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imyesha · 11 months ago

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Summary: You fucked up, and even Hizashi can’t save you now.

Warnings: yandere themes, slut-shaming, forced cuddling, Aizawa not minding your personal space, hurt/comfort, slight humiliation, spanking, etc.

Author’s note: This was so much fun to write! I hope you enjoy, and I would love feedback on it if you’d be so kind!

Recommended listening!

“Hizashi!”

“Hizashi, please?!”

Your shrieks are desperate, calling out for the voice hero as Aizawa stood before you, the fires of ire flickering behind his eyes; in this moment, you knew what it felt like to be a villain glared down with the unrighteous fury of a hero—knew the heart stopping fear that paralyzed. You urged your limbs to flight, though they were too terrified to move. You can do nothing but watch helplessly as he stalks closer.

“Zashi isn’t going to come save you this time, princess.” He informs, following your gaze past his shoulder towards the only exit.

You sure felt like one.

If you were a princess, then he was the dragon entrapping you; your knight in shining armor nowhere in sight.

“You aren’t getting out of any more punishments.”

It happens so fast.

You shriek from the suddenness when your arms are pinned to your sides, caught and bound in his capture weapon.

“You aren’t going to learn unless you’re given a reason not to misbehave.”

Your cry of horror dies in your throat, afraid to even squeak as you’re pulled chest-to-chest with the glowering hero.

At his mercy.

You’d be too stricken to move from his glare alone.

“Hizashi didn’t agree with punishing you,” Hopeful butterflies flutter in your stomach. “but for unity’s sake, we happened to reach a consensus.”

Your eyes widen.

A smile stretches slowly across his lips when they blow open upon catching his meaning.

“He isn’t here, kitten. But you’re welcome to scream.”

The restraints tighten, stealing your breath momentarily. A whimper manages to claw its way from clenched airways.

“And I’ll see to it you think twice before opening your mouth, second guess where you even choose to plant your feet. I’ll make this lesson memorable so that you won’t need a repeat.”

Shouta bends you over his lap. If you were going to act like a child he was going to treat you like one. And you were going to count each reprimand. You’re a flame of indignation as he informs you of such, insulted as you struggle to squirm off of his thighs.

“Ah!”

Tears start in your eyes when he stops your wiggling with a sharp slap to the back of your thigh. Humiliation and shame washes over you, awakening vulnerability and childhood memories of spankings that left welts. You’d never expected he’d ever strike you. The couple was always so gentle, light tones and gentle touches. It’s so out-of-left-field and jarring that the burn of betrayal pierces your heart, clogs your throat, making it hard to swallow as you explode into tears.

“G-get off of me! I want Zashi!”

Your words are bitter and biting despite the wetness obstructing your vision, the vulnerability making you feel so small. You wail for Zashi like a child calling for their mother, desperate longing and perfect need. Unbroken pleas for the blonde to rescue you like he always did, and ceaseless curses for the ravenette spew from your mouth.

Shouta doesn’t like being made out to be the bad guy all the time, the ‘un-fun’ one. The one you grudged because he’s the only one willing to enact punishments. It’s a sore topic between the two heroes. He was tired of being the ‘mean’ one, while his husband got to be your hero. He wanted to be your hero as well.

They couldn’t just let you run amuck and go unchecked however.

It stung how you cursed him, cried for his husband. But it also irked him—jealousy festering within him in spiteful prickles upon his skin, raising his hairs. It added fuel to his next blow. Your insults wither on your tongue. You shout for clemency.

“Stop! Stop! Don’t you dare put your hands on me, Shouta!” His first name is used to convey severity. “I-if you--” Choking on your tears, you accidentally swallow your words along with the stifled sob.

“If you touch me again I’ll never forgive you.” Your tone is strained with pain, clouded with grief, but boiling with rage. It only proved to outline the contrast between them further. Hizashi was warm and safe, always loving arms that never caused pain.

“You said you loved me, is this how you express it? You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

You’re looking to reach his heart, hit him where it hurts.

It works.

His breath hitches. Shouta scrunches his eyes, trying to block you out, his hand faltering. “Stop it. Stop talking.” Try as he might, he couldn’t hope to cover the tremor in his voice. And like a shark sensing blood you latch onto it.

