a little longer.” 

You lean in and close the distance once more, his lips feeling soft and warm against yours, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. The two of you share yet another passionate kiss, and this time, your lips sync together fiercely. 

One of his hands finds its way to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair and using it as leverage to pull you flush against him. His other hand rests on your hip, his touch warm and inviting. 

“Let me treat you properly, then. How a girlfriend should be treated.” He whispers between kisses, which gradually get sloppier, messier, full of need and want. 

You feel his teeth nipping at your bottom lip and tugging softly, eliciting a soft gasp from you. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, the wet muscle searching your cavern. His tongue finds your own, and together you dance and duel. Ultimately, he is the winner, forcing you into submission as he smashes his lips firmly against yours. 

Then, suddenly, he tugs at your hair roughly, forcing your lips apart and your head back, exposing your delectable flesh to him. He leans down and promptly drags his tongue along the rim of your neck, right above your collarbone, where your oh-so-pretty shirt stops him from going any further. 

“Shota…” you murmur, your hands finding their way into his unruly hair. 

“Am I going too far?” he asks softly, and while he waits for your response, he continues to press sloppy kisses along your skin. 

“Not nearly far enough.” You muse with a subtle smirk and give his own hair a firm tug!

“Ah… (Y/N),” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut momentarily. You hear the air seeping past his lips into his lungs in a soft hiss before he forcefully raises his head, ignoring your weak grip on his locks. 

“Come here,” he demands, not waiting for an answer this time as he releases his hold on your hair and quickly lifts you up in his strong arms. You must’ve really aggroed him. 

You squeal as his hands find leverage on your body and he raises you against his chest, carrying you bridal style to his room. 

Before you can speak, you’re quite literally dropped onto his mattress, his eyes watching as your body trembles from the impact. You lean up on your elbows and smirk at him, determination and fire glinting in your eyes. 

It’s not long before he’s tearing your clothes apart with whispers of buying you new outfits. Rips and tears are heard over your excited squeals and over the cry of pain he elicits from you when he slaps the side of your thigh, watching it jiggle and ripple beautifully from the harsh impact. 

He pulls off his shirt, slowly, tantalising, his dark eyes noticing how your own rake over his body. Discarding the piece of clothing to the side, he lays a hand on your shoulder and pushes you down on his mattress, back flat against the soft cushioning. Aizawa leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue immediately finding entry into your mouth once more. 

One hand holds him steady above you and the other begins its magical work; fingertips grazing your skin as he slides them over your collarbone, then down to your perky breasts, your nipples hard from the cold air. He takes one between his fingers and rolls it, pinching it as he does so. You squeal at the sensation, your sounds muffled by his lips. 

“That’s it babydoll,” he whispers hotly, tweaking your nipple between his fingers. “Make more of those pretty little noises.” He urges softly, switching breasts to give them equal treatment. 

“Shota, please…” you beg, feeling yourself damp between your legs. You clench your thighs together, which only earns you his hand moving from your breast to your thighs. 

“Keep those legs open for me,” he husks out, grabbing your knee in his large palm and forcing your legs open. Calloused hand travels down your inner thigh to your aching core, where he teases your folds with a brush of his finger. The sensation makes you groan softly, a noise that reaches his ears and makes him smirk. 

“You’re already so wet for me,” he whispers, sitting back on his heels to get a better look at you. His eyes travel down your breasts to over your stomach and between your legs, enjoying how you glisten and twitch under his touch, “Maybe foreplay isn’t needed.”

He then teases your entrance with the tip of his finger, his digit sliding easily into your hole. 

“But what kind of boyfriend would I be, if I didn’t offer my princess an appetiser before the full meal?” He whispers, a low groan escaping his lips as you squirm from his penetration. He slowly pushes his finger further, until he’s down to his third knuckle. His eyes scan your face, searching for any hesitation or discomfort. 

It is definitely a new sensation, one that you haven’t felt before. It didn’t hurt but instead feels good. Your ex always cared about being quick and getting it done, but Shota? No. He is taking his time with you. Making you feel loved, cared for, and treated right. 

He pumps his finger in and out of you slowly, curling them to hit that one spot that you never knew was there before. You gasp, tossing your head back with a rather loud moan. Bucking your hips, you clutch at the sheets beneath you, your eyes fluttering shut.

You hear Shota chuckle deeply at your reaction before he promptly probes deeper with his finger, making you squirm and writhe, moreso when he adds a second. He’s met with some resistance, and you can feel how he’s stretching you – it’s been a while after all. 

“Shota–” you cry out, stopping yourself mid sentence with a moan as he begins setting a pace with his fingers now, pumping them relentlessly in and out of your hole. 

“What is it, kitty?” he asks you, “use your words.”

But before you can speak, another curl of his fingers makes you squeal. “I-I’m ready!”

“Are you sure? I’ve barely sta-”

“Yes, Shota!” 

He chuckles softly, slowly pulling his fingers out. You whimper at the loss of his fingers inside you, but you knew something better is coming. You watch with wide, doe-like eyes as he stands up from the bed. He unbuckles his belt, then unbuttons his pants, followed by his zipper. 

With a quick motion, he drops his pants to the floor, and in the dim lighting of the room, you can see the outline of his endowment in his boxers. Fuck. Were you ready?

–

He starts slow at first, the head of his cock pressing into you with a searing warmth you look forward to getting used to. With a buck of his hips, he pushes deeper into you, bottoming out. You close your eyes shut tightly and a moan escapes your lips, mild discomfort and pleasure searing through you. Your breath hitches in your throat, mingling with the breath of his groan. 

Your legs wrap around his waist as he begins to gradually set a pace, his hips moving in rhythm with your breaths and moans. “Such a good girl,” he praises you, his breath hot against your ear. 

Soon enough, you’re a mess; breath ragged, moans high-pitched, nails clawing at his damp skin. 

The sound of your phone vibrating reaches your ears first before the ringing, and you instinctively turn your head towards the sound. Your phone lay on his bedside table, its bright light illuminating the surrounding area. 

“Damn idiot,” Aizawa hisses, stopping his movements for just a moment to reach over you and grab your phone in his hands. 

“Who… who is it?” You ask through panting breaths. 

He winks at you and presses the green button on your screen before raising the phone up to his ear. You are about to sit up when he starts his movements again, his manhood brushing past your sensitive walls. 

You immediately bite your lip, trying to muffle your moans as he speaks into the phone. 

“Hello? … She’s busy. ”

You hear muffled yelling from the other side followed by a shrug from Aizawa. He presses the speaker button on your phone and lays it near your head. 

“Go on, kitten, tell him how much you’ve needed this cunt fucked.”

Your eyes widen and a surprised cry escapes your lips when he angles his thrusting to hit that special spot within you. Aizawa smirks above you and suddenly grabs a hold of your hips, aiming his thrusts to continually ram into that area of sensitive flesh. 

“Sho–ta!” you cry, your face red with embarrassment as you turn your head away from the phone. “Hang up the phone!”

“Don’t be shy, (Y/N). I’m sure he knows what he’s missing out on now. So speak up, let him hear how good you’re being treated.”

Your moans and groans of pleasure turns into cries and shouts of bliss, your noises reaching the speaker of your phone. Over your cries, you barely hear your ex’s words, shouting angrily into the microphone. 

“What the hell?! (Y/N)?!”

Aizawa leans down and whispers something into your ear, making your womanhood clench around him tightly. Were you really being turned on by this? How filthy. 

“Go on,” Aizawa says softly, standing up straight again as he groans and digs his fingers into your hips; you’re sure there was going to be marks the next morning. 

“You feel s-so… good!” You cry shyly, absolutely enjoying the feeling of him deep inside you like this. He thrusts into you harder, sacrificing his speed for raw power. You can feel how he throbs inside you, his cock pulsing as it’s enveloped by your wet walls. 

More incomprehensible shouting from your ex and you can only focus on the one thing in your mind – Aizawa, the smirk on his face, and the way his hips slap against yours. The sound is sickly sweet, filling the air and tainting his room with the scent of your sex, like some animal marking its territory. 

Just as he feels your core tightening around his, he hastily reaches over and snatches the phone from beside your head. Through ragged groans and gasps, he grumbles into the microphone: “Like I said. She’s busy. ” And with that, he hangs up the phone. 

Tossing the phone on the mattress, he grins down at you and picks up his pace little by little, watching with pleasure how your face contorts in pure bliss; eyes fluttering, mouth parted open ever so slightly, cheeks flushed. 

“I-I’m…” you stutter out haphazardly, clutching and twisting the bed sheets beneath you as you don’t even get the chance to finish your sentence, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. 

The pleasure building up was too much, and you had to let go. It feels amazing, an orgasm quite unlike any other. Your body racks and trembles, tensing up during the climax before finally easing into relaxation and recovery mode. 

Aizawa follows suit soon after, a guttural yell from deep within his chest resonating with your heartbeat as he suddenly forces himself to pull out of you and explode all over your navel and stomach. 

And so, the two of you remain there, panting heavily and slowly recovering from your climaxes.

–

As Shota cleans you up with a damp cloth, he glances up at your face, taking note of the look behind your eyes. He smiles faintly and leans over, giving you a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“Want some food, or some water?” He asks softly, tossing the rag into his hamper. “I can run a bath for you, and we can cuddle afterwards.”

You nod slightly and smile at him, “that would be nice. Thank you, Shota.”

“It’s my pleasure. Come on, let’s go get that water running.”

And as he helps you stand up from his bed, your ex long-forgotten, you wonder what lies ahead – maybe Aizawa would like to keep “pretending” to be your boyfriend, or maybe there’s really something more. 

After all, actions speak louder than words.

My ex’s, and the oh oh oh’s they haunt me.

Chapter Text

The sun is settling over the grounds of Jujutsu High, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. You are in the training yard, finishing up a sparring session with one of the second-year students. As you wipe the sweat from your brow, you notice Gojo Satoru approaching, his usual relaxed smile on his face.

