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moonlight0934 · 2 months ago

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Hallucinations

Shinso slips his earbuds in as he walks to his work study. Mr. Aizawa wasn’t going in to work today, which means it’s one of the few times that Shinso gets to walk by himself.

The walk itself is nice, the music blocking out the sounds of people around him makes it even nicer. He tucks his hands in his pockets until someone taps his arm. He slips one of his earbuds out.

“Hello,” the woman standing next to him says. She looks to be early twenties. She’s wearing a hero costume, or a really good cosplay. She has red hair and green eyes.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“This isn’t a great part of town. Someone your age shouldn’t be walking alone.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“I insist. Where are you heading?”

“I’m a UA student. My work study is down this way. I’ll be alright though. I’ve walked this way a lot of times. Do you work down here?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you on my patrol route a few times. You’ve just never been by yourself, so I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Yeah, I was walking with my teacher. We’re almost there anyway.”

“Then you shouldn’t mind if I keep you company the rest of the way just to be safe.”

This is really weird. Why can’t she just leave me alone?

“What are you listening to?”

“Green Day. I have a playlist that’s a mix of their songs from different albums.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I don’t know who Green Day is, are they a band?”

“Yeah, they’re an American rock band.”

“That’s cool. Which song are you listening to right now?”

“It’s called When I Come Around.”

Shinso is starting to get antsy by then, looking anywhere but at her. He drums his fingers against his thigh from his pockets where no one can see what he’s doing. Eventually the agency comes into view, and Shinso lets out a small sigh of relief. She’s been talking the entire time, but he wasn’t even really listening by then.

“Hey, I didn’t catch your name,” she randomly interrupts her original line of conversation to say.

“Oh, it’s not important. Anyway, that’s my stop. Thanks for walking me.”

“No problem. Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, I do. My mom is gonna pick me up,” he lies.

She seems to believe it though, because she keeps walking. He slips inside the agency.

Phew, at least she believed me. She doesn’t know what time I get off, so I don’t have to worry about seeing her again.

He heads to the main office to get his first assignment of the day. He ends up staying at work later than normal, still trying to shake off that weird feeling from earlier. He doesn’t end up leaving until almost ten thirty that night. It’s pitch black outside by then, and the streets are empty.

He leaves his earbuds out this time, just to be safe. Walking in the dark can be dangerous, even for heroes and aspiring heroes. So, Shinso walks quickly while listening to make sure that he hears any threats before they reach him. That’s how he hears someone walking up behind him. He spins around, eyes slightly wide only to find the woman from earlier approaching him.

How the hell did she find me? She should have gotten off of work by now, so why is she still out here?

“Hey, funny seeing you again. I thought you had a ride home.”

“I did, but she bailed.”

“It’s really late, sweetheart. Why were you working this late?”

“There was stuff to do. I would have thought that you would have been let off by now.”

She laughs lightheartedly.

“My agency is really understaffed, so I had to take the late shift too.”

“Ok, well, I appreciate you walking me earlier, but there isn’t anyone around. Also, I have a pretty long walk ahead of me, so there’s no way that it follows your patrol route.”

“You are so right. Just make sure that you keep an eye on your surroundings, and your ears open,” she says, then boops his nose.

Shinso flinches back, but she skips away before he can say anything about it. He shakes his head, and keeps walking. He doesn’t get far though before his hearing starts to give out and his limbs start to feel heavy.

He looks around for anything that could have caused it, or something that could be attacking him, but there isn’t anything around. The street is still empty, but his vision fades before he can figure out what’s going on.

When he wakes up, he can’t see anything, hear anything, or smell anything. He feels something against his skin, it’s slick, but nothing gives away what it actually is. Empty black covers his vision, and he can feel something in his ears. It’s blocking out sounds, and while he can feel it there, he can’t seem to move to take it out. None of his limbs are responding to the commands that he gives them.

He’s not sure how long he stays like that before his chest starts to feel tight, but it feels like a long time.

Where the hell am I? What’s happening?

Shinso can feel his breaths start to come quicker though he can’t hear it. That only makes his chest start to feel even tighter. His head starts to feel light as he tries to regulate his breathing. He feels something brush his cheek, then he hears a voice in the silence.

It sounds loud without any other noise as it says, “Shinso, my dear. What are you doing here? You should never have left home.”

Shinso swallows heavily. The voice sounds just like his mother, but she died years ago, and she always told him to pursue his dreams of becoming a hero.

“You know that your quirk was only meant for hurting people.” The voice becomes more mechanical, louder, and it reverberates through his skull.

He feels like crying, but is desperate to keep any level of composure he has. That’s when a figure appears in the darkness along with a dripping noise. The figure has white clothes that flow around her wirey frame. She looks like nothing more than skin and bones. She is all he can see in the darkness, and he can’t seem to gauge how far away from him she actually is.

She doesn’t speak, she just walks ever closer, or maybe she’s not moving at all. By then Shinso’s body is on high alert, running off of an anxiety induced adrenaline high. The longer he’s there, the more he can feel the oily substance against his skin.

The tears finally fall. He can feel them fall down his face, and he can taste the salty tears as they hit his mouth. That only makes him cry harder with his mouth tightly clenched shut. His eyes immediately start to burn, and his face starts to get hot.

Then everything is so overwhelmingly hot, and the woman is still just staring at Shinso with a blank expression. She isn’t obstructed by tears, or any other blurriness that the irritation would cause. Her face starts to distort after a while, turning it into a swirling black void as she slowly creeps closer. When she reaches him, he passes out again, or at least he thinks he does, because she’s gone when he comes back into awareness.

At least as close to awareness as he can get since it’s quiet and dark again. His skin feels odd now, almost like it’s breaking out because of whatever he’s getting touched by. There’s some kind of noise, but it’s muffled, almost like something is breaking through whatever is plugging his ears.

Then suddenly he can see again, and everything is blindingly bright. He squeezes his eyes closed, but then the objects are taken out of his ears. This time Shinso is sure that he passed out, because the noises that were splitting his eardrums apart vanished. The lights still feel blinding when he opens his eyes again, but this time the red headed woman from earlier is standing in front of him.

“Hi, sugar. Did you have a nice nap?”

Shinso stares at her with a confused look on his face.