“Zashi would never do something like this.”

And.

“Do you even love me?”

Tears welled in his eyes. “Kitten, stop.” It’s a plea, you can hear the sob in his throat. “Why can’t you just behave? Do you think I enjoy this?”

“You must. I bet you get off on my screams.”

His nose scrunches. “Kitten, don’t be coarse. Mind your tongue.” Of course, he doesn’t.

You’re upset, he gets that, but you can’t talk to him any type of way.

“Maybe—” For a split second, you think better of it. You persist anyway, your voice trembling with fear from the repercussions. “maybe you should mind your hands.”

And this is why you needed a correcting one.

“I will when you mind your manners.”

— —

Raw palms, raw cheeks, raw eyes, and rawer emotions. You were more sensitive than exposed wires, carried the same potential energy to cause damage any second. Your body is overwhelmed with it, though you’re more likely to injure yourself than anyone else—self corrode and malfunction so you don’t have to feel this horrible vulnerability. An argument could be made that Shouta is just as bad off, the sting in his hand burned about the same as your sore bottom, perhaps even more because it was a painful memento of why you preferred Hizashi—of why he’d never be your favorite, or even on equal footing with his spouse, further driving a wedge between the two of you.

A reason for you to hate him even more.

He knew you didn’t, but at this moment, it felt like it. And he needs to know you don’t—that you don’t hate him because of it. You were both raw and needed a little physical comfort, in the hero’s opinion.

He uses those very hands to usher you into his arms. Naturally, you resisted. You need time away from him to collect yourself. You’re so upset with him. Shouta’s more than aware of both, but fear of you never forgiving him has him pulling you into a fierce hug. His hold is tested and it remains solid; it’s reinforced after it’s tried.

Shouta held you to himself like he’d fall apart if he dared let go. He needed comfort after administering a punishment as much as you clung to his shushing and soothing after receiving one; although you’d much rather isolate yourself and be as far away from Shouta as you could get while you cooled down.

If only he’d let you.

He didn’t allow you out of his embrace until he’d successfully calmed you and quite literally wiped your tears away. He always snuggled you afterward, patiently explaining why you’d earned a reprimand. ‘It wasn’t because he was mean and liked disciplining you.’

That was the part you hated most.

Cuddling you to his chest, Aizawa does just that, gently explaining why he had to do what he did, what the punishment had been for. Vaguely, you identify that he’s using his teacher voice. Rocking you to quell your sobs, Shouta force snuggles his resistant darling. As much as you don’t want to accept his comfort, he’s the only option you have.

Undeterred by your struggles, Shouta is adamant about melting the icy front you’d put up with the warmth of his hug. He easily kept you in place. His arms were unyielding as steel, it was like going up against a brick wall. Ultimately unworthy of the effort it took to try and fight your way out of them. Tucking your head under his chin, he pulls you closer now that you’ve stopped resisting; it’s navigated to his chest so you could hear his heartbeat, perhaps to show he wasn’t the monster he believed you currently thought him to be—that he was human.

You’re reassured that he isn’t cross with you.

“I’m not mad at you, kitten. Daddy is never upset with you.”

You now he means it. Strangely enough, if you happened to grieve one of the heroes (something extremely difficult to achieve) they got over it almost instantly. They have a motto of never going to bed angry. Their ability to bury the hatchet so quickly never ceased to unnerve you. Being yanderes, even if they were upset their obsession doesn’t let them be away from you for any significant amount of time, not enough for you to get a moment’s rest. In those instances you’re just cuddled very aggressively.

You longed to wipe the trails from your face. Shouta commandeered both your hands. Understanding the twitch in your fingers, he wiped them for you.

Aizawa holds one of the hands he’d borrowed to his heart, a method he often used when he was trying to get through to you. It’s something he did during serious conversations when he was desperate for you to understand him.

When he was especially overwhelmed, he listened to your heartbeat. He settled for feeling it’s pulse through your wrist as he delicately stroked it.

His request is nothing more than a whispered murmur, a croaked plea lodged in the back of his throat like stubborn phlegm. He needed to hear you say it. “...will you say you love me?”

A strange sensation of your hair dampening detracts from the pacifying atmosphere. It only occurs at the crown of your head where the hero hid his face. You surmise he wetted your strands with his own tears.