“Hey there, sparring superstar!” he calls out, his voice carrying easily across the distance. “You’re making me look bad with how hard you’re working.”

With a laugh, you shake your head. “As if. No one can make you look bad, Satoru.”

He grins, his blue eyes twinkling behind his sunglasses. “Flattery will get you everywhere, you know.”

You can’t help but smile as you roll your eyes. The older teacher has a way of making everything seem less serious, lighter. It’s one of the reasons you enjoy his company so much; he made even the most gruelling training sessions bearable. 

You bid goodbye to your student and walk together with Gojoj back towards the main building. He keeps up a steady stream of banter, teasing you about your form and offering tips that were as much about making you laugh as they were about improving your technique. 

“Seriously, though,” he says as you reach the entrance, “you’re doing great.”

“Thanks, Satoru,” you say, feeling a warm glow of appreciation. “That means a lot coming from you. 

“Anytime,” he replies, “you know I’ve always got your back.”

As you open your mouth to respond, the door swings open, and a new face steps out. Akira, the latest addition to the teaching staff, smiles brightly at the two of you. 

“Hey there, Satoru,” the young man greets, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than necessary as he takes in your appearances. “And you must be the famous teacher he’s always talking about.”

“He talks about me?” You blink in surprise.

“All the time,” Akira confirms with a nod. “Says you’re one of the best!”

Gojo chuckles, looking slightly embarrassed. “Well, I wouldn’t say all the time…”

Feeling a flutter in your chest at the compliment, you thank Akira. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise! I look forward to seeing you in action.” His smile widens. 

As Akira walks away, Gojo’s smile fades slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. You, however, don’t notice, too caught up in the excitement of meeting someone new.

Later that evening, you find yourself in the common room, chatting with Akira. He’s easy to talk to, and you enjoy learning about his experiences and perspectives on Jujutsu Sorcery. It isn’t long before Gojo joins you, his presence commanding the room as always. 

He flips down on the couch in between you and Akira, draping an arm casually over the back. “So, what are we talking about?”

“Just getting to know each other,” you reply with a smile. “Akira has some really interesting stories.”

“Oh, I bet he does.” Gojo raises an eyebrow.

There’s a subtle edge to his voice, one you couldn’t quite place. You brush it off, though, assuming he’s just being himself. 

Akira leans back, relaxing into the conversation. “So, Gojo!” he says, turning his attention to Satoru. “How long have you been at Jujutsu High?”

Gojo shrugs, his usual nonchalant demeanor in place. “Long enough to know the ins and outs,” he says, his eyes flickering to you briefly before returning to Akira. “But the real question is, what brought you here?”

Akira’s eyes light up as he smiles. “I’ve always admired the work done here. When I heard there was an opening, I jumped at the chance. Plus, it’s hard to pass up the opportunity to work with such talented students and faculty.”

“It’s a great place!” you nod enthusiastically. “Everyone here is like family.”

Gojo’s gaze softens as he looks at you. “Yeah, family.”

The conversation flows easily, but Gojo’s demeanor shifts slightly. He is still his charming, witty self, but there’s a subtle tension in his posture, a tightness in his smile whenever Akira’s attention lingers on you for too long.

After a while, Akira excuses himself to prepare for his next class, leaving you and Gojo alone in the common room. The silence stretches for a moment before Gojo finally speaks. 

“So what do you think of him?” His tone is casual but his eyes are intense.

“He seems great,” you reply, leaning back against the couch. “It’s nice to have some new energy around here.”

Gojo nods, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of the couch. “Yeah, he’s… interesting.”

You turn to him, raising an eyebrow at the unusual seriousness in his expression. “Satoru, is something bothering you?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “Nah, just thinking. You know me, always a million things on my mind.”

You aren’t entirely convinced, but you let it go, not wanting to push him. Instead you decide to lighten the mood. “Well, if you ever need to talk about those million things, you know where to find me.”

His smile returns, genuine this time. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The evening wears on, and the two of you fall into your usual comfortable rhythm. It isn’t until much later, as you are getting ready to head to bed, that you receive a message on your phone. It’s from Akira, thanking you for the conversation and expressing how much he is looking forward to working with you. 

Gojo glances over your shoulder, his curiosity piqued. “Who’s that?”

“Just Akira,” you say, showing him the message. “He’s really nice.” 

“Yeah, nice,” Gojo mutters, a look crossing his face.

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “What’s with the look? Are you jealous?”

He scoffs but there’s a hint of something in his eyes that makes you wonder. “Me? Jealous? Puh-lease. I’m just looking out for you.”

“Sure, sure,” you tease, heading to your room. “Goodnight, Gojo.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he replies, watching you go. 

–

The next few days pass in a blur of training and classes. Akira integrated seamlessly into the school, quickly becoming a favourite among the students. You find yourself spending more and more time with him, appreciating his fresh perspective and easygoing nature.

Gojo, meanwhile, seems to be everywhere you turn. Whether it is during training sessions, lunch breaks, or late-night study sessions, he is always there, his presence both comforting and slightly overwhelming.

One afternoon, after a particularly intense training session with the students, you find yourself sitting in the staffing lounge, nursing a cup of tea. Akira walks in, his usual bright smile lighting up the room.

“Hey! I was looking for you,” he says, taking a seat across from you. “I was wondering if you wanted to join me for dinner tonight. There’s a new place I’ve been wanting to try.”

You’re about to respond when the door swings open, and Gojo saunters in. He raises an eyebrow at the two of you, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Dinner plans?” he asks casually, though you can sense the underlying tension in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Akira replies, unfazed. “I was just inviting (Y/N) to check out a new restaurant.” 

Gojo’s gaze shifts to you, his expression unreadable. “Sounds fun. Mind if I tag along?”

Akira chuckles, glancing at you for approval. “Uh.. sure, the more the merrier.”

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest. “Of course, Satoru. It’ll be fun.”

The three of you head out after finishing your work for the day. The restaurant is cosy, with a warm ambiance and delicious food. Conversation flows easily, but you can’t help but notice the subtle competition between Gojo and Akira, each trying to outdo the other in their stories and jokes.

At one point, Gojo leans in close to you, his arm resting casually on the back of your chair. “So, (Y/N), how are you finding Akira’s training methods?”

You smile, appreciating his attempt to include you. “They’re great, it’s always good to get a fresh perspective.”

Akira nods, taking a sip of his drink. “(Y/N)’s been a huge help, actually. Their insights have been invaluable.”

If it wasn’t for his blindfold, you would’ve caught Gojo’s eyes twinkling with mischief. “Of course they are. They’re one of our best, after all.”

You blush at the compliment, feeling the warmth of Gojo’s arm near your shoulder. The evening continues in much the same way, with lighthearted banter and the occasional serious discussion about training and student progress.

As the night draws to a close, you find yourself standing outside the restaurant with Gojo and Akira. The younger teacher glances at his watch, then at you. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I should head home. Thanks for tonight, (Y/N). It was great,”

You smile and give Akira a quick hug. “Thanks for inviting me. We should do this again sometime.”

Gojo waves, watching as Akira walks away. Once he’s out of sight, Gojo turns to you, his expression softening. “Walk you back?”

You nod, grateful for his company. As you walk side by side through the quiet streets, Gojo’s hand brushes against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. 

–

The next few weeks pass in a whirlwind of activity. Akira continues to excel in his role, and you find yourself spending more and more time with him, both professionally and socially. The students adore him, and his easy going nature makes him a popular figure at the school. 

Gojo’s behaviour becomes more overt, however, as Akira’s popularity grows. It starts with the small things, a sharp comment here, a lingering glare there.

One afternoon, you’re sitting in the staff lounge with Akira, discussing training strategies for the students. You’re both so engrossed in your conversation that you don’t even notice Gojo standing in the doorway until he clears his throat.

“Am I interrupting something?” Gojo’s voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it that you just can’t ignore. 

Startled, you look up. “Oh, Satoru. I didn’t see you there. No, you’re not interrupting anything, we were just discussing some new training techniques.” 

Gojo strides into the room, his head tilting slightly as it seems like he glances between you and Akira. “Sounds fascinating,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Mind if I join?”

“Of course, Gojo. We’d love to have your input.” Akira smiles warmly, ever the diplomat. 

Gojo takes a seat next to you, his sense of direction never leaving you. “So, what brilliant ideas have you come up with this time, hmmm?”

You exchange a quick glance with Akira, sensing the tension in the room. “We were just thinking of incorporating more hands-on exercises,” you explain. “Something to keep the students engaged and motivated.”

The white haired sorcerer nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “Interesting. And who came up with this idea? You or Akira?”

Before you can respond, Akira jumps in. “It was a joint effort, actually. We were bouncing ideas off each other.”

Gojo’s smile is tight. “Of course. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

The conversation continues, but the atmosphere remains strained. You can’t help but feel caught in the middle of a silent battle between the two men. 

–

Gojo’s POV

As the days turn into weeks, I find myself watching you from a distance more often that I’d like to admit. My duties as a teacher keep me busy, but my eyes always seem to find their way back to you and Akira. It’s infuriating, really. Every time I see you two together, something twists in my chest, something I’ve never felt before.

You’re laughing with him again, a bright, genuine laugh that I haven’t heard in a long time. It should make me happy to see you so cheerful, but instead, it fills me with a dark, simmering anger. Why does it have to be him who makes you smile like that?

I catch glimpses of you two working side by side during training sessions. Akira is always there, his easy going nature and helpful demeanour winning over not just the students, but you as well. I watch as he shows you a new technique, his hand lingering a moment too long on your arm, and my fists clench at my sides.

It’s in these moments that the jealousy rears its ugly head, a bitter taste in my mouth. I hate it. I hate how it makes me feel, how it makes me doubt myself. I’m Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer. I shouldn’t be threatened by someone like Akira, but here I am, seething with envy. 