“You look confused, dear. Let me introduce myself, and let you know what’s going on. My name is Anya, and I’m a contractor. I was recently asked by a group to learn more about your teacher. Things like where he lives, how his quirk works, and who is close to him. So far all I’ve found is you. So, you’re going to answer those questions for me, or I’m going to put you back in the sensory deprivation tank. Do you know what that means?”

Shinso nods, though he doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth.

“Alright, I figured that it would be beneficial to show you what you have to go back to before I asked any questions. So, let’s start with something simple… where does Shouta Aizawa live?”

Shinso tries to shrug, but he’s shaking too hard.

“Does he live alone?”

Shinso squeezes his eyes closed, and he can hear Anya growl.

“Answer the question. Why can my people never figure out where he lives?”

“Probably because they’re stupid,” Shinso says, his voice coming out broken, but still understandable.

She slaps him across the face, forcing him to open his eyes again.

“Do you want to go back there?”

Shinso feels himself start to shake harder, but he can’t stop it.

“You are scared. Just tell me, and I won’t make you. You can even go home after I get what I need.”

Yeah, right. You think I’m stupid.

“Now, who is close to him, and how exactly does his quirk work?”

Shinso keeps his mouth shut, trying to look anywhere, but at Anya.

“Fine, I think we’ll try another few hours in the tank, and see if you feel more inclined to be honest afterwards.”

Shinso has to bite his lip to stop himself from crying at the prospect, desperately trying to keep it together.

#whumptober #hallucinations #sensory deprivation #prompt 4 #hitoshi shinsou #aizawa shouta #mha #my hero academia #angst #whump writing #writing challenge #no. 4

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kaiunkaiku · 8 months ago

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bnha hurt/comfort alphabet challenge (i know, new content, i'm shocked too), letter w: worry

fandom: bnha

summary: in which hizashi comes home to a scared little girl and a hurting husband.

warnings: angst, chronic pain, hero life bullshit

happy reading, please enjoy!

Hizashi has just introduced the next song – Toxic, because he feels like being a stereotypical Americanized gay man tonight, and it’s his show – when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He frowns as he pulls it out and pushes himself away from his equipment with a kick to the table. It’s late so the kids should be sleeping, and Shouta is at work, and no one else has any reason to call him while he’s on air. So to say he’s a little confused would be a bit of an understatement.

That confusion morphs into concern as soon as he takes a look at the caller ID; Hitoshi should be either asleep or studying for that first aid course he's taking, or perhaps training though Hizashi hopes he isn’t – his ribs are still healing from a mission last week –, so for him to be calling has Hizashi immediately afraid that something is wrong with Eri. Hitoshi isn’t really one for phone calls in the first place, preferring texting much like Shouta does, and therefore Hizashi thinks he’s fairly justified in his worry.

He makes sure his microphone is off, and taps the screen to accept the call.

“Hey there,” he greets, trying to keep the concern from his voice. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t really succeed.

It turns out not to matter, though, because evidently all his worry is totally and completely one hundred percent warranted.

“Hi,” Hitoshi starts, and Hizashi can immediately tell that something is wrong even before Hitoshi says anything else – his tone is tight, distress easily identifiable through the phone even though he’s obviously trying to conceal it. “Sorry, I know Hands Up isn’t over yet, but can you come home?” and Hizashi does not need to be told twice. His heart throws itself against his ribcage and he’s reaching for his backup song list before he even realizes he’s doing it.

“I can absolutely do that, why, what’s wrong? Is Eri okay? Are you okay? The cats?” he lists, frantic enough that he can recognize it in his voice and under his skin. He spots a notebook and shoves it into his bag.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine, the cats are fine, Eri is, well, she’s upset but I think I have a handle on that? I put her on a video call with Denki, should distract her for a while,” Hitoshi explains, but the tension in his voice hasn’t gone anywhere. Hizashi thinks the words should make him less anxious, but somehow the dread pooling in his stomach just expands.

“What’s going on, then? Wait, why is Eri upset? Did something happen?” Hizashi presses on his way out of his studio as he flags down his assistant and hands them his work iPad with the playlist pulled up. They raise a brow, questioning, but take the offered device. Family emergency, Hizashi mouths, gesturing at his phone, and they nod in understanding before turning towards his studio. It always sucks when he can't do song requests through the night, but that's why the backup list exists, and there's a prerecorded apology that's usually played when he has to take off.

“It’s, uh. Dad came home about fifteen minutes ago.”

continue on ao3

#bnha fanfiction #erasermic #erasermic family #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #hurt/comfort #whump fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction

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thatstupidone · 2 months ago

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circledotdestroy · 10 months ago

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Retrospective - Chapter 2: The Insult of Injury

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x F! Pro-Hero! Reader (slow burn)

Main Summary: After 12 years, you, Pro-Hero Strife, has to return to Japan. Your objective: discreetly track down and capture Akari Kaneko, a.k.a. Pro-Hero Aegis— your old classmate who attacked you during her visit in America. In the aftermath of All Might losing his power, however, using UA resources has its complications. The most unexpected complication being Aizawa, someone you never expected to see again. Why does your past have to come back to haunt you now? Masterlist First chapter Next Chapter Word Count: 5585

A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to post. While I was gone I got my first big girl job and my beta reader has been having trouble with her computer, so I had to obsess over the prose by myself. In the end, i had to split my planned second chapter in two because it was almost 10k, so that's fun. Also, I uploaded this fic to Ao3 and I added the tag "Autistic Shouta Aizawa" and I'm the first one to tag that in an X Reader Fic??? I thought it was a popular headcanon lol Anyway, you've waited long enough. I hope you enjoy!

Head hung over porcelain, gloved hands gripped onto the sink. A giant hammer banged against your skull from the inside leaving sparks in its wake. Neurons like shooting stars lived behind your eyes. “Sparks…” You gulped back nausea.

Murky puddles of colors blurred together. Light blue stalls behind you, slightly opened, but empty. A massive void leered through the mirror with slivers of red. Hunched, panting over the counter. Burning wounds spreading out, conquering the rest of your cold skin. Not so different from the last time you needed a healing quirk. Cold, clammy, and disgustingly pitiful in one of the dark backrooms of your agency–because doing paperwork was better than being by your lonesome with nothing. The main difference this time around was the mortification that came with breaking down in a high school bathroom.