Bitterness locks your jaw. You do, but you don’t have the energy to entertain him, let alone speak. A small part of you wants to see him crumble for the pain he caused you.

Shouta waits, and waits, and waits. Loyally, he waits for you to say anything. Eventually, you feel him nod.

Sniffing, he squeezes you tight—combating the death taking place within his chest.

You don’t love him. Perhaps you never will again. But oh, the love he has for you. It’s immeasurable. And hopeless as it currently felt, he needed to tell you of its vastness—it’s endlessness no matter what you did or said. You could grudge him, even say you hated him, but he was only ever going to love you.

“I love you. On the good days and bad. I don’t always love what you do, I don’t always agree with what you say, but I love the person that you are. Life is subject to inconsistencies. Seasons change, but my feelings won’t. Let my love be the only constant.”

His sweet confession brings a fresh wave of tears. You hadn’t the heart to sadden his soul with how your silence was breaking it.

You’ve never had such unconditional love.

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to be cared for. It was kinda nice to know you’d always be loved regardless of how you behaved. So what if you couldn’t go out? Sometimes you had to take the good with the bad. Say you wanted an oatmeal cookie, but only oatmeal raisin was available. Just pick out the raisins and ignore what you don’t like. Instead of focusing on all you can’t do, focus on the good things you have. Skirt around all the actions you don’t approve of. Just let yourself be happy. What’s the point of being miserable? What’s the use in not making the best out of what you’ve got?

But at what point do those unsavory bits spoil the entire cookie?

Had he not been so in-tuned to your movements, your very breaths while he awaited a response, he never would have caught to the true intention of the finger drawing syllables on his chest. Before, they might as well have been hieroglyphics.

You were spelling out ‘I love you’ in Hiragana.

He sniffs a second time, though these tears are far happier. “I love you too, kitty.”

Based on this headcanon I made:

Hizashi is considered the fun parent and Shouta is the disciplinarian. It’s all good times and smiles with Zashi, he lets you walk all over him because he can’t punish you, but where he falls short, Shouta picks up the slack. He’s glad you and Zashi get along so well, but he doesn’t like being the mean one. He knows you love both of them, though sometimes he can’t help feeling like you favor Zashi. Like he’s second best. Aizawa doesn’t like how you grudge him because he’s the only one who’s capable of setting you straight. It’s caused friction between them. Aizawa mostly keeps it bottled inside. He really doesn’t enjoy giving punishments any more than you like getting them.

He’s super cuddly after punishments. He wants you to know he isn’t upset with you, that he still loves you. And he needs reaffirmation that you don’t hate him. Shouta’s aware you probably require space to collect yourself, but he can’t bring himself to give it.

It all comes to a head when Shouta just starts breaking down, saying he can’t be the bad guy anymore. It’s weighing on his psyche. He can’t be the only one giving punishments. He needs Hizashi to help carry his weight, so it isn’t so heavy. He’s breaking under it. They’re supposed to be a team. Hizashi is shook because his husband rarely ever gets emotional like this.

After the punishment Hizashi just scoops you up and fawns all over you, offering ice cream and snuggles, spoils you to stop your tears, and Shouta’s just like???

“Hizashi don’t reward them.”

He makes you face the wall, so he doesn’t have to see your puppy eyes.

One time, you said you hated him.

Hizashi had to comfort him afterwards.

“It’s okay, boo. She didn’t mean it. She was just upset.” The DJ rubs his upper back, pulling him into a tight hug, his heart in tatters as Shouta leans into him.

Hizashi goes to chat with you after calming Shouta, hoping to bring some reconciliation.

“Baby, why would you say something so mean to Shou? He’s sensitive. He might not look it, but he is. I think you should go apologize.”

“And if I don’t?”

The dreaded punishment from Zashi.

— —

It’s always darling who screams her frustrations at her captives. Well darling, two can play at that game. Aizawa isn’t afraid of firing back when you offload on him. You think you’ve got some grievances? The spoiled princess who doesn’t appreciate anything they’ve done for you? When they’ve set you up in a castle, placed upon a throne, and given everything you asked for? He’s had about enough of your ungrateful attitude. You aren’t going to be the only one screaming. Their hearts aren’t going to be the ones hurting.