One evening, as I stand outside the staff lounge, I watch through the window as you and Akira share a meal. Your heads are close together talking in hushed tones. I can’t hear what you’re saying, but the way you look at him, the way your eyes light up… it’s enough to make my blood boil. 

I force myself to turn away, stalking down the hall with heavy steps. I need to get a grip . The students have definitely noticed my shorter temper, my lack of focus. I can’t let this continue.

But as much as I try to push these feelings aside, they keep creeping back in, stronger than before. I can’t escape the thoughts that plague my mind. What if I’m losing you to him? What if you like him more than me?

Late at night, I stare at the ceiling as I lay in my bed, replaying every interaction, every laugh, every smile. I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, that there’s nothing to worry about. But deep down, I know it’s more than that. It’s not just jealousy – it’s fear. Fear that I’m not good enough for you, that I’ll never be able to give you what you need. But then a thought runs into my mind: I’m goddamn Satoru Gojo , the strongest damn sorcerer alive! Who were you to refuse me?

The next day, I see you and Akira in the courtyard, talking animatedly. I watch from the shadows, my heart heavy. I take a deep breath, stepping out of the shadows and walking towards you. My heart pounds in my chest as I approach, the knot in my stomach tightening with each step. 

“Hey,” I call out, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. You turn to look at me, surprise flickering across your face. Akira stands beside you, his expression neutral. 

–

You turn to look at Gojo upon hearing his voice, a flicker of surprise coming over your expression. Before you can say anything, Gojo steps forward, his face turned towards you with an intense expression that makes your heart skip a beat.

Without warning, he slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you close. “Mine,” he says, his voice low and possessive. 

You blink, taken aback by the sudden declaration. “Gojo, what are you–”

But he doesn’t let you finish. His grip tightens slightly as he looks over at Akira, who stands there, a mix of shock and confusion on his face. “You heard me,” Gojo says, his tone firm. “ Mine. ” 

The tension in the air is palpable, and you can feel your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and something else – something that feels dangerously close to excitement. Gojo’s jealousy, usually masked behind his carefree demeanour, is now on full display, and it’s both surprising and oddly thrilling. 

Akira takes a step back, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “(Y/N), why didn’t you tell me Satoru was your boyfriend? I didn’t mean to overstep, I was just–”

“Just what?” Gojo cuts in, his eyes narrowing behind his blindfold. “Just trying to get close to them? Just trying to take what’s not yours?”

Akira looks genuinely hurt, his expression softening as he glances between you and Gojo. “I thought we were getting along pretty well,” he says, his voice dripping with disappointment. “I was actually about to ask you out on a date.”

Your heart sinks as you see the pain in Akira’s eyes. You didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and you feel a pang of guilt for not being clearer about your close relationship with Gojo. 

“But if this is how things are,” Akira says before you can say anything. “I respect your decision. I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”

You watch as Akira turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped. The weight of the situation presses down on you, and you feel torn between the two men. You turn to Gojo, who is standing close, his arm still loosely draped around your shoulders.

“Gojo, you didn’t have to be so harsh,” you say softly, your voice laced with concern. 

The older man sighs, his expression softening. “I know, I just couldn’t stand the thought of him taking you away from me.”

Despite his shameful expression, an undeniable sense of triumph and victory washes over Gojo. He had staked his claim, made it clear to Akira and anyone else that you were his. His heart races with a mix of adrenaline and possessive satisfaction, though he knows better than to let it show. 

“I’m sorry,” he continues, his voice a gentle murmur. “I should have handled that better.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face. “I understand why you did it, but you need to trust me, Gojo. I choose you.”

Gojo’s gaze softens even more, and he pulls you into a gentle embrace. “I’ll work on it, promise.”

You nod and rest your head against his chest. “Just remember, I’m here because I want to be here, with you. No one else.”

He tightens his hold on you, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll remember, always.”

As you remain in Gojo’s embrace, you feel the tension of the past few weeks melt away. The quiet of the evening wraps around you both, creating a bubble of peace and contentment. 

Gojo leans back slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze as he raises his blindfold. His eyes are full of warmth and sincerity. “You know,” he says, a playful smirk forming on his lips, “if I’d known claiming you would make me feel this happy, I would’ve done it sooner.”

You chuckle, the sound light and carefree. “Well, I’m glad you finally got around to it.”

He grins, the mischief in his eyes sparkling. “So, what do you say we go out and celebrate this victory? My treat. We can have dinner at that new restaurant you’ve been wanting to try.”

Your eyes light up at the suggestion. “That sounds perfect! Let’s go.”

Gojo’s arm remains around your shoulders, as best as he can have it anyway, considering his size, as you walk away from the training grounds. The city lights ahead beckon with the promise of a delightful evening, free from the shadows of doubt and jealousy.

As you walk, Gojo’s playful nature shines through. He jokes and teases, making you laugh until your sides ache. It feels like old times, before the complications and misunderstandings, and you’re reminded of why you fell for him in the first place.

When you reach the restaurant, he opens the door with a flourish, bowing dramatically. “After you, my beloved.”

You roll your eyes with a smile and step inside. The warmth of the restaurant is inviting, and the delicious aromas make your stomach rumble. 

Throughout dinner, Gojo keeps you entertained with his stories and antics, drawing smiles and laughter from you effortlessly. His presence is a balm to your heart, his happiness infectious. 

As the evening winds down and you walk back to the dorms, he stops under a streetlight, turning to face you. “Thank you for being patient with me,” he says softly. “For choosing me.”

You reach up and cup his face in your hands. “I’ll always choose you, Satoru. Now and forever.”

He leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It’s a kiss full of promises and unspoken words, a testament to the bond you share. 

He rests his forehead against yours as he finally pulls away. “I adore you,” he whispers. “Just as much as I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You reply, your voice just as soft.

With hands intertwined, you continue your walk, the night air cool and refreshing. There’s a sense of renewal, of a new beginning. And with Gojo by your side, you know that no matter what challenges come your way, you’ll face them together.

Especially, with love and laughter leading the way. 

Chapter Text

The mission demands discretion and economy, but booking a single room wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you signed up to work with Gojo Satoru.

You stand in the cramped hotel room, suitcase in hand, staring at the only sleeping arrangement available: a full-sized bed occupying most of the space. Across the room, Gojo lounges casually against the doorframe, his usual smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

“So, partner ,” he drawls, his voice laced with amusement. “Looks like we’ll be getting cozy tonight.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t get any ideas, Satoru. This is purely for the mission.”

Gojo’s smirk widens, his playful demeanour evident even in the dim hotel room. “Who said anything about ideas? I’m just here to ensure we don’t freeze to death in this chilly room.”

Rolling your eyes, you drop your suitcase on the floor and begin unpacking your essentials. “Sure, keep telling yourself that,” you mutter under your breath, though a small part of you appreciates his attempt to lighten the tense atmosphere. 

He watches you unpack with casual interest, leaning against the dresser now. “You know,” he starts, his voice low and teasing, “this could be a great opportunity for us to get to know each other better.”

You scoff, not bothering to look up as you organise your belongings. “We’ve been partners for years, Gojo. I think I know enough.”

He chuckles softly, stepping closer. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that. I promise I won’t bite… unless you want me to.”

His suggestive tone makes you shoot him another glare, “you wish, Satoru.”

Gojo strides confidently over to the bed, patting the mattress with a grin. “I call dibs,” he declares, flashing you a playful smirk. 

You sigh, a mixture of annoyance and resignation evident in your expression as you glance over at Gojo sprawled comfortably on the bed. “Fine,” you concede reluctantly, knowing it’s futile to argue with him. With an annoyed shrug, you resign yourself to the couch, finding the rough surface of it uncomfortable but not unbearable. 

The silence in the room is suffocating, broken only by the occasional rustling of pages as you flip through the report in your hands. Gojo lounges on the bed behind you on the other side of the room, his presence as overwhelming as ever. 

Gojo stretches lazily, his white hair catching the dim light of the single lamp in the room. He glances at you, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You know, if you keep frowning like that, your face might get stuck,” he teases.

You shoot him another glare. “Why don’t you mind your own business for once, Gojo?”

He chuckles, the sound infuriatingly pleasant. “Alright, alright. Suit yourself.”

Time drags on, and the weight of exhaustion starts to settle over you. The couch you are sitting on is anything but comfortable, and you shift around, trying to find a position that doesn't make your back ache.

Noticing your discomfort, Gojo stands up with an exaggerated sigh. He crosses the room and begins rummaging in the closet before returning with a pillow in hand. “Here,” he says, tossing it towards you. 

You catch it, staring at the pillow as if it is some foreign object. “What’s this for?”

His blindfold hides it, but he rolls his eyes at you. “It’s a pillow. You put it under your head, or wherever it hurts. You do know how to use a pillow, right?”

You huff out a quiet “thanks” and place the pillow behind your back. It did help, and you couldn’t deny the relief it brought. 

The room lapses into a tense silence, the kind that seems to magnify every creak and shuffle. You can feel the weight of his presence, his energy filling the space between you. It’s suffocating. Not being able to take it any longer, you stand up abruptly, almost pushing back the couch. 

“I’m going to get a drink down at the bar,” you announce, needing an excuse to escape, needing an excuse to escape, if only for a little while.

Gojo’s head tilts in your direction, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Great idea. I could use a drink too.”

You turn to glare at him, but he is already up and heading towards the door, his long strides making it clear he has no intention of staying behind. “You don’t have to come, you know,” you mutter.

He turns his face in your direction, his smile widening. “And miss an opportunity to annoy you? Never.”

You let out an exasperated sigh but follow him out of the room, too tired to argue further. The walk to the bar is quiet, the tension from earlier still lingering. As you reach the dimly lit space, you choose a secluded table in the corner, hoping for a bit of privacy. 

Gojo, of course, slides into the seat opposite of you, his eyes sparkling with amusement behind his blindfold. You order your drinks, and as you wait, you try to ignore the way his leg brushes against yours under the table. 

“So,” he begins, leaning back in his chair with a casual ease that only seems to make him more infuriating, “what’s really bothering you?”