You were going to smack Akari for what she put you through.

The thought stabilized your shaky breath. You straightened your body, your hands still grasping the counter. The pressure released from the stab wound. It steadied you and you were grateful.

The last thing you needed to add on this little business trip was a reunion with Recovery Girl. She had first-hand encounters of your nonsense. Dealing with the aftermath of you being a menace to society— or “younger” if someone wanted to be polite—more times then you can count. You went to her office a lot–sometimes for yourself. Sometimes. It didn’t matter if you started more “advanced” in your class, you weren’t immune to scraps, bruises, or the occasional slip up during training. Other times, it was for other classmates. Some you sent her way after battle trials, but other times you popped in to take supplies then ran out.

One time you asked when she was going to retire, she said whatever the Japanese equivalent was for “until I croak”. That was after she threatened you with her cane, but you laughed it off like the cocky child you were. You thought even if she could land a hit, it wouldn’t hurt that bad. After all this time, it’d be disappointing to tell her you got in a fight and lost at your big age. Maybe she’ll try hitting you with her cane again, you thought. She’d have an easier time now.

But no. Dealing with the effects of one healing quirk was enough. The risks of getting her involved drowsiness at best, or possible death before the investigation gets shot down at worst. Investigation aside, it’s becoming apparent your healing process isn’t where it’s supposed to be. The itches, the burning… no one is in this bathroom with you, but you’re burning beneath cold skin. Someone who sees you on the street can say: “It’s only been two days! Walking around, catching a flight, that’s a MIRACLE for only two days!”

However, that’s the problem. It’s already been two days. With the healing quirk, you’re supposed to be at least 75%, but you’re not pushing fifty.

Removing your hands from the sink, you brought them to your sides. It was hard to know where one pain starts and where the other ends. Everything burns and your body is compelling you to turn around and throw up nothing. You flexed shaking fingers into fists. Your stomach was turning inward. It’s been a while since you ate. Perhaps you should’ve brought something on your way here. Even if it was stopping at a konbini and picking up one of those stupid-ass nutrition cookies Aizawa used to eat for lunch every day of the week. You swallowed, shaking your head. Food can wait. You can wait three hours. If you eat, you’re going to stay nauseous and dizzy anyway… unless you do something about it.

With a shaking breath, you glanced over your shoulder then at the door. There was no charge down your spine, so no people were close by either. You flexed your hands again, eyes closed, counting your fingers rhythmically. The sparks died down. The pain became more discernible. Abdomen still fresh and oven-hot. Knuckles chaffed, raw, and bruised. Your legs: thighs sore from jumping during the mission, your left knee ached, and the top side of your right foot was especially tender. Your shoulders, your back, behind your head.

You kept the rhythm until your lungs demanded release. When you exhaled, the pain dwindled. Not completely. Warmth still lied below your skin, at a near simmer. When you opened your eyes though, the blacks and reds weren’t blurred together. They were a clear, albeit crooked mess. You fixed the red arm guards first. When that was done, you had enough energy to fix the rest of your uniform.

Daring to move around, you inspected your fixed outfit further. When it passed inspection, you grabbed your briefcase below the paper towel dispenser to your right. Hitching your breath, you reached for the black handle. Your right leg carried all the weight to avoid setting off a potential mine-field of injury. At first contact, you swung the case on top of the sink then opened it. There were many compartments at the top, one housed a phone the boss gave you, since your old one was collateral damage. There were few numbers inside the cell. Only the ones you thought were most important to include. One of them was for the agency medic, which you cleverly titled as “Medic” to make sure you don’t call more than necessary.

This development with his quirk, unfortunately, was necessary. Rocks filled your stomach. Your mouth feels like you ate gravel. You can hear his reaction to telling him his ‘all powerful quirk’ wasn’t helping like a future sense. He’d make the concussion he diagnosed you with worse if you called.

Wanting to grip the phone harder, you clenched your teeth. This whole thing was stupid. You could’ve kept your guard up. You could’ve stood up, knife be damned, and run after Akari. Stopped her. Asked her what the hell she was talking about— All these choices you could’ve made–all those years of training, and you still got a concussion. Seven minutes passed when you finished typing your little update. It was better to give him a heads up now. It helps against accusations of Akari annihilating your brain cells at the fight.

The next person you contacted was Athena, your Support Expert. It hasn’t been long, but you needed an update on something. Even if it was just your uniform and equipment.

The message itself was quick. Though, you couldn’t help following up by asking if she knew anything about one of the crime scenes. You then thanked her, again. Heaven knows you keep her busy when you need new equipment. During the past two years alone, you’ve asked a lot from her. Whether you needed a new arm guard, gauntlet, or a whole new uniform, she came through every time. It’s hard to get an SE who specializes specifically in power-based quirks. From what you’ve experienced, and heard from other heroes, most SEs don’t appreciate their designs getting decimated. Their creations are children in their eyes. Athena’s creations aren’t as precious in her eyes, by comparison. She has a spreadsheet dedicated to how long until the creations get busted. Keeping up with these records is her research. It changed constantly, telling her what works and when she needs to switch things up.

You should bring her something when all this is over, you thought. She deserved something nice. Something that says “I’m sorry for wrecking all the support items you made me during my missions, you’re the best SE ever!”

The phone went back inside of its compartment, next to the pouch where five hologram disks were held. A surge of panic came through you. Thinking of the horrific scenario of traveling all this way and forgetting essential items for your visit today. You tore open the pouch. Heart in your ears and heat crawling out your back. Two disks were labeled, three were not. “CS1” and “CS2” were in the pouch. Good. You glanced at the other objects in the case, double checking everything was there before you met up with the principal. Folders, notebooks, paperwork, until relief washed over you in a cool wave. Closing the briefcase, running your hand across the leather. Slowing down to trace the broken heart emblem, similar to the one on your breastplate.

Your power won’t get rid of the hammers in your skull, or the itch around stitch wire, but the thick material will prevent you from scratching. Plus, no one else would know about the other bumps and bruises beneath.

You got this.