“You don’t appreciate anything. We give you everything you want, and you still treat us like villains—look at us as if we aren’t worth the paper you wipe your spoiled little ass with.”

His retort is a slap in the face, his crass language flushing you hot with shame. The tempered hero had never spoken to you in such a manner. It threw you off guard, sped up your heart. Your anger burned ever hotter. “I didn’t ask you for any of it!!”

“When someone does something nice for you without promoting, the polite thing to do is thank them.” The pain of your nails digging into the softness of your palm grounded you from lashing out at him. This motherfucker was condescending you.

His tone is pouring with rebuke. Anything you could ever want was laid at your feet, and they only asked for one thing. Was it so hard to love them and let them love you return? Are they that unlovable? How much for your love? If you named him a price, he’d sell his soul to pay it.

“All the thanks we get is rolled eyes and an attitude when things don’t go your way.”

Mentally, you snort. ‘Your way’. Does he mean your basic human fucking right to step outside of this house and go wherever you please?

“You’re going to have to grow up sometime. Life won’t always go the way you want it to.”

Oh, you know. Just like it isn’t now.

“You can’t fall apart like this when it doesn’t. Instead of focusing on all you can’t currently do, be thankful for what you do have.”

Not that shit again. He fed you that line so many times it’s lost all flavor—bland when you spew it out.

“We know the change of environment is going to take some getting used to. We’ve given you everything we could think of to make it easier for you. And still you’re unsatisfied.”

His frustration doesn’t allow you to get a word in edgewise.

“What more do you want from us?” He continues, “What do we have to do for you to love us?”

The question gives you both pause. Shouta hadn’t meant to voice it, but now that it‘s out there, he waited for an answer. It sobered the two of you, giving you an opportunity to think clearly.

You’ve stated your issues countless times. Why would this one make a difference?

“I love you, but sometimes…sometimes you make it difficult.”

“Why don’t you un-love me then?”

“…I can’t.” He admits sadly, crushed that you’d even ask such a question.

“Is that what you truly want? You don’t mean it, kitty. Are you that afraid of love that you try and push us away?”

— —

Hizashi and Shouta sit you down to get everything out in the open. They want to hear your frustrations, share theirs as well. The couple just wished you’d be a little more grateful. It’s a three-way vent session, unproductive as they interrupt at every complaint you voice to contradict them.

“We did not kidnap you.”

They saved you.

“We aren’t holding you against your will.”

They’re protecting you.

“We do listen to you.”

They’re doing more interrupting than listening.

“We’re listening right now.”

Their hearing is selective. They only hear what they want.

Tensions rise and tempers flare. So does the volume.

“You never try to spend time with us to get to know us!”

“Why would I want to be near you sickos?! I’ll probably catch your crazy! I don’t have to spend time with you to know you’re fucked in the head.”

“Not as fucked as you were last night.”

The three of you had shared such a beautiful night together. And here he’d foolishly thought that they were finally getting somewhere with you, making some kind of progress. You’d been moody ever since. It’s like you were trying to find reasons to be insufferable. His own frustrations were eating at him. He’s hurt and completely at a loss. The hero can’t figure out why you’re doing this—self-sabotaging like this. Why do you want to push them away? Why would you give them your love and then rip it away? Tease them with the thing they wanted most? If cruelty was on the menu, he’d serve it up and then some.

His quip is a punch to the chest. You channel your embarrassment into anger as he imitates the noises you’d made—the pleads for them to go faster. How you begged for them. “Uhhn! Yes! Zashi, harder.” Mortification burned your ears. You regretted it, it was stupid. They were the only people here—where else could you get comfort? You fell for the gentle voices and patient arms, it wore you down. You’d never hated yourself more than you did that morning--the arms holding you snug crushed your dreams of it being a nightmare. You could feel the evidence between your thighs.

Two against one as they team up to belittle you. With his quirk, Hizashi perfectly mimics your cries for his husband to keep going. It stings more hearing it in your voice. You can’t describe how unsettling it is to hear it from someone else’s mouth. “Ah! Oh, Shouta!” The radio star moans crudely, rolling his hips into the air, his eyes rolling back in an exaggerated orgasm. “I love you and your cock! I’m gonna cum! Please fuck me dumb!”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Ya might as well have.”