You frown, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of prying into your thoughts. “Nothing. I just needed a break from that stuffy room.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

The drinks arrive and you take a long sip, savouring the cool liquid as it slides down your throat. Gojo watches you, his expression unreadable. “You know, you don’t have to be so guarded around me,” he says softly, his tone catching you off guard. 

You look at him, searching for any hint of sarcasm, but find none. It’s disarming, this sudden shift in his demeanour. “It’s not a switch I can just flip,” you reply, your voice quieter than before. 

He leans forward on the table, sipping at his drink through a bendy straw. “Maybe not. But you could try. Just a little.”

You hold his gaze, or what you can of it, the challenge in his words resonating something deep within you. Maybe it is the exhaustion, or the alcohol, or the strange vulnerability in his voice. 

The conversation between you and Gojo meanders through various topics as the night goes on. Despite the initial tension, you find yourself laughing more than you expected, the alcohol smoothing the edges of your defences. Gojo’s relentless teasing softens into something almost… friendly. 

After an hour, you realise you’ve had more to drink than you intended. The room starts to blur at the edges, and you know it’s time to call it a night. You sway as you stand up, your legs feeling like jelly. 

“I think I should head back,” you say, trying to steady yourself against the table. 

Gojo’s smirk is immediate. “Lightweight,” he teases as he stands up. 

You start making your way towards the elevator, each step a careful endeavour. Gojo falls in step beside you, one hand hovering near your elbow as if ready to catch you should you stumble. 

As you reach the elevator and press the button, you lean against the wall for support. The alcohol has definitely hit harder than you expected. Gojo watches you, amusement clear on his face.

“You know,” he says as the elevator doors open and you step inside, “if you needed an excuse to lean on me, you could’ve just said so.”

You roll your eyes, though it lacks your usual sharpness. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

The elevator ride is short and when the doors open, you make your way down the hallway to your room. You fumble with the keycard, but eventually get to swipe it through the card reader. The door clicks open and you stumble inside, too exhausted to care about anything else. 

You make a beeline for the couch, collapsing on it with a heavy sigh. The mild softness is a welcome relief, and you can feel your body relaxing almost immediately. Within moments, the warmth and comfort starts to pull you into sleep.

Gojo watches from the doorway, a small smile playing on his lips. He steps inside quietly, making sure not to disturb you. Seeing you already drifting off, he moves around the room, grabbing a blanket from the bed. 

He walks over to the couch, his movements careful and deliberate. Gently, he drapes the blanket over you, making sure it covers you well. For a moment, he stands there, looking down at you with an expression that’s hard to read. It’s a mix of amusement, concern, and something else – something softer.

Once he’s satisfied that you’re comfortable, he retreats to the bed he claims dibs over. Settling in, he glances over at you one last time. “Goodnight,” he whispers. 

The next morning arrives with sunlight filtering through the curtains, bringing with it a dull ache behind your eyes. You groan softly as you start to wake, shifting on the couch and reaching up to rub your temples. The memories of last night trickle back slowly, accompanied by the throbbing headache. 

Across the room, Gojo is already up and about, moving with his usual effortless grace. He’s dressed casually, leaning against the kitchenette counter as he scrolls through his phone. Hearing your groan, he looks up with a smirk. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he says, his tone teasing but not unkind. “Rough night?”

You shoot him a glare, though it lacks its usual bite. “Don’t start, Gojo.”

He chuckles, crossing the room to stand in front of you. “Come on, it’s not every day I get to see you like this.”

You sit up slowly, holding your head as the room spins slightly. “Just get me some coffee, please.”

“Ah, coffee,” he says, mockingly dramatic. “The miracle cure for lightweight drinkers everywhere.” 

Resisting the urge to throw a pillow at him, you settle for a resigned sigh instead. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Gojo’s smirk widens. “Of course. I’ll make you some coffee.”

He disappears into the kitchenette, leaving you to sit up slowly on the couch. The pounding in your head subsides a bit as you focus on deep breathing. 

Without realising it, you find yourself standing and leaning against the wall near the kitchenette, staring out the window. The city outside bustles with morning activity, a stark contrast to the quiet moment inside the room. You’re deep in thought, mulling over the strange turn of events and the shifts in your dynamic with Gojo.

Satoru returns with the coffee, setting it down on the counter before he notices your distant expression. His smirk falters for a moment as he watches you, leaning against the way with a faraway look in your eyes.

“You okay there?” he asks, his voice soft.

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts to meet his face turning in your direction. “Yeah, just thinking.”

His smirk returns, albeit with a hint of concern beneath it now. “Thinking? That’s dangerous territory for you, isn’t it?”

You manage a weak smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Gojo’s teasing usually rolls off you like water, but today, it feels different – more personal somehow. 

“You’re unusually quiet,” he continues stepping closer to you. “Did last night really knock you out that much?”

You shrug, not entirely sure how to explain the turmoil of thoughts swirling in your head. “I guess so. It’s just been a lot.”

He nods, his expression serious now. “I get it. Sometimes, letting your guard down while you drink like that can feel like stepping into unknown territory.”

His words resonate with you more than you expected. For all his teasing and bravado, Gojo seems to understand the weight of vulnerability better than anyone else.

“I think,” he continues, carefully choosing his words, “that maybe you’re not used to someone seeing past that tough exterior of yours. And maybe,” he adds with a hint of a challenge, “I want to test a theory.”

Your brows furrow slightly, curiosity piqued despite yourself. “A theory?”

He nods, stepping closer until you can feel his presence, his warmth. A smirk plasters itself on his face, “a challenge. I want to see if I can get you to let your guard down, just a little more. And,” he adds, his tone softening, “maybe I’ll do the same.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” you ask cautiously, unable to resist the challenge. 

Gojo’s smirk widens and he takes another step closer, his body almost pressing against yours. You find yourself trapped between him and the wall, the air thick with anticipation. 

“I’ll show you,” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting. 

Before you can say anything, his hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his touch tender. Your breath catches as he leans in, his face so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. Without another word, he closes the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that is both unexpected and electrifying. 

The kiss starts off gentle, teasing even, but quickly deepens as you respond. His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while his other arm wraps around your waist. The world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this intense moment. 

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless. You can tell he’s searching your face for any sign of regret or hesitation. Instead, he finds a mix of surprise and something else – something more open, vulnerable. 

“Well,” his voice is husky, “did that help?”

You’re at a loss for words, still processing the rush of emotions his kiss stirred within you. But you manage a small nod, your defences beginning to crumble. 

“Good,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Because I plan on testing a lot more theories from now on.”

He grins when you smile at his words and he leans in to kiss you once more. It’s much softer this time, and as you lose yourself in the moment, you realise that maybe, just maybe letting Gojo in might not be such a bad idea after all.

Chapter Text

In the quiet of your bedroom, you're sprawled across your bed, your laptop balanced on your knees. The soft glow of the screen illuminates your face as you scroll through yet another fanfiction search featuring your favourite characters, Levi Ackerman from the hit series Attack on Titan and Shota Aizawa from fan favourite My Hero Academia.

Your heart flutters with every well-written interaction, every clever line of dialogue, and every tender moment crafted by talented writers. You can’t help but smile as you read about Levi’s stoic yet protective nature and Aizawa’s gruff exterior that hides a caring heart.

With a sigh, you close the laptop and stare up at the ceiling. “If only they were real,” you murmur to yourself, feeling a pang of longing. “Life would be so much more interesting.”

You chuckle softly, knowing it is just another silly thought of yours. With that, you shut your pretty eyes and let sleep take over, dreams full of your favourite characters.

The next morning, you wake up feeling refreshed. The sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm, honeyed glow across your room. You stretch and yawn as you decide that today calls for a night of self-care and some pampering. Some wine, a good book, and maybe a nice long bath. Perfect.

After getting dressed and making yourself a nice breakfast, you grab your keys and head out to the store. The weather is pleasant, the fresh air invigorating as you walk down the street to your local market.

You wander through the aisles, picking up a bottle of your favourite wine, some snacks, and a few other items to pamper yourself with. You can already imagine the evening ahead: a warm, candlelit bath with some of your favourite music followed by a snuggly cosy blanket in bed with a glass of wine in hand, and perhaps a movie or two to lose yourself in, then a chapter before bed.

As you approach the checkout counter, your thoughts drift back to the fanfiction you read last night. Smiling to yourself, you can’t help but think about how nice it would be to share your self-care night with someone like Levi or Aizawa. Someone who could understand and appreciate the need for a little peace and quiet. 

With your items bagged and paid for, you begin heading back home, eager to start your day of relaxation.

As you unlock the door to your apartment and step inside, the low murmur of voices coming from your living room is the first thing you notice. Confused and on high alert now, you drop your bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and cautiously make your way towards the source of the sound. 

Peeking around the corner, your heart skips a beat as you see two familiar figures standing in your living room: Levi Ackerman and Shota Aizawa. They look just as you’ve always imagined them – Levi with his stern expression and Aizawa with his tired eyes and dishevelled hair. 

You blink, trying to process what you’re seeing. “Wh-”

Before you can so much as finish what you were going to say, Levi turns to you, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Where are we?” he demands, his voice as commanding as ever.

Aizawa shakes his head, looking equally bewildered. “I was grading papers the last thing I remember. How did we end up here?”

You stumble backwards, nearly tripping over your own feet. “I… I don’t know,” you manage to stammer, “you’re… you’re not supposed to be here.”

Levi’s eyes narrow slightly as he assesses you. “Who are you?”

Still trying to wrap your head around the situation, you reply quickly, “I’m (Y/N). I… I was reading about you two last night. This isn’t possible.”

Aizawa rubs his temples, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. “About us? Like, stories?”

Levi’s gaze hardens, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “Are you responsible for this?”

You shake your head vigorously. “No, I didn’t do anything. I just wished you guys were real, and now you’re here.”