Leaving the bathroom, you pulled out Hizashi’s instructions one more time. They were less blurry and a bit easier to understand. You may actually have a chance to get out of the maze disguised as your alma mater. Ironically enough, before you could turn the corner, a white rat-bear-dog shorter than a yard-stick— wearing a black vest, blocky, yellow shoes, and had a gangster scar across his eye—came around. “There you are! It really has been a long time,” he greeted, like you’ve seen him before. He didn’t give you time to respond to him, he just explained how he waited at the meeting spot until it occurred to him how long it’s been since you were a student. The principal also made many changes since the time you graduated, which he insisted on showing you. This welcoming gesture forced you to tail him around the floor, instead of simply going to the meeting spot. You didn’t like the idea of walking around, not with that flare up earlier. You were still abnormally sore. But he can’t know that. You squared your shoulders, nodded your head, and quietly marched on.

There weren’t many rooms to make note of. Most of them were regular classrooms. You already saw where the current classroom for 1-A was before you ran into Aizawa. Apparently your old classroom is being used for one of the first year general education courses. The principal asked if you’d like to look inside. You declined the offer politely. At the end of the day, it was just a room. Another room with desks, windows, and a chalkboard in the front. What more did you need to see? You didn’t explain that last part, obviously, and the principal went on talking about other changes around the school.

At one point, he interrupted himself, stopping in front of one of the other doors. This time he didn’t ask you before opening it. “And here is my office.” The principal revealed a room with a giant window behind a desk. The orange light from the rising sun shone through the window casting deep shadows on the office furniture. If you stepped closer, you’d see everything outside the window. The brightness made you queasy. You opted to focus on the gray couch instead. “It looks a little different compared to the last conversation we had here,” he commented.

‘Last conversation,’ you wondered. Then it hit you.

This principal wasn’t new.

Your principal never left UA. How you forgot your principal having a gangster-scar, you weren’t sure. There was no one like him. Absolutely no one that you’ve met.

Muffled words and a shadow in front of a stark blue window came to mind. Paws holding stacks of paper, hitting them against the desk to straighten them out. Were you supposed to add on to what he said? Were you supposed to apologize? He didn’t look unhappy.

But you could be wrong. Would it be a surprise if this was an act? Taking you on this walk so you’d waste your time telling him everything? You looked to the right and left side of the hallway. If the resources weren’t valuable then you’d walk yourself out first.

The principal didn’t follow up his statement with anything about the past or the future. He closed the door to his voice and rambled his way to nothing. He probably wanted to get a reaction out of you, but you were too confused to give him one.

After a while, the stitches got tighter. And tighter. And your legs were becoming sore. Of course, you clenched your jaw to keep quiet. If he caught on, he’ll send you to Recovery Girl then bye-bye. She hits you with her cane and Nezu could press a button to eject you from the building.

Honestly, where was Hizashi? You knew he was supposed to be busy with work last night, but he said he’d be here for the meeting. It was supposed to start soon and you don’t want to be in a room alone with a passive-aggressive rat-bear-principal. Maybe he was telling Nemuri you were in town.

Or maybe he would try to find Shouta and they could all be talking right now! Aizawa would tell him about you leaving him in the hallway, saying you were rude, demanding to know what’s going on. Aizawa was pushy enough. Hizashi would tell him about how you called him, hurt and asking for help. Despite Hizashi’s best intentions, Aizawa could use this information to raise doubt against you in the meeting. Get rid of you before you become a problem, his problem.

You needed to find Hizashi before that could happen.

As luck would have it, the tour was coming to an end. The last stop led to a blond man leaning against a door down the hall with his arms crossed. A blond man with a punk rock style and a speaker around his neck. A blond that bounced his knee impatiently because he couldn’t bear standing still.

Hizashi!

His head snapped in your direction. He, like a ray of sunshine, grinned ear to ear. “And look here, folks!” Hizashi rushed toward you, “coming out of the cage, ready for her GRAND COMEBACK–” you gripped your briefcase tighter, your eyes wide and almost bouncing, expecting impact. Hizashi pivoted around you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “It’s the Queen of Terror, Pro-Hero STRIFE!”

It’s been over five years since you’ve seen him in person, longer since he’s called you by your hero name. You beamed, he was here. In the same room, not across the world. You thought of hugging him, but stopped when you remembered your old principal was still here.

Hizashi moved closer, leaning into your face without such reservations. The amber reflection of your uniform was in his sunglasses. His hand dragged across your shoulder where the raised mending peaked. He looked toward the principal with his hand on the side of his mouth, like he was trying to tell you a secret. “I was waiting forever,” he fake-scolded, loud enough for the third party to hear.

Glancing at the principal, you saw he was watching the two of you. He had a smile on his face, but his eyes were blank. You stepped out of Hizashi’s grasp, standing properly. “I had trouble with the directions.”

“What? Getting rusty after being away for so long?” Heat rose to your ears. Of course you were going to be rusty. Did he really have to tease you about it now? “She really knows how to keep her fans at the edge of their seat,” he said to the principal casually, like he wasn’t Hizashi’s boss.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the principal responded, making you aware of the side eye you were giving to your old friend. “I was giving Strife a tour of this floor. After all, I’m proud of the changes I made to UA since your graduating class. I couldn’t resist showing off to one of my former students. Strife has certainly grown from that child I remember.”

Hizashi agreed with your old principle with a joke. “I hope that’s a good thing.” But you know there’s no good way to interpret the statement. Not with what he said when he showed you his office. Who brings up a time where they had to talk with you in a GOOD way? It’s like when your parents brought up how one of your dad’s coworkers caught you sneaking a cookie from the agency's break room when you were supposed to stick to a meal plan. Like, “oh, we sure hope you have better impulse control compared to when you were eight, even if you do, we’re going to reference this story over and over again so you never forget your moral failure!” He’s wearing yellow sneakers with formal wear, why is he passive-aggressive!

The conversation didn’t go further, thankfully. “There is time before the meeting, I’m going to set up. Feel free to catch up here in the meantime,” said the principal. You both thanked him as he went into the room. The nausea came back at the sight of the wooden swirls closing, your heart was starting to pound. After all, maybe he was planning to air it out with an audience, you couldn’t know for sure with his emotionless eyes.

“Did you really not have nicer clothes,” Hizashi asked, breaking you out of your trance. He was loud enough for the whole building to hear.