Mean spirited is the flavor of the day as they take turns throwing your pleasured cries in your face.

“Oh!”

“Ah!”

“Uhhn!”

“Shut the hell up you petty bastards!!!”

“Bastards that had you buckin’ like a bitch in heat. Screamin’ like a fuckin’ banshee. Think I fucked around and got tinnitus.” Mic drove his pinky finger into his ear, removing invisible wax.

“Drowned in so much pussy I’m still coughin’ up water.”

Linking hands, they rut forward, mocking the way you’d eagerly thrust against them—a symphony of oh’s, aah’s, and hah’s as they piston like bunnies.

“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LIMP DICK PIECES OF SHIT!!”

“Oh, you know that ain’t true.” Hizashi hit back, a claim backed up by his husband.

“You enjoyed every stiff inch. All thirteen of them.”

“I’m gonna enjoy snapping them off if you don’t shut. up.”

“Oh, honey.” Hizashi put a hand on his chest in mock flattery. “Can’t keep your hands off us! We must’ve had ya feelin’ real good.”

“I can’t speak for Zashi, but you clamped down on me so hard you almost did. Your little kitty sure likes our affections. Why don’t you? Why do you insist on being difficult?”

The retort you’re going to rend him with sits impatiently on your tongue, foot poised on the pedal as you can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t finished—he’s gearing up for something, baiting you into a drag race and you’re going to flatten him—leave him with tire marks as soon as he said go.

“She swallowed it up like the greedy little bitch she is.” Aizawa provokes you by getting directly in your face. Your glares counter each other. The tensity could be cut with a knife. The air was stifling. Even Hizashi fell back to cast anxious glances between the two of you. This needed to stop before somebody got hurt in more than just their feelings.

You two were out for blood.

He’s worried it’s the literal kind.

Instead of slicing through the tension and offering an apology, Shouta takes that knife and drives it straight through your metaphorical heart.

“Every. last. drop. She’s a real cum guzzler. Gotta wonder how much mileage she has on her.”

Your response is instantaneous.

“I’ll kill you!!” You’re out of your seat; his scarf shoots out to tie up the hands that lunged for his throat, effortlessly negating the threat.

“You’re just a helpless little girl who doesn’t know what’s best for her.” It tightens painfully when you struggle in its confines.

“But we do.”

A slight of hand and he tugs you so close your lips almost touch.

“You need us.”

Sneering, your head wrenches to the side after he leaned in, staring down at them transfixed, as if he meant to kiss you. A kiss wasn’t going to make up for anything—isn’t going to make this better.

“I need you as much as I need the hair on my ass. I can take care of myself.”

Snapped out of whatever fog he was in, Shouta pulls back with a scoff.

“Go ahead and get yourself out if you’re so capable.” His voice is condescending. “Surely, you don’t need my help.”

“You’re the only one who needs help.”

“After last night, I’d say you’ve helped me quite a bit.”

He won’t let it go. It’s as if he knows you regret it, and he’s using it as a weapon against you.

“Do you regret it, kitty?”

Your assumption is proven correct.

He crouches down to get on your level. “Regret letting the big bad heroes into your teepee?” Rivulets drip off your chin, tense shoulders shaking with resentful crying; the only thing you regretted most are the tears falling down your face. His words don’t hurt. At least you don’t want him to see they do. You don’t want him to think for even a second that he’s affecting you. These tears are from anger and frustration. “Regret us treating you so nicely you squirted for the first time on our cocks?”

When you sprayed for them like a fountain, a blessing of rain in the spring, Hizashi’s pace faltered until it stopped completely. He stared in awe at the wetness coating his lower half, in awe of you. Surprise was mirrored in your eyes. Elated laughter filled the air, excited bubbles of delighted disbelief. Warm-blooded kisses rained down on you like April showers. Between each press he paused to pepper you with compliments.

“Oh fuck, baby that was hot.”

“You’re so goddamned sexy.”

With your face nestled in his palms, he’d kissed you for all you’re worth.

“You have another in you?”

He resumed his plunges, snapping forward into that spot you seemed to love so much.

“You gonna do it again for us?”

He brutalized it, begging your body to soak him again.

“Oh please, pretty baby. Ya gotta give us a replay!”