There’s a tense silence as Levi and Aizawa exchange a look, still trying to process your words. Finally, Levi steps forward, his demeanour cautious but slightly less hostile. “If this is some kind of prank–”

“It’s not!” You interrupt, holding up your hands defensively. “I swear, I have no idea how you got here. I’m just as confused as you are.”

Aizawa then sighs, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Well, we’re here now. So what do we do?”

Levi glances around your apartment, his expression unreadable. “We figure out how to get back.”

You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through you. The characters from your favourite shows are standing in your living room, real and tangible. It’s surreal, but you couldn’t deny the curiosity and wonder bubbling inside you. 

As Levi and Aizawa glance around your apartment, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, you lead them to the couch and motion for them to sit down. They do so cautiously, their expressions a mix of curiosity and wariness. 

Levi remains stoic, his gaze flickering between you and the room as if assessing every detail for clues. Aizawa, on the other hand, leans back on the couch, his tired eyes studying you with a mix of intrigue and skepticism. 

“So,” Levi starts, his voice low, “explain.”

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “I don’t fully understand it myself,” you begin hesitantly. “Last night, I was reading stories about you both–”

“Stories?” Aizawa interrupts, his brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Fanfiction,” you clarify. “Stories written by fans, like me. They imagine different scenarios for characters from TV shows and manga.”

Levi’s gaze sharpens. “And you’re saying these stories somehow brought us here?”

Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the situation, you nod. “I know it sounds crazy, but… yes. It seems that somehow, you’ve crossed over from your world into mine.”

Aizawa leans forward, his interest piqued. “I’ve studied dimensional theory before,” he muses. “If what you’re saying is true, then we’re in the past relative to my timeline. What year is it?”

“2024.” 

“I see,” Aizawa mutters, clearly thinking about something. “Yes, I remember reading about this year in my history classes. 

Levi’s jaw tightens, clearly trying to process the information. “Forget the timeline, forget who is from where, how do we get back? ”

You feel a pang of guilt as you shake your head. “I don’t know. I didn’t summon you here. I just wished you were real.”

Silence falls over the room as the weight of the situation sinks in. Levi and Aizawa exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between them. Despite their initial skepticism, they seem to be considering the possibility that what you’re saying could be true. 

“Regardless, we need to find a way back.” Levi finally says, his voice firm. 

Feeling a new sense of responsibility settling over you, you nod in agreement. “I’ll do everything I can to help.”

Aizawa sighs. “In the meantime, we’ll need to lay low and gather information. The last thing we need is to draw attention.”

You glance at the clock on the wall, realising that time is slipping away. “It’s getting late,” you say, “I should let you both rest.”

“Agreed. But don’t think this is over.” Levi remarks, his expression serious.

With a nod of acknowledgement, you show Levi and Aizawa to your room, where they reluctantly step inside. Their eyes scan the unfamiliar surroundings; the room is simple but cosy, with a neatly made bed, a small desk, and a few shelves lined with your favourite manga. 

As they take in the room, their gaze inevitably falls on the posters adorning the walls – posters of Levi and Aizawa from their respective shows. There are also figurines and other collectibles depicting scenes from their shows.

Levi’s brows furrow as he approaches one of the posters, studying it with extreme scrutiny. “What is this?” he asks, his voice low and serious. 

You hesitate, unsure how to explain. “Those are… representations of you both,” you start slowly. “In my world, you’re characters from a television show and manga. People admire and look up to you.”

Aizawa steps closer to another poster, his expression unreadable. “So these stories, they’re about us?”

You nod, feeling a mix of nervousness and relief that they seem to be taking it relatively well. “Yes. Fans write stories, create art, and collect items based on your characters. It’s a form of admiration and expression.”

Levi’s gaze flickers between you and the posters. “And you’re saying these things are real in your world?”

You take a deep breath, realising how surreal this conversation must be for them. “As real as anything can be,” you explain carefully. “You’re characters created by artists and writers, but seeing you here like this… it’s beyond what I ever imagined.”

Aizawa runs a hand through his hair. “So if we’re characters from your world, does that mean we have no way of returning to our own?”

You hesitate, feeling guilty that you don’t quite know the answers to their questions. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I wish I had answers, but this is all new to me too.”

“Tomorrow,” Aizawa begins, acknowledging the gravity of the situation. “We can start figuring out our next steps. But for now, we should rest.”

Levi’s gaze lingers on the posters for a moment longer before he turns away, heading towards your bed. “Agreed,” he says curtly, his voice betraying none of the turmoil you imagine he must be feeling. 

As they begin settling in for the night, you quietly leave the room, closing the door behind you. You make your way to your kitchen, where your forgotten bag of groceries lay idly by. You grab a wine glass from your pantry and rummage through your fridge, searching for that open bottle of wine you left inside. You’re still determined to have the night to yourself, afterall, especially after the extraordinary events unfolding in your apartment. 

–

The room is dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a small bedside lamp casting soft shadows over the walls. Levi and Aizawa sit on opposite sides of the bed, the air heavy with uncertainty and tension. 

Levi, his usual composed demeanour fractured by the events of the day, begins to rummage through the items scattered around the room – books, notebooks, and personal belongings that belonged to you. His hands move with precision, flipping through papers and inspecting objects with an intensity that mirrors his determination in battle. 

Aizawa watches him, his expression a mix of concern and disapproval. “Levi,” he says, his voice calm yet firm, “what are you doing?”

Levi glances up briefly, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “I’m gathering information,” he replies curtly, his tone brooking no argument. 

Aizawa sighs as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “This is inappropriate,” he states plainly, his gaze flickering to the closed door. “We’re guests here. We should respect (Y/N)’s privacy.”

A muscle ticks in Levi’s temple as his jaw tightens. “We need to understand this world if we’re going to find a way back,” he counters, his voice clipped. 

Aizawa shakes his head slightly, his exhaustion evident in the lines around his eyes. “That doesn’t mean we invade her privacy,” he insists, his tone softer but no less resolute. 

Levi pauses, his hands freezing mid-motion as he considers Aizawa’s words. For a moment, the room is full of nothing but the sound of their breathing, the weight of the situation hanging between them. 

Finally, Levi lets out a frustrated sigh, dropping the notebook he had been examining back onto the bedside table. “You’re right,” he admits grudgingly, “I apologise.”

Aizawa nods, his expression softening slightly. “We’re all under a lot of stress,” he offers, trying to diffuse the tension. “But we need to approach this carefully.”

Levi nods, “tomorrow,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument, “we begin our search for answers.”

Aizawa agrees quietly, his exhaustion finally catching up to him as he settles against the headboard.

—

A few weeks have passed since Levi and Aizawa first appeared in your apartment, and in that time, the initial tension and uncertainty has gradually given way to a growing sense of friendship. The two have adapted surprisingly well to their new environment, and you have found yourself growing more comfortable with their presence.

One evening, as you sit in the living room with Levi and Aizawa, a quiet sense of normalcy has settled over the three of you. Aizawa is lounging on the couch, flipping through one of the books he had found on your shelf, while Levi sat at the table, his sharp eyes fixing on you with a look of curious intent.

“So,” Levi begins, breaking the comfortable silence, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about the technology in your world.” His voice is calm but you can hear the underlying curiosity in his tone. 

You look up from your laptop, “what specifically do you want to know?” you ask, closing your computer and giving him your full attention. 

Levi glances around the room, his gaze lingering on the various electronic devices that fill your apartment. “Everything,” he says simply. “The devices you use, how they work, and what they’re capable of.”

Aizawa looks up, mildly interested. “Your world seems to be quite advanced for the year you’re in,” he adds, his tired eyes meeting yours. “It would be helpful to understand it better.”

You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and eagerness to share. “Alright,” you begin, standing up and moving to sit beside Levi at the table. “Let’s start with the basics.”

You pick up your phone and hand it to Levi, who examines it with a critical eye. “This is a smartphone,” you explain. “It’s a device that can make calls, send messages, access the internet, and run various applications.”

Levi turns the phone over in his hands, his brows furrowed in concentration. “And the internet? How does that work?”

You smile, launching into an explanation of how the internet connects people and information across the world. You show him how to browse websites, use apps, and even played a short video to demonstrate its capabilities. Levi listens intently, absorbing every detail with a focused intensity. 

Aizawa joins you at the table, his interest growing as you move on to explain other devices, like your laptop and smart home gadgets. He had all these back in his world, of course, but being in a different timeline is interesting. 

You show them how your laptop could be used for work, entertainment, communication, and demonstrate how you can control the lights and thermostat with a simple voice command.

“This is remarkable,” Levi says quietly, his eyes reflecting a rare moment of awe. “The potential applications for this technology are endless.”

You nod, feeling a sense of pride and satisfaction in being able to share your world with them. “That’s right. And there’s so much more to explore.”

As the evening wears on, the three of you continue to discuss the intricacies of modern technology, delving into topics ranging from medical advancements to transportation and beyond. 

By the time the night has come to a close, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected twist of fate that had brought Levi and Aizawa into your life. 

—

A month has passed since then and despite your best efforts, you haven’t been able to find a way to return them to their own realities. The three of you have settled into a routine, forming a close-knit group. 

One evening, you find yourself sitting in the living room with Levi and AIzawa. The sun had set, casting a warm glow through the curtains as you all relaxed after another day of searching for answers. 

Levi sits at the table, a thoughtful expression on his face as he reviews a stack of notes and research materials. Aizawa is sprawled on the couch, his ever-present fatigue etched into his features as he reads through a book. 

“We;ve scoured every piece of information we could find,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence. “There must be something we’re missing.” 

Levi sighs, setting down the notes and rubbing his forehead. “We’ve explored every logical explanation,” he mutters, frustration creeping into his voice. “There has to be a way.”

Aizawa closes his book with a soft thud as he looks over at you both. “Sometimes, the answers aren’t in the books. We need to think outside the box.”

You nod, appreciating his words but still feeling the weight of the situation. 