Your nose scrunched. “The damage wasn’t THAT bad…”

Hizashi shook his head. “I’m not talking about the damage. Last time I saw you, there was more…” Hizashi held his hand out, waving it toward your body. He went through a jumble of words before he decided on one. “Color.”

The last time he saw you in person, you were twenty-four and in-between agencies again. He was celebrating the first anniversary of his show being picked up for a radio channel. After celebrating the anniversary, he took a short vacation out of the country. It was the first time he was allowed since his career started. When Hizashi finally arrived in the States, you wore a uniform. It had less hard armor and was more red. Red breast plate with your black broken-heart emblem, which resembled that old Pac-Man arcade game. Gauntlets with red finger and knuckle pieces and armguards to contrast the black base of the gloves. Some other details like the center of your knee and elbow pads, the tips of your boots, your utility belt, and other lines and trims followed,

Vibrant color bounced off the void background. In comparison, your current outfit was–

“You look like a common mall goth.” You tilt your head at him. Before you can say anything about calling you “common”, he continued. “Actually it’s worse!” Hizashi stepped closer to put his hands on your shoulders, pressing into the raised mark on the left. He leaned closer to your ear–was he always this touchy? He whispered, “you look emo.”

You punished him back, somewhat gently. “Hizashi, what the hell,” you said in English. Why was he making you worried over nothing! And calling you emo…

He laughed, wagging his finger at you like you were some brat. “Nuh uh uh. It’s Mic. We’re professionals and we’re working.”

“What do you mean ‘professionals’? What was professional about that!”

“I’m a radio host too, I have to play it to the crowd!”

You scanned the halls. “Where!” No one was here! A thud echoed across the empty hallway. In your confusion, you accidentally threw your briefcase across the hall. You stupidly remember the rule ‘no yelling in the hall!’ rule as black leather slid across the purple floor. Oops… You sigh as the briefcase spins to a stop.

Mic continued laughing. You grumbled, giving him your back as you approached the briefcase. To think, you considered hugging him earlier. The man walked behind you. “Don’t be so stiff!” You stared at the briefcase, almost rolling your eyes, he had no idea. You pondered how you were going to pick it up. If you did it the same way as you did in the bathroom, it would look suspicious. And dorky.

His eyes were on you, you could feel it. If you waited too long then Mic would volunteer to get it for you. That would make him ask questions though. “Right,” you broke the silence before he could. You squatted with bated breath to pick up the briefcase. Your knee almost popped and you wanted to tear into the wound, but you weren’t going to tell Mic that. Not now, at least.

Somewhere more private. AFTER you were sure he wouldn’t talk to Aizawa about anything. But first, you’d need to say you met him earlier and it didn’t go well. You can save Mic the drama, not going into specifics. Other than that, what’s one more thing to the pile? He’s in the dark about Akari, for now. He didn’t need to know Akari was the reason why you called him from your medic’s phone the other day, right this minute. You’ll have to go over everything in the meeting anyway, so why waste time?

“I would’ve gotten that,” said Mic.

“But you didn’t.” You shot back, harsher than you meant to. “It’s fine. I forgive you,” you stated with a pouty lip. You hoped the joke would mitigate the unintended force of your words. Mic probably didn’t notice, or he thought it was simply the set up to the punchline. “What have you been up to?”

Mic gave you an elaborate update on the past few weeks. His summer was busy since the Sports Festival. As usual, he was booked out when it came to the radio host and DJ gigs during the beginning of summer break. He told you all positive things. Dancing around All Might’s retirement as Number 1 Hero. You imagined he’d describe it as a certified downer if you asked. “...and our first years are about to go for their license!” Mic posed his hands in the rock and roll gesture.

“Wow, already? We had to wait until second year.”

“Because of all the villain attacks. It was decided it’d be better for the students to protect themselves without waiting for a hero’s permission.” There were no bells or whistles attached to the explanation. His hand gestures were minimal as well. While the idea of first years becoming skilled enough to get their license at a young age was impressive, there was no argument the circumstances weren’t ideal. First years shouldn’t have to deal with villains yet, but they have multiple times. Even in America, the youngest an applicant had to be was 17 to get their license. One of the perks of going to UA was being able to expedite the process and get your license when you were 16. You couldn’t imagine letting 15 year olds take the test in America. ”If you’ve watched the Sports Festival, then you know they’ll CRUSH it!” He punctuated the statement with his signature “YEAH!”, putting his hands in the air for extra dazzle.

A beat passed and he broke his pose, asking if you watched the Sports Festival. The question wasn’t as pumped compared to his previous statement. Guilt struck you. Another month’s gone by and you still haven’t watched your friends on International Television. “It’s okay if you didn’t!” He responded, obviously concerned.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I should’ve watched it by now. Work’s been crazy for months. I had to cancel TV because it was wasting money.”

Mic shrugged, with a relaxed expression on his face. “Don’t worry about it! I’m sure I can give you the highlight reel while you're in town. But seriously, you had to cancel TV? You need to give it a rest!”

“No, you have four jobs. I have no excuse–”

“Details!” Mic brushed off your response with his hand. “Y’know…” Mic’s hand went to his face to rub his chin. “You could help out with the first years with the exam. If you have time for it, it could be another paycheck and you can hang out with me,” he finished like you were a kid motivated by cookies.

You raised your eyebrow and shifted your weight to your back leg. “First you say “give it a rest” and now you want to give me more work?” He posed glamorously then switched to another with that somewhat implied you giving him a high-five, but it didn’t look quite right. “Not everyone can multitask like you, Mic.”

“I’m just saying you have the experience. You judged the licensing exams a crazy amount of times—and you mentored young heroes before.”

“I didn’t do any judging this year, and there’s a difference between the American licensing exam and the one here. Also, those heroes already graduated from their program, and I only helped them because I had to. I’m not a good mentor, and, from what you said, I’m sure whoever’s teaching the first years are doing fine on their own.”

Mic paused with his mouth slightly open. His teeth clenched. “About that–”

A colorful blur caught the corner of your eye, but it was too late. A massive weight slammed into your body. The briefcase flew from your hand. What the hell! Your throat squeezed, choking down any sound you could’ve made. First there was shock. Then fire. Then pain. Every. Single. Type.