“Moaning our names like a prayer?” His touch is nothing compared to his acerbic remarks, willing them away with a gentle brush of his thumb. It doesn’t fit the situation. Kissing you with the soft strokes beneath your eyes while stabbing you at the same time.

The stream breaks, redirecting down his palm.

“Wrapping your legs around our waists, urging us deeper? Digging your nails into our backs to pull us in closer?”

The pain in their backs didn’t sting nearly as much as their digs.

“Regret saying you love us?”

His finishing blow is a shot through the heart. You flinch, and Shouta feels a pang of remorse in his chest, but his own hurt spurs him to keep going, to give a fraction of the pain you caused them. You’d acted as though their touch burned you; you wouldn’t let them anywhere near you the following day. Denied them cuddles and aftercare. Oh, but you wanted their hands all over you before. They couldn’t get close enough. You feel regret? Well they felt like pieces of meat.

Your rejection stung.

“I love you!”

“Oh! Holy hell…” Hizashi cursed his hips, stuttering for the second time that night, surprised into stillness by the confession you shrieked as you came for the umpteenth time, taking him right along with you. He whined as he came sooner than he would’ve liked.

Could you blame him? He’d waited so long for those three words. He and Shouta both.

They sent him over the edge.

Your gasping mouth is inundated with kisses by two pairs of lips. They keep going for you—pushing deeper, pulling you in closer.

“Rewind that last track for us, mama.”

“Again. Say it again, kitten.”

Their kisses grew in desperation the more you repeated it for them. You’d chanted it until the words lost all meaning for you. Their movements sped up because of it. You hadn’t been concerned with the consequences; you would’ve said anything if they’d only kept doing what they were. If that was what they needed to hear then you’d be their motivation. It was terribly affective. They made love to you time and time again.

You wanted a little chemical release? That’s fine. They don’t mind helping relieve pent-up stress, but you didn’t have to play with their emotions.

The same lips that whispered breathless “I love you's” were now used to scream you hated them. The hands had that pulled them in now shoved them back.

His thumb traces circular patterns between your eyes, as if he could smooth the crease from your brows. Straightening to his 6’0 stature, he looks down at you like a disappointed father figure. “‘Cause I do. If I’d known you’d act like this after sharing something so personal I wouldn’t have done it.”

“We aren’t fuckin’ dildos, y’know. Instead of batteries, we come with feelings attached.” Hizashi crosses his arms, the bounce of his leg increasing in agitation. He longed for his shades so that he could hide the vulnerability in his face. But that was the point of this, right? Be all open and shit? With a mental scoff he bitterly corrected himself.

Open for you aim at their jugulars.

“At least the orgasm wouldn’t have come with regret attached.”

The pros take in sharp breaths as if they share the same set of lungs. Hizashi’s is noticeably shakier. He seemed to be on the verge of tears. His blonde hair obscures him like a curtain, a shield of protection.

Shouta stagers back a step, a wobble in his leg as if it’d give out on him.

Their suspicions were one thing, but hearing you actually say it was another.

Guilt trickled in observing Hizashi hug and fold into himself. You took the perfect shot just as the erasure hero had done, wanting to get back at them for mocking you.

Now you weren’t sure.

He flips his hair up with a wet sniff, pretending he hadn’t been crying despite his red eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks; they run down his puffy nose as he looks anywhere but you.

Shouta safeguarded his emotions a little differently. His reaction is concealed with practiced indifference. He wouldn’t give you the privilege. Heroes were hit with bad news left and right. It wouldn’t be professional for him or Zashi to let it interfere with their work. Putting on a brave face for civilians came with the job title. Suffice to say, he’d cultivated a damn near indestructible one.

It was best not to acknowledge such petulance. Being someone who worked with children, he knew that negative attention was better than none at all. It might not have shown on his face, but it was prevalent in his voice.

“I’m not going it engage in this petty argument anymore.”

Indignation burns the guilt kindling within you as he sat beside his husband once more.

He was the one who started it.

Hizashi squeezed the hand that asked for his in a reassuring hold. Shouta rubs up and down his back in comforting motions. Zashi returns the warm gestures, patting his back while they steeled each other for whatever you’d say next, consoling one another.

“She doesn’t mean any of it, Zashi. Kitten’s just being difficult.” The commiseration is spoken for the disheartened DJ, but that last bit was aimed at you.