Levi notices this, his gaze softening slightly as he looks at you. “We’ll find a way,” he says firmly. “We have to.”

Aizawa leans back against the couch, his eyes thoughtful. “In the meantime, we need to focus on what’s within our control. Adapt and survive, just like we always have.”

Later that night, as you are getting ready for bed on your couch, there’s a knock on the wall. You lift your head up to see Levi standing there in the archway, his expression serious. 

“Can we talk?” he asks, his tone softer than usual.

You nod, gesturing for him to sit down. He walks over to the window instead, staring out at the city lights for a moment before turning to face you. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he begins, his voice steady. “Even if we can’t find a way back immediately, we need to make the most of our time here. Learn as much as we can about this world.”

“You’re right,” you nod, “there’s so much we can learn and experience.”

Levi’s gaze softens in the reflection of the window, a moment of rare vulnerability showing through. “And, thank you. For everything you’ve done for us.”

You feel a warmth rising to your chest at his words. “It’s the least I can do,” you say sincerely. “We’re in this together.”

—

Another month has passed, and life has settled into an odd but comforting routine with Levi and Aizawa. Despite the ongoing search for a way back to their worlds, you had all grown closer, sharing your days and evenings with mutual respect.

One evening, you return home from grocery shopping, your mind preoccupied with thoughts of dinner. As you step inside and set down the bags, you immediately notice something is different. A trail of rose petals leads from the front door, winding its way through the living room and towards the hallway.

Your curiosity piqued, you follow the trail, your heart beating a little faster with each step. The petals guide you to your bedroom door, which is slightly ajar. Pushing it open, you gasp softly at the sight that awaits you.

The room is filled with the soft, warm glow of candles. Roses are scattered everywhere, their sweet fragrance filling the air. Standing in the centre of the room are Levi and Aizawa, each holding a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. 

Levi’s usual stern expression is softened by a rare smile, and Aizawa’s eyes hold a warm, appreciative glimmer. They step forward, presenting you with the gifts. 

“We wanted to do something special for you,” Levi says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “To show our gratitude.”

Aizawa nods, “you’ve done so much for us. We wanted to express our thanks in a way that feels fitting.”

You take the flowers and chocolates, feeling a lump form in your throat. “This is incredible,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you, thank you so much. But, what brought this on? And more importantly, how did you get the money for all of this?”

Levi exchanges a glance with Aizawa, who speaks first. “We’ve found a way back,” he says, his tone serious but tinged with relief. “We discovered a method that might work to return us to our worlds.” He completely ignores the second question. 

Your heart skips a beat. “You did?” you ask, a mix of emotions swirling inside you – joy, relief, and a sudden pang of sadness. 

Levi nods. “It’s not guaranteed, but it’s the best lead we’ve had so far. We wanted to let you know and thank you properly before we go.”

You look at them, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I’m so happy for you,” you say, your voice wavering. “But… I’m going to miss you both so much.”

Aizawa steps closer, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “We’ll miss you too,” he says softly. “But this isn’t goodbye forever. You’ve become an important part of our lives.”

“You’ve helped us more than you know,” Levi nods in agreement. “And we’ll always be grateful for that.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. “I don’t know what to say,” you admit, looking between them. “You’ve both become such a big part of my life.”

Levi and Aizawa exchange a glance, an unspoken understanding passing between them. They step closer, and before you could react, they envelope you in a warm, firm hug. The sudden closeness, the feel of their strength and warmth, was both comforting and overwhelming. 

Aizawa’s voice is soft in your ear. “You’ve been our anchor in this unfamiliar world,” he murmurs. “We couldn’t have made it this far without you.”

Levi’s grip tightens slightly, “you’ve shown us kindness and patience,” he says quietly. “It’s more than we could have asked for.”

You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes again, but this time they are tears of gratitude and connection. You wrap your arms around them both, holding on tightly, savouring the moment. 

After a few heartbeats, they slowly pull away, but only slightly. Aizawa cups your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “We want to show you how much you mean to us,” he says, his gaze locked on yours.”

Levi nods, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion you haven’t seen before. “And how much we’ll miss you,” he adds, his voice barely a whisper. 

Before you can respond, Aizawa leans in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, tender kiss. It’s a kiss full of gratitude and affection. When he pulls back, Levi follows suit, his kiss equally gentle but laced with the intensity that is uniquely his. 

Levi, however, didn’t pull away. He instead deepens the kiss, his hand coming up to cup the other side of your face. Aizawa pulls away completely, giving the other man some room. 

The Captain of the Survey Corps gently nips at your bottom lip, his free hand moving from around your shoulders to the small of your back. He pulls you closer, close enough until your bodies are flush against one another. His strength is immaculate, something you’ve never experienced before, albeit he is gentle with you, but firm. 

You part your lips open at his request and he promptly slides his tongue into your mouth, his tongue immediately searching for yours in a heated dance of passion and … lust. You feel your hands become lighter as Aizawa moves in to take the flowers and chocolates from you, setting them on your nightstand. 

“Alright, Levi. You’ve got enough of a taste,” Aizawa murmurs, and you hear the rustling of a box opening. The sweet scent of chocolates fill the air alongside the roses, and as Levi pulls away, his breath heavy and cheeks flushed, you look over at the hero. 

He smirks as he approaches you, a singular chocolate in his hand. Levi steps away momentarily, giving Aizawa the room to do what he pleases. You see him pop the small chocolate in his mouth before his hand comes to the back of your neck. He forcefully pulls you closer to him, his lips crashing with yours. 

You gasp in surprise and he takes the opportunity to push the chocolate in your mouth. The taste is sweet, bitter even – dark chocolate. 

Aizawa pulls away slightly, his grip still firm on your neck, as he lowers his lips to your jaw. He angles his fingers in such a way that makes you tilt your head back, and he uses this moment to bring his lips down to your neck. His teeth teasingly graze your skin, his free hand moving to your hip. 

You can hear a slight chuckle escape from Levi now, and you can feel your blood rushing to your face. You pull away from Aizawa, your breaths ragged and broken up. 

The hero smirks down at you, his tongue slipping out for a moment to lick his lips. It is then that you realise, as you gaze at both men, that there was more to their words when they said that they wanted to treat you. 

Levi steps forward, taking your hand in his as he pulls you away from Aizawa and back to his chest. He nods towards the bed, and for a moment you think that was a gesture for you, but it in fact, is not. You crane your head to look at Aizawa as he sits at the edge of the mattress, and before you can say anything, you’re pushed towards him. 

You stumble forward and crash into Aizawa, who chuckles and helps you onto his lap so you straddle him. “Someone’s a little clumsy.”

You blush furiously, more so when his hands trail up your thighs to your ass, moving under your skirt and beginning to rip into your panties.

“Aizawa–” you murmur, not getting the chance to say anything more than that before he grabs the back of your head and pulls you into a fierce kiss. 

“I love hearing you say my name,” he grumbles between breaths, his tongue wasting no time in sliding into your mouth as he leans back on your bed, falling onto his back and bringing you down with him. Your shirt skirt was nothing more than an open candy wrapper to Levi now as he steps forward. 

Levi reaches out with his hands, moving them up your thighs to your ass, where he grabs a handful of your flesh and spreads you open. You can hear the faint sigh that comes from him as his eyes feast upon you, and soon, his tongue will too. 

You shiver as you feel his wet muscle suddenly press against your folds. Your back arches and a soft moan escapes your lips, muffled by Aizawa’s own pressing against you. 

“Help me out here, Shota,” you hear Levi murmur, his hands momentarily leaving your ass. Aizawa’s hands, larger but equally calloused, reach down to grab handfuls of your asscheeks, pulling and kneading them. You could have sworn the intensity of his grabs would leave imprints. 

With renewed vigour, Levi dips back down, his tongue lapping at your sensitive cunt. Once he feels that you are adequately wet, his tongue dips inside, pushing past your folds and diving in between those warm walls of yours.

You gasp, clenching around his tongue immediately with a moan. Aizawa chuckles against your lips, breaking the kiss to trail kisses down to your neck. You tilt your head to one side, closing your eyes as Levi continues his ministrations down below. 

Each lick, each lap, each gentle nibble had you reeling, the jolts of pleasure feeling like electricity. You feel one of Aizawa’s hands leave your ass and trail up your body, sliding up under your shirt to your back. There, he unclasps your bra before reaching around front and cupping your now unsupported breast. He squeezes firmly, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple. 

You can’t help but moan in his ear, the way Levi’s tongue pumped in and out of you is divine, while Aizawa bit and kissed your neck while tending to your breasts. 

It isn’t long before you’re a convulsing, moaning red mess on top of your favourite hero, while your favourite captain eats you out so hungrily, ravenously. 

“I’m–” you breathe out, feeling yourself tighten around Levi’s tongue. Just as you say that you’re close, Levi pulls away, his heavy breaths tickling your skin. You whine at the loss of pleasure you felt, but immediately begin to moan again when his fingers enter you. 

They curl, pressing against that spot you always ache to reach yourself. The touch elicits a sharp cry from you, and as if on cue, your orgasm hits you hard.

Levi chuckles faintly, his fingers slowly retracting from your dripping cunt and he raises them to his mouth, licking them clean. “She’s wet enough.” He murmurs, and as you lay, collapsed on Aizawa, breathing heavily, you watch as Levi moves towards your bedside table. He opens its drawer, where you keep your hidden sins. 

Pulling out a bottle of lube, he cranes his head over and smirks as your eyes widen. “Don’t worry, brat, we’ll take good care of you.”

“That we will,” Aizawa murmurs, his hands leaving your body for a moment to start undoing his belt, his zipper following suit. He shifts underneath you, shimmying down his pants and his boxers, his erect cock springing free, just waiting for your attention. 

He wastes no time in placing his hands on your hips now, holding you steady as he suddenly pushes into you. You were no virgin, of course not, not with that thing in your drawer, so the only discomfort that came with his entry was simply just the fact that he was bigger.