Everything burned and your bones rattled you from the inside. You had to get this off! You wrapped your arms around, ready to pick up and throw it down the next floor.

Your shoulder shrieked back at the embrace, your legs weren’t fairing with the shift either. In this split-second processing of your senses, it was apparent the weight was particularly squishy in certain places. It had purple hair as well, and she was absolutely thrilled to see you.

Your eyes widened. You lifted Nemuri, having stopped midway from slamming her to the ground. Her stomach was at your eye-level as she laughed with joy. That was good, you set her down., her heels clicking on the floor. You could’ve really hurt her. “--didn’t tell me you were coming to town–got you at the airport! Look at YOU!” The squishiness against your body left, replaced by an ecstatic Nemuri squeezing your face. Fingers pressed your cheeks enough to make your lips puff out. You tried to respond to Nemuri, but you might as well have your mouth full of cookies. The questions kept coming. After a bunch of non-answers, Nemuri took her hands off. Of course it was sore, but it was nothing like the rest of you. Unlike with Mic, you KNEW Nemuri was this touchy. This happened so many times a single memory became a cluster of events.

She turned out of your hold, pointing at Mic aggressively. “Did you know our friend was coming here and NOT tell ME!”

The scene was soon drowned out by your beating heart. Mic’s sunglasses slipped down his nose revealing a panicked expression toward Nemuri. He held out your briefcase to shield himself from the heat of the backlash. He was talking fast, explaining himself. You pressed your lips tightly in contrast. If they weren’t then you’d pant like you did earlier.

Nausea arrived once again like a recurring nightmare. Placing your hand over the stitches to push through the thick material did nothing. As predicted, the pain couldn’t be snuffed out. Keeping your face neutral was an uphill battle between scalding heat and pure annoyance.

Screeching thoughts scolded you to ‘stop scratching!’

Then the surge came.

Mic and Midnight were focused on each other. One was mad, one was somewhat scared. It gave you something to work with. Your breath deepened as you flexed your palm against your uniform. Once again the pain separated and simmered down. The only agony on the surface was the itchiness of your wound. It wasn’t perfect. You just had to bear with it—the healing process.

And watch out for any other attacks from your friends.

The hand on your abdomen balled into a fist. An invisible knife stabbed back inside the wound. Hopefully, the pressure could substitute the need to claw at your skin until your insides spilled into a puddle on the floor.

Before you got comfortable, something to your left burned through you. Not from a wound, or your quirk. Someone watched you down the corridor. Turning your head, you lowered the invisible knife.

“Aizawa,” Mic called out to him, but didn’t get a response. Aizawa’s attention was on you. Did he see what you did? There was no way he saw the whole situation, you thought. Just when you shanked yourself with the imaginary shiv. Even if he brought it up, so what? It was weird, not illegal. “Look who’s here, isn’t this exciting!” Mic continued. The way Aizawa kept staring you down made it clear he was expecting you to flinch. Maybe you weren’t doing something illegal just now, but he can say you stormed off from him. Which is worse in this context. A lot worse.

Aizawa tucked a blue file folder he was looking over into his arm with the others. “We saw each other earlier,” he responded coldly. He wasn’t excited to see you. Not today. Not ever. You stood your ground, waiting for him to tell them you walked out on him again, but it never came. He moved past, preferring not to be in the same room with you more than he had to.

“That’s it! C’mon don’t be like that! How often do you get to see an old buddy?”

“Just stay for a minute!”

He continued on his path, not responding to any of their pleas until he reached the door handle. “The meeting is starting soon. Don’t block the door.” He went inside, the door clicking shut behind him with an echo.

“Harsh…” Mic said.

Midnight turned to you. “I thought he’d be happier,” she said wistfully. You don’t blame her for hoping.

You shrugged, lifting your hands. ‘It is what it is,’ you thought, not quite remembering a good translation.

Midnight hummed. Mic moved on from the initial shock, opting to check out the detailing on your briefcase. No follow up questions from either of them. Throughout the years, there was never a time either of them mentioned Aizawa being their coworker. Not that you should care. They didn’t have to tell you anything about what he was up to. If he wanted you to know he could’ve told you himself. Whatever he did was none of your business, so why would they tell you?

Maybe they should’ve. It certainly would’ve avoided this mess. Although, the thought didn’t cross Mic’s mind. He probably heard the muffled yells of the medic for you to give his phone back and dived in with no questions. No hesitation.

Nonetheless, he could’ve warned you about Aizawa in the email he sent you after. Did he think you wouldn't come back if you knew ahead of time—if you knew Aizawa would be here? Probably not, but damn, dude, give a warning.

Midnight broke through your thoughts, asking how long you were planning to stay. She comments on the tension without any out of pocket comparisons to the devil’s tango. You reassured her you should be gone in two weeks. If you were going to do your research here, no doubt it would be uncomfortable for her and Mic if that’s how you’re going to interact with their friend. “I hope we can do something while you’re here. It’ll be fun,” Midnight offered half-heartedly. Even if you sucked at keeping contact for the past year, she was still nice to you. Although, it’s doubtful you two would have time for each other while you were investigating and she does her jobs.

“Count me in!” Mic puts his free arm around your shoulders, he doesn’t add any pressure, but your arms squeezed into your ribs at the unintentional threat. Like one wrong move and your skin would seer through kevlar and leather. “We have to grab a bite!”

Your ears perk up, stomach coming to the forefront of your thoughts. You were drooling at the thought of finally being able to eat some bomb-ass food.

The passage of time went faster with the distracting fantasy. Not long after agreeing to Mic’s invitation of food, and having to hear a long list of places you couldn’t go to this very moment, the meeting was close to a start–made apparent by the next pro hero arriving to the meeting room. Your friends introduced you to another one of their coworkers, Snipe, who was dressed as a cowboy and actually packed heat.

The lovely thoughts and curiosity came to a halt upon entering the room. Aizawa glared at you for disrupting him from reading what he had in those folders. Without breaking eye contact you reached toward Mic so he could give you back your briefcase, so you could put it down somewhere.