“You’re much more honest when your toes are curling. Since you insist on lying to us along with yourself, maybe we should just fuck the truth out of you.” Contradicting himself, he takes another swipe at you. The ‘truce’ turned out as him merely polishing his claws. “A tsundere? Perhaps you’re just shy, afraid of admitting your true feelings. We can loosen those lips so they’re more truthful, loosen them up like your other pair of lips.”

Gobsmacked at the total 360, you stare agape.

“but they could never be as loose the other set.”

“The only loose things are gonna be your teeth you ass eating piece of—!!”

Strangely, Hizashi doesn’t get louder, he gets quieter. He’s no longer matching your energy. The more you yell the more he withdraws. It’s out of character. Uncanny. Deepening breaths are his only outward response to the tirade you’re unleashing on them. It isn’t a temper he’s reigning in; the DJ’s trying to diminish nausea climbing his throat. A sheen of sweat coating his pallor skin. Anxiety has him lightheaded watching you and Shouta exchange caustic remarks, trade mistakes that you’d regret the next day, leaving emotional scars that won’t quickly fade away.

“I’d rather be celibate than let either one of you near me again.”

“You sure you can handle that, kitty?” Aizawa’s taunt circles you like a hawk going in for the kill. “What’ll you do when your meter runs empty? Sluts like you need constant refills. They can’t help themselves. Unspayed kittens get frisky. It’s a good thing we never have company.”

There it is. He’s been toying the line of slut-shaming for a bit, but now he’s gone and called you one on top of insinuating you’d throw yourself at any man you saw. And you were gonna show him exactly what happened to no dick bitches who disrespected you.

“And you must be a slut for pain.” Neatly rolling up your sleeves, your tone remains neutral.

“I think you’ve got me beat in that department.” He readies his capture weapon.

If you hadn’t learned from your first attempt, he’d be more than happy to go over the lesson again.

You’re weak.

And you need them to protect you.

Fighting against the hands that feed and cherish you will never grant you any favors.

“I’m gonna rip out that no-good tongue and hang it on my wall.”

“It was plenty good yesterday. I had you moving those cute hips down on it.”

Wearing a coy smile, he watches you take a deep breath.

This is the day they sign his death certificate.

Fuck it. You’d do it yourself. In his blood.

A soft tug interrupts Shouta crooking his finger for you, either inviting you to try him or once again making a crude imitation of what took place the night before.

“Shouta ‘m hot. Need cold water.” The slur is all Hizashi can manage.

“Let’s get you to the bathroom.” Shouta stands, leaning down towards the hands that reach out for him. Hugging Zashi’s waist, he helps him to his feet. “Oh Shouta, please don’t let go.” The blonde refuses to relinquish his hug, needing something to ground himself.

“I’m fine, everything’s okay.” Jittery hands seek to calm his panicked breathing, pressing against his chest. The reaffirmations are more for himself than the two of you. “I’m safe. I’m safe.” He talks himself down. it breaks your heart because it lacks confidence, as if he’s hoping to make himself believe it.

He purposefully stomps his feet as they head off in that direction.

Worried, you glance after them. You never know how to help in these situations; Shouta hasn’t explained how to care for him during his attacks, and Zashi himself hasn’t brought them up with you.

“We’ll be—” Hizashi strives, sounding weaker than you’ve ever heard him. “be back, songbird.” Even in his weakened state, he assures you they won’t be gone too long.

“Zashi and I won’t be long. We should do this another time.”

The session is ultimately unproductive as nothing is accomplished save for all three of you bearing new scars on your hearts.

Upset, but they won’t go to bed cross with you. When they return, you’re given hugs from Shouta and Zashi both. The latter has irritated eyes, reddened features and a sniffle to his nose. His hug is a little tighter. After a kiss to your forehead, he promises they’ll come get you for dinner.

Hizashi hugs himself on the way out.

At dinner, you’re given a bigger serving than usual. Hizashi made more than what was necessary for three people. His food goes untouched in favor of watching you with a hopeful little smile. He’ll burst right into tears if you don’t eat—if you don’t accept his apology.

Heroes, they recognize the symptoms victims of trauma suffer.

What they can’t figure out is why you’re exhibiting them.

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