You shudder and arch your back, a forced moan escaping your lips as you feel him take you, his hands pushing you farther down on his cock. You’re lost in the moment until you feel wet prodding at your ass, and your eyes fly open. Your head cranes over your shoulder to see Levi behind you, his uniform pants and buckles dropped. His cock was coated in the lube you brought yourself, and he was very cautiously poking your ass with his dick. 

“Are you ready, (Y/N)?” He asks lowly, his breath shaky and his body trembling slightly. Just the sight of you, your pussy taking in Aizawa’s cock like that, had him moaning, desperate for attention. 

“I-...”

“She’s ready,” Aizawa grunts out, his own breathing heavy as he begins to buck his hips, bucking into you feverishly. You couldn’t get a word out as he moved, the feeling of him filling you almost too much to bear, but now Levi?

You weren’t sure if you cou–

“Fuuuck!” Levi hisses out as he pushes into you, inch by agonisingly slow inch. He was no stranger to sex and knew he had to take it slow this time, but seeing as his cock slowly disappeared inside your tight hole, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself. 

His hips buck forward, snapping into place as he bottoms out inside you. You cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain, the feeling of both of them inside your holes overwhelmingly blissful. 

“Levi…” you moan, earning you a groaning hiss from Aizawa.

“Say my name, too.” He growls, suddenly dropping his hips before pushing back into you roughly, barely giving you time to adjust. 

“S-Shota!” you cry, obeying his command and squealing out his name. 

The two men begin their work, pushing in and out of you relentlessly. As one pulls out, the other pushes in, and together they make a steady rhythm of fucking you that had you moaning and stuttering nonsense. You could barely form a sentence let alone a single word as you are filled nonstop. 

Hips slap against one another, creating a sickly sweet sound of flesh against flesh that fills the air. The aroma of your sex fills their nostrils, urging them to push harder, to fuck harder. 

“Hah.. you’re so tight!” You hear Levi moan, his eyes glued to his and Aizawa’s cock as it slides into you, the sight mesmerising and downright hot.

“That’s it, kitten. Let’s hear those pretty moans,” whispers Aizawa, his breath hot against your ear as he slams his hips upward into you. 

You obey, just like the good girl you are, as your eyes flutter shut and your lips remain parted in moans and groans. 

Thrust after thrust, they’re relentless, unforgiving as they fuck you senseless. 

“So close,” Aizawa is the first to speak up after a few long minutes of wordless fucking. The two of them had impeccable energy and stamina, but even the best of the best had their limits. 

“I’m going to spill… fuck, you damned brat! I’m going to spill!” Levi hisses out, and even though it was Aizawa who was closer to his orgasm, it was Levi who came first. His thrusts became erratic and desperate, before with one final thrust into your ass, his white hot seed dumps into you, rope after sticky rope. “Shit!”

You cry out in pleasure, and before you even get the chance to speak or moan again, your own orgasm hits you like a train. You convulse, pleasure shooting through your veins like electricity as your body trembles. Your walls tighten around Aizawa’s cock, and with Levi filling you up so generously, it sends you into overdrive.

“Oh.. that’s it, kitty.” Aizawa groans, his grunts becoming louder and whinier as you clench around him, milking him so effortlessly. He tosses his head back and with one final buck of his hips, he, too, reaches his orgasm. 

And as you lay there, all three of you panting heavily and trying to collect yourselves, you think to yourself: I should really start wishing more.

Chapter Text

The halls of U.A are eerily quiet on Sundays; the usual hustle and bustle of students and faculty is absent, leaving an almost serene atmosphere. You find it the perfect time to catch up on paperwork and prepare for the upcoming week. As Aizawa’s teaching assistant, your responsibilities are plentiful, but you definitely don’t mind. Working alongside him is both a challenge and a privilege, in your eyes at least. 

You are in the classroom, organising files and reviewing lesson plans, when Aizawa walks through the large door. He looks as tired as ever, his signature dark circles more prominent than usual. Despite his perpetually exhausted appearance, there is a calm energy about him that you find reassuring. 

“Morning,” he greets in his usual gruff manner, setting down a stack of papers on the desk. 

“Good morning, Aizawa,” you reply with a smile, continuing to sort through the files. 

“Enjoying the peace and quiet, are you?” He asks as he glances around at the empty room. 

You chuckle softly and meet his gaze. “Absolutely, it’s nice to have a break from the chaos.”

Aizawa nods, his expression softening as he watches you work. “You’re doing a great job, you know. You  may only be my assistant for the adult classes, but they all respect you, and your skills are impeccable.”

“Thank you, Aizawa,” you reply, feeling a warm flush creeping up your neck at his unexpected compliment.

The two of you work in comfortable silence, the rustle of papers and occasional scratching of a pen being the only sounds in the room. Time slips away, and before you know it, the first bell of the day rang, signalling the end of the early morning prep period. The hero course students would soon be arriving for their Sunday session. 

As the bell echoes, you glance up at Aizawa. He is leaning against the desk, his eyes focused on you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s something different in his gaze today – something personal, more profound. 

“Aizawa, is everything okay?” you ask, your voice just a whisper. 

He straightens up, walking over to stand in front of you. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” he says, his tone soft. 

Curiosity and a hint of nervousness swirls in your chest, “what is it?”

He seems to hesitate for a moment, his usual stoic demeanour cracking just enough to show you a glimpse of vulnerability. With a resolve you haven’t expected, he leans down, capturing your lips in a sudden but passionate kiss. 

The world freezes around you; the kiss is tender yet intense, a melding of emotions. You respond instinctively, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as you kiss him back with equal fervour. 

He finally pulls away, leaving both of you breathless, the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Aizawa mutters, his voice husky. “But I didn’t want to complicate things between us.”

Your heart soars at his words and you smile wide. “I’m glad you did,” you say softly. “Because I’ve felt the same way.”

You see him smile at you, but just for a moment as he leans down and captures your lips again. The kiss is more passionate this time, as his teeth scrape your bottom lip and his tongue swipes across your skin. His hands immediately find their place at your hips, pulling you flush against him. Your arms wrap around his neck, the kiss deepening.

Your chest presses against his and you wonder if he could feel how your nipples harden through your thin shirt, your body reacting to his positively. 

“You’re so damn responsive.” He breathes out between kisses, confirming your suspicions. One of his hands leaves your hip, sliding it under your shirt with ease, as his fingers find your nipple and begins to tweak it. One delightful pinch of his fingers causes you to gasp and he seizes the opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth. Wet muscle explores your cavern, mingling and dancing with your own. The air in the room feels heavier, charged with an energy you haven’t felt before. 

He pushes you gently until you collide with his desk, his hand leaving your hip momentarily to swipe away papers and objects that lay in your path. Your back hits the surface of the desk and he spreads your legs open, moving between them to get to you. 

Aizawa leans down once more, his tongue finding yours immediately again, as his hand begins massaging your outer thigh, calloused fingers pulling at the fabric of your bottoms. His free hand slides out from under your shirt only to start pulling at the buttons, snapping them apart from their respective holes. Your shirt falls open, revealing your collarbone and chest to him. 

“Shota…” you breathe, breaking the kiss to pant softly. Your hands find their way to cover yourself shyly, and your already red face turns redder. “We’re in a classroom…”

“That’s a good point,” he mutters, however he wastes no time in nuzzling his head against the side of yours, his lips latching onto the skin of your neck. He sucks greedily, teeth grazing, tongue licking. As he pulls away to speak, a low groan escapes his lips. “If only I cared.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his proclamation – the thought of being frisky with your all time crush in a classroom where anyone could just walk in stirs you up, heat collecting between your legs. And just as you are about to open your mouth to speak, the bell rings, echoing throughout the school. 

“Shit,” Aizawa mutters, pulling his head back slightly to gaze down at your dishevelled mess; unkempt hair, shirt splayed open, pants ruggedly pulled down to your hip bones. “Get down, we can’t let anyone see you like this.” He whispers as the sound of footsteps approaches the door. 

In an instant, you are under his desk, kneeling before him, just barely able to fit. You and he both are happy that the back of his desk reaches the floor, unlike some classrooms. You watch with mild suspense as he quickly falls into his chair and scoots in towards you, the sound of his voice piercing the tense silence.

“Good morning, class.” He greets as the students begin piling into the room, taking their respective seats. 

“Hey, where’s (Y/N)?” You hear one of the students ask and you could practically see Aizawa tense up. 

“They’re out sick for today.” He responds gruffly, and as your eyes begin to wander quietly along his body, you just now realise how hard he is, the obvious tent in his pants giving way to his desire. 

 A wicked thought pops into your mind and you have to suppress a chuckle, your hands moving without much thought or even hesitation. They work deftly to teasingly slide up his legs, your hands massaging his thighs. You smirk, feeling him jolt under your touch. 

“Today, we’re uh,” he pauses, and he closes his eyes in thought, when in reality he is just trying to maintain his composure. “Today, we’re going over your guys’ test scores from last week.”

Your smirk widens and your hands slide farther up his legs, thumbs brushing against the raging erection through his pants. Your fingers swiftly undo his belt and zipper, your tongue swiping across your lower lip when you see the damp spot on his boxers, which strain against him. 

“We’re also going to learn a-about self control.” 

You suppress another snicker and you give him a gentle pat on his calf, hinting that you are listening. Within moments, you free his aching erection from the hole in his boxers. And so it stands proudly before you, a contrast to the sudden timidness of the body it’s attached to. 

“Let’s see who- ah!” He hisses as your tongue comes into contact with the head of his length, a shiver running up his spine. His grip on the papers he holds tightens, and he squeezes his eyes shut when your soft lips wrap around the head of his cock. 

“Mr. Aizawa, are you okay?” you hear one of the students ask, concern evident in their tone. 

“Yeah! Yeah, just an old injury that still bothers me from time to time.” Aizawa quickly blurts out, the lie seamless and enough to quell the concern of his students. You almost laugh if it weren’t for his cock in your mouth, gradually pushing deeper as you move your head down. 