Aizawa went back to his folders, rubbing his temple like your presence alone vexes him. You chose to place it in the corner of the room by a potted plant. You were careful not to grunt as you squatted. Ignoring the pain, you swiped the pattern on the briefcase, for good luck even if you hardly believe in such a thing.

Call it habit or instinct, but you glanced over your shoulder after. Of course, there was Aizawa. He eyeballed you, waiting for you to make a mistake. You clenched your jaw as you stood up again, adjusting your uniform before walking back toward Mic toward the center of the room. If Aizawa saw an opportunity, an opening to get rid of you, he’d pounce.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #mha x female reader #retrospective by dot #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #whump #tw pain #yamada hizashi #nemuri kayama

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smallangstdemon · 2 months ago

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"Quirk" (Aizawa Shota/Eraserhead from Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia)

For day 5 of @ailesswhumptober, for the prompts "overstimulation" and "migraines".

For day 7 & 9 of @whumptober for the prompts "magic with a cost" (day 7) and "slurred words" (day 9)

#ailesswhumptober2024 #migraines #whumptober2024 #no.7 #no.9 #magic with a cost #slurred words #aizawa #eraserhead #my hero academia #art #digital art #mini comic #angst #whump

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loopielupie · 1 year ago

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Whumptober Day 28 - Sacrifice

Aizawa knows what the media paints heroes to be: he sees it in the wide shining eyes of kids that ask Mic for his autograph and in the desperate faces of those he saves. A devotion and trust so utter it's almost frightening. It does frighten him sometimes, sending him slinking away from scenes once everything is secure and he can disappear unnoticed.

He knows what All Might conditioned the world to believe: heroes are pillars. Heroes are always ready, always there to save the day, willing to sacrifice everything if it will save civilians from the evil of the world.

He also knows that's bullshit. No hero can stand on their own. He's seen what that life has done to Toshinori, the shell it turned him into. He's seen what the media and the public do to heroes who fail to live up to that impossible standard; he's seen what happens to vigilantes who get caught doing everything heroes do but without the social or official credentials.

Heroes are human too.

So he teaches that. He teaches heroics his way. To avoid another All Might. He emphasises teamwork, fails entire classes who refuse to see the need for it or those who insist that heroes should stand alone.

And then he gets a new 1-A.

In the beginning, he thinks this might be another scorched earth class: full of personalities that clash and kids that, on the outside, seem to be set against his philosophy and eager to prove only themselves.

But then, they prove him wrong. Over and again, they work together: in training, in the licensing exams, in situations they should never have been put in that still give him nightmares. He starts to think that maybe his lessons are sticking, that this will be the one class he can push through UA, confident in knowing they won't try to be the next All Might.

And then Izuku disappears. Leaves carbon copy notes for everyone (he's pretty sure) that spill his secrets. And Aizawa is angry: at All Might for putting such ridiculous pressure on a child to keep a secrete and hold up a legacy Aizawa has never agreed with in the first place. He's angry at the world who told Izuku he needed to be that way and at the kid for believing it. But he's also angry at himself: for not doing enough to stop Izuku's reckless, self-sacrificing tendencies, not being enough to shout down the collective voices of the media and public opinion and Izuku's own hero.

He doesn't sleep much, after that. Mic sits with him in the wee hours despite his insistence that he's fine. Mic's known him long enough, suffered him long enough, that he knows better. He listens as Aizawa questions himself and his philosophy and picks holes in everything he's believed since Obouro. Mic listens and then Mic talks: offers reminders about the rest of the kids. How they're teaming up to fight for their place in the search, planning, strategising so that no one is alone and they'll get "stupid fuckin' Deku" (to paraphrase Bakugou) back together and "beat some fuckin' sense into him". Aizawa might have to have words with him about that one.

It helps, to know that his lessons have been enough; that this 1-A has learned and grown more than he'd expected and, at Mic's insistence, that he's helped make them that way. It's not enough to fill the hollow in his chest. But it helps.

#whumptober2023 #no.28 #sacrifice #bnha #fic #no tws #emotional whump #introspective #aizawa shouta #present mic #dadzawa

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littlekysworld · 2 years ago

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Bad Moon Rising

By LittleKy

Izuku had thought that his argument with All Might would be the worst thing to happen to him this week. Boy, was he wrong.

(Or: Midoriya Izuku's week quickly goes from bad to worse when, during what's meant to be a live televised conference for UA, he's publicly poisoned and kidnapped. Naturally, all hell breaks loose.)

Here's the full link to my current WIP. For those of you who like Dadmight, found family and hurt/comfort. ❤️

#self promo #bnha #dadmight #dadzawa #midoriya izuku #yagi toshinori #aizawa shouta #yaoyorozu momo #iida tenya #whump #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfic

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dgalerab · 2 years ago

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(part 1)(part 2)(part 3)

me: what if shirakumo lived

me:

me: ANYWAY

(but dw it's not a nomuzama au)

#tw whump comic #tw medical experimentation #rooftop agency au #tw implied drugging #bnha #aizawa shouta #erasermic i suppose but not yet?

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crimsonwolf715 · 15 days ago

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Loss of Identity

(This one's darker, so I feel like I need to put a disclaimer with the possible TWs: Mentions of torture and human experimentation [turning Denki into a Nomu process], temporary character death [again it’s Kaminari with the Nomu process], blood, injury, begging someone to kill them, mentions of panic attacks)

Shigaraki and Kurogiri walk into base and All For One is waiting for them, with the new Nomu he promised to show them when it was done. They both get a good look at the new Nomu that All For One brought in.

“Why does it look like that student from UA?” Shigaraki asks, scrunching up his nose a bit.

“Because it is that student from UA. Unlike Kurogiri, there wasn’t much physical change that you can’t see past if you saw him before,” All For One answers. “This student was highly underused by UA. The good doctor said that he was one of the most resilient living subjects he’s ever tested on. He was able to give him another Quirk, not just boost or alter the one he already had. He gave him power absorbance, which goes right along with his other Quirk. Finally, a piece in the game to get my revenge on All Might and UA.”

“Did you change his name, Master?” Shigaraki asks.

“Unfortunately, he was rather attached to his name, so I only changed part of it. I call him Takeru, but he only responds when I do it for now. You can call him that and he’ll figure out that you’re talking to him, but feel free to keep calling him Denki Kaminari if you so please.”

Everyone’s been looking for Kaminari since the incident that occurred not long after they got their licenses, but nobody’s been able to find him. Most of the Pros have stopped actively looking for him and put it on the back burner since they’re pretty sure that he’s not gonna turn up. Jiro’s been working with Death Arms, hoping that will help her get to Kaminari faster. They’re responding to a small office fire right now. The building is easy to evacuate and the fire department gets there right on time.

“Is there someone still in there?” one of the firemen yells at Death Arms.

“Shouldn’t be,” Death Arms answers. “I checked myself.”

The fireman points and the outline of a person is heading towards the exit. The guy walks out with a backpack on and starts dusting himself off. Jiro’s breath catches as she sees exactly who she’s been looking for.

His hair is black outside of the lightning bolt, which is blonde and his eyes are purple but look darker due to his blue-tinted sunglasses. His outfit is similar, but the white and yellow are replaced by purple and blue. She immediately recognizes him despite the differences.

“Denki?” she asks.

He turns to look at her, but there’s no recognition in his eyes.

“What happened to you?”

He shoots a bolt of lightning at Jiro and she rolls behind a car to dodge. Death Arms is dealing with some thugs, but Kaminari’s getting involved and making it hard for him to deal with them. Jiro shoots a blast at him and it sends him flying into a wall. Death Arms finishes dealing with the thugs and goes behind the car with her. He grabs a walkie talkie off of his belt.

“This is Death Arms requesting backup! The League of Villains is attacking and we don’t have the people to deal with them!”

The walkie talkie sparks and then blows up in his face. Jiro gets cut up from the broken pieces and despite bleeding, she returns her attention to Kaminari. He’s pointing at them and electricity’s crackling around him as the objects around him are being drained of their energy. Jiro runs towards Kaminari.

“Denki, it’s me!” she shouts as she dodges blasts of electricity. “What are you doing?”

Once she gets close enough, she tackles Kaminari and she lands on top of him. She starts trying to take his gear so he won’t have as much control of his Quirk. She gets one of his sharpshooters off before he shoves her off. When their eyes meet again when she gets up.

“Kill me,” Denki chokes out.

“No!”

“Please.” The pain in his voice makes Jiro tear up.

“Denki, please!” Jiro cries. “Please, I can’t hurt you!”

“Kill me, please,” Kaminari begs, tears spilling from his eyes as his hands light up with electricity.

“I can’t!”

“Please. I… love…”

The electricity goes out and Kaminari falls forward. Bakugo’s fist is raised and he looks a little guilty.

“Sorry, Kaminari,” he mumbles, then looks up at Jiro. “Sorry for being late, Jiro. The line cut off before you guys could give us your location. You alright?”

Jiro’s knees give out and she falls. Deku catches her and she starts sobbing when she sees Kaminari again. Bakugo quickly closes the distance and takes Jiro from Deku, who then goes to get Kaminari.

“They took him away from me,” Jiro sobs into Bakugo’s shoulder. “My love, they killed him.”

Bakugo gently rubs her back, trying to give her some form of comfort.

“They’ll figure out how to turn him back to normal,” Bakugo whispers. “They have to.”

“They… They killed him.”

The process isn’t easy, but they manage to reverse the majority of the physical damage done to Kaminari thanks to Eri’s Quirk and very carefully and humanely done testing. The mental damage is the issue. He still has frequent panic attacks and can’t sleep. They can’t even let anyone without a hero license come visit because he freaked out and tried to kill his foster parents when they showed up.

It’s a little over two months before any of the students get to see him, and that was still a slow process. He asked to see Jiro and Shinso, so they were originally the only two that could come. Once he’s more used to company, they start letting other people see him. Jiro comes more frequently than anybody else, almost daily if her schedule allows for it.

Kaminari enjoys her company and while she originally couldn’t even see the bright personality that used to live in Kaminari, she’s started to see small parts of it. He’s smiling a bit more whenever she or Shinso’s around. Jiro and Shinso have gotten closer during this experience, becoming each other’s support systems outside of the hospital room Kaminari stays in.

Jiro arranges the flowers several times, trying to make them look perfect. Denki’s coming home for the first time in nine months and she wants to make sure that everything looks perfect. Luckily, most of the other members of 2-A are out doing things with their families since it’s a Saturday. The only person left in the place is Shinso, who’s holed up in his room and will probably remain there until Kaminari goes to get him. Jiro has to stop and calm down because she’s working herself up too much and she might start crying.

The door opens and Aizawa walks in. He doesn’t look happy.

“Is Denki okay?” Jiro asks.

Aizawa nods, opening the door more to show Kaminari coming up the steps. Jiro smiles and when Kaminari sees her, a small smile crosses his lips. She kinda wants to cry since they weren’t able to fix his hair or eyes, but Kaminari said he doesn’t mind. So she tries not to let it bother her either. When he gets into the room, he goes over and hugs her. She wraps her arms around him and he practically melts. She’s honestly just glad that she can hug him again, since the first six months were no contact since physical contact made him have flashbacks.

“Jeez, I think you got taller again,” Jiro says, trying to draw her mind away from the thought process.

“It’s not likely considering it’s only been two weeks,” Kaminari says quietly.

Jiro rubs his back. When he pulls away, the smile’s still there.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Kaminari asks.

“Of course. I love you,” Jiro answers.

“You too.”

Aizawa nods to the duo, then heads towards Shinso’s room. Jiro and Kaminari sit down on the couch and start chatting about what Kaminari missed. After a while of catching up, Deku and Bakugo walk in. Deku’s smile widens when he spots them and Bakugo waves.

“Hey guys,” Kaminari says. “Good to see ya.”

Kaminari gets up and walks over. Him and Bakugo briefly bro hug and he gets a normal hug from Deku, but it’s just as brief.

“I’m glad that you’re back,” Deku says.

“Glad to be back,” Kaminari replies.

Bakugo pats him on the shoulder. “We’re gonna make dinner. You want anything particular?”

“Nah, anything will work. Thanks anyway, Bakugo.”

Bakugo nods, then the two head into the kitchen. Kaminari sits back down next to Jiro.

“It’s good to be home,” Kaminari says.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Jiro replies, leaning her head against his shoulder.

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