Your hand comes up to wrap around the remaining length of his shaft, stroking him vigorously but gentle enough to keep the sounds down. Your eyes flutter closed as you begin to suck, softly at first. Your tongue presses against the underside of his length, and you feel him shiver at your actions. 

“Let’s see who aced the test,” he stammers out, his face growing increasingly red and sweaty. He bites his lip for a moment when your tongue runs over a particularly sensitive spot, holding back a moan. 

As he goes over the names of his students, your hand falls away from his cock, being replaced by your mouth. You take him farther down your throat, a gurgle escaping as you gag. 

“ (Y/N)!”

His mouth immediately snaps shut, his jaw tense as his body jerks forward. He clears his throat and quickly leans forward on his desk and scoots his chair in, inadvertently forcing more of his member down your throat. You can practically feel his shudder. 

“(Y/N) would, uh… be very proud of you students.”

You can’t help the faint whimper that escapes your throat as you deep throat him, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s right, but there are other things on your mind right now. Like his musk – oh did he smell so good, it was like his pheromones were invading your nostrils. And the taste , oh don’t get you started on the taste of him. It is absolutely phenomenal. 

“I’m getting real close – “ he pauses, awkwardly shifting in his seat so he could buck into your mouth and throat, “ – to giving you guys a reward for being so good at your exams.”

You hear the crowd of students express their enthusiasm and excitement, a few cheers here and a few woo’s there. 

You increase the frequency of your sucks and licks, your throat tightening with each gag and choke. You feel him shudder again and a shaky breath escapes his lips, barely audible for you to hear. Just as you are about to pull away, off of him to breathe and stroke him, his hand comes down to your head. His fingers tangle in your hair, gripping a handful of your soft locks tightly. 

“Ngh… damnit!” He exclaims as he cums down your throat, his warm seed spilling down your passage. His hand tightens in your hair, rope after rope of his orgasm filling your throat. 

“I forgot something at my house!” He adds on, his voice cracking and breaking as he speaks to his students. You can hear his soft panting, his laboured breathing. His hand releases your hair and if it weren’t for the desk above you, you’d see him put his head in his hands, effectively hiding the way his face contorts in pleasure. 

“Your homework… screw it, there’s no homework for this week.” He breathes out as the bell rings, echoing through the classroom. The students promptly stand up and begin collecting their things, giddy smiles on their faces as they revel in the fact that there’s no homework. 

And finally, as the last student trickles out of the classroom, Aizawa suddenly pushes away from his desk, his cock sliding out of your throat with a faint pop!

He looks down at you, his breathing still ragged and heavy. “ You little slut.”

He quickly stands up and stuffs his member back through the hole in his boxers before zipping up his pants and buckling his belt. He reaches down and grabs you by the collar of your shirt, roughly yanking you to your feet. Before you can get a word out, his lips crash into yours, his tongue immediately pushing into your mouth. 

He groans faintly, tasting himself on your lips for a moment before pulling away. “Fix your damn blouse. We aren’t done yet.” He growls, giving your ass a firm slap before falling backwards into his chair. As you finish buttoning up your shirt, a few students begin to file into the room. 

You shyly fix your hair, hoping the students wouldn’t get any ideas as to what happened here. Glancing at Aizawa, you can’t help but notice the hungry gaze he gives you, staring up and down your body for a moment as he licks his lips and finally turns his attention to his students.

And it is from here that you wonder, just what he had in store for you.

Chapter Text

And you are left wondering, just what he had in store for you. 

It’s a rare evening when Aizawa, both Pro Hero and your loving boyfriend, actually had time off. The usual hustle and bustle of hero work and teaching at U.A. High School often leaves little room for leisure, but tonight is special. He has planned a date night, a much needed break for both of you. 

You finish getting ready and you can’t help but smile at the thought of spending a relaxing night with Aizawa. It’s going to be a simple evening at the movie theater, but the simplicity of it made it all the more special. 

A sudden knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts and you open it to find Aizawa standing there, a rare and warm smile on his face. He’s dressed casually in dark jeans and a t-shirt, looking effortlessly handsome. 

“Ready to go?” he asks, his voice as soothing as ever. 

“Absolutely,” you reply, taking his outstretched hand. 

It’s a pleasant walk to the movie theater, light conversation and the occasional chuckle filling the air. The city lights illuminate the path, creating a serene atmosphere. When you arrive, the theater is bustling with energy, people excitedly chatting about the films they are about to see. 

Aizawa leads you to the ticket counter, where he hands over the tickets he bought in advance. “I hope you’re okay with an action film,” he says, a hint of mischief in his eyes. 

“Sounds perfect,” you reply with a grin. 

After grabbing your popcorn and drinks, you find your seats in the dimly lit theater, all the way near the back, a nice cushiony loveseat for two. The previews play and you both settle in, enjoying the cozy atmosphere. Aizawa’s arm rests comfortably around your shoulders and you lean comfortably into his warmth. 

The movie starts, and more people begin piling in, most of the seats being taken beneath you. You quickly become engrossed in the action-packed scenes. Aizawa, the ever vigilant hero, couldn’t help but make the occasional comment about the unrealistic stunts or the hero’s tactics, making you chuckle. 

During a particularly intense scene, you reach for some popcorn at the same time as Aizawa. Your hands brush against each other, and you look up to see him gazing at you. A soft smile plays on his lips. 

“Having fun?” he whispers.

“Definitely,” you whisper. “This is perfect.”

As the movie continues, you feel a sense of contentment wash over you. Being here with Aizawa, sharing this simple yet intimate experience, makes you realise just how much you cherish these moments together. 

That contentment only lasts for a moment, though, as his hand suddenly finds its way to your thigh. Fingers wrap around the soft flesh through your fabric, squeezing gently. Your head snaps to the side, gaze falling upon him, but his attention is turned elsewhere, watching the movie intently. 

So, you turn your own attention back to the movie, thinking his gesture is simply just an act of affection. But it is more than that, much more; an act of possession, of dominance. 

The movie plays on, the protagonist on screen having their cliche romance with the heroine. You lean forward in your seat, clearly enraptured by the slow kiss the two heroes share. Aizawa’s hand grips your thigh a little tighter, giving it a firm squeeze before he slides it farther up your leg. 

Your breath hitches in your throat as his hand gets dangerously close to your heat, two fingers sliding directly up the crease in your pants, applying just enough pressure to make you shiver. 

“Shota, what are you–” you’re cut off when his hand travels just a teensy bit higher, his fingers pressing against your clit through your clothes. 

“Better be quiet, kitten,” he whispers in your ear, smirking when he notices the way you bite your lip to hold back a moan. Aizawa chuckles softly and finally slides his hand higher, deftly unbuttoning your jeans with a swift, fluid motion of his fingers. Down goes your zipper, the sound being drowned out by the movie. 

“I told you back at U.A., we aren’t finished yet.” 

You gasp softly when you finally feel his fingers make contact with your bare skin. Calloused pads of his fingers only add more to the stimulation as his hand makes its way underneath your panties, sliding in between your legs with ease. 

“And you won’t have my lips to silence you,” he murmurs lowly, his voice husky with desire and burning lust. You spread your legs open a little wider, more than welcoming him into your warmth. 

You lean back into your seat, your eyes fluttering shut as his fingers rub slow circles around your clit. Pleasure courses through you, every vein and nerve feeling like fire underneath your skin. Your hands clutch onto the armrests of the chair you sat in, knuckles turning white as you do your best to suppress a moan. 

That is short lived, however, when Aizawa stops his ministrations and instead opts to dip his middle finger into your open hole. Your hand immediately leaves the armrest, coming up to slap over your mouth, the sound echoing throughout the theater, but luckily being drowned out by the movie. 

A muffled whimper escapes your lips, earning you a deep chuckle from Aizawa. 

“That’s a good girl, just be quiet. Don’t want everyone here to know how much of a slut you are for me, right?”

You shake your head slightly, eyes widening when his free hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand away from your mouth. 

“But oh no, I want this to be difficult for you, just like how difficult you made it for me the other day.”

Two fingers now, two fingers he pushes into you. Your slick wetness coats his skin, adding a sheer layer of lubricant which squelches and moistens the sounds of his finger-fucking. He begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, slowly, deliberately. All whilst his thumb presses down on your clit, rubbing circles and all different kinds of shapes and patterns. 

A jolt of electric pleasure shoots through your spine; the feeling of just a single hand of his making you feel this much pleasure is immeasurable. Another strangled moan escapes your lips, this time aloud and sharp for those to hear – if they’re paying attention. 

“Shota!” you whisper harshly at him, your eyes widening just a little more as you turn your attention towards him. 

“They don’t call it the loveseats for nothing, kitty.” He muses, smirking when he pushes his fingers particularly deep and curls them, eliciting a gasp and yet another struggling moan from you. “Shh, don’t want to get caught…” he warns. 

“Shota, please–” you cut yourself off with a bite of your lip, a muffled cry being buried in your mouth. Your walls tighten around his fingers, your climax inevitable and looming over your body like a heavy shadow. 

You hear Aizawa let out a faint groan and your head snaps over to look at him. What you see before you is hot ; he bites his lower lip between his teeth, hair falling over his face that is damp with sweat, his eyes half-lidded as he gazes down at you. 

“You’re so hot, baby, so hot for me,” he whispers in your ear, picking up the pace of his ministrations. He urges his fingers deeper, calloused skin rubbing against all the right spots within you. His thumb continues to press and rub on your bundle of nerves, the action making you see stars. 

Your vision swirls and blurs as you reach your high, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Aizawa is quick to let go of your wrist to clamp his hand over your mouth, muffling the sharp cry that would have echoed off the walls of the theater. Your body convulses, thighs squeezing shut and a vice-like iron grip on the armrests that turns your knuckles white. 

“That’s it baby, just like that. Cum for me, right here in this damn theater.” He whispers huskily, his hot breath fanning against your ear. 

And you did just that.